by K. Gorman
“Jesus,” one said. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat. The one next to him didn’t recover quite so fast. She heard him sputter. His swears weren't so pretty, nor so well emphasized.
“Hi.” She let her hand drop a little. Then, as nonchalant as she could manage, she shrugged off her pack, unzipped it, and dropped the head in. It clunked against the gun.
They watched her. She wasn’t sure, but their mouths might have gaped open.
The taller one recovered first. “Are you Robin?”
“I am. Is Meese—Mieshka—okay?”
The second man shuffled. She saw him look up to the first one.
“She didn’t look so great when we saw her,” he admitted. “Pretty banged up. Conscious, though.”
“Aiden and Sophia got her away from Michael,” the other one clarified.
Robin adjusted her backpack, shifting her weight onto one leg. ‘Conscious’ could mean a lot of things. “How banged up?”
They shifted awkwardly. “Are you her friend?”
“Yes.”
Another pause. They looked at each other.
“There was a lot of blood.”
Fear snapped up her spine. Her jaw tightened. Their flashlight lowered, its beam illuminating the ground instead of her. She stepped forward, sneakers making a quiet tak, tak, tak against the concrete floor.
“Take me to her.”
*
Their names were Chen and Eric, and they worked for Roger.
Chen was the taller one. Like Roger, he had an Asian look, with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and short black hair. He had a lean, solid build and moved with a grace that partially echoed Roger's, but without the creepiness.
He carried the flashlight.
Eric was on the scrawny side and even whiter than Robin. She wondered if that was a side effect of spending so much time underground, away from the sun. Then again, with Ryarne’s cloud-covered winter, maybe the paleness was normal. Her own current skin tone was darker than normal, courtesy of Earth Mage Michael’s tunnel-collapsing episode.
She dusted the dirt from her sleeve.
“So… how much blood did you see?”
Chen and Eric exchanged an uncomfortable look.
“Not that much,” Eric said. “I think it was mostly dry, anyway. Old. Not fresh.”
Hmm. That sounded… promising?
“And Meese was conscious? Talking? Alert?”
“We didn’t really get a good look,” Chen said.
“I did see her talk. Her lips moved,” Eric said.
The tunnel sloped up, and Robin’s calves began to burn. Damn, she was out of shape. Being holed up in her room hadn’t done much for her cardio.
“How do you know Meese?”
Eric again. His eyes were curious in the light.
She liked that they called her ‘Meese.’ It felt familiar.
“I go to school with her.”
Eric gaped. “Meese goes to school?”
Robin lifted an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Chen, too, had lifted an eyebrow.
“What? She’s not that old. Did you think she’d dropped out?”
“No, no—I just thought she was homeschooled or something.”
She tilted her chin up. “We go to Central.”
Light appeared up ahead, its warm yellow glow a healthy contrast to Chen’s pale flashlight. The main tunnel.
“Almost there,” Chen said. “Ten minutes. She’s at Stephen’s.”
“Cutting through Finnerty?” Eric asked.
“Yeah. I’ve got a key.”
*
‘Finnerty’ was a small alley with a gated entrance. Wedged between two decaying brick structures, the weathered street sign leaned crookedly against the left wall. A bike lock wrapped around the gate’s wrought-iron bars, holding it shut.
Eric’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out and checked the message.
Robin frowned. “You get reception down here?”
He glanced up. The screen underlit his face. “You must be really new.”
“I start Thursday,” she said. “But I’ve been down here before. I helped with Cyprios.”
Chen produced a small key and jiggled it into the lock. It sprung open. It took a moment to unwrap the chain from the bars. “That’s impressive.”
The gate creaked when it opened, rust flaking from the hinges. It looked newer than the brickwork beside it, but not by much. Perhaps it had been transplanted.
They sidled through. Chen locked it after them.
“The Underground has its own intranet. Most places host a Wi-Fi router controlled by the UnderNet. You log in once, and your phone automatically connects to the system.” Chen’s flashlight bounced off the alley walls. Chipped bricks popped in the beam, stained black with age. “It’s a bit spotty in places.”
“And slow,” Eric commented.
“We don’t get regular aboveground reception down here, so everyone uses Wi-Fi apps to call or text.”
That made sense. Robin stepped around a piece of debris. The lit street grew distant behind them. Midway through the alley, the Underground’s support system dipped into view. It was a narrow passageway. The beams that crossed it were hardly larger than rail ties.
“Anything else I should know about?”
“You’ve met Roger?” Chen trailed behind her.
When she glanced back, she caught the teeth in his grin.
“I have.”
“Then, no. That about covers it. First day’s orientation, anyway. You start Thursday, you said?”
“Yes.”
“I guess we’ll see each other then. Excuse me.”
Chen cut in front of her. Up ahead, the alleyway narrowed, tapering into a dead end. He paused at a door on the left wall. Another key flashed in his hand. When it opened, he gestured for them to go through first.
The hallway was unlit and short, leading to the right, where an old-fashioned door blocked their path. Streetlight shone through its windows, making patterns on the floor. The glass had a wavy look to it—something she’d only seen on the heritage sites in Lower Ryarne. Hardwood creaked under her feet. Chen’s flashlight swung across the floor, illuminating large cracks in the boards. It made the shadows of her legs sway and stretch.
Eric led the way to the door, dropping down a small flight of stairs to the entrance. He shouldered the door open.
The street was similar to the ones she and Meese had walked through that morning—two lanes of cracked concrete lined with a huddle of patchwork brick-and-concrete buildings, mostly brick. The streetlights here hadn’t been rewired yet, so each had a lantern hung over its old light. Extension cords connected each bulb, hanging between the old metal structures like slackened orange power lines. Support beams the size of bridge girders crossed the space, anchored in each side starting on the second story.
But the neighborhood here felt rougher. No restoration had been done to the buildings. Their façades were chipped and dusty, crumbling and derelict. Boards hung from most windows. Rubble piled up in the corners, mixed with the same dirt and concrete that Michael had almost buried her in earlier.
Maybe cleanup hadn’t been a priority when this part had been excavated.
A small group of people watched them up the street, gathered on a building’s front stairs.
Eric, seeing them, straightened. Behind her, she felt Chen close in on her back. The door shut behind them.
“Just keep walking,” Chen said. “Ignore them.”
“Who are they?” As she watched, one leaned close to another, whispering something in his ear. They laughed.
“Disenfranchised youth,” Chen replied.
She could feel their eyes on her, sizing them up. One man, who had been leaning against the stairway’s concrete banister, pushed away from the group. He had an easy, unhurried saunter. A scar twisted across his shaved head, a pale, jagged line against the rest of the skin. The others stayed back, watching. Waiting.
They reminded her of a p
ride of lions.
Or hyenas.
“Lost your way?” He had a low pitch to his voice, but the tone was light. Jeering.
“Not at all, Carson.” Eric’s voice had lost all of its humor. Though smaller than the rest, he’d acquired a smoothness to his gait that hadn’t been there before. He cocked his head, his grin not so much friendly as an excuse to bare his teeth.
Carson nodded his chin toward Robin. “I haven’t seen her before. Who is she? Some skank?” His eyes moved to her, visibly sliding up and down her body.
Robin blinked. Was there something particularly attractive about her baggy hoodie-and-jeans combo? Maybe it was the layer of dirt that coated her.
“Keep walking,” Chen murmured in her ear, keeping his voice low. He pressed close to her, closing the gap between them, but didn’t touch. “But slow. Don’t hurry. Follow Eric’s lead.”
“She’s none of your business,” Eric said. He’d paused, foot out, body tilted to Carson.
A woman on the steps caught her eye. The girl grinned, baring her teeth. Metal studs pierced her lip, nose, and eyebrows. Others bristled from the shoulders of her leather jacket. They glittered in the light.
They were kind of pretty. Robin paused beside Eric, cocking her weight onto one hip. Keep it casual. Don’t let them see fear.
She could do that. Oddly, she wasn’t afraid.
Carson’s eyes slid from Eric back to her. He grinned. “What’s in the backpack?”
“A doll head,” she said. “Disembodied.”
Behind him, the girl with the piercings grinned wider. It seemed more genuine than the last one, produced from humor rather than intimidation.
Carson’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“I collect them,” she explained. “This one’s white.”
All eyes were on her now. The two other people on the stairs—both men—nudged each other, one whispering in the other’s ear. A backpack slumped against the top of the staircase, nestled into the shelter of the doorway.
“A head?” Carson asked, frowning.
“Can we see it?” Piercing-Girl asked. She had leaned forward, rocking onto her heels, and twisted her hands in front of her. The jacket’s cuff rode up, revealing several rope bracelets ringed around her skinny wrist.
Robin shrugged her backpack off. The zipper snagged midway through, caught in the dirt, but she managed to reach in and slip the head through.
It gleamed in the streetlight when she held it up, gripping it from the back of its neck.
Piercing-Girl grinned again.
“Cool.” She stretched her arms in front of her, fingers clasped and palms facing outward, and popped the joints in her shoulders. Her eyes turned back to Carson. “Babe?”
Carson gave Robin and Eric one last look. Then, he shuffled back, reclined against the banister, and reclaimed his position.
Eric shifted back, sidestepping the first few strides before he turned his back to the group. Chen pressed closer to her side. She followed, giving Piercing-Girl a small wave as she went. She let her hand drop to her side, the mannequin head bobbing by her thigh as she walked.
Eric glanced back over his shoulder at her. His gaze dropped to the doll’s head. He watched it for a few seconds.
“Jesus,” he said, snapping his head back to the front.
Chapter 13
“Whose are these?”
The baggy gray sweatpants had a tight waist and a short leg—made for someone smaller than Mieshka. The T-shirt, also gray, hung off her shoulders like a bedsheet. It was so big that she barely managed to get the lettering—‘UMSW’—to stay across her front. She pulled at the shirt, picking the collar away from her shoulder.
“Top one’s Buck’s, bottom’s Sophia’s,” Jo said.
Great. She was wearing the Water Mage’s pants.
“‘UMSW’ is for University of Mersetzdeitz South-West,” Jo added.
“He went there?”
“Maybe he just shopped there. Who knows. That was before I knew him.”
They’d hobbled out of the bathroom, Mieshka relying heavily on the wall for support. She glanced down at her hand. It was the only bandage visible, but she could feel the rest under her clothes. She felt like a mummy.
Jo helped her ease down onto a nearby sofa.
“Where is he?” She hadn't seen Buck in a while. Jo had been her main babysitter for winter break.
“With Aiden. They’ll be back at some point.”
Right. Sophia and Aiden had wandered off together. Maybe they were planning something against the Earth Mage—they’d had a somewhat homicidal look about them the last time she’d seen them.
She sank into the back of the sofa, tensing as the movement twinged the bandage on her bicep. That had been the worst wound. Deeper than the one on her thigh, and with less muscle to protect it. The painkillers had yet to kick in.
“So, when do I see a doctor?”
“Soon.” Jo leaned against a table and pulled out her phone. “You have an appointment.”
Great. So she had to wait it out. Maybe she could get some more painkillers. Strong ones. Someone in the Underground had to have a stash.
She leaned her head back with a grimace. Even her neck hurt.
Voices approached the other side of the bathroom door. One sounded familiar.
“She’s in here?”
Mieshka opened her eyes. Robin walked in, carrying a mannequin’s head in her right hand. Two men followed on her heels.
Society people, she assumed.
Robin crossed the room, stopping in front of her. Her gaze slid briefly to Jo, meeting her eyes.
Mieshka's stomach dropped at the look that passed between them. Part fear, part concern, and a whole lot of protectiveness.
All because of her.
Then, Robin turned her gaze to her.
She let her stare. Not all of the bandages were out in the open, but Robin didn't seem to miss them, her eyes lingering on the lumpy parts of her clothes. Her eyes narrowed at the bruise that blossomed on Mieshka's wrist. She wasn't sure what she'd whacked it on, but it had morphed the skin into a dark, sickly purple.
Robin shifted. One hand went to the strap of her backpack. Silence moved between them, quiet enough to hear the sound of her adjusting her pack. The two men kept a distance, watching from the door. Mieshka could feel their eyes on her. Robin cocked her weight onto one hip, lip curling.
Then, she smiled.
“Nice clothes.”
“Thanks.”
Robin took off her backpack and sat beside her. “We have the same hair color now.”
Mieshka glanced at the dirt-infused streaks in Robin’s normally black hair, then regarded her own.
“You know, I’ve been thinking of dyeing it,” she said, pulling at one of her long, dust-covered locks.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. People keep mistaking me for Aiden’s kid.” Mieshka stabbed a finger toward the doll. “What’s with the head?”
It sat on Robin’s lap, cradled between her knees.
Jo snorted. “She’s just trying to get ahead in life.”
Movement by the door made her look up. Roger slipped in, looking much as he had a few hours ago. Somehow, his presence added an edge to the room. He had no limp now. Only the bandages still poking out under his sleeve indicated that he had been injured recently.
Mieshka lifted her bandaged arm. “Hey, we match now.”
Robin shifted beside her, making the couch cushion move. Roger’s eyes dropped to the head.
His expression didn’t change, but Mieshka thought she saw a smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
Buck walked in.
He was a large man—not fat, just largely built—with a close-shaved haircut and a near-permanent neutral expression on his face. As Jo's matching set, he had retained not only the skillset of the military but the muscles that came with it, filling out his extra-large T-shirt. Narrow doorways posed a problem for him.
Jo caught his ey
e as he crossed the room. “Aiden?”
“Scheming.”
Buck wasn’t much for words. He was more of a listener.
He paused next to Roger, and a set of keys glittered in his hand. He met her eyes, tilting his head.
“Doctor time?” she asked.
“Yep.”
*
Twenty stitches and two hours later, Mieshka was sent home with a prescription for opiates and a clear order to not move.
Buck followed her to her apartment, helping with the doors, holding the elevator until she got in. The crutch was difficult to get used to. Ideally, she’d have had two crutches, but her arm and hand wound made that impossible. She struggled her way up the hallway, snagging the end of the crutch on the carpeting. Buck walked beside her, endlessly patient.
As her apartment door came into sight, she had a thought.
“You’ve never been up here, have you?” she asked.
“Nope.”
She dropped her head, focusing on moving the crutch. It helped for her one leg, but the wound on her right calf twinged whenever she walked. It was a duller twinge now that the painkillers were in her system, but it still made her teeth grit.
“You’ve met my dad before, right?”
“Yep.”
She took another step, trying to bypass the calf muscle and use only her thigh. It almost worked.
Hope Dad’s out of his pajamas.
When they came to her door, Buck pulled out her keys. She’d lost her pockets when they’d discarded her old pants.
“Careful. It sticks sometimes,” she said.
Buck turned the door, jiggled the key. The door opened, its bottom hissing on the carpeting.
All of the lights were on. The sound of the television came to her down the hallway, its voices muffled by distance.
Buck stepped aside, waiting for her.
She navigated over the lip between hallway and door and kicked a set of shoes out of the way. Buck followed her in, closing the door behind her. She hobbled up the hallway, leaning heavily on her crutch. The TV was stuck on the news, the anchor’s face quickly splicing out to a shot of Ryarne’s mountains.
“—this morning’s air raid left a smoky residue over the Highlands area, and some residents are complaining about the air quality. Experts say—”
