Dazed, I grappled with the car door until fingers gripped my arm, causing me to turn. Once I did, I saw Revik through the green water, eyes open, long fingers seemingly drained of blood. The knuckles of his other hand bled in soft red clouds. The dashboard in front of him bled upwards into the water from an odd-shaped smear as well, like watching a film happen in reverse. I found myself thinking he must have hit his head there.
No Barrier, he sent, so softly I barely heard him.
My mind, everything about me, remained oddly calm.
I squeezed his arm to let him know I understood.
Revik hit the locking mechanism of his seat belt clumsily, rising to thump up against the roof of the car as the belt slid off his chest. It was only then that I realized the car was still sinking. Blood swirled around us from his head and hand. He pedaled his arms to reach me, grabbing for the strap of my own seatbelt, fumbling with the clasp and hitting the button to unlock it from around my body.
He got it undone, then held me to keep me from rising too fast.
My body hurt––badly enough to bring the first real flickers of fear.
My limbs only half-cooperated as I jerkingly swam for the open driver’s side window at the prompting of his hands.
I’d always been able to hold my breath under water for a long time. I’d always been able to see well underwater, too. My dad called me a fish. He would time me at the community pool when we were kids, taking bets for french fries and beers from the other parents on how long I could stay under. We usually won those bets, but now I was starting to worry about air.
I had no idea how far down we were.
I pedaled clumsily through bubbles, aiming my body at the window.
Shards of glass nicked my cheeks and arms, then grated on my leg until I jerked away from the edges of the window. I let out a garbled sound as I kicked my way through.
Then I was on the other side, in open water.
I watched the car roof and hood as the GTX sank below me.
Revik swam past me and I felt his fingers on my arm, pulling me to follow.
Above us, I glimpsed rays and sparkles of light through chunks of green plant matter, remembered anti-drowning training and followed the bubbles. The tugging on my arm grew less once I was swimming alongside him. Then I saw clouds and patches of blue sky through a window of clear water.
Right before I would have breached, he pulled me roughly sideways, guiding me under the surface before I could reach the open air.
I fought panic, trying to trust the feeling I got off his hands, the sense of purpose I felt there. By the time he let me rise, I’d lost that battle entirely. I was panicking for real, fighting to pry off his fingers, and the sunlight was gone.
He didn’t let go until we breached the surface together, gasping.
Once I’d filled my lungs with air, choking out the water I’d inhaled, I looked up. We were under the bridge. Land lay a few hundred meters behind where I watched Revik tread water. I glanced at it, then looked back at Revik himself, watching him gasp to regain his own breath. Massive cement pillars stood to either side of us, and the thundering sound of cars on the bridge overhead echoed over the water.
The sound touched a memory in me.
Something about that memory brought a wave of fear.
I was still staring up at the underside of the bridge, when Revik’s fingers circled my arm. I felt an apology there, but also fear, enough to take my breath. He looked different with his hair slicked back, and for an instant, I could only stare at his face. I almost didn’t recognize him with how pale he was, exaggerated by the wet hair and the blood on the side of his head.
Only his eyes and mouth looked the same.
“Don’t go into the Barrier.” He was having more trouble than me regaining his breath, and I watched him struggle to speak. “Not even a little, Allie. If they find us––”
“I won’t.” I clasped his arms back. “I won’t go in, Revik.”
Hesitating, he nodded. That fear never left his eyes. He didn’t let go of my arm, either.
I stared at his face, worried. He didn’t look good.
“Can you swim?” I said.
He looked over his shoulder, towards shore, still holding my arm, only now it felt like he was using me as a flotation device. I felt him hesitate, as if thinking about my question.
“Come on,” I said.
I let him continue to hold my arm as I started heading for shore, using slow, strong strokes of my arms and legs.
WE REACHED THE rocky shoreline, stopping at each set of cement pillars to let him rest. As if by mutual assent, we didn’t get out of the water right away but traveled south, sliding from one private dock and mooring to the next in a slow procession down the shoreline.
The morning sun disappeared behind cloud cover, which helped turn everything gray when police boats skimmed the water on their way towards the bridge.
I heard the thwup, thwup, thwup of rotary blades, and couldn’t help but follow them with my eyes. Some of the helicopters looked military. I wondered if they were SCARB, one of the other military branches of the World Court, anti-terrorist forces from our own government, or naval troops on loan from down the coast in Tacoma.
We hid under one dock and then the next until our teeth chattered, waiting for them to circle and pass. We didn’t speak, and I tried not to worry as Revik’s breathing grew ragged. Just as the activity really exploded around the bridge and the submerged GTX, we climbed out into a public park, wading over and through thick vegetation that surrounded the last bit of water before it dumped us out on a wide, manicured grass lawn.
I helped him into the trees.
I was likely more conspicuous with my tattered waitress uniform and bare legs, but he looked worse than me, and not only because of the blood still running down one side of his face. I could only hope no one saw us as we entered the forested park, where the trees made us at least as inconspicuous as your average homeless person.
Once we were well out of sight of the shore, I helped him lean against a tree, then slide down to sit.
He was shivering by then, so pale he looked dead.
I looked around for something I might cover him with, then decided speed mattered more. At the moment, the cops were focusing on the submerged car.
Once they saw it had no one in it, that would change, and fast.
The adjoining neighborhood didn’t look rich enough to have a grid along the entire coast. If it did, we were screwed, since our presence would have been recorded and sent automatically to SCARB and local law enforcement already.
For now, I had to assume regular, mid-grade upper-middle class suburban security, which meant towers on the streets that took timed images and maybe flyers at night, depending on how paranoid the neighbors were.
Still thinking about this, I squatted next to his legs.
“Hey.” I grasped his arm, tightening my grip until his eyes opened. “Don’t go to sleep. You can’t sleep, okay? I need to know I can trust you if I leave.”
“There is a safe house—”
“You told me,” I said patiently. “But we’re not going to make it like this. You can’t do anything in the Barrier, so we need to do it the human way. I need to find us clothes. And at least one local ident card, to get us past the gate.”
I saw him look at the wet uniform clinging to my body, my blood-matted hair. He nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
He looked up. Something about his expression made my chest clench. After a bare pause, I realized the look in his eyes was trust. He was trusting me to take care of this.
He gripped my hand as I thought it, his long jaw hard.
“I promise, Allie.”
I SLID BACK through the row of bushes, trying to avoid the road while staying on the edge of park that backed up against the nearest street full of houses lining the coas
t of Lake Washington. I’d done the best that I could, given limited options.
Thank god, Seattle was nothing like San Francisco.
I found an open back door with no external cameras by about the fourth or fifth house I checked. From a slight rise overlooking a set of backyards that formed a gentle curve around that part of the lake, I’d spotted the clothesline first. Looking out from behind the trunk of a tree, I scanned the area for people watching from the windows, or hanging out in adjacent yards.
I heard feed stations blaring from a few windows, but no other voices.
Men’s clothing hung from the sagging cotton rope between two maple trees.
I saw sheets on another line that went to the other side of the Craftsman-style house. Women’s clothes hung there also in a more colorful line of blues and purples. I also saw what looked like a child’s clothes, but that line was much closer to the back of the house. It was the men’s clothes that drew my eyes. I hoped they were dry, even as I measured the length of the pant legs with my eyes, wondering if they would be close enough to fit him.
A few minutes later, I slid back through a gap in the tall evergreen shrubs that hid the back of the house from the lake’s shore.
Avoiding the footpath and its stone steps to their private dock, I kept to the fence, getting as close to the line as I dared without breaking cover. I only walked out to tug a pair of jeans and baggy sweats off the line. I grabbed a long-sleeved T-shirt next, and a slightly damp sweatshirt.
Taking my bundle back to the hedge, I didn’t wait but pulled the bloody and ripped-up white waitressing blouse over my head and left it in the bushes. Then I writhed out of the black miniskirt and underwear. Briefly, I was stark naked, and freezing my ass off, but I quickly pulled on the long-sleeved tee and jeans, rolling up the cuffs on the latter so they rested on the top of my feet and folding over the waist to keep them up without a belt.
I left the sweats and sweatshirt in the hedge and looked back at the house itself.
The back door was open.
My first thought was panic. I wondered if someone had seen me.
When I didn’t hear or see anyone after a few minutes, I decided the door had already been open when I got there.
Thinking again about what we needed, realistically, to get out of there in one piece, I crept forward reluctantly, my heart pounding in my chest. If I was seen, this would be all over, and fast. If they were watching the news feeds, it wouldn’t take much for anyone living on the coast to put two and two together.
I made it to the back door in a crouch, holding my breath.
Reaching the doorway, I peered into a large but dated kitchen with oak cabinets and white-tile counters. On a butcher-block cutting board, I saw an actual homemade pie. Staring at it, seeing the dark berry puree bleeding out of the crust and smelling the sweet tang of the cooked fruit, I felt my stomach grind into a hard knot.
Tiptoeing around the pie to the refrigerator, I opened the door softly, glancing over the contents before grabbing a container of milk and quaffing a few swallows. Setting it down carefully so as not to rattle the shelf, I pulled out a package of bread, then another plastic bag of what looked like real cheese, probably from one of the local farmer’s markets.
I closed the door softly, looking around until I caught sight of the entryway table. On it sat a leather purse, worn to a pale beige from years of use. It looked like something my mom would wear, and suddenly I felt a little sick.
Shoving aside my lingering guilt, I walked softly down the hall, conscious of any loose floorboards as I lifted and placed my bare feet. I reached the purse and opened the snaps, wincing at the faint click before I tugged it open.
The woman’s wallet lay on top, a faded Gucci with a white and brown pattern along the coin purse. I opened it and found an ident card right on top. Breathing a sigh of relief, I tugged it carefully out of the plastic protector, shoving it into the front pocket of the stolen jeans.
Closing the purse, I hesitated again, seeing the woman’s headset on the counter next to the purse. It was a private version, non-government.
After the barest pause, I snatched up the headset, too.
I turned for the back door.
…and found myself facing a little boy. Maybe three or four-years-old, he stared up at me with wide dark eyes, his curly black hair a rumpled mess on his head. His mouth fell slightly open as he stared up at me, clutching a stuffed alligator in both hands.
I held up a hand, my heart leaping to my throat.
“It’s okay, kid,” I whispered. “Tell your mom I’m really sorry.”
The kid stared at me, his almond eyes growing wider still.
Then, abruptly, his mouth opened for real. “Mom!” he shrieked. “Mommy! There’s a dirty lady in here! She has my sammich bread! She has my sammich bread!”
My heart stopped for a half-beat.
Then I bolted, leaping over and past the boy.
I landed off-kilter on one foot, picked up my weight, stumbled for the door, limping on the ankle I’d just twisted. I knocked into the door frame as I ran by, smacking my shoulder and making a loud clattering noise that echoed into the small clearing.
A screech of lake-rusted hinges followed me as the door swung behind my erratic path. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that the door hung crooked on its wooden frame.
I didn’t look back again.
At the small opening in the hedge, I scooped up the clothes I’d stolen for Revik, then ran behind the denser vegetation and through the next backyard.
Minutes later, I was back in the wooded park above the row of homes.
Panting, I ran up to the tree and cluster of roots where I thought I’d left him.
He wasn’t there.
My heart stopped, until I realized I’d gone to the wrong tree.
Running on to the next set of dark trunks, I skidded on the grass, nearly tripping over his long legs before I realized it was him lying there. I’d barely regained my balance when I focused on his face. His eyes were closed.
Panic bloomed in my chest. I was sure he was dead.
His eyelids fluttered open as soon as I crouched beside him.
“I didn’t sleep,” he said, his voice gruff. “I didn’t.”
Relieved beyond words, I kissed him on the mouth.
His eyes registered a dim surprise.
“Sorry I took so long,” I said, embarrassed, then grinned. “But hey, look!” I showed him the headset. Fitting it over my ear, I switched it on, even as it occurred to me to hope it didn’t have a DNA encryption key. Some of the newer ones did.
Luckily, it wasn’t that new.
I scrolled through the woman’s cached numbers until I found one labeled “taxi.”
“Yes,” I said when the dispatcher picked up. I waited for her to trace our location. “Yeah, now.” I glanced at Revik, watched him fumble with the sweatshirt I’d brought him. “We’ll be in the parking lot.” I hung up, crouching in front of him again. “You up for this? We can’t go door to door. We’ll have them drop us near a bus stop, or downtown. It’s in Chinatown, right?”
He nodded, unbuttoning his shirt.
I continued to stand there as he struggled out of it. Looking down at his exposed neck and shoulder, I found myself focusing on a question-mark scar curling up over his shoulder to his throat. It was pale white, faint enough that it had to be old.
I hesitated, wondering if I should offer to help. I thought better of it a few seconds later and walked off a few paces instead, sitting on the grass with my back to him.
Twisting off the clasp ties, I reached into the plastic bag filled with bread. Pulling out a piece with dark crust, I began munching on it. It was soft with a crunchy, chewy crust, and at that moment I decided it was the best damned bread I’d ever eaten.
I tried to make myself look remotely normal while I ate, combing fingers through my hair to get as much gunk out as I could, pausing occasionally to try to clean up my face on the long-sleeved tee. I tri
ed not to think about Revik getting dressed behind me.
I knew I was overly aware of him though.
I decided it was shock. Shock, or just that almost-dying, intimacy-forged-in-adversity thing, that made you feel abnormally close to someone you didn’t really know after you barely escaped death together. That had to be the reason I’d kissed him, too, and the reason I was conscious of him half-naked behind me.
I didn’t want to think about that strange, distinctly sexual pain I’d felt around him a few times now, or the fact that I could have sworn he was hitting on me when he first woke up in the GTX that morning.
“Stockholm syndrome,” I muttered.
I let out a humorless laugh, knowing that was at least partly shock, too. Shoving the thought out of my mind, I stuffed another piece of bread into my mouth and chewed. I couldn’t afford to be light-headed from lack of food, not given the shape he was in.
Anyway, whatever my problem was, in the immortal words of Scarlett O’Hara––I would think about it tomorrow.
12
SEATTLE
THE SUN WAS dipping into afternoon when we stood in front of a red-painted basement door.
By then we’d taken the taxi, three buses, and we’d walked for at least a mile.
I looked up the cement stairs to the street, where a woman leaned against a telephone pole covered with stapled-on band flyers. Nylons torn, makeup running down her cheeks under a slightly askew wig, she swayed drunkenly on high heels, staring at Revik with half-hearted interest. She saw me looking at her and gestured in a dismissive wave.
“Enjoy yourself, girlfriend.” She burst into a laugh. “That one’s too drunk to fuck, so you best be nice. I find him in the gutter tomorrow, I’ll remember your face, honey.”
My eyes found Revik’s. He continued leaning against me, his hand on the wall. He was having trouble breathing.
I said to him, “You sure this is the place?”
He didn’t look at the woman, who called out again, trying to get his attention.
“Yes,” he said.
“Hey, lover! Be careful! That one looks like a predator.” She burst into more drunken laughter. “Wanna come home with me? I’ll take good care of you. Hey! Tall and dark!”
Rook (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #1): Bridge & Sword World Page 11