Erin rose, returning a moment later with a plastic water bottle, and Angie drank, her throat parched. Erin pried it from her before she could drink it all. "Slow down. You'll only make yourself sick."
"Where am I? How am I here?"
"You're in an apartment, a safe house Rowan set up for my brothers and me, just in case we ever needed a place to go inside the city."
"I don't understand. What time is it? Who were those people? Why do they want you?" She drew away from Erin. "What's going on?"
A small wooden chair sat against the bedroom wall, and Erin pulled it over and sat in it, giving Angie some space, her hands clasped between her knees. She was a large woman but not even remotely fat. She had always reminded Angie of something, but she could never put her finger on what exactly. If memory served, she was close to Angie's age, maybe a year or two older, but much taller and heavier, five foot ten at least and a good one hundred and fifty pounds of long limbs and sinewy muscle. She had the most beautiful long red hair Angie had ever seen, floating in curls past her powerful shoulders, reminding her of a lion's mane. Her face was oval, with long, curly wisps of hair falling between expressive green eyes. Her skin was bronzed from days outdoors, with a light smattering of freckles across her small nose. She was beautiful but in an unaware way, a natural sun-kissed beauty. She wore combat pants, boots, and a sleeveless green T-shirt that did little to hide her ample chest or powerful biceps.
She had wrapped two parts of what looked like a broken arrow shaft minus the arrowhead and feathers about her forearm as splints—right where the cast had been earlier. Through the bandage, Angie saw a mottled mass of browns and reds on the flesh. Her arm is broken. She fought and killed three people with a broken arm—and one of them was a mage. Angie's eyes darted to Erin's face, and in a flash of insight, she realized what Erin always reminded her of: she was like one of Char's Greek statues, a goddess come to life. Up close, she smelled of scented soap and rosewater.
And she was a werewolf.
"I'm not going to hurt you," Erin insisted.
"You need to talk to me, Erin. I'm really frightened." And she was terrified. Twice now, those people had almost killed her, had killed other people getting at her.
Erin's face fell as she looked down, the blush on her cheeks showing her embarrassment. "I don't know what's going on," she said in a small voice, almost a whisper. Angie could hear the emotion beneath the words. "I was hoping you could help me figure it out."
"Figure what out, Erin? Those people are Nortie assassins. We have to go to the police, contact Nathan."
"No!" Erin said sharply. "I don't trust that asshole."
Angie's eyes narrowed in confusion. Nathan was a notorious womanizer, but he was also a hell of a mage and, by all accounts, a damned fine commanding officer. She changed the subject. "Where are we? You said a safe house."
"In the workers' quarter, the poorest, most densely packed part. It's just after six p.m. You've slept all day, but you must have needed it. What did they ...? How are you?"
Angie wasn't going to talk about it. She didn't even want to think about it. "I'm not hurt," she said instead. And she wasn't. Mother Smoke Heart, for all her magical mind-probing, had healed her injuries. Her arms and shoulders were sore from the ordeal, and there was angry red chafing around her wrists. The cut on her abdomen was shallow and only required a small bandage, which she now fingered under the sweatshirt. All in all, she was young, fit, and toughened from sword drills. She'd survive. Once again, she remembered the gears, and she shuddered. "Thank you," she whispered. "They were going to ... you showed up just in time."
Erin reached out her hand to touch Angie but hesitated and drew it back. Then she reached into her pocket and drew out Angie’s watch, handing it to her with a shy smile. “I almost missed it. At first I thought you were delirious.”
“Oh, God, thank you,” Angie said, grasping at the watch and strapping it to her wrist.
"I'm sorry I wasn't sooner. It took me hours to find you."
"Find me? How?"
"I was watching the hospital. I saw that woman and man bring a body out on a stretcher just after three a.m. A bit strange, even for this city."
"You were watching the hospital?"
She nodded. "I almost got to you the other night in the alley, but the Horse Cops showed up really fast."
"I'm freaking out here, Erin."
"I'm sorry. I'm bad at this, explaining stuff, talking to people. I saw them put you on a horse-drawn wagon that smelled of pig shit, only I didn't know it was you at the time. To be honest, I thought maybe the city was feeding the dead to the pigs, which wouldn't have surprised me at all. But it was suspicious enough that I crept close enough to read the lettering on the side of the wagon—McPherson's Slaughterhouse. If not for that, I'd never have found you."
"I ... I don't understand any of this."
"Neither do I. After the man and the bitch in the nurse's uniform rode off, I sneaked through the unlocked door on the loading dock and into the morgue. The second I saw the bodies, I guessed what had happened, but it was too late. You were already gone. I'm so sorry." She wrung her hands, her expression miserable.
"Don't be. You saved my life, and I'll never forget it." This time Angie leaned forward and put her hand atop Erin's, the skin surprisingly smooth despite the exposure to the sun and elements. Erin smiled in gratitude.
Before this night, she had spoken to Erin only a few dozen times and usually only brief exchanges. The Seagraves kept to themselves. To be honest, the men and women of the unit were intimidated by Erin. Angie had watched her bench press in the Bunker's gym once. The bar had bent under the weight. Some of the men had tried to bed her—after all, she was gorgeous—but to no noticeable success and the enmity of her brothers.
"I was on foot, and it took too long to find the place, especially with the Horse Cops looking for me. By the time I did, the sun was already up, and I was certain you'd be dead."
"I almost was. You had a bow. Where did you get it?"
"Here. Same as the clothing you're wearing. It's mine. I'm sorry. There's nothing smaller."
"Here? In a safe house you and your brothers just happen to maintain in Sanwa City?"
Erin sighed, nodding. "If you knew Rowan, you wouldn't ask. He's hidden supplies in the wilderness around the city as well, just in case we need clean clothing after the full moon, after we..."
She trailed off, but Angie was pretty sure she had been about to say “change,” as in “change into werewolves and run about killing and eating things,” things she didn't want to think about. "Any other weapons?"
"Just knives. Rowan didn't want to risk firearms in the city. That would be pushing it. The bow comes apart so I can hide it in a backpack."
Angie nodded. That made sense. The Seagraves, with their enhanced strength, speed, and senses, were more than dangerous enough with knives.
"The Horse Cops are looking for me," Erin added. “But they’re kind of lame.”
"I know. Everybody is looking for you. Tell me again why you've run away from the Home Guard, from Nathan—Lieutenant Colonel Case."
"Because he's a lying piece of shit who's not gonna even try to find my brothers."
Angie frowned, her confusion growing. "Erin ... I'm sorry, but your brothers are—"
"They're not dead, Angie," Erin cut her off with surprising conviction. "Trust me, I'd know if they were. We share a familial bond that we've never told anyone about before, a lupine gene thing. I don't know where they are, but I know they're not dead."
Angie watched her, uncertain what to say. Was she serious? Distraught, perhaps? Or is she telling the truth? "Okay, we'll put a pin in that for now. How did you get me here without being seen?"
"The wagon, beneath some tarps I found. Carrying you up here was easy, even with one arm. Pretty sure no one saw us. Don't worry. I moved the wagon again, left it far from here while you slept."
Angie bit her upper lip and bobbed her head, taking in the
details. "When you arrived at the slaughterhouse ... was there another woman, an older one wearing a curved sword?"
Erin shook her head. "Not that I saw, but at that point, I was desperate and moving quickly, certain I was already too late. If those windows hadn't been left open..."
"Okay. Listen. I don't know what happened between you and Lieutenant Colonel Case, but he and Marshal are worried about you."
"Bullshit. Case wants to pin that fucked-up operation on me." Now she did lean forward, gripping Angie's hand between both of hers, her eyes filled with need. "Listen. I know you and he were ... I know you have some past."
"Lovers, Erin. Me and about a dozen other women."
"Fine. But trust me, the guy is a dick. Rowan was going to punch his lights out once when he tried to ..."
Erin's voice trailed off, but Angie could guess what she had been about to say. Oh, Nathan. You just can't help yourself, can you?
Erin squeezed her hands, her voice pleading. "I need your help. Please. Finding people is what you do. You're a diviner, right?"
Angie’s stomach was heavy with frustration. "Not like that, Erin. I can detect life, always could, but I can only sense life in my vicinity, maybe a couple hundred meters if it’s open ground. But I can't track individuals."
Erin let go of her hands and sat back, her expression faltering. “Oh.”
She looks like I just sucker punched her, Angie thought guiltily. She's been counting on me, but I can't even take care of myself. Even when she’d still had a shade, Angie couldn't cast a divination spell like what Erin wanted. But she knew someone who could. And if not for Erin’s rescue…
"I have an idea," she said. "But it's dangerous. Very dangerous. And first, we're going to need to get out of the city somehow."
"Tell me."
"First things first. We need to go to my place."
Erin shook her head. "The Horse Cops might be watching, maybe those Nortie assholes, too."
"Can't be helped."
Angie laid out her plan.
Chapter 11
The next few hours passed slowly for Angie. The safe house was in a run-down apartment building. The sturdiest part of it was the heavy wooden door with its numerous deadbolts. The rest of the apartment was unremarkable, with peeling wallpaper and the sweet stench of rotting wood. The furniture was old and moldy, but the sheets on the bed had been clean—Erin stated she made Rowan stock clean sheets. There were no pictures, nothing personal, nothing to show this was a home. A thick layer of dust covered the surfaces, broken only by what Angie suspected were rodent droppings. Erin apologized for the state of the place, opening a window to air it out and explaining that her family had never intended to stay here unless it was an emergency.
"Well," said Angie, looking about. "After last night, this certainly counts. Is there anything to eat?"
There was: cardboard boxes filled with some of the Bunker's Meals Ready to Eat—MREs, army rations—as well as stacks of water bottles. The MREs and water bottles were still encased in thick layers of shrink wrap, protecting them from the rodents. This food—just sitting here in an empty apartment for god knows how long—was worth more than she’d make in a year at the cannery. Angie raised an eyebrow at the contraband, but Erin just shrugged. "Casey appropriated it."
Casey was the wild child of the Seagrave family, a larger-than-life force of nature with unruly red hair and beard, a childish infatuation with practical jokes, and an “I can do whatever the fuck I want” attitude. Bizarrely, he was also the best helicopter pilot in the Home Guard, having honed his skills as a U.S. Army aviator before the Awakening. After A-Day, Casey had become an even better pilot with his near-superhuman reflexes. Given his six-foot-four-inch, two-hundred-plus-pound frame, Angie had always been amazed he could fit inside the cockpit of a Shrike, let alone make the aircraft dance at his touch.
"I'm sure he did," Angie said with a smirk as she pulled out a meal at random—ham omelet, or “lung in a bag” as the Home Guard soldiers not-so-affectionately referred to it. Angie ripped the pouch open and dug into it with the long plastic spoon accompanying the MRE. Calories were calories, and it tasted better than it looked, even cold.
As Angie ate on the old couch, Erin dropped beside her, handing her the obsidian dagger Ixtil had threatened her with. "I found this. I'd have left it, but it looked so weird, primitive."
Angie took the knife, taking care not to touch the chipped stone blade. "Be careful. It's razor sharp." She held it up, examining the chipped blade. A single image was carved into it, two twisting snakes, she thought, but it was hard to tell. She set the knife down. Char might know more—if they pulled this off.
They stayed there until it was dark, shortly after nine p.m. Erin put on her short backpack with the bow already disassembled and stowed inside, as well as a half dozen arrows and the obsidian dagger, carefully wrapped.
Angie watched her in trepidation. "Are you ... can you ... I mean, your arm."
Erin's eyes rose in surprise, and she glanced at the bandage and splints about her left forearm. "Won't even slow me down," she said in a matter-of-fact manner and then drew back the bolts of the door, opening it and glancing out into the hallway before slipping out.
Angie shrugged and followed her. She wore a pair of Erin's too-large running shoes with paper stuffed into the toes. It was both uncomfortable and awkward but better than walking barefoot. In the small of her back, she had slipped a three-inch folding blade, one of the many knives the Seagraves kept in their safe house.
Once they reached the dark streets, they saw that the Horse Cops were out in force again, looking for Erin—and likely Angie as well after the killings at the hospital last night. She felt terrible for putting Nathan and Marshal through all this worry and had even briefly wondered if she could get word to them somehow, let them know she was safe. She couldn't, of course, not if she wanted to help Erin—and she needed to help Erin. The memory of those people trying to stuff her into that machine flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. She was going to help Erin.
No matter the cost.
Angie followed the taller woman along the back streets and alleys. Erin, like Angie, wore a ball cap. They had both tied their hair out of the way, and Erin even wore a hood over her bright-red curls. It wouldn't pass even a cursory glance from the police, but they had no intention of approaching a checkpoint. Erin had been avoiding the Horse Cops for days and insisted she could do so for much longer. Angie believed her. All the Seagraves moved with supernatural stealth, the ultimate predators, and she knew they saw perfectly well in the dark—better, in fact, than most people did in the daytime.
Less than an hour later, they peered at her apartment building from an alley across the street that stank of multiple overlapping layers of urine and vomit. They ignored the stench as they dropped to a knee beside an overflowing dumpster that buzzed angrily with flies and stared across the road at the dark building. Whatever that bitch-mage had done last night, the lantern was still out.
"You got keys?" Erin whispered.
She didn't. "No," she whispered. "Hospital, I guess."
"Well, we're not going back there."
From here, they could just make out the ruined wall in the alley, a ten-foot hole now boarded up with wood. "I can get through that," Erin whispered. "But not without making noise."
"Is there ... do you think those Nortie assassins are here, watching?" Her heart rate quickened. She could hear it throbbing in her skull.
"I don’t see anyone, and I’m pretty sure I would." She glanced at Angie. “What about your … you know?”
Angie inhaled, taken aback by her own stupidity and fear. She wasn’t thinking clearly, not after all that had happened. She had forgotten her life-sense ability. She closed her eyes now, focusing on her surroundings. In her mind’s eye, she saw multiple life forms all around them: people, animals, insects, so many they blended and became hard to differentiate. But none of the people in the area, maybe a hundred meters or so, seeme
d to be outside the buildings. Her eyes flashed open. Erin was watching her.
“I think we’re in the clear, but it’s harder to be sure in an urban environment like this. Too many people too close together.”
“Okay. Between your thingy and my senses, I think we’re alone—and even my brothers can’t sneak up on me. I don’t think anyone is watching your apartment. Maybe the authorities think you’re dead.”
“Not sure that’s reassuring.”
Erin grinned. "Still taking a big chance here. You're sure we need to do this?"
Angie sighed. "It's the only way."
"Okay. I'll go first. Be ready to bolt."
Without another word, Erin rose and darted across the road. Angie waited only a moment before rushing after her. When they reached the alley, Erin took her hand, showing her where to walk to avoid the rubble.
Angie considered the damage. Maybe that guy did have a bomb.
Erin began to pull boards away from the broken wall as slowly and as silently as possible. It took forever because she stopped and waited whenever a wooden plank creaked too loudly. Without tools, she pulled several of the nails out with her fingers, discarding them behind her before easing the planks free.
After what felt like an eternity, she had created an opening wide enough to slip through. Erin went first, a knife in her hand. A moment later, she motioned Angie to follow. Angie eased through the opening. They came out into an abandoned apartment, rubble lying about. Angie followed Erin to the apartment door, where the other woman placed her ear against it, listening. Then she unbolted it, easing it open. She slipped through into the hallway, and Angie followed.
So far, so good.
Angie's apartment was on the second floor, so they took the stairs at the end of the dark hallway. Moments later, they were in front of her apartment. It was locked, of course, with police tape covering it, sending her fear mounting. If they’ve found Nightfall, we’re already done.
The Awakened World Boxed Set Page 11
