City of Savages

by Lee Kelly

I force myself to think beyond my own wants, to what’s really most important. Getting Ryder and his brother out of that hotel. Regardless of whether I get to have Ryder forever, or if I ever even see him again.

  “They don’t have to come back with us. You could let them go to the boat they have, in Brooklyn. You could let them sail away. I told you what the Standard does. You can’t leave them—”

  “Stop blubbering,” Rolladin mutters.

  She snaps the reins of the horse and we break into a gallop. The cement gives way to cobblestones, the streets dividing and narrowing as we dance towards doom. Clip-clop, clip-clop.

  “You’re just a kid,” she says. “There’ll be other boys. Other lovers.”

  And the way she says this, so cold and removed, angers me more than her words themselves. “Right,” I say bitterly.

  I think of the Rolladin, or Mary, in Mom’s journal. The one who’d do anything for my mother. The one who worked over the enemy from the inside out to give us a home in this city. The one who built a world of lies to keep us here. “So there were others for you?”

  But Rolladin doesn’t answer me, just grunts and kicks the horse in response.

  “Stop here,” she calls to the guards, once we’ve reached 13th Street. She pulls the reins taut, and we trot over to the black rusted stairs leading to the High Line, the shadows of the raised platform shielding us from the Standard’s view. “Tie the horses. We’ll scale the hotel from the fire escape, and each take a floor. We take no prisoners but the ones we came for.”

  The guards grunt in assertion.

  Rolladin flips open the flap of her saddlebag and pulls out a folded red rifle, fills it with bullets, then snaps it back into one piece. Some lords dislodge red handguns from their boots and pockets, while others dust off old painted axes and knives and death tools I’ve never even read about before.

  The spoils of war.

  The last of Manhattan’s weapons.

  “Wait on the stairs.” Rolladin pulls me into the shadows of the High Line. “You are not to move, you hear me?”

  “I could come,” I say carefully. “If you gave me a weapon, maybe I could help.”

  Rolladin looks at me, as if she’s sizing me up. “All right, give me the extra handgun,” she finally says, to no one in particular.

  Lory steps forward and pulls a long, thin gun from the folds of her warlord cloak. She hands it to Rolladin, who, palms extended, hands it to me. “It took guts coming back to the Park,” she says. It’s the first, and likely last, compliment I’ll ever get from Rolladin. “Stand guard outside the lobby. A ways down the High Line—be smart about it. You see one Standard freak try to escape, you shoot them in the arm, or the leg. Or the head, for all I care. Far as I see it, this is war.”

  Then Rolladin nods and motions for her guards and me to follow her onto the High Line. We quickly and quietly file up the stairs.

  As the warlords stealthily pour onto the hotel’s fire escape, I fidget on the edges of the High Line’s overgrown grass. Every worry and terror I can think of slithers out of the cement and coils around my legs, then up my stomach, to my throat.

  I clutch the gun to my chest and pledge that Rolladin will do what needs to be done. That if it comes to it, I’ll do what needs to be done.

  God, if you exist, if you watch and guard this mess of a city, let my family all walk out of here.

  47 PHEE

  I wake up to gunshots. Quick, hungry pops outside the door—one! two! three!—and then yelling and banging on the doors, up and down the hall. Trev’s body jumps at the sound. We’ve been lying here awhile. All traces of dawn outside the glass walls are gone, and the pillows and covers are damp with sweat.

  The gunshots make me think of my own little handgun. I haven’t seen it since I got here, and after the shots in the hall, I feel naked without a weapon. Who has it? Sam? Ryder? Wren?

  We hear grunts and groans as something heavy, like a piece of furniture, slides across the carpeted hall on the other side of our door. An army of fists pummels my door and shakes it from its hinges.

  “Everyone out,” I hear through the banging. It’s a voice that sounds weirdly familiar. “Everyone up and out!”

  “What’s going on?” Trevor turns around and faces me.

  “Put your shoes on,” I tell him. ”We’re gonna find out.”

  We both walk down the short entryway and open the door.

  The hallway’s littered with people. I’ve never realized how many Standard drones were on my hall. Didn’t any of them hear me screaming last night?

  I look at the tired faces—a long row of empty eyes. Bodies that feel nothing. Eyes that witness nothing.

  I don’t know whether I hate them or pity them.

  “Everyone should know better than to play games,” the voice hollers again from around the corner of the hall. “We’ll check each room to make sure you’re not hiding them.”

  And then, pulling a turn around the corner, is Lory.

  Lory, the guard from our Park.

  Lory the freaking whorelord.

  I’m positive I’m hallucinating again, that I’m picturing walking, talking memories. But before I can close my eyes and focus, Trev grabs my hand.

  “Phee, they must have come for us,” he whispers.

  But I’m not afraid. Anything would be better than this hellhole—even the primate tower. So I step into the middle of the hall with one arm above my head, and I tug Trevor into the hallway alongside me. We’re square in front of Lory, like we’re about to begin a 65th Street fight. Only this time, there won’t be any contest. We’ve already surrendered.

  Lory drops her weapon when she sees us, and she starts running towards us.

  I want to ask her so many questions. How’d she know we were here? Did she find Sky? Is my mom safe? How are we going to be punished when we get back to the Park?

  But she’s the one who starts barking questions as soon as she reaches us. “Where’s your mother?”

  I still can’t believe she’s here. It’s only her rough grip around my forearm that tells me it’s true, promises me she’s real. “I don’t know.”

  “We need to find her.” Lory grabs my hand and Trevor’s and pulls us down the hall.

  She pushes open the door and ushers both of us into the dark stairwell. At each door we pass, Lory stops and yells into the hallway, “I have the kids. It’s only Sarah left,” and then again, “I have the kids!”

  Some of the whorelords must be following her, ’cause I hear a growing stampede behind us as we round and round our way down. When I look back, I see some of the Standard drones are following us too. Are the whorelords bringing them back to the Park? To the lobby, for questioning? I can’t figure out what’s happening. There’s too much commotion. Between all the stop-starts and Lory’s hollers on each floor, I can’t even sneak a word in.

  “Lory, wait,” I finally say, after we’ve rounded five or six corners. “My sister. We need to find my sister.” Until I see her, I’m not going to feel whole.

  “We have Skyler,” she says. “She’s outside. She brought us here. Now we need to find your mom and bring you home.”

  Wait—Skyler brought the lords here? How?

  “Is Sky okay?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Is Rolladin here too?” I ask as Lory pulls us down to the main floor.

  “Yeah, we’re here on her orders,” she answers as we burst into the slick lobby.

  I haven’t seen the main floor since we walked in here all those cursed mornings ago. The stark light outside calls to me through the double doors, and I get the sudden itch to break through the glass and run into the fresh air. But Lory pulls me forward. The rest of the team of whorelords trails us into the lobby.

  Then I see
her.

  She’s got her stupid tiger cloak on, the pelt she wears for special occasions, all tied up around her neck. Some monstrous old gun’s strapped across her shoulder. She looks crazy out of place against the sleek backdrop of the Standard. But I’ve never been so happy to see her, to see anyone maybe. My mom’s sister, or lover, or my aunt, my warden. I don’t know how to think of her anymore.

  And I don’t care.

  I run to Rolladin and throw my arms around her. I do it before I can think better of it, before she sees me and can even react. And I hear the chorus of guns and knives and crossbows go up around me, a team of reflexes from the whorelords. But no one shoots. I can feel Rolladin stiffen in surprise at my touch, but then she relaxes into me. She puts her arm around me quickly, a flash of a hug in the middle of a circle of firearms, and then she pulls away.

  “We need to find your mother,” she says.

  “Please get us out of here.”

  “I will. We’re all going to go home. Together.” She waves Trev outside. “Find Sky and stay with her.”

  Trev nods and hightails it out of the lobby.

  “You should go too,” Rolladin tells me. “You might not want to see this.”

  Unlike before, where I would have jumped at the chance to be on the front lines, in the center of the action, I feel no excitement. But still I say, “I’ll stay with you,” knowing I won’t feel right until we have Mom. “Let’s get her and go home.”

  Rolladin nods, then motions the whorelords to bring their Standard prisoners to her. Some of the prisoners resist, but most are deadweight. Rolladin pushes five or six of them to their knees, then paces back and forth in front of the Standard drones slowly, her massive gun now resting on her shoulder.

  Finally she pauses in front of a young guy. I haven’t seen him in weeks, but I remember his face from a dinner with Sky. Quentin, I think his name is. Rolladin shoves the nose of her gun right into Quentin’s forehead, and his neck snaps back.

  “Who runs this place?” Rolladin asks him.

  But Quentin just keeps his eyes cast downward.

  “Last time. Who runs this place?”

  Quentin says nothing.

  The boom from Rolladin’s gun echoes through the hotel and rattles my eardrums, and Quentin’s body collapses onto the floor. The rest of the prisoners start whimpering and trying to hold hands, but Rolladin’s already moved down the line to an older woman, frail and shaking, long silver hair pulled back into a bun.

  “Who runs this place?” Rolladin tries again, her gun now resting on the old woman’s shoulder.

  “The Master,” the woman whispers. Her eyes dart back and forth to the other prisoners. She’s so terrified, she’s practically convulsing, and I almost can’t watch. “Master Wren,” she adds. “The senior Elders. The headmistresses.”

  “Where is Wren now?” Rolladin says, shifting her gun to the woman’s other shoulder, like she’s knighting her.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Last time. Where is Wren now?”

  “I-I—,” the woman stutters. “They shift us. We change rooms, constantly. I don’t know . . .”

  The next boom comes without warning, and the woman falls into a heap on the ground, blood pooling around her like a red halo. I look away, and as I do, I catch some of the guards bringing a struggling Robert down for questioning.

  “Rolladin,” I say, pointing to Robert. “That guy knows where Mom is. I’m sure of it.”

  The guards holding Robert stop moving, and he looks up at Rolladin guiltily. And I realize they’ve got to know each other from a different life.

  I follow Rolladin as she stalks over to him. “It’s been a long time, Robert,” she calls. “Glad you’ve been using your time wisely.”

  I expect Robert to kowtow, but instead he spits in her face. “Don’t mock what you don’t understand, Jezebel.”

  Rolladin brings the gun down, hard, against Robert’s cheek, and he yelps. “Tell me where Sarah is and I’ll spare your life.” Then she shoves the butt of her gun into his features. “After all these years, you must know how to survive.”

  Robert hesitates. For a second. “She’s in the Empire Suite,” he whispers. “With Master Wren.”

  Rolladin pulls the gun out of his face. “Take us.”

  She nods to a few of the whorelords over the crowd. “Keep an eye on the rest of them. No one’s freed until we get Sarah.”

  I follow Rolladin, slinking across the lobby and back to the internal stairs. I’m so focused on her that I almost walk right by Ryder. He’s propping Sam up in the corner of the slate-tiled hall, the two of them huddled in the shadows, watching us, watching the whole thing. Keeping out of sight.

  My stomach flips. It feels like a lifetime since I’ve seen them, though technically I guess I saw Ryder last night, nice and cozy with my sister in the stairwell. The memory bites at me, makes me want to ignore him, just pretend he isn’t there. After all this mess is done, we’ll go back to the Park, anyway—Rolladin will never let them come with us. It’ll be like Ryder never was.

  But I know, deep down, I can’t be this selfish. I can’t hate Ryder just ’cause he wants my sister, not me. If I care about her, I should at least care a little about him.

  And I can’t screw Sam. The crowd I’m swimming in keeps blocking my view, but I can still see he’s totally strung out: all big breaths and bagged eyes and sharp angles. I think about what he’s been through, weeks of the heavenly blue, and I know I’ve got to get him out of here.

  But now I’m running out of time.

  The sea of whorelords keeps bobbing me along, past the door and up the stairs. Right before I disappear from their view completely, I wave my hand above my head and catch Ryder’s eye. I point, quickly and breathlessly, towards the door.

  “Outside,” I yell. “Go get her!”

  48 SKY

  “Sky!” I hear against the quiet of the morning, and my gun goes up in reflex. “Sky, it’s Trevor! Where are you?”

  Trev sprints out of the hotel towards me and hugs me as soon as he reaches me. He’s crying.

  “I don’t know what happened in there,” he says into my shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Trev.” I squeeze him tight, so tight that I’m probably suffocating him. “It’s over.” I pull him back to look at him. “Did they find everyone?”

  “Phee’s with Rolladin,” he says. “They’re getting your mom.”

  Thank God. “What about—what about Ryder?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him or Sam in the halls.”

  I hear someone else call my name, and both Trev and I turn to find Ryder and Sam hobbling towards us. Sam looks terrible, weak and drawn—but he’s alive. He and Ryder are alive.

  I run to Ryder, throw my arm around his neck, and fold into his side, gun and all. Sam breaks away from us and slowly lowers himself down on a cracked wooden bench at the edge of the High Line.

  “You okay?” Ryder lurches forward to help his brother.

  Sam waves him away, then arches his neck over the back of the bench. He closes his eyes. His face is ashen even under the stark light of morning, and his clothes and hair are stiff with dried sweat. But still, he mumbles, “I’m fine. Just take care of your girl, Rye. I’m fine.”

  Your girl.

  Ryder beams at me.

  And then I can’t stop myself. This could be my last chance. I paw at Ryder, run my fingers through his hair, pull him into me, kiss him fiercely. I drink him up, savoring this good-bye I was devastated I wouldn’t have. He returns the favor. Trevor finally mumbles that he’s going to check on Rolladin, then wanders a little ways down the High Line.

  “It’s over.” Ryder laughs into my shoulder. “We’re together now.”

  I don’t answer, and just let him kiss me. I can’t bring myself to tell him that this is p
robably the last time we’re going to see each other. That we’re going to have to beg Rolladin for their lives, and watch them walk away forever. That I want to stretch this moment on for eternity, until the details become a lifetime.

  “Ryder.” How am I going to do this? How does someone actually say good-bye? “Rolladin’s going to send you and Sam away.”

  “Forget it,” he interrupts. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Please. Listen to me. I need to know that you’re safe, that you and Sam are sailing into the horizon, to Bermuda or your wildest dreams.”

  “Skyler, stop it. Your family’s coming with us. I’m not leaving without you.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say. “It’s more complicated than I can explain right now, but Rolladin’s never going to let us go. She’s built an island of lies to keep us here. And if I can’t leave, the only way I’ll survive in this city is knowing that you’re safe. And free.”

  Ryder stares at me a long time, so long that I think I’ve managed to trick fate. That my wish has been granted, and we’ve been given an ocean of time to float in forever.

  But the spell is broken when Ryder leans in and kisses me.

  He tastes both bitter and sweet.

  49 PHEE

  The Empire Suite is on one of the middle floors, six or seven. I’ve lost count by the time we climb the stairs again and enter a stub of a hallway. This one’s only a few feet wide and dead-ends at one door, unlike the tall, windy halls of the other floors. The ones with handmarked doors and never-ending corners.

  “They’re in there,” Robert tells Rolladin. “Now stay true to your word. You said you’d let me go.”

  “You don’t go anywhere until Sarah is safe.” Rolladin pushes Robert towards the suite room door. “Knock.”

  Please, let Mom be in there. Please let her be all right. Not drugged up and crazy like I was. I need to see my real mother—the one who can shoot and skin a peacock in about thirty seconds flat. The one who always makes me feel beautiful and brave, even when I’m being a brat.

  Robert raps on the door, with some weird system of short and long knocks, and it becomes obvious he’s trying to use code or something to signal Wren. So Rolladin takes the butt of her gun, swiftly clocks Robert right in the temple, and pushes him aside.