Three lotd-1
Page 4
As quietly as he was able, Three dragged Fedor to a corner, where he lay down and rolled the giant corpse on top of himself. He shoved his arm under Fedor, leveled his pistol at the door. Waited. The scratching continued, intermittent but determined. Minutes stretched.
Three’s fingers began to tingle, nerves revolting against Fedor’s dead-weight pressure crushing down into his bicep. He rested his head on the cool marble floor, chastised himself for choosing this corner of the small room, where eyes would undoubtedly fall first. The collapsed pile of hardware was the better option. The confusion of the electronic debris, coupled with Fedor’s ragged form, would’ve bought precious seconds of advantage. Too late now. Three hoped he’d outlive this mistake.
He’d know soon enough. Finally, the door whirred, thunked. Three raised his head, just so his left eye could see over Fedor, finger tightening on the trigger. The door slid open. A tiny figure stood silhouetted at the entrance and quietly gasped. Wren. Cass appeared, saw the carnage, reflexively slipped her hand over Wren’s eyes. Too late. The little boy wouldn’t sleep well that night.
Three was relieved. The shock of Fedor’s damage had bought him the advantage after all. Cass only just now noticed him. He pushed Fedor off and sat up, holstering his pistol and massaging his arm. Cass turned Wren around and pushed him gently outside the cube. She returned, locked eyes with Three. For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, finally.
“How long…?” Cass started. She closed her eyes, swallowed, tried again. “How long have you been here?”
“Longer than I’d prefer,” Three answered. He got to his feet. “Sorry your boy had to see that.”
Cass opened her eyes and nodded, though what she meant to communicate with the gesture wasn’t clear. Three watched her for a moment, noted the throbbing vein in her slender neck, the fluttering eyelids in her too-often blink. Days-old weariness, offset by adrenaline. Or the quint. It was always tougher to read a Chemic. Three moved to the agent’s desk with a slight shrug.
“Where’s the agent?” she asked.
Three rummaged through the agent’s desk, and flicked his head to the corner where the agent lay. Cass glanced over, sighed heavily, disappointed.
“You?”
Three shook his head.
“Your friend, Fedor. He was waiting when I got here.”
Now Cass shook her head.
“That isn’t Fedor. That’s Kostya.”
Three gave Kostya another look. Eyes, cheekbone, jawline… even the hair was the same.
“Clones?” asked Three.
“Worse,” Cass replied. “Brothers… twins.”
Three let out a deep breath, then went back to his work.
“What’re you looking for?”
Three held up his reply: the agent’s biometrically-sealed cashbox. Cass watched as he moved to the agent’s cool form, and swiped stiffening fingers across the panel. The box hissed open, and Three let out a low whistle. It was full of Hard.
He ran a quick estimate. Twenty-five thousand, at least. Maybe thirty. Three counted out the three thousand he was due, unbuckled his vest, and secured the Hard inside. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cass lower her gaze to the floor.
Three placed the cashbox on the little agent’s lap, and folded the old man’s hands over the top. He stood, and moved to the door. Cass didn’t look up.
“What about the rest?” she asked, quietly.
“This,” Three said, tapping his vest where the Hard was concealed, “is mine. And I’m no thief.”
After a thought, he added, “But he sure doesn’t need it anymore.”
Three saw her eyelids flutter, eyes darting quickly to the box and back. Yeah. She was thinking about it.
“Why’d you come here?” Three asked.
Cass looked up, bottom lip just barely catching her teeth again, almost too fast to notice.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Her eyes flicked to Kostya’s torn remains, then to the agent, then back to Three. He saw the despondency closing in now, the last traces of hope slipping away, the final slender thread of courage and will strained and twisting, just before surrender. Even with Fedor and Kostya no longer hounding her she had a hunted look, and trapped. Not the smoldering ferocity of a cornered animal, but the resignation of one wounded, seeing the way out, knowing it would never reach it.
Ah. Kostya had been waiting here for her, not for him. Three felt relief, without realizing he’d been concerned about it before. Still…
Three leaned his head outside the cube, checked on Wren where he sat cross-legged, pulling at a stray thread at the bottom of his too-thin jacket. He was going to need something warmer before much longer. Probably needed it now.
“How many more of them are there?” Three asked, looking back and catching Cass’s eye again. She shrugged slightly, shaking her head. Three nodded.
“OK.”
He stepped out of the cube, and walked the length of the hall to the glass entryway, footsteps dull echoes in the stone corridor. Three gazed westward. The sun was disappearing out there, beyond the wall. He judged the distance.
It would be close. But it was possible.
“Get what you need,” Three called back down the long hall, without turning. “Then let’s go.”
The trio pressed through the alleyways, Three leading the woman and child along with a barely restrained urgency, like a wolfhound straining at its leash. She’d given up asking for explanations, or plans, or even for hints of where Three was leading them. She was out of options now, and they all knew it.
Three hesitated at every corner, every intersection, every stretch of open and unprotected ground they had to cover, but never for long. Streets were emptying as residents headed indoors with the setting sun. The few that remained were quick to avert their gazes from his intensity.
Finally, they reached their destination. The wall. Specifically, the Wall, where a small side-entrance stood guarded by a squat toll-booth-sized shelter. Two night watchmen manned it, and one stepped out to halt them.
“Sorry, folks. Not enough time left for you to get out tonight,” said the watchman. He was tall. Tall, but young; lanky.
“There’s enough for us to get out,” Three answered. “We don’t need to get back in.”
The tall guard looked them up and down, suspiciously.
“Naw,” he replied, without warmth. “Like I said. Not enough time.”
“Trust me,” said Three. “There is.”
“You in some kind of trouble here, miss?” asked the other guard, now emerging from the shelter. Three checked him. Older, rounder, soft, but gritty.
“No, sir,” Cass answered, too quickly. “We’re fine.”
The older watchman’s eyes roved back and forth over Cass and Wren. Three sized up both guards. Tall one was eager: he’d be the first to try something. But it was the older one he had to watch.
The older one grunted, exchanged a look with the taller. Not a look. The look.
“OK, well,” said the older guard, turning back towards his shelter. “Why don’t you folks just—”
Before he could finish, Three smashed his forearm across the back of the older guard’s neck, slamming the watchman’s face hard into the wall of the shelter. In the impact, something flew from the guard’s hand: stunrod.
In the same instant, Three had his pistol jammed under the jaw of the taller guard, forcing the young watchman’s head up and backwards.
“Open it, and then close it behind us,” Three snarled, teeth gritting in the older guard’s ear. “Or I’ll do it, and leave it open. All. Night.”
The older watchman remained silent through the blood pouring from his nose. Three could feel the tension in the man, like a viper coiled. Half a slip, and the tables would turn. But the taller one made whimpering, agreeable noises. When Three lowered the gun off him, he quickly bustled to the door and opened it. The door led into a darkened chamber: a small airlock within the wall. Three
pushed off the old watchman, floating his weapon fluidly between the two.
“Both doors,” Three growled.
The young watchman shook his head vigorously.
“It don’t work like that. You gotta get in, and shut this door. Then the other one can open, from the inside.”
Three started towards the guard, who stumbled backwards into the airlock, but there was no defiance there, only fear. Three knew he was telling the truth.
“Fine. Come on.”
Cass and Wren pushed into the chamber, and the watchman started to sidle out. Three flashed his gun, and teeth.
“No. You stay.”
The tall watchman looked to the old, color draining from his face. The older one paced closer; slow, determined, with barely restrained menace.
“Look. Whatever business you have leavin’ here at this time o’ day is your own,” said the older guard. “You leave him out of it.”
Three stared the man down, looked deep, and found steel. The old man had some bond with the taller guard. He wasn’t going to budge. Three ground his teeth. They were losing time.
A tense heartbeat, then another.
Finally, Three slid his gun back into its holster, gently, and motioned the young watchman out. Young slid behind old, wounded, frightened, sheltering behind the other’s strength. For a moment, Three wondered if they might be father and son.
“When this one shuts, it’ll take a minute,” said the old watchman, shutting the door before anyone could reply, and sealing the trio in complete darkness. Somewhere in the wall, gears ground, and a deep metallic thunk sounded; a heavy lock sliding into place.
Seconds became minutes. Still they sat. Trapped. Betrayed. Three reached for his pistol, not knowing what else to do.
Then, a hiss. A crack of ebbing light around the outer door. Three felt around, found a handle, pushed it down and outward, and the door swung open.
The dead city stretched out before them, as the last, dying rays of the sun deepened to red and purple.
“Stay with me,” Three said.
And he pushed out from the safety of the Wall, into the fast-approaching night.
Four
“We can’t—” Cass panted, “What’re you doing? We can’t go out there! Not now!”
Three whipped back, stared hard into the airlock where Cass and Wren huddled together. He spoke calmly, in low tones, but an animal ferocity lurked behind the words.
“Inside those walls, there’s nowhere left for you. Out here, with me, you have a chance.”
He watched her shift, glance around the inside of the airlock, look to Wren. He was right, and he knew she knew it. They couldn’t afford to debate.
“I’m leaving,” he said. “Now.”
Three turned, started on his way. “If you want to see the sunrise,” he called over his shoulder, “stay with me.”
He didn’t bother to look back. She and the kid would catch up. Or, if not, they wouldn’t be his problem anymore. He shook his head at that. They weren’t even his problem now, or wouldn’t be if he hadn’t inserted himself into whatever trouble they were in. He’d killed two men for them already, though, and he was past trying to figure out which side of the law they were on. They were on his side now, or he was on theirs. Whatever side it was, he had to believe it was the right one.
Footsteps hurried up behind, and Three couldn’t decide if he was glad to hear them. He’d have to wait and see, figure it out later, once he could tell for sure whether or not this was the thing that was going to get him killed.
The trio pressed on in silence, through the battered asphalt streets and concrete alleyways, gray labyrinthine walls pockmarked by uncounted years of neglect and decay. The day’s final rays of sunlight filtered low through the crumbling architecture, highlighting the particles that swirled in the approaching evening’s breeze, dust of the bygone: man’s only truly lasting legacy to the world. Three moved with a steady, urgent pace, one that Cass and Wren fought to keep. As long as they kept it, though, he didn’t care how much they struggled.
As the last glimpse of the sun finally dipped below the horizon, Three halted at an intersection, eyes searching north, then south, then north again. They had to be close. But close wouldn’t count once the sky was dark. His mind raced, trying to remember the details, while his eyes scoured their surroundings for any sign of what he was looking for.
“What is it?” he heard Cass say, her voice floating somewhere distant, background to his thoughts. “Why are we stopping?”
Three glanced up, found the maglev line, rusted and sagging, running back towards the enclave. North, he decided. Better to pick one and hope than to stand idle, indecisive.
He moved on again, northward, as the sky deepened its blue above them, and burned fiery orange at the horizon. Fifty meters. A hundred. Two hundred. Still no sign. He’d guessed wrong. They couldn’t make it now, not before…
There. Through an alley, he saw it. He checked the sky. Fifteen, twenty minutes. Maybe less.
“Come on.”
Three broke into a jog, heedless of the distance he was opening between himself and the others. He found the entrance to a small concrete building; short, squat, with its heavy steel door hanging rusted on it hinges. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cass huffing down the alleyway to catch up, Wren bouncing along piggyback, arms tight around her neck. Three set to work, alternately knocking rust from the hinges, and shoving inward on the door.
“What is this place?” Cass asked, lowering Wren to the ground. Her breathing surprised Three with its steadiness, its relative ease. They’d covered a lot of ground, for someone of her stature. He wondered how long she’d been carrying the boy, chastised himself for not noticing earlier. Only one set of footsteps instead of two. Should’ve caught that; heard it.
He didn’t bother to answer her. She’d see soon enough, and every second he spent explaining was another second lost. He knocked another layer of rust off the bottommost hinge, and threw himself into the door. It shrieked in the gathering dusk, the scream of disused metal, and bent inward an inch, perhaps two. Again, Three rammed his shoulder into the rusting steel. Again, an inch, no more. He turned, put his back against it, strained, teeth-gritting, felt the frozen hinges crack, but hold. He closed his eyes, willed the door to open, to no avail.
Then, next to him, firm, strong, warm against his shoulder — Cass. Her shoulder buried into the door, feet planted. Together now. Her strength surprised him. The door shrieked again: four inches, now eight. Cool, damp air flowed out from the heavy darkness within. Three and Cass reset themselves, readied for a final shove. Wren joined in, tiny hands spread on the door, hip-level to Three. Together, they forced the door open to nearly a foot. As the screeching echoes died away, a new call answered: shrill, distant, electric.
Cass spun, faced Three. He saw fright there, complete and constricting horror. She seized his arm, nails biting into his biceps even through his coat. They were too late. The Weir were abroad. Hunting.
A second digital scream sounded, still distant, but unmistakably closer. And a third, calling in answer. Three had brought the woman and her boy out here to protect them. And that was what he meant to do. He pried Cass from him, gripped her forearms in his fists.
“Listen,” he said, looking hard into her wet, vacantly staring brown eyes. There was no recognition there. “Hey! Hey!”
Cass’s eyes cleared, fixed on his.
“You can still make it. You and the boy. Get in there.”
He pushed her towards the opening, and then caught Wren by the shoulder, and shoved him to her.
“Go on, boy. You’ll fit.”
Wren stared wide-eyed at Three, at the darkness yawning from the doorway, at his shaken, trembling mother.
“Mama…?”
Another shriek, echoing down the alleyways, closer; much too close this time.
“Go, Wren, go, now baby,” Cass said, pushing Wren into the gap in the door. “I’m right behind you.”
Three remained in place, just holding out his hand to her.
“Take this.”
Cass looked down at the chemlight laid across his palm. Her eyes darted back to his, understanding. She shook her head vigorously, but he cut her off, twisting the top of the light, igniting it, thrusting it towards her.
“Take it! Follow the stairs all the way; all the way to the bottom,” Three spoke rapidly now, directing, commanding. “Once you’re there—”
Back down the alley, a pair of electronic shrieks called, responded. Fifty meters away, or maybe twenty. The way sound bounced through the cement corridors made it hard to know for certain. Three saw Cass start to slip again.
“Hey, are you listening?”
She refocused, nodded.
“When you’re at the bottom, follow the pipes to the first alcove you find, get in it, and kill the light.”
He felt her hand on his, half-closed around the chemlight.
“What about you?” she asked. He glanced back down the alleyway, back the way they had come. At the far end, a faint blue light shone, sweeping, searching. He looked back to Cass.
“If I don’t get to you by sun-up, head north.”
He slipped his hand out from under hers, and pushed her gently back. Then, grasping the door handle, Three pulled with adrenaline-fueled strength, and sealed Cass and Wren inside.
As the rolling echoes from the slamming door died off, Cass found herself standing in a pool of pale yellow light at the top of a cement landing, with Wren wrapped tightly around her leg. For a moment, she considered pressing an ear to the door, but the urgent directions sprang to mind, and she thought better of it. She reached down, and took Wren’s hand.
“Come on, baby,” she soothed, annoyed at the tremble in her own voice. “We need to head down… there.”