by Ramona Finn
“Right. Here goes nothing.” The cage was just as I remembered it, a thick steel mesh floor bolted to a rusted frame. I punched at it, felt it loosen. The sound echoed down the shaft, a bold, monstrous thwang. I ground my teeth. If Lazrad was in her office, she’d have heard me for sure. She’d send the cage down on top of me, and I’d be done.
So be it.
I punched again—thwang—and rust rained down. One more thwang, and a rivet popped loose. A crack opened up, and I jammed my elbow in. The mesh groaned and shuddered and folded back on itself. I forced my head through, then my torso, screaming my throat raw as the sharp edges scored my back. If Lazrad came in now, I’d strangle her with my bare hands. I’d get to Ona, whatever it took.
I dragged my legs through the crack and scrambled to my feet. I found the gate stuck, so I wrenched it from its frame. Lazrad’s door got the same treatment—the passcode had changed, so I sent it flying. Her office was empty, her coat hung over her chair. I wiped my hands on it, smearing blood and grease down her lapels. I took a spiteful delight in that, in ruining something of hers—in the thought of her finding it and knowing it was me.
“And I’m taking Ona. Try to stop me. I dare you.”
I pushed for the main elevator, smearing filth there too. The sensor blipped as I got on, but I ignored it. I’d be gone before the scan.
I pressed forty-eight and jumped up on the railing, punching the emergency hatch. It popped off with a clatter, and I wriggled through. The car came to a halt, and green light spilled over my feet. A buzzer sounded, then a cool, robotic voice. No occupant detected, or occupant facing rear. Please face forward and wait for clearance.
I clambered up half a floor and wrenched the doors open. That robot voice followed me, drifting up the shaft.
No occupant detected. Please press the red call button, or—
The doors closed behind me. I held my breath, but no siren blared. No guards swarmed the corridor; no emergency lights kicked on. The elevator whirred behind me and headed back up the shaft. I scanned for cameras and saw none, just a dim hall, gray-carpeted, white-walled. A faded bronze numberplate declared it 49F – HR – RECORDS – S. MEDIA. I heard the hush of conversation, muted through drywall. Keyboards clacked and desk fans hummed. Somewhere, a toilet flushed. I peeked round a doorframe and saw a cramped little office, a desk and a chair and a window beyond. Whoever worked here had a view of the library. I was at the wrong end of the hall, looking east instead of north. But Ona was up here, amid Sky’s concrete peaks. She’d stood framed in a window just like that, casting judgment from on high.
Ona. Where are you?
I closed my eyes and I saw her, straight-backed and hard-eyed, staring straight into the camera. Staring me down like she’d seen me. She was here, somewhere here—I could feel it. If I could just find the right room, looking out on those towers—
“—get you anything?” A door bumped open, down the hall. A woman backed out, a stack of folders tucked under one arm. I froze in place, and her eyes passed straight over me.
“I’ll just have a coffee,” came another voice. “No, what time is it? Make that tea.”
“Wuss.” She adjusted her folders and bent to scratch her leg. I eased out of sight, into the empty office. Bright laughter followed me, and I knew I’d come to the wrong place. Ona couldn’t be here, on this floor, with these people. It was all too calm, too ordinary. No guards, no tension. No sign of a struggle. Wherever they had her—
Behind me, the desk phone rang. I jumped back, stifling a shriek. The coffee lady trundled by, heels catching on the carpet. I closed my eyes and waited, heart pounding in my throat.
The phone rang again, and rang and rang, the kind of sound that’d drive you nuts. A door opened and closed. I peered down the hall and the coffee lady was gone, her perfume hanging in the air. I gave her a minute to see if she’d come back, but maybe the pot was empty, or she’d stopped for a snack. She didn’t return, and the phone kept on ringing. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and struck out for the stairs.
The phone cut out mid-ring. I breathed a sigh of relief—then a new one took up, two doors down. I hurried past, head down, but the brring skipped ahead.
“Coincidence,” I muttered, and I walked on by. The ringing caught up to me, from a dark room this time. I stopped to stare, and the rogue phone kept going. It rang and kept ringing, and cold fingers walked down my spine.
For me?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I dove for the phone in the dark. Something sharp got in my way, a prick to my palm and glass smashed at my feet. Pencils rolled and scattered, the tak of wood on tile. I kicked at the mess, groped out blindly, and the receiver tumbled off the hook. I caught the cord and reeled it in, scrambled it to my ear and stood tongue-tied, panting down the line.
“The traditional phone greeting is ‘Hello?’”
I made a sound, a breathless heh. I knew that voice, that Lofty drone. Not Prium, but—
“What are you doing here? Get out.”
I found my voice at last. “Reyland? How—”
“I get an alert when a retinal scan fails. Or my department does. You’re lucky I’m on tonight. Lucky I’m the one who caught you.”
“How are you watching me? There’s no cameras, no—”
“Cameras?” He laughed, hollow with distance. “Not in the halls, but you’re in HR. There’s one in every office. All I had to do was—oh, what does it matter? I’ve shorted the stairwell cams. You’ve got five minutes to scram, and then—”
My grip tightened on the receiver. “No.”
“No?” Reyland’s voice rose. “If you don’t get out now—”
“Not without Ona. Where are they keeping her?”
“Ona? I don’t—”
“Where is she?” I brought my fist down on the table. Something clattered to the floor, something light and plasticky. I kicked it aside. “I’m not leaving without her. You want me out, you tell me where to find her.”
Reyland blew down the line, a crackling rush of static.
“Well?”
He clicked his tongue. “Right now, she’s on the roof. But you can’t—”
“Watch me.” I slammed the phone down. This time, it stayed quiet. I cocked my head, searching, and found the camera light. The lens swung my way, and I shrugged at it.
“Sorry,” I said. “I won’t rat if they catch me.”
The camera did a headshake, a slow side-to-side scan. I turned my back on it and set out for the roof. But Reyland’s call had left me rattled, nerves fizzing under my skin. I jumped at the scrape of a chair, gasped at the gurgling of water. Somebody laughed, and I broke into a trot. A light sputtered overhead, and my trot became a sprint. I bolted straight for the fire door, and headlong up the stairs, past a pair of dead cameras, until I smelled fresh air.
I burst onto the roof garden, and Ona was there, standing alone with her back to the moon. A willow hung over her, casting her face half in shadow. She took half a step forward, one hand to her chest.
“You came back.”
“Of course I did.” The door slammed behind me. Ona flinched.
“Why now?” Her eyes went hard, like on the broadcast. “You left me at the ball.”
“I did not.” I ventured closer. My throat felt thick, choked with questions. Ona wasn’t in chains, wasn’t guarded at all. I searched her for signs of harm—a torn cuff, a broken nail—but she was Peepr-perfect, not a hair out of place. “We tried to come back for you,” I said. “We’d never have left you, but the guards ran us off. We had to—”
“Swim through the outflow. I know. I saw.” Her eyes glistened in the moonlight. “I didn’t know that was down there,” she said. “I saw you go under. I saw the bolts hit the water. I thought you were dead, and you let me believe that. You left me. You had this whole plan, and you couldn’t even warn me.”
“That wasn’t our plan.” I swallowed past something sharp, something wounded and raw. “We were never going to leav
e you. But, Ona, that speech. Did you—”
“You never even said goodbye.”
“I came back for you twice. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Ona blinked, and her eyes went dull. “Did you, though? If I went with you now, if I helped you escape, would that be the end of it?”
“What are you talking about?”
She made a sound, not quite laughter. “Your other shoe.”
“My... what?” I glanced down, perplexed. Ona advanced on me, cold as the night.
“It’s an old saying,” she said. “Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lady Lazrad told me. It means shoes come in pairs, so if someone hands you just one, you know they’re holding back.” She dropped her hand on my shoulder and squeezed till my arm went numb. “Why are you really here?”
“For you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then I’ll say it again till you do.” I shouldered into her space, so close I could’ve kissed her. I shook her instead, hooked my thumb under her chin and forced her to look at me. “I’m here for you,” I said.
Ona’s eyes locked on mine, burning with resentment. “You’re here for me. Just for me. You came back just for me?”
I clenched my teeth, feeling sick. I couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d only despise me for it—not for my crime, but for making her an afterthought.
“I’ll always come back for you,” I said. “Tell me no, if you want. Send me packing. But I’ll keep coming back, as many times as it takes. I’ll always be—”
“Say you’re here just for me.” Ona’s gaze bored straight through me. “You can’t say it, can you? Because—”
I bared my teeth, furious, and spat the lie in her face. “I’m here for you. Nothing else.”
“You’re lying.” She spun out, voice cracking, and caught herself on the railing. “You always lie. I used to think I was different—that you’d be honest with me. But you’re lying. You’re lying. Get out, and don’t come back.”
I stood where I was, wracked with anger and guilt. I’d lied, it was true, but she’d betrayed me first. She’d turned the whole Dirt against me, and she’d done it willingly. That much was clear now, but I needed to hear it from her lips. I needed to see her say it—if she cast her eyes down, if she met mine with defiance. I licked my lips, dry-mouthed.
“What you said, then, you meant it. I’m a traitor. Is that right?”
“You saw that.” Ona didn’t move. She stared out over the city, the breeze toying with her hair. My eyes stung, and her image doubled.
“Traitors die for their crimes. You want me dead too?”
“I never said that.” Ona still didn’t move, but I saw her jaw tighten. Her breathing stuttered and slowed.
“You know what I think?” I came up beside her and leaned on the railing, my shoulder to hers, her hair brushing my cheek. Ona said nothing, so I slid my hand over hers. “I think I hurt you. I know I did. I hurt you bad, running off the way I did, leaving you by yourself. You were scared—”
“I was not.”
“—and I own that. That’s on me. But if you wanted me dead—if you wanted me gone, even—all you’d have to do is scream. The guards would come running, and pfft. Goodbye, Myla.”
“I could kill you myself. Throw you over the railing.” She jerked her hand loose and pressed it to my back. “One push. Just one. Should I try?”
I shook her off and stepped back. “Don’t make empty threats.”
“It’s not empty.” Her voice rose at last, turning strident. “I’m not a kid. I’m fifteen, and you’re seventeen, and you don’t know everything. You don’t know half what you think you do. You run around acting like some kind of savior, but really, you’re—”
“Lock’s dying.”
Ona covered a gasp. “That’s not true.”
“It is. And it’s all Lazrad’s fault. She shut off his nanobots. In a day, maybe two—”
“That’s not true.” She flew at me, pushed me, palms striking my chest. The breath coughed out of me and she pushed me again. “You’re lying. You’re still lying. You’ll say anything, do anything, whatever it takes, so long as you get your way.” She punched me this time, one hand on my shoulder, a fist to my gut. I stood there and took it, let her work out her rage. Her sharp sobs rattled in her throat. Her head dropped to my shoulder, and I held her close. I stroked her carefully, long tracks down her back.
“I love you,” I said. “And I’ve lied to you. That’s true. But me here, tonight—”
“Don’t.” I felt her tears on my neck, stinging with salt.
“Just come with me.” I raised her up gently, urged her toward the stairs. “Whatever it takes, I’ll make it up to you. For the lies, for the ball, for... For your whole life.” I choked on the lump in my throat, swallowed it down. “I know it was hard on you, having to hide me. Knowing what would happen if Lazrad found out. You never signed up for that. You didn’t deserve it.”
Ona looked up at me, and I felt my heart break. She looked young in that moment, and achingly hopeful. I wanted to scoop her up, make everything better.
“What about Mom and Dad?” Her lower lip trembled. “And your gran. We can’t leave her. They’ll come for her too.”
My chest swelled with gratitude, that she’d think of Gran. I took her by the hand and reached for the door. “We’ll grab them too. We’ll all go together. I promise—”
A great, coughing roar rose from under the earth. The tower shook beneath us, and I swayed on my feet. Ona’s face twisted, her whole body, and I saw Lazrad in her eyes. She hit me again, sent me hurtling into the door.
“More lies. I knew it.” She laughed, high and harsh. “Here for me, are you?” Ona pushed me again, and my head rang on metal. “I was wrong. You’re no traitor. You’re a terrorist, plain and simple.”
I caught at her wrists, uselessly flailing. Ona’s fist plowed the door, hard enough to go through it.
“Guards!”
“No! Ona, please. It’s not what you—”
She screamed, and my ears rang. I froze, blood curdling, and she kicked my feet out from under me, drove me to my knees. Her hand was bleeding, and she held it up to the light.
“This is on you,” she said, and she smeared her thumb down my cheek. I felt the slick of her blood, and smelled battle and copper.
“Ona.”
She tapped on her phone, and a siren howled to life. “Get up,” she said. “Go on, run. Isn’t that what rats do?”
“Ona—”
“Or are you going to make me watch you die?”
I reached for her. “Come with me.”
“No.” She jerked the door open and booted me through. I staggered and fell, and by the time I was up, she’d locked the door behind her. I peered through the hole she’d made, but she was nowhere. She'd vanished. Somewhere, a shout rang out, and my time was up.
I plunged down the stairs, nearly flying. The the landings were filling, guards and their blasters swarming up from below. A bolt hit the ceiling, raining concrete on my shoulders. Smoke stung my eyes, then the smell hit—burning and dust, ozone, fear. I doubled back through a gray door, into a gray hall, and a pale man shrieked and dropped his coffee on the floor. It splattered, and I went for him, caught him by his belt, and swung him flush to my chest.
“I need to get to the Dirt. How would I do that without getting shot?”
“You—you’re that—” He struggled against me. Hot piss pattered on my boot. I dug in my nails and gave him a shake.
“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “You don’t need to be scared. Just tell me—”
“The sub-basement, B2. There’s a train into quarantine. You can get down from there.”
“Perfect. Come on.” I hustled him down the hall, toward the elevators. White faces ducked into doorways, rats in their holes. I ignored them, ran faster, my captive blundering ahead of me.
“Let me go. You don’t need me. I can’t—”
“I take al
l of you, or I’ll take your retinas. What’ll it be?”
He squeaked and stopped struggling. A door slammed open behind us. I didn’t turn around. Threats were one thing, scaring the piss out of some Lofty. Turning him into a human shield—I wouldn’t do that. I raced down the hall and my prisoner ran with me, eagerly now, straining in my grasp. A bolt tore through the air, then another, and a voice cried in panic.
“No. No, don’t shoot! She’s got Jamie.”
“Jamie, huh?” I manhandled him onto the elevator, pressed for B2. Nothing happened. “Make it go.”
“I can’t. I’m not—”
“Make it go.” Another bolt streaked past us, and I smelled melted plastic. A woman streaked toward us, heavyset, maybe Mom’s age. She charged us like a bull, her momentum bearing her into the wall. She bounced off, breathless, and stabbed a finger at my face.
“You’re disgusting,” she spat. “I don’t care if you hang—I hope you do. I’m doing this for Jamie.” She pressed her hand to the reader, and the doors slid shut. The elevator jerked, and my stomach did a slow roll.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want this, either.”
“But you did it. You did it.” She shuffled away from me, as far as she could get. “The kind of worms they grow down there—the Dirt’s the right word. Anyone who says different—”
“Stop it,” said Jamie. He pulled away, and I let him. I watched the floors flash by, thirty-one, thirty. Twenty-five. Fifteen. We hit the basement and the doors opened. Jamie hadn’t lied. The station lay empty, apart from two guards. Jamie moved to get off, but I pushed him back.
“No. Go upstairs. I don’t need you for this.”
