Deadlocked
Snofrid hated Coyote. She wanted to kill him, along with everyone who’d betrayed her. She was panting hard, her face flaming hot with panic, as she supported her deflection shield. Sobbing and choking, she engaged the impulse to release the deflection shield and check if Rhode was still alive; but five Hunters prowled outside the glade like hyenas waiting to feed.
Sweat trickled into her eyes as she scanned the forest in search of Lycidius and Desya. All she saw were the gnarled shadows of trees reaching across the smooth snow; every now and then, a squirrel scampered across a branch, racking up her hopes for a few seconds, before leaving them to shatter.
“You can’t hold that shield much longer,” a Hunter hollered. He’d taken a break from digging a deep pit where he intended to bury her alive. “If you’re smart, you’ll lower it now. Do it and I’ll let you keep a few fingers.”
“That won’t work on me,” Snofrid called. His intimidation tactics were as apparent as the smut stains on his trousers. “Take my fingers and they’ll grow back.”
The Hunter was shorter than the other four, but had a stalky build. Each time he turned his head to speak to his comrades, she caught a glimpse of his reddish-brown faux hawk, tangled in his gasmask straps, and the flexing cords in his neck.
“If they grow back, there will be more to take off,” he pointed out. He flung his shovel to the ground. “Let us in, or wait for us to come in there and drag you out. Either way, you’re going to suffer.”
“I’m not letting you in.”
“Think about it this way. The longer you hold that up, the deeper the hole gets.”
She looked off into the trees, unable to stomach the sight of him. All Dracuslayer training was the same. Stress and pressure. He’d hammer her with both until she gave into fear. Lycidius and Desya would arrive any moment and she only had to sustain her power until they did. “Then you’re going to have to dig to the core of the earth, because I’m not taking it down.”
He sneered. Cracking his knuckles, he started circling the shield, breathing slow through his gasmask filter. “When a man doesn’t see his work pay off, he looks for someone to blame. I’m really going to enjoy torturing you before you go under ten tons of dirt.”
Snofrid felt vulnerable as he strolled behind her. “If you really had a Plan B like your Mistress Jekel said, then you shouldn’t be so upset.”
“It doesn’t change what I sacrificed, or how many people put down their lives to guarantee that this day happened.” He stopped on her left side. “But an earth-lover like you wouldn’t know anything about sacrifice.”
Snofrid detected a growing resentment in his tone but didn’t care if she pushed him.
“That’s the problem with plans,” he said. “They rarely go the way you intend. The best way to get what you want is to impulsively go for it. The expectations are lower.”
“Set your sights low and you’ll never get anywhere,” she assured.
“A smart strategist moves incrementally—one step at a time.” He gave the shield a quick run over. “Bullets can’t get through this, but since you’re shivering, it looks like something can.” He tapped the corner of his hyena mask. “And it looks like a bit of shrapnel tore up your filter real good.”
Snofrid’s resilience took a blow. She hadn’t even known that she could raise deflection shields until thirty minutes ago, so she was totally ignorant when it came to their capabilities. “I can block out whatever I decide,” she told him. “Blow something in here and I’ll send it back your way.”
“Let’s do a test round,” he decided, and held up a hand. “Riskel. Smoke grenade.”
One of the Hunters rifled a green cylinder grenade from his rucksack and pitched it to his comrade. Catching it, the Hunter yanked out the pin. He dropped the grenade and smoke rose around his feet, fanning into the shield.
Snofrid coughed the instant the smoke penetrated her filter. It rolled all around her, seeping through the shredded rubber of her mask and pouring into her lungs. Taking a wider stance, she tried to will the smoke back, but she only choked harder.
The Hunter continued walking, now with a lighter step. “Have you ever seen fruit desiccate in a dehydrator?”
Snofrid started wheezing. Her throat was so dry she could hardly intake air.
“Phosphorus pentoxide dries up the throat similarly,” he told her. “Let’s see how long you can inhale it.”
She refused to break now. Drawing oxygen through her nose, she steadied her airflow with long, labored breaths. Fluid glazed over her eyes and her tendons pulled tight from the pressure. She was going to drop the shield if she didn’t get out of the smoke. Her arms trembled. “Don’t let it fall,” she urged herself. “Five more minutes.” At a sudden sneeze, her shoulders hunched and the shield vanished like a popped bubble. It only took a second for her to register what had happened, and then another to run. Propelled by fear, she dashed toward the tree line until a pair of hands gripped her shoulders and towed her backward.
She kicked her captor’s shins with frantic desperation. There was NO way she was going to be taken prisoner again.
“Snofrid, stop. Calm down.” The hands slid to her waist, tightening to keep her in place. “It’s Desya.”
She straightened up, still shaking. “Dez…” His gasmask appeared in the clearing smoke, and above it, his soft brown eyes. Whirling, she threw her arms around him. “Dez!”
“It’s okay, Sno,” he said, folding her in his arms. “You’re safe now.”
“I’m sorry.”
His grip tightened. “I was pissed coming over here, but now I really don’t care what happened. Just calm down. I’m not mad.”
She couldn’t find any calmness. Her blood was surging, her brain communicating nothing but the urgency to explain herself. “I’m sorry,” she said again, burying her face in his jacket. “I’m sorry.”
At the sound of crunching snow, she lifted her head to see over his shoulder. Lycidius was dragging the Hunter toward the hole by his jacket collar. Blood spattered the front of the Hunter’s flak jacket where his throat had been torn open, but his boots twitched, signaling that he was still alive. Lycidius threw him down at the edge of the hole and tore off his own gasmask.
“You just dug your own grave,” he said. He stretched his mouth open, baring his teeth, and then roared until fire raged from his throat. The man burst into flames and crumbled into the hole in a cloud of smoke.
Snofrid closed her eyes, bracing herself for his reaction. Desya let her down and she ran to Lycidius. He grabbed her face and drew her against him. There was always that one person who was impossible to hide emotions from—who intensified everything until self-control moved out of reach. For her, Lycidius was that person. She couldn’t bottle up her sadness or her rage and fear. For a moment, he did comfort her, made her feel like nothing existed outside of the small space they occupied. Her painful emotions melted into a sedating warmth that touched every part of her body. With each muffled sob, her body shook and Lycidius’s hold readjusted to keep her secure; but all his efforts fizzled out when his confusion became too overwhelming.
“What happened?” he finally said, cupping her face. “Some little punk contacted me and talked my ear off, then left a P.S. about you being held hostage. Why are there dead Dracuslayers everywhere? And what was that shield you were holding?” He jerked his head at the pile of mush that had once been the welx. “And what the hell died over there?”
“I’ll tell you everything,” she promised. “But we have to get out of here, Lycidius. It’s not safe.”
“Cid,” Desya called, jogging toward them. “I want to know what happened too, but she’s right. We need to leave before the Sky-Legion flies in. We can figure this all out when we get to the Underground.”
Lycidius said nothing. He took Snofrid’s arm and led her toward the tree line. She started to ask about Jazara’s whereabouts, but an emergency siren blared across the city, drowning out her words. She aim
ed her sights skyward, searching for signs of the Sky-Legion. Through the aquamarine bolts of electricity, she saw little more than snow clouds.
“The Sky-Legion’s been spotted,” Desya realized, stepping back to gain a broader scope of the sky. “Take her to the Underground, Cid. I need to go.”
“Wait.” Snofrid craned towards Desya. “You’re not coming?”
“I will,” he promised. “But when the Legion gets in here, the Chancellor’s gonna be the first target. I need to find Parisa and get her out.”
“No,” Snofrid objected. She wrestled free of Lycidius and seized his arm. “No. Dez, please don’t go.”
“I can’t leave her to die. The Sky-Legion will kill her, Sno. They’ll torture her.”
Snofrid’s self-control almost splintered. She’d practically sold herself to ensure his safety, and now he was risking his life for someone that had left them to die. For someone who’d abandoned him. “What if you can’t get her?” Snofrid demanded, her voice cracking. “What if she doesn’t even let you see her, Dez?”
“She will. But if not, then at least I tried.”
“Please don’t do this,” Snofrid begged. “Dez, I can’t lose you, too.”
Lycidius stepped between them. “We need to go,” he said to Snofrid. “My Steelrunner is parked a half-mile off.”
“Wait.” She gave Desya a last pleading look. “Desya. Please, come with us.”
He scraped his hands down his gasmask and, for a moment, she thought he might reconsider. But then he turned abruptly and ran from the glade. “I can’t, Snofrid,” he called. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back before the shield goes down.”
Out of the Underground
Flight hanger 400 of the Hollowstone Underground was already swarming with Inborn refugees when Lycidius landed his Steelrunner. From the pillion, Snofrid could see teams of crewmen hauling luggage into the cargo bays of aircrafts. Hundreds of passengers, young and old, stood in zigzagging lines across the warehouse, each clasping their ticket as they anxiously waited to board. Snofrid’s fear left her. The more she looked about the hangar, the more a homesick sense filled her. This was where she’d first met Lycidius and she remembered the space as if it were a part of her—the marble floor that smelled of antiseptics, the neat rows of gunships and aircrafts, the frosted electrical fixtures, and the buzz of the radiator system. As she had the first day she’d come here, she felt hopeful. Even though the hangar was cold and vast, it reminded her of all the carefree optimism she’d had back then.
“Jazara’s waiting by the ship,” Lycidius said, stepping off the Steelrunner. He lifted off his gasmask and then proceeded to unstrap Rhode’s body from the back of the pillion. “I’m going to load up my Steelrunner, this body, and all the luggage, and then we’ll talk.”
Snofrid stared at Rhode, rolled up in her white parka, and misery crawled into her heart. He hadn’t deserved to die, especially like this—by the betrayal of his own half-brother. She wanted to tell Lycidius everything but knew it would set off a chain of events she’d have no power or influence to control. He’d go after Hadrian and she’d be obligated to release him from his Shadow position right now.
“Which ship are we taking?” she asked, dismounting the pillion.
“The TS Infineon. It’s the black one by the doors.” Lycidius nodded toward a ducted-fan, twin-rotor gunship grounded near the hangar’s entrance. The roof of the fuselage had been painted with a large handprint; each finger on the handprint was color-coordinated to one of the five formal Inborn species—blue, green, red, rose and white. It would communicate to the Sky-Legion that they were friendlies.
“The captain is an old contact,” Lycidius said, hoisting Rhode’s body into his arms. “He used to be a Dracuslayer in the forties. Tell the crewmen you’re with me and they’ll let you board early.”
She gave Rhode one last glance, then picked up her satchel. “I’ll see you in there.”
“Wait, Snofrid. My brother told me about the Covenant Spell,” he said. “I understand you couldn’t tell me the truth, and I’m not angry.”
She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Thank you.”
The crowds leading to the gunship were thick and Snofrid was forced to nudge people from her path. Outside the cargo bay, she found Jazara waiting with a pink checkered backpack slung over her shoulder and bangles jingling on her wrists; her bicycle and three suitcases were being loaded onto the ship under her watchful eye. Snofrid loosed an easy breath at the sight of her. When she flagged her down with a wave, Jazara gasped loudly. Charging forward, she flung her arms around Snofrid.
“Just because I’m hugging you, doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Jazara huffed. “I’m still mad.”
“I know. You have a right to be mad.”
“We thought you got blown up in the bombs,” she went on. “And then we thought you were found out. After that, we thought you got lost. And then we didn’t know what to think.”
“I can’t imagine what I put you through. I’m sorry.”
Jazara’s tone softened. “Well, I’m not that mad anymore. It’s just…I was scared you were hurt.”
“I would’ve thought the same thing if it had been you,” Snofrid said. She took the girl’s hand and hurried toward the fuselage ramp. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as we get to the Earth Square Fortress.”
“You’d better.”
While they waited in line to board, Snofrid inspected the gunship. This was the ship that would carry her from Hollowstone forever. It looked sturdy enough, but she was aware that it would need to fly out of the city without being shot down by human anti-aircraft weapons. This didn’t trouble her so much on her own account; it hadn’t escaped her that everyone in the world she loved would be onboard.
After the crewmen had granted them entry, they strode up the ramp into the fuselage. “Is Dez with Lycidius?” Jazara asked, as they climbed a staircase to the highest level of the ship.
“No,” Snofrid replied, noting the girl’s concern. “He’s doing something important in the city, but he’ll be here before we takeoff.”
“What important thing?”
“He’s picking up one of his friends. I’m not sure yet, but she might come with us to Earth Square.”
Jazara’s eyes puffed up with suspicion. “Dez didn’t tell me we were bringing anyone else. Which friend is it?”
“I don’t think you’ve met her,” Snofrid said, avoiding eye contact. “But I’m sure he’ll introduce you later.”
“He’d better. I thought I knew all his friends, but now I find out he’s keeping secret ones.” She frowned, staring dismally at the glass floor. “He promised me he’d never keep secrets.”
On the main seating deck, Snofrid took a window seat behind Jazara and shrugged from her soiled coat. A blizzard of thoughts swirled about in her head, tossing her this way and then that, until she felt stretched thin; but it was Rhode that left her feeling hollow. A similar feeling came to her each time a person she knew died, as if a piece of the universe had been chipped off. The world felt emptier, leading her to wonder where those pieces might go after they were broken off. Humans and Inborns alike believed in plenty of afterlives. Although she’d tried when she was younger, she’d never been able to put her faith in a paradise; largely, because she feared that if one existed, she might not be allowed to enter. As she’d been locked out of society all her life, it seemed fitting that all other places would do the same.
Exhaustion set in like a harsh cold, but for a while she couldn’t fall asleep. The realization that she was blowing off Atlas made her feel restless. It had occurred to her on the flight over that she was going to skip out on her part of their bargain—even after he’d upheld his. She gave herself confidence with the idea that he was probably taking the fastest jet out of the city to escape the Sky-Legion.
With this thought reassuring her, she fell asleep. She dreamed of Ryuki, and of their old house on Quintree Quay. Daylight shone through the whole dream, making t
he world seem perfect and free of sadness. When she opened her eyes, it was dark and Lycidius was gently shaking her awake. Through her grogginess, she observed a clear change in him. He was sitting coolly in his jackal-head bomber jacket, with his legs stretched out, and a rifle over his knees. “How long was I out?” she asked.
“A while. It’s 2:00 a.m. on Saturday.”
Her gaze jumped across the deck in search of Desya. The seats were packed with passengers, some asleep, others talking on their phones, and quite a few holding one another for comfort. “Where’s Desya?”
“On his way over. He found Parisa a few hours ago, but with all the riots and traffic, it could take them a few more hours.”
“The Chancellor just let her leave?”
“The Chancellor doesn’t know,” he muttered. “She left him, just like Desya.”
Snofrid suddenly worried about Desya getting arrested. But she doubted the Chancellor’s men would be able to locate them in the mass hysteria.
She spotted Jazara talking to some younger children a few rows down and took advantage of the privacy. “I’ll tell you what we were doing,” she finally said, forcing herself to look Lycidius in the eye. “Me and your brother.”
“Go ahead, Snofrid.”
She took a moment to map out her story before relaying it from start to finish—including the details of her Covenant with Hadrian, how they’d been betrayed during the hunt, and how Rhode had helped her bring down Nox Wolba. Lycidius maintained an almost inscrutable expression throughout. His face paled at each mention of Hadrian, and he chewed his barbell tensely when she spoke of Wolba. She found it more difficult than she’d anticipated to tell him that the All-Steam Hunters had taken Hadrian with them and added that she understood if he wanted to go after him. She even admitted the side-deal she’d made with Hadrian in which she’d agreed to free him from his duties as her Shadow in exchange for a pardon for her and Desya.
Hatred Day Page 36