by Katie French
“And why would I? You won’t believe me if I swear on me mather’s grave.” He leans his head against the brick wall.
“You should tell me because my auntie and you have history. And my brother, her nephew, is one of the people they’ll help us find.”
He goes quiet. “Did she mention me?”
“Yeah,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “She said you left her.”
His eyes flash up to me. “It… it t’was a long time ago.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Either way, you owe her, right? Plus, it’ll get you out of this hellhole.”
“And then what?” he asks with his eyes on the floor.
“And then we go get my brother and my boyfriend.”
“Then we go to White Sands?” His eyes fill with a quiet longing. This is the most emotional, the most human, I’ve seen him.
“If it’s safe there. If we can trust you.”
“I’ll do it,” he says with his eyes far away. “Tell Bella I’m doing this for her.”
I turn and rap on the door. The guard swings it wide for me. Just before I walk out, I turn around. “Tell her your damn self. We leave in the morning.”
As the sun rises, streaking the sky a pinkish orange, we ready for our trip. A crew of doctors loaded the solar car with gear like I’ve never seen before—sensors, a satellite phone, a stun gun, food rations, water jugs, and a spare battery. Everything looks new by my standards, and it’s so neatly tucked away in the car’s clever storage compartments that I feel like we won’t have enough supplies. But the goal is to be gone for as short a time as possible. Still, the trek into the abandoned city where they think Subject Seven and Eight are hiding is a half hour’s drive on broken back roads. We have enough juice in the battery for a trip there and back. We can collect more solar power as we drive, but we shouldn’t count on it. And the car is going to be very heavy. With three passengers, four if you count Subject Eight on the return trip, we’ll need all the battery power we can get. I can’t imagine trying to walk back and restrain a half-human half-animal who wants us dead.
I keep my mind set on Ethan and Clay. I’ve thought about just taking the solar car and leaving, but how do I sneak Auntie out? Plus, Corra has promised she will use her satellite technology to find Clay when we return. She even pulled me aside last night to tell me she’d use the satellites right now if Dennis wouldn’t stop her. She says the only way to get him to budge is to bring back Subject Eight.
Dennis watches us now from the shaded lip of the base’s concrete overhang. I get the feeling he wants us to fail just so he can prove Corra wrong. She stands beside me, pointing out knobs and buttons. I should be paying closer attention, but once it got complicated, I got lost. I know the start button and how to use the pedals. That’s all I need. Luckily, Doc watches Corra’s every move, nodding every time she points to some dial or button. Frankly, I think Doc has a crush on her. Corra’s beautiful and talented.
I reach in my shirt and touch the corner of Clay’s picture.
Bran stomps up, adjusting the cuffs on his desert camo field jacket. They’ve given him a whole outfit, faded but clean, with matching pants and lace-up tan boots. He’s tied his long, gray hair in a bun at the back of his head and trimmed his beard. Without all the hair and filth, he looks… good. Like a warrior.
He notices me watching and puts his hands in his pockets. “Ya ready?”
I nod, walking toward him. “You?”
“Aye. But then, I’ve seen a wee bit more battle than you.” He narrows his eyes. “How old are you, plucky? Seventeen.”
“Something like that,” I say, trying hard not to sound ashamed of it.
He whistles through his teeth. “Had quite a life, I bet.” I nod, and he seems almost sad.
This Bran is a far cry from the man who wanted to shiv me at Kirtland.
“I know what I’m doing,” I say, touching the gun in the holster at my hip. Corra says to use the stun gun on Subject Seven if at all possible, but we’re allowed to have one gun. Since her last man was killed by this thing, there’s no way I’d agree to being unarmed.
“Let me take the lead,” Bran says, pocketing a sharp butterfly knife Corra gave him. I watch the knife carefully, but flick my eyes away when he notices me looking. “You and the bender can bring up the rear.”
I scoff. “This is my mission. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me. You follow my orders.”
When Bran smiles, it is not altogether friendly. “Whatever you say, lass.”
Bran swaggers off to take a piss behind the other solar cars. Heat burning up my neck, I try to rejoin the conversation between Doc and Corra, but she’s rummaging around in the car’s back compartment. Doc touches my arm to get my attention, whispering low. “What were you and Bran talking about?”
“I was just telling him where he stands,” I say, trying to keep emotion out of my voice.
Doc narrows his eyes. “Didn’t seem to take it well.”
“It’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to say this one more time,” Doc says, gripping the top of the solar car. “We should leave Bran here.”
I look across the landscape, focusing on the glowing sunrise and the scraggly peaks that block our view of the valley. “I’ll do whatever it takes. And Bran is what it takes.”
Doc storms around me to where Corra is reorganizing our supplies.
“Time to go,” I call.
Bran walks back over, zipping up his fly. Doc shoots him a look and says to me, “I’m sitting in the back.” He leans closer. “To keep an eye on him.”
I ignore him and turn to Corra. “We’ll be able to reach you on the satellite phone?”
She nods even though she’s answered this question at least twice. “We’ll be keeping an eye on things. If something goes wrong, call. Sometimes, reception can be shoddy. Just keep trying. If you need us to send in backup, don’t be afraid to ask.” She smiles and looks for a moment like she wants to touch my face, but doesn’t. “Be careful,” she whispers. “We’ll see you when you get back.”
The portly man who sat beside me at the meeting steps out of the bunker’s overhang shadow. “And remember, our world depends on you bringing Subject Eight back alive.”
“I got it.” When I slip into the driver’s seat, Bran sits beside me. He’s not a big man, but the tininess of the car makes him look like one. “Ready?”
He nods.
“Ready?” I ask Doc behind me.
In the backseat, he’s quiet, too. “Let’s get this over with.”
I start the car and pull out.
The car handles surprisingly smooth despite how small and low to the ground it is. And it’s easy to navigate with the push-button start and the automatic transmission. And unlike every vehicle I’ve ever driven, this one hasn’t undergone decades of decay. As we roll along the road up and out of the valley, I marvel at its speed and agility. The engine’s quiet, too, a car that can sneak up on people if you’re careful. Maybe with this type of advanced technology, this mission’s in the bag.
Then again, they lost one of their men a few days ago, and he had every advantage we have.
We drive in silence for about a half an hour. Soon, I see buildings in the distance.
The town below us looks like a rotten tooth eaten through with decay—buildings are missing windows, roofs, whole sections are toppled into piles of brick, car husks look like huge, fire-ravaged beetles, and scraggly trees are growing in the centers of streets that haven’t been driven on for decades.
“This is it,” Doc says, leaning forward. He watches as the first buildings pass by.
Corra said she thinks Subjects Seven and Eight are hiding in a strip mall in the center of town. She’s also assured us she hasn’t seen any human activity, but she can’t be sure we’ll be alone. I watch the abandoned buildings, with dozens of dark rooms, streak by and feel the tension build in my shoulders.
Then I see the barricade.
Ahead, a m
anmade wall blocks most of the road. Someone has dragged large items and stacked them a few deep—a giant sign that says “Motel,” a billboard with a woman’s tattered face on it, dozens of sheets of plywood, and even a few pitted cars. But the middle of the homemade wall is pried outward like someone rammed their way out of town.
My eyes scan beyond the barricade to the buildings. A thin trail of grayish smoke wafts into the sky from the north. If something is burning, it means one of two things—an accidental fire or something living. I’d think that these creatures are smart enough not to set fires, but then again, who knows how intelligent they are?
I slowly drive up to the barricade. Two-and three-story brick and concrete buildings rise around us, making me feel walled in. A lamppost hangs over the street like an uprooted tree. From the top of the closest building, the largest crow I’ve ever seen watches the solar car’s approach.
“Get out of here, you bastard, or you’ll be lunch,” I mutter under my breath.
Doc, who hasn’t said much the whole ride, leans forward. “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“They said it’s just their genetic mutants here, right? No crazy people are going to jump out and shoot us?” Doc asks, pulling on the back of my seat to get a better view out the windshield. I want to tell him he’s making me tense, but instead, I keep my eyes glued to the buildings. We’re too far away to really tell, but the town looks uninhabitable.
I pull the car up so my bumper is nearly parallel with the barricade. Just as I’m about to drive around a huge sheet of plywood and into town, Bran speaks up. “We should go in on foot.”
I step on the brake, lurching us to a stop. “But we’ll lose our cover if anything comes after us.”
“If we drive up in this clown car, sis, we’ll be announcing we’re here. Might as well come in with a bullhorn and give ourselves a grand welcome.” Bran’s eyes search the buildings, the sky, and the street. “Quiet is the way to go.”
“Leave the car? Are you crazy?” Doc’s voice is flooded with panic. “We can’t leave the car.”
Bran gives him a look reserved for idiots and children. “How many recon missions have you lead, Nancy boy?”
Doc blanches.
Bran smirks. “I was leading missions when you were in nappies. Now shut up and let the big boys talk.”
Doc stiffens. “Wait a goddamned minute—”
I pound the steering wheel with my palm. “Stop arguing. We’ll go on foot from here and check it out. If everything seems okay, we’ll come back for the car.”
Doc falls back against the seat, obviously mad. Bran smirks under his beard.
“Christman Jesus,” I murmur. “Get out of the damn car.”
We slide out quietly, grabbing what we need—water, rations, the stun gun, and our weapons. Doc pockets the satellite radio. I punch the code in the four-digit keypad beside the solar car’s door and hear the lock engage.
Turning, we stare at the city before us.
The smell is acrid and stale, like something long dead. A hot breeze stirs the trash at our feet, and a brown lizard skitters away as we approach. My eyes scan left and right, marking the open windows on the two-story building on my right and the half-crumpled three-story structure on my left, just a tumble of bricks and twisted metal. So many places to hide. An ambush could come from anywhere.
My gun is out. I’m worried I might shoot Subject Eight instead of stun her. We were told she was the smaller of the two, but how will I know unless I see both of them together? At my left shoulder, Doc has the stun gun out. Bran, on my right, doesn’t have anything in his hands. This seems stupid, but I’m not going to tell him what to do.
We slip through the hole in the barrier and walk down the center of the road, three abreast, eyes everywhere. Weeds and shrubs have started to push their way through the blacktop. Up ahead, bullet-riddled cars are the only memory of old violence. We walk two more blocks, seeing more of the same—empty buildings, trash, burnt cars, a dog carcass—but find nothing alive but the crows that watch us with round black eyes. About ten sit atop a nearby building. I don’t like their silent judgment.
“Where is this strip mall?” I whisper to Doc.
He scans left and right. “Corra said it’d be in the center of the town.”
“Well, how bloody big is the town?” Bran asks. In a second, he’s climbing onto the hood of a picked-over bread truck. I lift my handgun, pointing it around to any rooftops, my heart hammering in my chest.
Bran quietly clambers down. “Three blocks that way,” he says, pointing. He starts off in that direction without even checking to see if we’re with him.
Doc comes up beside me and gives me a look, but at least he doesn’t say he told me so. I might coldcock him if he does.
We trail after Bran, slinking up the streets with our eyes on every dark window and shady alleyway. From a ledge, the crows caw and arrow into the sky.
When we make it to the strip mall, my stomach is in knots. Across a weed-filled parking lot with lampposts angling in all directions like crooked teeth, a dozen boarded-up shops sit connected in a long row. The brick is a faded brown. Above each entryway, signs cling desperately to the storefronts. One has a faded cartoon dog, smiling and happy, painted on it. I make out the word “Pets” but nothing else. The building next to it has just a few letters left on its sign—C and H; the rest are on the ground in pieces. Tattered red awnings flap around metal frames. Road-gang graffiti is scrawled in dripping black paint. Will we find dead bodies inside? Are Seven and Eight waiting to take us out?
Crouching down, Bran creeps around the building and disappears. Doc and I exchange a look, but we don’t follow. If he isn’t going to communicate with us, Bran can go ahead and risk his life alone. A few minutes pass, which feel like hours, but then Bran appears, scampering back toward us.
“There’s an entrance in the back. Big hole someone blasted in. It’s dark as tits inside, no real light with everything boarded up. We’ll have to go in and poke about. No other choice.” He pulls out his knife and flicks it open. “Ready?”
“Ready or not, we need to go in there.” I feel like I’m talking to myself. Doc looks as pale as a corpse. I wish he’d just let Bran and me do this alone. If something happened to him, I’d feel awful.
Weapons out and eyes alert, we jog around to the back of the strip mall, Bran in the lead.
The back of the building is one straight line of dirty brownish brick and black doors with faded lettering. I’m sure they’re all locked, but it gives me hope that there are exits in each shop. Behind a rusted dumpster, someone has smashed a hole about three people wide into the brick. And the dumpster can be rolled over to hide it. The dark throat of the building is visible and terrifying.
“Did you roll that out of the way?” Doc points to the dumpster beside the opening, whispering to Bran.
He shakes his head, his gray hair cascading over his eyes. Then he gives us hand signals that I’m sure mean something, but I have no idea what. Something like “watch me” or “walk this way.” We probably should’ve discussed this yesterday.
The mission feels like it’s spinning out of control, and I don’t like the look in Bran’s eyes or how he’s suddenly taking over. I’m the leader. I shake my head and step around Bran, slipping into the darkness with my gun out.
And that’s when something huge jumps down from above, slamming me to the ground.
Chapter 18
Riley
I’m forced down, my body crashing into debris. The thing tumbles down on me, crunching my ribs and blasting my breath away. My gun flies from my hand. All I see are flashes—an arm, a thatch of hair. It uses my body as a springboard, jumping off. Gasping, choking, I roll over onto my side and claw away from it.
It’ll be back to finish me. Gotta find my gun.
I hear Bran and Doc run in. Hands touch my shoulders. Doc leans over me.
“Are you okay?” His eyes are wide with terror.
I shake
my head, unable to speak. “My gun,” I mouth.
Bran tears past us into the darkness, but he is back a few seconds later. “Can’t see a blasted thing. Not sure where the bugger went. Should’ve brought the bloody flashlight,” he pants.
All I can think about is breathing again. Sucking in slow breaths, I fish around for my gun and finally find it under a wooden pallet. Shaking, I stand with it aimed around the abandoned building.
Rot has run rampant here. The walls, floor, door casings, and furniture are warped, splintering, and covered with dust. With the boarded-up windows, the only light comes through ceiling cracks and the entrance behind us. And with the sky boiled over in gray clouds, we can only see a few feet in any direction. This store is so torn up I can’t tell what it used to be, though I see a few desk chairs, their fabric disintegrated, and an ancient black desk with tarnished metal handles. The drywall is gone, leaving bare studs. The room is about the size of a small business, probably thirty-by-fifty, with high ceilings and open ductwork.
I spy a hole dug straight through the remaining drywall on the far side of the room. “It just ran? Why didn’t it finish me off?” I croak, walking over and peering through the hole in the wall, Bran at my shoulder.
“Bastard went on through there,” Bran says, pointing to the black void on the other side.
Staring into the darkness, my fear comes alive again. The blackness is infinite. I can’t see anything beyond a few shapes on the other side of the hole. Is there a room like this one on the other side? More than that? Is the whole mall hollowed out and strung together like train cars, leaving this creature plenty of room to play hide-and-seek?
I aim my gun into the void, expecting that at any moment, it might pounce.
There’s a touch on my shoulder. I swing around, nearly taking Doc’s head off. He skitters back, throwing his hands up to his face. “God, Riley, don’t shoot!”
Puffing out a breath, I lower my gun. “Damn it, Doc. I’m jumpy enough as it is.”
