The Tent

Bzzzzzt. Bzzzzzt.
Tracey would never get used to these internal implants and I bet you I know who it is from.
“Answer call,” Tracey said.
“It’s me, it’s me.” I know who it is, what do you want Sampson?”
“Look I have had another scene from the next twenty-four.”
“Ok, this had better be good.”
“Well, there is going to be a murder, somewhere.”
“Well, that’s great,” said Tracey.
Sampson tried to compose herself and calmly replied, “Look, I know it’s going to be at a marketplace somewhere in the farm district. I know there is going to be a murder, or possibly two, but it keeps changing on me. I also know that it’s near the woods. I am thinking there is between five and six places we will need to check, and we will need to get permission and …”
“Take a breath or your face will detonate. I will ring up one of the judges and see what I can do. Stay where you are, I will come and pick you up” said Tracey. Tracey never liked these three am calls.
The In-24s were introduced after they were discovered after the nuclear wars of thirty years ago. The changes in human physiology did represent themselves in awful, bizarre ways. People born without limbs, people born with two heads not to mention the changes in animal species.
There were some minor DNA changes in humans that started to bring about special gifts in newborns. The In-24s were those certain types of people that envisioned scenes exactly twenty-four hours in the future and usually followed the scene minute by minute until they lost connection. Tracey said, “Call Judge two-seven-four”. She waited patiently whilst the judge did or did not answer.
“This is Judge Smith,” said the naturally quite irritable judge.
“What do you want at this time of the morning? I bet you it is one of those new fandangoed I can see things in the future kind of people,” said the Judge.
“Yes, we need to go to the farm zone, and we need to have a look at some farmer's markets down there, we need permission from your good self.”
“Yes, yes, of course, what is it this time? Someone stole some pumpkins?”
“No, there are going to be some murders.”
“Murders? Oh, murders are always good. Okay make sure you get them this time” said the Judge, who had become a little more animated as the conversation continued.
“How are you dealing with all that stuff with your new partner?” said the Judge.
“Yeah, look it’s not like working with you back in the old days, but we do get things done, and we can stop a murder or two.”
“Oh, hang on,” said the Judge “Yeah, I have just got something coming in on the other line, hold on a minute”. Tracey continued driving towards the In-24 barracks and the Judge spoke once again,
“Oh there has already been a murder at one of those farmers markets, you had better get down there and have a look.”
Another call came in from Sampson, “One more murder in real time, I have left already for the Farmers Market I’ll meet you there.”
She could have told me that earlier thought Tracey as she raced through the farm region and was waved through the strict military check points along the way.
Tracey arrived at the scene at about six in the morning as the sun slowly draped across what could have easily been described as a deserted site, except for the blood trails and bodies that were silhouetted as dark blobs in the young mornings light.
Tracey continued into the market and saw two people racing towards her. They screamed, “Run. Just fucking run,’ as they hurtled passed. One of them slipped in a pool of blood, finding themselves sliding upon the bloodied morning dew and into a body.
“I have another body here,” Sampson yelled across the link.
“There were a lot of farmers there getting ready for the daily market. Find that killer,” shouted the judge joining the action.
“Where are you,” said Tracey pulling her 9mm Glock in a defensive move.
“I am in a blue tent at the south side of the market,” Sampson said.
Tracey could smell the iron and sweetness of the blood in the air as she approached the hill leading up the south side of the market. Tents and stalls were empty or had survivors cowering behind overturned tables or other suitable pieces of furniture. A few hopefuls saw Tracey and made a move to exit.
Tracey growled and indicated for them to stay behind cover.
AAAAAAGGGHHHH.
“What the fuck?” Tracey asked for her communal link.
“What?” replied the judge.
“Another murder, perhaps,” Tracey said as she ducked behind a stall leaning on a short incline.
“What’s the situation Sampson?”
Tracey saw the tent. Dark splatters could be seen staining the outside of the tent. The blood was seeping, dripping, and stinking.
“No, not me, no …” A voice echoed from within the tent and sounded high and sharp in the stinging vacuum of morning's presence.
“Judge? Sampson? Anyone there?”
“I’m here,” replied the judge. Silence from Sampson. An arrow dug into the ground near where Tracey was crouching. She rolled and hit the ground leopard crawling to a stall close by. Another arrow hit her right thigh. Pain relief now, she thought as her medical implant release what she needed.
Fuck this. She grabbed the arrow and with one almighty tug, ejected the offending object from her thigh. Now or never. She rushed towards the tent, pistol in her hands as her training dictated. Before she got there, she knew what she would find.
Tracey started firing the pistol into the tent. Thuds of the rounds hitting flesh surrounded the morning scene. Tracey tentatively peaked through the entrance and saw Sampson lying in her own blood. There were three hostages near her with their hands in the air. They saw her and ran towards her, she moved aside.
“Is she dead?” asked the Judge.
“She is,” Tracey answered. Silence.
“Oh shit, it was supposed to be you.”