The strange mental image that conjured startled a chuckle out of me, and just like that, the world snapped back into focus. I was still sickened by the scene we’d left behind, still scared and angry and sad, but I was able to think clearly again.
I looked at our surroundings with more critical eyes. This fountain was part of a park at the center of an early-century residential complex. Normally it would be crowded with kids at this time of day, but the area was deserted. I could see a few curtains twitching in the houses around us, but no one came out.
These older neighborhoods didn’t usually have many street cams; in fact, I could only spot two facing in our general direction. Both looked to have been disabled the old-fashioned way, with globs of paint covering the lenses.
“Looks like pretty limited monitoring in this district,” I said. “No one in these houses should have any reason to call in and report us being here and even if they did, the emergency lines are sure to be jammed. I think we can safely take a break for a few more minutes.”
“Sounds good,” Martín mumbled. “Just give me five minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
If Sharra and I were tired from our long day, the older man seemed exhausted. He had done the bare minimum to rinse off the dust and now sat in the grass, slumped against the side of the fountain with his eyes closed. I hoped five minutes would be enough.
Roomie seemed untroubled, as usual. He had settled himself in the deepest part of the fountain, where he could use the movement of the water to help clean his fur. Sharra was helping him scrub at a few of the hard-to-reach areas.
“Let me help Roomie,” I suggested. “You can get on your wrist com and message Lucas. He’ll hear about this soon if he hasn’t already, so let him know we’re ok. And tell them what happened with Mateo. Somebody will be keeping records of the dead and injured—we need to know if Mateo is on one of those lists.”
“Got it,” Sharra agreed, stepping back. I sat on the edge of the fountain to scratch my fingers through Roomie’s thick fur and help him remove the last of the dirt from his sleek coat. After a couple of minutes, Roomie leapt from the fountain and sat down to groom away the excess water with his tongue. I left him to it and walked back to Sharra.
She had triggered the tiny holo-keyboard for the wrist com and her fingers flew across the virtual keys. The display was also on holo mode, but I was too impatient to sort through the text-speak and e-geek jargon they used to read it for myself.
“Any word on Mateo?”
“His name isn’t on any of the public lists of dead or injured.”
“But we have no idea what name might have been on his ID.”
“Exactly. Lucas is working on getting into the full database, where there are pictures of everyone on the lists. When they get access to the database they can run facial recognition looking for Mateo.”
“Okay, that’s good. Tell him to keep us posted.”
“Yep.”
“And tell him … um … tell him hi.” I was uncomfortable saying anything more personal in this group conversation.
Sharra rolled her eyes at me and spoke aloud as she typed, “Poppy says she loves you, misses you, wishes you were here.”
I ducked my head, my cheeks fiery red. “Yeah,” I mumbled, “that’s better than mine.”
Sharra snorted with laughter and signed off, making the little keyboard wink out of existence.
“Lucas also said that we’re right to stay out of the Warren. Parts of it are collapsing from the explosion and there are troops sweeping all the tunnels to clear people out. Only for their own safety, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” I agreed, my sarcasm as thick as hers.
Martín swore softly. “This is just what I was afraid would happen. The government is using this incident as an excuse to go in and clear out the Warren. All those people are going to end up homeless or on work farms somewhere, most of them for nothing more than choosing to live off-grid.”
“Why would he even need an excuse?” Sharra asked. “He doesn’t seem to need an excuse for anything else.”
“He doesn’t want to be seen as a bad guy,” I told her. “He never has liked that. He makes someone else deliver bad news, he offers excuses for his actions to make it look like he has good intentions. When he cancelled the elections, it wasn’t so he could just take over as president, it was because the country needed time to mourn. When he put more mechs on street patrols it wasn’t so he could clamp down on personal freedoms, it was because he was trying to prevent crime.
“Now he has a chance to clear out the Warren, which he’s wanted for years. The reason I always thought the Warren was full of crooks and murderers is because that’s what I learned from Cruz. He thinks everyone there is criminal by nature. And he can do it while claiming to be rescuing them from the unstable tunnels, so he looks like a hero.”
Martín shook his head in dismay. “Terrible. And even worse somehow that we get some benefit from it. After all, if most of the mech troops are busy in the Warren, there won’t be many available to patrol the streets. By sticking to the back streets we can probably avoid them completely.”
I groaned, flexing my toes in my boots. My feet were already tired and the prospect of more walking was not appealing. “Back streets means a longer walk and no possibilities for grabbing a slidewalk. But better than being grabbed by a mech. Probably.”
Martín climbed to his feet with a sigh. “We’d better get moving. This way.”
As we followed Martín out of the park, I spotted Roomie eyeing the empty pack hanging from my shoulders. “Oh, don’t even think about it, cat. I’m not hauling you through the city. If we’re walking, so are you.”
He curled his lip in a half-hearted growl and padded along beside me without further argument. Martín looked back and forth between me and Roomie with a confused expression, but when neither of us offered any further explanation, he resumed leading us toward his headquarters—wherever they were.
We stuck to the side streets on our long, exhausting slog through the city, avoiding street cams whenever possible. Thankfully, the high winds that often whipped through Goodland meant that drones weren’t used for patrols, so we didn’t have to look out for those as well.
It took nearly an hour to reach the city’s main retail district and in all that time we saw only two mechs. Both were more focused on the busier main streets, which allowed us to slip past without incident.
The normally crowded streets were lightly traveled tonight. The few people who were out gathered around the public broadcast kiosks found on most blocks or walked while watching the newscasts on wrist-tabs or pocket-coms. Everyone was trying to keep abreast of the latest information about the bombing and the government’s response.
I caught enough snippets of various broadcasts to know that though Cruz was not naming me by name, he had released a description of a female suspect about five feet tall with short, red hair. That was all the detail offered at this point. Probably the dirt on my face had concealed the ink that would otherwise be a very identifiable feature.
I tightened the sunscarf on my head, even though I knew it looked strange to be wearing it after dark. Between the suspect description and my own recognizable face, my best defense was to keep my face and hair covered at all times.
Hours of walking finally brought us to the far side of the city. The residential district came to an abrupt end with a low stone wall marking the boundary between the new part of the city and the remains of a few old Goodland neighborhoods. The wall was more symbolic than functional, and we climbed over it easily, dropping onto the sparse grass of a dilapidated old park on the far side of the wall.
I moaned a little as my feet hit the ground. My legs ached and my feet stung with blisters acquired during the long trek through the city streets. I had to restrain myself from peppering Martín with whiny “Are we there yet?” complaints.
Even though I didn’t voice it, Martín responded to my unasked question. “It’s not far
now,” he assured us wearily. “Just a few more blocks.”
“Thank all the gods and goddesses,” Sharra muttered. “Even my blisters have blisters.”
We limped along behind him on the cracked and overgrown pavement of an old road. The trees and other vegetation were thick and green here. The wild overgrowth reminded me of Denver, and I felt a rush of homesickness for the people and places I loved there. Only by reminding myself that my mission here would ultimately help my new hometown was I able to swallow the lump in my throat and push on.
The greenery was so thick that I was almost directly in front of the old building before I saw it. The crumbling red bricks and white marble trim were covered in clinging ivy that made the whole thing nearly disappear into the surrounding vegetation. Certainly, I wouldn’t have stumbled across it without a guide leading me here, which was always a good quality in a hidden headquarters.
15
“What is this place?” I asked.
“An old school,” Martín told us. “Very old, in fact. It was built back in the twentieth century. It’s been abandoned for many, many years. I grew up in this neighborhood and it’s been overgrown like this for as long as I can remember.
“In fact, my friends and I would sneak in to play and tell ghost stories when I was young. I’ll admit I still get a chill sometimes when I’m in the dark alone here,” he said with a chuckle.
“When I was looking for someplace to hide my little operation, I thought of the old school. I camped inside for a couple of weeks before I felt sure enough that no one else was coming around. Since then we’ve been using it as a headquarters for those who have to go into hiding. We’ve got about two dozen people living here, but most of our group is going about their daily lives, waiting for the chance to make our move.”
He broke off as he saw Sharra struggling to hold back a yawn. “And I’ll tell you more about all this later. We’re all too tired to get into it now.”
Ever the gentleman, he offered us each a hand to help us climb the two shallow stairs. Roomie jumped straight to the top of the stairs so he could be the first to walk through a tall arch of white marble that gracefully framed the front doors of the old school. He paused at the heavy wooden door, waiting for someone to open it for him.
The door hung slightly ajar from twisted hinges, and its scarred old planks scraped and splintered a little as Martín heaved it across the old concrete doorstep. He pulled it just wide enough for us to slip inside, then dragged it closed again behind us.
The entryway was dark and I stopped to let my eyes adjust. Martín produced a flashlight from somewhere near the door and flicked it on. The shaft of light caught just a glimpse of Roomie as he headed out to explore the school for himself.
“Oh dear,” Martín exclaimed. “Do you want to go after him?”
“I’m sure he’ll find us when he’s ready,” I said.
“There are some parts of the building that are falling down,” Martín worried. “I hope he doesn’t get stuck somewhere.”
“He’ll be fine. He knows how to take care of himself.”
Martín might have argued more, but we were interrupted by the arrival of a man with a flashlight. He considerately kept the lights shining at knee level to avoid dazzling our eyes.
“Martín!” a relieved voice exclaimed. “I’m glad to see you back here, man. We were afraid you’d got caught up by the mechs clearing the Warren.”
“We were warned to avoid the sweeps,” Martín explained, “but we had to make our way across the city on foot. It took us several hours.”
Now that another flashlight had arrived, Martín replaced his on a window ledge near the door.
“Did you find Mat?” the man asked.
“Let’s go into the gym so I can tell everyone at once,” Martín suggested. He opened the left side of a pair of double-doors that led into a wood-floored gymnasium and motioned to us to step inside. Lanterns glowed all around the large room, so I could see clearly.
Half the room was set up as a command center, while the other half was living quarters. The only windows in the room were set high in the east wall. They were blacked out to keep the lantern light from escaping and advertising our presence in the building.
Martín led the way toward the cluster of computers sitting on battered metal desks as people left the cots they were sitting on to gather close and hear the news.
“Let me begin by introducing some friends of mine, Poppy and Sharra,” Martín said. “Poppy, Sharra, and Mateo knew each other in the past and I had hoped they could talk to him about his plans.” He paused and cleared his throat before continuing, “As you have seen on the newscasts, we were regrettably unable to stop the blast.”
“Were you there when it happened?” someone asked. He gave a little laugh. “Cha, what a blast. When you watch the view from the street cams you can just see everything … Boom!” The man’s eyes were shining with excitement. I felt nauseous at his inappropriate glee.
“What is wrong with you, Gene?” A woman in faded jeans and a green camo-patterned tee shoved his shoulder roughly as she shouted. “You watched the footage, but did you see? Do you have any idea how many people were hurt?”
“People died, man.” This came from a tall black man wearing, of all things, a polished three-piece suit. I blinked in surprise. He definitely stood out among the rest of the group in their casual, even ragged, clothing.
The discussion continued around us as another woman spoke up. I couldn’t see more than a glimpse of her standing behind several other people, but I heard her loud and clear.
“Yeah, so some people got hurt and killed. It’s a shame, but it would have been worth it if it had taken out Rodriguez. This is a rebellion; it’s not always going to be pretty.”
There was a rumble of agreement. More people seemed to agree with her than with those decrying the violence.
“It’s grim,” another woman agreed, “but hey, they shouldn’t be hanging out in the government sector, y’know? If they weren’t supporting the regime, they wouldn’t have been in harm’s way.” She shrugged, obviously unconcerned.
I gritted my teeth, enraged by the cavalier attitude so many of these people were showing. “I thought the rebellion was supposed to be a better option than Cruz Rodriguez and his goons,” I pointed out coolly.
“But if you’re as willing to harm innocents as he is, then you’re just as bad. Most of the people on that street probably don’t like Rodriguez any more than you do. He certainly hasn’t been going out of his way to be lovable. But they still have lives to lead. They have families to take care of. So they go to work and keep their heads down, just hoping to stay unnoticed so they can make it through another day. They may be working for the government, but that in itself doesn’t mean they deserve to be killed.
“One of Rodriguez’s worst offenses is removing the right to be considered innocent until proven guilty, yet we’re doing the same thing if we just presume that anyone working for the government is guilty of helping him.”
I locked eyes with the woman who had proclaimed that those hurt in the blast had deserved their fate. She glared at me for a few moments before dropping her eyes. Most people in the crowd shuffled their feet and looked away. I heard a few muttered apologies.
Martín stepped forward and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Well said, Poppy, well said.” His eyes swept over the people clustered in front of us. “We cannot forget that we are trying to replace tyranny with democracy, not simply install another oppressive government. We must be better than our opponents, or we become only the lesser of two evils.”
Heads dropped in embarrassment and a few more people muttered apologies after Martín’s gentle chastisement. Having made his point, Martín moved on. “Next on the agenda, allow me to formally introduce the young lady who just spoke to you. I’m sure you all remember Poppy Walker. She’s a lot tougher than she used to be but still just as eloquent.”
I flushed. His praise seemed a little over the t
op. Sharra made my embarrassment worse when she added, “Actually, she’s always been pretty tough. I watched her beat two mechs in hand-to-hand combat on the day after her father was killed.”
I waved her praise away, blushing. “It’s not important. I’m not tough enough to have stopped Cruz and his buddies from taking over. That’s all that matters at the moment.”
The woman in the camo-tee stepped closer, inspecting me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. Finally, she nodded. “I can see Poppy Walker under the hair and makeup,” she admitted. She gave me an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself for not stopping this mess, kid. You couldn’t have known it was coming. Cha, I worked with Cruz every day. If anyone should have seen it ...”
I stared back at her, trying to place that pale blond hair and striking face. If she’d worked that closely with Cruz, it seemed like I should have known her, but nothing about her was familiar.
She gave me a crooked smile. “Naw, you don’t know me. I helped Cruz start his cyber-security firm and took over as CEO when he decided to leave and go into politics. I had my meetings with Cruz at company headquarters. I rarely ventured up to the White House, so you and I never bumped into each other.
“When Cruz started to use the company as his own private intelligence agency, I noticed that there was always an unfortunate fate in store for those he targeted. I got out and got lost. Then I met up with this guy in Madrid, and he convinced me to dive right back in.” She mimed a punch at Martín’s shoulder, and he slapped her hand away with easy affection.
“I imagine you’d like a chance to clean up and get some rest,” Martín said to me and Sharra. “I know I would. I’m sure Luna here would be glad to show you the facilities.”
“Thank you, that sounds wonderful.” Sharra agreed for both of us, and we followed Luna out of the gymnasium on weary legs.
16
Luna led us to a locker room next to the gymnasium. “You can get washed up in here. We don’t have running water, but we collect rainwater and flash-sterilize it so it’s safe for drinking and cooking. It rains enough here that we have plenty left over for niceties like bathing.
Into Light (Shadow and Light Book 2) Page 9