Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  The floor seemed to drop out from under Nate.

  This is my fault.

  He’d gone up on the trains and gotten hurt. He’d walked home from Alden’s in a daze, too lost in his own head and muffled from medicine to make sure he wasn’t being tailed.

  “Think on it later,” Brick said with a hiss, holding him steady when he swayed.

  Nate took a gasping breath and nodded. “Where are we going? The basement on 30th?”

  “Until we can settle.” Brick let go of him. “Sparks knows a decent place in the bank.”

  “The bank?” So far, they’d avoided relying on squatting in the biggest abandoned building in the Withers. The bank meant more prying eyes—more people who would want to sell him to the Breakers if they found out what he was—and gangs that did far more than scavenge to survive.

  The only good thing about the bank was its size. It was big enough to disappear in, and the Breakers hadn’t managed to infiltrate it the way they’d taken over other neighborhoods across the Withers.

  “You heard me.” Brick gave Nate a long look that didn’t leave room for argument. Her pale cheeks were flushed a splotchy pink, and sweat matted her hair.

  Nate had no right to argue when they’d been out there, running. When he’d caused this.

  Nate filled a backpack with every glinting bit of scrap wire and tech he could get his hands on. He ignored the bustle and panic around him and the rush of his own thundering heartbeat. They had to move before the sun came up, or they’d be too exposed. Night, tar-black from electricity rationing, would help them dodge hungry trappers. They weren’t a fighting gang. Even with Brick’s and Reed’s muscle, the group was too small, and no one carried anything deadlier than a hand blade. One or two trappers with stun guns, and they’d be split up and sold off.

  Pixel grabbed the hem of his shirt and followed him like a sniffling shadow.

  He swatted at her hand. “Hush that crying.” Snapping at her sent regret lancing through him, but if she was too scared to pack up, she had to stay quiet.

  “I don’t mean to,” Pixel said. “I don’t want to go.”

  “I know, Pix. You stay close to me now.” He forced softness into his voice. “We’ll get everybody tucked up safe, okay? Just like home again.”

  Nate caught Reed glancing at him, his expression stricken. He probably hated lying to Pixel as much as Nate did. Over the past year, they’d never stayed in a hideout long enough to call it home. But it didn’t stop them from settling in, from trying.

  Pixel wiped her face and nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on Nate as he worked fast, stubbing his fingers and tearing his fingernails. He strapped on his belt and reached for one tool after another, swiftly snipping and tweezing the wires out of the security system he hadn’t finished installing.

  “Three minutes!” Reed called out. “Move it.”

  Nate stumbled, caught by Reed’s strong grip at his elbow. He flinched, mind racing to figure out what he’d done wrong.

  “Here,” Reed said. He pressed the pendant he’d saved for Pixel into Nate’s hand. “Hang on to this. If something happens, sell it to keep her fed. Do you understand?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.” Nate’s chest went hollow. “Reed—”

  But Reed dashed to help Brick pry the stove from its makeshift mooring, leaving Nate clutching the cold silver. He pushed it deep into his pocket and kept packing things up. The emptiness lingered, an ache of fear he couldn’t shake.

  Over time, they’d managed to collect enough scraps of canvas and cloth for Sparks to sew duffels and backpacks. They stuffed each bag with bedding and spare clothes and bowls and the ticker and a few more odds and ends.

  The lumpy pile of bags didn’t look like much.

  It was everything they had.

  Reed and Brick divvied the heaviest items up. “I’ve got the burner,” Brick said, hefting their portable stove under a freckled arm. Reed grabbed the food and utensils, and Sparks strapped a bulky bag of bedding to her back. Nate carried their remaining tech in his backpack and in his pockets and tool belt.

  Reed studied their ranks as they lined up, packed and ready to run. Nate fell into line last and nudged Pixel into place. He met Reed’s eye and nodded, chest tight with nervous energy. Reed’s face gleamed, and every soft line in him had gone hard.

  “Nate will run with Sparks and Pix,” Reed said. “I’ll take Brick. Thirtieth Avenue basement. Does everyone understand?”

  Sparks adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “Got it.”

  “Yes,” Brick said loudly. She gave Nate a pointed look.

  “I understand,” Nate said, directing it to her. He’d nodded—it wasn’t a contest.

  She was probably sore he’d been followed. And she ought to be. He ducked his chin, and his breath shuddered, fear and guilt welling up in his chest.

  Pixel grabbed on to Nate’s hand and sniffled.

  “Nate, go first. If you get slowed down, we’ll find you on the way. Don’t look back. Run.” Reed took Pixel’s backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Sparks, drop the bedding and carry Pix if you have to. We’ll pick up anything you leave behind.”

  They crammed down the duct, metal groaning with every bump and slide. Nate landed first and caught Pixel. He held the door open as Sparks squeezed out with her big duffel. Sparks took off through the dark alleys toward 30th, and Nate ran behind, clutching Pixel’s small hand.

  After three blocks, Pixel stifled a whimper with every step. Nate scooped her up onto his hip. She was tiny, but she still weighed too much for him to carry more than another block. They stopped again, and Nate handed her off to Sparks.

  “I don’t like leaving our stuff out here,” Nate said. “I’ll carry it. With the straps, it’ll be easier than carrying Pix.”

  “Those blankets weigh ’bout as much as you do,” Sparks said, gruff and out of breath. She positioned Pixel on her back, and they took off again, pace too slow.

  Nate hadn’t been on the streets at night in months. Chem fiends lurked in the shadows and hunched over acrid bin-fires, stumbling around like walking corpses. Everything sounded darker and uglier at night. Laughter chased them as they ran between tall buildings.

  A storm rumbled in the distance, unusual this time of year. Sparks slowed and craned her neck, listening. The sky remained unwaveringly dark.

  “That wasn’t thunder,” she said, hushed.

  Nate grabbed her arm and urged her on. Whatever the explosion had been, it was far away. They couldn’t worry about it now.

  He ran until his throat burned and his shoulders ached from the heavy duffel. His head pounded, raw and hurting where the stitches were still fresh. After four more turns, they reached 30th, a narrow side street lined with stinking trash bins used as waste trenches. Sparks walked along the bins, counting each under her breath. At the seventh, she put Pixel down and climbed up into the bin. Nate took Pixel’s hand as Sparks’s footsteps thumped along the wooden plank that kept her feet out of the putrid liquid inside.

  Metal creaked with a high whine. She’d found the secret entrance to the half-flooded basement below the building.

  “Rats?” he asked.

  “None yet.” Sparks’s voice echoed. “Send Pix in first.”

  Nate hefted her over the metal rim of the bin and pried her hands off the edge when she tried to hang on.

  “Nate!”

  “It’s all right. Sparks is down there.”

  She clenched her small jaw, took wobbling steps across the plank, and dropped into the basement, landing with a soft yelp and a splash.

  He followed and sloshed knee-deep in frigid wastewater. His eyes watered from the putrid smell of sewage. Pixel took his hand. He waded with both girls toward the high ground at the far end. The farther they got from the opening, the darker it got, like they were walking off the end of the world. T
heir harsh, panting breaths echoed, hushing back at them as the water whispered around their calves.

  Sparks lit a small flare from her coat pocket. Rodents squeaked, scattering away from the light.

  “Keep everything you can above the water,” Nate said. Scum swirled around them on the surface of the black water. “That stink will never wash out.”

  “Are we gonna stink forever?” Pixel bumped into Nate with gentle splashes, clinging to his thigh.

  “You? You’ll probably smell better, stinkbug.”

  Sparks gave a short laugh and trudged up the incline. She tossed their bags onto the dusty concrete that hadn’t been touched by the flooding. Nate helped her pile them against the far wall. It didn’t take long. When they finished, it was only quiet and cold, and all they could do was wait.

  “Stay close,” Nate said, sitting flush against Sparks with his back against the pile of bags. The smell of her perfume didn’t do much to ward off the stench of their wet shoes and clothes, but she was warm. He pulled Pixel onto his lap. They huddled together, listening for the others.

  The basement wasn’t much of a secret—but even trappers avoided it because it was so foul. At least Nate couldn’t see the color of the dank water now. Last time he’d glanced down into the basement from the waste trench above, a bloated rat had floated by.

  Worst piss I’ve ever taken.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Sparks said.

  Nate rubbed his chilled hands together. “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “I’m worried about Brick and Reed. They stand out.” Even at night. Brick’s hair was wild and flame-colored. Reed had the type of face you never forgot. Staring across the dark basement, Nate pictured every detail of it—the cat-like green of his eyes, his full mouth, and the wicked dimples that snuck up when he smiled.

  “I told him not to go out looking for you,” she said. “And I told you not to help those people. It got us noticed.”

  He watched her over the top of Pixel’s head. “You would have done the same thing if you knew you could get those doors open.”

  Sparks didn’t answer him.

  They shivered in silence, time measured in hollow drips and the whisper-scratches of tiny claws. Dawn broke, casting a pale-gray light through the opening near the dank ceiling. It shouldn’t have taken this long for Reed and Brick to reach the basement.

  Where are they?

  Dread crept up Nate’s legs like the rancid water around them. He tried to take a deep breath, but the air resisted like his chest was full of rocks.

  Brick splashed into the basement with a grunt. Pixel let out a startled cry.

  “We’re here!” Sparks called, rising to a tense crouch and cracking another flare open.

  Nate scrambled to his feet, his pulse buzzing in his ears.

  Brick took a few churning steps toward them, her eyes wide and scared in the flickering light. No one followed her.

  Fear gripped Nate’s throat. “Where is he?”

  “Help me carry him,” Brick gasped out. She waved her hand wildly at the entrance.

  Nate rushed into the water, kicking cold splashes up to his waist. Sparks ran alongside him, her longer stride carrying her ahead. She climbed up and helped Brick ease Reed’s limp form down into the basement. They hefted him above the water carefully.

  Even in the dim light, Nate could see the dark stain at Reed’s middle.

  “No.” He grasped his wet hands at Reed’s throat to find a pulse.

  “Easy, Nate, don’t get that filth on him.” Brick pushed him away. She didn’t have to put much effort into it.

  Nate staggered back, his knees weak. His blood roared in his ears.

  “He’s alive,” Sparks said, the sound broken by a small sob.

  Nate followed, hands balled into fists to keep from reaching for Reed again. “What happened?” He fought to speak, his thoughts going to bad places too quickly to keep up. “Where’s he hurt?”

  “Reed took the long way so they’d follow us and not all of you. A man came after us,” Brick said. “No one I’ve seen before. He went straight for Reed and tackled him, asking where the Tinkerer was. He had a knife, and it was so quick, we couldn’t—”

  Sparks swore under her breath and shouldered Reed higher to keep him out of the water. She shot Nate a sharp look. “See?”

  Nate recoiled, guilt like ice at the back of his throat. He choked on it, trying not to cry—he had to stay calm. Had to help. There was no time to drown.

  “Whoever he was, I broke his neck.” Brick helped Sparks lower Reed to the dry ground. “He won’t be following us or hurting Reed again.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her face wild and moon-white in the light of the flare.

  Reed didn’t stir.

  Being a Tinkerer made him second-in-command, and despite his numbing fear, Nate had to take charge now. Until Reed woke up and told them how to fix this mess.

  My mess.

  “Pix.” He steadied his voice. “You need to stay in the corner there, out of the way. Sparks—”

  “I got it,” she said, already crouching and stripping away Reed’s T-shirt to try to find the gash at his belly.

  The smell of gut-blood assaulted Nate, gagging him. “Sparks, how bad is it?”

  “Bad. Maybe bad enough for the med clinic at the gate.”

  “They won’t take him. Not without workhouse papers.”

  “Maybe bad enough that he’s gonna die, Nate,” Sparks said with a snarl. Her breath came out ragged as she composed herself. “He’s gut-stabbed. I know a place, a Servant woman . . .”

  “The sick-dens are full,” Nate realized aloud. “Sparks, they won’t be able to help him.”

  “We wouldn’t get that far anyway.” Brick’s voice was soft and grim. “I can’t fight and carry him at the same time.”

  Nate closed his eyes. No sick-den. No Servants. No time.

  He hugged his middle until the basement stopped spinning.

  I can’t lose him.

  There was only one thing he could do. He let out a sharp breath. “I can help.”

  “How?” Sparks spat.

  “Trust me. We’ve got to get him somewhere warmer, where we can heat up water and clean him off. Brick, can you carry him up the fire escape here?” Nate asked.

  “I can carry him as high as you need.”

  Nate glanced up. The floors above them were full of crowded apartments. “We’ll have to break in.”

  Brick shook her head. “But we don’t—”

  “We have to! Climb up now and find somewhere dry where we can keep a decent lookout, okay?”

  As a rule, they never broke into anyone’s home. Each of them knew how important a home was. But the rules didn’t matter now. “Can you get him upstairs with Brick’s help?” he asked. “Keep him warm? Keep him from bleeding out for now?”

  “For now?” Sparks asked, broken with the same worry aching down to Nate’s bones. Reed was beyond help. Gut wounds festered. If Reed woke up again, he’d be begging for the stillness to take him.

  “Alden’s got stuff nobody’s supposed to have. Stuff that can help him.” Nate touched Reed’s clammy cheek. “Get him dry and warm and safe. And alone. I’ll be back in an hour. Keep him alive for an hour. Please.”

  “Don’t say please,” Sparks said. “It won’t be for you.” Her mouth trembled until she clenched her jaw. “But I’ll do it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Do you know what time it is?” Alden asked, standing in the doorway to his shop in a lacy nightgown that hugged his lanky body like a bandage.

  “Alden, I don’t have—”

  “It’s seven in the morning!” He tapped his bare wrist. “I’m closed. I went to bed two hours ago. You better have a truly profound reason for waking me. Better than a bump on the head.”<
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  “Reed’s hurt. He’s dying.” Nate panted on the doorstep, hunched over and winded from running twelve blocks across the Withers. A sob caught in his aching throat, and he slammed his palm into the doorframe.

  “Oh, dear,” Alden said. “By the smell of you, I’d say he was accosted by a rogue sewer rat.”

  Hot with a flash of rage, Nate pushed Alden back with both hands and kicked the door shut behind him. His chest heaved, and his breath whistled. He didn’t care if he looked sick and crazed. Reed was running out of time.

  Alden stared at him, one slender strap of his nightgown slipping off his pale shoulder. He fixed it, sighed, and ran his fingers back through his sleep-snarled hair. “You honestly expect me to do something about this? I might have some strong meds from the city, but I’m no miracle worker. Take him to the med clinic and pray to the Old Gods.”

  “They won’t help him. You know they won’t.”

  “Then what do you want from me?” Alden stepped closer to Nate and dashed his hands out, quick as a snakebite, pushing Nate back against the door. “Sympathy? I told you a long time ago you’d get nothing running with a gang of thieves.”

  Nate wilted against the door. But anger steadied him. Alden had no right to tell him what to do—not now. Not ever. “I can save him.”

  Alden’s expression went blank before spots of color rose on his cheeks, splotchy and ugly. “No.”

  “I can feed him. They’re patching him up. If I feed him, he’ll live. I know it.” It didn’t matter that Nate might not survive doing it. “I can make him strong.”

  “We had a deal,” Alden said slowly. He bracketed Nate against the door with trembling arms and leaned in, his hair forming a dark curtain around both their faces. “The deal was, you don’t share. Not with your whore boyfriend, not with anyone.”

  “I’ll come twice a week. Or more. I’ll come whenever you need me.” Desperation thinned Nate’s voice. He grasped for leverage—bluffed. “I’ll let you feed me to your clients.”