“You grab the meds, I got something to tell you.”
“You’re gonna have to give me more than that.”
“How about this,” Sid says with a conspiratorial grin. “Out west, there’s a new faction. And they might just save your new broad’s ass.”
I try to read him, but in the dim light, his body fading, three years and a lifetime between us, I can’t tell if he’s full of shit.
Still, I say, “I’ll get the pills.”
“Good man,” Sid says as I head towards the door.
At least we both know that’s a lie.
15 | Satellite
“You gave him the pills before he gave you the information?” Jana checks Sid’s pulse again, but it’s pointless. He’s been dead for the past half hour, and he’s not coming back. A foamy froth of spittle is caked around his pale lips. “How dumb are you?”
“He didn’t know anything else.” That’s what I decided when I was walking down the stairs to get the meds from Jana. I could burn a lot of time having a circle jerk with an old friend for a few hours, or I could get straight to it. Death was a mercy. No need to prolong the inevitable.
When I became so concerned about the welfare of others, I’m not sure. Normally, that would be considered a sign of growth. But in this world, it’s the opposite of evolution—maladaptive to the ruthless, lawless environment in which I’m trying to survive.
“Oh, as long as you say so.” Jana kicks the empty plastic bottle across the room. It bounces off the faux-weathered brick with an empty echo. “Tell me he shut off the explosives.”
“That was a bluff,” I say. “Look at him. He could barely lift a bottle to his mouth.” At least, I’m about ninety percent sure he was full of shit. But it wasn’t like I could get a straight answer from him while he was still breathing, anyway.
“Lot of conclusions you’re drawing, here. You should’ve been a scientist.”
“Look at it this way.”
“What way?”
“We get a nice fireworks show if he rigged the place to blow,” I say. “Perfect for that kiss.”
“Do you always think with your dick?”
“Only when there are pretty girls around.”
She flushes and plays with her hair. “I’m not going on your list, Luke.”
“Okay,” I say with a nonplussed shrug.
“What does that mean?”
“You want to talk about what I didn’t do, or what I did do?” I say. “Because Sid did tell me one thing before I handed everything over.”
“So you’re not a complete idiot.”
“He told me the satellite up on the roof works,” I say. “And he’s been getting clear feeds recently, directly from the Origin Point.”
“Blackstone’s speeches?”
“You got it.”
Jana runs her boot over the hardwood, playing with a loose plank. It bounces back and forth, wobbling as she adjusts her weight.
“You believe him about this other faction?”
I glance down at Sid. He looks about as alive as he did when he was actually breathing. Can you trust a dead man? There’s no good answer. Conventional wisdom would say that you can, simply because he has no reason to lie. But what happens when a habit has been woven into the very fabric of his being? Leopards, I’m told, have a hell of a time changing their spots.
“There’s gotta be a few survivors.” I purse my lips together and choose my next words carefully. “But I guess that depends on your definition of survive.”
“So you think they’re like him?”
“I think we should keep our eyes open,” I say. “Because whoever’s living out in the Gray Desert might have a nasty bite.”
Jana nods. I’m speaking a hopeless, hyper-vigilant language she understands. “I’m going up to the roof. You coming with?”
“Just tell me what that prick Blackstone has to say.”
“You gonna do anything with your friend?”
I reach over and close Sid’s blank eyes. “Haven’t decided.”
Jana leaves me without another word.
“Hey.” An arm grabs my shoulder. Instinctively, I reach towards my waistband. A sharp pain goes through my wrist, and I drop the knife on the ground. “It’s me, moron.”
I shake free of Jana’s grip. My back is stiff from falling asleep against the wall. The sun is rising outside.
“How long have I been out?”
“Awhile,” Jana says. “I think we should stay here for a couple days.”
I scan her eyes for a reason, but find nothing. “You hear anything on the radio?”
She shakes her head. “I want to keep trying, though.”
“We can’t stay here.”
“It’s a new day,” Jana says. “A new year. Gotta relax for a day or two. Morale.”
“It’s a bad idea.”
“Duly noted,” Jana says. “I’m thinking about staying longer.”
“What?”
“Fifteen floors, clear line of sight.” She paces back and forth, her footsteps heavy. “There’s a reason we made it a waystation. And it’s far enough from the Circle—”
“New Allied States,” I say. “Or did you forget that everyone’s gonna be coming after us?”
“You don’t know that,” Jana says. She points at Sid’s stiff body. “He survived out here like that.”
“I’m telling you—”
“I heard you. And I’m in charge.”
That ends the conversation. I watch her disappear from the loft. She slams the door shut behind her. I shake my head and stare at the tall ceiling. Even without any intel or notion about what Blackstone and his minions are up to, I know, deep in my bones, that this is a bad idea.
But if there’s a faction in the Gray Desert, I’ll need the full strength of Jana’s tiny army to advance.
Which means, for now, I’ll need to follow the leader.
16 | January Frost
If I ignore the nagging sense of dread, the fifteen-story building I’ve been calling home for the past three weeks is almost pleasant. Food is beginning to run out, but the rest, clean water and actual heat have restored morale amongst the Rems.
I spend most of my days on the roof, listening in quiet hope that the sky will align in such a way that I’ll get a snippet of a broadcast. Never have I wanted to hear Old Silver Fox’s voice so bad. But nothing comes, no matter how many hours I spend in the sub-zero frost alone.
None of the Rems join me. They’re caught in a whirlwind of hope, blind to reality. I’ve heard mentions of spring, how they’ll plant crops. Ways to build up the defenses, increase the yield of the solar panels lining the roof so that we won’t have to ration energy.
It’s a nice enough fantasy.
I peer through my rifle scope, out at the empty plains. Nothing moves on the frozen tundra. Nothing ever moves. And that’s what scares me so damn much.
I rub the frost clinging to the fine hair at my temples. I’ve gotten used to the cold. It’s become a friend, a familiar reminder that, despite the peaceful interlude, the world remains harsh and unforgiving.
Footsteps patter across the icy roof, and I wheel around, rifle aimed at the sound.
“Don’t shoot,” Evelyn says. “It’s just me.” She holds up a stainless steel mug of coffee. “Figured you could use a drink.”
She’s the only one who comes up here. Sometimes she’ll sit near the edge, where the railing has fallen away, eyes closed. Meditating on what, I don’t know. But I get the impression that, she, like me, is trying to face reality: that we are all living on the edge of a razor blade, about to topple off.
“What’s the word from downstairs?”
“They’re tired,” Evelyn says. “This is like paradise.”
I sip from the hot mug, grimacing as I taste the synthetic grounds. “Some paradise.”
“Everything is relative.”
“How Zen.”
“See anything new today?”
“Just waiting,
” I say, watching her deep brown eyes scan the barren plains. “Same as yesterday.”
“Who’s Zen, now?” Evelyn tosses her long blonde hair and then walks to her corner of the roof. I watch her settle in before I resume fiddling with the dish. Despite all evidence to the contrary, if I can get the angle just right, it’ll fix everything. Suddenly, answers will descend from the sky.
And we’ll be saved.
It’s a fanciful wish. But I can see why the Lionhearted are so damn eager to place all their eggs in the God basket.
I fiddle with the small radio jerry-rigged to the satellite dish. But I still get no signal. Fucking Sid. I sigh and sip the coffee. If this qualifies as paradise, I don’t want to know what hell looks like. If it’s worse than the Gunpowder Hills, I’d prefer not to see it in this lifetime.
“Someone’s coming,” Evelyn says from across the roof. I look past the rows of solar panels. Her blonde hair flutters over the broken railing.
“The spirits tell you that?”
“The ground shaking told me that,” Evelyn says. “It’s physics.”
“I can’t feel anything.”
Her eyes open a sliver, the brown peeking out. Her silent gaze implores me to look, to feel. I bring my rifle scope up to my eye and scan the horizon. Far off, maybe two or three miles, I spot a slight disturbance in the frozen soil. What looks like a fog, but is, upon closer inspection, the breath of men tramping across the plains.
“Holy shit.” I do a double-take to make sure. “You see that?”
“You’re not hallucinating,” Evelyn says. “Unless we both are.”
“Comforting,” I say. I look down at the useless satellite dish. “You just gonna sit there?”
“You can’t let circumstance interrupt who you are.”
I have no fucking idea what that means. My senses are on full-tilt high-alert. This is what I was so damn worried about—and now there’s an army at our doorstep.
“I gotta warn Jana.”
“Everything will be all right.”
Evelyn stays in place, unperturbed by this development. I race off the roof, flinging the steel door open. As I take the steps two at a time, I run down the options. Evacuating the Rems is going to be impossible. We’re not prepared to escape. Everyone’s guard is down.
That leaves only one option. I race into the 14th floor hallway, to the one working elevator.
“Come on, come on,” I say, jabbing the button. Now, I swear I can feel the earth moving, too. But that’s just paranoia. One thing’s certain, though. In a few minutes, those footsteps will be trampling our faces, if we’re not careful.
The elevator dings, and I dart inside. When I press the touchscreen button for the penthouse, a picture of a radio appears to indicate that it’s connecting with the owner. No unauthorized access. It’s just another annoying reminder of why I can’t keep wasting my days here.
I want like hell to get out to the Gray Desert. For one thing, this damn dog Ramses follows me for about half my waking hours. But it’s also a matter of inertia. Once our enemies become too powerful, stopping their advance will be impossible. They will simply roll over us, buoyed by the power of HIVE, superior numbers and a well-orchestrated plan.
Jana’s voice comes over the elevator intercom. “Who’s—oh, Luke.” She doesn’t sound pleased to see me. I haven’t talked to her in a week, because she’s been busy with preparations and such.
Preparations to stay.
“We got a problem,” I say. “Look out your window.”
“I’m busy, Luke,” she says. Her council members chatter in the background. It’s like the Remnants were never split in two. Same customs, same tribe, just smaller. Because things worked out so damn well the first time around.
Then again, habits are hard to shake. Ask Sid.
“There’s an army at our door,” I say. Then, I can’t help myself. “Damnit, Jana, I told you this would happen.”
The line hisses shut, and my request to go upstairs is denied. I smack my hand against the touchscreen. It comes back on, and Jana says, “Don’t do that. Maintenance is a problem.”
“Just listen to me.”
“What do you think our preparations were for?” Jana says. “We’re not fools.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Go back to the roof and play your games,” Jana says coolly. “Enjoy the show.”
I punch the padded wall and step into the hall, seething. I want to scream and shout, kick down the door to the apartment that will be my home forever—or two more minutes. Fists clenched, I instead head back to the roof. The rifle bounces against my chest.
Like hell I’m going down without a fight.
Evelyn is still in the same place I left her. The army is close enough that I can see their ranks. Maybe five hundred strong. They’re at the edge of where all the bikes and trucks are parked in the icy fields.
The first wave marches forward, and a series of explosions lights up the midday air. Fireballs erupt into the sky, bathing the windshields of the parked vehicles with ash. There are distant screams. Men try to retreat, but charges go off in the rear, too, boxing them in.
The bloodbath is absolute. In less than five minutes, there is little sign of the army other than the charred earth and a few struggling survivors in the blackened earth.
I look over incredulously at Evelyn, who still meditates in the breeze. The aroma of unspeakable things is carried on the wind, but she seems not to notice.
“How can you just sit there?”
“It’s the only way I’ll survive,” Evelyn says.
“By ignoring everything?” A final explosive goes up as one of the remaining soldiers triggers a hidden mine buried in the soil. I peer through the scope, trying to identify just who came to attack. The uniforms bear a logo similar enough to the Circle’s that I can only determine it’s the New Allied States.
“Accept things the way they are,” Evelyn says, with a certain sadness in her voice. “Accept the flow of life.”
I kick the small radio off the roof, sending it hurtling to the ground below. With the crackle of flame and whistling wind, it barely makes a sound. But then, this is the world we live in. A few hundred lives didn’t make much of a sound, either.
“I’m going down,” I say.
Evelyn says nothing. When I look back, before I plunge into the stairwell, I see her staring at me. Searching for answers to the same question.
Is this all there is?
But finding none.
There are three survivors, all badly injured. One dies on the ground. The other two are shuttled into the high-rise, away from view. While I walk through the carnage, idly passing the flames, I find mementos.
Charred pictures. A rabbit foot that didn’t bring luck. Tattered uniforms. No one looks like your enemy up close. The Remnants run through the wreckage, salvaging anything that’s still intact.
I ask one of them, “There any other minefields I should know about?”
The man gives me an odd look and says, “Don’t worry. They’re all remote triggered.”
Then he goes back to looting a half-torched corpse. He finds a gold wedding band and a wind-proof lighter, then moves on to the next unfortunate soul.
I wander out of the blast zone, unable to think straight. I trace the tracks of the men until I’m a couple miles away from our settlement. The tracks on the frozen ground are orderly, regimented. This alliance clearly has a well-trained force, although one not quite ready for guerilla tactics. But I suspect they’ll adjust quickly. From the size of the squad, these were scouts. Which goes to show just how much stronger Blackstone is than the Rems.
I walk away from the tracks, finding an untouched patch of soil. The ice cracks when I sit down cross-legged. Cold seeps into my bones, but I barely feel it.
From here, I can still see our little high-rise in the middle of nothingness. Like the Earth in the middle of a bleak an empty universe.
Except this universe wants to kill us.
Ramses trots over and growls.
I reach over and pet his damp, wiry coat.
“I know, boy.”
Today reminded me of one damn thing.
I gotta get to the Gray Desert.
Or part of me—all of me—is gonna die.
17 | New Problems
“I was there, Luke,” Carina says, holding a hot cloth over my head as I shiver. The last two days, ever since I decided to try meditating in the middle of the frozen tundra, I’ve been sick as hell. The only plus has been that the hallucinations have stopped. “You didn’t see what she did to those men.”
I bat her hand away and try to focus on her eyes. They’re not quite as soulful a brown as Evelyn’s. Little golden flecks at the edges give a playful, hopeful quality. Long lashes bring out a certain sensuality that she’s probably embarrassed about.
She catches me staring and she looks away. Plays with the empty silver chain around her neck. A placeholder for a cross in a world that doesn’t allow anyone to wear one. Her high cheekbones tense when she touches my forehead. “You’re still burning up.”
“Evelyn told me something funny the other day.”
“We talk a lot,” Carina says. “She knows so much about the world. Did you know that—”
“I slept with her, you know,” I say.
“I know,” she says in a small voice. “I think she loves you too.”
A weird sensation rushes through my chest. One I’d like to chalk up to whatever illness I contracted by being an idiot out on the plains, but simply can’t. I’m torn between the con and the truth. Keep it going, a little voice whispers in my head. She’ll be useful later.
Just keep the string going until everything’s played out, and there’s only enough rope left for the other person to hang themselves. That’s the thing about cons. You never see the aftermath. You’ve already skipped out, on to the next one.
I compromise and keep my mouth shut while she adjusts the cloth on my head.
“You don’t have anything stronger, do you?”
“Jana keeps the medicine,” Carina says. “She’s kind of scary.”
Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) Page 9
