’Til the World Ends

by Julie Kagawa, Ann Aguirre, Karen Duvall

  “Did you think they bribed her?” It was an awkward question, but he had been surprised to find her body; he’d expected to find a living woman to blame.

  He tensed. “It was a possibility.”

  “Were you coming to...deal with her?” I meant execute, and he knew it.

  “It doesn’t matter now.” His frozen expression hinted at so many things.

  I took that as a yes. It was good that he hadn’t been forced to kill the woman. Such trauma drove people crazy. Part of me wished I could believe he wouldn’t have done it, no matter how she’d wronged him, but Snake Ward made monsters out of people on a daily basis.

  Bending, I examined her body, and in her closed palm, I found a scrap of paper. It was the note Thorne had sent with the messenger, warning her to clear out. Crammed in her mouth, I found another, clearly a gesture of scorn from her killers. The words were smudged, written in a nearly illegible scrawl with no punctuation or capital letters, but I could make out the gist. I crushed it in my hand, unable to believe what I was seeing.

  i know where he is come see me we’ll make a deal.

  She’d called Stavros’s dogs, trying to benefit from Thorne’s warning. I’d never had this feeling before, but it was so powerful, it had to be hate. I was glad the bitch was dead. If her recent actions spoke of her character, then she’d done unspeakable things when he was a child.

  “Do I even need to ask what that says?” he asked mockingly.

  “Thorne, you can’t pretend this doesn’t matter. She was your mother.”

  He raised a skeptical brow. “Do you want to hear about my childhood then?”

  “If it will help.”

  His expression intensified, left me feeling as if I stood in a beam of sunlight. “Keep staring at me with those soulful eyes, and I’ll decide you want me to kiss you.”

  For a few seconds, I fell into the fantasy. Even with bruised face, split lips and wrecked knee, he wouldn’t be a tender lover; he’d be fierce and demanding, a little ruthless.

  So not for me.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Maybe later.”

  “Then, tempting as the offer of counseling is, we’d better burn the body and move on.”

  With chagrin I realized he was right. “Stavros might’ve left men in the area.”

  “I hate to ask, but...” Thorne canted his head toward the corpse.

  Funerals were often informal. There were no services to handle them, and people disposed of their dead as best they could. It was a kindness that he didn’t intend to leave her to be eaten by parasites and carrion feeders. Of course I’d help. Together, we built a fire, using the shack itself. That, too, seemed fitting. Nobody would move into her home after she’d gone.

  “We can’t stay to see her consumed,” he said, after it was done. “It would take too long.”

  I nodded. “I’m surprised they haven’t doubled back yet.”

  “Ironically, this will speed the process. Most of them have mothers, too.”

  Fortunately, the populace wouldn’t know how evil she had been. Word would spread about the woman’s murder, not that she had been the devil in female skin. As I aided him to the bike, I said, “I’m sorry about yours.”

  His reply was so faint that I almost didn’t hear it. “Me, too. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “How did you end up working for Stavros?” I had a terrible hunch.

  His mouth quirked. “Isn’t it obvious? She sold me to him.”

  There was nothing I could say to that.

  Our next stop was somebody who owed Thorne a favor. I ran in, collected a bag, and hurried back out. As long as we kept moving, Stavros would receive conflicting reports on our location. But that mobility kept Thorne from resting his leg or getting any treatment at all. Doubtless he thought keeping it crooked up on the bike was good therapy.

  “If you don’t have anywhere for us to go, I do.”

  “Where? Is it nearby?” The strain in his voice made it obvious he needed to rest.

  “Yeah.” I gave him directions to my hidey-hole.

  I used this one often when a job went south and I had angry owners gunning for me. Under those circumstances I never went home. The kids could be used as leverage against me, so I only returned when I was sure I was free and clear. This felt a little like giving Thorne the keys to my kingdom, but I didn’t see many other options.

  It’s only one, I told myself. You have more. Like one where Nat and the kids are laying low.

  He parked behind the building, which looked as if it would collapse any second. That was the beauty of the place. Inside, it was much better. The door was impossible to open, seemingly rusted shut—unless you knew the trick. And I did. With judicious push-pull pressure and perfectly timed jiggling, it creaked open, revealing a musty space with random odds and ends. This had been a theater once, long since fallen to mice and dust, since the people who’d paid to see shows only watched them in the fortresses now. The rest of us didn’t have time for such things.

  Our progress was slow as I checked my traps. Eventually we reached safety. I had no idea what this small room had been used for, maybe storage. My sanctuary wasn’t as well-equipped as his, but I had built a nest out of old fabric and torn curtains; it was more comfortable than it looked. I supported Thorne, moving with him to the pallet, and I knelt beside him. His face was ashen by the time he settled, back against the wall.

  “I don’t have anything for the pain. Let me get what I do have.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten, but dehydration was the more pressing problem. Fingers crossed that my emergency supply hadn’t been looted. I gave him the gun I’d taken off the thugs; he held it as if he knew what to do. With luck, he wouldn’t need it.

  Nimbly, I went out a window and scrambled up the rusty metal staircase affixed to the side. Part of it had broken away, so climbing to the roof required springing off from the wall and pulling myself up with my arms. The effort left me dizzy. I hadn’t cared for my body well enough to tax it this way.

  When I saw my supplies still in place, I punched the air in triumph. Years past, my father had taught me a simple water purification trick: you only needed a container to catch the rain, a black roof and plastic bottles. If you took rainwater, put it in a clear plastic bottle, and left it sitting in the sun on a dark, hot surface, the heat was enough to make it safe to drink. Therefore, there was still clean water, left from my last visit. The roof was a safe place to store them, too; few looters could get up here. I stuffed the bottles in the loose waist of my pants, then retraced my steps.

  Chapter Ten

  “Who’s your new favorite person?” I asked, tossing Thorne a drink.

  “You, of course.” As I shut and fastened the door behind me, Thorne unscrewed the cap and took a long drink. “There’s food in my bag.”

  “Really?”

  We made a meal of the dried meat and my sun-warmed water, more than I’d had in two days. I sighed in relief as I rubbed my stomach. Hopefully Nat had enough to stretch to four instead of two. Soup was a good bet, as you could add water and cook it a little longer. The facilities in the bolthole I’d directed her to were primitive, but at least they would be safe. I imagined Al staring soulfully at Nat while Elodie told Irena stories about Junkland’s mythical lost treasure, riches enough to let an outsider buy her way into a fortress, where there was hot food every day and clean air to breathe.

  After we ate, I moved over beside him. “Want me to check your leg?”

  “And do what?”

  “I’ve been looking out for my sibs for three years. I know something about injuries.”

  “Go ahead. But do be gentle.” His mocking tone returned, as he referred to the last time I’d touched him kindly.

  With some effort, I folded his pant leg over his knee. The joint was swollen, and bruises were already forming. I tore some cloth from the nest into strips and wrapped it tightly for support. Then I piled more fabric beneath his leg to elevate it.
By the time I finished, he wore a bemused look.

  “What?”

  “You’re mothering me. I don’t know that I ever have been mothered.”

  “Not even—” I caught myself and broke off, as the woman who’d lived in that shack hadn’t exuded maternal instinct.

  She sold him to Stavros. Twice. Frankly, her death hadn’t been painful enough.

  “Especially not her.”

  Not knowing what to say, I changed the subject. “Is that better?”

  He was pulling his pants down over the bandage. “Yes. It should help with the swelling.”

  “It’s all I can do without medicine or ice.”

  Thorne laughed. “Where would you get either one?”

  Stavros probably had an old cooling unit, powered by juice stolen from Erinvale. The rest of us had never even seen ice. But for the former, I had a connection.

  “An herbwife lives on my block.” I hoped Edgar had warned Seline, and she was safe. “Her people have been making remedies for centuries. I can’t afford to trade for much, but her arnica cream is really good. I have some at home.”

  “Do any of your neighbors plant?”

  Some did, if they could find clean earth, but the problem was, you couldn’t always tell what was contaminated just by looking. Some chemicals didn’t have color or odor, but they’d poison the food just the same, so people died of sickness, not starvation. There was a man in Burn Ward who had a kit to test samples, but that involved a lengthy journey with no guarantee of productive outcome. Most people preferred to scavenge.

  “One guy has a bathtub garden.”

  “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long without help.”

  “It’s hard,” I said honestly.

  There was no point in pretending otherwise. If he had eyes, he knew what life was like for most. He got luxuries and privileges due to working for Stavros...and if he succeeded in this coup, he’d claim everything the man had stolen. Bossmen could make things easier for people in their wards, but they almost never did.

  The rest of that afternoon, we rested. Whether Thorne admitted it or not, he was in no shape to ride. It indicated his discomfort when he didn’t protest over hiding. We both slept in my nest, and I woke, disoriented, to find him watching me. His pale eyes shone in the dim light.

  “Are you all right?” I asked groggily.

  “Yeah.” That wasn’t an illuminating answer. Especially because he kept staring at me. “Are you familiar with the mouse and lion fable?” he added.

  “No. But I gather I’m the mouse in this scenario?”

  “You aren’t a lion.” Unexpectedly he smiled. “But the mouse saves the day in the end with her small, sharp teeth.”

  “I don’t know how to take that. Did I bite you in my sleep?”

  “Do you want to?”

  I froze. Some men liked it when you got scared. I didn’t think Thorne was one of those, but I didn’t make any sudden moves, either. If it came down to it, I could kick his bad leg and run.

  Somehow I made my tone nonchalant. “You must be bored.”

  “A little. But I’m starting to get the idea you’re not interested.”

  “You’re beautiful,” I said. “You must know that. But I’m not in the market for a man.”

  I hoped he wouldn’t take it wrong. Our partnership might continue for a while. To my surprise, he fixated on the first part, not the polite rejection.

  “Beautiful, am I?”

  “Very.” I stroked his vanity gladly in lieu of other things.

  He touched his scarred cheek in reflex, as if he thought it made him ugly. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The mark identified him as strong in a world where the weak perished. If I wanted a man in my life, I’d look for one who could take care of himself. I was relieved when he let the matter drop.

  Instead, thereafter, we laid plans...and when he felt up to it, we would implement them.

  * * *

  For days, we played with Stavros’s men. Word on the street was, we had become a symbol, along with Thorne’s martyred mother. If he didn’t crush us, others would follow our example and defy him. Thorne was impatient with my admonitions to rest. It was important that they see us but be unable to catch us.

  So we made regular supply runs, trading Thorne’s stockpiled treasures for food, and my water filtration system kept us from going thirsty. People were nervous and shifty when we made the deals because it meant they could expect a visit from Stavros’s thugs thereafter. Those with fixed stalls caught the worst of the abuse, so we stopped buying from them. Fortunately, Thorne knew several mobile markets, where folks bartered and moved on. There was no way to manage or dominate a migrant population entirely. Like rats in the walls, these folks had to be found before Stavros could crush them, and many knew Snake Ward better than the bossman.

  Thorne bent beside his bike, peering at the ground. “The next meet’s at Hazmat Square.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “It’s one of the few useful things my mother taught me.” At my look, he explained, “Street people have always had a secret language. It used to mean simple things...like good water, danger, free food. It’s more complex now. Messages are passed this way.”

  Fascinated, I crouched by him, wondering what he saw in the circles, angles and slash marks. I’d known there were permanent nomads; some people didn’t see the point in defending a squat. It was easier to scavenge if you were mobile, but the kids made that prospect impossible. Maybe when they were older, I’d give up our home ground and move on.

  “What does it say?”

  He pointed to two small, conjoined circles. “This means don’t give up.”

  “And that?” I indicated a long box with a dot in the center of it.

  “Danger.”

  It was dangerous, all right. Some might argue it was even suicidal, taunting Stavros this way. But there were whispers of revolt, too. People said he’d gone too far killing somebody’s mother, who had cooperated with him. Those folks didn’t live long. But making examples of those who opposed him only fed into the idea that it would be better for Snake Ward if somebody else took over. Via the grapevine, I’d heard that Edgar was leading the campaign, spreading gossip as fast as people could talk. There would never be a zone without a bossman running it, but he didn’t have to be crazy. At the free markets, we heard all the gossip.

  I looked forward to hearing today’s news, even as I feared it. If I didn’t get home soon—

  No point in borrowing trouble. I already had more than I could handle.

  Chapter Eleven

  At Hazmat Square, so named because there had been a chemical spill some fifty years before, they were already setting up the market. In the distance, I glimpsed the smog-blurred lines of the Erinvale fortress. Its hulking shape dominated the skyline, dwarfing the old and broken buildings left from the Computer Age. Decades ago, quakes had shaken through as a result of environmental fuckery, destroying most of the infrastructure. Failure to issue a timely emergency response and then to rebuild had resulted in the various wards, all over the Red Zone.

  Apart from rare junkets to Junkland, I had never left Snake Ward. I’d visited migrant markets before, not often, because I didn’t know the street signs. So when I found them, it was as a result of word-of-mouth. Instead, I traded with people who set up squats and stalls, running their business in one place. Middlemen, who didn’t give me as good a trade as I might get here.

  I watched as the peddlers set out their wares. Often they just had a bag or basket. Occasionally sellers had vehicles, converted to solar energy like Thorne’s. After seeing their freedom, which made moving between wards feasible, obtaining a ride of my own became my chief ambition.

  “Nice,” Thorne said, catching me admiring a four-seater. “Lots of skill went into that retrofit.”

  “How much would something like that cost?”

  “You’d just have to find something the owner wanted more.”

  True. W
hich made trading complicated. If you asked about an item, it flagged the vendor that you were interested, so they knew to price it high. But if you didn’t ask, you had no idea what they were looking for. I’d probably never find anything valuable enough to swap for a vehicle anyway, but I could dream. Sometimes that was all you had left; and it was why I tried not to crush Elodie’s fantasy of unearthing a lost treasure in Junkland.

  He led me over to the local mouth, a grizzled old man named Lefty. “What’s the word?”

  “There was a fight over’t Stavros’s place. ’Pears one of his men questioned his decisions.”

  “Casualties?” Thorne asked.

  “Just one. Fella named Mike.”

  He had been quiet, as I recalled. His partner, Henry, had said he wouldn’t get involved in this mess, but Mike had. I expected to feel guilty; the feeling didn’t come. Mike had made his choices, knowing the risks. He’d opted to speak up rather than watch Stavros run amok. Maybe it wouldn’t comfort his family, but in my book, he died a hero.

  Beside me, Thorne was silent. Lefty chattered on about disputes, territory scuffles and all notable migrations into Snake Ward. When the old guy stopped, Thorne paid him in food, the way most mouths eked out a living. Lefty served a dual purpose, too. The next thug who stopped him would receive a report on our most recent locale, which would lead to a raid on Hazmat Square, but the market should be long gone by then. That was the problem relying on street talk when tracking somebody down. As long as the quarry kept moving, it was hard to catch them.

  Them, meaning us.

  When we walked off, I touched Thorne’s arm to get his attention. “Was Mike a friend?”

  “Yeah,” he answered tersely.

  “Still worth it?”

  He fixed a hard stare on me. “Mari, if you knew half of what Stavros has done, you wouldn’t even ask.”

  Huh. Maybe it wasn’t wholly about power. I remembered what Henry had said about Veronica, and I wondered about her. Thorne didn’t strike me as a hero who cared only about making things better for others, but there was nothing wrong with combining community service with personal advancement. He’d lost folks in this fight already—his mother, Mike—and there might be more fatalities before we finished.