She jimmied the spine of the magazine in between the door and the jamb, pressing against the beveled latch. The magazine was just stiff enough to press the latch back into the knob mechanism.
Bit wasn’t surprised when the latch released the door but the door didn’t open. She had expected Wic to put something against the door for safe measure. Down on her knees, Bit gave the door a small experimental push. She met with resistance, but not more than she could handle. Moving slowly, and with consistent pressure, Bit pushed the small bedside table away from the door until the door opened just enough to admit her body.
She slipped out, smiling when she spotted Wic asleep on the bed.
Dumbass, she thought to herself as she pulled her boots out of the closet. She grabbed her pack and crossed the room, trying to ignore the increasing pain in her knee. A floorboard creaked under her weight and she froze, her heart racing through her chest. Bit waited for the sounds of the surrounding apartments to build up again and continued on her journey across the small room.
She reached the door, carefully unlocked the various locks, eased it open, and slipped outside. Once she gently pulled the door closed, she scurried away. At the first set of stairs, she headed upwards. If Wic found her gone, he would assume she had taken the quickest route to the streets.
On the next level, Bit paused to put on her boots. Wic’s sweat pants and t-shirt were miles too big for her, but she could change later. For now, she needed to put more distance between her and the man. She raced up a few more flights before slowing to listen at the doors.
Behind each door, she heard the sounds of industry or conversation. Just when she was prepared to turn back down toward Wic’s level, she heard an outcry coming from below.
“Shit,” she grumbled as she turned and raced to the far end of the darkened hallway.
She charged up the stairs, jumping over a missing step.
Someone could break an ankle on that, she thought to herself. Yeah… you!
Bit ignored her own warning, continuing up the steps and jumping over the next missing step. She reached the next level up, ignored it, and kept running. A stitch formed in her side and her thighs felt soft with overuse—not to mention her injured knee’s own complaints. When the stairs ended suddenly, Bit slowed, trotting down the hallway and giving her body time to recuperate.
Halfway down the hallway, she spotted a door sitting ajar. To her astonishment, she found a winding staircase still heading up hidden behind it. Wondering when the building would end, she dragged herself up the circular staircase. Occasionally, a doorway opened off the stairs, leading to a new corridor. Each hallway looked a little different, built of different materials or in the age of the paint. Some had never even been painted. The walls were a patchwork of iron plating, corrugated metal, and tarps. The higher up she ran, the more jury-rigged the structure became.
Finally, she reached the top of the spiral staircase and stumbled out into another hallway. The final story was made of sturdy wooden supports—most of which still had bark on them—and walls woven of some sort of palm material. Most of the doors were made of cloth, hanging from the support beams. A few of the small apartments had found bits of metal and what not to use as roofing, but the corridor was still open to the air.
Everything was soaked from the recent deluge.
As a whole, the top level looked more like an outside market than a portion of a building. Bit wondered how long it would be until another layer of shoddy workmanship covered this one. Bit began walking down the “hallway”, noticing other gaps between “apartments” where she could turn toward north or south. The whole thing confused her and she wondered how they managed to build layer upon layer without the whole thing tumbling down.
Bit stopped at the edge of the building and looked down into the alleyway. To her astonishment, she wasn’t on top of the same building she had started in. Wic’s apartment was half a block to the east. Bit retraced her steps in her mind, wondering when she had shifted into a different building.
“Building is a loose term,” she muttered to herself.
She examined the side of the structure, looking for a fire escape or drain to climb down. Slowly, she checked each side of the building, but all she saw were makeshift windows and patched walls.
As adrenaline eased from her body, her knee began to throb with her slowing heart rate.
She considered sitting down in the open-air hallway and giving Wic time to head out in search for her in the city, but before she could decide, she heard another thump followed by an outcry from the top of the spiral staircase.
“Seriously? Doesn’t he ever give up?” she asked herself as she scanned her surroundings.
Bit spotted a cross support bracing two walls over the hallway. It was a little lower than the others. Bit ran for it, jumped off her good leg, and grabbed the rough wooden beam. Her bruised back screamed in protest, but she held on, slowly pulling herself up. She flung her legs over the beam and shimmied her way onto it.
Just as she righted herself, straddling the beam, Wic appeared at the head of the spiral staircase. He pulled his gun from his waistband.
“Get down,” he ordered.
Bit rolled her eyes and jumped to her feet on the beam. Taking small steps, she ran to the first roof. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Wic stuff his gun back down his pants and charge after her, thereby confirming her suspicions—he had no intention of shooting her.
Running as fast as she could, Bit stayed on the support beams, though it would have been faster to run across the roofs of the various structures. She reached the edge of the building and spotted a large beam that crossed the alleyway as a sort of cross-support to keep the rickety thing from toppling over.
“Bit, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” Wic said as he reached the rooftop and spotted her at the edge. “Get away from the edge.”
Bit flinched, acting like she might jump. Wic charged towards her, running across the various rooftops. He crossed the first and stepped onto the second—one made of thatch and aged wooden shingles. He made it three steps across the unusual surface before it gave way.
From her spot on the edge, Bit heard a woman’s cry as a large man fell into her home. Bit couldn’t help but laugh at Wic’s antics, but she didn’t laugh long. She turned and began inching her way across the beam connecting the two enormous apartment buildings. Had her knee not been painful to the touch, she would have knelt and crawled across the beam.
Halfway across the beam, Wic’s head popped up from within the crude apartment. Bit glanced over her shoulder at him before picking up her pace. She stretched out her arms, trying to stabilize her steps. Her bruised knee struggled to bear her weight while she took such small, careful steps.
“Bit!” Wic called as he scrambled up onto the support beams again.
Bit flinched at his voice and slipped from the beam, landing on her gut. She began to slide downward as she scrambled to grab the beam. At the last second, her arms gripped it and her descent stopped, the beam digging into her armpits. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Wic scrambling along the support beams, having learned his lesson.
Throwing a leg over, Bit dragged herself up onto the beam as she had before. Instead of climbing to her feet, Bit remained straddling the beam and began scooting across. If she judged Wic correctly, he wouldn’t dare follow her.
As she reached the far building, she glanced over her shoulder and spotted Wic just beginning his slow trek across the beam.
“You won’t make it,” she called, trying to shake his confidence.
Wisely, he ignored her. Bit turned and began her tip-toed scurry across the support beams of this new building. Its top-most layer was just like the last, with home-made roofs. Bit ran across the beams, feeling more secure with the shingles and thatch on either side. She reached the far end, and without thinking, launched herself across a narrow gap between the building and the next.
Bit landed on her feet, rolling with the impact. She
cried out as her knee struck the roof. Her whole body ached with the impact of her fall, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing pain in her limb. Bit scrambled to her feet and limped away from the gap, looking for a way down into the building.
This roof was more completed than the last, with the hallways roofed as well as the small apartments. Old, rusted piping struck up through the various roofing materials, faint smoke rising from the chimneys. Bit weaved through the chimneys, staying on the support beams until she reached the far end of the building. Glancing down into a narrow street, she spotted a rusted fire escape three or four stories below her. Scanning the edge, she spotted the top of a wood-and-rope ladder connecting the roof to the fire escape.
Bit ran toward the ladder, her feet barely fitting on the support beam running along the edge of the building. As she neared the ladder, her sore leg slipped and she slid off the side. Bit did her best to turn the fall into a lunge, pushing off at the last moment. She fell halfway to the fire escape before she caught hold of the precarious ladder.
It creaked, the rope nearly snapping under her weight.
As Bit’s body came to a sudden stop, she hung from the ladder, trying to regain her breath. Slowly, she planted her feet on a lower rung and gulped down lungfuls of air. Bit didn’t give Wic time to catch up with her but scurried down the rope ladder in partially-controlled fall.
She hit the fire escape with a clank, swallowing the curse rising to her mouth. At the end of her strength, Bit hobbled down the fire escape, no sign of Wic behind her.
Chapter Twelve
Jack and his group climbed off the train, amazed that they had managed to squeeze in at all. It was a creaky old thing, with more odors than Jack could have named. They had traveled east into a portion of the enormous city known as Soweto. From what the locals said, the name had been formed by combining other names of smaller suburbs. Jack wasn’t sure if he believed it.
Like so many areas of the city, tall buildings rose up on either side of the street, dripping with the recent flood. These, though, looked as though a child had built the top half with spare parts. Jack pulled his gaze back onto the street ahead, where it ought to be.
Though it was long after dark and well into the night, the streets were dotted with crowds of men and women. The women were in small dresses, their long legs displayed by tall heels, and the men looked to be armed. They were walking into a proverbial den of lions.
“You sure ‘bout this, Captain?” Randal asked from his side, his own eyes scanned the different groups.
They had barely walked half a block when a young man with creamy brown skin stepped into their path, an entourage quick to follow. His hair was shaven short and his features were young, almost boyish. Offsetting his boyish charm, his lip was split and his features looked bruised, though Jack couldn’t quite tell in the dim light of the nearby shops.
“And just who might you be?”
“I’m looking for Rudy,” Jack replied, ignoring the man’s question.
The leader chuckled, glancing back at his friends. “No one just sees Rudy.”
“So I’m in the right place, then.”
His smile faded and he glared at Jack. “What do you want with Rudy?”
“I want to talk to him about the girl he’s after.”
“You know where she’s at?”
Jack let out a sigh. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”
“Stay put. I’ll see if Rudy wants to talk to you.”
The young man turned to a building with a laundrymat on the first floor. He disappeared through a door on the side. Jack and his crew waited, eyeing the group the man had left behind. They were young, some marked by tattoos. Though they each looked fit and comparatively well fed, they wore the baggy clothing of men not accustomed to fighting for their lives. Jack had no doubt they could throw a hard punch—and occasionally did—but with Randal’s training and Oden’s street smarts, Jack had no doubt his team could outmatch them if it came to a fight.
A few minutes later, the young man returned, followed by a man who could only be Rudy. The newcomer had white hair and a matching beard, but his weathered skin was tight and his muscles firm. The side of his face was bruised and his eye still swollen. Jack couldn’t quite ascertain his age.
“I hear you want to talk to me?” the white-haired man said.
“Jack Macleef of the transport vessel the Lenore.”
He took Jack’s hand and gave it a firm squeeze. “Rudy.”
“I understand you are looking for a petite woman with blonde dreadlocks.”
“I am. You seen her?”
“I wish I had. Can I ask why you’re looking for her?”
Rudy waved to his face. “She did this.”
Jack worked to keep his expression neutral, but, based on Rudy’s glare and the flicking of his eyes toward Jack’s crew, the rest of his crew had smiled at the idea. Bit was a ferocious fighter when she needed to be. But she avoided confrontation if she could. What had happened to push her to fight this man?
“And she hurt my second,” Rudy added, waving at the young man with the swollen lip.
Two men? Bit had taken on two full grown men and lived to tell about it? Randal would be proud, but Jack was mostly worried.
“And so you want vengeance.”
Rudy smiled at him, his face creasing with the expression. “There is that, but mostly I want her in my employ.”
Jack’s eyes ran to two or three scantily clad women in the small group. “In his employ” could mean multiple things.
“As what, exactly?”
“Why are you so curious?” Rudy asked.
“Because the woman you are chasing is my indentured servant.”
“And she ran away from you?”
Jack didn’t want to admit to that. They were both posturing—the human version of dogs circling, preparing for a fight.
“Not exactly. We got separated. I’m having a little trouble finding her.”
Rudy laughed. “You and me both. The girl’s escaped my grasp numerous times. I’ve even stooped to hiring one of my rivals to help find her.”
“You want her that bad?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any information you can give me on where she was last spotted?” Jack asked.
Rudy pursed his lips as he considered, finally shaking his head. “I want the girl.”
“She belongs to me.”
“Not anymore. I have the whole of Soweto searching for her. When my men find her, they’ll bring her to me. Now, I can compensate you for your loss, but that girl will be in my possession by the new week.”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh, though he didn’t feel like it. “You haven’t caught her yet. And if I know my I.S. you won’t catch her… ever.”
Rudy’s congenial expression dropped into a glare. “Are you doubting me?”
“Not so much doubting you,” began Jack with a forced smile, “but believing in her. Now you can give me what information you have, ending all this, or you can continue to chase your tail in a futile effort to get another piece of ass that doesn’t belong to you.”
Jack regretted his words instantly. Rudy pulled back his fist and slammed it into Jack’s face, dropping him with the one blow. Jack blinked from his position on the ground. The men with him were already moving. Randal swung wide, his boot striking Rudy in his side. Jack had no doubt Rudy would have blood in his urine by morning after taking the blow. Oden was grappling with Rudy’s second, while Calen and Reese took on the other men in Rudy’s small group.
Jack blinked again, willing the figures dancing above him to settle down and the blinding stars to fade. Slowly, his vision righted itself and he jumped up. As he reached his feet, one of Rudy’s many men flung a swing at him. Jack ducked, driving his fist up into the other man’s gut. He repeated the swift blow until the other man fell to the ground, spent.
“Stop or I kill her,” called Oden's voice.
Jack spun around to find O
den with his tattooed arm wrapped around a girl’s chest, his knife at her throat. As far as Jack could tell, she was just another hooker. She wore a little skirt made of flexible plastic—a recent fashion Jack didn’t understand—and a thin scrap of cloth wrapped around her large breasts. Over all of it hung a sheer cape that draped from a band on her head. Her stark blonde hair was pulled up under the sheer fabric.
“You think I can’t replace a woman as fast as I can snap my fingers?” asked Rudy, demonstrating the gesture.
“You can’t fool me,” replied Oden. “She’s your daughter.”
“Ha!” Rudy paused. “Like I’d let my daughter wear something like that.”
Oden didn’t hesitate as he brought the knife closer to her throat. “The gold bands on her ankle would suggest otherwise. I grew up in a neighborhood much like this one. I know branding when I see it.”
Slowly, Rudy’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want?”
“Give us the information and agree to a truce, then I’ll release her on the edge of your territory.”
Rudy’s eyes tightened into a loathing glare. “Fine. We last saw your girl north of here, in Dobsonville, but she killed two of my men.”
Jack glanced at Oden, seeing the same shock on the pilot’s face. She wouldn’t.
“And the truce,” ordered Oden. “Agree to not pursue us.”
“Agreed.”
“Shake my captain’s hand.”
Rudy and Jack shook hands. Jack felt a little sheepish allowing his pilot to negotiate the deal, but he wasn’t too picky.
“And my daughter?”
“I’ll release her at the edge of your territory, unharmed.”
“How can I trust you?”
It was Oden’s turn to glare Rudy. “Because we didn’t start this.”
With that Oden began to back away, dragging the whimpering girl with him. Jack followed, along with his men.
It took them over an hour to reach the edge of Soweto. Rudy and his second followed their slow retreat, keeping their distance. Oden didn’t argue, and neither did Jack. Rudy was vastly outnumbered now, and neither of them expected him to attack with his daughter in the mix.
Mayhem and Mutiny Page 8
