by Tracey Ward
Bray looks at me with a blank sort of stare that says he has no idea why Ryan thinks that’s funny. I do, but I’m being serious. Why would I pay a man to show me how to strike a match when I know I can build a bonfire on my own?
Ryan starts up a conversation with Bray to smooth over my oddness, going back and forth with him about a comic series they’ve both been reading. Gussy bought a box of nearly pristine copies from a Westie at the Market two months ago and they’ve been devoured by almost everyone in the Hyperion. They don’t have all of the installments, but what they’re missing is made up between them. They’ve even started writing their ideas down. As it turns out, Dylan is something of an artist. He’ll draw panels for them for hours, smiling in the candlelight with charcoal smudged fingers as they excitedly explain each scene to him. I can see the father in him as he does it. He’s happiest when he’s making others happy, and I want to tell Ryan that that is what love looks like. But I worry if I point it out it will make him miss Kevin, and he’s come too far to spiral out again. I can’t stomach doing that to him. Not for anything. I’d bleed every drop of my own blood to keep him from the kind of pain he had to survive when Kevin died.
I don’t know what that looks like from the outside, but it feels like love on the inside.
It’s everywhere if you watch for it, no matter what dark things people say or try to believe. It just doesn’t look the way it used to. It changed with us. It grew and shrunk to fit the new world, but it finds its place in every shadowed crevice of our fractured lives; like a flower growing in the middle of a destroyed street. Asphalt all around, barren and broken, but in its center – life. Love.
The smell of smoke and cooked meat greets us from the Market before we can see it. I could hear it for blocks, though. Long before Ryan and Bray, and not because my ears are that much better than theirs but because I’ve been training them a lot longer. I don’t filter out sounds. I hear everything all at once all the time, always listening for oddities and threats and changes in the current of life whirling around me. It can be a lot sometimes. That’s another reason I like nights in the Crow’s Nest. There’s less to listen to up there. It’s more about sight than sound and I can take a break from the outside for once.
But not today. Today is the Market with every gang in the wild in one stretch of street, laughing, talking, cooking, shouting, drinking, dancing, singing, fighting, fucking. Men and boys wander through the strip with their breath like a fog in front of them as they check out stalls of goods, food, drinks, and sex. Women and girls stand at the entrance of tents, bundled up against the cold but smiling warmly at every man who passes. The youngest can’t be less than sixteen but they all look thirty or older. It’s their eyes. It ages them. The same way I feel like I look forty when I look in the mirror. Same as Ryan and even Bray get that look in their eyes that says they’ve seen too much. We’ll all die young someday, but on the inside we’ll be old men who lived too long on borrowed time.
“So, Trent, you’re going to…” Bray glances around furtively before leaning in close, “do the thing we talked about?”
“No. I’m not going to pay to watch people have sex.”
“No! That’s not what I mean.”
I smirk at him. “I know it’s not.”
“Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to do it?”
“Yes.”
Bray stares at me in confusion for a few seconds before glancing at Ryan. Ryan nods, rolling his eyes.
“Just chill,” he sighs. “He’ll do it. He always follows through.”
“Yeah, but he’s just—”
“I know. But it’s fine. Chill.”
“Hey, handsome,” a woman calls from the tent on my right. The Elevens’ tent. “What are you shopping for today?”
She’s sitting on a chair with her denim clad legs crossed casually and her coat zipped high. Her blond hair is piled on her head in a carefully careless bun, soft strands blowing in the breeze across her cheeks.
It’s Crystal. My first and only. I’ve been to see her several times since we first met, but she’s the only woman I’ll pay for so she’s the only woman I’ve ever touched. I get a strange turn in my stomach when I look at her, something that I can only vaguely liken to hunger.
This does not feel like love.
Bray blushes at her. Ryan smiles slightly because he knows she’s talking to him when she called out to ‘handsome’. But it’s me she grins at when she recognizes me.
“Trent,” she laughs happily. She rises from her chair to come down to greet me. I get a warm kiss on my cheek and a delicate hand on my arm. “Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in months.”
“I had more important things to do than come to the Market.”
She nods in understanding, unoffended by my explanation. It’s blunt but honest, something Crystal appreciates. Her face pinches with sympathy. “I heard about the trouble you Hyperions had. I’m so sorry. For all of you.”
“Thanks,” Bray grunts awkwardly.
Crystal meets Ryan’s eyes, her face immediately easing into a small smile. “Ryan Hyperion. You get better looking every year, don’t you?”
Ryan grins, his cheeks ruddy from the cold. “I try to.”
“How old are you now? Nineteen?”
“Eighteen.”
“It’s his birth month,” Bray tells her excitedly. His eyes are swimming a little, sloshing in the sockets like beer in a mug. Women have that effect on him.
Crystal’s smile widens. “Is it? Well, happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” Ryan accepts.
“Are you a virgin, baby?”
Ryan blushes deeper than Bray. His eyes dart to the side, looking at me for some reason.
“Yes,” I answer for him.
“Dude,” he growls at me.
“Eighteen, a Hyperion gentleman, and a virgin?” Crystal clarifies, her voice deep with disapproval. “Well, we can’t have that.”
Ryan shakes his head. “I don’t have enough to—”
“You don’t need to. It’s on the house.”
“No, really. I can’t. I mean, you and Trent are…um…”
Crystal comes closer, the scent of her perfume wafting over us. She smells like flowers. Like springtime. “Not with me. I know how you boys are about sharing within a gang.”
“It’s not that. It’s just—”
“It is that, and that’s okay. I’ve got a girlfriend here who owes me a favor. She’s a sweet girl, close to your age, and she’ll be very gentle if you want her to be. Free of charge.”
“It’s not Crimson, is it?” I ask with distaste.
Crystal smiles at me mildly. “No, hon. I wouldn’t recommend her to anyone. Not after how she treated you.” She turns back to Ryan, her smile growing. It’s a little fake now but still pretty. “Rosa, on the other hand, would be perfect for Ryan.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want her to have to do that.”
“Trust me, once she gets a look at you, she’ll be happy to do it. She’s got a thing for champions.”
“I’m not a champion.”
“No, but the way I hear it, you will be.” She wiggles her fingers at him invitingly. “Come with me.”
Ryan takes a step back. He casts her that glowing grin of his to soften his rejection. “I really appreciate it, but I’m okay. Thanks. I have to hit up the Pikes’ tent before they sell out of ointment.”
“The jasmine scented cream?”
He pauses, caught off guard by her knowledge. “Yeah. You’ve used it?”
“On my hands when they get chapped from the cold. It’s good stuff. You’re right, you better hurry.”
Ryan smiles at her one more time before he and Bray head deeper into the Market.
“He’s a good kid, isn’t he?” Crystal asks sliding back into her chair.
I smile. “He is.”
“When is he getting back into the ring?”
“Never.”
Her eyebrows rise sharply. “Really? Why not?”
“It’s not a good place for him. The ring or the Hive.”
“No kidding,” she chuckles. “The Hive isn’t a good place for anyone. But the money you can make in the Arena is too good to pass up.”
“Do you gamble?”
“Almost exclusively.”
“I’ve never seen you there.”
“And you see everyone, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
She smiles before looking away, down the line of stalls to the end where the Hive tent sits proudly. “No, I’ve never been but I’ve got a guy. He places bets for me.”
“Who?”
Crystal hesitates, her eyes searching my face. I see the moment she decides she can trust me. It’s like a book falling open. Like a sigh. “Andy. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“Not many do. He flies a little under the radar.”
“Do you trust him not to skim?”
“He’s Hive,” she reminds me. “He can’t be trusted with much of anything.”
“You shouldn’t let him bet for you.”
“You wouldn’t skim, would you, Trent?”
“No. I wouldn’t.”
“You Hyperions,” she muses. “You boys are a different breed.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“I do, and you are. A girl could live a real life at the Hyperion. If the world would let her.”
I stare at her blankly, unsure what to tell her because she already knows the truth. We don’t allow girls at the Hyperion because women in the wild are scarce. They’re dollar signs to some and pleasure centers to most. Having a woman living but not ‘working’ in any gang is almost impossible. Other gangs will try to steal her. Any time she goes out in the wild without the full protection of the gang behind her, she’s likely to be raped. It’s as simple as that. The Hive is the only gang selling skin today that has less than three men guarding their assets. They don’t need more than Vin and that tattoo on his neck saying he’s Hive. Saying ‘Watch your shit or you’re dead as the Hydes’.
I spot Ryan coming back my way through the crowd. Bray isn’t with him.
“I have to go,” I tell Crystal. “It was good to see you.”
“You too, Trent. Come visit me soon, okay? You’re my favorite.”
“You say that everyone.”
She grins. “But I only mean it with you.”
Ryan is carrying a tall, white jar in his hand. The label has been stripped off, but if I had to guess, I’d say it originally held mayonnaise.
“I didn’t upset her, did I?” Ryan asks, nodding to the Elevens’ tent behind me.
“Crystal doesn’t offend easily.”
“She can’t, being friends with you.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Close enough.” He shifts the jar in his hand. He’s avoiding my eyes. “I’m not a virgin, by the way. And if I was, I wouldn’t want some kind of pity hand out.”
I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Between this and the man he killed, I’m starting to wonder if Ryan is living a secret life I know nothing about.
“How was it?”
He frowns, unsure. It seems like a strange thing to be unsure about. “Good. It was good.”
“Who was it?”
“A Westie girl.”
“Kevin paid?”
“No. It was… she didn’t charge me.”
“Then how did you—”
“It was some kind of a pity hand out,” he admits in a hushed hurry. “It was exactly what I didn’t want but I went ahead anyway because she seemed cool, but it was just… It wasn’t how I thought it would be, I guess.”
“What’d you think it would be?”
Ryan sighs, gripping his jar tightly. “It sounds stupid, but I thought it’d be more like love.”
“That does sound stupid.”
“Thanks,” he chuckles unhappily.
“Stupid doesn’t mean it’s impossible.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t hold my breath waiting for it, you know? There’s plenty of other ways to die.”
We hit up the Westies tent where I talk privately to my guy, Jesus. He hooks me up with a solid eight-inch blade for nine dollars. The handle is less than impressive but I can beef it up for Bray. A little leather work around it will make it easier to grip. I hide it in my breast pocket before shaking his hand and coming out from behind the cover of their stall. Rain is starting to drip down on the tops of the tents. It pelts each with a loud warning of more to come with fat drops that feel like winter against my skin. The already wet ground is turning soft and slick under my feet as I make my way back to Ryan. Bray is with him, his eyes wide with excitement. He’s telling Ryan something rapidly. Ryan nods slowly, his mouth set in a firm, straight line that cuts a wound straight through my gut.
I recognize that face. That blind determination.
He spots me approaching. He turns away from Bray while he’s still talking, focusing all of his attention on me.
“The Hive spotted it,” he tells me darkly.
I sigh sadly. “The wolf.”
“It’s near the park. I’m going after it.” He puts his hand on his pocket, his fingers resting on the hilt of his blade. “I’m going to kill that fucking thing. Tonight.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Trent
Tracking Ryan in this abandoned section of town is tough. The grass here is high, untrampled by the traffic of gang members and Colony cars that roll through the streets looking for people to pick up. The Market broke up early today because a warning went up that Colony vans were in the area. I got Ryan and Bray out immediately, running through buildings instead of the streets. The risk is higher that you’ll bump into a lot of Risen that way, and we definitely did, but assessing the threat level of your enemies is a big part of staying alive. I saw the Colonists as a bigger problem than the zombies, so that’s who I avoided. And it got us home safely. I can only hope the other gangs managed the same.
Ryan freezes, his head cocking to the right. Listening.
The rain stopped almost as soon as it started. The evening is quiet and it takes me only a second to hone in on what he’s listening to. Rustling in the grass. I’ve got a leg up on Ryan, because from my vantage point here on the roof of this old gas station, I can see it as well. With the help of the setting sunlight, I can see that there’s something slinking low in the grass. It’s hunting and it’s heading south, away from Ryan.
Quietly, I pray that it’s a deer. Or a dog. Some feral old thing that has nothing to do with the hole inside Ryan. Something that will run from him instead of at him. It could be anything. It doesn’t have to be the wolf.
It doesn’t have to be, but it is.
My heart sinks when I spot the gray of its back through the grass. It’s long and lean, the way the Arena wolf was. And when it shows its tail with the black tip like it’s been dipped in ink, I know it without a doubt. This is the one. The wolf that killed Kevin.
“Damn,” I breathe unhappily.
Ryan catches sight of it as it leaps from the grass onto the trunk of a rusted old Camry. The metal makes a hollow plunk sound with each step, giving way under the wolf’s weight and springing back into place when it disappears. The wolf stops, stretching its snout toward the sky. It’s sniffing. Searching. I crouch down low, ready to run if it catches Ryan’s scent, but luckily he’s downwind. He hides himself behind an old bus stop cover, his body pressed up against a faded ad for teeth whitening strips. The guy in the photo is smiling unnaturally wide. It looks almost like he’s getting ready to take a bite out of Ryan.
The wolf catches something. He stiffens, his eyes turning sharply to the west. He leaps effortlessly into the weeds, vanishing in a monochromic blur. Ryan follows immediately after. When he’s far enough ahead, I drop down to the dumpster on the side of the building, rolling to the ground before breaking into a silent sprint. I’m a hunter hunting a
hunter hunting a hunter hunting it’s prey, and I wonder if Ryan knows I’m here. When he left tonight he made me promise I wouldn’t follow him. And I did, rather convincingly. He seemed to believe me because like he said, everyone talks about what an honest guy I am. But I think most people misunderstand me. I’m honest because I don’t have time for or interest in delicacy. I know how to pad a hard truth to make it land softly, I simply choose not to. And if I have to lie to get what I need, I have no problem doing that. I can lie as easily as I tell the truth. As easy as breathing.
My senses are keen and my muscles pulled tight as I follow after Ryan and his wolf. They’re both quick and agile, but the wolf is quicker. Ryan can’t close the distance between them without giving himself away. Finally he seems to realize it because when the wolf slows, sniffing his surroundings, Ryan doesn’t try to immediately attack. He knows he’ll be scented before he can get the drop on the thing. He can’t chase it. He has to let it come to him.
When the wolf starts stalking down a street on the right, Ryan cuts down the street parallel to it. I hesitate, torn between sticking with the wolf and sticking with Ryan, but Ryan wins in the end. I could kill this wolf in a matter of seconds, no problem, but that isn’t what this is about. If it’s going to happen, it has to be at Ryan’s hand. It’s the only way it will ever end.
I follow a block behind Ryan, noting when he darts down the street connecting this one with the one the wolf is on. I run one more block down before cutting through to put myself ahead of both of them. Ryan and I are upwind now. The wolf could scent us at any second and he’ll either run or attack. Either way, I vow to hold back until Ryan’s life is in serious danger. With my back to the building, I slither around the corner, merging with the shadows. Down the street I spot Ryan slip inside the doorway to a dark, abandoned building. The wolf is somewhere farther down, slowly making its way toward us. All three of us.
Across the street in the shadow of another doorway is a figure. A ghost, thin and frail with too white skin and long red hair.
The girl.
I silently curse myself for not paying enough attention to where we are. Ryan has parked himself in a doorway almost directly across the street from the girl’s home and suddenly I’m worried for both of them. I seriously consider stepping out into the fading daylight to get Ryan’s attention, spook the wolf, and divert everyone away from the girl, but if Ryan doesn’t deal with this demon on his back tonight, he’ll be obsessed with it for another month. Maybe longer this time. Maybe he’ll find it some night when I’m on the roof or just too damn tired to keep following him, and he’ll get himself killed.