Finn’s face fell. “I’m sorry. I know you’re really… really scared.”
They stepped closer, hesitating before laying one large hand and one smaller one on Finn’s shoulders. “And now so are you. I’m sorry.”
“Listen, Regan scared the heck out of you when he ran down into the fire—now you’re doing the same thing to me!” Finn looked intently up into a pair of eyes most other people would call emotionless. He’d call them sad, scared, and do anything to make them smile again. But he’d do more to keep them safe. “You’re going down there and making me watch!”
“I won’t burn, and I have a suit. He doesn’t.”
“Still scared!”
“I have to go.”
“And I’m not trying to stop you, I just want to go with you!”
Zilch let out their breath in a long, slow hiss. “Too dangerous.”
“You guys are always the ones saving me. I’ve caused you so much trouble.”
“No,” they ground out the word. “Not true.”
“And—I can’t just do nothing anymore! I want to help you.”
“I need to know you’re safe.” Zilch’s hands tightened the slightest bit on his shoulders. His eyes stung. “I need to know one of you is safe. That helps me.”
Finn tried to glare up at Zilch but his vision swam and eyes threatened to spill over anyway. So he did what he wanted to do all along—which was pull them close and rest his head against their thin, hollow chest. After a stunned moment (although a much shorter one than the first time they had experienced this) Zilch wrapped their long arms around the soft, warm human hugging them and shut their eyes. Somewhere, their heart ached.
❈
The black and rust-red jumpsuits looked like the ones fighter pilots wore, but looked able to withstand a small tank assault. Straps, buckles and thick patches of a hard, lightweight material studded the things, providing extra protection. Danae was already wearing one, and her thick, heavy steel-toed boots clunked on the floor as she moved with frenetic energy rivaling Finn on a sugar high.
“Okay, listen up. These things resist up to 4000 degrees Fahrenheit,” she said, lumping the duffel bag slung over her shoulder to the ground. Then she held up her newest finished project, a modified gas mask with with opaque visors and grills over the mouthpieces. “Independent air reclamation system, completely fire-resistant, and pretty much foolproof. But Lord, if we’re not about to put that to the test.”
Oddly, it was Zilch who raised a tentative question. “Are they… alive?”
“Not sentient, no.” Danae shook her head, trying for the usual proud smile she had when showing off one of her creations. “Their only concept is ‘embrace and protect.’ They…” Her voice wavered for just a moment, and so did her smile. “They think we’re their babies.”
“Where did you get these?” Zilch hadn’t picked up a suit or helmet yet, arms folded and staring at the pile with an almost accusatory gaze.
“I modified some SkEye uniforms to resist fire.”
They were silent for a half-second, then spoke again, slightly more insistently. “Where?”
“Liam had them in storage.” She held out one black helmet in Zilch’s direction and cleared her throat, still not meeting their eyes. “I just kicked them up a notch.”
After another silent moment, Zilch slowly reached out and took the helmet from her hands with both of theirs, staring into the helmet’s dark visor like it might stare back. When they lowered it, they could see Danae looking up at them tentatively. They were momentarily puzzled; this was an expression they didn’t often see on others’ faces. It wasn’t terror—so, not the usual reaction to their looming, undead form—and she wasn’t looking for approval, but she was concerned about… something else. Zilch made their face form the least threatening approximation of a smile they could, and saw her face relax, her relief telling them they’d guessed right. “Thank you.”
“For what?” she asked. Now they recognized that expression; confusion.
“Finn. What you did. Saving him.”
“Oh…” She broke their gaze; looked down. “It’s nothing. He would’ve done the same for me—like, you say that a lot, but I know he actually would’ve, he’s a great guy. And… and it was my fault anyway. I sent him to get our stuff, wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.”
“Not true.” Zilch’s firmness made her look up again, and even her surprise didn’t give way to fear. They almost smiled again when she didn’t back away, but their voice maintained a serious edge. “SkEye was…is always after us. He’d be dead without you.” A pause, while a slow smile spread across Danae’s face.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. Her voice was a little shaky, but definitely not from fear. “You guys are… I’m glad you’re coming with us.”
“Of course.” Their face regained some of its grimness, and when they spoke it was with absolute certainty. “Have to find Chimera. Bring him back.”
“Yeah, I hear you.” Danae’d face hardened a little as well. “Gotta find out what he meant about Rose. Don’t get me wrong,” she said quickly. “We’re bringing your boy home safe, I got his…” she faltered. “I got his back. But I gotta know. We all do.”
“I understand.” Zilch slowly pulled their hood up, and placed the helmet on over it, ending the conversation.
“Hans, can you check on Regan?” Evelyn asked as she nervously adjusted one of her protective gloves.
“He’s far down… It’s really hot. I mean, obviously. But let’s see, there’s fire, steel… Steel bars, crisscrossing….pipes…” As his consciousness descended, Hans began to speak in a strange, faraway tone as if he were in some kind of trance.
“Okay.” Danae nodded sharply, wiggling her foot down into the boot of the one-piece. “Under the city, lots of pipes and steel—it has to be the support scaffolds. Easiest way there is through the sewers.”
Hans phased in and out of focus. “He’s lost in a world of… good and bad things, all memories…”
“And Gabriel’s still there with him?”
“Yes. They’re interacting. Not just talking, it’s—huh.” Hans stopped, tilted his head, looking confused. “It’s like when I showed you all his memories. They’re learning about each other. Regan’s not afraid anymore.”
“Well that’s a good sign,” Evelyn was already suited up, gas mask helmet tucked under her arm. “Looks like the kid just wanted a friend. Stay with them.”
“I will. I’ll be there if you need me.” Hans slipped out of their minds in an instant.
Rose brushed aside some black curls and planted a kiss on Jack’s forehead. “I’ll be back before you know it. Everything’s going to be okay, baby.”
She didn’t like the look in his wide, dark eyes, the way he stared up at her, and then past her. That scared her more than anything else she’d seen in the past week, more than gunshots, more than a tank, more than any ghost or fire or army. She wanted to shove all of that to the side, shut the door and sit right here with Jack until he smiled again; it was too much for a little boy to handle and it was too much for her.
But the crisis wasn’t over yet. Just outside that very door, Wren and Lisette stood where she’d asked them to wait, and in a minute they’d all go upstairs to confront something that had been turning over in her mind and building to a chilling but inescapable conclusion.
This was so was more important. He was her priority and always would be and one more round of confronting the worst this place had to offer could just sit and wait a minute while she hugged her son—and took another moment to let herself worry.
“It’s not.”
Rose blinked in surprise as her son mumbled the words, the first things he’d said in a long time. “What do you mean, sweetie?”
This entire ordeal had been chaotic, traumatic, terrifying for all of them. And Jack had been so good, he’d always been good, maybe too good, too quiet, too obedient. He accepted the upheaval of their lives so readily, she couldn’t
help but wonder if there was something wrong. She almost wanted him to cry or and scream, something babies were supposed to do, especially in the middle of horrors. But he didn’t. He never had. He just nodded quietly and stared up at her, and God, when she had time to breathe again she was going to spend days just cuddling him and letting him know that it was okay to be scared, because even mommies got scared sometimes, but it would be okay because they were all together.
“It’s not gonna get better.” His gaze slipped past her once more, his eyes wide and lost.. “Gonna get worse first.”
Rose was quiet for a moment, searching for an appropriate answer. She disliked lying to her child—even comforting lies—and had the disconcerting feeling that he’d see through it if she even tried. “Then we’ll get through it together, sweetheart. We’ll just keep going until it does get better. Please don’t be afraid, okay? Your mommies are all going to be back soon. We’ll all be together soon.”
“Okay.” Jack didn’t seem completely satisfied, but at least he made eye contact now. He seemed like he was making the choice to believe her, because he didn’t like the alternative. Rose was struck by how much her son had aged since the day a spray of bullets tore through their doorway. Love and attention. That’s what Jack needed right now from all his moms, and none of them had really been able to give enough of it. She would, Rose promised both of them. Soon.
But right now she had to keep fighting. There was one last thing to do before they could rest.
“All right then.” Giving Jack’s head a last stroke, she turned to Lisette and Wren, who waited for her by the door. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“We’re ready.” Lisette nodded, looking too serious for her young face. Wren nodded too, but seemed distracted by something above them, upstairs. “This is what we’re here for. I think. We volunteered to keep this place safe, and…” she trailed off, determination fading into nervousness.
“It’ll be okay. You’re not alone and you’ve done so well.” Rose said gently but steadily, giving Lisette an anchor with her voice and warm hand on her shoulder. “Just a little more, and we’ll all be safe and sound. Now let’s go.”
❈
Evelyn hated the suits. The stiff material restricted movement and made her feel trapped. The helmet fit too tightly over her face and impeded her vision, and all she could smell was her own breath, too warm on her face. This decade-old mask wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the ones Parole had developed out of necessity. But if they were going to survive in Parole’s long-dry sewers, where the metal walls already glowed red-hot and half-melted, none of them had a choice.
“Doing all right?” Zilch’s voice was muffled and tinny through a speaker in her ear. All Evelyn could see of their face was the top half, their sharp eyes glinting behind the dark visor.
“Spectacular. Let’s keep moving.” Evelyn’s own voice sounded nasal and pinched, and the mask gave soft hisses as she breathed. She kept moving, her feet heavy, feeling cut off from the rest of the world. Descending gave her the impression of being a deep-sea diver, with water pressure getting stronger with every step down.
Danae moved on without a word. She’d barely said anything since putting on her own helmet. Neither of them disturbed her. They ran hunched over and low to the ground through the dark tunnels. The decimated sewers ran beneath Parole’s center, the easiest way to access the cliffs above the fire. The subterranean structures were dangerous, more likely to collapse than even the ground level.. But this was the way Regan had gone, so this was the way they followed. Out toward the ragged, torn edges chewed up by cave-ins and explosions, where the scaffolds stuck out like exposed bones. There were no electrified fences or SkEye patrols down here. Nobody ever escaped Parole by walking through the fire.
The sewers’ angular tunnels had long gone dry, devoid of waste and water, a prime indication of how and why the entire city was dying—why people fought and died to capture the secure water drop-off points, why they killed for a cup of tainted water. Along with everything else, the city’s lifeblood water had gone up in steam. And it gave SkEye their stranglehold over the entire population. They held the water, they held life.
Evelyn closed her eyes focused on her breathing, and the intermittent presence of Hans in the back their minds. He popped in and out, trying to guide them, monitor Regan and check back on the others left at the house—trying to be a million places at once. Every time he returned to them, he seemed a little fainter, a little weaker.
They stopped at a T-shaped intersection. Both directions sloped down sharply, into a murky darkness lined by outlines of charred, rusted and partially melted steel plates.
“Hans?” Evelyn called. “Which way?”
It was a few disturbing seconds before he replied, silence broken by the increasing roar of the fire, and what sounded like far-off creak and grinds of twisting metal. No place in Parole was completely free from the sound of the blaze, aside from insulated rooms, but here, the noise was inescapable and ominously loud.
“This would be your last chance to turn around,” came Hans’s quiet voice. He sounded like he was trying for his usual mocking tone, maybe singsong sarcasm, but he just sounded weak and tired. He didn’t even bother showing up visually in any of their minds’ eyes.
“Oh, you’d love that!” Danae shot back. “If we just went back up and forgot the whole thing? You could always just poke us in the forehead and make us, if you really wanted, I guess.”
“Yeah, making people forget comes with its own set of challenges…”
“Were you ever going to tell us Gabriel was alive?” As Zilch let out a low growl, Danae glared up into the darkness in general, since Hans still hadn’t appeared.
“Pff, of course not,” Danae shook her head. “He waited until Gabriel woke up and got strong enough to call for help, then he panicked because someone might find out, and started sc—”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Hans whispered. “I was doing what I had to, I didn’t want to. I’m trying to save us. When he woke up, when he started calling out, and I realized he was still alive? I tried to think of everything. This is the only way. It’s the last resort.”
“No, Hans,” Evelyn said in a more level tone than Danae’s, and less acerbic than Zilch’s, but her own voice held a controlled edge. “We can still put out the fire and save Parole. Gabriel doesn’t need to die. No one else has to die.”
“You think I haven’t thought about this from every angle? As long as he’s alive, he keeps producing fire. As long as he’s producing fire, it’s kind of hard to—”
“It’s kind of hard for me not to want to punch you in the face.” Danae stomped forward, heading toward the intersection even without knowing which way to turn, like she couldn’t stand still for another minute. “I can’t believe you picked death and lies and manipulation over actually—just—just asking us! We’d help if you asked, we just draw the line at murder, that’s all!”
“I was alone,” he said, voice faint and staticky like a weak radio channel.
“No you weren’t!” she shouted back. “We were your friends! You stayed silent for ten years, but all you had to do was ask! And Rose and I would have come running if we knew you were in trouble! But you didn’t trust us, and I don’t think—”
“Hans,” Zilch cut in, but they didn’t sound annoyed. And even Danae recognized a smile when she saw one. “Which way?”
“Left,” he mumbled, sounding defeated, but not arguing further. “It’s left up here.”
“Keep going,” Zilch said to Danae as they moved forward. “Just walk at the same time.”
“Sure thing,” she grinned up at her much taller new friend, and followed them down the left tunnel. “Hans, just about everything possible that someone could have done wrong here—congrats, you did it! We’ll fix your mess, though. Sure will save the day, despite all your crap.”
Under any circumstances this would almost be fascinating, Evelyn thought as she followed. She could actually
sense Hans more clearly now; he was sulking in the back of their minds, still invisible but presence growing much and much more evident the longer Danae went on. The more attention she gave him, Evelyn realized. Even negative, annoyed attention. She would have gently smacked her own forehead if she hadn’t been wearing a helmet and thick glove. The boy she’d seen in Regan’s memory had looked about sixteen years old. He still did, really.
“Yes, Hans,” she said at last, making her voice as calm, level and adult as possible. She ended up reminding herself of the tone she used when Jack started asking ‘why’ about something, usually why he wasn’t allowed to do something. It was always better just to take a minute, listen and explain. “We really will help you with this mess. You got us into it… but we’ll help you get out of it.”
“Oh.” Very slowly, the image of a white-haired boy appeared over their heads. He looked a lot more tentative than he ever had before, and ready to fade away again at a moment’s notice. “Well… thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She said politely, and kept walking.
“Um, you’re gonna want to turn right up here,” Hans continued after a moment, floating along after them. She could swear his form was gradually becoming more and more substantial. “Then there’s a ladder down, and then be really careful, ‘cause the next ladder’s rusty, and…”
❈
“I need to talk to you.”
Liam dropped the heavy velvet curtain and spun around. He’d been lost in a deep, half-dazed reverie, staring out the floor-length window at the smoke-draped skyline, and now his wide-eyed gaze was fixed on her. “Rose! I didn’t expect… I mean you…” He cleared his throat and tried again. When he spoke again, there was still a distinct edge of paranoia. “How did you get in here? We’re under lockdown!”
“I have to admit, I had some help,” she said as Lisette and Wren stepped from behind her, meeting his glare without fear. “You’re not the easiest man to find.”
Chameleon Moon Page 31
