Forever After (Post Apocalyptic Romance Boxed Set)

by Rose Francis

  A corpse swung lazily back and forth inside the open elevator shaft from a rope around his neck. He was wearing a mechanic's clothes, but he had Aureum's house sigil pinned to his jacket.

  “One of our undercovers,” Gauck told Benito. Benito could see a small piece of paper pinned beneath his sigil.

  “Fetch that,” Benito told one of the Engineers.

  “Take my hand,” the man said, and gave it to Gauck, then leaned out into the shaft. He was able to bat at the corpse, and it swung away from him. He batted at it again, and it swung further. One last push, and its backswing carried into him, knocking him back into the crowd. They managed to grab hold of the corpse and cut the rope around his neck.

  Benito paid no mind to the bowled-over Engineers or the corpse as he plucked the message out from under the pin. It read, “Screw me again, and I disappear, and you never see the baby.” There were further instructions, including a new meeting place.

  Benito crumpled the note, just like the last. “He was stabbed,” one of the Engineers said.

  “I wasn't under the impression he decided now to kill himself,” Benito snapped.

  “Sir, do you want us to sweep the Upper Levels?” Gauck asked, brushing himself off.

  “You won't find her,” Benito said. “But do what you like—just not on my dime. We'll reassemble in six hours.”

  “Most of these men have already worked a double, and are rounding in a triple.”

  Benito sighed. “Get them there. At overtime rates.”

  Thirty-Two

  “It was fucked up,” Tyson said. He was shaking.

  “He recognized us,” Christine said. “I hadn't intended to kill him. We just made the best of spilled milk.”

  “He was kind to us; he held Az.”

  “And he would have caved in our heads for an extra meal chit. I don't disagree that that's fucked up. And our priority really is getting Ilsa back.”

  “And you think he'll play ball this time?”

  “No. I was just pretty sure he wouldn't the first time. I don't know if he's scared or desperate enough to get in line now, though. It's like, have you ever danced with a man?”

  “Can't say I have.”

  “Men want to lead; they grow up getting told they're supposed to. Now he knows he's got to follow, or we'll stomp his toes again. But some men are stubborn.”

  “Is that why we didn't wait for the demolitionist?” he asked.

  “If we waited...I don't know how long she'll survive with him. This kept her alive.”

  “I don't know if I've any right to ask, but, would you really trade him for her?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure,” she said. “I think she'd rather I didn't. But...I hope I don't have to find out. Because either way. I'd hate myself.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But you're sure about this?”

  “As sure as I can be. Just be where I said. Because if things don't go how we want—just don't let him get Az. I'd rather even Coronetto get him than that fuck.”

  “That'd be easier if you let me take him,” Tyson said.

  “Yeah, but we've already done that, once. Benito's going to demand to see him at the hand off—just like I won't go near the bridge if I don't see Ilsa first.” She kissed his cheek, and he hugged her.

  “Be safe. And get Ilsa and that little boy out.”

  “You take care, too.” Tyson nodded and turned back the way they came.

  She knocked on the door, and Brant answered quickly.

  “Almost time, isn't it?” he asked as she entered. “I can do more, if you need.”

  “You've already risked more than enough, harboring me.”

  “Not to mention letting a crazy woman build an explosive in my den.”

  “You tried to look up a woman's skirt while she's building an explosive in your den, and I'm the crazy one,” Christine heard from the other room.

  “That is a little pot and kettle,” Christine agreed, “even if I'm inclined to agree with the diagnosis.”

  “Funny way of saying thanks,” the voice came again.

  “I swear, Diane, I don't know how your hearing's as sharp as it is. You've deafened yourself what, five different times?”

  “Hazard of the business,” she said, walking out of the den.

  “Thanks, Diane,” she said, as the woman handed her a cylinder that was heavier than it looked.

  “Don't thank me,” she said. “Just make sure that doesn't go off outside of an Aureum colon. You remember how to activate them?”

  “Same as the one you made me for the fifth level?”

  “Same. You aren't coming back, are you?”

  “One way or another, I don't think so.”

  “Damn,” the other woman said. “I always kind of hoped that we'd have time to...” she frowned and shook her head. “I'll miss you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I think we just burned too hot,” she stroked Christine's cheek.

  “You left me in bed with a bomb.”

  “It wasn't armed,” Diane said. Christine genuinely couldn't tell if she thought that explanation was a good one.

  “You are such a crazy bitch.” They kissed, and she remembered for an instant a hundred others like it, and wondered if she was right about them burning too hot.

  “Can I get one of those kisses?” Brant asked. She hugged him instead. He shrugged. “Can't blame a pervert for trying.”

  “Can and do,” she replied. “But thanks. And thank you, Ruth,” she said, and hugged the larger woman. Ruth smiled pleasantly at her.

  “You want him now?”

  She didn't. Because so long as he stayed with Ruth and Brant, he was safe through obscurity. But she knew she couldn't protect him from this—not at the expense of his mother.

  DuMonte skulked back into the room.

  “And I don't have to worry about your friend?”

  “I can't speak wholly for Tyson, but I consider us as square as we can be. But I can say, with certainty, he never would have hurt Martine.”

  “I suspected as much,” he said, “but knowing is liberating. And there's also...they're moving Ilsa. Presumably for the exchange, but...I wouldn't trust Benito further than I could fling the fat bastard.”

  “And you would have told me whether or not you felt liberated?” she asked.

  “I suspect so. But it made me feel better, knowing you had something to lose, too, if you planned to have me murdered.” He held out his hand. “Good luck.”

  “To you, too.” She shook it.

  She picked up her pack, and turned for the door. She ended up needing the doorframe for support. She was weak already from that morning's work, the fruits of which bulged in her front pocket.

  “Are you sure I shouldn't go with you?” Brant asked.

  “Your sister needs you more than I do,” she said. “But thanks for offering.” She shoved off, before anyone else could follow suit. She had said her goodbyes. She didn't want to have to say them again, while feeling like she was being ungrateful.

  She walked around in the district, to see if there were more plainclothes Engineers. She hoped Benito hadn't been fool enough to try to fool her a second time, but that seemed likely. But either they'd gotten more subtle, or he was being more cautious. Which meant she needed to get to the meet. It was strange, approaching a sky bridge between blocks with no Engineers guarding it. But they were all across the way, standing behind Benito.

  Benito started to cross alone. They met in the center. When there was only ten feet between them, Christine yelled, “That's close enough.”

  He smiled. “You must be Christine. Homelier than I expected.”

  “And you're a gianter ass than Ilsa gave you credit for. Now where is she?”

  “My son, first.”

  “Ilsa,” she said. “You've got back-up, for if I try to flake. And you've got a hell of a lot more to lose, if I decide to walk away right now.”

  He waved his hand, and an Engineer pushed Ilsa ahead of the others. I
lsa started walking slowly across the bridge. She was wearing a long, flowing slip that was white, and nearly sheer, that flowed with each step she took. She looked like an angel, one Christine had never been certain she would see again.

  Benito took advantage of the situation, and took a step forward. That got Christine back in the moment. “No,” she said.

  “My son,” he insisted.

  Christine reached inside her pack, and pulled out the little baby. It frowned at her, for the brightness of its new surroundings. It wriggled unhappily at the awkward way she was holding him. She held him up, to be sure Benito could see him, see that he was moving.

  “No!” Ilsa yelled, “Don't give him to him.” Benito put out his arm, to stop her.

  “She's the one holding the child,” Benito said. He grabbed hold of her arm. “If she'd rather I push you off this bridge, that I can do.”

  Christine put the baby back into her pack, and inched forward, holding her hands out as she moved. “We don't want that,” she said. “Let go of her arm.”

  “When I'm holding my son,” he said. Christine pulled the child out of her bag, and wrapped it gingerly in a blanket.

  “It'll be okay,” she whispered into its face, and it gurgled back at her.

  “Don't,” Ilsa said.

  She handed the swaddled child to Benito. He didn't let Ilsa's arm go.

  Benito's head jerked as he heard a snap, and looked down. Christine was holding a switchblade to his groin. Brant would be missing his most expensive possession, but his gift had come in handy.

  “Release her, or I'll make certain you'll never know another woman.” He glared at her, but he had the child in his other arm. His revenge could wait, with his salvation at hand. He let go.

  They turned and started running.

  “You shouldn't have given him up,” Ilsa said through tears. She wanted to turn back and fight; she would rather have thrown the baby off the bridge along with herself, than to see him cut apart to hold that psychopathic Frankenstein together.

  “I didn't,” Christine said, and pulled on her pack so it opened. Az gargled at her from inside.

  “You still should have neutered Benito,” Ilsa said.

  “Then he might not have lived to see this,” she said.

  * * *

  The child didn't sound right, but Benito's hearing had been screwy since his illness developed. But it was scratchy, and artificial. And the child's weight felt wrong.

  He shook it, and the motion didn't travel through bones and flesh they way he'd expect. He wondered if Christine had been smart enough to buy an infant corpse to give him. The gurgling continued. He found a small recorder, in a surprisingly good state of repair. He narrowed his eyes. The girl had magic.

  He tore the rest of the rags off the 'child'. It was a doll, porcelain and pristine, somewhat decrepit, and clumsily glued together. In its broken hands, it held a long metal cylinder. “Bomb!” he screamed as he realized it, and threw the doll and explosive over the side of the bridge.

  Doll and cylinder tumbled separately, with the girl traveling the further distance. The bomb exploded. The compression wave knocked Benito and the Engineers at his back to their feet. The bridge beneath them shook, and a section several meters wide collapsed out of the center.

  Christine and Ilsa were running. “They're getting away!” Benito screamed.

  “It's too far to jump,” one of the Engineers told him.

  “You're just not motivated,” Benito said, and gave him a hard shove. The Engineer landed ribs-first against the edge of the bridge. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he started to slide. His fingers curled in desparation, but couldn't find purchase. He fell, screaming, and it was a long time before the noise died off.

  When it did, two Engineers pulled their batons and squared at Benito. “Stand down,” Gauck said.

  “He killed Renfield,” one said.

  “It was an accident,” Gauck said. “Renny tripped.” That didn't seem enough. “And you don't want to be starting a fight on a bridge that's already started collapsing.” The men stood down, and tucked their batons in their belts.

  “Now get that fucking brat, like I paid for,” Benito growled.

  * * *

  Ilsa ran down an alley a few steps ahead of Christine. She ducked inside at speed, and ran into a man wrapped in tattered clothes. The shock of it was enough that it was a moment before she realized who it was. “Tyson!” she said, and wrapped her arms around him. “I never thought I'd see,” she paused, staring at Christine cradling her son in her arms, “any of you again.” Her eyes welled up with tears.

  “Here,” he said, and handed her a dress, tight and revealing, and dyed purple to get attention.

  Christine handed Tyson the baby, and he put him inside a pot on his handcart.

  “They'll be looking for two women with a baby,” Christine said, and gave him her bag. She stripped out of her clothes, and had on a second set underneath, tighter, and as revealing as Ilsa's.

  “Bedwarmers?” Ilsa asked.

  “Lady Lucks,” Christine said. “And we're hiding in plain sight.”

  Tyson dropped a moldering auburn wig onto Christine's head. “Were you able to get us onto a ship?” she asked.

  “The Narwhal left yesterday. He kept most of what we paid him, said that we kept him from being able to take on more goods or crew. Which was bull, but I ain't surprised, either. And it didn't leave enough to hire another boat.”

  “I figured,” Christine said. “Plan B, I guess.”

  “I'm not sure B is safer than C,” he said.

  “Maybe,” she replied, “but C is probably harder to pull off.”

  “What are C and B?” Ilsa asked. Tyson put a wide-brimmed hat over her, and Christine helped shove her hair underneath it.

  “B is to stow away on a ship,” Christine said. “C is to commandeer one.”

  “Still think I like C,” Tyson said.

  “You just like it because then you could be a real pirate, and say 'yarr.'”

  “Yarr,” he admitted. “But we've still got enough to barter Az and I onto whatever ship you make it onto. And even if we can't, we can get onto another ship and just meet back up at port. And since they aren't looking for one man with a baby, it should be easier for all of us to move around.”

  “But if B is a flop, what's our best prospect?” Christine asked.

  “The Seaward. It's a little ship, with a tiny crew of mostly shitheads. They leave their first mate alone to guard the ship at port, because he's a fuck-up. But because he's a fuck-up, he gets and stays drunk the entire time he's on board, and when he can, he brings the whores to him.”

  “Is that why we're dressed this way?” Ilsa asked.

  “Happy accident. But if you've got to take a ship by force, that's the ripest peach. On the far eastern end of the dock. Good luck.” He pushed his hand cart out of the alley, in the direction they came, and turned towards the docks.

  Engineers rushed past him. Christine and Ilsa emerged from the alley, moments before Engineers came from every direction. They didn't stop to look at them; they were looking for two women, one in rags and one in an eye-catching white gown, with a baby and a large bag.

  But the Engineers didn't have time to set up checkpoints or roadblocks. They were playing catch up, and that made them reckless. It left wide holes in their dragnet for Christine and Ilsa to waltz through.

  They made it to the ships that routinely took on passengers. None of them were purely passenger vessels, but many made room for them if they had good coin.

  The docks were in the open air. The wind whipped bits of cloud at them, but there was no way to have the ships dock without access to the skies.

  The Engineers were thick there. Forcing the Engineers out of the district meant they avoided a trap, but it also telegraphed their intentions to flee by ship.

  But they were still preoccupied enough with a child, or the women's previous appearance, that most weren't paying attenti
on to them.

  Ilsa recognized Gauck, and turned away; he was most likely to recognize her. She nudged Christine for a distraction, and Christine exaggerated her swagger and smile. The man next to Gauck lost interest like the others, but Gauck wasn't like most. He scrutinized Christine the moment he saw her. She tried to play flirtatious, but he didn't bite. “Shit,” she said, “we have to go.” She grabbed Ilsa's arm and tugged left.

  The moment he realized they weren't going to dance into his parlor, Gauck raised a whistle to his lips and blew for all he was worth. He pointed where the girls had been, but they were already gone.

  Not all districts still had regular plumbing. The newer a district was, the more likely it was to use a waste chute—essentially an angled ditch that gathered all waste and trash and washed it downward, where it was eventually dumped into a collection pipe. Easier to build than systems with a plethora of small pipes.

  Christine knew the ditch in the area. It traveled from west to east. She had hoped that knowledge would never come in handy. But she found herself shoving Ilsa down an alley towards the ditch. She could hear the excited screams of Engineers behind her, like the bloodthirsty baying of hounds on the hunt.

  “We'll have to take the waste chute,” Christine told Ilsa. “You'll want to keep your mouth closed—but not your eyes, though squint as best you can—cause you'll need to see the end before you get dropped off the side of the building. And gather as much of your skirt in front of you as you can, and hold it up; you don't want to scoop, and you also don't want to get it torn off—this'll be bad enough without you skidding down on your bare ass—not to mention the fucking infection.”

  They stopped at the edge. Christine looked back. Engineers within a few feet of them.

  Ilsa bunched up her skirt and jumped, and Christine was right behind her. She felt a hand on the back of her dress, but all they caught was fabric that tore away. She felt badly, for ruining Ruth's favorite dress—not that the other woman had been able to fit into it for at least several years, but then she realized she was about to ruin it even more thoroughly.

  She landed, and the concrete scratched at her through the dress, lubricated only slightly by the waste beneath her. She glanced behind, and saw two of the more reckless Engineers had followed and were sliding after her. The one ahead held out his foot to the side and stopped.