by Cari Z
“What do you want?” Lee was so close now, their bodies only a centimeter apart. Evan stared into his eyes and felt like he might never be able to look away. They were so dark, but so bright. He’d never seen eyes so bright. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do everything I can to give it to you.”
“Except tell me about your life before you came here.”
“That too, once I know—once I’m sure that—” It was strange to hear Lee’s elegant tongue trip over his words. “Evan, I promise, I—”
“Daddy?”
Lee’s head snapped around toward his son, and Evan took a deep breath and stepped back. It felt like a rubber band breaking, the way the tension between the two of them suddenly snapped. He was already halfway to the door before Lee spoke again. “Evan, wait!”
“I can’t.” God, he wanted to, but . . . “Not right now.” He kept going, and to his relief—and also his dismay—Lee didn’t try to stop him.
He needed time. He knew that. He needed the space to understand why he felt so strongly about Lee hiding things from him, why he needed to know. Why now? Why at all? The man didn’t owe him anything; it was closer to the other way around: he was the one giving Evan work, letting him spend time with his son. Letting him into his life, when he seemed to let so few people get close enough to even see the edges of the truth. And that was fantastic, and Evan didn’t want to let it go, but somehow it just wasn’t enough anymore.
He wasn’t sure what would be.
The few hours of sleep he’d caught on Lee’s couch weren’t enough to do more than get him back down to his room, where he fell onto his cot and passed out hard enough that, for once, he didn’t even dream.
He woke up just after ten, when his thirst finally became intolerable. Two glasses of water and a handful of jerky later, he felt more normal, if sorer than he was used to.
Adrenaline hangover. It had been a while since he’d felt one of those. Usually, battles on the wall were only slightly more exciting than hammering arrowheads—he’d spent too many years with Juree to get easily worked up. But last night had been rough.
The ground quivered minutely. Apparently things were still rough.
Evan scrubbed a hand over his scruffy jaw. He could take a few minutes to shave, but all of a sudden he was tired of being alone. Being with Lee and Jason had spoiled him—he felt a tug in the center of his chest at the thought of them, but it was still too soon to go back. He needed . . . not company, necessarily, but a presence, any presence.
The workshop. He needed to get to work. There would be other people around him—craftspeople, contemporaries, maybe even Charlie. He could use a friendly face right now.
Evan pulled on his working clothes, heavy-duty fabric and leather, tied his hair back, and headed for his station. If he was lucky, no one would mention last night to him. He didn’t want to be called out again as a hero, or worse, as a lucky fool. He was too concerned that the second description was the correct one.
The scent of heat and burning coal welcomed him like a handshake, and Evan smiled reflexively when he saw Charlie’s wild white hair escaping from the edges of her kerchief as she hammered away on a billet. They made eye contact, and her gaze widened. She grimaced and mouthed something at him, but Evan couldn’t interpret it. He veered her way to ask, then stopped dead in his tracks when he saw who was waiting for him at his own anvil.
“Mr. Greystone.”
“Mr. Luck.” The governor’s colorless bodyguard—his name really was apt—stood up from Evan’s bench. “You have a meeting.”
Goose bumps rose on the back of Evan’s arms. “First I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s the first you’ve needed to. Be grateful that Governor Townsend let you sleep in.” He extended a hand back toward the door Evan had just entered through. “Let’s go.”
Evan glanced at Charlie, whose brow was furrowed with obvious concern. This time he caught what she mimed: Why? Evan shrugged. He could make a scene and refuse, or he could go and see what the governor wanted with him. It might not even be about him. It might be about Lee.
There was no way Evan wasn’t going to take a chance to find out more about Lee.
It was déjà vu all over again, being led to the governor’s personal quarters. Greystone knocked before opening the door, and Evan walked inside alone. Townsend was there, sitting in his expansive leather chair, just like last time. He had a bottle of what looked like whiskey out on the table, and was staring at it pensively as Evan came over to him.
“Look at that.”
Evan looked at the bottle. At first he couldn’t see anything strange there, but after a moment he noticed the ripple effect in the liquid. “I see it.”
Townsend nodded glumly. “Of course you do. Sit.” He pointed at the chair across from him, and Evan sat silently while Townsend poured them both drinks. “This beast, whatever it is that’s attacking Forge right now . . . it’s going to get in. Eventually.” He sipped from his glass and made a face. “Rotgut. I ran out of real whiskey three years ago.”
Evan took his own sip. The liquid burned so hot on his tongue he nearly spit it out again. Fortunately, his participation as anything other than a listener didn’t seem to be required right now.
“Anything can be worn away with enough time and effort, and these creatures, they’re tunnelers. We autopsied one of the ones you killed—their heads are armored, reinforced. They don’t even have detectable organs other than a digestive tract and a hindbrain in the back of their tail. All they seem to know is digging and eating, and if the ones that got to Gorot were just babies? If there’s a big one down there, which our geologists think is likely?” His shoulders slumped. “We’ve got less than a week, and no dragon to send down after it, not after what happened last night. I suppose I should thank you for saving Gorot’s life, but,” his lips twisted like he was about to spit, “extenuating circumstances won’t quite let me do that.”
Evan found his voice again. “What extenuating circumstances?”
“How did you get to know Lee Caldwell and his child?”
Evan frowned. “Why does that matter?”
“Answer the question.”
It wouldn’t do any good to stonewall. “I saw them at the last Choosing.”
“And did you approach them there?” Townsend pressed. “Did you say anything to either of them?”
“No, nothing. He came to find me the next day on his own. Look, what the hell is this about?” Because it was clear that something was going on, something the governor found dire from the look on his face.
“You don’t know?”
Evan was about ready to throw his glass on the ground. “No, I don’t fucking know! I don’t know anything, apparently, and I’m sick of it! What should I know?”
Townsend’s eyes narrowed. “Lee Caldwell, if handled correctly, could be a godsend to our city. He’s got something no one else does, skills that would be absolutely invaluable put into play. He left Chicago because his wife died, though—he’s too caught up in emotions to be logical. Until his feelings are resolved, he won’t work for us. Can’t, he claims, which personally I think is bullshit but I can’t make him do anything, not unless I want to involve his child.”
“Don’t you touch Jason.” This, now, was the cold, crystalline focus that Evan was used to feeling when he fought. His aches and pains faded in light of the potential necessity of killing the man across from him. No one was allowed to hurt Jason.
“Me?” Townsend laughed. “You’re the bigger threat to that child, and to this entire city! Of all the people for him to set his damn cap for, why did it have to be you? A broken empath, a useless rider, and a reckless fighter who’s going to get himself killed someday soon. That isn’t a threat,” he added. “It’s an observation. You fight too hard, and you have no sense of self-preservation.” He snorted derisively and shook his head. “I appreciate what you did for Gorot, but honestly, what kind of man runs down the damn wall to face monsters he’s never fought b
efore with a weapon that’s having no effect on them? Susan emptied her quiver into those things and couldn’t make a single kill. But you, oh, you come out of nowhere and save the day. Just like you couldn’t do with your last dragon, eh? Have you been chasing redemption this whole time?”
Evan was torn between wanting to hit Townsend so hard his chair flew backward and wondering, in the silence of his own mind, if the man was right. In the end, he gritted his teeth and sat, waiting for Townsend to come around to making whatever the hell his point was.
Townsend put down his glass and leaned forward. “Some of the people here call you Luckless, but I think you’ve been lucky too long, Evan. It’s going to run out, soon, and if you’re the one Lee is fixated on when you die, he’ll leave us. He’ll take his son and his sorrow and move on to the next city, flee another heartbreak, and Forge will be entirely lost. But it isn’t too late. I know, because if it was too late, you’d understand what I’m talking about.”
“I think I understand enough.” Evan’s tongue felt thick in his mouth.
“I don’t think you do, but never mind. We’ll all be dead in a week anyway if this monster isn’t stopped. Evan. I need you to do something hard. Something for Forge, something for Lee and Jason. Something for all of us.” Townsend nodded his head toward the door. “We’ve got a bomb down in the armory, prepped and ready. It’s taken years to put this kind of firepower together, and we only have one shot at this. We need to get that bomb down into the tunnel and detonate it so it kills the monsters attacking us. At the very least we need it to collapse the tunnel, which would give Gorot a chance to heal and maybe, maybe try to take out the monster again. We can’t risk Kisthe; her flames don’t have the same reach.”
Evan forced himself to speak. “You want me to make a suicide run.”
“A rescue mission,” Townsend corrected, but Evan knew the truth. “To save all of us, ten thousand people—elders, children. Lee and Jason too.”
Evan felt incredibly tired all of a sudden. Tired of everything, of fighting, of arguing, of hurting. “And when I’m gone, Lee will be free to . . . what, move on? Find someone more appropriate?”
“Maybe. Hopefully. Or perhaps he’ll have time to mourn you, if you kill the creature. Or, look on the bright side—you might survive and return to him!” Townsend refilled his glass. “What do you say, Evan Luck? Save us all now, or die with us later?”
Well, fuck. There was really only one response he could give.
Chapter Seven
It was remarkable how quickly things could get done with the weight of the governor’s blessing behind them. After his agreement, Evan was quietly escorted to the armory by Greystone, where he was given a primer on how to use the bomb in question. It was about half the size of his quiver, packed in a hard-sided box, with a tiny hole drilled into the top of it. Next to the hole, two wooden straws of different lengths were taped down.
Greystone tapped the long one first. “Five-minute fuse if you’ve got the time for it, one-minute fuse if the crix are coming. Those beasts will eat anything.” He handed over a lighter in a steel case. “Place the bomb, stick the fuse in the hole, light it, and get out. Keep the extra in case the first one doesn’t go off and you have to go back in.”
“I never took you for an optimist.”
“I’m not.”
Evan swallowed and nodded. “What am I carrying it in?”
“This.” Greystone handed over a stiff canvas backpack. “Along with some food and water. You can take one of our bows—”
“I want my own,” Evan cut in. “And my own arrows, my own knives. Clothes too. There must be someone you can send to get them.”
Greystone’s pale eyes narrowed. “Do you understand the concept of subtlety at all, Luck? The fewer people who know what’s going on, the less chance of a dip in morale.” If you fail, screamed his subtext loud and clear.
“I understand subtlety, but I also understand not wanting to die before I get to the tunnel due to shitty weapons breaking on me.” He crossed his arms. “My own bow, or I’m not doing this.”
Greystone sighed. “Fine. I’ll retrieve them, but I want you ready to leave when I return.”
“I don’t even know where to go yet.”
He pointed to a map laid out open on a nearby table. “The scavs marked the opening to the tunnel. It’s a little over a mile down along the highway. Memorize the route quickly.” He left, locking the door behind him, clearly not trusting Evan not to go running to Jason and Lee the moment he was alone.
Greystone shouldn’t have worried on that account. There was no way Evan would be seeing Lee before he left. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he did. And if he did, he might fold and tell Lee everything, and get Lee into more trouble with the governor. No, the thing to do now was to get out there and get this done. Maybe, just maybe, he’d get back too.
He turned to inspect the map. It was actually amazingly detailed, hand drawn, but done meticulously and to scale. Here was the edge of the wall, here was I-25 stretching out like a worm cut to pieces in front of it, chunks blown away or disintegrated in places. There were three notable breaks in the road, and Evan focused on those. The first one had a little lake drawn in front of it—sinkhole, then. Dangerous, even if there wasn’t a monster in it. The third one was surrounded by stick-drawings of a very familiar beast—a nest of crix. No going there, then. The second one was circled in red, with a dark hole scribbled in beside it. All right, then, here was his destination.
Evan surveyed the rest of the map for anything else that the scavs—the only people bold, desperate, or crazy enough to leave the city in search of raw materials to sell—had indicated as hazards. Looked like there were harpies in the old art museum, and the creek running through the center of the city was a clear no-go zone, with warnings for everything from ogres to kelpies sketched in next to it. Apart from that, he should be in the clear. As long as everything went according to plan.
Ha. Right.
“Luckless!”
Evan turned toward the voice so fast he almost fell over. “Charlie?” He could only see half her face through the barred top of the armory door—she wasn’t a tall person—but there was no mistaking that flyaway hair. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to get to you, of course!” She huffed angrily. “I followed after that sonuvabitch took you off, but I couldn’t get anywhere close to Townsend’s apartment. Had to wait until they let you go, and instead they moved you here. What the hell is going on?”
“I’m . . .” How could he say it in a way that didn’t make him sound like a madman? He decided there really wasn’t a good option. “I’m taking a bomb to the far side of the tunnel the monster is in. I’m going to try and blow it up.”
Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Sorry, did I just hear you say you’re gonna run off and get your dumb ass killed?”
“Someone’s got to try.”
“Yeah, someone with backup! Like a dragon!”
“That didn’t work so well last time,” Evan pointed out. “Until Gorot is back up to full strength or one of the younger ones is trained, Kisthe is all Forge has. We can’t risk her getting attacked.”
“Then they should use more people, for fuck’s sake! Why just you? Let me come with you.”
“Charlie.” Evan reached out and set his hand on top of hers through the bars. “It’s all right. I volunteered for this.”
“Did you?” she asked, heavily sarcastic. “You just woke up this morning after being a damn hero last night and thought, ‘I’m gonna go throw my life away and leave my man and our boy sad.’”
Evan shut his eyes for a moment. “They’re not mine.”
“They might as well be,” she countered. “Luckless, don’t do this.”
“I have to. I’ll manage.” Evan was sure he could get himself into position to set the bomb, but doing so while worrying about other people? He couldn’t risk it. There was no backing out now. The ground was still shuddering, and it w
as only getting worse. Evan would be surprised if the wall lasted as long as Townsend hoped.
Charlie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then take this.” She handed him a long knife in a leather sheath through the window. “Freshly tempered, double-edged, and it’s sharp enough to cut your soul. Balanced for throwing too, in case you like that kind of showy bullshit. It’s a loan, mind you, not a gift. I’ll be needing it back when you return, so no leaving it stuck in a body somewhere out there in the wasteland.”
Evan smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, you absolute idiot.” She glanced to the side and swore. “I have to move, someone’s coming. Don’t you run off just to die, Luckless, y’hear me? There are folks here counting on having you back alive.” She vanished before Evan could reply. He returned to the table and tucked the knife into the backpack so it wouldn’t stand out, and a moment later Greystone walked back inside, his arms full of weapons and a heavy leather jacket. He dropped them all unceremoniously on top of the map.
“Get on with it.”
Evan didn’t bother to acknowledge him, just began strapping his knives to his body. The bowie went to his hip, the neck knife on a ball chain he left over his sweater, and the machete in a sheath across his back. Then the jacket, thick leather reinforced with steel plates here and there, then his quiver of almost thirty arrows. His bow he strung and kept close to hand—it was short enough that he could walk with it at the ready as long as he was careful. Finally, he repacked the bomb, tied the pack shut, and pulled it on over the machete. He took a deep breath, then looked at Greystone. “I’m ready.”
It was a short trip from the armory to the gate, and the way was absolutely abandoned. Townsend really didn’t want word of Evan’s attempt getting out. Quite the vote of confidence, jackass. But really, it was better not to have to deal with stares and whispers as he walked out the gate. Steel doors slammed shut behind him, and then Evan was on his own.