As Holt took it all in, he put the pieces together in his head.
An army train. Probably running equipment to Fort Dearborn. And they had hit it. Within the first hour or two, he guessed, before the Tone went active.
There was something else, though. Something you rarely saw, then or now: a hulking, charred piece of machinery in a clearing on the far side of the tracks, crumpled where it had fallen and burned years ago. Looking at it from this distance, even in its destroyed state, it was very clear that it had never been anything of this Earth.
It was an Assembly combat walker. One of the big ones from the looks of it, a Spider.
Whoever was on the train that night, they managed to take one of those things with them. Judging by the skeletons tossed around the area, Holt doubted it was much of a consolation to them now. But it was something, nonetheless.…
Holt hated places like this. They were scars. Scars on the planet’s surface, and the world was littered with them now. He hated them for the memories they brought back, the old images they forced him to see again.
Images of her.
If he didn’t have to be here, he wouldn’t. But he did.
Max lay next to him on his back, blissfully chewing on a big bone that probably came from one of the unfortunates scattered about the battleground. As happy as the dog was, something about it just wasn’t right.
“Max, come on.” Holt tried to pull the leg bone loose from the dog’s jaws, but Max scampered off before Holt could grab it.
Holt shook his head, looked back to the tracks on the ground.
They were everywhere, tracks from dozens of people, dating back years. Finding the specific ones he was looking for wasn’t impossible—there were ways to separate old tracks from new—it just took time. And a good eye. For instance, he could eliminate about half of them right away, based on their size. Most of them were too big. The one he was after had small feet and wasn’t wearing boots.
It took him a moment, but he found the shoe prints he was looking for. After almost a week tracking them, he recognized them instantly. They moved off to the north, sidestepping the site altogether. They hadn’t even bothered searching the area for useful salvage. Holt didn’t blame the person: there likely wasn’t anything here worth risking tetanus for. Whatever used to be here of value was long gone now.
From the far distance came an unsettling sound. A deep, concussive booming that echoed through the trees around him. Seconds later, two more booms, echoing and fading in the same way.
Holt looked up. He knew what the sounds were. Explosions. Large ones. Probably two or three miles away, to the northeast.
More sounds filtered through the trees, different from the first, more like staccato thunder.
Plasma cannon, the big ones. The Assembly was nearby and they were riled up. But over what? Whatever it was, it was probably better not to get caught outside the tree line.
Holt stood up to leave, and as he did, he noticed the train cars again. Two of the ones that were somehow still standing were only a few yards away. He frowned as he studied them—there was probably nothing worthwhile there … but you never knew. Even if there were no supplies, the metal itself could be valuable if it wasn’t rusted through.
Survival factored into every decision Holt made. It was what he lived by, and it meant many things. One of them was to figure out what was of value. If you had things of value, you could survive.
By Holt’s logic, survival said that he had to at least investigate the train cars.
He moved for the closest one, its door yawning open. Max stepped into line next to him, the trophy bone still in his mouth.
Holt peered inside the first train car. It was just as empty as he expected, nothing but rotting wood and rusting metal. He moved to the next one. Its big door was only open a crack, preventing him from seeing inside.
Holt grabbed the edge of the door and pulled. It didn’t budge. He cursed under his breath, pulled again, harder this time. It slid a little, but not much. He yanked it hard over and over, trying to force it. Slowly, it began sliding open.
From inside came a noise. It sounded like the shifting of someone moving. Below Holt, Max dropped the bone as his hackles raised. A low growl rumbled from his throat.
Holt stepped back from the train door, drawing the rifle from his back in a smooth, practiced gesture. The gun used to be a SIG716, the same kind his father used, but Holt had modified and updated it extensively. The wooden grip and stock were worn smooth with regular use.
He readied himself, quieted Max with a look … then spun around the side of the door, aiming into the gap he’d managed to open.
Holt instantly jumped as he saw a solitary figure standing in the doorway. It made him flinch so bad, he almost pulled the trigger.
The figure didn’t react or move in any way, just stood stoically in place.
“Geez,” Holt said, keeping the rifle trained on the shadow in the door. His heart felt like a drum in his chest. “Almost got yourself killed, you know that?” The figure made no response. Holt studied him closer. “Hey, anybody home? You hurt?” Still nothing.
The sunlight behind Holt revealed that the figure was a boy, about Holt’s age. He was alive and real, not something hung from the ceiling as a decoy. But something was way wrong with the kid. He seemed to be sleepwalking or in a daze.
Holt could guess what it was, he looked about the right age. Holt drew a flashlight from his belt, flipped it on, aimed it up at the kid. When the light hit his eyes, the boy didn’t react.
But Holt did. As he expected, the boy’s eyes were a solid black. The snaking tendrils of color he had seen in the Menagerie pirates earlier had filled in this boy’s eyes completely.
It was the Tone. The boy had finally lost his battle with it and Succumbed. He was now under Assembly control. Someone had probably sealed him up inside the train car, either out of a sense of kindness or a desire to deny the Assembly one more human adult for their growing collection.
When a survivor finally Succumbed, he began a long, slow, zombielike walk to the nearest Presidium, the massive Assembly base ships that had come roaring out of the sky eight years ago, impaling themselves into the hearts of the world’s great cities like daggers.
What happened (or was happening) to the majority of the human population inside the Presidiums, no one knew.…
And it was something Holt likely never would know. But even though he was immune to the Tone’s call, he definitely had experienced its effects.
He stared up at the Succumbed boy with bitterness. A tingling of sadness began to surface from the usual place, the place where he had buried it long ago.
Holt felt it rising, wanted no part of it, pushed it back down again. Angrily, he stepped away from train car’s door. After a moment, the boy inside hopped down of his own volition. His black gaze stared blindly forward, not even noticing Holt or his dog.
Max whined at the boy, unsure whether he was a threat or a harmless drone. To be honest, Holt wasn’t sure either, when you came right down to it. He petted the dog comfortingly, held him back.
The two watched as the boy slowly turned and began walking to the northeast, compelled by some unknown force toward what remained of Chicago … and the dark Presidium ship that waited there.
Holt watched him until he became a small silhouette on the horizon. The sight haunted him. He remembered that walk, knew if he closed his eyes he would see her walking that same way all over again.
So Holt kept his eyes open. He grimaced, forced himself to look away. “Come on, pal.”
Max barked, grabbed his bone again, and followed him back to the tracks. He found the ones he was looking for again, heading north, back into the trees.
Holt and Max quickly set off into the forest, following the trail.
From the distance came more booming, more staccato drumbeats. They sounded closer now.
3. BOUNTY HUNTER
HOLT LAY AT THE EDGE OF THE TREE LINE, staring through a pa
ir of small binoculars. Night had fallen, thick and dark over the forest, and the woods were filled with the impatient buzzings of locusts. Max sat next to him, chewing on a piece of cherry-flavored taffy from Holt’s pack. Max had a wicked sweet tooth, and when Holt needed to keep him quiet, he gave him a snack to focus on.
Through the binoculars, Holt spied what was once a farmhouse beyond the trees. For the most part, it was still in one piece, though some of its windows were broken out and there was graffiti on its doors.
Holt watched each window on the bottom floor light up with flickering orange light as something moved through the house. A lantern, Holt guessed, held by the very person he’d been tracking.
He smiled. The bounty on this one would solve a lot of problems for him, but he’d have to be cautious, have to do this strategically. The person in there was supposed to be very clever.
Holt and Max moved for the farmhouse, closing the distance quick and quiet, keeping low. He could see the lantern light from an upstairs window now, which meant the bottom floor should be clear. Unless his target had set up traps or alarms, of course. It was a distinct possibility.
Holt opened the door and slipped in.
The farmhouse was dark, probably hadn’t had electricity since the invasion. It had also been ransacked by looters many times over. What was left of the furniture was smashed on the floor, the cabinets and shelves all turned over and emptied.
Holt and Max moved through it all slowly, careful about tripping or breaking something, all the while scanning for traps. So far, Holt hadn’t seen any.
They moved toward the stairs at the other end of the room. As they did, Holt noticed the walls. There were still a few pictures hanging on them. Family portraits, a picture of a man on a tractor, two boys and a dog, a girl dressed in a high school graduation gown. They were glimpses of a world that no longer existed, and in all of them was something that gave Holt pause.
Images of adults. Parents. Friends of friends. Smiling, standing tall over their children, strong and capable.
Holt couldn’t help but stop and stare. It was almost a decade since he had seen anyone older than twenty-one or twenty-two. To him, the figures within those pictures seemed … alien. And even though they made him uncomfortable, he couldn’t look away.
The ceiling above him groaned as somebody moved upstairs. It was enough to break the spell. Max stared up at the ceiling, sniffing the air curiously and growling low.
Holt silenced him with a gesture, moved away from the pictures, and started up the stairs, taking them nice and easy in case they were squeaky. As he moved, he drew his shotgun from his back, a faded, camouflaged Ithaca 37 he’d found at an old army base and restored back to health. He used it almost as much as the Sig. They were two of his best friends.
At the end of the stairs stretched a dark hallway, wallpaper peeling from it and littering the floor. The hall moved between several different bedroom doors, but only one of them had light spilling out of the doorway onto the floor and wall. The same flickering orange light he’d seen outside.
Holt and Max crept toward the door quietly, and reached it in about six slow steps. Holt pushed himself gently against the edge of the doorframe, listening and waiting. No sounds, no indication of who or what might be waiting.
It was now or never, he figured. Holt took a deep breath, gripped the shotgun, and spun around the side, raising the weapon as he did. He aimed down the barrel and moved quickly into what used to be a bathroom.
The lantern sat on a shelf, bathing everything in wavering hues of orange and yellow. In the center of the room was a large porcelain clawed bathtub, full of water and soap suds that covered a lone figure resting contentedly inside. The person didn’t so much as flinch.
“Get out of the tub,” Holt ordered firmly, keeping the shotgun aimed at the figure. “No quick movements, I know who you are.”
Inside the tub was a girl, a little younger than Holt, eighteen or so. A cucumber slice covered each eye, and her hair was tied behind her head as she lay relaxed against the opposite end.
“I said out,” Holt demanded louder when she still failed to move. Max growled low beside him, as if he were eager to leap in after the girl. He probably was, Holt guessed. The dog loved it when people resisted.
With a frown, the girl slowly plucked one of the cucumbers off an eye and leveled an annoyed look at Holt. “Do you have any idea how long it took to make this bath?” she asked in agitation. “Here’s a clue: I had to use a teakettle for the hot water, so, yeah, it took me a long time.”
“I’m not sure it would be possible for me to care less,” Holt said, growing impatient. “The only thing I care about is the price on your head.” He kept the gun raised. She seemed remarkably calm for her predicament, which in his experience was a bad sign.
The girl removed the second cucumber and stared at him evenly. Unlike his eyes, hers were laced with the black veins of the Tone, and the ratio of white to black had shifted dramatically to the darker side. They were pretty eyes nonetheless, Holt noted, flashing green in the candlelight. Up close, they probably sparkled.…
Holt quickly shook his head to clear out that thought. He had a job to do; he needed to stay focused.
“Another bounty hunter,” she said, making no move to exit the water. “I’ve already left three of your friends in my dust—what makes you think you’ll be any different?”
“Because I’m better than them,” Holt said. “And I doubt they were my friends. Get out of the water, or I’ll have my actual friend here pull you out.” Max barked in anticipation.
“He looks like he could use a bath, too,” she said. “No reason to be grumpy. Mind turning around while I find my clothes?”
Now, that was a new one. “You’re … naked?”
The girl smiled. “That’s typically how a bath works.”
Holt hesitated, a bevy of images flashing through his mind as he looked at the bubbles lying like a blanket on top of her. But he forced those away, too, and concentrated on the issue at hand. She had a point, he had to admit. What was the harm? She was too far away to reach him even if she tried. Besides, Max had no qualms about looking away—it was all the same to the dog.
“Fine,” he said gruffly, turning around but keeping the shotgun close. “But make it quick.”
“Totally quick,” the girl pleasantly assured him.
Behind him, she stood up in the water, keeping her eyes on Holt as she did so. Max growled as she stepped out, but she paid the dog no notice. Several necklaces hung from her neck, one of them a thin gold chain with a pendant made of a very odd combination of objects. Two dimes, a glass vial full of dark gray powder, and a red marble, all tied together with copper wire. The moment she was free of the tub, her hands shot to the pendant and ripped it off. She threw it hard at the floor where Holt stood.
Splinters of light exploded in a sphere all around Holt and Max as the vial shattered. Streaks of light streamed upward and brilliantly burst apart in the air.
Something ripped Holt and Max off the floor like they weighed nothing.
It yanked them straight upward, left them floating in midair, weightless, feet off the floor, spinning around helplessly. In shock, Holt tried to reach a wall or the ceiling or anything to give him traction, but they were all too far away. He was stuck, hovering uselessly in space over the crumbling bathroom floor.
Max spun around as well. The difference was, he seemed to be having a great time. The dog barked excitedly as he rotated and twisted, enjoying the weightlessness.
The girl laughed, watching them. “Well, at least one of you’s enjoying it.” She moved to her clothes, slowly gathered them up, and put them on.
The girl was thin and lithe, with short red hair that ebbed and flowed somewhere around her neck line. Her eyes, just as Holt guessed, were green, and they shone like emeralds behind the black of the Tone. She had the easy body language of someone capable, like most survivors these days. The ones who couldn’t save themselves had
long ago been weeded out, but there was more to her than just that. A polished savviness and lighthearted glint in her eyes that was earned only from numerous close calls and brushes with death.
Holt caught only glimpses of her as he spun, brief flashes of golden wet skin in the lantern light. Any other time, it might have been a nice sight.
“Let me down!” he demanded, managing to twist around enough to aim the shotgun at her. She just laughed, watching him with amusement. Holt felt a rush of anger, both at his predicament and at being bested by a girl. “I don’t want to, but if you make me shoot, I will!”
He had underestimated her, he knew. Big-time. And he wondered how many others had made the same mistake.
The girl clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Shooting a gun inside a gravity void’s the opposite of a smart idea,” she replied, calmly tying her shoes. “And Midnight City wants me alive. There’s no reward for you if you shoot. And that means you won’t.”
The girl grabbed an overstuffed backpack from the floor and opened the bathroom window, letting the cold night air float in. She put one foot through … then paused, looking back at him.
“My name’s Mira, by the way. Mira Toombs,” she said, smiling as she stepped all the way through the window. “Did you think I wouldn’t make you work for it?”
Holt could only watch as she dropped from the windowsill. He heard her hit the ground below and scamper quickly away, leaving him stranded in midair.
He cursed as he floated. A Strange Lands artifact. It must have been. The wanted poster had clearly said she was a Freebooter after all, an expert. He should have seen it coming. But he hadn’t. And now he was trapped while all that reward money ran away from him.
But he wasn’t going to lose it this easily.
Holt studied the room, noticed objects at the other end weren’t floating as he and Max were. Whatever she had done to the gravity, she had done it only in close proximity to the two of them. It meant the “gravity void,” or whatever she called it, didn’t extend that far out. If he could just reach its edge …
Midnight City: A Conquered Earth Novel (The Conquered Earth Series) Page 2
