by Holly Hart
“Is there another way out of here, besides the front door?”
“The fire escape.”
Jack frowns. “They’ll be all over that. What about a garage—underground parking?”
“No—are we trapped?”
“I’ll get you out.”
The smoke’s advancing. We retreat to the kitchen, then the hall. My eyes sting and water. There’s nowhere left to go. Except—
“The roof!”
“What?”
“Top floor balconies wrap around.” I cover my mouth and cough. “There’s one corner kind of...hanging over the roof of the next building. We could jump. Maybe.” The smoke’s getting thicker, acrid and choking. We’re running out of choices.
“All right.” Jack slings my arm over his shoulder, practically carrying me out the door. He squats down when we reach the stairwell. “Get on. It’ll be faster.”
I clamber onto his back. He hitches me up and starts to run, taking the stairs two and three at a time. We burst onto the roof, and the door hisses shut behind us. Jack pauses. “Which way?”
“Over there, past the pigeons.”
He charges past the coop. I can see the next building from here. The drop’s worse than I thought: easily twelve feet from railing to roof.
“I’m not going to make it.”
Jack sets me down. “Yes, you are. I’ll go first, and catch you.” He vaults over the barrier before I can stop him, landing lightly on the balcony below. I follow more slowly, peering over the edge. The balcony’s not far, nothing like the roof, but I...can’t. I back away, head spinning with images of Jack staggering under my weight, pitching us both over the railing. We’d glance off the roof below, plunge headfirst to our deaths—
“Hey! Before they spot us!”
Falling, or a bullet to the brain?
My ankle throbs. Hoisting myself over like Jack did won’t work. Embarrassed, I turn around and hop up ass-first. I hear Jack stifle a chuckle as I swing my legs over. From there, it’s just a matter of leaning forward and falling into his arms.
I close my eyes and do it. One weightless instant, and he’s got me, safe and sound.
“Made it.”
Jack peers over the railing. “Yeah, but you’re not getting over this. Way too dangerous.” He crouches. “Hop back up—we’ll go together.”
Oh, hell no. From this angle, the gap between buildings looks wider. Too wide. Easily three, four feet of gaping nothing. I back away, shaking my head.
“We can’t get back the way we came. And look.” He points down the alley. Eight floors below, near the mouth of the alley, two men are blocking the fire escape. One of them is looking around. Getting impatient. Any second, he’ll glance up, and it’ll be too late.
I mount up one more time, hanging on for dear life. Jack’s muscles bunch and ripple as he jumps up on the railing. “Whatever you do, don’t scream,” he warns me. He tenses, springs, and we’re airborne. I bury my face in his shoulder—I can’t look. And it’s taking too long. We’ve fallen short of the roof: this is it. Nothing left of our lives but down, down, down....
Jack grunts as his feet hit the gravel. He stumbles, rights himself, and drops down on one knee. I slide off his back, boneless.
“See? Nothing to it.”
I roll my eyes to hide my terror. “Yeah. Well, now we’re on the roof of someone else’s building, with—oh! No way down!” I jerk my head at the door. “See? No handle on this side.”
“We’ll get in through the fire escape.” Jack reaches for me, stopping just short of pushing my hair out of my face. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed any more. “Can you walk yet?”
I nod and scramble to my feet, ignoring my knocking knees.
No going back now.
Chapter Forty
Jack
Stella follows me through a janky window on the fifth floor, which slides open when I jiggle the frame. Nobody’s home: the heat’s off, and no one’s screaming blue murder. I look around. This building’s older than Stella’s. Kind of run down, in a hipster-friendly way. I make my way to the bedroom and dig through the closet. A bright yellow hoodie catches my eye.
“You’re stealing that?”
I shrug out of my jacket. “I’ll leave a fifty.”
“This isn’t a store.”
“Yeah, but ten minutes from now, we’ll be hitting the street. Can’t do that looking like ourselves.” I pull the hoodie over my head. It’s a snug fit, especially over the shoulders. “You should grab some shoes.”
Stella looks down, taking in her bare feet. She helps herself to a pair of socks and heads for the hallway. By the time I’ve switched my slacks for sweatpants and stuffed my clothes in a plastic shopping bag, she’s snuggled into someone’s puffy winter coat and a pair of Doc Martens.
“We’re really going out the front door?”
“Know another way?”
“No, but... I mean, won’t they be right there? Outside my building?”
“Yeah. But so’s my car. They know we were in there. Sooner or later, they’ll figure out where we went.”
I expect Stella to panic—hell, I’ve been expecting it since I broke into her apartment—but she only nods. “What’s the time?”
I peer down the hall at the kitchen clock. “Eighteen past four.”
“There’s a bus stop round the corner. Next one’s at twenty-five past. If we time it right, we can walk right onto it.”
I want to kiss her. She’d probably bite me. I take her arm instead. “Lean on me a little, like you’re still half asleep. Just—just mosey, but don’t talk.”
“Half asleep; mosey; no talking. Got it.”
We take the elevator down. Stella goes stiff in the lobby, hesitating at the door. I pull her close. “Two minutes. Three tops. You and me on that bus, riding into the, uh, sunrise.”
She leans into me like she’s sleepy, ducks her head, and toes the door open. I yank my hood over my eyes, and we stagger out together.
The lamp over the door hits us like a spotlight. Stella flinches, but keeps going. Nobody hails us. Nobody shoots us in the back. We keep walking. Stella’s trembling so badly I’m surprised she’s still walking, and I realize it’s her ankle. It’s wobbling: she’s barely holding on. I slip my arm around her waist and hold her up as best I can.
“Just a little more,” I whisper.
She nods. Fails to suppress a hiss of pain. I keep my eyes on the end of the block: almost there. I half-carry her past the bodega, some mom-and-pop place with a faded sign. Ten steps to go. I’m murmuring encouragements. She’s biting her lip. Trying to walk normally, not to give us away.
“I hear the bus.”
She lifts her head. Tries to walk faster.
The second we’re around the corner and out of sight, I scoop her up and run. We make it just as the doors are closing. I lunge forward and jam my foot through, in case the driver decides to be an asshole about it.
For the first few blocks, neither of us says anything. Only when Stella’s building, and the cars parked out front, are completely out of sight does she open her mouth.
“Starkey said you’re a war criminal.”
Well. So much for small talk. “I’m—”
“You’re going to tell me the truth. All of it. None of this ‘I did a terrible thing’ bullshit. No vague ‘it’s worse than you think’. Everything. Details.” She crushes my hand in hers. “And then I have something to tell you. Maybe. Depending on what I think of you when you’re done.”
“Can we at least get off the bus first? Get someplace safe?”
She leans her head on the window, eyes closed. “Where are we going?”
Good question. “Give me a second. I’ll think of somewhere.”
Stella snorts, but she leaves me her hand. Two blocks later, it comes to me: the perfect hideout, right under Magnus’s nose. The one place he’ll never think to look. Eight blocks later, I pull the cord. “This is our stop.”
Chapter Forty-On
e
Stella
As hideouts go, it’s pretty chintzy. No power, no running water, no wifi. No carpets. I toe at the floorboards: damp and spongy.
Jack sniffs the air. “Sorry. Didn’t expect this much mildew.”
“What is this place?”
“Used to be a spa, I think. Magnus bought it years ago, when he wanted to get into real estate. Forgot it in six weeks flat. He’s got ten, twenty places like this, just...boarded up, doing nothing.” He wriggles out of his ridiculous yellow hoodie and spreads it on the floor. “Here. Sit.”
It’s a relief to get off my ankle. I lean back and stretch my legs, ignoring the paint chips that flake off the wall and settle across my shoulders. Jack stalks around the room, checking the windows, the exits, the upstairs. Stalling. No one’s been here in years. I toss a chunk of plaster at him when he starts looking in closets.
“Hey. Time’s up.”
“There could be squatters, transients....”
“But there aren’t.” I twirl my finger at the vast, empty lobby. “No trash. No graffiti. No anything. Sit your ass down.”
He sits. And starts talking immediately, like he’s scared he’ll lose his nerve. “So first of all, there’s war crimes, and then there’s...war crimes, like you’re picturing—torture, genocide, the dark stuff. What we’re talking about, it’s not that.”
“But people died.”
Jack nods. He’s staring into the gloom, focused on nothing.
“So... What are we talking about?”
“Blakemoor. It’s different now, but when I signed up, it was all large-scale security. We’d go into disaster areas, war zones, lock that shit down. Enforce curfews, break up crowds, maintain order—police stuff. Only, it wasn’t taking off. There were problems with logistics, communication, guys crossing the line—total clusterfuck.”
“And—and you blame yourself? For being there?” Brief hope flares in my chest: if that’s all it was....
Jack scoffs. “No. That’s just...setting the scene.” A paint flake breaks loose and lands on his nose. He brushes it away. “Me, I was doing my job. Starkey, too. We were trying, but it wasn’t like military life. It was like...like they recruited all leaders. Promised all of us command. Ended up with a bunch of alpha dogs in a cage, snarling it out for a bone.”
He’s stalling again. Circling the point. “What happened?”
“Okay, so... It’s a beautiful day. Hot and sunny. Blue sky, horizon to horizon. Me and Ferris are out on patrol....” Jack wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. I can hear his watch ticking in his pocket. Outside, a bicycle bell rings. He’s staring into space again. Staring, and not talking.
I nudge him cautiously. “So...you and Ferris?”
“He’s—he was one of the ones who died.” Jack draws himself up, visibly pulling himself together. He lowers his head and clenches his fists. A muscle twitches in his neck.
“I’m sorry. For your loss.”
He laughs at that, for some reason, a harsh bark that echoes off the walls. “For my—” More laughter, deep and rolling. “For my loss! Fucking hell!”
I press my lips together. “Maybe you’d better tell me the rest.”
“The rest. Right.” He tilts his head like he’s picturing it. “So, beautiful day, on patrol with Ferris, and boom. Rolling thunder. Smoke blocking the sun. Civilians everywhere. We’re running toward the blast. Ferris goes up the main drag; I circle round the back. I’m... There’s this dog, kind of following me. I remember that: just this shaggy brown dog, like...your generic vision of what a dog should be.”
The more he gets into the details, the more his eyes glaze over. I snap my fingers to catch his attention. No response.
“That’s when the second explosion hits. Nearly sends me flying. And these guys come tearing out, two of them, in balaclavas, but...I....”
I reach out, stopping just short of touching his arm. He’s like a live wire, sparking with tension. I’m afraid of his reaction. He’s grinding his teeth, eyes darting back and forth, following action only he can see.
“Where are you, right now?”
He makes a choking sound.
“Jack?”
“I’m here. With you. I know where I am.” That muscle’s jumping again, right below his ear. “But I’m there, too. Like a double exposure. Both at once.”
I stroke his bicep carefully. He twitches and jerks.
“I know it’s not real. Don’t worry. I won’t...choke you, or do anything violent. Lose control.”
“Does it help to close your eyes?”
“No!—no. Makes it worse.”
I wait for him to settle back into his skin. Water’s dripping somewhere nearby. Can’t tell if it’s in here or outside. Four different conversations drift in and out of earshot, easily audible through the glassless windows.
“Magnus and Erik,” he croaks, at last.
I startle and jump. “What? Where?”
“No—it was Magnus and Erik. Running away from the carpet factory. That they just got through blowing up. That was the war crime: targeting of civilian property. Intentional destabilization of the region.”
“Why—wait... Was there anyone inside?”
“No.” He relaxes minutely. “It was a holiday. No casualties. Just dozens of people suddenly out of work, angry, nothing to do. Nothing to eat.”
“So they were, what? Stirring the pot?”
“Keeping the area unstable. Not to the point of boiling over. Just to the point we could tamp it down and come up smelling like roses. A riot here, a robbery there—Blakemoor to the rescue.”
“To whose rescue?” I can’t help myself. “Any of those people get their jobs back?”
“No. No, they didn’t. We did, though.” Jack smiles a strange smile, one that tugs down at one side. “Six new contracts, nine extensions, fifty percent personnel growth, all in under a year.”
“So you thought you’d join in? Get a piece of the action?”
“Fuck, no.” He’s getting that faraway look again. “I wanted to report it, right then and there. Erik...he wanted to talk it through. Begged me not to turn them in. Not till I’d heard their side. That was my first mistake—listening.” He glances at me and looks away quickly, like he can’t meet my eye. “So we talk, and I’m all, hell, let’s blow the lid off this bitch. But it’s easy for me. I’m not—I wasn’t involved.”
“Stay with me.”
Jack presses both hands to his face. There’s nothing I can do for him: I can almost feel him sinking. Losing himself.
“So Magnus, he can’t risk opening his mouth. He’s got me convinced they were duped, him and Erik. Ordered to skip a check here, leave a gate open there, and before they know it, they’re responsible for some messed-up shit. No choice but to shut up and go along. No choice.”
I hate the way he says that—no choice—throat choked with hopelessness. Feels like he means now, and every day leading up to now—the last ten years.
“So I get ‘em taking notes—Magnus and Erik. Any non-routine order, anything against protocol—I take that down. Cross-reference it with incident reports. And the pattern that comes out...well, long story short, it’s too organized. Got to be coming from high command. Someone out of country, getting daily updates from every battalion. So my reaction’s like—go to the press. Blow that whistle.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Never got the chance.” It’s not cold, but he’s shivering, rough little spasms and shudders he can’t seem to bring under control. I rub the back of his neck, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Two weeks before I’m scheduled to rotate home, it’s me and Ferris again. Out on patrol. And that’s the last thing I know. One second I’m lacing my boot, the next, I’m in the middle of bumfuck nowhere—trussed up in a shed so abandoned it’s literally sinking into the sand. There’s, like, half a dune in this thing. Half a dune, me, and Ferris. And McHugh—Starkey’s boss.”
Jack suddenly leans forward. His chest heav
es, and he presses his hand to his mouth.
“Don’t fight it.”
“I’m okay.” He gags audibly and swallows twice. “Haven’t eaten. I’ll be fine.”
“Is this... Are you almost done?” I’m not sure how much more he can take.
“Yeah. Yeah. Almost done. We’re...we’re in the shed.” Jack licks his lips. “Ferris and McHugh, they want to know what I know. Names and dates. Who I’ve told. Who’s talking. Ferris has this bayonet, and he’s—” Jack gulps. “You don’t need to know.”
“Skip over that part.”
He gropes for my hand. “It’s getting dark. McHugh goes for a leak. And I think I’m hallucinating, because I hear voices out there. Him, Magnus, and Erik. Talking like...like they’re saying hi on the street. Ferris is laughing....” Jack laughs, too, and I’m not sure whether he’s imitating Ferris or going off the rails.
“It’s all right.”
“Mm.” He hangs his head between his knees, breathing through his nose. I rub his back till the shivers die down. “Sorry. I.... Never mind. I’m.... Just, that’s when I know I’m dead. Because Magnus and Erik are in on it—they’ve got to be. Playing both sides the whole time. So I headbutt Ferris. Got my hands tied, my feet...so I ram him. Only—only he ducks down, last second, and I run into his blade. He’s holding me up—actually holding me up by the bayonet—fuck...fuck!” He curls one arm over his belly, protecting his scar.
“Oh.... Jack!”
He hardly seems to hear me. “And Magnus is standing there, gears ticking over in that head of his. I can see him over Ferris’s shoulder. Looking from me to him, like... I thought he was scared. But I think he was trying to choose which of us.... Which of us to....”
“Keep breathing.”
Jack wheezes and chokes, sputters ungracefully. “I—just a second....” A coughing fit overtakes him, and he pounds his chest. It feels like forever before his breathing returns to normal. He wipes at his streaming eyes. “Well, that was dignified.”