by S T Branton
It took me twenty minutes of strolling the street, but I ended up doing what any self-respecting escapee does when they find themselves out in the world for the first time in a decade.
I broke into the first abandoned hotel I found.
It was at the end of an unused avenue, creating a dead end that more appropriately embodied that term than anything else I'd ever seen. Except possibly the Dead End in The Deep, which was an unfortunate nickname thrown around by the guards for the bloody heap of bodies that ended up piled at the end of a hallway during what amounted to a prisoner hunt they held for fun. A tall chain-link fence surrounded the lot, but it might as well have been a welcome mat.
It only took a few seconds for me to find a vulnerable spot in the fence and lift the bottom where it was loosened from the ground. My prison-shrunken frame slipped under easily. Splinter popped his head out of my pocket and looked around like he was surveying the surroundings.
“What do you think, buddy? Think this could be our new digs for tonight?”
He didn't retreat into my pocket while shuddering, so I took that as a good sign and crossed the cracked parking lot over patches of grass and small trees attempting to reclaim the area for nature. The building looked like it had been hunkering in that spot on its own for years. I commiserated with it. Even before I found the front doors, only blocked with two pathetic boards crossed over them, it felt like the hotel was welcoming me. We understood each other. Both a little broken down. Both a little janky. Both still determined to stand after time had done its best to beat the living hell out of us.
It took almost no effort to break the boards out of place. The doors opened, and I slipped through into the abandoned lobby. Enough moonlight and glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the glass doors and large windows to illuminate the silhouette of furniture, clustered in little seating arrangements throughout the space. Small sofas and chairs covered in dust and cobwebs waited for someone to sit on them, with coffee to rest on the table in front. I walked through the damp, musty-smelling room toward the front desk.
“The name's Sara Slick,” I said to the empty space behind the desk. “I'll need a room for one.” Splinter’s sharp little teeth sank into my thigh, and I jumped. “Sorry. A room for two.”
I paused for a silent moment to let the fake hotel employee answer.
“You have a vacancy? Awesome. Just down the hall? Sounds perfect. Thanks for your help.”
The light from outside was having a harder time getting this far into the space and by the time I reached the first hallway of rooms, it was almost completely dark.
I pulled the locket out from under my shirt and opened it. As soon as it did, a bright blue glow stretched out from it, filling the entire space around me. That was enough to show me the first door along the hallway. It was the typical cheap hotel room door and the distinct imprint of a boot coupled with the hastily patched frame told me someone else had taken a more industrious path toward getting the door open than using a key card. I saw that as encouragement. Right before taking aim with a kick, I reconsidered. Key cards required electricity.
This place didn't have any electricity.
I took hold of the knob and easily opened the door. Hot, heavy air washed over me, bringing with it the smell of old carpet, dust, and beds that had been sitting in a stagnant state of expectation for years. What it didn't smell like was Goblin or Ogre or Troll or blood, and I was excited about all of it. Well, maybe a little blood. But not nearly as much as I was used to.
The light of the rune brought me across the room to the window. I forced one curtain open a few inches. I wanted to throw them all the way open, but it was far more likely someone would notice a wide-open set of curtains in the abandoned hotel than they would a small sliver. It was enough to let me see to move around, and that was all that mattered. I closed the locket and set it carefully on the nightstand. One of the two beds had experienced something major in its life and was teetering at a sharp angle with one corner sitting on the ground. The other looked stable, and I peeled back the gold blanket to slide between sheets that reminded me of slightly sticky sandpaper. The pillow made a crinkling sound when I rested my head on it, but it was the first pillow I'd seen in ten years.
This was heaven.
I expected to fall asleep immediately. My body was exhausted and while I was walking along the sidewalk, it felt like any second I could tumble into a pile on the concrete and stay there for a few days. But now that I was lying in the creepy bed, marveling at the comfort and far lower population of potential bitey-crawly inhabitants, I couldn't get my eyes to shut. My brain had gone into overdrive and nothing would make it calm down. I even stared at the ceiling and counted the cracks in the plaster.
The image of Solon in my mind wouldn't go away. It was his lessons that brought me here. If he hadn't shown up in that holding cell my first night in The Deep, there would be no way I would have made it to see the next morning, much less last ten years. Not to say he was a wise old grandpa I could think back on and remember for his hugs and hard butterscotch candies that seemed to come out of nowhere. Solon was nothing if not hardened, and that translated into his training. It had to. He had to be as intense and forceful a teacher as he could be to make sure I made it. He knew a human had next to no chance of surviving The Deep and took it upon himself to give me the strongest chances possible.
When he could be with me, Solon trained me day and night. He taught me how to survive. How to fight. How to hide. How to think. Everything I thought I knew about life had to change when I got to The Deep, and he didn't baby me through it. There wasn't a No Child Left Behind safety net to sweep me through if I didn't do well with this extension of my education. If I didn't pick up what he was teaching me, it would be No Pieces of the Child Left Behind. That was exactly what I was when he found me. A child. Not anymore. I was so much more, and I was ready to make him proud.
As I reminisced, letting pleasant memories lull me to sleep, I heard something. It was a high-pitched sound, and at first I thought the hotel had betrayed me and was about to collapse around me. I heard it again and realized it was coming from outside. The sharp, desperate cries were from a dog and it sounded like it was being tortured.
My stomach flipped, and I crawled out of bed and hurried to the window. Pushing the curtains open more, I looked down into the parking lot. My eyes swept over the space until I noticed movement. Pushing the curtain all the way open, I saw a group of guys around my age or slightly younger. They were obviously drunk and by the way they’d gathered around, it looked like they were turning tormenting the animal into their late-night entertainment.
I knew I should leave it alone. This dog wasn’t my problem, and with the Guild searching for me, I really should keep my head down. That’s what Solon would tell me to do. But then again, Solon stuck out his neck for me, so maybe it was more of a do as I say, not as I do kind of thing. The dog yipped again, followed by more raucous laughter.
Not fucking happening.
Chapter Seventeen
The laughing band of merry ass-bags were at the back of the building. It would have saved a ton of time if I could pry the window open and fling myself out at them, but the current condition of humans, and hotels being what they were, the windows didn’t open. It didn’t seem like a practical move to smash through the glass with the nightstand. That likely would have blown my cover, anyway. Instead, I had to go all the way back through the lobby and out the front door.
Once outside, I rushed around the back of the building as fast as I could. I didn’t want them to see me before my attack, so I slipped behind an abandoned dumpster to make sure they hadn’t noticed.
When it was clear they hadn’t, I snuck up within throwing distance and picked up a broken piece of pavement. Taking aim, I chucked it at one of them and had to stifle a laugh when it connected with the back of his head, making him fall over sideways mid-sentence. The other three looked down at him, swaying in their drunkenness before b
ursting into laughter of their own.
“Hey Mark, can’t handle your beer, man?” one of them yelled at his unconscious friend.
He laughed again, and I chucked another rock that grazed his shoulder.
“What the hell?” another one shouted and turned toward me.
Enough games. Now to teach these boys to pick on someone their own size.
Or half their size, but seriously pissed off, not drunk, and trained through hell and back.
I stepped out of the shadows, my hands behind my back. One of the jerks stepped forward aggressively, and I saw the dog behind him. It was certainly hurt, but it was moving. When I looked closer, I saw one of its legs clamped in an old trap. Seeing it on the ground, these three and their now lumpy-headed friend drunkenly kicking it, sent my blood boiling. I’d been that fucking dog. And I’d watched people die that way. There was no way I would let these wastes of space get their rocks off hurting an innocent animal. I stepped forward equally aggressively, and he stopped, his eyes struggling to focus on me.
“Who the hell are you?” he asked.
At least, I was pretty sure that’s what he was asking. It had been awhile since I’d been around drunk people and my ability to translate their slurs was rusty.
“I’m Batman,” I growled.
I had always wanted to say that. The images of me saying it had always come with better clothes and a sexier atmosphere, but I’d take it.
His face contorted like he had smelled a particularly vicious fart.
“But, you’re a girl…” he said.
Instead of responding, I rushed forward, closing the space between us in a few long strides, and jumped. His eyes bulged, but the beer slowed down his reaction time enough that the kick I sent his way had no resistance when it connected with his jaw. His body flew backward, and I was pretty sure a tooth soared out as I landed where he’d been standing. Even if it didn’t, I would totally say it did in all future retellings of the fight. He deserved nothing less than to have to scramble around looking for it.
The locket which enhanced my strength was lying on the nightstand, recharging. I was on my own and outnumbered. But that was fine. My daddy hadn’t raised no fool, and Solon hadn’t trained no weakling.
“Anybody else?”
The two remaining frat-boy-looking drunks looked at each other for a moment before apparently deciding on their next course of action. A really dumb one. By the time they had gotten a few steps closer, I was already on them. A left fist and a smashed kneecap sent one bro to the ground, crying out in pain, while I continued pummeling the other. He swung a lame fist toward me that I easily ducked before rapping off a couple of jabs to his ribs.
I knelt low and came up, upper-cutting with my elbow to his jaw. His entire body stiffened on impact and he flew backward like Glass Joe in the old Punch-Out game. Much like Glass Joe, that was the end of his night. I spun around to see my now tooth-impaired friend shaking his head and struggling to get off all fours. I raced forward and soccer kicked him in the ribs, and he rolled backward, hollering a few slurred curses before either blacking out or giving up and going to sleep.
Turning again, I focused my attention on the only remaining conscious guy. He was still crumpled on the ground, holding his nose with one hand and putting the other up in an effort to ask for mercy. I was about to tell him to get out when I saw the unmistakable ball of spiky hair that was Splinter appearing behind his head.
“Please, I’m sorry, I… what the hell! Oh god, get it off me,” he screamed.
His desperation only got louder as Splinter went to work, spiking him with his hair, clawing at him with his annoyingly sharp nails and occasionally biting him with his vampire fangs. One of the other prisoners in The Deep once said my precious little Splinter looked like all the bits and pieces of reject animals the Maker had tossed onto the workshop floor had been glued together to make him. Right now, it looked like not only was that right, but they had also been all the vicious, feisty parts. That really sucked for the drunk dude.
It was amusing as hell for me.
The frat boy was rolling around screaming, surely unable to tell what was attacking him as Splinter darted all over him. Finally, he shook Splinter off and scrambled to his feet to run. The first guy tried to join him in his hurried retreat, but promptly tripped over a trash can and rolled into his friend. The two stumbled and fell into a tangled heap. They got back to their feet, took one look back, and bolted around the corner.
Splinter’s claws clicked as he came up beside me. He looked distinctly proud of himself. I checked the pulse of the guy I had hit with the chunk of asphalt and noted he was still fine. He would have a raging headache when he woke up, but otherwise, he would be okay. Then I turned my attention to the dog. I went to take a step toward it when I heard Splinter behind me make a growling noise. I looked over at him and saw that his bristles were standing on end and he was staring directly at the cowering black form.
“Splinter,” I scolded. “What are you doing? It’s only a dog.”
As soon as the words got all the way out of my mouth, I knew they were total bullshit. Being at a closer proximity to the animal told me it was most certainly not Fido from next door, ready to play catch and bring in the newspaper. This thing was huge and had a wild air about it. It looked like a wolf or possibly a coyote. Either way, it was still an innocent animal that deserved protection. I was going with dog. It made me feel better.
Splinter didn’t let up. His body vibrated like he was trying to convince himself he could transform into something and only needed to build up the oomph to do it. His spikes stuck out from him threateningly and he occasionally threw his tiny arms out to the sides to show off his impressive and not at all frightening flippity-flaps.
“Chill the hell out, Splinter. It’s not doing anything. Stop being such a baby.”
I extended my hand toward the dog and made a soothing sound. This was all bravado and making shit up. The truth was, I had never been good with Nearside animals. Not that I disliked them, but they never seemed like the biggest fans of me. Something about me never gave off the Snow White vibe. While she was off frolicking in the woods with the birds landing on her fingers and the squirrels braiding her hair or some shit, I was flailing around trying to stop the woodpeckers from eating my brain and the mice from infecting me with rabies.
But I was willing to fake it to convince Splinter to stop having a fit and to comfort the wounded animal. It bristled as I got closer, but I had to get it out of the trap. Wedging one foot into the hinge, I wrenched the nasty contraption open. I was afraid the dog’s leg was shattered, but it was apparently stronger than it looked. It was in pain, but able to move. Those guys were lucky the dog had wandered into that trap. He would have torn their asses to shreds if the metal jaws weren’t incapacitating him.
There was still a chunk of pizza crust in my pocket and I pulled it out to offer the dog. It refused the food and dragged itself a few feet away, staring at my hand the whole time like I held a knife instead of a crust. I felt like it was judging me. After a few more seconds, it pulled itself to its feet and trotted off. I took the hint and scooped Splinter up, then started back toward the door to the hotel. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed the dog had stopped. It was sitting at a distance, staring at me like it was keeping watch.
The image triggered something in the back of my mind. It was like a faint glimmer of a memory, reminding me of something, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. I tried to shake the weird feeling and headed inside.
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning brought with it a glorious lesson. Even when the electricity wasn't working in an abandoned hotel, that didn't necessarily mean there would be no running water. Now, the plumbing wasn't running to the point where I'd put my confidence behind it completing a marathon or anything, but when I gave the handle of the bathroom sink an experimental turn, the faucet sputtered and let out a small stream of water. This immediately elicited a little dance of joy and I
stripped as fast as I could before throwing myself into the shower.
No electricity meant no heat, but that didn't bother me in the least. Inside the shower the water came down on me with a lack of pressure that made me feel like I was standing under a giant watering can, and from what I saw, it had a slight brown tinge to it. But it was water coming down on me, not dripping from a leaky ceiling or being shot magically by a Philosopher. That was enough for me. I'd been standing under the stream, luxuriating in the feeling of it working its way through the dirt and oil in my hair and along my skin, when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It couldn't be. It was too glorious to be true.
Trepidation made my hand shake as I reached for it. Maybe it would disappear as soon as I touched it, and with it the image of everything else and I'd realize this, along with my entire escape, had been a delusion. That was a lot of expectation to put on the shoulders of a tiny bar of hotel-issue soap, wrapped in glossy green paper. My fingers closed around the bar. It was solid. The trepidation turned to delight, and I tore away the paper as fast as I could. Little bits of it fell to the floor of the shower stall and swirled around my feet with the rusty water. It was like confetti for my celebration of impending cleanliness.
One silver lining of not having any heat in a shower was not having to worry about the hot water running out, and I was taking full advantage of it. This was a five-star spa experience for me, and although there were no cucumber slices for my eyes or a plush robe waiting, I felt all sorts of pampered. When my fingers and toes were sufficiently pruney, I got out of the shower and dried off using a towel that smelled only slightly of mildew. The Deep had taught me not to sleep for extended stretches, which meant I still had hours before it was time to meet up with Ally again. This gave me the opportunity to run my rags through the water with a bit of my precious bar of soap and hang them up to dry.
There wasn't much fabric left to my uniform, so by the time I had to leave to meet Ally around noon, they were barely damp. I threw my stolen jacket on over them, tucked Splinter into his pocket, and headed out. Ally and I met up at a parking lot near her apartment. She grinned at me when I climbed into the car.
