Numbered: Episode One of the Sister Planets Series

by Leviticus James

  “Well then, we’d better start walking.”

  “We’d better start jogging,” Esau says. “We can’t waste any more time.”

  All three of us take off down the tube. We jog for ten or fifteen minutes before I start looking for a way out. I point the flashlight at the ceiling and scan for access to the street above. As I jog, my eyes start to droop. I shake my head, but my vision blurs. I slap myself to wake up.

  I finally see what I’ve been looking for. It’s a round hole in the tunnel above us that leads to the street. A rebar ladder built into the side allows for easy access.

  I skid to a stop, and the brothers do the same. I hand the flashlight to Esau, grab the bottom rung of the ladder, and heft myself upwards. But I’m so tired that my arms don’t get me far. I hop up again with the same result.

  Then there are hands on my waist. I startle, but they don’t move. I turn to see Jacob looking up at me. His hands support my hip bones, his thumbs and pointer fingers touching my skin. I’m suddenly self-conscious about the soft, squishy skin around my middle.

  “Up you go.”

  “Don’t get fresh with me, brother. Keep those hands from wandering.”

  I jump again and, with his help, grab several rungs up. I get my soggy, waterlogged feet on the bottom rung and proceed to climb up the ladder. I calm my breathing and listen to the street above me. I can’t hear anything.

  I push up on the manhole cover with all my might and peek out. The sun is starting to rise, and I can see we’re in a neighborhood. I drop the giant metal cover down as gently as I can, but the clang it makes still echoes.

  “Coast is clear,” I whisper. “I’m gonna need some help lifting this thing.”

  Jacob taps my foot. “Hop down. I’ll take care of it.”

  We swap places. He peeks out, then hefts the cover into the street. A dim light permeates down to where Esau and I stand as we hear the cover scrape against the asphalt above our heads.

  I’m a little worried Esau is going to try and grab a hold of my waist to help me back up. To my relief, he creates a cradle with his hands. I stick one wet foot in, and he helps me get to the bottom rung. Soon we’re all standing in the street.

  I turn and look back in the direction of Scarlet’s house. As if the pillar of black smoke weren’t enough of a clue, the somewhat distant sound of sirens now alert the entire world to the fact that something’s not right in the neighborhood.

  We stand in silence, taking it all in. Then, in perfect unison, we turn the other direction and walk away.

  13

  I do my best to look inconspicuous as we meander down the street. Everyone has come out of their houses, standing in the street or on porches, looking toward the obliterated remains of my childhood home.

  Then I feel some of the eyes shift to me. I realize we must look like hell. It won’t take the neighbors long to put two and two together.

  “What do we do now?” I ask. “Keep walking?”

  “Yes. I got a message as soon as we came up to street level. Someone is sending a car to pick us up.”

  I turn to him, scowling. “And when were you going to let us know?”

  “When you needed to,” he says, devoid of emotion.

  “Is there a general direction we should go?” I snap back.

  “If there was, I would let you know. For someone who punched me earlier for asking too many questions, you sure are asking a lot now.”

  I’m filled with an overwhelming urge to either punch him right in the face or hug him.

  Because I know he’ll hate it more, I do the latter.

  I’m not disappointed. He writhes and squirms away as if I have leprosy.

  “Stop it. Don’t touch me. This isn’t funny. Stop laughing. Quit it! Don’t put your hands there! Jacob!”

  Jacob is no help, as I predicted. I assault Esau for a few more seconds before I finally quit. “Ok, you crazy robot. Lead the way.”

  Esau takes a deep breath before walking again. Jacob and I follow a few feet behind him.

  “I should be more upset about how you treat my older brother.”

  “But like any good younger sibling, you aren’t.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “Nope. Observation. I’m an only child.”

  “Lucky.”

  “Right? I can’t imagine trying to raise a younger sibling in the family I had.”

  “I meant you didn’t have to deal with a sibling. I didn’t say anything about raising one.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

  We walk in silence, but I can feel him thinking beside me. I ask a question to throw off whatever he’s planning.

  “How did a young guy like you meet up with a group that wants to kill a senator?”

  He grabs my arm. “Shh!”

  I don’t like others grabbing at me, but I don’t retaliate because I know it was overboard. I pull my arm loose and keep walking.

  “You wanna tell me why you have the need to be like that?” Jacob asks.

  “Like what?”

  “Obviously and unreasonably difficult?”

  “For a street kid, you sure do like to talk like an educated adult.”

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  I don’t have a response for that one. I realize it’s also a nice segue back to the topic of why I am the way I am. I try to volley it back, but he spikes.

  “You and your grandmother. What’s up with that?”

  “Nope, not going there.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who took us to her house. If you didn’t want to talk about her, then you shouldn’t have offered her crypt as a safe house.”

  Checkmate. “Shut up, and stay out of it. It’s none of your business.”

  He concedes by dipping his head. “At least explain the tunnel to the pipe and the explosion.”

  I smile. I hate Scarlet, but the old bird had some quirks I can still appreciate.

  “Scarlet was a paranoid manipulator. Her first husband was a construction worker and poured her that bunker when he built the house. Her third husband was a gas line repairman and installed the fun little device that blew it to pieces.”

  “But why? What was the point?”

  “For instances like tonight. Scarlet was convinced the government was trying to take her from her house like they made all the people in rural communities do during the Great Migration. ‘Over my dead body,’ she’d say. Well, tonight she got her wish.”

  I turn and look him straight in the face. “Satisfied with that answer?”

  Jacob looks disgusted. “No! That’s insane. Who thinks like that?”

  “An insane person.”

  “God, no wonder you ran away.”

  “The more we get to know each other, the more you need to remind yourself that all the crazy crap I do comes from somewhere.” I turn and point at the billowing tower of black smoke. “Right there.”

  Jacob shakes his head, and we don’t talk anymore.

  We walk, and walk, and walk, and walk. Esau leads us down street after street. I could fall asleep standing up. My whole body hurts. My arms throb, my head aches, I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, and I’m running on zero sleep. I want to complain about how long it’s taking, but I’m too tired.

  Esau veers into a cemetery. It’s an open field of tombstones and paved pathways for hearses and black sedans carrying mourners. No trees or bushes at all.

  We start walking down the path, squinting as the sun rises over the trees on the other side of the field. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like a deer with its ears and tail perked up. Something is out there. Something wants me dead. And here I am walking through an open field like a moron.

  We’re walking straight for the trees. I pick up my pace.

  Esau stops. “We’re here.”

  I skid to a halt. “What?”

  “We’re here. At the grave marker of Dalia and Roger McManus. This is where we’re getting picked up.”

  I turn all the way around.
“You sure, Einstein? Because I don’t see anyone.”

  Esau snorts. It’s the closest thing to amused that I’ve seen him. “I understood that one. Einstein. He was a genius. Like me.”

  “Sure, whatever. That doesn’t change the fact that there’s no one here.”

  As I say it, I see a black hovercar veer off the main road. Four wheels descend, and it starts to roll silently down the cemetery road toward us. Esau and Jacob see me staring and turn to look themselves.

  “Please tell me that car looks familiar,” I say.

  “Can’t say it does,” Esau says.

  14

  I inhale and don’t breathe. Instead, I focus on the pod-shaped car. The only thing that pulls my eyes away is the movement of Jacob’s hand to the small of his back, the black handgun now camouflaged within his black hand.

  The car stops thirty feet from us, and a large man steps out. He’s bald, wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt that does little to hide his enormous arms. His naturally tan biceps alone are twice the circumference of my waist and one of them—his right—is covered with an intricate tattoo from the elbow up. His neck and back blend seamlessly together, his head set on top of an angry knot of muscles.

  I keep looking at his tattoo. It’s tribal, but not in a cheesy way. This one looks woven on to his skin; more like a piece of armor and less like ink. It wasn’t a drunken mistake or something he did for fun. It was done with care, like picking out an engagement ring or deciding to buy a home—lovingly and with thought.

  It scares me.

  He walks closer, his gaze locked on the three of us. I begin to back away, but then he cracks a smile and lets out a big laugh.

  “The brothers! How long has it been?”

  Jacob saunters up with a smile. The two pound shoulders and embrace, slapping each other on the backs.

  “Mika, you dog. It’s been too long.”

  “When Norah called and asked if I could pick some people up, I had no idea it would be you two. Jacob, what happened to your face? That’s a wicked cut you have there.”

  Jacob taps at the scabbed-over wound and winces. “Long story.”

  “Aren’t they always?” He turns and looks at me. “Well, well, well. Who is this?”

  He walks over to me, his frame towering over mine, and takes my hand. He presses his lips against it and looks at me with big brown eyes.

  “Bonjour, jeune femme,” he says in a flawless French accent. “I’m Mika. And you are?”

  My knees feel wobbly and my mouth dries up. “Maverick. Maverick Martinique.”

  “Martinique? What a lovely name.”

  Jacob rolls his eyes and shoves Mika in the shoulder. “Stop showing off, you giant gay asshat.”

  “Hey, I’ve been known to go for the right lady. I’d turn for this beautiful flower. Tell me, do you have Islander in you? I feel like someone as beautiful as you has some island fire in her blood.”

  “She has some kind of fire, that’s for sure,” Jacob says as he rubs his arm.

  “Umm, I don’t think so,” I say. “I mean, I might. All I know is that I’m brown.”

  Mika laughs. “We’re all God’s children, right?”

  Jacob shoos us toward the car. “Hey, we can chitchat later. Let’s move before that group of angry cops and government goons get bored with the fire.”

  Mika points his finger at Jacob. “I love you, but I will smash your face into your neck if you try and rush me.”

  They both laugh. Mika, Jacob, and Esau all walk toward the car. I follow, still not sure what to make of the enormous man that’s rescued our group.

  Both Jacob and Esau open the doors to the back half of the car. I take the front with Mika. Low, comfortable seating lines the oval-shaped cab. The windows are tinted black, and the lighting is low. The entire ceiling is some kind of three-dimensional screen that’s projecting layers and layers of colors swirling in black. Vintage electronic music plays in the background, and the colors swirl to the beat. It’s like I’ve walked into a VIP booth at a nightclub.

  I’m facing the opposite direction, though, with Jacob right across from me. Our feet all collect in a circular depression in the middle of the floor.

  I’m reminded of how rough we look when I see my ratty shoes, Jacob’s combat boots, and Esau’s tattered loafers next to Mika’s dazzling black and white snakeskin Nikes.

  “And here we go,” Mika says as he flips up a compartment hiding in the back of our seating.

  He presses a button on the console inside, and the car starts to move. It’s weird to be sitting in a car and moving the opposite direction. Without windows to tell me which direction is which, the sensation of backward movement soon fades.

  “You all look like hell and, based on the conversation I had with Norah, in some deep trouble,” Mika says. “Any of you want to fill me in on what’s going on?”

  Esau crosses his arms. “No offense, Mika, but wait until after we debrief Norah.”

  Mika taps the side of his head. “Good old Esau. Always thinking. You’re right. That’s a better idea. Well, if none of you are going to talk, let me tell you about all the gossip you’ve kicked up.”

  I hate that the first emotion I feel after he says that is excitement, but it’s the truth. “What do you mean gossip?”

  “Girl, Unity City is a nutso place to live, but hotels and private residences don’t blow up every day. Let alone hours apart. People are talking. The news networks are going crazy trying to figure out what’s going on.” He chuckles. “It’s a lot of fun to watch those idiots yell and scream at each other on the Net Mirrors over stuff they know nothing about.”

  “What kind of things?” Esau asks.

  “Oh, it’s a bunch of idiotic nonsense. Here, I’ll show you.”

  Mika reaches down and pushes another button. The swirling colors dash to the edges of the screen, replaced with muted faces. A pretty black woman with blonde hair has her brow furrowed and is waving a pen around like a wand. Her skin is striking against the bright red of her dress. A second later, voices sync with their mouths.

  “… are you insinuating, representative? That this was a military exercise?”

  The screen cuts to a torso shot of a morbidly obese man. “That’s exactly what I’m saying, Chelsea. Those kinds of explosions are not accidents. They were caused by military grade bombs.”

  “Who would order such a thing, representative? Only ranking members of Congress have the ability to call such strikes. Wouldn’t you know about that?”

  The man’s face begins to turn a nasty shade of purple. “Yes, I would. And I’m not saying it was someone in the government who ordered the strike. I’m saying someone got a hold of these weapons and used them last night as a demonstration of some kind.”

  Anchor Lady Chelsea scoffs and shakes her head. “Representative, we’re right back where we started. You still haven’t answered my question. Who would do such a thing?”

  “That’s one network,” Mika says. He hits another button. The screen cuts to another news broadcast. Four men sit around a table yelling at each other.

  “Wait, is that—” I begin to ask.

  Mika cuts me off. “Yep. The one and only Domingo Zimmerman.”

  I look back at the screen, shocked. The man I’m looking at is an old, wiry Hispanic guy with so much hair it looks like he scalped the lead singer of a teenage boy band. Obviously supplementing. And compensating.

  “Why would Mingo Zimmerman weigh in on a couple of explosions in Unity City?”

  Esau puts his finger to his lips and shushes me.

  “What I want to know is why, on the heels of Don Merkatz’s death, do we see two buildings explode in the city where his favorite little senator lives? Is this some kind of coincidence? I don’t think so. Too convenient.”

  The screen cuts to a closeup view of firefighters extinguishing the hotel fire in the dark. The blaze is roaring. Before I can comment on how soon that must have been after we fled, the shot changes again to an
aerial view of a residential neighborhood.

  Scarlet’s house is in shambles. Debris litters the lawns and trees surrounding it. I see the IronClad slammed into a car parked on the street and part of a smoldering sofa sticking out a window of a neighbor’s house.

  I laugh. “It looks like a giant troll kicked the middle of my house into the street.”

  “You were there?” Mika asks. “No way. There’s no way you all could have lived through that.”

  Esau’s eyes are still glued to the screen. “Underground bunker.”

  We quiet back down and listen to the voices blaring from the screen above us.

  “Let’s go back to something you said earlier. Too convenient for whom?” asks another one of the men sitting around the table.

  “You tell me, Carl. You tell me.”

  Carl looks confused. “Are you insinuating that someone is benefiting from these tragedies?”

  “This was a sign. A warning,” Zimmerman says.

  “What kind of warning?” asks another man. “You’re dancing around the question.”

  “Dancing? I don’t think so! I bet you anything Greenstreet makes some kind of announcement today about his friend Merkatz dying. We all know they were in bed together. I’m sure he wants to make sure everyone knows he’s upset now that good ol’ Donny Boy is dead.”

  “Mr. Zimmerman, Don Merkatz died of an aggressive autoimmune disease.”

  “Did he? Did he?”

  “Are you saying he was murdered?” Carl asks.

  “You tell me, Carl. You tell me. Merkatz is Greenstreet’s biggest donor, he’s behind in the polls against Greyson, and he wants to be the one to come up against me in the fall. Anybody threatens that, Greenstreet’s not gonna sit back and let it happen.”

  The last man, a gruff looking white guy with deep wrinkles on his face and a neck that bulges out around his collar, speaks up. “Zimmerman, are you saying Senator Michael Greenstreet blew up a couple of buildings in retaliation for a murder that didn’t happen to scare another politician who also didn’t murder anyone?”

  “I don’t know, Sam. You tell me. You tell me.”