Round Trip Fare

by Barb Taub

  The light flashed against her teeth bared in a feral grin. He shuddered even before she patted him on the cheek with her knife. “See, I feel like we know each other better already. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to wait for all your details, so I’ll have to improvise. You see this knife I’m pressing against your stomach? I can run that straight up your abdomen, and through your diaphragm. Catch at least one of those nice big arteries by your heart. Normally, see, I’m partial to the descending aorta, because it’s all over in seconds. Otherwise you might take a minute or so to bleed out, but either way you’ll be unconscious almost instantly. It’s one of my favorites because it’s not nearly so messy, and this is Claire’s office.”

  “Come on, Parker. We’ve talked about that.” Claire’s voice was its usual serene tone. “You know I hate it when you kill people on my rug. And now that Frankie’s gone, it’s harder to cover for you.”

  Carey laughed quietly and patted Anderson’s neck. “Okay, Claire, what do you say we go for a nice, clean neck break? You’d be surprised how little actual strength that takes. Practice is the thing. And I’ve had plenty of practice.”

  She pretended to consider. “Or…maybe there are still some ways for us to get to know each other better, Warden Anderson? Something that might inspire me to put off that whole death thing? I can help you think it over. We could start on just one of your kidneys. If you manage to tell me something interesting, you might even get out of this with the other one intact.” She shrugged. “Could happen.”

  Anderson’s skin was a pasty greenish color. His face had dried from the ice bath, but it was again wet with clammy sweat. “You c-can’t…I’m a Warden. You have to arrest me. Have a hearing.”

  “Oh, like the hearing for Tony? Or Laurel? Or Jennifer Aix or any of the others you sold out to the Outsiders? Somehow, I don’t think anybody is going to care if you’re killed trying to escape. So right now, I might be the only chance you have of living long enough to have that hearing.”

  Carey stood in front of him and started taking out weapons—from her waist, her sleeves, her boots, her back waistband, her hair. His eyes opened wider as shuriken and knives lined up on the conference table next to him, and a sword was pulled from its sheath across her back. Carey faced the sweating man, bending forward until their faces were inches apart. “See, I made a promise.” His shuddering gasp as he arched his neck and head away from her said more clearly than words that her voice was the coldest thing he’d ever heard. “I promised Frankie I’d make the ones responsible for Laurel’s death pay. But Laurel was a Warden. She knew when she signed up and every day after that her life might be on the line. So, yeah. If that was all it was, I’d probably send you to a hearing.”

  She picked up Harry’s silver knife again and didn’t even try to hide that it was quivering in her eager grip. “But here’s the thing. You knew the ones you worked for were going after people who weren’t soldiers. Families. Children. Marley. My parents. Almost everyone I’ve ever loved. Because of the people you work for, I didn’t get the chance to grow up a normal girl with a family and boyfriends and shit. Because of your friends, I’m a killer. A damn good one. And I don’t like you, Warden Anderson. A lot. So I would really, really like to hurt you.”

  She leaned closer until she was whispering in his ear. “I’d like you not to tell me right away what I need to know so I can hurt you longer.”

  He was crying, begging. “Wait. I know…I know his name. Their leader.”

  “Narcorial.” Carey’s grin was her most feral. “Strike one. You’ll have to tell me something I don’t know. Or…”

  “He…Narcorial…he can’t act directly.”

  “Free will. Strike two.” Carey’s voice gloated. “We already had that too. One more chance.”

  “No. They’ll kill me. I can’t…”

  “Hmmm…The Marquis of Carabas might say that it’s time for us to become better acquainted, but don’t worry about it—there’s something I’ve always wanted to try. Have you ever heard of the parilla? Very popular in South America. Apparently we strap you…naked…to a metal frame—kind of like that chair you’re in—and apply electric currents to your…um…sensitive bits. I’m told that it causes muscle contractions so excruciatingly painful that sometimes bones are broken in limbs that are tied down. But the really horrible part is that you’re blindfolded. You never know exactly when that current is going to shock…or where.”

  As she spoke, Carey slid her knife under his dark shirt and slit it from neck to hem. Tearing off a wide strip, she fastened it around his eyes.

  Stepping back, she raised her voice slightly. “Peter, do you have those electrodes ready to go?”

  Eyebrows raised, he called back. “I’m just testing them now.” Then he shook his head and mouthed, “What?”

  Grinning, Carey held up Zach’s phone and pressed the button labeled “Dr. Frankenstein’s Lab.” The sound of snapping electrical connections and vague machine noises filled the air. She handed the phone to Claire.

  “Excellent. Now I just have to strip off these trousers and fasten the wires around Warden Anderson’s family jewels…”

  She reached down, unfastened Anderson’s belt, and started to pull. Behind him, Claire hit the sound effects again, and Anderson screamed.

  “No! Please. Wait. There’s something else…” He was sobbing and talking so fast they could barely understand him. “I heard him. Narcorial. He said they could only keep a small team—maybe fifteen to twenty max—on the bridge at any one time without alerting local authorities. They don’t need both you and your brother, only one of you. Something about just stopping you from doing something would be enough. So they’re going to blow that end of the bridge. Make it look like an accident with the construction stuff or something. That’s all I know. Please…”

  Carey sat back on her heels. “Well, shit.” She looked at Claire’s wall clock. “That took fourteen minutes. I must be slipping.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  August 2011: Seattle, Washington

  Connor and Yosh led the others back into Claire’s office, the imps giving Carey a wide berth.

  Zach stared at her, his eyes troubled. “Were you really going to…?” He waved vaguely toward Anderson, once more snoring after another drop of spelled water.

  Marley looked puzzled. “We never studied anyone named Carabas.”

  Connor, who was helping Marley back to the sofa, snorted.

  “It was from a fairy tale.” Yosh laughed. “The Marquis of Carabus was an imaginary character in Puss and Boots, I think. Right?”

  “Admit it.” Carey sighed as she walked into his arms. “You’re an even bigger geek than I am.”

  But her face was serious as she turned to the others. “You all heard?”

  “Yes.” Connor straightened next to Marley’s couch. “And obviously, I’m the one who will…”

  “You. Stop right there.” Claire showed him the hand. “Was it me or just someone who looked like me who said no more martyrs?”

  “Right.” Carey tried to sound brisk, but her face had paled when Connor started to speak. “We need a plan, and there isn’t much time. Claire, what have you got?”

  Peter was already wiping the large white board behind Claire’s desk. Pulling a marker from the tray below, she started to draw. “Here’s the bridge, and the last place we saw Narcorial with Jeffers.” She added two Xs about a fourth of the way from the north end of the bridge. “I counted at least seven others.”

  “Twelve.” Peter and Carey answered in unison.

  “And at least four stationed at either end, probably.” Yosh added.

  “But I’m guessing not too many more.” Anton spoke with quiet authority. “They’ve already lost many soldiers locally. Plus they wouldn’t be able to maneuver with a group any larger than that.”

  “So that means we have to take down up to twenty armed soldiers who’ve had plenty of time to get in position in at least three different spots across the
bridge.” Yosh shook his head. “With four trained Wardens, an assassin, whatever-the-hell your brother is other than so weak he can hardly stand, and…er…the others.

  Claire drew an arrow pointing to a spot about a third of the way from the north end of the bridge. “Unless we make it look like we’re staging an attack at only one of those spots to draw them there. That might let one or two people come from behind.”

  “What about the explosives?” Zach looked worried. “Won’t they just set those off as soon as our first attack starts?”

  “Not necessarily.” Claire was looking at Carey. “Not if someone with a vested interest in that bridge was to get involved.”

  “Here’s the thing about bridge trolls.” Carey was thinking out loud. “They’re different from most people with special gifts. They can’t move to Null City because once they hit puberty their bridges become part of them. They’re not like those naiad and dryad flakes who just grab a jar of their stream water or a branch of their tree and then spend their time partying all over Europe. As they age, trolls merge more and more with their bridges until they’re finally almost immobile. With really old bridges, their trolls can end up looking like rocks or maybe statues. So trolls take it personally when people threaten to blow up their bridges.” Her smile was pure evil. “Very personally.”

  A minute later, Carey closed her phone. “Feyala will meet us in ten minutes. She says not to bring any guns. They’ll just get in the way of what the trolls will need to do.”

  As Assistant Director, Claire had password access to the Accords Agency armory. Within minutes, everyone had weaponed up. The imps surprised her as they hefted axes. Marley strapped on a rapier, while Zach looked blankly at the enormous rune-covered scabbard of the sword Leigh Ann handed him with a dry, “Try not to cut yourself.”

  Zach shook his head as he clumsily strapped on the long sword. Then his eyes lit up as he spotted something. “This,” he said in satisfaction. “This I can use.” He strode over to the old red glass-fronted box with the legend “In case of Goliath, break glass.” Inside, some joker had left an old-fashioned slingshot. He tested the sling and nodded to himself. Gravely, Anton passed him a double-handful of ornamental rocks from the hall planter.

  Peter and Yosh methodically selected crossbows with spare quivers, and a few more knives disappeared into their clothing.

  Claire raised an eyebrow at Anton, who just smiled and shook his head. “I’m good.”

  Leigh Ann picked up four razor-tipped spears and noticed Claire’s stare. “What? I lettered in track and field. My sport was javelin.”

  “Of course it was…” Claire muttered before mouthing spells over two narrow shuriken and spearing them into her hair. She added a back sheath and knife but shook her head at any additions. “I need to keep my hands free.”

  Connor nodded. “Me too.” Even with the rest of them carrying their weapons, and standing in the armory surrounded by the technology of destruction, death was his cloak.

  Carey cleared her throat. “This is the part where I think someone is supposed to say something like those who want to leave should go now. But…” She shook her head. “That’s not how this one is going to go down. Because if we don’t get Jeffers back, they’re going to blow the bridge. Lots of people will die, us included. But we’ll also lose the pivot point, and maybe the war. Null City will fall, and that means tens of thousands of innocent people could die. There won’t be any safe place left for people like us.”

  Yosh took one of her hands, while Bain and Hell pressed against their legs. Connor took her other hand, and she continued. “When we step onto that bridge, the Outsiders will outnumber us. They’ll have guns unless the trolls do something about that first. And they won’t have a single goal other than stopping us. So here’s the thing. We’re never going to be heroes. Even if by some miracle we win, nobody will write stories about us or know who we are.”

  She smiled at them. “But we’re going to do it. All of us. Claire is right. We don’t need to be martyrs. And even though the odds say we’ll lose, and even though the chances are we’ll die… Well, they’re wrong, that’s all. We’re going to win. Because I never learned how to lose, and I don’t intend to study on that now.”

  Hell pushed in front of Bain, and lifted her tiny head. The deep scream of fury that followed bore no resemblance to her usual baby barks and yips.

  “Holy crap, Hell.” Zach looked shocked. “What was that all about?”

  The others stared, but Carey was watching Yosh as he looked away. He knew that scream, knew what it meant. She was afraid she did too. How many of them wouldn’t be coming back?

  She headed for the door, Bain at her side, and flanked by Connor and Yosh, who had scooped Hell into one arm. Everyone else fell in quietly behind them. Nobody said a word.

  Instead of turning toward the bridge, she led them in a brisk trot in the opposite direction. They came up on 34th Street, next to the Fremont drawbridge. As usual the statue known locally as Frozen Bus People was draped in colorful balloons and signs. Tonight the cast aluminum forms of commuters waiting for a bus that never arrived were enveloped in added T-shirts, and for some reason, traditional nurses’ caps. Carey edged closer and whispered “Feyala?”

  The aluminum surface of one of the statues seemed to shiver, and a moment later a teenager wearing a “NURSES: we can’t fix stupid, but we can sedate it” T-shirt stepped away from the others.

  “Nice shirt, Fey.”

  Feyala looked down. “I think they were celebrating National Nurses Week this time.” She took off the nurse’s cap, exchanging it for a bandanna she pulled from her jeans pocket to tie back her long dreads.

  Zach was watching the remaining group of statues. “Are they coming too?”

  Feyala stared at him. “They’re statues. They can’t move.”

  “Gotcha.” Zach nodded, bending down to inspect the “I see naked people” T-shirt draping another statue.

  Carey filled Feyala in on what was happening. “If your brothers can take care of the explosives, we’ll try to do the rest.”

  Feyala looked worried. “My middle brother Baqkar just left for Stanford. He’s getting his MBA, so he’s only around on weekends for his bridge-merge. I’ll do what I can, but most of my power is connected to the Fremont drawbridge, not this one. I think we’re going to have to wake up Stanley. And you know what happened last time we tried that.”

  “It wasn’t that big an earthquake. Barely noticeable.” Carey waved off her concerns. “People said it was good practice for the real thing. Besides, if they blow up his bridge, Stanley might not survive.”

  Feyala still looked unhappy, but she nodded.

  “Okay, as I understand it, Stanley will be able to tell where the explosives are and pass that on to you, Fey. Is that right?”

  The young troll nodded. “Guns, too.”

  “So if my friend Anton here goes with you, you can tell him the location info you get from Stanley. And then Anton can dismantle the charges, right?”

  Feyala looked at Anton’s flat eyes and unsmiling mouth. She nodded, a little less doubtfully this time.

  “Can you make sure that’s all Stanley does? No tantrums or earthquakes or anything like that?”

  “No problem.” Feyala smiled. “I’ll just threaten to tell Mom if he gets out of control. By the time he remembers that Mom’s bridge is in France, we should be finished.”

  Carey turned to Leigh Ann. “You know what to do? Set up the block across midpoint as close as possible to…” She looked at her phone’s timer. “Twenty-eight minutes from now. We want to give Anton and Fey as much time as possible to work first.”

  Claire, Peter, and Leigh Ann nodded. “We’ve got this one. You just make sure you do your part.” Carey looked at each of them, and then at the four imps, Zachary, and Marley. “Remember our motto. No martyrs.”

  “No martyrs,” they echoed. The two groups separated, moving quickly. She glanced again at her phone for the time—twenty-
six minutes left now—and set off at a jog, followed by Connor, Yosh, Anton, and Feyala. The two dogs trotted beside her until Yosh scooped up Hell.

  Without explanation, Carey led them through the backyards of one of the tree-covered residential blocks that helped explain Seattle’s nickname, Emerald City. A few dogs barked, but nobody seemed particularly concerned. One woman did look out, but Carey asked if she’d seen her missing puppy. Then she pretended to spot Hell, lifting her high and covering her with kisses. Charmed, the woman waved them on. Keeping under trees and overhanging branches, it was only a few minutes before the little group stood hidden by the overgrown trees and bushes lining the hill at the north end of the bridge. Just beyond was the massive shadowed statue-form of Stanley, frozen in the act of devouring an actual classic VW.

  Carey leaned close to whisper to Feyala and Anton. “I’m guessing they left a few guards down here, so Anton will have to take them out first. Just stay out of his way and let him do his work while you wake up Stanley.” She glanced at her phone and then back to Anton. “Twenty-one minutes. We have to pick our battles. So you need to concentrate on disabling the explosives nearest to Stanley, and then move from there toward the bridge center. We’ll try to give you as much of that time as possible. And…I hope you don’t meet any of your brothers.”

  His black eyes didn’t flicker. “They’d better hope they don’t meet me.”

  She gripped his hands and surprised them both when she leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Good luck.”

  Turning, she led the others further back into the trees. “We’ll wait sixteen minutes and then climb to the bridge surface.” Connor and Yosh nodded.