“Up,” Luke says, pointing to the narrow stairs that will take us back to the main room. In the main room, he squats down. “I don’t like this. There should be something at least to tell us what happened here, but it’s like they all just up and left in the middle of dinner.”
“Maybe they did just that,” I say.
“Or maybe the machines—”
“Don’t say it,” I cut in. I sink to my knees. If I say anything more right now, I will break down.
I don’t want to imagine it was the machines. I want to imagine they saw the airship—maybe the beginning of the battle—and decided to move someplace safer. But where?
I wonder too who was on lookout. If it was Celeste or Sierra, they might have stayed in the tower until sunset. Linc and Chevy might have too. If they saw the airship arrive and the fighting, they might have stayed to watch and learn what the machines were doing.
Luke gets up. “We’ve got to go,” he says. “We’ve stayed too long.”
He offers me his hand, helps me to my feet. I don’t let go. It’s time to face the truth, but I don’t want to. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Where are we even going to go?”
“West, east, any direction is as good as any other,” he says.
“The tower,” I say. “We can’t go without taking a look. We can see what the machines are doing. Whoever was on watch might have been the last to go. They’d have wanted to know what was happening and the tower has the best vantage point around.”
Luke doesn’t disagree. He smiles faintly, nods, and takes the lead on the charge up the stairs to the exit. Before we go out into the street, he pauses to watch and listen.
“Cross first,” he says. “I’ll cover you from here. Ahead to the backside of the tower, but don’t go up.”
“Agreed,” I say. I’m surprised he wants me to go first. I don’t question this, but I’m glad there are still shadows to hide in.
As I’m crossing the street, I note the early morning breeze and the dark clouds. It’s going to be a dreary day, but an overcast sky might be an advantage. Our route takes us south, back in the direction we came from earlier. I step into cover and signal for him to come forward.
The tower isn’t far and we’re at its base in no time. Luke stares up the ladder. Tension in his features worries me. I know he’s not afraid of heights, so it must be something else weighing on his thoughts.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“This could be a very bad idea. We’ll be exposed up there, maybe even without the ground clutter that’s helping to keep us hidden, disconnected.”
Now I know what he’s afraid of. He’s afraid of climbing to a place where he may find himself reconnected to the collective. We are standing at the base of a communications tower, after all.
“You stay, I’ll go,” I say.
All his tension falls away. He nods.
The climb is a long one, but I make it quickly. Soon, I am stepping out onto the platform atop the tower. What had been a breeze at street level is a gusty wind at this height. I have a commanding view not only of the area around Central, but of much of the city.
The field glasses are right where they should be. When I pick them up, a folder piece of paper nearly blows away. I step on it and pick it up. It’s a page from the book. The page with the picture of cars, planes and trains.
The rising sun is a semicircle in the east. Clouds blot most of the sky, so I have no way of telling if there are airships overhead or not.
West, is quiet. There’s no movement near the tunnel or the old railroad station—or is there? The sea of black I see. What is that?
North, I don’t see any movement or flying machines. I see trees though. I know there’s a lake too, but I can’t see it. The old map called this area Central Park. Now it looks more like Central Forest.
East, down 42nd, I see movement near the edge of the wastes. A flight of crescents. Five in all. Their race-track pattern tells me something important is below and that something looks like an airship that’s settled to the ground.
South, I see pods every now and again. The lines they’re moving along makes it look like they’re transiting between the airship and other points in the city.
Movement along Park catches my eye. A sixty-four of humans, followed by machines, and another sixty-four of humans. They’re headed north, toward us, but fifteen to twenty intersections away.
I don’t wait around to count the exact number of intersections. I signal Luke that I’m headed down and then I go over the side. Coming down is easier than going up. I know how to lock my feet and slide down a few stories at a time. When I hit the ground, I use a stick to draw in the dirt what I saw even as I state the same.
“There was this too,” I say, finishing, and handing Luke the piece of paper. My pack and equipment are nearby, I pick them up.
“This isn’t good. Unless…” His voice trails off as he studies what I’ve drawn. He takes the stick from me, runs its point along what I said was Park and then down 42nd to the wastes. “What if we’re looking at this all wrong…”
“Yes,” I say. “And?”
He looks over his shoulder, toward 42nd, then his eyes rove down Park. “And I never thought about all of this being just happenstance. What if we’re simply in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Okay, but…” I never noticed how his eyes dance when he’s enthused before.
He runs the point of the stick along the thick line I called 42nd and then up Park. “Major throughway, mostly unobstructed. Park too, but it’s one of the widest streets around. We could see straight down to Union Square if the street was clear.”
I still don’t understand what he’s getting at. I want to, but I don’t.
He traces the circle representing the ship. “With the ship here, is there a better way to move large numbers of humans and land machines through the city? You saw what it was like last night. Is there a better place for an outpost than near this intersection?”
He marks the crossing of Park and 42nd, nearly the point we’re standing at right now.
“Luke, I—” I start to say, but I don’t finish because I know he’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking: We’re not only in the wrong place, we’re in a terrible place.
He sweeps his foot through my diagram and picks up his blaster rifle. “Run,” he says, “run.”
Our race away from Park and 42nd takes us past Central. We don’t stop; we proceed north along Park instead. As we run, I show Luke the piece of paper again. “It’s from the book,” I say, “only Sierra would have done that. There has to be a reason.”
“When we drove the automobiles, flew the airplanes, and rode on cars behind the locomotives,” Luke says, glancing down.
“Exactly, why?” I say, but even as I say this, I know why. His words just told me why.
Chapter 11
Node: 001
There’s not much left of the building, except parts of its hulking frame and this enclosed staircase. I climb the stairs carefully, stopping before I reach the top of the landing. Luke was the one who first noticed the bloody trail into the building and up the stairs. He touches my arm and proceeds past me, his weapon sweeping right to left. I wait until he’s in position, then I climb as quickly as I can.
At the next landing, I stop just before my head emerges. I hold back my breath, trying to steady myself, as I watch the shadows move. We traveled twenty blocks in a race with the wind, so now my body wants to continue the race, even as I try to quiet it.
The sounds I hear are awful, like someone or something is being torn apart. I put my hand out and back to warn Luke until I feel him slink in behind me.
As we wait in the shadows, I watch the light cast on the wall by the rising sun. Luke presses three fingers against my arm, then two, then one.
We step up together, point our blaster rifles, and shoot. What we shoot at isn’t what we expect. It’s wolves, ripping apart a bloody carcass. There’s five of them.
I
fire and duck as the large one lunges at me. I tilt the rifle back and fire again.
Two wolves down. My body is shaking. There’s no controlling my breathing now. I launch myself at the wolf ahead of me and block its path to Luke. Before I can get my rifle around, its jaws lock on the stock. Another wolf rushes past, so close I feel it brush by.
A shout escapes my lips as I try to fling the wolf I’m battling around to the right. Dropping my right arm down and releasing the rifle, I reach for my holstered blaster and fire twice. By some miracle, one of my shots hit the wolf and I’m able to swing around it as it grabs for me.
Before I can get off another round, the wolf is up in the air and its jaws are reaching for my throat. Luke fires and the wolf drops mid-flight and skids across the floor even as I tumble backward.
Four wolves are down. Luke offers me his hand to help me up. I lie flat on my back, shaking my head, my hand groping for my blaster pistol, my eyes studying the lone remaining wolf. It’s directly behind Luke, growling, flashing white teeth.
I don’t expect what happens next, when our eyes lock. It’s as if the wolf can see into me and I can see into it. Then it turns its head, runs down the stairs and is gone.
With Luke’s help, I get to my feet. My shoulder hurts from the impact with the floor, but I’m otherwise okay. Luke seems to be unhurt too, until I see his right arm. One of the wolves must have locked its jaws around his arm.
My pack. There’s not much in it, but it’s what golds carry into the field. I find antiseptic and several rolls of black gauze. The gauze isn’t just a wrapping cloth. It’s spongy, more like the material covering our wounds.
As I clean and wrap his arm, the gauze binds to his uniform and flesh. When I finish, my eyes go to the bloody mess behind him, but he leans right to block my view.
“Don’t,” he says.
I do anyway and am soon reeling back in horror. I’m up on hands and knees before I realize what I’m doing and then standing, running. The bloody mess on the floor is human. The bloody mess is Jetta. Jetta.
“No,” I scream as I run up the stairs, “no, no, no.”
Luke catches me, pulls me aside. “Let’s get out of here,” he says. “If north is where the machines aren’t, let’s keep going.”
“We need to go up, all the way to the top,” I say, pulling away from him and running up the stairs.
I run a bloody palm over the numbers 4 and 9 on the wall. Luke is beside me. Neither of us has said a word to the other since the third floor.
He pulls me around to face him. I’m panting, doubled over. I don’t know when I decided I would make this climb at a run even if it killed me, but I did.
“Cedes, enough.” He puts a hand up as he pants. “Stop. Whatever’s waiting for us up there—whatever you think is up there—will wait a little longer.”
“We have to go up, up. I need you to understand,” I say. “That was—”
“I know what that was… I could see you knew her.”
My head pounds. I lean against the wall and slide down. I haven’t screamed or sobbed or stopped. “You didn’t know her,” I say softly. “Her name was Jetta. She fell after you left us.”
The pinch of his eyes shows his concern. “You’re right, I didn’t know her. I left. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel what you’re feeling.”
“What am I feeling?” I shout, my hands clawing, slapping at him. I don’t think this is something I can come back from. “Tell me, tell me!”
Luke grabs my wrists, trying to hold me still. I don’t want to be calm or still. I want to be angry, furious.
My eyes widen. I spit out my words. “Let go of me, let go!”
Still fighting him, I push back against the wall and work myself to my feet. The sound of footsteps pulls my eyes around. Luke reaches for his holstered blaster, firing at the approaching figure. It’s all I can do to knock his arm away as he fires again. I hear the second round strike concrete.
The figure coming down the stairs slumps, her body hitting the wall and then the floor. I think she must be dead as I stand over her. My hand fixed to my mouth, I turn away and into Luke, pressing my face into his chest.
I try to bury my head so I don’t see the ashen face. My eyes burn and I crash to my knees. A moment later, I’m pressing my forehead into the cool ground. I want to close my eyes and never wake.
“It’s Sierra,” I say.
Luke wraps himself around me. “Cedes, I couldn’t have known,” he says.
I bite my lip to hold back a scream. If yesterday was the worst day of my life, what is today? The emptiness inside me makes me shiver. I am reminded of the void, of floating in darkness while even darker things shift and slither all around me.
My voice catches in my throat. I want to yell at him. I want to call him names. Stupid, thoughtless, senseless, come to mind. But my voice eludes me.
He’s holding me, whispering, “I didn’t think. I just reacted. I—I…”
I hear moaning. It’s not mine; it’s hers. I scramble across the floor. “Sierra,” I say. “Sierra, say something. Anything.”
“It’s you,” she says, her hand flashing out to mine.
I lie down beside her, my arm over her shoulder. “It’s me,” I say. “It’s me.”
Chapter 12
Node: 010
I help Sierra sit, checking her for injuries. She doesn’t seem to be hurt. Luke squats down and wraps us both in a hug. We hold together like that for what seems the longest time.
“I’ve never been so relieved,” Luke says.
Looking at Sierra, I can’t help but smile. Her tears are my tears, even Luke has a tear in his eye. “Central, what happened?” I say.
“I happened,” says a figure stepping down from the stairs.
The shadows that shroud him don’t hide him from me. I realize that I know the voice, the dark hair, and those steel gray eyes.
It’s Matthew.
Sierra’s frightened reaction to his presence tells me everything I need to know. For the first time, I notice how cold it is up here.
“Matthew, it’s me, Cedes,” I say. “This is Luke. I found him, brought him back.”
Matthew’s face is tense. He’s holding a hand behind his back and his eyes flick to mine every now and again, but otherwise they search. No doubt he wants to know if there are others. I try to alert Luke with my eyes as I mouth a voiceless warning.
Even before Matthew reveals what he’s been hiding and fires, Luke is rolling away and standing. The red flash of the round rips into the space between us and splinters concrete from the far wall.
I’m not sure what surprises Matthew more. The fact that both Luke and I return fire or the fact that both rounds strike the same limb. He drops to his knees, his blaster clattering to the floor. Stepping to him, I kick the weapon away.
“Why?” I ask, pressing the muzzle of my blaster to his temple.
Matthew writhes in agony, clutching his right arm with his left. “Because they’ve waited so long already. It’s their time, not ours. It’s never been ours.”
“Tell me what happened, what’s happening,” I say.
“Don’t you see? They’re coming for you, for us all. You can’t hide from them. There’s nowhere to hide. No secrets, they know everything.”
Luke, Sierra pressed against his side, steps forward. I hold up a finger to silence him. “Say something meaningful. Make sense.”
“Cogent collaborator,” Matthew says.
I shift the blaster, slamming it into the side of his head at the base of his skull. A revealing metal clack tells me something I didn’t want to know but suspected. Matthew has a governor. Matthew’s connected to the machines.
“You can feel them.” I say. “You know what they know. How can we make them go away? What do they want?”
Matthew glares at me. “You’re not going to shoot me. You need me.”
“You don’t know the me I’ve become. You don’t know what I will or won’t do,” I say, dropping the
gun to his right bicep and firing. I don’t know if there’s a threshold that one can careen so far over that even darkness is no longer bearable. If there is, Matthew seems to have reached it. His screams are piercing. Blood drips from his extended fingers.
Luke tries to step between us, but I push him back. Not even Sierra’s pleas dissuade me from my purpose. “Talk. Tell me what they want. Tell me what they know about us.”
“They want the same thing they’ve always wanted,” Matthew says. “Everything. Nothing more, nothing less. You can’t stop them, can’t even get out of their way.”
I put the gun back to his temple. There’s no sense of guilt in me. It’s more than the fact that I never liked him. It’s that I see him as one of them, not one of us.
Arms I barely feel tug at mine. “No, don’t,” Sierra says.
I turn. “Sierra, this isn’t something you’re going to understand. I have to do this. I have to know, so we can be safe.”
“They’re watching, watching,” Matthew says, slamming a clenched fist into the side of his head. “Kill me. Kill me before it’s too late.”
Pain is giving him clarity. In that instant, I know I’m wrong about him. I’ve been wrong about so many things lately. I may not like Matthew, but the Matthew I know is still in there.
“Cedes, all these shots,” Luke says. “Even if they don’t know exactly where Matthew is right now, we’ve likely already attracted their attention. We have to go.”
Raising an eyebrow, I clamp a hand over Matthew’s mouth. Murder is in my eyes. My intention isn’t to kill him, but I do need to silence him.
Luke starts to object to what he thinks I’m going to do. I silence him with my wide-eyed glare. Only Sierra seems to suspect what I suspect until the echo of footsteps from below turn suspicion into reality.
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