The Ward

by Frankel, Jordana

  “Yes, but . . . you’re not supposed to be here. I’m not supposed to be here, but I’ll think of something. Plus, you’re the one who knows what to do with the mud.” I look past the pane, waiting for one of the aeromobiles to pass. “Soon as you’re in, submerge her. Then I want you to check the periscope so you’ll know the heli’s gone. Got it?”

  I don’t wait for him to answer. The heli crosses out of view. I press down on one of the Omni key’s many buttons, the one that’ll bring her to the surface.

  “Now! Swing your leg over! I’ll drop you the keys after the roof is open.”

  “Impossible,” he mutters.

  Don’t know if he’s referring to me, or to the jump, but out he goes. Without a fight, to my utter surprise. He even thinks to climb down the backside of the escape ladder on his own—a quicker approach. His legs shake, the ladder shakes, while I keep count from above: Four . . . three . . .

  The Omni surfaces, but the glass roof is still shut. I fumble with the key, feeling for the button that opens it. “Jump!” I call down as the roof slides open.

  Callum listens. He lets go of the ladder and falls into the mobile, sending it side to side. But he straightens himself and looks up. I drop the key.

  Catch it, Callum. Catch it.

  The key falls into his open palm. I laugh. He’s actually pulling it off.

  As I spot the next heli, Callum brings the Omni under. Water passes over its roof, and I catch sight of the periscope, brass glinting in the sun. He’s waiting for the next heli to pass to resurface, just like I told him.

  I hold my breath. Wait for the helis to continue their rotation.

  They don’t. The heli turns in the sky until it faces the building head-on.

  And me.

  I can’t even tell Callum to get out of here—though the comm he gave me is untraceable, at this close range with the Blues, it wouldn’t be hard to tap. Just gotta keep myself hidden behind the window, waiting, watching the periscope.

  Callum gets the picture—the brass slides below the surface. His purple Omni shimmers, then submerges till it’s disappeared.

  He’s gone.

  And I’m trapped.

  21

  5:00 A.M., SUNDAY

  Pressure overhead from the spinning props churns the water in the canal, makes it look like a storm is coming in. I cover my ears. What was a rumbling before is now a full-blown screeching, and it only gets louder. The heli flies in, then slows. A rope ladder drops from an open hatch on the side. A figure starts to climb down.

  I watch, racking my brain to formulate a plan.

  This must be happening on all four sides of the building—the scouts each taking a separate entrance, probably planning to regroup in the stairwell.

  I could hide—no doubt the building is big enough. But that’d only postpone the inevitable: once Chief Dunn discovers that the spring is gone, he’s gonna want to speak with me. At least if I’m here, I can head things off at the pass. Get to him right away, before he has too much time to think me a liar.

  The closest heli flies forward, dangles the scout through the air.

  May as well let ’em know I’m here from the get-go. I stick my head out over the sill and give a wave to the pilot. I can tell he’s seen me; he brings the man on the ladder right up to the window.

  As the figure gets closer, I begin to recognize the broad build, the mustache. Even the way he holds himself—too rough, too much authority. He’s no scout.

  The chief . . .

  The man lets go of the rope with one hand and grabs on to the escape ladder, but only once he opens his mouth am I sure of it: “What the hell are you doing here, Dane?”

  It’s him.

  His mouth moves, he yells something else but I can’t hear over the roar of the heli as it rises up into the sky. It turns, joins up with the remaining three, and they all head west, probably to wait at the nearby headquarters rather than eat up gasoline in the sky for an hour.

  I back away from the window as he jumps through it from the escape ladder.

  “Well?” he asks again.

  My brain turns to mush—I hadn’t thought that far. Why am I here?

  An answer comes, one that I hope he buys. Stumbling through the words: “I . . . I came to make sure you’d find it—it was tricky the first time. And I wasn’t sure I’d remembered it correctly. Head wound and all.” I’d point to my temple, but all I’ve got to show for my near-death experience is a scar. And a barely visible one at that.

  Chief Dunn glares at me. I can tell from the slanted look he’s giving that he don’t know what to make of my answer. All he says is, “Lead the way,” and motions toward the stairwell.

  Now I get to drop the bomb.

  Keeping my eyes downcast: “There’s a problem, sir.”

  He stops midstride. Turns.

  I swallow before going on. “Someone’s been here,” I spit out. “The spring I told you about . . . It’s gone.”

  His demeanor changes. He draws his shoulders higher, clasps his hands behind his back. Marches toward me, each step slow and even-paced.

  “What do you mean, gone?” he growls.

  “I don’t understand it neither. . . . When I went to scout before you got here, someone had cemented the hole in the wall, and all that was left of the spring was a pit of mud. This is the site, though, I swear.”

  He’s quiet. It lasts for miles.

  I bring myself to look up, find him dark-eyed and glowering.

  Finally: “Show me.”

  Chief Dunn kicks at the mud, spraying it into the cavern wall.

  It takes all I’ve got not to jump back.

  “Governor’s not going to be happy,” he spits.

  I’m left alone with the scouts as he crawls back into the abandoned tunnel, so I sit myself down, unsure what to do. One of the three men mutters to himself, something ’bout knowing this was a “bunk mission.” The others nod their heads. Start talking ’bout another Appeal. They ignore me, which I’m fine with, ’cause that’s how I hear Chief’s voice through the wall.

  “Yes, sir . . . I don’t know, sir,” I hear him say. He’s apologetic—a tone I’ve never heard him use before. Must be speaking with someone higher on the totem pole. And there’s only one person higher up than Dunn.

  Governor Voss.

  “The girl claims no one else knows. . . .” he goes on, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure he’s talking about me. “Yes, she’s here now. I don’t believe she’s telling the whole truth either, sir. Absolutely, I’ll call in another agent from HQ straightaway. He’ll keep an eye out and report back to you. Yes, sir, I understand what’s riding on this find.” The conversation comes to a halt.

  Without thinking, I start gnawing at my nails. They don’t believe me, they’re going to have me watched. I don’t like it, not one bit.

  After some more time straining my ears, Chief responds. “A half dozen squads? . . . Within the hour, yes . . . I’ll leave right away, sir.” Then the tunnel’s quiet again, and I hear him tapping the commands into his cuffcomm.

  He’s leaving? And he’s gathering squads. . . .

  “Dane!” Chief barks. “Out here, now!”

  I jump and wriggle myself through the crawl space, head peeking out the other side. “What’s that, sir?” I ask, pretending I somehow missed his yelling.

  “The sample came back positive,” he begins, not even looking at me. “You were right, it’s fresh. As such, I’ll be suspending your pay until you can tell me where it went.” He says it so easily.

  I stand there like an idiot, jaw gaping wide.

  “Sir . . . ? I don’t understand—I found the stuff, and I’m being punished?” The words croak out of my mouth, one by one. He can’t do this.

  Chief Dunn spins to face me. In the flashlight’s harsh glow, he could be the Reaper. “It doesn’t add up,” he says in a growl. “There’s something you know. And whatever it is that you’re not telling, the governor will find out. Now is not the
time for games.”

  “Chief,” I plead. “I’ll look all over the Ward if you want me to. It’s just my . . . my friend—you saw her—she’s in the hospital. Surgery’s scheduled for today. We’ve got bills to pay—”

  Chief Dunn laughs. It’s dry and full of meanness. “Well, here’s a simple fix, Dane: as of right now, the surgery is no longer scheduled for today. Problem solved. Can’t have you running to the hospital, wasting our time.” A pause. “And don’t think I won’t know.”

  I’m unable to swallow, a slew of curses forming inside my mouth with nowhere to go. I choke them back, feeling like my tongue has grown in size, and all my bones too. I step forward—all 206 of them want to fight. Smash his face to the wall—but I stop myself, when I remember my size. I’m not that strong. I’d get myself killed. “She’ll die if you do that,” I finally manage.

  “Not my priority, Dane! The West Isle is in an uproar. People are afraid of the Blight, and the water crisis has grown dire. Governor Voss doesn’t want your excuses, and neither do I. Get me a location, we’ll talk about your friend’s surgery.” Pointing in the direction of the stairwell, “Dismissed!”

  I don’t even give Dunn the requisite “sir.” I just spin away, desperate to be as far from him as possible, and race through the empty subway tunnel, all the way up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairwell, I collapse in a heap, head spinning.

  He wants me to find another spring? I can’t breathe, and I don’t even fight off the hornet’s nest swarming in my stomach. Only one word repeats itself over and over again in my mind: No—no, no, no.

  No.

  Not after what Callum showed me on the Core.

  Especially not after Dunn telling me he’s canceling Aven’s surgery.

  Dunn’s a fool if he thinks that will keep me from going to see her. Clearly he’s never cared about anyone, ever. Now that I don’t know how long she’s got, I have to get to her. Have to be with her. He’s just made the hospital my first stop.

  And after that—Callum’s. To bring Aven whatever medicine he’s able to concoct from the mud, that won’t make her sicker. Reaching for the cuffcomm he gave me, I type in a message:

  Can you do it?

  It’s a ramshackle plan. It’s no plan at all. It’s a decision to step forward, one foot at a time, for now. But it does the trick. It’s enough. I’m able to pick myself up, force my head thinking again. Focus on how to make the not-plan a reality.

  I head back into the empty room on the fifteenth floor. The quadrant is quiet, free of roaring helis, so I know the coast is clear. I rotate the dial to the side of my cuffcomm, trying to decide who to call on.

  It’s too early in the morning to ask another favor of Ter—he just brought me to Mad Ave a few hours ago, and I doubt his dad would want him running back to the racing district. Once a month for the races is danger enough.

  Calling Derek is out of the question. I am “barely a friend” after all. . . .

  I find the channel I use to call Benny. I hate to ask him—he already saves my butt on a regular basis—but I’ve got no choice.

  I need to get out of here.

  22

  5:15 A.M., SUNDAY

  I run to the windowsill overlooking the canal, but it isn’t the sound of Benny’s mobile that brings me there. It’s not a sound at all. Across the Hudson Strait, the West Isle city center is crowned in thick, dark clouds, just as the sun begins to rise. The Quad Nine Trade Centers block much of my view—I’m full-on blinded by the glass and steel of One World—but I can see enough.

  Billows of black, swallowing the tops of even the tallest skyscrapers.

  The rally . . . it must be coming from the rally.

  I’m shocked—it was supposed to be a protest. West Isle citizens voicing their discontent, that’s what the radio transmission said. But this ain’t just a rally.

  Smoke means fire.

  This is a riot.

  Part of me hands it to them for taking a stand. But another part is laughing. A rally, or a riot, or a protest can’t fix our issues. Public opinion counts for nothing in our situation. Much as I want to blame Governor Voss for not doing more, he’s no magician.

  A pink smudge skimming the canal draws my attention back to the water.

  It’s a Cloud9 Steamer, one of Benny’s mobiles, and she’s moving much faster than she should. Cloud9s ain’t much more than glorified balloons—open-topped, floaty rides sold in pastel colors only. And they’re no better under the hood, used for scenic travel. Benny must have upgraded this one, though, ’cause she’s hauling like nobody’s business.

  I climb out the window and onto the fire escape, inspecting the water for the DI guy Chief said he’d send to watch me.

  I’ve got to spot him. And then I’ve got to lose him.

  ’Cause I’m about to disobey direct orders from Chief Dunn, something I’ve never done before. Once he finds out—which he will if I can’t lose my tail—I don’t know what he’ll do. He could make it so I never see Aven again.

  I scan the canal even more thoroughly, pausing at every shadow I see below the surface. But the water’s dark and murky, and I know this won’t be easy. Seeing nothing, I look up and wave my arms. “Over here!” I shout, motioning to Benny.

  As he nears, my breath catches. He’s not alone.

  Derek’s with him; no one else has that rusty-colored hair. My body reacts before my head has a chance to remind me that I’m angry. He doesn’t deserve that silly, giddy feeling my stomach can’t seem to shut down.

  “Front door service!” Benny says when he’s just below the rickety ladder. I lower myself and Derek stands, holds out his hand for me.

  I don’t take it.

  Instead, I monkey swing myself from the bottom rung, gripping it between my palms, and hover over the mobile. I let go to land in the Cloud9, but the boat sways—my balance staggers. Before I’ve got a chance to catch myself, Derek’s hand is firm at my shoulder, steadying me.

  I jerk away from his touch.

  I don’t know . . . maybe I’m overreacting—but the moment I feel his hands on my skin, I’ll go all weak-kneed and googly-eyed. I’ll forget he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most.

  He pulls his hand away, but I still feel his eyes on me.

  “I’m happy to see you, Ren,” Benny says, letting go of the steering wheel. He wraps his arms around me and examines my temple. Lifting each hand, he looks for evidence of the accident. Even under my nails, which I’ve torn to pieces.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I breathe out. “Where were you doing here, up at this hour? Right around the corner, too. It took you, like, ten minutes to get here.” Turning to Derek, “And how’d you get dragged along for the ride?”

  He avoids my eyes now. No doubt it’s from all the warm, fuzzy feelings I’m radiating.

  “No dragging involved,” he says. “We were close and I wanted to see you. Kent called the others for an early-morning, ‘friendly’ practice race in Quad Eight—no betting, of course. He just wanted to see if he should buy an Omni, so he swapped mobiles with Ter.”

  A race—even a “friendly”—and no one told me about it?

  The insult stings for no more than a moment when I realize the real reason I wasn’t invited. “That’s a load of bull and you know it. Kent wants to know he can win with an Omni first. Otherwise he’d just give it a test drive like anyone else.”

  If I were part of the race, and he still lost, he’d never recover.

  Derek laughs. “I’m sure you’re right. Either way, you’re about to see how he does. We’re headed back to Eight right now. What are you doing here anyway?” he asks, but I have no intention of answering that question.

  “You’re headed to Eight? Do they need you?” I whine, unable to stop myself. “I’ve got to get to Ward Hope. . . .” My skin prickles and all of a sudden I’m antsy. My mind starts tilting away, that feeling of free fall comes back.

  What if she didn’t make it through the night?


  Benny looks at me in the rearview mirror, brows knotted. “We have to drive through Eight as it is. Why don’t you take the Cloud and drop us off. I was going to loan her to you anyway.”

  Exhaling, I’m once again grateful that I have someone like Benny on my side—even though the Cloud is pink.

  As I turn around to face the rear, a sunbeam spills over the building tops. The water lightens to a golden brown, and I can even see dark ropes of seaweed in our wake.

  And just beyond it, an oblong shadow, trailing us.

  I watch the shadow. My throat goes dry, but I say nothing. Until I’ve dropped off Benny and Derek, there’s not much I can do. Telling them we’re being followed will only lead to the little question of why—a can of worms I want to keep closed and locked, buried six feet under.

  I’m afraid I’ll give it away on my own, though. Every few seconds I’m checking the water to make sure I haven’t lost him.

  At the rumbling of motors overhead, I look up. We all do. Throughout the quadrant, echoes.

  “Sounds like they started without you,” I say, eyeing the building tops. I don’t see anyone, not yet, but this far north in the quadrant the buildings are low enough—six stories high, max—I should be able to.

  For a moment, my legs get that itch—same as before the races. It’s instinct. I shouldn’t want to race, but I do. Mobile metal is in my bones.

  But with a head filled to the brim with worry, just thinking about that kind of thrill feels like cheating. Aven could be dead or dying this very moment.

  That kills the itch pretty quick, leaves me feeling guilty my bones wanted to race at all.

  We boat through a few more blocks, and then one, two, three shapes hurtle off one of the taller building’s roofs. The first and third are both Hondas—Jones and Ter, I’m guessing, as Derek said he swapped with Kent.

  In the middle, Ter’s Omni flashes orange against the bright sky, swerving. As it lands, angled all wrong, it buckles and bottoms out, hard, on the next roof.

  Pale sparks from metal scraping brick arc across the morning sky, dropping and burning out.