Frozen hod-1

by Melissa de la Cruz

  Everyone huddled in their places and waited.

  “What are they saying?” Roark whispered to Nat.

  She strained to hear. “I’m not sure.” The slavers’ language sounded brutal to her ear, a corruption, all consonants and no vowels. Then she realized they were actually speaking textlish, a language that was only designed to be written, not spoken—even though she’d heard it in pockets of K-Town, and once in a while when she was a dealer in Vegas.

  The slave ship was right next to them now; the mercenaries had tossed over a rope ladder and were boarding their ship. A raggedy troop of hard-looking boys and men climbed aboard, along with a few scary-looking women, holding guns and sharpened steel shanks. Nat counted thirty of them.

  Across from her, Wes holstered his gun.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, horrified. They had planned to fight. But now it looked as if Wes was just going to give up.

  “If we fight, we’ll die. There’s too many of them, I thought they were only going to send a small strike crew, but we can’t take all of them,” he said. “It would be suicide. We have to surrender.”

  “But we said—”

  Wes didn’t let her finish. “I’m going to let them take us; maybe I can talk my way out of it—I know these guys. And if not, it’ll give me some time to think of another way out.”

  “Another way?” Nat said pointedly.

  “Don’t worry—I would never give them your necklace,” he said. “I promise. I would eat it first.” He grinned.

  Wes nodded to Shakes and the rest of the team. Slowly, he came out from behind the shield of the howitzer, raising his arms in surrender. The group followed suit. There was no argument, no debate. Wes marveled at that; they were better at following orders than his old unit. The smallmen dropped the daggers they’d drawn for battle; Liannan descended the mast and walked regally to the front, holding her robes around her, Shakes hovering protectively nearby. Nat went last.

  The slavers murmured and gestured to one another, as they surrounded the small group. Two of them took Wes. They bore the same scars, like scratches from cats or branches, on their cheeks. Wes knew that the lowest of the slaver clans cut their babies’ cheeks at birth. The scars grew as part of their faces—forever marking them as people of the black ocean.

  “That’s it? That’s all your numbers?” the largest one demanded. Wes noted that his face lacked the scars—this man had grown up outside of the slaver clans. He spoke the standard tongue, but his words were barely comprehensible. He stank like the sea and his clothes were stained and tattered; he would probably wear the rags until they disintegrated.

  “Yes,” Wes replied.

  “Thought you ran a bigger crew than this, two soldiers and four passengers?”

  “We lost a few,” Wes said.

  There was a murmur in the crowd, and the mercenaries quieted down, parting for the appearance of the ship’s captain. Nat stifled a gasp. It was the familiar face of Avo Hubik, the Slob, the slaver from whom she’d won their ship. Just as in K-Town, Avo was sleek and handsome, his black eyes as deep as the night. Like the slaver who’d spoken, his smooth, handsome face was without scars, but he did sport a skeleton tattoo on his forearm. Nat noticed the scar above his eyebrow was almost the same shape and on the same spot as the one on Wes’s forehead. Coincidence, she wondered, or something else?

  Avo walked up on the deck with a smile on his face.

  He stopped when he saw Nat and his smile broadened. “Ah, there you are. Just as I suspected, you were too cheap to be a proper trophy. I should have known you were working for this guy,” he said, pointing to Wes.

  Wes shrugged as if he weren’t caught in a trap. He matched Avo’s leisurely pose. Two old friends and adversaries meeting again.

  “Slob, nice to see you again,” Wes said with a grin. “It’s been too long.”

  “Wesson,” Avo said. “I have warned you many times not to call me that.”

  Wes laughed. “Let us go, Slob. You can have your ship back—but I’m warning you, don’t touch my crew.”

  “I have my ship back, didn’t you notice? Your dear old Albatross is aptly named,” the slaver said, no longer smiling. “And as for your crew . . .” His eyes flicked over to the girls, lingering on Nat.

  “Don’t even think about it, pervert,” Wes warned.

  Avo laughed. “Don’t worry, Wesson, your sloppy seconds aren’t my style,” he sneered.

  Wes began to talk faster. “Hey, man, come on, be cool, you know me, let me work for you. I’ve got a good crew here, you know I can double the area you’d normally be able to cover in a day. Jolly won’t even have to pay me my usual fee—I’ll take a cut as a favor.” He smiled his easy, charming smile. Running another con, but this wasn’t a safari guide or a lazy seeker team. This was the most feared scavenger in the black waters.

  Avo laughed a short, nasty laugh. “Bradley said you’d turned soft, but I didn’t believe it. Seeing you with a bunch of girls and dwarves, I guess he was right. Now I understand why you didn’t have the nerve to take the job,” he sneered.

  “What’s he talking about?” Nat asked, looking at Wes. “What job?”

  37

  AVO LAUGHED AGAIN. “TELL HER, WHY don’t you? About how Bradley offered you good work, easy enough, hunting down pilgrims in the black waters. Cleaning up the ocean of trash. Lucky for us, you didn’t take it. Looks like you decided to join them instead.”

  Wes sighed. This wasn’t going as he’d hoped.

  The second slave ship pulled up next to Alby. This one was similar to the first, with a long line of cargo containers dangling like cages from the edges of the deck. Its captain, a lean, bald, and surly-looking pirate, boarded the ship. His skin was pale and jaundiced, unlike the scavengers of old with their nut-brown sunburned faces. But the sun’s rays did not reach the ocean anymore; it was as gray out here as it was anywhere else in the world, and so the slavers were as pale as any citizen of New Vegas. Like Avo, Wes noticed, the new guy was carrying a military locator on his hip.

  The bald slaver was known as the Ear, Wes remembered now. Called that because he was missing his right one. His ship was the Van Gogh. “This is all we got?” he asked, looking contemptuously at Wes’s scraggly crew.

  “Looks like.” Avo nodded. “The boys checked it out. A lifeboat’s gone, but that’s all. They lost a couple along the way, Wesson said.”

  The Ear spat on the deck. It was clear he didn’t think much of the ship. Wes noticed burn marks on his jacket and wondered whether the slaver had taken them from his earlier fight with Avo.

  “Toss for it?” Avo asked, throwing a silver coin in the air.

  “Heads,” the Ear called.

  “Tails,” Avo showed him the back of the coin. He smiled and pointed right at Nat. “That one.”

  “No! Don’t hurt her!” Wes yelled. “Avo, I swear to god if you—”

  “Wait—wait—” Nat said, as Avo removed a blade from his back pocket and walked toward her. She cringed from his touch.

  “Relax . . . ,” the slaver said, pulling up her sleeve. He marked the skin on her hand with a crooked S.

  Wes struggled against the men holding him. “I need to warn you . . . she’s marked!”

  The slaver grinned. “Exactly. Marked but still healthy. Which is why I want her—she’ll fetch a higher price at the markets. Vardick, take her to the Titan.” He nodded to one of the mercenaries, who grabbed Nat by her cut hand.

  “Wes—!” she cried.

  “Nat! Don’t fight them—don’t—”

  But Nat kicked at Vardick, and in turn he knocked her on the side of her head with the butt of his rifle, and she went down hard on the deck.

  “Don’t mess up her face,” Avo said, annoyed. “They don’t like when they’re too beat-up looking.”

  Wes broke away from the grip of the pirates holding him and spun around, burying his fist in the nearest slaver’s gut, breaking his ribs and sending him to the ground. The slavers
had a lot of brute force, but none of them really knew how to fight. The man was twice Wes’s size, but he’d hardly had a chance to move before Wes struck him. His military training proved handy in moments like this, and right now, with slavers on all sides, he’d take on the whole crew if he had to.

  “Enough of that,” Avo said, languidly raising his pistol. “Or I’ll make you watch what they do to her.”

  Wes froze and surrendered. The pirate he’d defeated kicked him in the back and he fell to the deck.

  “Next,” the Ear said, “I’ll take Vibrate over here.”

  Liannan shot Shakes a worried glance as the Ear’s men took him to their side. Shakes didn’t make a sound as they nicked his ear with a cut. Blood dripped from the wound.

  Avo studied the rest of the group. “I’ll take the sylph,” he said finally. “Maybe Jolly’ll want her for his collection.”

  Liannan kept her hands behind her back. She didn’t want to carry their brand. But it was useless, as a pair of Avo’s men tag-teamed her, forced her hand open, and carved it.

  “The smallkind.” The Ear pointed. “I’ll take them both, two for the price of one, eh?”

  Like Shakes, Roark and Brendon did not cry or scream when their ears were cut. Wes was proud of his crew. He only hoped he had an idea to get them out of this. He hadn’t lied to Nat, but the situation looked more dire than he’d thought. He had counted on all of them being on the same ship. But now that they were being split between two . . . it would be harder to rescue them all.

  “What are you doing with the little ones?” Avo asked, curious.

  “Outlaw territories—circus will pay a lot for ’em.”

  “I’ll take Wesson here,” Avo said languidly.

  Wes kept a smile on his face as the pirate slashed his hand. “You’ll regret this, Slob. I promise you. Remember that. Warn Jolly, too. I’ll come for him when I come for you.”

  They were brave, empty words, he knew, but he hoped it would give his people courage. And he was glad that at the very least Nat was with him.

  “Vincent!” Liannan screamed, as the two groups were dragged to their respective ships.

  But Shakes didn’t even look up. He had already given up, Wes thought, and maybe so should he.

  38

  THE BACK END OF THE TITAN served as a village for the captives, with cargo containers arranged in a horseshoe along the perimeter of the deck. The containers were mounted so that half of the box was sitting on the deck and other half was hanging over the water. The arrangement allowed for more space on the deck, but Wes guessed the scavengers weren’t after efficiency. Left to hang in the cold ocean air, the cages would be doubly cold and any attempt at escape would likely land you in the black waters.

  The only way in or out was through a heavy iron door locked by a bolt as big around as Wes’s arm. There was a jagged hole in the middle of it, enough to let in some light. A gray-skinned scavenger pressed the point of his blade to Wes’s back as he pointed to a cage’s open door, and Wes walked in, Nat right behind. Through holes in the steel floor, they could see the dark ocean waters rushing below them. The loud rush of moving water echoed inside the box, making the two of them shiver. The cage felt ten degrees cooler than the ship’s deck.

  Hanging above the water, there was nothing to insulate them from the freezing ocean.

  Wes smelled ripe fruit and nuts, and for a moment he forgot the cold as he looked around for food. But the cargo box was empty. He wondered whether there was something outside their door, but he saw nothing. He thought for a second that the cold was starting to play tricks on his mind. He panicked, then realized what he was smelling. In faded orange letters he caught sight of the NU-Foods logo on one of the walls. The company specialized in “New Foods for You”—food that didn’t require refrigeration or cooking. You simply stored them in a cupboard and used them as needed. The foods were guaranteed fresh and bacteria-free for decades. Stock up for a century!—or something like that. He’d forgotten the tagline. Immortal food. The smell of NU-Foods remained strong. The smell would be here when the world ended. It was the cockroach of foods—indestructible even in its grossness.

  Wes laughed and so did Nat. They were about to starve, smelling nothing but processed food products.

  Her smile faded quickly. He could tell she had something on her mind. “Is it true? What the Slob said?” Nat asked. “About the job?”

  Wes sighed. “Yeah. It’s true. I was offered the same job he’s doing.” He told Nat about the mission he’d turned down. This isn’t work, it’s murder, he’d told Bradley. “The RSA uses slavers to kill or torture its own citizens. They didn’t care what I did with the pilgrims—as long as I made them disappear. If the Blue is real, they don’t want anyone else finding it.”

  “You must have quite a reputation,” Nat said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah, well, I turned them down, didn’t I? This is all my fault; I shouldn’t have let you leave New Vegas.”

  “It was my choice,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It is exactly my fault, but I’m hoping Avo will listen to me. We have history together. He’ll hear me out, at least. He’s had his fun and his revenge; he’s won already. I’m in a cage.”

  “You and Avo—you have the same scar on your right eyebrow. But you said Shakes hit you with a pickax. That it was an accident.”

  Wes grimaced, looking uncomfortable. “I’ll tell you sometime.”

  “He was in the service with you, wasn’t he? Avo Hubik. They said he’s from New Thrace, but he can’t be, he doesn’t have an accent. I wondered about that when I won Alby. By the way, I always thought ‘Alby’ was short for ALB-187, but Avo called it the Albatross.”

  “It’s an old joke between us, that that ship’s more of a burden than anything. You’re right, he’s not from Thrace; he’s ex-army—we served in the same unit,” Wes said. “Now he’s a mercenary, just like me.”

  “What happens if you aren’t able to persuade him to show us some mercy just because of the good old days?”

  Wes sat. “Well, if I know Avo, one of these days he’s going to get distracted, or lazy, and I can bust us out, get all of us the hell out of here.”

  “And if that doesn’t work? We’ll be auctioned off as slaves, right? I mean if we’re lucky, that’s what’ll happen. Because if no one wants us, they’re going to sell us to the flesh markets, won’t they? The outlaw territories are starving. And they’ll take any kind of meat.” She shuddered. She’d heard the dark rumors about the flesh trade—first they blinded the slaves with acid, then skinned them alive before butchering them for parts.

  “It’s not going to come to that, Nat. I won’t let it. Remember our pact?”

  Nat didn’t answer. “But why did he say I’d fetch a higher price . . . What do they do with the marked?”

  “I don’t know.” Wes wouldn’t meet her eye.

  “You do, you just don’t want to tell me.” Nat felt her stomach twist. Wes was trying to hold it together, but she saw the fear in his eyes that he was trying hard to hide, and she remembered how young he was then. How young they all were. He was the best at pretending. He kept his cool, made them believe he was older and in control. But he was only sixteen. He was still just a boy. All of them children and orphans. Slob was the worst of them, Nat realized, the meanest bully on the playground.

  The cold seemed to nip at them from all directions. There were no distractions, nothing to see or do. The days and nights were unnaturally long, and always, there was the arctic wind, burning like a fire that offered no heat.

  * * *

  For the next several days they were kept in the cage with nothing to eat, nothing to drink but melted icicles that formed around the corners. Nat felt fine at first, but on the third day she felt too dizzy to even sit up. She was claustrophobic in the cage, drained of energy, hungrier than she’d ever been. She tried to sleep, but her body shook every time the wind whistled through the bullet holes. The frigid air would sweep
across her skin, waking her from her sleep as it robbed her reddened cheeks of their last drops of moisture.

  Nat heard a tearing sound and she thought for a moment that the crate was about to fall to the water below. She looked up and saw Wes ripping a long strip of fabric from the liner of his vest.

  “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t answer; he just kept tearing another long strip from his clothes.

  “You’re going to freeze! Stop it!”

  “Here,” he said, handing her the longer one. “Eat it.”

  “What is it?” she asked, too weak to reach for it.

  “It’s Bacon Fruit. Tastes like fruit, looks like bacon. The military rolls them into these polyiso tubes. Poly’s basically the stuff they use to make home insulation. The liner keeps the dried fruit fresh for years. Shakes and I discovered it makes for cheap personal insulation just as easily, so we stuffed our jackets with them.” She watched as Wes reached inside the lining of his vest and tore a long strip of fabric from inside it.

  “I was trying to save it until we really needed it. Looks like that day has come. I never actually thought I’d end up eating the stuff.” He took a bite and smiled. “Tastes worse than it looks.”

  He was wrong. Nat thought it was the most delicious lining she had ever eaten. The hunger faded for a moment as she chewed.

  * * *

  In the morning, the guard pushed tin cups of gruel and water through the hole in the door. Along with the Bacon Fruit, it was enough to keep them from starving to death, but that was all.

  Still, every time the door banged, Nat was sure it was Slob; she hadn’t liked the way he had looked at her—she could almost see the watts in his eyes. But as the days passed and nothing happened, Nat began to think that maybe he had forgotten about her, or that maybe Wes had been able to talk him out of selling her for now.

  What did they do with the marked? Why did they fetch a higher price at the markets?

  Nat could hear Liannan in the storage container next door, which meant that the sylph was still alive. But what about Shakes and the smallmen? She wondered how they were faring, and prayed that they were still alive.