He tried to frown but a grin crept across his lips.
"Where's your grandson?" he asked.
"Went for supplies. In case we gotta stay inside."
"That's a good plan. Tell everyone to say put. And don't let the fool kids go running around thinking they can help."
She chuckled. "I remember when you were a fool kid, hiding up there." She pointed up the stairs, glancing toward his apartment. "Is it gonna be bad?"
"Maybe. Maybe we'll get lucky."
She formed a V with her index finger and her middle finger.
"I almost forgot. A bad-looking man brought this a few minutes ago." She grinned showing off her two missing teeth. "I think he was afraid to give it to you in person."
He opened the note:
Mr. Fortinbras,
By now, you know that the city is under siege. I will take over the town. I invite you to join me. We can lead together. After all, we both have a common enemy. We both can get revenge on Collins and together make this town great.
Burkhart
He didn't bother to wonder why the little weasel wanted revenge on Collins. No one would nominate Collins for man of the year, but he wasn't as crazy or as mean as Burkhart, who was a narcissistic sociopath. Considering the two men, he realized Olivia had tamed and softened Collins. He shoved the note in his pocket.
In the foyer, the kid emerged from the shadows and fell into step beside him. She'd managed to wash and change into clean clothes.
He made a mental note to find out how she got access to water, and just where she was staying in his building.
"What you got?" Fortinbras asked.
"They didn't say anything important, just stuff like, 'I don't like that guy.' 'Gotta respect him. He's dangerous.' 'He's a fekin' naked guy.' 'His skin looks like lava--'"
"Okay. What else?"
"They didn't meet anyone. Didn't signal anyone. Got in that steamship thing and flew toward the Business District. After they left, one man came. He went upstairs, talked to the old lady, and left. After that no one came in or out of the buildin'. A dog sniffed the trash, but he was real, not one of them robot dogs. Not spying."
He handed her ten credits.
It was too much, but he knew the kid had some kind of problem. He wasn't going to get involved, but maybe the credits would help.
She took the card without looking to see how much and slipped it in her pocket.
"You're not going to ride in your steamship?" she asked.
"So, you like Grandma Luisa?"
The kid grinned. "Yeah, she's really . . ." She frowned. "Who? I don't know no--"
"You know kid, you remind me of someone. And I know how to put two and two together."
She was smart enough to keep her mouth shut.
Outside, the smoke-infused air burned his throat and stung his eyes. He figured a lot more was burning than a few houses. In the distance, the light peeking over the horizon announced sunrise. An old man on a cycle taxi sat across the street. Fortinbras whistled, waving the taxi over.
The undernourished driver wore patched pants with a matching jacket and homemade sandals, which looked as if they'd been carved from an old rubber tire. His bicycle and cart were in better condition than he was.
Fortinbras hopped in, and the kid slid in beside him.
"Burkhart send you?"
"Yeah."
"You must need money to be out in this mess," Fortinbras said.
"We all need money. He hired me yesterday," the cabbie grinned, displaying his stained teeth.
"Business District, the Collins Building. No need to hurry."
With the smoky air, he didn't want the driver having respiratory failure.
The cabbie nodded and peddled forward.
"Mr. For--'
"Not now, kid. Give me a few."
He needed to think. It was unlikely Burkhart wanted to play nice with him. Most of the cartel leaders were ruthless and heavy-handed. On top of those qualities, Burkhart was a fool. His brain cells wouldn't fill a thimble, but Fortinbras couldn't allow himself to underestimate the man. He had pulled off setting the Palace District on fire, which likely eliminated at least one or two of the other leaders. He guessed the note was a ploy to put him off his guard. If he hired Betrayers, they'd probably ambush him at some point. At the very least, someone should be tailing him. His security confirmed the area around his apartment building was clean. Burkhart must be confident. What bugged him the most was that there were no signs of Betrayers. Archangel was sure they were involved. They were known for coming in, doing a job, and leaving. So, they might be gone, but he doubted that. He grinned, remembering the light in the Burkhart Building. They weren't seen in town because they were hiding. If his suspicions were correct, Burkhart might just be the one in trouble.
He glanced at the decaying buildings, checking for possible hiding places in the trash-laden neighborhood. Nothing suspicious. He wondered how many Legates were killed last night. Most lived in the Palace District.
They left behind the creeping decay of the Wasteland District and turned onto Main Street, the slightly more upscale business area. Four square blocks of small businesses and cartel offices. Most of the buildings were one or two stories in various stages of decay or repair. The streets were nearly deserted. Without the hubbub of traffic and people, the area lost its faux respectability.
In the distance, smoke billowed into the sky, while flames devoured the last oasis in the city. The Palace District boasted the only for-profit fire department, and from the looks of things, the fire was winning. He didn't like the leaders sequestered from the rest of the city, but he mourned the loss of that beautiful section of town.
"How's business?" he asked the cabbie.
The man had a hacking-cough laugh. "Not gunna be good."
"Yeah. I think you're right."
"People've gone crazy. Tearin' up the Palace. There'll be retaliation."
"You heard anything strange in the last few days?"
"Well, a man offered my boy credits to go to the Palace District." He shook his head. "To scare the cartels, he said. My boy turned him down, but plenty of others didn't. They offered a lot of credit, enough to tempt most people."
"Was the man from the People's Union?"
"No sir, that's why my boy turned him down. He's on the board of the Union, and they haven't planned nothing like that. We wants our rights peaceful like. We ain't forgot the wars. The man was a stranger. Looked like a thug."
So the people of Orange Hope turned on their own people for a few credits. Fortinbras sighed and glanced at the girl.
She sat beside him, listening. He couldn't tell how old she was. She looked about nine but was probably undernourished and older. If he guessed, he'd say twelve, maybe thirteen. He played along with her disguise. Most people wouldn't give her a second glance, but in a year or two, she wouldn't pass for a boy. Then . . . well, life would become more difficult for her. If she lived six months after being found out, it would be a miracle.
"Mr. Fort, now?" She turned her thin, tanned face up to him with a look that demanded attention.
"Okay. You got a couple minutes. What do you want?"
"Help me find me brother."
"I'm not in the brother-finding business."
She scowled. "I ain't afraid of you. He's been gone three days. He ain't come home, ain't sent me no food. Nothin'."
"Go home to your parents."
"I ain't got no parents. I got me brother."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out an old Sankeeper--it was an older version that took pictures and recorded audio, and it was something a Wasteland kid shouldn't have. She turned it over.
On the front, the engraving of a rectangular shield with two sets of wings facing each other and lightning emanating from the center had faded from age and wear. Fortinbras tensed. It was his old Sankeeper, the one he'd given Jason. Now he knew who she was, a harbinger of more bad ne
ws.
Punching in a password, she held the screen out. A picture of Fortinbras standing next to a Latino teen accused him of negligence.
"This here's me brother and--"
"Jason."
She nodded.
"Shit."
He'd sent her brother into Burkhart's territory three days ago. He figured the kid hadn't discovered anything, or he would have contacted him. Jason talked about his sister all the time. She was obviously a foundling. Skin color didn't matter when survival was on the line. Jason's world had revolved around her. She stared at Fortinbras and waited. He squelched his nagging sense of responsibility.
"It's not a good time, kid."
She leaned forward, getting as close to his face as she could. "Jason, he told me to find ya if somethin' went wrong. Somethin's wrong."
Hell yeah, something's wrong.
He studied her. Part of him wanted to help her and part of him wanted to push her out of the cart. She was a volatile catalyst and would cause trouble, but Jason had been in his employment. Whether he liked it or not, he had to find out what happened to the boy.
"I can help ya," she said. "I'm good at spying. People ignore me, cause I'm little. Jason taught me stuff. I ain't no coward."
"What's your name?"
"Jo." She stared at him with those big blue eyes daring him to contradict her.
"Jason's probably dead."
He watched her press her lips together and waited for tears that didn't come. She was as hard as a Wasteland kid had to be.
"I know," she finally said. "But maybe he ain't. Maybe I wanna know."
"Yeah." Fortinbras rubbed his chin. "I want to know, too. Can you do exactly what I tell you? No questions asked? Just obey?"
She nodded.
"I can't be worried about a damn kid."
"I can do it. I ain't no damn kid. I'll do what ya tell me."
Well, so much for not doing something impulsive. It would be better for them both if he kicked her out of the taxi, but she had spunk. Jason had been cautious, sometimes too cautious. He hoped he wouldn't regret letting her tag along.
A couple minutes later, the taxi stopped in front of the Collins Building. When Fortinbras stepped out of the taxi, he squinted at the driver, trying to decide if he could trust him.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Yeah, I know."
"You loyal to Burkhart?"
"Naw, he's a putz." He nodded. "I'd rather be on your side."
"Can I hire you for the day? What's your fee?"
The old man looked up, frowning as if thinking was too difficult. Finally, he said, "I ain't never been hired for the day."
"Twenty credits now and twenty at the end of the day," Fortinbras said.
"Mighty generous."
"You'll earn it. It's going to be an interesting day."
The old man grinned, showing gaps where two teeth used to be. "Figured."
Fortinbras scanned the tops of the buildings, the doorways, and other nooks and crannies. He did the same for the other side of the street. Nothing seemed out of place.
"Park across the street in that walkway behind the fountain," he told the driver.
The Square was closer to the fire. Ash fell like intermittent snowflakes. The accompanying wind with occasional funnels scooped up pieces of debris and whirled them up and away. They reminded Fortinbras of his first street fight when someone set garbage on fire. He still had scars on his back. As he and the kid marched forward, he glanced at the sky. First light streaked the sky. They'd have to hurry.
A few people congregated near the entrance to the Collins Building. On his left, something shifted in the building's shadow.
"Move to my right side," he said.
Without hesitation, Jo moved. A large black cat ran out of the doorway and skittered across the plaza.
At the moment, he was thankful for Collins' neat streak. If left to nature, vegetation would quickly overtake the aging buildings. There weren't enough people and traffic to keep the old city cleared, which was why most in the city stayed close to the center of town. In this plaza, it was easy to have a clear view of everything. Collins' Building was three stories and well maintained. He protected his property with iron grates, covering the windows and outside doors. He was a proud and cautious man. At the entrance, they waited for the lean, pale security guard to open the door.
"Hello, Mr. Fort."
"Fortinbras," he corrected.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Fortinbras." The man nodded, his gaze darted nervously between the man and the girl. "He's waiting for you."
He took the stairs two at a time. On the third floor, he heard voices above them and signaled the kid to stay back. He coughed before rounding the last turn. Three men stood on the landing. Two pointed guns at him.
"He's okay," Max said, waving at them to lower their guns.
"Lot of new faces." Fortinbras signaled the kid to come up.
Max frowned. "Who's the kid?"
"Kid's with me."
"Go on," Max nodded toward the door.
When they saw Fortinbras, the guards outside Collins' office stood at attention. In the waiting room, the young secretary gave him a thin-lipped smile. Her tight-fitting red dress clashed with the blue faded walls and the cracked concrete floor. She obviously didn't have the kind of night she'd expected.
"It's bad," she said and pointed her chin toward the corner.
Collins' daughter sat by the windows, swinging her legs through the air. Her dark curls bounced as she moved her head from side to side, a picture of carefree youth. She saw Fortinbras, smiled and waved her chubby hand.
"She was with the Burkhart girl. Got here a few minutes go."
Taking Jo aside, he said, "Stay with the girl. Find out what you can."
Jason's sister shook her head and frowned. "She's little."
"You saying short people don't know things?"
She squinted at him, frowning like a world-weary forty-year-old. "Okay."
Jo plopped down beside Sophie, her ragtag, patched clothes a stark contrast to Sophie's frilly dress and shiny clean hair.
PART III
Inside the office, Collins sat at his expansive wooden desk with his forehead resting on his arms. Gordo, the fighter, and a tall angular woman, who looked as if she could crush a rhinoceros with one hand, gathered around him.
Collins didn't look up. "That you, Fort?"
"Fortinbras."
The boss raised his head. His usually rugged face sagged, and his red blotchy skin looked as if he'd pulled an all-night drunk. Collins, an average-sized man built like a steamroller, seemed small and vulnerable as if the world had grown too big for him.
For about a millisecond, Fortinbras felt pity.
Collins motioned him forward and pointed to the screen on his desk. The Internet didn't survive the Great Disasters, but cameras, recording devices, and other gadgets had. For a small fortune, old technology could be reconditioned from one of the scavenger-inventors in the area. Someone must have rescued the feed from Collins' house. Maybe Collins did. Fire had burned holes in his suit jacket and ash clung to his clothes.
Fortinbras braced himself.
The screen filled with an image of a flower garden, Collins' front yard. Fortinbras thought he smelled jasmine. A faint noise hummed in the background. After a few seconds, the hum became more distinct, a drill on the other side of the fence. The distant sound of people shouting and chanting grew closer.
An explosion rocked the camera. Bricks blasted outward, the smoke from the makeshift bomb cleared, revealing a massive hole in the fence.
Olivia yelled, "My baby."
The camera tilted and rocked, giving an angled view of two armed guards charging into the yard, but a mass of scraggly, rag-clad men and women, brandishing clubs, pipes, and chains, rushed them. The guards fired, but the mob, a giant pulsing monster beating and trampling everything in its path, surged forward.
/> He felt light headed. The others turned away from the horror, gazing at the floor as if they could find the meaning of life in the cracked concrete. Only Collins stared at the screen in macabre fascination. A sense of time stopping enveloped Fortinbras as he stared at Collins, who seemed to be in a trance. He forced himself to look back at the screen.
His boss tapped the screen and shifted to the camera inside the house. Olivia crouched in a corner, holding her baby while guards fought back the human tsunami.
Fortinbras' throat contracted and his hand curled into a balled fist.
Once, Olivia had been his. Her touch, the feel of her skin, and sweet smell of her never left his memory. Now her contorted face, the terror, her screams, and blood spattering on the camera etched their way into his mind. He'd sent her to Collins, believing she'd be safe and taken care of. He had been an naive fool.
The swarming horde lifted their makeshift weapons. The guard tried to beat them back, but they quickly overpowered him. Collins muted the sound. The last clear image showed Olivia shielding her son with her body. The mob stormed over her, trampling and rushing onward in their frenzy.
Gordo and the fighter, their faces pale and twisted in pain, continued their contemplation of the floor. The woman pressed her lips together and watched Fortinbras.
Collins started the video again.
This time Fortinbras watched without dread or a sense of doom. The worst had happened.
"Stop," he said. "Go back a couple of frames."
Fortinbras leaned in closer. In the crowd, he saw four well-fed, healthy men. He tapped the screen, pointing out each man. One man's head was turned away from the camera. Gordo, the fighter, and the woman moved their faces closer to the screen.
"Zoom in on his neck," he ordered.
The tattoo was clear, a chain with a broken link and a knife hanging over the chain.
Collins glanced up at Fortinbras. "Is that a Betrayer?"
He nodded. Betrayers were given the tattoo when expelled from the Legate Academy. The primary reasons for expulsions were excessive violence and dishonesty. Some Legates didn't take to killing and were directed towards other work. Others, the Betrayers, relished it as if infected with a devouring sickness.
Fortinbras Page 3