At the end of the hall, she stopped in front of the incinerator’s TWR. She sent the thought for it to open, and a gleaming metal door slid open on the burner. An incinerator stood on every other floor of each residential building. It was easier that way. She unclipped the harness and stepped out of it. Unzipping the bag, she took one last look at the man and his head wound. Then she rolled him into the furnace and commanded the door to slide back, closing him inside. She sent the mental command to burn. She packed up the body bag, straps, and harness, returning them to her tool bag.
At the exit door, she used the TWR to open it, and a gust of hot air swept over her from the outside.
She didn’t see the men until the outside door hissed closed behind her. Then she saw them, one at the end of the street, the other only a dozen feet away, staring at her. The closer one pulled out a gleaming metal tool and advanced. She recognized the black uniform, the armbands with the red insignia, the wide-brimmed hats worn low over their eyes. They were Repurposers, and they’d come for her.
Chapter 5
For a terrifying moment H124 froze. The man with the gleaming tool met her eyes. His face was unnaturally pale, dark eyes glistening beneath a crop of short black hair. His black suit blended in with the shadows, and his face seemed to glow. The other Repurposer moved behind him, two more joining them from the shadows. She stood at the top of the cement stairs, a metal railing at her back.
The men advanced, and she forced her feet to move. Turning, she vaulted over the railing and landed hard on the asphalt beneath. She cracked her knee, but got to her feet quickly, taking off. Her tool bag slammed against her side. It was too heavy. She thought of ditching it, but she couldn’t lose what she’d found.
Ahead of her towered the other residential buildings of New Atlantic. Her ability to use the TWRs would get her into any of them, but she knew that the Repurposers used them, too. They’d be able to see that someone had passed through the door recently, and could use it to track her. She wondered if they were tracking her even now through her PRD. She pulled it out of her pocket and switched it off.
She had to think of something, maybe find a door that didn’t require a TWR to open. She knew that would be more likely in the older part of town, so she raced east. The city’s floating light orbs provided scant illumination above her, casting everything in a sickly orange glow.
Her boots pounded on the pavement, the noise alarmingly loud to her. They’d hear her. She chanced a look behind and saw the three running in the shadows, closing in. She darted down an alley between two of the residential skyscrapers, the stench of uncompacted trash assailing her senses.
Normally the trash dispensers came through and destroyed the garbage nightly, but they must not have come through yet. She leaped over the waste, smelling offal and excrement and blood. The end of the alley branched off into three separate passages. She shot left, trying to keep buildings between her and her pursuers.
The bag slammed against her back as she ran. She wasn’t going to make it if she didn’t ditch it. She rounded a corner, then another, heading deep into the labyrinth of residential complexes. She turned every chance she got so she wouldn’t be in the men’s direct line of sight.
Her lungs gulped for air. Why did they want her? What had she done wrong? Did they know she’d taken a break from her work and explored under the man’s living pod?
Her foot skidded on something slimy in the trash heaps, and she went down hard on her back. The bag swung to the side, the strap twisting on her neck. Up ahead she saw an alcove in the wall, an old battered metal door without an electronic lock. She scrabbled to her feet and ran for it. She pushed its battered handbar, but it was locked. She ran ahead, pressed against the wall behind a mound of trash, and listened. The footsteps were close, but she’d gained ground on her pursuers. They must have taken a few wrong turns. She kept running, turning left and right so many times, she knew she’d have to use her PRD if she ever wanted to navigate back to her quarters.
Then it hit her.
She could never go back to her quarters.
Her life as she’d known it was over.
If these men caught her, she would never be the same again. She’d be one of those wiped automatons she’d seen in the underbelly of the warehouse she lived in. Button pushers. Vacant stares. Complacent. Unaware.
Panic bloomed in her chest, and suddenly she didn’t know where to go. She’d had nightmares like this before, running and running from some terrible evil, never able to gain enough ground. Never able to get away. She could hear the men’s footfalls, closer now, and she turned down another alley. At the end, an old metal door stood open a crack. She raced to it, finding it rusted and loose on its hinges. She didn’t know what lay beyond. But she had to stop, had to catch her breath and figure out where to go. She stepped into the shadows and quietly swung the door closed behind her. Her grasping hands found a deadbolt on the inside of the door, and she engaged it.
As blackness took over her world, she ran her hands along rough brick. She had her headlamp, but she didn’t dare switch it on. She didn’t want the men to see the light under the door. Her groping hands found another door, but it was locked. She heard the men run by. They didn’t try the door.
Her chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her side burned with the effort of running. She slid her tool bag off her shoulder and felt around the contents. She tossed out as much as she could—her cleaning supplies went first, followed by the body bag. She kept the rope, the harness, her headlamp, her multitool. She could feel the cold, round discs she’d found, along with the small plastic and metal devices. She zipped them up safely in an inner pocket. Now her bag weighed much less, so she slung it over her head, then tightened the strap securely against her.
She listened, waiting for the men to come by again, terrified to hear the rattling of the doorknob as they tried it. But it didn’t come.
Her own body finally quieted, and her breathing eased. Her heart slowed. Then she heard something else. Someone was breathing, only feet away.
She grabbed her headlamp and flicked it on. Crouching against the same wall she leaned against was a male about her age. But she’d never seen anyone like him. He met her gaze, his blue eyes bright and sharp beneath a crop of short, spiky blond hair. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, as evidenced by the golden whiskers on his jawline. Colorful tattoos covered his tanned arms. She’d seen tattoos before, but they were always utilitarian, like marking the location of someone’s living pod. But these were elaborate, decorative . . . beautiful. His clothes were ragged and artistic, sewn together from different pieces of cloth. He wore knee-high black boots over a ripped pair of red pants, and a black tank top that clung to his muscular frame.
She stared, not saying a word.
He smiled.
She heard distant footsteps, and he brought one finger to his lips in the universal symbol for quiet. He reached out and touched the lamp she was holding. She switched it off. She could feel his warm fingers touching hers. The men ran by. This time they did try the door, rattling the doorknob. But the deadbolt held, and they moved on. She heard one shout, “Split up!” and the footsteps faded away, heading off in different directions. When they were gone, she switched the light back on. He removed his hand, stood up, and slung a tattered gray canvas backpack over one shoulder. Cautiously he went to the door. He opened it, glanced both ways, then turned to her.
She stared at him there in the doorway. His tanned face was not the lax, apathetic face of a citizen, and he had no head jack. He grinned at her once more and entered the alley, closing the door behind him.
She was too scared to move. She switched off her light and huddled in the darkness. Before long she realized he wasn’t coming back. She switched the deadbolt back to its locked position and waited.
Minutes dragged by. When a half hour had passed, she knew she’d eluded the men, at least for no
w.
But she couldn’t go home.
She had no idea where to go.
Where had that guy gone? What was he doing, hiding here?
She thought of the discs in her bag, of what she’d learned in that forgotten building. She had to warn someone.
When what felt like an hour had passed, she stood up, her legs aching from sitting tensely for so long. She unlatched the deadbolt and peered out.
Beyond lay the city, and gleaming in the distance rose the Tower, the spire that housed media operations. It was far. She didn’t know exactly how far, but miles for certain. But if she could make it there, maybe someone would listen. They could call off the Repurposers when they heard what she had to say. Surely this was more important than her taking a break from her duties. This was something that would change the face of the earth forever.
Peering down the alley both ways, H124 emerged from her hiding place. She let the door close behind her, and ran for the Tower.
Chapter 6
She darted down the alley, listening at each corner for sounds of the Repurposers. It seemed she’d lost them—for now, at least. She ran on, knowing it would take at least an hour to make it to the Tower.
The residential complexes stretched on and on. She’d never known there were so many. This was the longest she’d ever been outside, the farthest she’d ever traveled. She knew she was at least two miles away from her living quarters.
The air hung like a wet weight, so heavy she sweated from every pore. Her shirt clung to her, and her feet swam in her work boots. Above the skyshield, the gray clouds of the night sky hung low, their undersides lighted by the orange wash of the city lights. The streets lay empty. She wasn’t surprised. At this hour, only a corpse cleaner like herself would be out. The laundry, food, cleaning crews, all would have finished by now. An electric buzz hung in the air, filling the silence.
As she ran past the residential skyscrapers, she tried to count how many people must live in each, then how many buildings stretched to the horizon. Would anyone notice her? Help her? Every few blocks, she passed industrial complexes like the one she lived in, massive warehouses that contained the laundry, food-making, and baby facilities, as well as the living quarters of other workers. The dull throb of machinery thudded outward from these buildings, the ever-present deafening cacophony of laboring equipment, hidden away from the residential buildings, all that menial labor out of sight of the residents.
She sped on, navigating by the landmark of the Tower. She passed another industrial building. Light poured out from an open door, and she felt the blast of heat from clothes dryers working overtime just inside the entrance. Her body ached for a drink of water, but she forced herself onward.
As she passed the mouth of an alley, she heard something move behind her. She staggered forward as someone struck her in the back of the head. Blistering pain erupted inside her skull, and she went down hard on one knee, collapsing on the hot asphalt. Hands grabbed her arms and pulled her down the alley. More hands grabbed her legs, and she felt herself propelled forward, into the dark shadows of the stinking, trash-filled back street. Her head throbbed in pain as she fought a grogginess that stole over her body. Her limbs felt like great manacles held them, and though she tried to thrash, her dull headache slowed her reflexes.
“Place her down here!” one of her captors said. She turned her head to see the same dark-haired Repurposer she’d seen before. Sweat streamed down his face from under the brim of his hat, and his dark eyes glistened eagerly. He pulled out the gleaming tool, switching it on. The anticipation in his eyes chilled her. This was not just a job to him. He enjoyed this.
“Should we blast her first?” another asked, reaching for his energy discharge weapon.
“Then she wouldn’t be awake,” the dark-haired one said simply. He had the air of their commander. “Hold her down!”
Her head started to clear. She craned her neck around as they pinned her down on her stomach. Four men gathered around her, all dressed in the dark uniform of the Repurposers: the efficient, tight-fitting suits, the shiny shoes . . . She kicked the one holding her legs square in the face. His nose erupted in a crimson spray, and he fell backward.
“What the hell are you doing?” their commander barked to him. “Get up!”
He struggled to grab her legs again as she tried to wrench free from the men holding her arms. Panic seized her as she felt the man grab her feet again.
“Sit on her!” the commander shouted. She felt a crushing weight as the man pinning her left arm sat down on her rib cage, forcing all the air out of her lungs.
Now the leader came forward with the tool. He revved its tiny motor, and she heard the whir of the bone saw inside it. He was going to cut right through her skull. She thrashed her arms, flailed her legs, bucked her hips, and tossed her head around. As her head connected with the leader’s hand, he almost lost hold of the tool. Cursing, he grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her face down hard against the asphalt. She fought with everything in her, hands thrashing against the pavement until they bled.
She felt the cold metal of the tool connect with her scalp. A searing pain cut through her skin.
Then a swift boot appeared, and the tool went flying. She heard a grunt. The leader flew backward, slamming against a brick wall. The weight off her back vanished, and she lifted her head as the Repurposer slammed back against the wall. The man holding her legs cried out, and suddenly she was free.
She punched the last man holding her right arm, sending him crashing onto his back. She was up, braced to fight.
Standing in front of her, holding one of the men in a head lock, was the tattooed stranger. As the Repurposer struggled in his grip, another came toward him. The stranger wrenched his elbow upward, cinching tighter around the man’s neck. She heard the snap of bone, and the man slumped lifeless at the stranger’s feet.
Against the far wall, the leader leaped up. She faced him, expecting his men to jump her all at once. But the man on the opposite wall ran for the end of the alley, vaulting over a fence there. Another followed. The leader watched them go, eyes enraged, then turned to her.
He brushed off his jacket and calmly bent down, picking up the shiny metal tool. “I might have to do more than Repurpose you,” he said, walking toward her. “I might have to accidentally botch the operation.”
Fear shot through her like an electric jolt. Her mouth went dry, her limbs heavy as cement bags. He didn’t even acknowledge the outsider. The tattooed stranger stepped over the fallen Repurposer and stood next to her. She could smell him when a gust of hot wind hit them, a curious mix of unidentifiable spices, sweat, and an earthy scent. The leader took in his fallen worker, then gazed slowly up at the blond-haired stranger.
“I have no interest in you, wastrel. Go back to whatever sewer you crawled out of.”
He advanced on H124, but she fought the urge to bolt, knowing he’d only catch up to her again, bringing more reinforcements. But she’d never fought in her life before tonight. He came forward, and she stepped back, keeping a safe distance while she figured out what to do. The tattooed stranger did the same. Then hands grabbed her from behind. The two men had circled, not run away. The leader sneered. One of the men grabbed the stranger, but he bucked him off, whirling around and kicking him in the face. H124 kicked out as the leader approached, landing a solid boot right to his knee. He went down hard, cursing. She thrashed, trying to throw off the man who held her arms. His fingers dug into her flesh as he held onto her relentlessly. The stranger’s attacker had recovered, holding on to his ruined nose. Blood streamed through his fingers. The outsider charged, sending the bleeding man sprawling into a fetid pile of garbage.
As the leader advanced, bringing up the tool, while the other man held her head still, H124 saw a blur of motion. The stranger leaped up onto the leader’s back, twisting his body around. She saw genuine shock seep over the co
mmander’s face as he fell back, arms flailing. The stranger grabbed the gleaming tool and pressed the trigger all the way. The machine whirred to life, flashing light from one end. The stranger brought it to the leader’s chest. H124 watched in horror as the bone saw cut through the man’s clothes and rib cage, and hit his heart with a violent crimson spray. The leader fell limp.
The stranger stood up, tool in hand. Releasing her from his grip, the man who was holding her turned and ran down the alley. The other one picked himself up from the garbage, nose seeping blood, and limped after his partner.
“The commander’s dead!” one shouted into his PRD as he retreated.
“We need backup,” yelled the other. “Now!”
H124 stood in the alley, alone with the stranger. He tucked the Repurposing tool into his satchel and glanced around at the carnage.
He then rummaged through the clothing of the two bodies, removing their PRDs. He looked up, meeting her eyes. A pleasant thrum buzzed through her, his gaze a visceral force.
“You have to get out of here,” he said. “Stay in the shadows. Leave the city. It’s not safe for you now. You’ve been marked.”
Shattered Roads Page 3