Into Dust: The Industry City Trilogy - Book One

by Marlee P. Louis

  “I told you this was a terrible idea.” Carter sounded amused.

  “Not the time,” I snapped, and he chuckled. I wanted to turn my head to see where he was standing, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the men in front of me.

  “You need to get out of here. The whole compound will be out here in a minute.” As if in answer to his words the incessant chanting switched off abruptly, a single echoing shout rising up in its place. I flinched and Scar-face smirked.

  “You’re only making it worse for yourself,” he told me. “Put the gun down and come with us. Maybe Lucus will go easy on you.”

  Inside me a very fine thread had been steadily fraying, and with those words it finally snapped. “Fuck Lucus,” I told him, then pointed the gun at his right leg and pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  * * *

  The sound of the gunshot roared in my ears. I’d been unprepared for the recoil and nearly dropped the gun when pain resonated from my hand up my arm. A scream followed in the rolling wake of the shot and I didn’t wait to see if it had been made in anger or pain, or if my bullet had struck home. The wind was back, whipping through the parking lot, howling angrily as it swept through the buildings and along the access road. Above us, the streetlights began to pulse, their flicker catching my attention and I looked up at the broken bulbs in sudden fear while they blinked rapidly on and off, finding it impossible to tear my gaze away.

  You will pay…

  The voice rode the wind, hissing at me when the pain in my shoulder flared again, nearly dropping me to my knees and I cried out, darkness beginning to press in at the corners of my vision. The pressure was back in my head without the chanting to accompany it—only pain. I began to shake as the wind swirled around me, pushing at me, and I could feel it trying to knock me to the ground.

  You will be punished… you will be mine…

  “No!” Carter’s shout echoed through me, and a terrifying growl filled the space, followed by a blaze of light so bright I was blinded by it, stumbling back in confusion. There was a crack as loud as lightning striking the ground, and the pain and pressure were suddenly gone. I could see clearly again. I spun on my heel, expecting to run straight into Carter, then faltered when the lot behind me was empty. Confusion stopped me dead in my tracks, unable to believe that he would have left me behind.

  “Avery!” The voice behind me was Alex, and I turned back in time to see Girly-voice running towards me. Fear caught me, and I froze, wild-eyed as he crossed the short distance between us, the gun in my hand forgotten, hanging at my side. There was a flash of movement before Alex crashed into him from behind, sending him sprawling to the pavement at my feet in a full-body tackle. I backed up as they grappled, both hammering down blows on each other hard enough to send blood spattering across the asphalt. “Get the fuck out of here,” Alex was bleeding heavily from a cut on his eye. “Go!”

  I glanced towards the rest of the group. Scar-face was on the ground, the other two men kneeling next to him while he writhed in pain, blood pooling from his thigh onto the cement. Too much blood. The reality of what I’d done slammed into me and I staggered back, wanting to escape the chaos yet unable to tear myself away from watching it play out. A shout in the distance showed a large group of men at the access gate, pushing it open and running towards us. There were too many to count, bodies pouring endlessly into the lot. Across from me, London was standing exactly where Alex had left her, a blank expression on her face even through all the madness. A thought skittered across my mind that I should grab her, save her, take her with me.

  “Avery,” Alex roared, jolting my focus back. I gave him one last horrified look before turning and sprinting out of the parking lot, back towards town. Shouts followed me, and I shoved the gun into my jacket pocket, darting around the nearest set of buildings and down a narrow alley, the gravel gritting beneath my feet. The alley poured into another street filled with used up, abandoned buildings, and I turned down it, then another, and another, losing myself in the endless, winding roads. I didn’t stop, not when my lungs burned, and my side seized up. Not when I tripped and fell, sprawling onto gravel and the glint of broken glass, staggering back to my feet with torn jeans and bleeding palms. I passed clustered groups of whores, cardboard box houses where men slept under blankets of newspapers, junkies that shouted unheard questions at me as I ran by. I ran until I found myself trapped at the end of a long alley by an ancient chain fence, collapsing against it, my fingers grasping at the rusted links to keep myself from sinking, gasping sobs of fear and pain. Any moment I expected to hear footsteps behind me, waiting to feel their hands on me or for the pain that would fill me when the chanting began again. When nothing came, I opened my eyes and turned my head just enough to look down the empty stretch of alley behind me. A rusted dumpster sat abandoned next to where I stood, pushed far enough away from the crumbling brick wall of the building it rested against to provide me with some cover. I lurched towards it, crawling behind it before collapsing onto the ground and closing my eyes, letting the exhaustion take me.

  When I opened them again, it was to darkness, my body cold and stiff on the ground where I lay. I sat up slowly, straining for any sound of life around me, hearing nothing but the wind gusting down the narrow alley and the creak of the buildings shuddering in its path. There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t in pain and I muffled a cry when I struggled out from behind the dumpster and stood to get my bearings. The only light in the alley came from a low hanging moon and a single street light that had somehow survived across the road, casting a weak shadow through the chain link. The street itself was dead, the only sign of movement the occasional tumble of trash riding the wind. There was an emptiness that chilled me with a ghostly, haunted feel that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Hastily I wrapped my jacket around me and burrowed down into it, more for comfort than warmth, and retreated back behind the dumpster, sitting this time with my knees pulled up to my chest. It was more comfortable with the wall at my back, but there was not a sense in my body that was not on high alert, waiting for something—though I wasn’t sure what. I knew I should keep moving, but the thought of venturing down the dark alley and back into the streets was terrifying. I had no idea where I was or how to get back to my apartment, or even if my apartment was a safe place to be. I’d escaped with a mob of cult members chasing me—I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel safe again.

  Headlights suddenly glared in the street, growing steadily brighter as the vehicle they belonged to rolled forward. I could hear the turning of the wheels over the broken asphalt and the low drone of a motor, and I scrambled back further in my hiding spot before it could reach the opening for the alleyway. No one would drive that slowly in this part of Dust unless they were looking for something. Or someone. I wrapped my arms around my legs and tried to make myself as small as possible, praying that the shadows would hide me, my eyes glued to the section of road I could see beyond the chain link. A car crept into view, it’s make and model indistinguishable in the low light, and I felt the deep sink of fear in my stomach when it creaked to a stop just before the alley, idling for several shallow breaths before the driver’s side door opened and a man stepped out. It was impossible to see his face, his form back-lit by the streetlight, his shadow casting ominously large across the brick when he stepped towards the fence. His arm raised, and a flashlight clicked on, the beam slicing through the darkness as he played it over the walls of the alley, the beam sweeping by the dumpster once, then again, seeming to look past my hiding place. I was sure he would hear my heartbeat pounding or the panted fear of my breathing, but a moment later the beam of light lowered to point at the ground and a phone lit up in his hand. He stared at it a beat, then walked closer to the fence, the flashlight coming up again—this time playing slowly over the dumpster until the beam flashed to the space behind and directly onto me. I flinched, my hand raising automatically to shield my eyes from the glare, and I heard a sudden, surprised curse
.

  “Avery?” The chain link rattled when he shook it. “Avery!”

  It was hard to focus above the hammering of my heartbeat and almost impossible at first to place the voice through my fear. I shrank back further, trying to cover my face and he cursed again, the light dropping down and the fence shuddering when he kicked at a pole, then again, trying to break it down. A sob escaped me, and I twisted, shoving at the dumpster in a futile attempt to push it farther from the wall so that I might escape out the other side. When I moved, the bulk of my gun caught in my pocket, reminding me of its presence, and I turned back, fumbling it from my jacket to hold it before me with both hands. I was shaking so badly I could hardly lift it, tears streaming down my face, but the light flashed on me again and he froze, then slowly raised both his hands, his flashlight pointing up like a beacon into the sky.

  “Avery,” he said again, this time calmer. “It’s Ethan. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s okay.”

  Ethan. I stared at him blankly for a long moment before the gun dropped into my lap and he let out a sigh of relief.

  “Fuck. I thought you were dead. Are you alright?”

  I wasn’t, but I nodded a response he likely didn’t see in the dark instead, shifting slowly to climb out from behind the dumpster. He flashed the light back onto me when I finally stood, the beam playing over my body in an obvious check for injuries before it moved back to the fence. “Come here,” he told me, “There has to be a break in this fence somewhere.”

  I stayed where I was. Trust wasn’t high on my list just then, even if I was relieved to see him, and my grip on my gun tightened where it hung at my side. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ve been tracking your phone,” his tone suggested the answer should have been obvious, “I saw you go into the factory but lost signal until a couple hours ago. You weren’t moving, and I got worried.”

  I blinked at him. “You were worried about me?”

  “Of course,” he gave the fence a final shake before stepping back, “I got you into this mess.” He turned and walked to the trunk of his car, opening it and rummaging around before coming up with a set of bolt cutters. “Hang on, I’ll get you out of there.”

  I leaned against the brick while he went to work on the fence, the bolt cutters making short work of the rusted links until he was able to peel back a section large enough for me to duck through. Every muscle in my body ached and I was chilled to the bone from laying on the ground; all I wanted was to be somewhere safe and warm, and yet when he beckoned me forward, I still didn’t move. I held my gun loosely, letting it dangle at my side, but when he frowned and pushed through the fence to walk towards me, my fingers tightened again on the handle.

  “Avery.” His voice was pitched low, soothing, wrapping around me like a reassuring blanket. I still didn’t move—not when he came to a stop just before me, or when his hands reached slowly for my gun, tugging the weapon gently from my grasp. I let it go, too exhausted to think about fighting him, and he slipped it into his jacket pocket. “You’re okay. No one can hurt you now.”

  Tears were making silent tracks down my cheeks, and at his words I felt my knees buckle, starting to slide slowly down the wall until his arms caught me, pulling me against his chest and holding me there. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering, my body limp against him, able to stand simply because he didn’t let me go. Ethan didn’t move, though his arms tightened around me, his hands gripping at my jacket. We stayed like that while the wind swept past and my fear poured out of me, until finally I had nothing left. Only then did his hold on me change, lifting me up and cradling me in his arms to push through the hole he’d made in the fence and carry me to his car. A small part of me wondered where he was taking me, though I assumed he was either taking me to jail or taking me home. Neither of those options were especially appealing, since I was sure I’d be a sitting target in either, but I was past caring.

  Ethan slid behind the wheel and turned the heater up, angling the vents towards me before shifting into drive. I watched as Dust rolled past the window, consisting mainly of broken shadows and moonlight gleaming off cracked panes of glass, until he pulled onto a highway ramp heading west. That finally got my attention, and I looked over at him, studying his profile in silence, the sculpted lines of his face illuminated in the glowing lights from the dash.

  “Where are you taking me?” It had taken me three tries to form the words, though he still started slightly when I spoke as though he’d been deep in thought.

  “My place.” He glanced over at me briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “Yours isn’t safe, and whoever’s after you will check the motels.”

  “Oh.” I should have been surprised, but I had no energy left to muster up anything but a mild curiosity at his decisions. “How do you know someone is after me?”

  “Because you were hiding behind a dumpster with a gun.”

  “Can I have my gun back?”

  “Is it registered?”

  “Probably. But not to me.”

  He grimaced, and I almost managed a smile, my head rolling on the seat to turn my gaze back out the window. Beyond the highway were long stretches of flat grassland that in the daytime would have been a brown landscape dotted with broken barbed wire fences and the occasional tree. Tonight, with the only light cast down by the moon, it was an eerie canvas painted in dark blues and purples with a shimmer of silver on the dew-wet tips of grass. Occasionally a house flashed by, porch lights illuminating clusters of broken-down cars, farm equipment and children’s toys jumbled in the yards—brief glimpses of life outside of Dust. The clock on the dash showed a quarter past midnight by the time Hayes slowed and turned down a rough dirt drive, the gravel gritting beneath the tires each time the car dipped into a pothole. A single, unshielded bulb lit the drive and the front of a small ranch-style home, the peeling paint and weathered exterior easily visible even in the dim light.

  Ethan cut the motor and leaned back in his seat, studying the front of the house along with me in silence for several beats before looking over. “You okay with this?”

  I looked around the drive but saw no evidence of another car, though the double garage doors were closed. “Will your wife mind?”

  “I’m not married.” He opened the car door and got out, then leaned down to look in at me again. “No girlfriend, either. You’re safe, I promise.” He paused, glancing at the house. “Give me a minute.” He slammed the door and walked the short distance up the drive, his keys swinging in his hand. I watched him unlock the front door and disappear, sitting for several minutes in the car staring out the windows. I wasn’t sure how long I was supposed to wait, but the darkness beyond the single light began to press in and I soon gave it up. My muscles were stiff and weak, protesting when I half climbed, half rolled from the car and straightened painfully. I’d torn both knees out of my jeans, and the sting of my first step was a cruel reminder that I’d probably done some damage as I hobbled towards the house.

  I crossed the small wooden porch and stopped just inside the open door, leaning against the frame to gaze inside. He had flicked on lights as he went, and I had a clear view of a small foyer strewn with several pairs of boots, battered sneakers and loafers, while an array of jackets and hooded sweatshirts hung from a pegged rack on the wall. The foyer was tiled in a light pattern that moved into darker carpet when the living room began a few steps beyond. I could see Ethan darting quickly about, first carrying a stack of dishes through a door which I assumed was the kitchen, then again in the other direction with an armload of laundry. I hid a smile and limped just inside, closing the door behind me, then distracted myself by studying an oil painting of a beach scene on the wall to give him time.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, coming up a few minutes later and kicking the shoes towards the walls, “Wasn’t expecting anyone.” I’d gone back to leaning against the wall for support, and his gaze ran down me, concern etching his features. He reached out, taking both my hands in h
is and turning them up to inspect the scrapes across my palms and forearms. His touch was easy, though when he looked up again he didn’t let me go, keeping my hands in his. I waited for him to ask me what happened, dreading the effort it would take to draw the story from me just then, but he surprised me. “Bath or shower?”

  I was unprepared for the feeling of relief that swept through me, or for the tears that followed. He still had my hands, and I found myself unwilling to draw them away, instead letting the tears fall unchecked down my cheeks. “Bath,” he decided for me, then led me into the living room and into a leather armchair before disappearing again. I used the sleeve of my jacket to wipe my face, inspecting the sleeves for tears after. I’d become ridiculously attached to it and was relieved to find that though it was a bit dirty it had escaped injury. Not that I could say the same for myself.

  Ethan reappeared, and I heard water running in the background. I did not protest when he helped me from the chair and walked me down the short hall to the bathroom at the end. “Yell if you need anything,” he told me. I nodded and closed the door, leaning against it with my eyes closed a moment until the sound of the water reminded me I’d spent a good portion of the night on the ground behind a dumpster. The bathroom was large in comparison to the dollhouse sized one in my apartment, though in far better condition than I’d expected based on the exterior of the house. In fact, the entire interior was in good repair, from what I’d seen—the paint was fresh, the carpet and tiles clean, and the bathroom was no different, though Ethan had obviously done a hasty scrub before bringing me in. The walls and floor were tiled in a black and white subway pattern that had once been popular in mid-century homes, and despite everything there was a faint feeling of delight at the sight of the quaint clawfoot bathtub with its wrap-around curtain pulled back.

  Painfully, I peeled off my clothing to examine the damage. There were deep gashes in both my knees, dried blood smeared down both my legs—both knees purpled and swollen. My jacket had projected my arms from the pavement, but bruises lined my forearms to my elbows where I’d hit the ground. I contented myself with the thought that it could have been a lot worse—if a few cuts and bruises were all I had to endure to escape the Templars, I’d be thankful for them. Still, I sank gratefully into the warm water before the tub was done filling and leaned back, closing my eyes again.