The Collective

Chapter 7: Death and Evidence

A day has passed since I talked to Alex, but I'm no closer to figuring out what's happening to the missing ludds. I've tried contacting Leo multiple times, but he isn't answering. It's been almost forty-eight hours since we talked last. Usually, that would be normal, but not now. Not when we've been working so closely together. I can barely sleep, worried his name will be the next to flash across the news.

Ever since Amanda's story had put the missing ludds in the spotlight, that's all the news has covered. They've already done stories about the ludds we know are missing, and each night they mention more. I'm not keeping track, but at least three dozen ludds have disappeared. I've already decided to go to Baker tonight if I don't hear from Leo.

I'm sitting in my cubicle, too worried to get any work done, when I hear a gasp followed by "Oh my God." Blood drains from my face, and ice runs down my spine. The office, which had been calm and quiet just moments before, is suddenly in action. Staffers whisper amongst themselves, and someone scrambles to turn on the large TV mounted in the corner.

"Breaking news," says the familiar voice of the anchorwoman who's been covering the missing ludds story. "A ludd was found dead earlier this afternoon in the Baker District." My ears begin to ring, and I feel light-headed as my vision swims. I will myself to focus on the TV. She hasn't said a name. We don't know who it is. Please don't be, Leo. It can't be Leo.

"Police have officially confirmed the identity of the 25-year-old victim, Evers Cartwright." My body goes numb, and my vision shrinks until the TV is a pinprick of light. A mugshot of Evers is splashed across the screen, his somber expression in the photo not representative of the kind, friendly person I'd met just days earlier.

"As of now, police don't suspect foul play, but the locals in the Baker District disagree. This death comes after months of ludd activists saying the police are doing nothing to investigate the spree of ludds who have gone missing around the city." The video cuts to an interview with a woman who I recognize from Baker a few nights ago. Today, though, she's standing in front of the Smith Capital building, just a few blocks from me.

"Evers was murdered," she says. Her eyes are ablaze, and she's looking straight into the camera. "This wasn't an accident. This is a message from whoever's been taking our friends and family. They want us to think we're powerless, but they're wrong. The police and politicians may have failed us, but we're willing to shut this whole city down to get justice."

"Protests are planned for downtown this evening," says the anchor, "but law enforcement ensures us that things will stay peaceful."

"We've dealt with ludd protests before," says an officer being interviewed. "They tend to get violent, but we'll have plenty of officers on duty to keep everyone in line. Our number one priority is keeping the city safe."

I step out of my cubicle and slip into an empty conference room, the TV a low buzz in the background. I call Leo again, but he doesn't answer. I'm glad it's not his death being reported—and I immediately feel horrible for thinking that—but I need to know he's safe. Just because he isn't on the news doesn't mean he's okay. I sit at the table and put my face in my hands. I try to slow my breathing, but my adrenaline spikes when I hear the ring of an incoming call.

For a moment I think it's Leo, but I realize the call is coming through the Collective interface, not the ludd network. Alex's picture pops up on my retina display, and I answer her call.

"Hello?"

"I just saw the news," she says, her voice clipped. Silence passes between us, then she speaks. "You said what you found is connected to the ludd disappearances? To this murder?"

"Yes," I say, my chest tight. More silence.

"I have something to show you," she finally says. "Can we meet?"

"Now?" I ask, surprised by her urgency.

"Yes, now."

"I can't get out to you until tonight," I say. "I'm at work."

"What if I come to you?" she asks. "Can you take a break to meet me?" The seriousness in her voice makes me realize the gravity of the request. For whatever reason, she doesn't feel this can wait.

"Yes," I say. "I can."

I'm ready to find out exactly why Alex was fired.

* * *

We made plans to meet at a park near City Hall. If I'm only gone for thirty minutes, no one in the office should care. They probably won't even notice. Alex sent me the details of the body she'll be swapping into: an elderly Asian woman who I'm currently sitting across the path from. I'll approach her once Alex swaps into the body, which should be any second now.

The woman glances at the clock on her band then closes her eyes. Her shoulders and back slouch momentarily, signs that the bodyswapping has begun. In just a few moments, Alex will be across from me, and she'll be ready to tell me everything.

Except, something is wrong.

Instead of the woman opening her eyes and Alex being inside her, the body begins to convulse. I stare, frozen in horror, as her back spasms and her head smacks against the metal bench. She starts making a choking noise, and I run to her, desperate to make it stop. I hold her head and yell for help, but no one seems to hear me.

The woman slides to the ground, and I feel warm, sticky blood coat my fingers. I'm worried Alex's head has split open, but I realize the blood isn't coming from a fractured skull—it's coming from her ears.

"Help!" I scream into the park again. "Someone help me!" I turn Alex to her side, hoping she doesn't choke on vomit or spittle, but I don't know what else to do. I've never seen someone have a seizure before. They happened occasionally when the Collective first launched, but not anymore.

The convulsions start slowing, and I begin to hope the worst is over. We can get Alex to a hospital, and the doctors will know what to do. But when I turn Alex back toward me, I see blood is now coming from her nose, too. She looks up at me, her eyes frantic and wild, and she grabs my forearm. Her grip is cold and tight.

She coughs, and blood gurgles from her mouth. The warm liquid splatters on my cheek.

"Th-," she starts before choking. "They did this."

By now, a crowd has gathered. I hear someone calling emergency services, and I register a person kneeling next to me, but I'm frozen. Alex coughs again, then her grip loosens. Her whole body goes slack, and her chest stops rising.

I hold onto Alex until the ambulance arrives. But by then, it's too late.

Alex is dead.

I sit on the grass as they take care of her body. Minutes pass before I notice the light on my band blinking, indicating a file has been shared with me. I click it, and a folder pops up on my retina display.

Its label is one word: Evidence.

I think back to when Alex grabbed my arm. She must have transferred the file to me before she died. As she was choking on her blood, the last thing she did was give me whatever she'd come to give me—what she'd been killed for.

Because I know this wasn't an accident. Somehow, Smith Capital had sabotaged her bodyswap. They knew she was vulnerable and dangerous, so they killed her before she could spill their secrets. But they weren't quick enough; she'd managed to give me whatever she'd found.

The file contains a video recording of Alex as well as dozens of documents. I click into the video and listen to what she has to say.

Fifteen minutes later, I know exactly what's happening to the ludds.

And I need to see Leo right now.