Vertical City Box Set [Books 1-4]

by George S. Mahaffey Jr.

  He disappears from sight and then I whisper: “I jump first and then you do the same on my call.”

  She nods and I glance back and I’m woozy as hell, momentarily disoriented by the play of light off the glass. But fear has a way of clearing the mind and so I close my eyes and focus, laser-like, on the ledge and now I’m falling.

  The wind buffets me again, edging my body back closer to the building by a millimeter or two.

  I land on my toes and throw my arms out, just like Shooter taught me so long ago.

  My bulk shifts forward and I bend and push back and brace myself against the window below which is broken (thanks to the methane blast), but inaccessible due to a series of metal security bars.

  I look back up at Naia and gesture to her.

  “Hurry,” she says, “I can’t hold on much longer.”

  “Count to three.”

  “I can’t—”

  “Now.”

  I count loud and she mutters softly along with me and then she cries out and releases her grip.

  She falls in agonizingly slow-motion and I struggle to fight off thoughts about how this could end very badly and—

  WHUMP!

  She lands near me and I hug her and wrestle her back against near the barred window.

  Her chest heaves and I swear the beat of her heart is audible.

  “They’re up there,” she says. “I saw them.”

  I turn back and assess the nook we’re standing on which is barely big enough for the two of us.

  We grab the window bars and pull and even though the brick surrounding the ledge is starting to come loose, none of the bars give.

  Dropping to my knees, I look down to the giant sheet of glass under us. It’s at least twenty-feet long and curved at an unusual angle.

  Gus said most of the windows in buildings used to be straight up and down years ago.

  Flat plate-glass I think it was called.

  But then some fancy architects and engineers decided to prioritize style over substance and everything started having curls and slopes to it.

  I silently curse the men who designed the VC1 with all its little kinks and alcoves and glass bowed out like a fat man’s belly.

  At the end of the sheet of glass, at the very edge of the building, are two metal ornaments shaped like great birds of prey that partially hold the glass in place. If we can slide down and grip those, we can then lower ourselves down to the next ledge. It’s a long shot, but the only chance we have.

  I point to the metal birds.

  “We’ve got to slide down and grab those.”

  “I’ll take my chances here.”

  “The sun’s going down later today.”

  “That’s generally what the sun does…”

  “Which means we’ll probably freeze to death up here. Either that or Odin’s people will grab us or knock us off when it gets dark.”

  Her eyes scan the glass and the metal birds and then she stares at her hands, white and red and skinned from the climb down. She cracks the knuckles in both hands.

  “The funny thing is the others I came with didn’t want to visit the city,” she says. “They didn’t want to set foot in this place. I should’ve listened. I should never have come.”

  “So why did you?”

  “Because I thought people in the city would be different from the country. More civilized. I guess … I wanted to believe there was some place better.”

  “Maybe there is.”

  “But first we’ve got to get out of here, huh?”

  I nod and she sets her jaw. “Who takes the first step? You or me?”

  “I’ll go,” I say.

  “If you say the first step is the only hard one I swear I’ll punch you.”

  I don’t, laying a hand on her wrist and then I crab slowly back and drop to my rear and elevate my legs like a child on a playground slide and hope like hell Matthais and none of the Prowlers are watching what’s about to happen.

  Dropping down, I zoom over the glass which is spattered with birdshit that slows my forward progress and then I hit some imperceptible divot in the glass, some bend in the plate that was invisible from up on my perch.

  I go spinning hard to the left, away from the metal bird.

  I can hear Naia gasping, but things happen so quickly, I barely have time to breathe.

  The edge of the glass comes up fast and so I bring my boots down and then—

  I’m catapulted into the air and throw out my hand and somehow manage to snag one of the birds.

  My face presses close to the bird whose detail work is incredible. I’m able to see every pattern and contour in the metal that runs from east to west, every gap in every feather, every pore in the damned thing’s steel beak.

  It’s a beautiful little thing, an eagle I think, and I admire it for a few seconds.

  And then the bird breaks in half.

  And just like that I’m falling.

  11

  No, no, no!

  Images flicker before me: my parents and Gus, me plummeting to my death, pinwheeling through the sky until I break apart on the face of the building, my warm insides dashed across the cold blacktop below.

  My hand rockets out into the recessed spot left by the hollowed-out, broken bird and whatever shard of metal that’s still there pierces my finger.

  Blood flows, but I don’t let go.

  I can’t.

  I look back and down to see I’m actually about thirteen or fourteen stories off the ground. A few errant Dubs are visible, bumbling around, one or two of them looking in my direction.

  My eyes find Naia and she’s as white as a sheet.

  Her finger is pointing up and that’s when I spot a pumpkin-toothed man grinning at me from the hole we blew in the wall. Then another man appears and another, all lower-level VC1 guards, none of whom I recognize. They’re only a few feet above Naia, but she’s so quiet and pressed so tightly into the ledge that they don’t hear or see her.

  They point and jeer at me, one of them holding up a rifle. They could easily pick me off, but then I see faces pressed against the glass on the outer buildings and I realize Odin’s goons don’t want to make a scene. Everything they do, all the killings of those shunned from the mother building occur in the shadows. They don’t dare operate in broad daylight. They quickly lower their weapons and hurl obscenities at me and then the pumpkintoothed man clutches the edge of the window frame and jumps down.

  Everything that happens next, happens incredibly fast.

  The brute hits the ledge and is surprised to see Naia.

  She shoves him off.

  He falls back onto the glass and skims down.

  The man’s mouth opens as he slides toward me.

  I’m able to plant my left hand and throw up my right, bracing for impact.

  He whacks into me, shrieking, his hands groping for purchase. He grabs my left hand and I punch him with his right and now we’re fighting, brawling on the edge of the goddamn building.

  He spits, bites, and kicks at me and I hold on for dear life.

  “You scrap of o’ dog shit!” he snarls, scissoring his legs around mine, trying to dislodge me from my perch.

  I head-butt the man and he falls—

  —Only to grab my right arm.

  “You’re coming with me!” he screams.

  There’s a whistling sound and then we both look up to see Naia.

  She’s holding a huge piece of brick that’s broken off from the ledge wall.

  “Get the girl!” the pumpkintoothed brute shouts and then Naia drops the brick on the glass and it flashes down and strikes the man in the head, making a sound like a hammer hitting a piece of thick wood.

  The man’s eyes roll back and he lets go of me and drifts away, semi-conscious, ghosting down over the edge of the building.

  Turning back, I see the other men reaching down, grabbing Naia by the hair. She swings at them and falls from the ledge and now she’s streaking down the glass. Unlike me,
she fans out her hands to slow her descent, expertly maneuvering across the glass to the other ornamental bird which she latches onto, five feet away from me.

  The bird does not break, remaining firmly planted in the roof and she exhales deeply even as the men above her scream and threaten to open fire.

  “Stay where you are,” I say.

  “Didn’t have any big plans to go anywhere else.”

  Beneath us is a thick metal frame at the edge of the glass and under that another section of glass that is without bars.

  My left hand edges back and I’m able to wedge my fingers in the joint where glass meets metal.

  Inside the joint there’s some caulk or remnants of a water membrane that’s liquefied over the years, so I’m able to jam a few fingers into the putty-like substance.

  Then I free my other hand from the spot where the metal bird was and plant it in the joint and now I’m hanging off the edge of the glass as if I’m about to do a pull-up. I swing my legs back and kick the glass that’s directly below me. The entire section of the wall we’re hanging from shakes.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” Naia shouts.

  I don’t have the strength to answer, focusing instead on torquing my body back for maximum impact.

  Over and over I kick the glass and then, when I’m nearly spent, I feel a section give way.

  My boot crunches through a webbed grid in the glass and I rotate it around to widen the hole and then I hammer the hell out of the hole with my other boot.

  In seconds, the hole’s large enough for a slender person to fit through.

  The only difficulty is in determining how we’re going to get down.

  “There’s an opening right below me,” I say.

  “How are we going to get down?”

  “By letting go.”

  She swallows hard and I reach a hand out and grab hers.

  Then I hook my legs under the frame and through the opening in the glass as best I can. “Now!”

  We both let go and I say a prayer and my abdomen is suddenly on fire as I suck in my stomach and fall back, Naia in my hands, and then slide myself in.

  By some miracle, the angle’s perfect and my body slots down through the broken window.

  Naia screams and I fear-grip her as she swings out and slams against the glass.

  I’m hanging halfway in and of the glass, holding her by both wrists.

  “Don’t let go!” I shout.

  “Wasn’t planning to!”

  Gritting my teeth, I pull back, my lat muscles feeling like they’re going to peel away from my body, every neuron in my body singing at once.

  In a blur of motion I pull her up and then she grabs me and we crash back through the window which gives out under our weight, the two of us falling in a heap on the floor.

  We sit silently for a few seconds, processing the whole thing, the exposed flesh on our wrists and hands (and my back) ripped raw by the edge of the glass.

  And then Naia’s up and about, doing a circuit of the room which was once one of a series of interconnected conference rooms with impressive stone-topped wooden tables and excellent views of the city. On one wall is a plaque, a remnant of the days before the Unraveling that says, “Pain is weakness leaving the body.” Naia grabs the plaque and flings it to the ground as I rise and peer through walls of pebbled glass only to immediately duck and drag Naia down with me.

  She’s about to bark in opposition, but I motion for her to follow me and we kneel and then crouch run while looking up.

  Against the faraway echo of sirens Odin’s muscle are visible through the glass.

  There’s nearly a dozen of them, all geared and weaponed up, doing a sweep through the other rooms.

  Naia and me dive forward and panic-crawl toward an exit door.

  The hallway near the back side of VC1 is deserted and we sprint down and into a stairwell. We soon emerge into another corridor where we hear the sound of crying babies.

  We’re on the sixteenth floor and the sirens, which are presumably located many floors above, are barely audible.

  Before I can tell Naia to head back, we’re approached by a nurse, a woman I’ve seen a time or two before. Her eyes are hooded and one of them twitches and I’ll bet she’s been working for the better part of eighteen hours.

  She doesn’t react upon seeing me other than to say:

  “You know you’re not allowed in here on account of the infants and all.”

  I dredge up a huge smile and fumble for the right words.

  “I know, I just – we just heard the cries and wanted to make sure there weren’t any problems.”

  The nurse nods and warily eyes Naia and says: “We’re fine, thanks.”

  Then her eyes go to my arms and hands which are skinned and misted with blood.

  Before the nurse can utter another word I gesture in the general vicinity of one of the alarms.

  “Dubs broke in down on ten.”

  “It was hairy for a while, but it’s all good now,” Naia adds, forcing a smile that’s bigger than mine.

  “Is everything okay?”

  I nod.

  “Probably want to lock your door though. Just in case.”

  The nurse returns our smiles and I take Naia’s hand and lead us around the nursery, the two of us keeping our heads down, fighting to blend in as we mix with a few other people strolling past.

  “Why aren’t we heading straight down?” Naia whispers.

  “Because there’s somebody I need to see.”

  12

  A pair of jumpy guards appear out of a side door, probably scoping for us as Naia and I veer right and head through an office that loops around to the infirmary.

  Moments later, I spot my old buddy Stanley Storch hitting the hell out of his drumsticks against an old pipe in a corner of the day room.

  There are only a six or seven residents in sight and fewer staff as my hand hoods my face and Stan sees me and frowns.

  “What’s the good word, Z?” he says.

  “Got a minute to walk and talk with me, Big Stan?”

  He looks at me sideways, squinting. “Is what they said true? Did you do those terrible things?”

  “Do you think I did?”

  “If you did, Dad’s gonna kick your ass.”

  A half smile curls up my lips and I take his arm. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

  Pleasantries are exchanged between Naia and Stan and then I lie to Stan and tell him there’s something he needs to see. We turn and exit as a pack of residents stream past us.

  “Hurry,” Naia says under her breath.

  We round a corner in the hall and I bump into a ragged little man with a mop of black hair. Helping him up, he searches my face and gasps.

  “I knows you,” he says, spittle flecking his mouth.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve never seen you—”

  “You’re the one that done it aren’t you?! You’re the one that was in heavy with the fella that wanted to let the Dubs in!”

  The man shouts and throws up his arms and now the other residents are doing the same.

  I shove the man back and the three of us barrel down the corridor as doors open behind us and men with deep voices yell for us to stop.

  We don’t, choosing instead to fly through an open pocket-door and down another stairwell where we weave our way through an electrical room peopled by startled workers.

  I grab Stan and take him aside behind the safety of a solar-water tank.

  “Remember what you told me before, Stan?”

  He just stares and smiles.

  “Remember all the times you told me you knew a secret way down to the Flatlands?”

  “Sure, Z, sure,” Stan answers.

  “Where is it?”

  He frowns and glances at Naia. “You ain’t from around here are you, miss?”

  Naia doesn’t respond as I grab Stan’s hand.

  “I really need you to focus here, Stan.”

  “Sure
, man, sure. Like a laser.”

  “How do we get down?”

  Stan looks to the ceiling as if running down a mental checklist and then he snaps his fingers and marches off through the tanks and the bundles of wiring and the jungle of metal and plastic tubing that Naia and I are forced to limbo under.

  We enter another hallway and we follow Stan for a good ten minutes as he bobs and weaves up and down several floors. Eventually he opens the door on a utility closet and kneels and pops out the zip screws that hold a sheet of metal across an HVAC access panel.

  He crawls into the space behind the panel and we follow him and now we’re inching through oversized aluminum ductwork as gales of air periodically stand our hair on end.

  There’s a junction in the ductwork ahead and more panels on either side.

  Stan mouths something and then points at the panels and counts silently.

  He shimmies up and removes a green painted panel that’s four feet by four feet.

  We flank Stan and look inside to see a metal chute of some kind, much larger than our present space.

  The chute seems wide enough to fit two men standing side-by-side and appears to be constructed of much heavier-gauge metal, possibly steel.

  The interior is gloomy, but there’s a ladder bolted to the far side.

  “That’s it,” Stan says, smiling. “Don’t nobody know about it but me and a few others.”

  “How far down does it go?”

  “All the way down, brother. All. The. Way. Down.”

  I climb forward and Naia follows and then I look back at Stan.

  “Are you coming?”

  He shakes his head and I hold out a hand. “I don’t want to scare you, Stan, but there might be some bad things that happen here soon.”

  “Dad’ll fix everything,” he says. “I’m gonna wait for him.”

  “Dad’s gone, Stan.”

  “Long gone?”

  “He went out for a walk and I don’t know whether he’s coming back.”

  Stan frowns and hugs himself. “I don’t believe that.”

  “There’s no time to argue about it, Stan, we need to—”