by Kat Falls
The blond guard stepped away, hands up. “He might bite.”
I twitched, remembering a line from a documentary about the outbreak: Ferae killed half the nation, one bite at a time.
“So what?” Cruz asked. “Even if he has Ferae, it won’t get into his salivary glands for a while.”
“Did you read that in one of your science books?” the stocky guard sneered.
“Fine.” Cruz unclipped something from his belt and tossed it to the blond guard. “If you’re so worried, muzzle him.”
“I’m not putting my hand near his mouth.” He tossed the leather strap to the stocky guy. “You do it.”
That one didn’t even bother to catch it; he just let the strap bounce off his chest and fall to the ground. “Not a chance.”
“Oh, for — He’s unconscious.” Guardsman Cruz sounded like he was at the end of his patience.
I had to get out of there before he realized that I wasn’t waiting for him to come arrest me. At least he hadn’t told the other two about me.
“If you’re so freaking sure, you muzzle him,” the stocky guard said.
Cruz dropped his dog tag and badge down his shirt and scooped up the piece of leather. “Move.” The other two had several years on him and yet they jumped out of the way as he bent over the tranquilized man.
With the guards’ attention wholly on their task, I slipped through the gate, which they’d left ajar. Rock music drifted out of the darkness upriver. I pressed against an iron support beam and peeked back at the trio on the slope. Cruz stepped aside as the other two guards slung the maniac’s arms over their shoulders and lifted him. If they were following his instructions, they’d take the infected man to Dr. Solis. All I had to do was keep to the shadows and trail them.
Layers of rust stuck to my palms as I peeled away from the beam. Ugh. But there was no time to whip out the hand sanitizer. I sprinted for the gate at the far end of the bridge, not trusting the soft wood beneath my feet — it felt rotten — but at least it muffled my footsteps.
Lights appeared from around the bend and the music grew louder as a patrol barge cruised downriver. Onboard, patrolmen aimed spotlights at the banks. I pressed against another support beam, trying to make myself invisible, only to hear a clank as the guards lugged the unconscious man through the gate. Cruz wasn’t with them — probably because he was searching for me on the ridge. How long would it take him to realize that I wasn’t there?
I stayed plastered to the iron beam. If I dashed through the gate now, the approaching guards might see me. But I couldn’t stay here. They’d be on top of me in a minute. Jumping was definitely out. The river looked not just fast, but schizo. With all the cross currents, I’d get swept under in a heartbeat.
Peering down through the planks of wood, I watched the patrol boat cruise under the bridge. When a guard tilted up his light, I jerked back from the gap. The guards behind me dragged the unconscious man to the railing as the boat emerged on the other side. “Hey,” the stocky guard yelled down.
“What are you slack-offs doing up there?” a voice shouted back.
Go go go! I dashed for the gate — left open and swaying in the night breeze.
“Nothing good,” he called down. “Tell you when you’re back in camp.”
I slipped through the gate and into the shadows beyond. Six rows of barracks lined up before me, with several buildings per row. That was housing for a whole lot of guards, and who knew, there might even be more. The bridge I’d crossed was located at the southwest tip of the island and Arsenal was a very big island. Luckily, the bridge faced the backside of the barracks. The six-story clock tower read one o’clock and yet spotlights blazed throughout the camp. A security measure? I dashed into the narrow alley between two barracks and made my way to the front of the building. I peered around the corner, only to have my heart plow to a stop.
There were line guards everywhere.
Young men and women, all in gray fatigues, stood in distinct groups in a courtyard that was bound on all sides by barracks. Under glaring arc lights, the guards slammed their guns around in some sort of rhythmic line dance. Or maybe this was what they called a drill. I edged back into the shadows, but couldn’t tear my gaze from their syncopated movements and implacable faces. If they marched en masse in my direction, I had no doubt that they’d mow me down without noticing and pound my body to a bloody pulp under their boots.
Watching them, it was hard to believe the fact that before the plague, the line patrol was a private security force for indoor theme parks. These guards were all too young to have worked for Titan back then, when the company was known for its elaborate labyrinths that were acres wide and fifty stories high. Clearly the guards’ training now involved more than helping people through a maze.
I ran back down the alley to watch for the guards who were going to take the yellow-eyed man to the infirmary. I crouched by the back corner so that my vest would disappear against the building’s cement foundation. My heart thudded, keeping time with the relentless stomping from the courtyard. How was I going to make it to the infirmary in a white vest — muddy or not — without one of the robots noticing?
Behind me came the clatter of boots on wood as the two guards dragged the infected man through the gate. “Don’t lock it yet. Cruz is coming,” the stocky guard called to a young woman who veered toward them.
She stopped midstride. “Why’s Bangor muzzled?” she asked sharply. “Oh no, is he infected?”
“Shhh,” the two guards hissed in unison.
A head popped out of a far window. “Someone got bit?”
That was all it took. Within a minute the news had spread and guards rolled in from all directions to circle the men hauling Bangor, bombarding them with questions. Luckily none charged down the alley I was hunkered in.
As the glum little parade headed down a walking path, I slumped back against the building. I couldn’t follow them to the infirmary — not with a crowd of anxious guards on their heels. I’d have to hang back and —
“I told you to wait for me,” said an irritated voice.
I looked over to see Cruz, the dark-haired guard from the hill, striding toward me. I got to my feet. Could I outrun him? Not a chance. As tall as he was, there was nothing awkward about him: He’d bootcamped his body into fighting condition. Plus, there was the dart gun issue…. I decided to stay put and hope that he didn’t know every guard on Arsenal Island.
He closed the distance between us, stopping less than a foot away — closer than I was comfortable with for several reasons, starting with his size and ending with his not-messing-around-here expression. He held out my father’s messenger bag. “Yours?”
I might as well claim it. He already knew that I’d been on the riverbank. “Thanks.” I reached for it, but he didn’t let go of the strap.
“The pilot should have walked you in from the landing pad,” he said reprovingly. “Make sure to tell Captain Hyrax so that it doesn’t happen again.”
Not knowing what to say, I nodded stiffly.
“Relax,” he said, releasing my bag. “I’m not going to arrest you. What the captain calls R&R is his business, but you can’t go wandering around camp. Can you find your way to the officers’ quarters?”
“Uh …” I’d happily jump onboard whatever he had assumed was my reason for being here, if only I could figure out what it was.
“Fine, come on.” He gestured me forward, looking less than pleased. “I’ll take you to him.” When I didn’t budge, he frowned. “If someone sees you on base and reports it, Captain Hyrax will lose his post. That won’t break my heart, but you’ll be down a client.”
I gasped. “You think I’m a …” I fumbled past my shock and offense to find the word. “An escort.”
“My mistake,” he said dryly. “Since obviously you’re a …” He lifted a hand, at a loss.
“Guard,” I said, and then added, “I’m off duty.”
His brows rose. Clearly he’d need convincing, bu
t I didn’t have time to answer questions. Every second I stood here was wasting time that my father might need on the back end. “Look, I was just —”
A screech cut through the night, a sound like nothing I’d ever heard. I spun, looking for the source. That screech — it had sounded almost human. Almost.
“Okay,” Cruz said. “One, no guard, male or female, has hair past their ears.”
Before I could gather my wits to come up with a reply, another tortured scream straightened out my nerve endings.
“And two, we’re way past reacting to that.”
How could anyone get past reacting to that?
His expression hardened. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here, Miss?”
Guardsman Cruz had shifted into stone-cold line guard mode — every inch of him, every synapse. Probably something the patrol hammered into the guards during training: how to seem simultaneously decent and reasonable yet capable of sudden violence. It was chilling. Even if my nerves weren’t stretched to snapping point, which they were, I wasn’t going to try spinning another lie. Not only did I not have the practice, I’d be worse under duress. And with his steely gaze pinned on me, Guardsman Cruz was laying on some serious duress.
“I can’t tell you,” I said, choking out the words.
A muscle ticked along his jaw as he studied me. “What’s your name,” he said finally. Grammatically, it was a question, but it sure didn’t sound like one.
“Lane.”
“Just Lane?”
“Delaney Park.” Not a lie, though I was hoping that he’d think Park was my last name.
“You crossed the quarantine line, Lane. Maybe you noticed it — that three-thousand-mile-long wall back there. Your being here is a capital offense and I am two seconds from arresting you, which is exactly how long you have to tell me what you’re doing here.”
“Okay, all right. I’m looking for Ian McEvoy.”
Shock leapt into Cruz’s expression. Clearly he recognized the name. “I was hoping Dr. Solis could tell me where he is,” I finished.
“He can’t.” If Guardsman Cruz could have crammed his answer down my throat, he would have.
“How do you know?”
“Because I report to Dr. Solis.” Cruz ground out the words. “I spend every day in his lab, doing whatever he needs me to because he’s trying to cure Ferae. You know what he’s not doing? Associating with a known fetch.”
“That’s not what Director Spurling says.”
“Who?”
“The head of Biohazard Defense.” I tried not to sound smug. Smug would not go over well with this guy.
Cruz shot a look over his shoulder and then snagged my wrist and pulled me deeper into the shadows between the barracks. “They caught Mack, didn’t they?” His tone was low, hard, and not even a little sympathetic. “What did he tell them about Dr. Solis?”
“Nothing! Ow,” I said pointedly, raising my arm. He released my wrist and I took a moment to gather my adrenaline-soaked thoughts. Spurling would have a fit if she knew that I was confiding in a line guard, but I couldn’t see another way forward. “Director Spurling doesn’t have my dad, just evidence against him.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “Mack is your father?”
“Yes. And she already knew about his deal with your boss. Will you please take me to him now?”
“No,” he said in a tone that closed the discussion as definitively as the Titan wall had closed off the West. “Go back to Director Spurling,” he said, practically spitting her name, “and tell her that the doctor doesn’t know Ian McEvoy. Has never even heard of him.”
“She’s not going to buy that. Anyway, she’s not looking to arrest anyone. She has a job for my dad.”
His eyes widened. “A fetch?”
“Yes. If he brings her back what she wants, she’ll destroy his file.”
Cruz scrubbed a hand over his jaw. Hopefully, he was reassessing the situation. He turned that considering gaze on to me. “And this director sent you here — to Arsenal Island — to tell Mack about this deal?”
When I nodded, he frowned. “How old are you? Sixteen?”
“Seventeen.” Close enough. My birthday was coming up — in three months, anyway.
“What your dad does, fetching, it’s a felony. But that doesn’t give an official the right to send a kid over here where you could get infected or killed or worse.”
I bristled. “There’s something worse than being killed?”
“How about being eaten alive?” he asked casually.
All right, yes, that was worse, but kid was simmering in my gut. “You know, having my dad’s file erased would be good for Dr. Solis too. ’Cause if they put my dad on trial, it’ll come out that —”
“I can fill in the rest. Thanks.” Despite his cool tone, Guardsman Cruz didn’t look mad. He tipped his head up to the sky and let out a slow breath.
Wait — was he really considering not following orders?
“What’s your name?” I asked quickly. “Your first name.” I didn’t want to talk to a killer robot anymore. I wanted him to be a person.
His expression relaxed a fraction. “Everson.”
“Where’s that?”
“It was a town in Pennsylvania where my mother grew up.”
He had a mother? Wow. Guardsman Cruz was becoming more human by the second.
“Stay here,” he said, nudging me aside. “As in really stay this time.”
I blocked his path. “Where are you going?”
“To get you some clothes. No guard would be caught in that getup on Arsenal.” He nodded at my vest. “Not even if she’s off duty.”
“It isn’t mine. My friend —”
“Do something about your hair.” He pushed past me, clearly not interested in why I was dressed like the step-daughter of a stripper.
I slumped against the barracks wall. Everson, Pennsylvania. It sounded like a nice town, but was the boy nice?
Please. He was a line guard. Nice didn’t apply.
The killer robot returned with a pile of clothes, combat boots, and a gray cap. I tensed, waiting for more guards to appear. When no one marched around the corner, I relaxed a little. He hadn’t reported me. For now.
Everson held out the bundle. “I got them from the women’s barracks, so feel guilty. Some guard is going to —”
“From a clean pile?”
“Does it matter?”
It did to me. But based on the press of Everson’s lips, I dropped the issue. “Where can I change?”
“Here.”
“Uh, no. I — can’t.”
“And I’m not taking you anywhere dressed like that. So either change or cross back over the bridge.”
Another nonchoice. His eyebrows — straight and dark over his eyes — gave him a stern look, which made me reluctant to push my luck. I’d just have to change fast. “Are you going to turn around?”
He shifted his gaze to the basketball court — like that would be enough to put me at ease. What did he think I’d do? Clobber him when his back was to me?
Gritting my teeth, I kicked off my ankle boots and got the snaps on the vest undone, but that was as far as I could make myself go. As humiliating as the vest was, I didn’t want to change into someone else’s dirty laundry in front of a line guard while standing outside in an alley where anyone might waltz by.
“What’s taking so long?” Everson asked.
He looked over. Good thing I hadn’t flung off the vest. “Can you please turn around? I promise not to make a run for it.”
“So you say.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t want you doing something stupid.”
Nice. “Well, how about trusting that I’m smart enough to realize that you know your way around here and I don’t. So, if I were to run, I’m guessing you would catch me.”
“Good guess,” he agreed.
“And considering you’re as big as a cow, I’d probably en
d up dirty and hurt. Two things I hate. So, believe me, I’m not going to run.”
He eyed me like a pop quiz that he hadn’t studied for, but then gave me his back — ramrod straight, of course. I felt a little better. I still had to get undressed outdoors, but it was reassuring to know that logic worked over here.
“Cow?” he asked, sounding put out.
“Bull. Whatever. Big.” I gave the shirt a sniff. It wasn’t too bad, so I pulled the stretchy neoprene over my head. Between the shirt’s high neck and the three-quarter sleeves, it would keep me a lot warmer than Anna’s vest had.
“Ready,” I said, once I’d gotten everything on, including the boots. I transferred the bottle of hand sanitizer and guard badge from my jeans to a side pocket on the camo pants.
Everson tugged my cap low over my eyes. “You’re lucky I’m the one who found you. Any other guard would have hauled you off to Captain Hyrax.”
I tensed. “Why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t drink the Kool-Aid. Come on, let’s go.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant and I didn’t care. Just so long as he didn’t turn me in. “One minute.” I tried to roll up Anna’s vest but the vinyl was too stiff. It didn’t fold well either and was not fitting easily into the messenger bag.
“You’re not planning on following in your father’s footsteps, are you?”
I wasn’t, but that didn’t mean I wanted some line guard pointing out my shortcomings as an amateur fetch. I shot him a dirty look.
“Just asking,” he said.
Was that amusement in his voice? He tugged the vest out of my hands and snatched up my white boots. “Hey,” I hissed as he stalked off. “I have to give those back.”
Stepping from between the barracks, he tossed the things into the first trash can he passed. I frowned but didn’t try to fish them back out. As grateful as I was for his help, Guardsman Cruz was starting to rub me the wrong way. Were all line guards so bossy? I tucked my ponytail under the cap and joined him.
“You’ll pass.”
Darn right, I’d pass. I could do the whole ramrod posture, perfectly-made-bed robot thing. Okay, maybe not the marching and the push-ups …