Weapons of War: Explicit Edition (Rising Book 2)

by Tracey Ward

  “Maybe they were in the Colony that fell.”

  I try not to react to that. I know I won’t get an ounce of her trust if she knows the things I know about the Colonies. Especially this one.

  “Maybe,” I agree evasively. “Right now you’re my only sure thing. I watched you fight when they tried to take you. Even when they had you and you knew it, you didn’t hesitate to put your knife in someone. So, please, tell me that girl is gonna be able to man up and handle this.”

  She’s breathing softer than before. It’s more even and deliberate, and I take a second to appreciate the fact that she’s calmest when she’s angry.

  “Can you handle it?”

  “I can handle it,” she growls back.

  I grin proudly at her. “There it is, Kitten.”

  We eat lunch together at the edge of the cafeteria, my back to the wall and my eyes always on the door. Nats and Breanne gently drill at Kitten, looking for her story, but she’s reluctant to give it. She dodges their interest the way she must have dodged gangs and Risen alone all these years; like a pro. Instead of speaking, she stuffs her mouth and I’m glad to see her taking in some calories. Joss is way too skinny to be healthy. Nats and Breanne loaded up on veggies and fruit while Kitten and I both struck hard at the carbs, slathering chunks of bread with that sunshine-yellow butter. It tastes like cream and salt. Like a life I can hardly remember.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Trent

  The Market is almost deserted. Gangs were staying away before because of the roundups, but three weeks ago when the Hive lost its pimp and two of its girls in one afternoon, everyone started to take things a lot more seriously. If the Colonies can take people from the Hive, they can take any of us. No one is safe. The Market is the worst place to be right now and if Dylan finds out I snuck down here he’ll go ballistic, but I had to do it. There’s someone I need to talk to.

  At the end of the street the Hive tent sits ominously empty. It reminds me of the first months after the Hydes were wiped out. The Hive let the space stay vacant so we’d see it and we’d remember – you don’t mess with Marlow. On my right the Westie stall looks the same – deserted. On my left there’s a single Pike nervously selling canned fruit in glistening glass jars and avoiding eye contact with me and the three other brave souls wandering the street. But none of them are who I need. What I need is an Eleven, one willing to talk freely, and I’m lucky as all the stars in the sky that they’re open for business today.

  I slop my way through the mud to the door, nodding to their bouncer. “Is Crystal here?”

  He shakes his head curtly. “Only girl here is Crimson. She’s a tenner.”

  “Since when do you charge Hive prices?”

  “Since the Hive stopped showing. Take what you can get or get lost.”

  I want to, but I can’t. I could ask this guy my questions but he doesn’t look very talkative. My best bet was Crystal, not Crimson. She doesn’t like me and I don’t especially like her either. I met her when Kevin was looking to buy me my first time and she shot me down. She said I’m creepy. That I look like a beater. She shouted at me and told me to leave, something I’ll never forget.

  “Is she available?” I ask reluctantly.

  “Does it look like we’re busy today? Yeah, she’s available.”

  “Ten?”

  “Ten.”

  “How much to just talk?”

  “Ten.”

  “It was worth a shot,” I mutter to myself. I pull two nickels from my pocket. “Pay the pimp on the inside?”

  “There is no pimp on the inside.” He holds out his hand expectantly. “Give me the money. Get out of line with her and I’ll brake your face. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Got it.”

  He takes my money in his meaty fist and waves me through the entrance.

  “Crimson!” he shouts from behind me. “You got a job!”

  Inside the tent is stuffy and dark. When there are two girls working, there’s a curtain down the middle to break the space into two rooms, but today it’s wide open. There’s a bed in the center of the room. Candles are burning on three different tables, their wicks short and drowning in their own waste. When my eyes adjust to the dimness inside, I can see Crimson sitting on the bed. There’s a book tossed on the dirty blue rug at her bare feet. She’s in faded black jeans and a loose T-shirt. No bra. Her breasts swing freely under the fabric, her nipples peaked against the cold, and for a second I forget myself and my reasons for coming here.

  “Oh fuck,” she grumbles when she sees me. “Of course it’s you. As if today doesn’t suck enough already.”

  “You remember me?”

  “I remember your eyes. You have crazy eyes.”

  “You have fish lips.”

  She scoffs. “Excuse me?”

  “You have fish lips.”

  “What does that even mean?” She stands, shaking her head. “You know what? No. I’m not going through with this. Go.”

  “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  “Great. Leave.”

  “No,” I reply resolutely. “I paid to talk. I want to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “The Colonies.”

  Her face goes white. It’s instant and unnerving the way she loses color. Even the brown in her eyes looks lighter as she takes a step back from me, her hand going over her stomach like she’s worried she’s going to be sick.

  “I don’t know anything about the Colonies,” she insists breathlessly.

  Coming in here, I didn’t think she would know much. I just wanted whatever information I could get from an Eleven about what they’ve seen as far as roundups go, trying to get a lead on the truck that took the girl. But after that reaction…

  “Are you sure about that?” I ask deeply.

  “Who have you been talking to?”

  I don’t answer her. I stare at her patiently with my ‘creepy’ eyes and I let them do the work.

  Crimson stares back at me with fear mounting on her face. “Say something.”

  I don’t. I won’t. I wait.

  Finally, she pinches her lips together tightly like she might scream. I ready myself to run, but then she sighs, crumpling back down onto the bed. “Did he send you here to hurt me?” she whispers tremulously.

  “I’m here for information. That’s all.”

  “About the Colonies?”

  “He wants to know everything you know.”

  She nods, her eyes brimming with tears. She swallows thickly. “If he thinks I can help him get Vin back, he’s wrong.”

  Marlow, I think darkly. Of course that’s who she’s so afraid of.

  According to the stories leaking out of the Hive, Vin and two women disappeared the same day as the girl, meaning they were probably all in the same set of trucks. If I can find Vin, I can find her. And it looks like I just stumbled onto a source with intimate knowledge of the Colonies.

  “Tell me what you know. Marlow can decide for himself if it’s useful,” I reply vaguely.

  “And if it’s not?”

  “Then that’s the end of it.”

  Crimson glares at me with doubt in her eyes. “You’re saying Marlow will just let it go? Marlow?”

  “I don’t know what he’ll do, but our business will be finished.”

  “How did you get to be his messenger, huh? I thought you were Hyperion.”

  “I am.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  I shrug. “Everyone owes the Hive something eventually, right?”

  Crimson nods reluctantly. “Yeah. Unfortunately.” She wraps her arms around herself, her eyes focused on my feet instead of my face. “I don’t know much.”

  “Tell me what you do know and we’ll go from there. Tell me where they took Vin.”

  “How would I know that? I’ve been out for years.”

  “Where did you live when you were ‘in’?”

  “The Stadiums. I was there when they took it from Marlow.”
r />   “And you stayed once they had it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you help them take it?”

  I’ve hit nerve. Her eyes fly away, bouncing around the room on everything and nothing until she can find her way forward again. She’s looking at the tips of my shoes when she answers quietly, “Yes.”

  “You’re a traitor.”

  She winces. “You don’t know. You could never understand.”

  “Then there’s no need trying to explain it to me,” I agree calmly. “How did you get out?”

  “I left right around the time they started locking people inside. I knew a guard. He was a friend. He let me slip away.”

  “That doesn’t help me.”

  “I told you it wouldn’t. I’ve been out too long. I don’t know anything that can help you guys spring Vin free.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “Yes,” she answers earnestly, raising her eyes to mine to show me how much she means it. “I’d do just about anything to help Vin.”

  “Because he helped you, didn’t he?”

  “Vin has helped everyone.”

  I almost laugh at how blatant that lie is, but I leave it alone because it doesn’t matter. Vin has helped her. He probably kept her hidden because if Marlow knew one of the people who helped him lose the stadium was on the outside unprotected, she’d be dead within the hour. But she betrayed Vin too. He lost the stadium just as much as Marlow did, so why is he helping her? Maybe he loves her.

  This is where life gets sticky for me; sorting emotions. Trying to establish a person’s motives based on feelings alone gets me a little lost every time, and Vin doesn’t strike me as an incredibly emotional guy, so what happened here? I could ask but I doubt she’d give me a straight answer and every question counts right now. I’m on a ticking clock.

  “The trucks that took Vin, took him north,” I tell her. “Not south toward the Stadiums. What’s up north?”

  “Canada.”

  I stare at her, plain faced and waiting.

  She sighs dramatically. “I don’t know exactly, but my guess is there’s another Colony up there.”

  “How many Colonies are there?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Once they started expanding, they didn’t want any of us to know. It was above our paygrade.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I wasn’t important enough to know the big details, okay? I was nothing there. I was a nobody. I crossed Marlow for them and they crapped all over me without so much as a ‘thank you’.”

  “You betrayed your family,” I remind her dispassionately. “I’m not going to feel sorry for you.”

  “Can you even feel feelings, you psycho?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “What a bummer for you.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Like what?”

  “Anything Marlow would find interesting or useful about the Colonies.”

  She throws her hands up in frustration. “I’ve been out for years. Marlow probably knows more about the Colonies than I do.”

  I nod in understanding, rolling my tongue inside my mouth thoughtfully. None of this is very useful. Of course I assumed there could be another Colony up north, but part of me was hoping there wasn’t. I was hoping they took the girl somewhere else. Like a nice farm upstate where she can run free and wild and happy. I know that’d mean she’s dead, but it would still be a better story than the one I have for Ryan.

  She’s in prison. She’s a slave. She’s probably miserable and will be for the rest of her life. You’re welcome.

  “What’s it like inside?” I ask, unable to curb my curiosity. “As a woman, how bad was it?”

  She sighs, settling. “I don’t know. It was… it’s tough to explain.”

  “Try.”

  “Why? What does Marlow care about the quality of life inside the Colonies?”

  “I’m not asking for him. I’m asking for me.”

  “And you care about other people’s existence?” she challenges.

  I shrug as if to say ‘stranger things have happened’ because they have. Case and point: zombies.

  Crimson considers me for a second before answering, “It was easy. Too easy. Everything is mapped out for you nice and simple to keep you from having to think too hard.”

  “Or ask questions.”

  “Exactly. You’re given a schedule and a job, and they’re very dedicated to you being happy in your work. If you’re not, they’ll move you. If they see you getting bored, they’ll move you. If they think you haven’t found your true calling, they’ll move you. It’s a constant game of musical chairs for some people.”

  “But not everyone?”

  “No. Not everyone.” She wraps her fingers around her wrist, rubbing it absently. “Just the people who talk too much. Or the single people. They don’t like singles.”

  “Why not?”

  “If there’s one thing the Colonists want, it’s more people. If you’re single, you’re not making babies. If you’re not making babies, you’re not furthering the Colony goals and then no matter what else you do with your life, you’re a failure.”

  “You didn’t want to have babies?” I guess.

  Her eyes flash with anger. “Not all women do.”

  I watch her carefully, tracking her hands that keep circling each other. She rubs her wrist. She squeezes a fingertip. She laces her fingers together, clenching her hands into one big, tight fist.

  Talking about this makes her uncomfortable. It makes her upset and I’m guessing it’s not that she doesn’t want to have kids. That wouldn’t get her so worked up. It has to be something else. Something out of her control.

  “You can’t have kids, can you?”

  Her hands freeze. They’re held tightly together, her knuckles white. “That’s not a Colony question and I doubt Marlow gives a shit about my reproductive strength, so if we’re done here, I’d like you to leave. Please.”

  “I have one more question.”

  “I said ‘please’. The next step is I start screaming.”

  “Compared to your life now, was it better or worse on the inside?”

  “I haven’t gone back, have I?”

  That’s not reassuring. My anxiety over the girl lodges in my throat, and I wish I could swallow it down, but I can’t. I’m gagging on it almost every second of every day. I’m reminded of it every time I look at Ryan. He’s feeling it too; the anxiety. It’s probably worse for him because he doesn’t know for sure if she’s alive or dead. It’s been two weeks since she went missing and all he knows is that she’s gone. Until I know if I can get her out or not, I’m not telling him any different.

  “I want to ask you a question,” she tells me sharply.

  I nod once, inviting her to go ahead.

  “Will you give me a headstart?”

  I frown, not sure what she means.

  She reads my confusion clearly. “With Marlow. He knows you’re here pumping me for information. That means I’m useful. He doesn’t kill useful. But once you go back and tell him I don’t know shit, he’s going to send someone else for me. I’m going to die, do you understand that?”

  “I do,” I answer evenly.

  “So I’m asking you, please, give me a head start,” she begs. “Don’t go straight back to Marlow. Give me an hour. Just a little window to get away, that’s all I’m asking.”

  “Marlow’s not coming for you.”

  “He will when he finds out I’m useless to him.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re here.”

  “What are you…” She blinks rapidly, struggling with me and this conversation. “No, he sent you here. He knows about me.”

  “I’ve never spoken to Marlow in my life.”

  “Then how the hell did you know I’d lived in a Colony before?”

  “I didn’t until you told me.”

  Crimson pauses, her eyes going distant as she thinks through our conversation. Whether
she can remember how it started or not, she’s angry when she focuses on my face. “Get. Out.”

  I smile, turning my back on her. “Already leaving.”

  “You son of a bitch!” she shouts after me.

  Her bouncer is standing as I step out of the tent. He glares at me, looking me over. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

  “I never touched her.”

  “Crimson?!” He pulls back the tent flap to look inside. His brow furrows when he sees her standing there, fully clothed and red-faced with anger. “What’d he do to you?”

  “Nothing. Get him out of here.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Get him out of here!”

  The bouncer lets the flap fall into place. “All you did was talk?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Right, well, you heard her,” he tells me mildly, gesturing for the road. “Get out of here. And maybe don’t talk to women in the future. It doesn’t look like they like it.”

  “That’s sound advice.”

  I make my way back to the Hyperion slowly. Risen are everywhere. I have to be careful. I have to kill quickly; the only way I know how to live. My blade is longer than my forearm, giving me the reach I need to keep clear of their grabbing, greedy hands and gnashing, black teeth. About a mile from home I get cornered by three of them. I let it happen. It’s good to get in a bad situation now and then. It reminds you how to handle the panic that tries to rise up inside you, swallowing your heart whole. I feel it when they come in close. When I can smell them so strongly I nearly taste them on my tongue. It makes me sick. It makes me sad. But most importantly, it makes me afraid.

  People don’t think I feel fear. I’m accused of being a robot almost every day because I don’t show my emotions the way everyone else does. Part of the problem is, I don’t understand all of them so I keep them quiet. I bottle them up, carefully labeling them and parking them on a shelf in the back of my mind for future dissection. It’s the little ones that give me trouble. Subtle feelings that conflict with each other, confusing me until I don’t know which way is up. I don’t see the difference between frustration and anger. Disappointment and sadness. Jealously and love. They’re too similar to pull apart so I just lump them together and leave them alone because there are far better things for me to do with my time.