Zhukov's Dogs

by Amanda Cyr

  “This lets out in a garage below the building. We’ll land in… well, you can probably guess, but we’ll be able to find a ride out there. They don’t keep tabs on certain vehicles and—”

  “Okay,” Val interrupted. “Let’s just do it.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  Val nodded. “Yeah, I trust you.”

  That was all I needed. I opened the chute the rest of the way and climbed up onto the ledge, holding a hand back to help Val in. He sat on the ledge, legs dangling into the void and grip tightening on my hand. He was thinking too much, and nothing I could say would set him at ease, so I slid forward, dragging him with me. Val went as stiff as the bodies that usually went down the chute. I pulled him closer as we picked up speed, freefalling in complete darkness.

  It was a quick trip, and the smell warned us of the end right before we landed on a soft, uneven mound of black bags. Bones snapped, and flesh sagged underneath us. I didn’t want Val thinking about our surroundings, about what or who was cushioning our fall, so the second we landed, I scrambled to my feet and hauled him upright.

  “See, there. Cars. Just like I said,” I told him, pointing at the countless rows of vehicles on the other side of the damp garage.

  Val nodded, hands working at the sleeve of my jumpsuit. “Good. Let’s go,” he said, leading the way, just as eager to escape the rotting heap.

  We climbed out of the bin and, once on solid ground, took off at a run. Nobody patrolled the garage since the only way to access it, aside from the morgue chute, was via an elevator, manned by a Grey Man at all times. On top of that, this area was off limits between the hours of 2:00 a.m. and 5:00 a.m., even to the most elite officers. We had the entire place to ourselves.

  There were only a handful of vehicles without GPS, mostly because they were so outdated nobody bothered using them anyway. Aiden used to joke they were begging to be stolen. I led Val through row after row, past tanks, motorcycles, sleek sports cars, and two helicopters until I spotted a navy Jeep.

  “We’re just going to drive out of here in this thing?” Val asked, skepticism resurfacing as I jimmied open the faulty driver’s side door and unlocked the trunk.

  “Aiden and I used to sneak out of here all the time, even after hours. It’s not as hard as you’d think,” I told him on my way back to the trunk.

  Val followed close, arms crossed and fingers drumming. “Aiden’s your…?”

  “Best friend, former CO, and the ginger who blew my cover back in Seattle,” I explained as I dug through a heavy toolbox in search of the correct screwdriver, then held it up for Val to see with a triumphant, “Ah-hah!”

  “What’s that for?”

  “One of the first things Special Forces teaches you,” I said, slamming the trunk shut before seizing the side of his face and pulling him into a quick kiss. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

  Val and I piled into the wide front seat covered in a layer of worn leather and vinyl. A cloud of dust filled the cabin that had gone unoccupied for so long. I rolled down the window to air out the stuffy space before leaning over the steering wheel, taking great pride in showing off my foolproof, better-than-hotwiring technique of driving a flathead into the ignition.

  “There’s no way that’s going to—”

  Val ate his words as I turned the screwdriver and the engine revved to life. I looked at him, grinning a little at his puzzled expression. I wasn’t cruel enough to mock him after everything we’d been through. Instead, I gave his leg a pat and pulled out of the parking space.

  There was only one way in or out of the garage, a massive series of panels that opened when authorized vehicle keycards were swiped. It was a risky move, swiping the card tucked in the glove compartment. When Val and I were discovered missing in a few hours, someone would check the garage logs and put it all together. We’d have to change vehicles after we put some distance between us and D.C.

  The panels rolled back with a low, muffled grind of metal. It was a sound nobody upstairs would think twice about, so I tried not to either. Cold, night air flooded the car and filled my lungs with relief as we pulled onto a long strip of tarmac. Val turned in his seat to get a look at the Eisenhower Building. I angled the rearview mirror so I didn’t have to look at it.

  I kept the lights off to prevent drawing attention until we were off the property. We were almost free; I wasn’t about to risk capture so close to the end, so close to winning. The same keycard unlocked the steel bars surrounding the complex. As I leaned out the window to swipe the card, a flashing red recording light reminded me we would never truly be free.

  We could run, we could leave the country and change our identities, and the S.O.R. would still pursue. I knew too much. I was a liability, a threat to national security who’d sell government secrets. At least that’s what they’d say. Even those who believed otherwise would come after me. And Val…

  The card registered, the gates began to part, and I slumped into my seat.

  Val wasn’t a threat. Val was a tool, something the S.O.R. and The Council could exploit me with. They’d done so before; they’d try to do so again. He was in danger because of me. His friends, our friends, were probably dead because of me. His home was gone because of me.

  “You okay over there?” he asked.

  He’d nearly died because of me.

  Frozen fingers wound between mind, pulling me out of my haze and back into the bleak reality of our current situation. Val was there, though, smiling for some unknown reason in a way that tricked me into doing the same. He scooted closer and reminded me of the two most important things I seemed to be forgetting.

  We were alive. We were together.

  I let go of his hand, wrapping an arm over his shoulders. The morphine hadn’t worn off yet, and I planned to enjoy every second of our freedom, no matter how fleeting. Val curled into my side, making himself comfortable and glancing up to make sure he wasn’t aggravating any of my numbed injuries.

  A clank told me the gate was open, our path clear. I turned on the lights and pulled into the street, squeezing Val’s shoulder.

  He wasted his first breath of freedom on a laugh, of all things. “So… What now?”

  “Well,” I began, “We head south. I’ve got some estranged contacts that don’t know about the Y.I.D. They’ll be able to help us past the border.”

  “You want to go to Mexico?” Val asked, tilting his head up to see if I was joking.

  “Not particularly, but we need to get out of the States, at least for a while.”

  Val didn’t reply. I was too busy watching the road to explain all the ways the S.O.R. would scour the nation for us. He shifted closer as the White House lawn came into view beyond my window. I glanced over, wondering if the rest of The Council members had seen Dr. Halliburton’s face, yet. She would certainly be reminded of me every time she looked in the mirror for the rest of her life, something that made our departure from the States all the more pertinent.

  “That’s where they live, right?” Val asked, not needing to clarify the “they.”

  I nodded.

  “And they’re going to get away with everything?”

  I nodded again.

  Val silenced, his fingers drumming against his collarbone. I didn’t know what to tell him. The Council was bigger than us, so much bigger, and we were lucky to have escaped them in one piece.

  “You’re scheming,” I noted as we turned off on Route 1, heading south for the Potomac and leaving the White House in the rearview where it belonged. A red light stopped us short at a wide, barren intersection.

  Val’s fingers stilled. “Planning… Let’s go blow up the White House.”

  “I can’t make a U-turn here.” I chuckled, hitting the turn signal to go right. “I’ll have to go around the block.”

  Val laughed and sat back so he could mock me. The red light hid the bruising along the side of his face, but not the dark circles under his eyes. “Mr. Fugitive is afraid of making a traffic viol
ation?”

  I turned off my signal and checked the rearview for headlights. Light still red, I eased off the brake, cutting the wheel.

  “Don’t you dare,” Val laughed, reaching over my arms to grab the wheel. “I am not going back to lockup over a traffic violation.”

  I pressed the brake down again, and we stopped halfway into the crosswalk. “You wanted to blow up the White House,” I reminded him, my hands closing over his and holding them tight to the wheel. It was a calculated move that kept him close. “A U-turn gets us there the quickest. If that means a ticket, so be it.”

  “Aw, you’d go to traffic school on weekends for me?”

  “Val, by now you should realize there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

  “And why is that?” he asked, the devious nature I’d missed so much resurfacing with a vengeance and a smirk.

  “Really?” I scoffed. “I just rescued us from one of the military’s most secure facilities and you’re going to make me say it first?”

  Val leaned forward, closing the handful of inches between us and pressing cold lips against my own. I released one of his hands so I could grip the side of his face, savoring a kiss I thought I’d never get to enjoy again. His free hand rested on my chest, and chilly fingers slipped under my collar. Green light seeped past my eyelids. Val drew back, and I opened my eyes to see he was smiling, painted in green, dark bruises visible again.

  “Don’t worry, Nik,” he said, releasing my collar and pulling his hand out from under mine on the steering wheel. He settled against my side with a content sigh, guiding the hand I’d held on his face over his shoulders, instead. “I love you too… but you’re going to miss the light if you don’t start driving, and, in case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got to get to Mexico.”

  I eased off the brake and smiled. This is what I’d given it all up for. A life of exile and the title of traitor. Sarcasm, wry wit, pale skin, blond hair, dark gray eyes, and love. It was far from the future I’d imagined, but it was all mine, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

  Massive thanks to:

  My fearless agent, Kimberley Cameron, for never giving up. She also was kind enough to overlook my ridiculous voicemail greeting at the time. One down!!!!!! (too many exclamation points, I know)

  Elizabeth Kracht, for bringing Kimberley and I together.

  Everyone at Curiosity Quills, including the goats.

  All those who helped overhaul my manuscript, especially Sangeeta Mehta, Alison Heller, Erika Galpin, and Vicki Merkiel.

  Alexandria Thompson, for her epically-amazing cover art.

  My fiancé, Ian, for supporting me and putting up with my complaining, nocturnal editing habits, and general indecision on everything not related to Zhukov’s Dogs while it was being written.

  My family, for providing a nomadic upbringing. Without it, I would have never gone through a socially-inept phase that spawned a passion for writing. Props to Mom, who pretended she didn’t know I was up until 3 a.m. on a school night.

  Ms. S and Mr. S. You both helped me through one of the roughest years of my life, and I am eternally grateful for your support.

  Seattle.

  Amanda Cyr was born in Maryland and spent the first 18 years of life hopping around the world. She is now a proud, pale Seattleite.

  Along the way she studied at Seattle University, found a man, took in a pair of polar bears, and made some friends.

  She spends her days writing for and editing various websites, practicing her sarcasm, and trying to explain fandoms to non-believers.

  This is her first novel.

  Now that you have completed this book, we hope you will leave a review so that other readers may benefit from your perspective. Authors like Amanda Cyr live and die by your reviews, after all!

  Please visit http://curiosityquills.com/reader-survey/ to share your reading experience with the author of this book!

  The Artful, by Wilbert Stanton

  (http://bit.ly/NmD9vQ)

  When the virus came, everything changed. More than half the population was wiped out overnight. New York City is now shrouded in death and decay, quarantined from the rest of the world. Ambitious men of wealth emerged, laying claim to all the boroughs and the survivors within, making all that remained their playground.

  In a city ruled by bloodthirsty warlords, Twist, Dodger, and Gia are caught in a game that will lead them from the darkest corners of the underground and into lands they never thought they’d step foot in, all for the hope of a better tomorrow.

  Theocracide, by James Wymore

  (http://j.mp/184gc5D)

  At a time when everybody lives isolated lives behind computer glasses showing them whatever they want to see, Jason must abandon his idyllic life. Just as things are coming together with his new girlfriend, his father drags him into a plot to assassinate the Undying Emperor. With aliens invading the world and his sister dying of an incurable flu they brought, he plunges into a dark game of intrigue and conspiracy against the most powerful people in the world. Is there any way to keep the girl he loves after committing Theocracide?

  Without Bloodshed (Starbreaker, Book 1), by Matthew Graybosch

  (http://j.mp/1bqNITY)

  “All who threaten me die.” These words made Morgan Stormrider’s reputation as one of the Phoenix Society’s deadliest IRD officers. After a decade spent living by the sword, Morgan seeks to bid a farewell to arms and make a new life with his friends as a musician.

  Regardless of his faltering faith, the Phoenix Society has a final mission for Stormrider after a dictator’s accusations make him a liability to the organization. He must put everything aside to prove he is not the Society’s assassin. Can Morgan Stormrider resolve the crisis without bloodshed, or will the words with which he forged his reputation haunt him still?

  Prolongmnent, by Grace Eyre

  (http://j.mp/1gL6XgS)

  To fund their controversial research, B&E Labs patented a medical process called “Prolongment”, in which very old, wealthy clients can extend their consciousness past death.

  Prolongment works by mapping a client’s consciousness and throwing it forward in time. To an outsider, these projections look and behave exactly like ghosts. Now the whole city is terrified by spirits with personal agendas and no moral code left to live by.

  A vigilante journalist takes an unpopular stand. A haunting victim gets tangled in a murder plot. A rogue scientist experiments with her own mind. No one escapes the shadow of Prolongment.

  Cipher, by S.E. Bennett

  (http://j.mp/1j7BubQ)

  Cipher Omega is a failed experiment, an identical clone of the brilliant, damaged woman whose genome the scientists of the Basement were trying to copy and improve. All her life she has dreamt of life outside the laboratory, on the surface world, but when her home is destroyed and she's left the only survivor of a hundred-year human cloning project, she is forced to face the reality of the military-ruled nation that created her. Aided by the only other surviving child of the Basement, an enigmatic solider named Tor, and two rebel freedom fighters named Bowen and Oona Rivers, Cipher finds herself searching for answers, at any cost.

  Copied, by S.M. Anderson

  (http://j.mp/1nui0Aa)

  Alexander Mitchell, has no idea his DNA is copyrighted and being used to develop an army of military clones. When the company discovers he was not properly disposed of 17 years ago, they send an assassin copy, BETA23, to terminate Xan and cover it up.

  Xan teams up with Lacey, a genetically engineered genius he’s surprised to find common ground with—only they’re awkward together.

  When they manage to capture a company copy, Lacey is determined to see if BETA23 can be persuade to give them the intelligence they need to keep the company forever off Xan’s back

  Appetizer:

  Book Cover

  Copyright & Publisher

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Main Course:

  Chapter One

&n
bsp; Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dessert:

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Thank You For Reading

  More from Curiosity Quills Press