Snofrid bit her lip. “It sounds like I was a—”
“Dez!” Jazara cried excitedly. She clamped her arms around Desya’s torso from behind, squeezing hard, causing his eyes to pop.
“Jazara, my back!”
She released him with a sigh, “You’re my best guy, Dez. But let’s be real. You’re kind of wormy.” She spun Snofrid around and led her toward the landing tracks, bangles chiming. “So…how was your beast survey trip?” she gushed. “Tell me all.”
“Beast survey trip?”
“Yep. Dez told me it’s why you didn’t come to my party.” Jazara sighed. “You were gone a long time. You better have brought me back something good.”
Whaaaaat?” Jazara’s yellow-brown eyes grew as large as her bangles. “Why in the heck would you go to Alaska?”
“Because we need to get out of the city for a while,” Snofrid explained, feeling like she just killed a kitten. “It’s just temporary, Jazara.”
“Then…” Jazara cast a crushed glance at the loading docks and her eyes glossed over. “I’ll never see you all again. And Dez…” Her brows bumped together. “I’ve got to go with you.”
“I don’t think your parents would let you just leave.”
“Parents?” Jazara narrowed her eyes. “Sno, I ain’t got no parents.”
Her heart skipped, and she quickly added, “I just had a major brain fart. I’m an idiot. Sorry Jazara—”
“Pleeeeease let me come. I’ll ride in the trunk if there’s no room. And I’ll even work for my board.”
Snofrid fell silent to think, before nodding slowly. “It’s not up to me. I’ll talk to Dez.”
“Yaaay!” Jazara squeezed her arms and Snofrid gasped at her iron grip. Luckily, a sudden wave of anticipation rippled through the crowd, causing Jazara to release Snofrid. “It’s starting!”
“Attention,” the automated voice echoed over the sound system. “For safety reasons, all civilians must remain ten feet from the tracks. Failure to comply will result in removal from the city square.”
Snofrid and Jazara pedaled from the tracks, not a moment before a large black object descended from the clouds: a train car. As the train neared the landing tracks, titanium skids engaged from its tricycle undercarriage. A second train car rocketed from the clouds behind it: Snofrid realized it was descending in pieces. Dozens followed the first two until black cars spotted the sky. The train assembled upon the tracks in a neat row. With a click, the cars connected, as if someone had flipped a magnet switch, and the train rose and hovered above the loading docks.
Snofrid tried peering into the observation deck, but, finding the arched windows plated with ebony glass, examined one of the car door insignias instead—a man sitting cross-legged on a horse with his hands cupped to form a circle. She crooked a brow, impressed. The train belonged to the Romeo Gypsies. Legend had it that these gypsies were more than quiet traveling folk; since the start of the war, many had allegedly become lethal assassins for hire.
“For the convenience of the merchants, all traders standby until the cargo is unloaded,” the automated voice announced. “Thank you for your cooperation. Have a pleasant trade.”
Desya and Lycidius joined up with Snofrid ten uneventful minutes later, carrying pints of lager, hamburgers and cotton candy. Jazara climbed onto Desya’s shoulders and tried to pinch a paper lantern from the decorations while Lycidius let a stray dog lap from his beer mug.
Snofrid, growing impatient, searched the head car for movement. The train hovered silently like a ghost-machine; seemingly, it navigated the skies with no engineer.
Murmurs swelled through the crowd as people seemed to come to the same conclusion. Eventually, Desya cupped both hands around his mouthpiece, and shouted, “We’re waiting!”
“Unless you want a bullet in your throat, that’s not smart,” Lycidius advised.
“I’d take a bullet for you,” Jazara whispered to Desya, now cradling four stolen lanterns in her arms.
Suddenly a hatch in the head car popped open, startling Snofrid as well as some onlookers. A man as thin as a pole’s shadow arose, his feet planted on a circular platform.
Silence fell over the crowd.
Snofrid thought him the scariest merchant of them all. His bearing was erratic, as if he were standing barefoot on a bed of hot coals. Thin reddish-black hair curtained his sunken face, which was hidden behind a pale horse-head gasmask. Spikes forked from the toes of his boots and matching claws extended from his fingertips.
The gypsy took a wide stance, swishing his red cape, and stretched his fingertips skyward. He snapped his fingers and the tops of the train cars shot open like rippling dominos. “Come out, come out,” he invited.
Trapeze artists in red leotards emerged, performing flips across the cars.
“Greetings, beautiful citizens of Hollowstone,” the gypsy sang. “We come with fresh invention for each and every buyer! We come with goods to render, we have what you require! We come to you in friendship, we come to slake your greed! Come close, eager peoples, you shall find everything you need!”
As he dropped back into the hatch, his cloak broke into a flock of metal birds that dispersed above the surging crowd. Whistles, cheers, and applause resounded. An elderly woman standing beside Snofrid called, “Come back, handsome!” Staircases cascaded from the train doors and anchored themselves on the docks. Some people formed lines, only to break formation when others stampeded past.
“Dez said he’d think about me going to Alaska,” Jazara told Snofrid. She waved a hand toward the platform where Desya and Lycidius were caught up in a haggle. “So, obviously, I gotta go to the orphanage and pack. But I’m coming by tonight, just so you don’t get ideas about leaving without me.”
“Call me and I’ll come get you,” Snofrid said as Jazara dashed into the crowd, spilling paper lanterns in her haste. Strangely enough, Snofrid spotted Fergus Dripper perusing a kite stall nearby. He looked conspicuous in a lemon tracksuit and was chuckling with two freckled-faced orange-haired men—his brothers perhaps.
“Snowball!” He frisked toward her, sipping a container of beer from a specialized gasmask-straw. “I thought I was hallucinating there for a second. And boy, I’m glad I wasn’t. Having a grand time?”
“As good a time as any,” she replied. “Are those your brothers?”
“Cousins, actually. They popped in from Jamaica last night. How’s your research paper coming along? Still need a source?”
“I do. Thanks for the offer,” she answered. She squirmed as she recalled the giant heap of college work she still needed to catch up on. “Back at Remus’s crime scene, you mentioned you have evidence that an Inborn killed him. Is that evidence still confidential?” she asked.
“Sorry Snowball, but it is.” He slurped harder on his straw, his brows wiggling. “You single now?”
“Why are you asking?”
“Just making conversation.”
She removed her gasmask cartridge, and, after taking a bite of the cotton candy Desya had brought her, answered, “Atlas and I broke things off.”
Fergus’s brows bounced up in delight. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped her a folded piece of paper. “My digits. Ring me and we’ll pop by a tavern. My treat.”
“Sure. But Fergus, I think of you as a friend.”
“Ah, but victory comes to those who persevere.” Winking, he stretched his arms out at his sides with a sigh. “Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“It is.” His determination impressed her.
One of the train cars behind her started to shake causing its chains to clang against its doors. It was like an earthquake had taken root beneath it.
“It’s just a technical malfunction,” Fergus assured, still sipping on his straw. “Happens to everything, even the best transportation.”
Wobbling thumps bent out the side of the car, loosening screws.
“My word!” Fergus dropped his beer.
Panic snaked through the crowd. The car shudder
ed faster, frightening away those who still stood near.
“What the hell is going on?” traders demanded.
People stumbled, falling onto their faces and hands. Worried cries stabbed the air as people trampled over one another, knocking over crates and baskets of fruit. Snofrid tried to pass through the jungle of bopping bodies, yet the flow forced her toward the train. She searched wildly for an exit and nearly treaded on a fallen woman. Snofrid hoisted the woman to her feet. Then, whirling, she continued to search for an escape. An elbow jabbed her ribs; a knee dug into her thigh; then she was caught—sandwiched between stomachs and backs.
“Form orderly lines to all available exits,” the automated voice rang out. “Use of firearms will result in arrest.”
At first Snofrid thought she imagined it, but the train was rising. Struggling to stay on her feet, she watched the ladders retreat into the cars.
“Good God!” a woman screamed.
“Emergency evacuation personnel are en route,” the automated voice broadcasted. “Form orderly lines and seek your nearest exit.”
Snofrid, fighting to distance herself from the train, saw the train doors reopen. First came the ladders. Then the combat robots. Hundreds of them funneled onto the platforms, steel giants into a mob of panicking dwarves. When her eyes locked on the Ninth Underground City logo—N.U.C.—airbrushed on their chests—her stomach plunged in terror. This wasn’t a trade train, it was a military transport. The hydrocop’s were two-and-a-half-meter humanoids assembled from black titanium; each sported a full-face ballistic helmet with an infrared visor, from which emerged modulated voices, stark and authoritative.
“Close off all exits,” one of them commanded the others. “Permission granted to open fire on any target who refuses instruction or attempts to exit the area.”
Doubling her efforts, Snofrid rode the waves of the riot toward the gates. Her nerves flailed as she drove her body forward leading with her knees. Hands clutched at her, tearing her clothes, stomping her ankles, yanking on her braid. “Let me go!” She jerked away and staggered backward into a cushioning knot of bodies.
Ahead, the hydrocops formed up into rows. She sprinted through them toward the freight hold, keeping a desperate eye out for Desya. Her lungs burned by the time she’d made it through. Safe against the wall of the freight hold, she took a moment to catch her breath. What the hell was happening?
She watched two hydrocop units remove a vibrating titanium crate from the chained car. Something was inside. One of the hydrocops shoved a Taser rod through a hole and a horrible wail went up. The last hydrocop descended and, one by one, the cars separated and soared into the clouds. Snofrid watched with a sinking realization that the safest place to be was probably onboard.
Gunshots! She spun on her heel, tracking the shots to the wall platforms. The low ground blocked her line of sight. Hopping onto a crate, she stared at the floating dais at the north end of the city square. The Chancellor stood atop it, his silken white robes flapping around his squash-shaped figure. His head tilted heavenward, catching the sun’s rays in a majestic pose. He donned a half-face gasmask in the mold of a chimera and his brilliant, aquamarine energy shield sizzled around him with hundreds of hydrocops, together with his security detail, just beyond.
As he raised his arms, his image appeared on the lofty screens behind him. Snofrid knew that whatever happened next would be broadcasted to the entire city.
“True children of Hollowstone,” he thundered, his voice gravelly and operatic. “Remain calm.”
“What’s going on?” people cried out.
“Why are there soldiers here?” others shouted.
“Do not be afraid,” he consoled, his tone now fatherly. “You will not be harmed. The message I carry is for the maggots who are burrowing into the flesh of my city. The enemies of peace and the bringers of suffering.”
“Inborn scum!” several voices shouted.
“There is no insult appropriate for their obscenity.” He paused to scan the crowds, his hands fisted in suppressed fury. “Most of you are aware of my son’s death. Most of you knew him. He was only sixteen; he wanted to be a soldier, to fight and defend his homeland and his people. He wanted, more than riches and success, to dedicate his life to the service of others. But all of these noble dreams were snatched away by them. I tell you now that I’ve been delivered proof of Inborns’ involvement in his death.”
Some people gasped, while others covered their mouths. “No!”
“Yes!” he bellowed, his chest engorging. “Like you, I have lost much to this war, but like the true patriots of our time, I will not let it be in vain. In the words of President Sebaster: We will not be bystanders to tyranny any longer.” He spread his arms wide like a falcon taking flight. “Our loved ones deserve retribution! No, not only retribution, but justice. This will end now. We will honor them with a stand like no Inborn army has witnessed and put an end to these gruesome acts of terror. And we will begin that stand with the execution of every Inborn in Hollowstone City.”
“Yes!” a choir of voices approved. “Yes!” The people were no longer frightened. Heads lifted and hands rose, saluting the fallen in reverence. Snofrid heard low, indistinct chanting ripple through the crowd. It rumbled into an earsplitting roar.
“Retribution! Retribution! Retribution!”
“Kill the Inborns!”
“End terror!”
“Children of Hollowstone, we have kept the fight from these walls, but is it just?” the Chancellor questioned. “Is it just? Why should our neighbors bleed while we doze? The truth is simple. We should not. So my cousin, President Sebaster, has sent us aid.” He slammed his fist into his hand. “The purge begins NOW.”
A deafening sound like a hundred screeching tires shuddered beneath Snofrid’s feet, quaking the stalls, stages and platforms. Bracing herself on the wall, she glanced down in dread. The crate on which she stood was glowing. A flash of blue drew her eye to a dome rising over the city, which enclosed her heart, along with her hope and her bravery.
The dome was an energy shield.
The Chancellor’s security detail shepherded him from the dais and thirty hydrocops marched onto center stage with their forearm-guns aimed at the crowd. They formed two ranks behind a hulk of a man clad in blister-red armor and iron gloves. A Roman numeral nine was stamped on his breastplate, branding him as the Hydrocop Chief; but he was human and he terrified Snofrid even more than the bull-head gasmask of the Inborn Commander. Grisly hooks flowered from his spaulders and a spike-studded gasmask alike to a porcupine masked his face.
He pointed a machine pistol and fired a dozen shots into the sky. “Get used to this sound,” he advised. “You’re all going to be hearing it for the next two months.”
“Fire again!” voices insisted. People jumped onto the wall platforms and thrust their fists into the air. “Fire again!” The crowd’s inhibitions blew to the wind, but their frenzied excitement fed Snofrid’s frenzied horror. A heavy hand clamped down on her arm and she reeled around in a quivering start. Lycidius stared up at her, his cloudy eye as black as funeral smoke. “You’re a target. Get on level with the rest of the crowd.”
She dropped onto the platform. Desya had also come and she took his arm before looking to the holographic screens displayed from the wall.
“I’m Chief Reznik Stoker,” the man informed, “your new god. I’m not a forgiving god and I’m not a merciful god. No Inborns will be spared under my command.” He took a wide stance, while steadying his gun barrel on one shoulder. “My message for humanity’s enemy is this: you’re trapped. Three minutes ago, Hollowstone went under lockdown. The energy shield will ensure that no one enters or leaves. Barrier patrols have been tripled. All civilians, irrespective of species, caught trying escape will be shot without question. Effective immediately is a 10 p.m. curfew. Civilians who break curfew will be put in holding until the purge ends. If you’re stopped for a Tag scan, obey without hesitation or you’ll be shot.” He aimed
a metal-sheathed finger at the crowd. “Humans, your part is simple. If you’re harboring Inborns and come forward within the next twenty-four hours and beg forgiveness for your treason, you’ll be imprisoned, but spared. If not, when we find you, you’ll be shipped to death camps with your Inborn lovers.”
“Turn them in!” people urged across the crowd. “Don’t protect those murderers!”
Snofrid’s muscles pulled tight in fear and she held fast to Desya’s arm; Trojan Mortals harbored her kind all around the city. If any of them were scared enough, hundreds of Inborns could be exposed and murdered. Her eyes dug into Reznik with hatred. They were at the mercy of humans: the shield would stay in place as long as necessary, and people would eventually give into fear. Trojan Mortals had children too; if given the choice, they’d sacrifice her kind to protect their own.
Desya wrapped his hand around hers and started invoking the protection of the Inborn Promethia Flower under his breath. Then he said, “Stay calm, Sno.”
“Why are you warning me, Dez?”
“Just stay here. If you run, know I’m gonna come after you.”
“Dez, of course I won’t run.” She tried with all of her strength to have courage, but it wasn’t enough. Her insides roiled in terror as hundreds of the crowd yelled out names and addresses. Hundreds of her kind would die. The wall spotlights zeroed in on men, women, teenagers and children, all of whom were identified on the screen behind Reznik. She stared at their faces, knowing she could easily be among them. But she wasn’t. Not today.
Today it was Neko.
Snofrid felt Desya’s hand go limp in her own. She stared at Neko, oblivious to all that was around her, except for him. Run Neko, she thought frantically. RUN!
Hydrocops charged all those who’d been accused while bystanders tackled them so they couldn’t flee. Neko took a combat stance and flicked his hands upward; green magic blasted from his palms, then rushed to his toes, encapsulating his body in a small energy shield. People were shoved backward like flicked peas while sniper bullets were vaporized by the shield. His arms quivered when a drone flew overhead and shot a hellfire missile; the energy shield vaporized the missile, shrouding the area in black billows of smoke. Neko’s face remained composed. Snofrid felt as if all the fear that should be raging in him was tearing her apart. She wanted him to move, to run, or at least to attack the humans back. But he didn’t.
Hatred Day Page 10
