by Sean Platt
Olivia sat on a red plush leather couch as Monique poured them both wine, then brought the glasses and bottle over. She sat as Olivia took her glass and swallowed every drop in six long gulps to calm her frazzled nerves.
“Wow, I guess you did need a drink.” She poured Olivia another, then started sipping her own. “It’s nice to meet you, though I wish it were under other circumstances.”
“You and me both.” Olivia leaned forward on her bouncing knee, eager to get back upstairs.
“Relax. I know it’s hard when you’re used to being the one in charge, but sometimes we need to let go. The general has this.”
The general. Why doesn’t she call him by his first name?
Something about the woman seemed off, more than her phony smile.
“How did you and the general meet?” Olivia asked.
“I lived in Coldwell before the floods. He and the Rangers came to offer us aid. Then he helped me settle here.”
“Coldwell? Were you a fisher?”
“A botanist.”
“And what do you do here?”
“I’m rarely here. I mostly work in the field with the Rangers’ science department, studying the properties and effects of the plants and, specifically, flowers from The Ruins.”
“Ah. So, Pillar?”
“Among others.”
“And … what have you learned?”
“Well, take boneset, Eupatorium perfoliatum. Under normal circumstances, it had medicinal purposes. But the Ruin strain has slightly different effects. It causes people to lose their inhibitions, makes them more receptive to suggestion.”
Olivia’s head felt heavy. She went to set her wine glass down and dropped it.
“Oh, I’m s…s…sorry,” she slurred, bending to pick it up as a flood of blood rushed to her head.
“Easy to slip into someone’s drink. They wouldn’t even know what was happening, until it was already too late.”
Olivia stared at Monique as her message slowly came into focus.
“And even when the person knows they’ve been drugged, they can’t get angry. They … just accept it.”
Olivia nodded, repeating the words, “Accept it.”
Monique smiled. “Now, I need you to do me a favor, Olivia. Would you like to do me a favor?”
“Favor,” Olivia repeated. “Yes. What do you need me to do?”
“We need the Registry.”
“The Registry? Why?”
“Because we have plans for the Alts. So many plans.”
Fifty-Six
Elijah
Elijah arrived to see his city in flames.
Even while approaching the hill ahead of the front gates, he could hear the screaming citizens beyond the wall. People he’d grown up with and loved all being attacked. The ugly calliope of clashing metal and bodies getting stabbed, guts spilled amid all the anguished crying.
Horrors strobed through his mind.
His horse froze, refusing to go any closer to the gates.
Elijah too, afraid to go any further.
He hated that fear inside him. He was supposed to be brave, but in the moment he could only think about how he was alone, and didn’t stand a chance against who knew how many bandits.
The Light spoke in his head.
“It’s okay to be afraid. I will guide you. Run to the house and get the list.”
And my mother.
“And your mother,” said The Light, a bit too much like an afterthought.
Elijah dismounted. The second both of his feet were on the ground his horse galloped into the night.
He steeled himself, then raced toward the city’s entrance.
The gates were wide open, the Ranger standing guard was in an assembly of pieces, but none of them were his head.
Elijah ran into the chaos.
He passed through Market Square and crashed into Joe and his old man surrounded by bandits. A guitar was smashed to bits on the ground. The men gripped their swords, looking both terrified and relieved to see him.
Elijah drew his sword and stabbed the closest bandit through the back.
For a moment, Elijah stared at his fallen body, the gravity of killing another man sending him into paralysis. He’d shot someone with a bolt at the plant, but right now Elijah was close enough to smell the metallic scent of this bandit’s blood.
And like last time, he had no time to think about it.
Three of the bandits peeled away from Joe and his dad to come at Elijah with their swords.
Elijah traded blows, surprised by how much faster he was moving than before. The Light had added to his already impressive speed and strength.
But there was something else. He was far more skilled at parrying and ripostes than he’d ever been before. Moving with Pascal’s suite of skill and grace. Almost dancing as he ended a trio of bandits with barely any effort while Joe and his father dispatched the others.
A moment of peace amid the flurry as Rangers began battling back a group of nearby bandits.
Joe’s face was covered in sweat and he looked like he’d aged a decade since Elijah had seen him last.
“Where are my parents?” Elijah asked.
Joe said, “They banished your dad.”
Elijah couldn’t believe it, so his friend explained. His father had been branded a traitor, and his mother was now the mayor.
“My mother? She let Dad get banished?”
“I dunno, man. I just saw her about fifteen minutes ago. She was looking for you, headed to Pascal’s house, I think.”
“I’ve gotta go.”
Father and son thanked him in a chorus, but Elijah was already off.
Knowing Joe, he and his dad were likely in whatever this was for the long haul, helping those that couldn’t help themselves.
Pascal’s door was locked.
He banged on it, but had a feeling that his mother wasn’t inside.
“Go home. Get the list. She’s probably there.”
Elijah turned, about to leave, when he saw Hunter standing in front of him wearing a Ranger’s outfit.
For a moment, he was certain that the Cadet was going to harm him. But he had no hate in his eyes. If anything, it seemed haunted.
“The general needs you.”
“Me?” Elijah replied.
“It’s your mom.”
“Where are they?”
“Your house. Let’s go — she needs your help!”
Elijah sprinted through the streets behind Hunter, finding it difficult not to stop and help with any of the battles as they passed.
Close to the general’s, Elijah remembered Pascal’s warning.
But what choice did he have with his mother in need?
“You might be walking right into a trap.”
Elijah didn’t respond.
Fifty-Seven
Slum Lord
Sebastian stood on The Baxter’s roof for an emergency meeting with his closest advisors, Sasha and Axl. The three of them were waiting on Kiril. Sasha was wearing a long red dress. Slum Lord was in a black suit. Axl was in his usual sloppy attire, ill-fitting and gray.
Slum Lord saw his city with new eyes as they waited.
The moon was obscured by the rain and smog. It was quiet tonight, almost as if the buildings themselves could sense what was coming.
Sometimes Slum Lord felt that the city was a sentient being. That all that concrete, steel, and glass was somehow connected to the grass growing through all that cracked pavement, the trees reaching for air in the few green areas, microorganisms thriving on every hospitable surface, plus all the insects and creatures further up the food chain. Collective senses fed into the whole, so when one thing sensed trouble looming, all things carried those signals to the city itself. It could sense disaster in the air like trees, plants, and fungus, or any interconnected network.
Slum Lord knew that now in a way he hadn’t before. With the Tree inside his head, he could peek at its reach throughout the world. Deep into The Ruins and
deeper yet underground. He still wasn’t sure what it was, but mined what knowledge he could from the glimpses.
It had been right: Sebastian could barely feel it in him now. And he had no itch to tear it out of his mind.
“Sorry. I was following up with Xavier,” Kiril said when he arrived.
“And?” Slum Lord looked at him, waiting for more.
“No word on the girl yet. He has three more places to hit tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Kiril,” Slum Lord said.
“You’re welcome, sir. So, what’s with the emergency meeting?”
“I’m making a move. Tonight.”
“A move? On?”
“Jackie.”
“What?”
“She has Hobarth’s back. If I attack him, she’ll turn the others on me. But if I remove her, then the others will fall in line when I take Hobarth out.”
“Sir, do you think that’s a good idea?”
Sasha, who Slum Lord had already coached, said, “She threatened him. She gave him an ultimatum.”
Kiril looked nervous.
“What is it you want to say?” Slum Lord asked.
“What … what if we fail?”
“We won’t. Others are coming with me.”
“Who?” Kiril said, still not liking it.
Slum Lord said, “The O’Leary boys, Denisov, the Macks, and, of course, our people.”
Axl and Sasha nodded.
“Geary has them staging right now,” Sasha said.
“When are you doing it?” Kiril asked.
“Tonight, at midnight.”
“So you’ve made up your mind.”
Slum Lord nodded. “I have.”
“Is there anything I can do to assist?”
“Yes, I need you to go to Jackie.”
“What?”
“I want you to tell her that I’m meeting Yugo at The Baxter, tomorrow night at eight.”
“Why would I tell her that?” Kiril asked. “Why would she trust me?”
Because you’re spying for her. Because when you tell her, she’s gonna come at me. And I’ll be waiting.
“Frame it like I want her at the meeting, that I want to broker a peace.”
“A peace? You think she’ll believe that?”
“Yes, because I was pushing for it last time we met. She’ll be so busy planning to hit me, she won’t expect a strike tonight.”
Kiril stared off for a moment, then nodded. “Brilliant.”
“He’s a terrible liar.”
He’s good at lying to others, just not to me.
A small nod, then Kiril left the rooftop. Once they were sure he was gone, Axl and Sasha looked at Slum Lord.
“Are you ready?” Sebastian asked.
Sasha slid out of her dress, revealing the tight black kill outfit that helped her better blend into the darkness. She walked to the picnic table and yanked a tarp off of her equipment. She fixed the sheathed sword to her belt and slung the crossbow across her back.
She hopped onto Sebastian’s back and teased Axl, “Sorry, only room for one on this ride. You’ll have to find your own way there.”
Axl shook his head. “Well, at least wait for me.”
“Of course,” Sebastian said. “Wouldn’t do this without you, brother.”
And with that, Slum Lord ran across the rooftop and leapt into the night with Sasha riding piggyback.
Hobarth lived in the penthouse apartment at 1232 Standard. A nineteen-story apartment building on the city’s northeast end. Opulent by present-day standards but even more so before the world had ended.
Sebastian and Sasha landed on the foolishly unguarded roof. Then again, few people knew how far Slum Lord could leap, or that he jumped from rooftop to rooftop as if skipping stones across a pond.
Sasha climbed off his back and walked up to him, tenderly meeting his eyes. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes. Do you have any doubts?”
She shook her head.
Sebastian went to the edge and looked down to see Axl across the street, waiting underneath the awning of another apartment building, smoking as he waited for their signal.
He brushed his thumb across one of the three grenades clipped to his belt. His last three. Sebastian hoped they wouldn’t be needed.
Sasha reached into her pants pocket, pulled out her lockpick, and made easy work of the service door.
They descended the stairwell to the penthouse hallway.
Sebastian peeked through the small square window.
Hobarth’s room was at the end of the corridor. One of his men was sitting in a chair outside, looking down at his hands, black hat pulled low over his eyes, maybe nodding off.
Sebastian held up his finger to indicate one target.
Sasha loaded a bolt and raised it, the sight lined at eye level.
She nodded and cocked the crossbow.
He opened the door, which made a loud clicking that may as well have been fireworks announcing their arrival.
The man looked up.
Fuck!
Slum Lord shoved the door wide open, rolling into the hall and propping the door for Sasha to take her shot.
The man fell backwards, not dead, hands reaching up, trying to pull the arrow from his face.
Sebastian raced down the hall before the man could alert anyone and slit his throat like pulling a belt through a loop.
Sasha ran forward, crossbow loaded and ready to fire should any of the doors spring open.
Sebastian stood outside the door, listening.
He heard music, but no voices or movement. He tried the doorknob, hoping it wasn’t locked, then entered the dimly lit apartment.
The place was surprisingly clean. Slum Lord had expected it to be crammed with shit because Hobarth was so gluttonous, but the room was sparse.
Sasha dragged the dead guard inside, then closed and locked the door.
Music blasted from the bedroom.
Sebastian silently approached, then entered. Sparse furnishings gave way to garish excess. Dripping sex, from the shag carpet to neatly displayed bondage equipment, soft red lighting, a sex wheel on the wall to the stockade set front and center of the room.
The bed was all black wood and polished chrome. Hobarth was sleeping face-down, kitted with chains and cuffs and places to attach them.
The girl, Rosalita, was asleep, or passed out, beside him. Naked, save a sheet covering her small frame. Her hands were cuffed to a chain and bound to the headboard.
Sebastian stared down at the sleeping monster.
He wanted to slowly torture the man, inflict as much pain on him as he had on this girl and surely countless others. But it was best for them to get in and out fast.
So he leaned over and slit the fat fucker’s throat.
His eyes popped open just as Slum Lord started to slice.
Sebastian covered his mouth and held him down, pressing firmly as the man bled out with barely a struggle.
Sasha leaned over and gently shook the girl.
She looked at Sasha, at Hobarth’s corpse, then Slum Lord standing over him cleaning his knife. She screamed.
Calmly, Sasha said, “Yugo and your sister sent us.”
“Maritza wants you home safe,” Sebastian added.
Rosalita’s eyes blinked from terrified to hopeful.
“We’re leaving. Is there anything you need to get before we go?” Sasha asked.
Rosalita pointed to a spot in the corner where she had a pink teddy bear and a tiny pile of clothes.
Sebastian searched the nightstand and found the keys immediately. He tossed them to Sasha so she could uncuff the girl.
Slum Lord left the room, searching the apartment for anything of value. He took Hobarth’s coins, a ledger which might contain useful information, and drugs, slipping them into a small bag slung across his chest.
Sasha emerged from the bedroom holding a large black belt and looking at Sebastian as if she were trying to determine his fit.
“I’m ready,” she told Sasha.
They fled back to the rooftop. Sasha signaled to Axl that their mission had been a success.
“How are we going to get down?” Rosalita asked, clinging to Sasha.
She knelt eye level with the girl and pointed to Sebastian. “I’m gonna need you to hop on his back.”
She looked up at Slum Lord and felt scared by either his appearance or his size. He tried to smile, but, as Sasha had said on other occasions, his attempt was far from comforting, especially to kids.
“He’s safe. I promise.”
She tentatively approached him as he knelt down for her to climb on his back. Sasha took the belt from Hobarth’s closet and tied it around them, securing the girl against Sebastian.
“Hold on tight. I’m going to run and jump off this building.”
She practically choked him. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Sasha told her. “He can pretty much fly.”
Not accurate, but close enough to keep the girl from screaming or, worse, letting go as he leapt.
“Are you ready?” Sebastian asked.
“Yes.”
He ran and leapt. The girl screamed — a sound somewhere between exhilaration and unbridled panic — right in his ear.
They landed on the rooftop across the street.
Sebastian reached back to ensure the belt was still tight. “How was that?”
She burst into a husky childish laugh that made him wish for kids. “What are you, an animal?”
He laughed. “Just a few more to go.”
He brought her to The Baxter before returning for Sasha. Then he had to go back for one last thing. Hobarth’s head, which he cut off and shoved in a sack for Axl.
Once they were all back at The Baxter, he parted ways with Sasha and Axl, telling them to lay low in case Jackie decided to wage a preemptive attack. Then he delivered the trophy and told Axl to put it in Town Square.
Now they could bring Rosalita home and hopefully forge a new alliance.
