He lifted her, her feet dragging until they cleared the edge and hung over the iris.
“If anything happens, tell Ugo I’m sorry I went behind his back. Tell Melissa I love her.” She craned her neck, tried to kiss his cheek, but with her muscle contractions only managed to bump her nose against his ear. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you in a minute; you can thank me then. In stereo.” He stared into the aperture, waiting for her to change her mind. They could laugh over it as Peter helped her get dressed. It would be their little secret. For a few more weeks, at least.
Izabella was peering down into the darkness. “Let me go, Peter.”
“Are you sure?”
She closed her eyes. “For God’s sake, Peter, get it over with.”
Struggling not to fall in with her, Peter let her go.
She disappeared into the aperture.
Heart racing, Peter scurried down the ladder, ran for the delivery ducts. He turned to the left, where the original Izabella would drop onto the cushioned gurney he’d set up.
Neither Izabella appeared.
The mice had come immediately. So had all the test organs and tissues. Peter stared at the duct. He resisted the temptation to plunge his hands up into it to see if she was somehow stuck, knowing his hands would simply poke out through the aperture above the duct.
He stood motionless, his heart hammering. Nothing had ever gone into the duplicator and failed to come out, in duplicate.
“Where is she?” he said aloud. He’d known there were risks. There were always risks when you knew so little about a process, but how could she be gone?
“Izabella?” he shouted. He waited, listening, then again, “Izabella?” His breath was coming in gasps.
He lunged toward the scaffolding, scurried up the ladder, nearly tumbled into the iris.
“Izabella?”
There was nothing there but the perfect blackness of the iris.
A soft thud startled him. He lifted his head, but couldn’t see the delivery ducts. Scrambling, he leaped to the floor and stumbled to his knees before recovering. Peter could see the pale, white, naked forms of both Izabellas, each lying facedown. He reached the real Izabella and bent over her.
“Izabella?”
He rolled her over, stared into her glassy, sightless brown eyes.
17
AS FALLER walked in the shadow of abandoned stores and houses, he had moments when he was sure the woman he’d seen was simply a stranger who looked a hell of a lot like Orchid. Then he’d picture that woman in the crowd—the pretty, long-lashed, teardrop-shaped eyes; the tight, clenched way she’d carried herself—and he was certain it was Orchid. It was a face he knew as well as his own.
Was she watching out for Daisy, as she’d promised? Of course she was; she loved Daisy almost as much as Faller did. They’d been like a family, except not, because of Storm. Although Storm had not been waiting chastely for him.
Faller paused on a street corner, stared off at storefronts smothered in dark green leaves. Some sort of climbing vine had taken over the block. This was pointless; he wasn’t going to find Orchid, or whoever it was, by walking up and down streets. He wasn’t even sure where the populated areas of the borough were—this part of town was deserted. Faller looked around for the white tower, headed back the way he’d come. There was no risk of getting lost with the white tower serving as a landmark.
Maybe the woman he’d seen in the crowd was Orchid’s twin sister. She could have gotten there the same way Storm had, however that was. That would explain why the woman hadn’t recognized him.
When Faller returned to Moonlark’s house, Hammer told him Moonlark was looking for him, and sent him to Moonlark’s office.
Moonlark was grinning so widely his ears were drawn back on his head. He was missing an incisor. Faller felt a petty spark of joy—he still had all of his teeth. “Super wants to discuss terms for a merger.”
“Who’s Super? And what’s a merger?” Moonlark hadn’t invited him to sit, so Faller stood in the center of the big room.
“Super runs Uptown. A merger is tearing down the wall between the two boroughs and turning them into one. Under my control, of course. She wants to negotiate now, while she can still get favorable terms. She’s probably hoping to become my second in command.” Moonlark pushed back from his desk, strutted between two couches set facing each other, his hands behind his back. “With an army that size, and control of world trade, it’ll only be a matter of time before we tear down all the walls and unite the world. None of the boroughs would stand for long, even after they figure out we can’t really run the machines.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Shit, am I brilliant, or what?” He looked at Faller, raised his eyebrows. “Am I brilliant?”
“You’re brilliant.”
Moonlark wrapped an elbow around Faller’s neck, kissed him on the side of the head. “I have an excellent memory as well.” He tapped his temple. “I don’t forget the people who help me.”
It was intended as a promise of rewards to come, but Faller couldn’t help hearing it as a threat.
18
FALLER WOKE screaming. It seemed like the nightmare was trying to pull him back under, drag him to sleep despite his pounding heart and gasping breath. He got out of bed, stood clutching his pillow to his chest, waiting for the terrible images to abate.
Faller had been carrying a corpse through dark tunnels. The corpse was too heavy for him. She kept slipping, but he didn’t want to drag her, because he’d known her. If he had to hear the sound of her feet dragging along the floor, he was sure he would lose his mind. He kept trying to get a better grip, but she kept sliding out of his sweaty hands. His fingers would grip her cold breast, her hair, a thigh. Then her hand had reached up and gripped his shoulder.
Pulling open the drapes, Faller opened his eyes wide to the early morning sunlight, willing the light to wash the images out of his head.
* * *
STILL SHAKEN, Faller met Moonlark, Storm, and six of Moonlark’s men in the long, open walkway that connected Moonlark’s house and his center of operations. All of the men had guns tucked in their waistbands.
“Ready?” Moonlark asked.
Birds chirped in the trees and foliage as they set out.
“When we get there, you two hang back across the street,” Moonlark said to Faller and Storm. “I’ll call you over after a few words with Super. Storm will say hello, then I’ll introduce Faller. For God’s sake don’t say anything more than hello.”
“No problem,” Faller said.
“We’re making history here. This is a day people will remember for the rest of their lives.”
“I’m proud to be a part of it.” That was definitely an overstatement of his enthusiasm. Once the deal was struck, Faller would have to be on his guard.
They reached the wall. He and Storm hung back. One of Moonlark’s men ducked into a building behind them to serve as lookout on the roof.
“Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone just now?” Storm asked, glancing at Faller.
“Sarcasm?” Faller pretended to consider. “I doubt it. My throat constricts a little when I’m kissing someone’s ass. Maybe that’s what you heard.”
“Maybe.”
“So why are you so dead set against this?” Faller asked as Moonlark and his men paused on the far curb.
Storm rolled her eyes up to meet his. “I don’t think you’re the ideal person for me to confide in.”
“Wait, I’m not the ideal person for you to confide in?” When she looked at him, it was like biting into that apple. Everything else fell away.
“You and Moonlark seem to be getting pretty close. What would keep you from repeating what I say back to him, to win favor?”
“Hey, if I was going to squeal to Moonlark, I could have started with the little heads-up you gave me last night. I’m just trying to stay alive.” He gestured toward the sky. “I fell for days, I landed here half-dead, and suddenly I’m in th
e middle of this.” He waved toward Moonlark, as the gate in the wall began to swing open in a series of jerks.
The gate between the boroughs squealed as it swung open.
“Here we go,” Faller said.
Six large men (admittedly less nattily dressed than Moonlark’s) stepped through, followed by Super.
Super was grey-haired and fat. There’d been quite a few fat people on Day One, but none of them had managed to stay fat on Faller’s world. The underside of Super’s arms jiggled as she raised a hand and waved to Moonlark before putting her head down and pushing on.
Faller wondered what would happen once the agreement was reached. Did everyone start dismantling the wall right away, or what?
Super stopped abruptly, slowly raised her head.
“What the fuck’s she doing?” Moonlark asked.
Super gave Moonlark a peculiar smile, one Faller didn’t like.
She turned and lumbered back toward the gate.
“What the fuck is she doing?” Moonlark repeated.
As she approached the gate she raised her arms high. From the roof behind Faller a gunshot sounded—a crack that reminded him of the early days. He twisted to look at Moonlark’s man on the roof. He was waving frantically.
“Run!” he screamed. His voice was partially drowned by shouts as people surged through the gate carrying weapons—axes, bats, kitchen knives. They sprinted toward Moonlark’s group, looking eager to be the first to reach them and split a skull. Others came over the wall, too impatient to wait to get through the gate.
Moonlark’s men drew their pistols. Faller turned toward Storm, but she was already gone. Behind him the shouts of the attacking mob built to a solid roar.
He took off after Storm. She was half a block ahead, running in bare feet, her shoes abandoned. She turned left into an alley, which would take her parallel to the mob rather than away from it. Faller took one glance back, saw Moonlark, gun raised, shooting a woman blocking his path point-blank in the face, then he turned and followed Storm.
They were the only two people on the narrow street—it was an opportune moment to disappear.
“Storm.” Storm glanced back, but kept running. “This way.” He rushed through an open door, into darkness. As his eyes adjusted he saw it was a restaurant kitchen, filthy, half an inch of water on the floor. He splashed deeper into the shadows.
A moment later Storm burst through the doorway.
“Over here,” he hissed.
Gasping, Storm followed his voice and squatted beside him, behind a big steel cooking island, as voices rose and fell outside. A bell was ringing, deep and resonant, likely a call to arms for Moonlark’s borough.
Faller was reasonably sure they were safe for the moment; in the heat of the first wave no one was going to poke around in an abandoned building.
“Did you see him? Did he get away?” Storm asked.
“He was alive the last I saw him.”
She stifled a sob. “This is all because of his brilliant plan. Super must have figured she had to throw everything she had at us before you got the tanks working. He’s such an idiot.”
Given the results, Faller was inclined to agree. “Do you think this is a full-on invasion, or just an assassination attempt?”
“I have no idea.” She swiped at a lock of hair hanging in front of her eye, glared at him. “I should get as far away from you as possible. I’m sure Super would prefer to capture you alive so you can run the machines for her, but dead and no longer a threat is probably a close second. Of course, you can’t actually run the machines, so that will be a problem if they catch you.”
“I suppose if they catch Moonlark’s girlfriend they’ll escort her home and tuck her into bed?”
There were shouts outside—not the sound of people running past, but desperate, angry sounds. Faller rose until he could see.
A man with an ax had cornered a white-haired man with a shovel. Back pressed to a brick wall, the older man was swinging the shovel frantically, trying to keep the other man back.
“Wait,” he repeated after each desperate swing as the man with the ax waited for an opening, occasionally feinting. Faller had no idea which man was from Uptown, which from Gateway, or how they even knew they were from different boroughs.
The man with the shovel was tiring. “Wait,” he cried out, sobbing, as the man with the ax took a swing that clanged against the shovel, knocking it down. He swung again and hit the man just below the elbow.
The man no longer holding a shovel screamed with a sharp, piercing clarity. His arm nearly severed, he grabbed for the ax with his other hand as it came down a second time. It split his hand in two and sank into his collar.
Faller squatted back down, resisting the urge to stick his fingers in his ears to blot out the man’s death screams.
“We have to get back to the compound,” Storm said. “It’s heavily defended. They have boxes and boxes of bullets.”
“How? The first Uptowners who catch us will cut us to pieces, and we have nothing to defend ourselves with.” Faller gestured toward the street. “There’s a shovel lying in the alley outside, but it didn’t do the last owner much good.”
Storm turned and peered into the darkness of the restaurant. “If we can get to a subway station, we can take the tunnels.”
That hadn’t occurred to Faller. Since things had settled down, the only reason anyone went into the tunnels on his world was to hunt rats.
“Where’s the nearest station?” Faller asked.
“Come on.” She ducked through the door leading toward the front of the restaurant. Faller followed.
There were broken dishes and silverware strewn around the main dining area. Nothing but butter knives, but Faller pocketed a shard of broken china. If it came to fighting for their lives it would be slightly better than fists—especially his fists.
Hidden by the gloom, they surveyed the street through a broken picture window. It was pandemonium. Just outside two men were beating each other senseless with bats. Faller spotted his friend with the ax. He had wounded a young woman (almost a girl, really) in the hip and was chasing her, bent on finishing her off. There were people everywhere; most appeared to be invaders from Uptown, but it was difficult to know for sure.
“There,” Storm whispered, pointing down the street at steps descending underground, surrounded on three sides by a high green gate.
A big man gripping a length of pipe with a knife lashed to the end flew by the window. He rammed his makeshift spear into another man’s spine, withdrew the knife before the man had time to fall, and was off to stab someone else.
“There’s no way we can make it,” Faller said. It was so apparent it barely needed saying.
They watched the stomach-churning display outside.
“Why don’t we stay put, find a hiding place in the building?” Faller considered adding that he was remarkably adept at finding hiding places, having spent much of the first thirty days in one hiding place or another, but decided that might make him seem less desirable as a potential soul mate.
“And what do we do if Uptown takes control of this section? Stay hidden forever?”
“Do you have a better idea?” Faller gestured out the window. “As soon as we step through that door, someone is going to skewer us.”
Storm studied the station, then looked at Faller. “How fast can you run, Faller?”
“Faster than you. I’ve spent my life running.”
Storm smiled at his lame joke. “I say we run for it.”
Faller gauged the distance to the station. No one would be expecting two unarmed fools to burst from an abandoned building. Maybe it was possible. And she had a valid point about the downside of his plan. “All right. You first.”
She looked him up and down. “That’s very valiant of you.”
They ducked from the window as an unarmed man ran by holding his throat with a blood-soaked hand.
“Whoever goes first gets an extra couple of steps before the peo
ple out there with the sharp tools catch on,” Faller hissed in Storm’s ear. “If you want me to go first, I’d be happy to.”
Ceding the point, Storm led them to the doorway (there was no door) and waited for an opportune moment to make her break.
A few minutes of watching made it clear that one moment was about as good as another. Storm turned, said, “Here we go. When you reach the tunnel, go left.” She gripped either side of the doorway, took a breath, and launched herself out.
Already breathing hard from fear, Faller took off after her. He hurdled a blood-soaked body on the sidewalk, then turned it on, weaving to put distance between himself and anyone with a weapon, which was everyone still standing. A man with sunken cheeks and what appeared to be a scythe stared at Faller as he flew past.
“There he is!”
Storm was almost to the steps. A woman with a knife intercepted Faller, forcing him to skid to a stop. She slashed with the butcher knife as Faller feinted, trying to get around her. For an instant it was like they were dancing, then he got her to commit to her left by taking two quick steps in that direction before spinning to her right.
The woman had delayed him long enough that a tall, skinny man brandishing a crowbar now blocked the entrance to the underground. Others were closing in from all sides. There was no way around the guy.
Faller ran right at him, full tilt. The guy tried to time his swing with the crowbar, but flinched at the last instant, surprised when Faller just kept charging. The two men hurtled back into the darkness of the stairwell. The man broke Faller’s initial impact, then Faller tumbled headfirst over him and bounced painfully down the concrete steps.
When Faller finally came to a stop the man plowed into him, knocking him farther down. Tangled together, they struggled to get up. A bare foot passed Faller’s face on the step, and he heard clattering as Storm retrieved the crowbar. There was a hollow thunk, then another. The man went limp.
“Come on,” Storm said.
Dragging himself from under the motionless man, Faller took the last flight of steps four at a time, landing in near darkness as pursuers piled down from above. Storm grabbed his hand and pulled him along. A dozen steps in, it was pitch-black. They edged along the wall, moving as quickly as possible. The smell of shit was overwhelming. The darkness and relative privacy made the stations perfect toilets. Faller didn’t envy Storm her bare feet as shit squelched under his shoes.
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