by Shiloh White
Woodstock and I ran over to him and pulled them off of him. “Are you okay?” Woodstock asked.
“We can't let him out of our sight!” Chug said, ignoring the question. “He can hide with that cloak. If he gets away, we're not getting another chance. Let's go!"
✽✽✽
We cleared out the mannequins enough for us to get through the doors, and then we shot out onto the front of the sidewalk we'd been on moments before.
“There!” Woodstock shouted, pointing down the street. The old man was nothing but a little gray dot bobbing up and down in the dim light of De Mentoria. We ran after him, pouring on the speed as we got closer. Before long, I began to recognize where we were; coming back up towards the Abandoned bookstore hideout and Club Insanis.
“He's running towards the club,” Chug said. “Woodstock, we're going to cut him off up ahead. Don't let up on this guy, Lucy.” The two of them veered right and disappeared around a building. I nodded at them and kept running after the old man.
But then he did something unexpected.
Instead of continuing down the curving path, he turned left down a side-road—opposite the way the boys had gone a moment before. I hesitated for a second, wanting to tell Chug and Woodstock. But his instruction screamed inside my brain:
“We can't let him out of our sight! We're not getting another chance!"
I'd have to come back for the two of them later.
I turned down the street and ran after him, faster than I thought possible considering I'd just fallen a whole story. And it was good I did, too. I only had a glimpse of him now and then as I chased him down the street. Hesitating any longer would've caused me to lose him before. He turned right, into an alleyway. Then he made a sharp left that I almost missed, spitting us out into another main road that I recognized.
About a block ahead of us, I saw the empty lot that Mr. Reggie's had disappeared from the last time I was here. Up past that, was the De Mentoria lake, and beyond that, a bridge that linked the Anchor Zone to the Dust subway station. Was this guy trying to leave the Zone? If he got on a subway, would he think himself safe? If he escaped to the Square—the central marketplace of the Dust—in that large group of people...I'd definitely lose him. I had to stop him before then.
The old man, running impressively fast, cleared the two blocks and made for the bridge. I was right on his heels when I noticed the two individuals coming towards us from the subway side of the bridge.
No. Way. I thought.
The first of the two to come close enough for me to recognize was a young pale-skinned woman, with a kind-hearted face. She stood tall and lean as she walked, with a bit of grace and clumsiness all in the same step. There were elvish features in her cheeks; ever so sharply cut. In her ears and smile too, they each ended in a point. Her hair was the color of quarters and dimes in liquid form; a shiny platinum. The only thing different about her was that she wore the standard Depression Force outfit—black uniform, red and gold 'DPO' logo on the left side of her chest. Halsey!
The next was a confident, dark-skinned young man. I couldn't miss him if I tried. The sternness in the way he walked. His straight and focused expression, held up by the well-built (and almost...handsome?) attributes of his face. There's Scott, I thought. But what were they doing here?
Another moment spent running closer to them, and their faces both morphed to form the same question.
I continued chasing the old hooded man up to the bridge, and Halsey and Scott instinctively moved to block him from escaping to the other side.
He stopped and wheeled around, pointing an old and wrinkled milk chocolate-colored finger at me.
“You!” he croaked in that whip-crack of a voice. “You planned this!"
Give the man a prize, right?
“Lucy?” Halsey called out from around the old man. “What's going on? We got Stark's report, but...he didn't seriously mean you, did he?"
I couldn't find words to say. Unfortunately, I lost my chance to say anything when Chug and Woodstock came barreling up behind me.
“Good job, Lucy!” Chug exclaimed between gasps of air. “You found him—” He paused and looked at our predicament. “Oh...”
“This...isn't good, ese.” Woodstock said.
“No kidding,” Chug agreed. “But we outnumber them. As long as we get the cloak, we can—"
“No!” I yelled at the battle-ready teenager. “I know them. They helped me before. We're not fighting them!” I turned back to my friends. “Halsey, Scott, I—” I choked when I saw Scott's expression.
He had that same dead focus. The same look of anger hidden behind duty that I'd seen on his face when he caught a vision of my dead brother in Mr. Reggie's restaurant. It was also the same look that caused him to run after it, leaving me in the dust.
He said nothing. I looked down, and saw his hand closed around his Handle, the police baton still resting in his belt. I waited for something to happen; the right words to come; someone to laugh and dismiss this misunderstanding. Maybe we'd even get the cloak out of this. Then Scott pointed at the old man.
“Are you involved with this traitor and those Agents?” he asked, gesturing to me and the boys.
The old man let out a hearty—and sort of crusty—laugh. “Fat chance!” Then he turned and ran to the edge of the bridge.
“Hey!” Scott shouted. “We're not done here!” He ran after the old man, who was now climbing the small wall on the side of the bridge.
He wouldn't.
Scott grabbed the corner of his cloak just as he did. In one fluid motion, the old man had climbed to the top and just about vaulted over the side of the bridge and down into the lake with a howl. All Scott had managed to keep from hitting the water was a torn section of the cloak.
We all looked over the bridge out at the lake, waiting.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
I held my breath waiting for him to surface above the water, but he never did. As surely as he escaped down the river, I felt our entire plan unravel before my eyes.
“Where does that river go?” I asked Chug, grasping for hope. He shook his head rapidly.
“I-I don't know,” he stammered. “It ends in a waterfall, I think. But when I was in there, I managed to get out before then. I dunno what's after that.
“Except for our plan now.” Woodstock noted.
“In the name of the Depression Force, all three of you are coming in for questioning,” Scott said. He pointed at us with the hand that held the scrap he tore from the cloak, which now looked like an old rag.
“Like Dust we are!” Chug shouted. “If it wasn't for you, we might have been holding the key to saving Dart right now.” Then he pulled out his gun, his hand morphing into the strange cloudy haze around it. To my right, Woodstock stepped forward, raising his two fists. A different kind of gun, I thought. Still just as intimidating.
“So it's going to be the hard way, huh?” Scott asked. Then he looked at me and nodded slowly as if he'd just solved a puzzle with a disappointing answer. I couldn't believe what was going on here. My new allies were gearing up to fight my old ones and vice versa.
“I didn't want to have to do this,” Scott said, his eyes on mine. Then he picked up the small dispatch comm radio off his shoulder and spoke into it:
“I have the traitorous fugitive now identified as Lucy Hale, as well as two hostile accomplices. De Mentoria Anchor Zone, in Quadrant One. Requesting special backup by Task Force Officer Stark."
Then Scott put the comm back on his shoulder and drew his police baton.
19. To Fight The Authorities, Or Flee Them?
“Sounds like Stark's in this very district,” Scott reported, pulling his hand away from the little speaker in his ear. “He's just two minutes out. There's no use in resisting."
“There's every use resisting!” Chug prodded. Woodstock reached over and punched him.
“Ouch!” Chug said, grabbing his arm. “Why?"
“You need t
o be careful, ese,” Woodstock said. “This guy looks angry—scary angry.”
I felt a little better that I wasn't the only one who saw it. Scott could get a little passionate at times, but the look on his face was something else. Chug just scoffed.
“Well, that's perfect,” he said, “because he just cost us the one way to proving our innocence, and you know what? I'm scary angry too.”
This was not good. I couldn't have all of them break out into a fight. Plus, we were losing valuable time trying to decide our next move for Dart. Time we didn't have.
“Guys, these are my friends. We can't hurt them.” I demanded, reaching for Chug's gun. He pulled away.
“Your 'friends' ratted us out, Lucy,” he said. “And if we don't fight our way out of here, we're going to be arrested. Or Stark's gonna show up and either way, our chances of getting Dart back are over."
Scott gripped his baton tightly as a scowl twisted its way onto his face. “That's enough out of all of you,” he ordered. “Halsey, you're in charge of the fugitive.”
Not Lucy. The fugitive.
Then Scott dashed to meet the two boys in battle. Woodstock ran at him while Chug provided long-range support, firing bullets that seemed to whistle through the air and leave a streak of the haze I saw on his hand.
“No, no...” I whispered. This is not good.
Before I knew it, Halsey was a just a few feet in front of me, a confused look on her face. She wanted answers.
“Halsey, you—” I started, but my voice quivered. I hurriedly cleared my throat and tried again. “You need to let us go, Halsey.” I took a step toward her as I spoke. This caused her to draw her baton.
I stopped; dumbfounded that she actually pulled her weapon against me. Even more so, I was dumbfounded by my own body's reaction to hers—my right hand jolted down to my hip, mere inches from my art bag.
What the heck was I doing?
“I'm not going to fight my friend,” I decided, looking back up at her. Before anything else could happen, I pulled my hand back, raising it high for Halsey to see.
“Either way, it doesn't look good for you at all,” Halsey sighed. “HQ knows who you are, that you're a traitor, and now I see you with Depression Agents with my own two eyes. What am I supposed to do?"
I guess as far as compelling arguments and good evidence goes, she had some strong ammo. But so did I.
“I know what it's like to want to get someone back that you care for,” I told her. “You helped me do that for my sister. And I can't help you guys unless you let us go.” Halsey started to lower her weapon. I felt a sigh of relief, just for a moment before it was torn away.
“Stay on task, Halsey!” Scott shouted. He'd jumped back from the battle to take a breather. I looked over and saw the boys sweating as well. Woodstock had a purple welt on his left arm. “You heard the code just like I did. And if you fail this assignment, you know they're sending you back to HQ work.” Then just as quickly as he'd slid in, Scott jumped out of our conversation and back into the fray to meet the boys.
Halsey shook her head, struggling between the mental arguments of which choice to make.
Then she ran at me, her baton primed for offense.
“I'm so sorry, Lucy."
Instantly, I found myself matching her with defense. She swung at me and I ducked, dodging the attack. Then Halsey jabbed forward with the butt of the baton, and I sidestepped. At first, I was surprised at how fast I was moving. But then the truth hit me: I wasn't moving fast enough to avoid her swings. Halsey couldn't bring herself to hit me. Each of her swings was half-hearted. I continued to dodge attack after attack, until something crashed into my back.
It was the wall of the bridge. I couldn't turn to see it, but I definitely felt the stone tearing into my back as Halsey shoved me further into it. She looked down at me, looking confused and upset.
“I don't want to fight you,” she said quietly. “Please believe me."
Then she tightened her baton, bringing it up to my windpipe. The pressure pushed harder and harder. I sucked in half a breath of air. She was trying to knock me out. I shoved my elbow backwards and jabbed her in the stomach. Her grip loosened, but not enough. She fought back and got me in a grip from behind, pulling her baton even tighter my neck.
My vision dipped into darkness and came back up with splotches of black wherever I looked. I felt myself getting weaker by the second. Then I heard a horrible sound somewhere to my left: A deep and scraggly laugh. Around the splotches, I saw Stark walk up the side of the bridge, twirling his hunting knife in his fingers.
“Chug, Woodstock, get out of here!” I tried to shout. Being choked made it hard to yell. . Unfortunately, they either couldn't hear me or didn't care to listen. Their fight with Scott continued, only now Scott finally looked like he was getting tired. But in a moment, it wouldn't matter. Out of what I could still see, Stark was walking closer to the two of us.
“Well, I suppose the girl's a good a place as any to start.” he growled. Halsey pushed harder until all I could see were Stark's boots and the tip of his hunting knife swaying in and out of view. Against my back, I felt Halsey's heart pumping faster and faster.
I'd barely considered the possibility Stark was making her panic, when she leaned in and whispered the clearest instructions I'd ever heard.
“I need you to struggle."
I didn't hesitate. I wriggled my shoulders around, trying to get my arms free. I clung to her words for dear life, trying to shove Halsey away or duck out of her grip. She fought back and twisted to the side, pulling me along with her. The swift movement made me black out for a second. My body followed suit, going limp.
“Stop resisting!” Halsey shouted. But it sounded more like she was rehearsing lines than what she said before, so I didn't listen.
The minute I could feel my body again, I fought back. I flailed again and my the back of my head smacked into hers. She let go, just for a moment. But it was long enough to turn around—and hesitate.
For that moment, I wondered what I was supposed to do. What could I have done? I could have drawn my weapon, and gotten ready to fight back. But I didn't. I could've gone to help the boys, or even taken on Stark himself (and surely died), but I didn't do either of those. All I could do during that split second of choice was stare up at my friend's face and let her expression wrench my heart with a grip tighter than she had with her baton.
Halsey's confused face morphed into one of both sadness and anger. It was way too many emotions for one face. Her pale skin was flushed red now. Her hair was all over the place, matted to her face with sweat and...something red. My head knocking into hers must have managed to give her a bloody nose.
I felt horrible for doing it; ruining her beautiful features. I felt even worse when she took her baton and used it to shove me over the edge of the bridge.
I felt the worst when I realized that hers was the last face I would see before I died.
20. The Hooded Man Isn’t Homeless
Halsey knew something was wrong.
She didn't want to believe it at first, but that's why she started to panic. That's why the second Stark appeared, she freaked out even more. That's why she gave me a chance. One second try at survival. I only wished the same was done for the boys.
Actually, that's a lie—it wasn't my only wish.
I also wished that I could honor Halsey's choice and prove our innocence after all. But I could hardly breathe before, and the impact of falling into the river had cost me the rest of the air in my lungs. My vision went black and stayed that way.
Still, even more, I wished we still had a chance at getting that old man's cloak—our effort was futile without that. But that old man had fallen into the river long before me. And he wasn't losing consciousness. Matter of fact, he'd probably already climbed out. Probably sitting by some homeless dude's trash can fire now, drying the treasured robe.
I felt my face slowly shift into a smirk. Was that who I was? Someone so selfish that in her
last moments, she clung to her own desires despite the mercy she'd been shown? I wasn't going to be gutted to death, at least. But here I was, wallowing in self-pity and cold water.
Then a loud rumbling broke me from my thoughts, and rumbled every fiber of my being. Chug’s words played back in my memory:
“It ends in a waterfall, I think.”
I flew over the side of the river, and was pulled down into the water below. The pressure of the falls pressing down on me knocked me out.
✽✽✽
I woke with a gasp and just as quickly tried to sit up. Then a force pushed me back and my body screamed at me with excruciating pain:
GENUIS, YOU'RE HURT!
“AAGH!” I screamed in response. I fell back and clutched my everything, trying to cradle the pain away.
“Well, that was quite the show,” an old male voice spoke. “You almost spilled your tea.”
I looked around to see who said that, but I realized then that the room I was in was pitch black.
“Oh, that's right. Ya probably need to see, huh?”
The old man read my mind. I heard the click of a switch, and light illuminated the room so brightly that my eyes ached. Once I adjusted to the light, I could see that I was lying in a bed. The force that had met me halfway was covers, drawn to above my chest. The rest of the room was bare except for a closed and draped window to my right, and a nightstand to my left with a small gray teacup full of piping hot brown liquid. Tea.
I looked up at the individual standing in the doorway of the room who must have brought it, and fell back in the bed in shock.
“You?”
Standing in the doorway just past the nightstand was the old man from the mannequin building, complete with the cloak on and hood over his face.
“What? Who?” he asked.
“You!” I shouted.
“Keep your voice down, child!” he shouted even louder than me, his voice cracking like a whip. I stared at him, eyes wide in surprise.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked.