To her surprise, it opened.
"Do you have it?" Ezekiel asked the person inside. Theda was trying to peer into the gloom when the door yawned all the way open.
The friendly orderly, the one she'd thought Kat had murdered, stood there. He was dressed all in black, with the black watch cap of a horseman pulled down past his ears. Theda heard her own gasp of surprise, but if the orderly noticed, he gave no sign.
"She looks nothing like her," he said.
"It won't matter," Ezekiel said. While he sounded winded from exertion, his voice was far from labored. "Put this on her."
The orderly reached for the wadded gown and then disappeared into the closet again. Ezekiel looked down at her.
"He's going to take you to Ami. Why don't you have the sunglasses on?"
Theda jammed them hastily onto her face. It smarted when the crest of the lens made contact where her cheek was swollen, but the glasses were so big, she knew they hid the worst of the damage. She might be virtually unrecognizable.
"I thought--" she started.
"Don't think anymore, Minou. Just get out of here." He lowered her to the floor, keeping one arm about her waist to support her. The way her took her in as she stood, feebly trying to straighten her back under the strain of soreness and exhaustion, she knew what he'd been trying to hide from her wasn't fear of her, but fear for her.
"Ezekiel," she started to say, but the door opened again and the exiting horseman nodded curtly at the Pale Rider.
"It's done," he said and Ezekiel grunted in satisfaction.
He turned again to Theda.
"Cain will take you to Ami."
"Why can't you come?"
He shook his head. "Not now, Minou."
Cain reached for Theda, and though Ezekiel seemed reluctant to release her, he did ease her into the horseman's arms. He gave her a lingering scrutiny, scanning her from head to toe, and then rested his gaze on her mouth. She thought for a moment he might reach down and kiss her, but he lifted his knife to his thumb and sliced into the pad instead. He watched blood pool on the skin until it began to drip, then he reached for her hand and smeared the still warm fluid onto her finger.
"Get out," he said to her with a harsh rasp in his voice, then pushed open the door, only to disappear into the gloom, leaving a smear of fluid on the wood.
"Come on," Cain said, and without waiting for her agreement, urged her forward until her feet were shuffling along with him, walking, then loping for the pedway, even as Theda tried to crane her neck backwards in a fruitless attempt to catch Ezekiel exiting the closet.
The sun struck her eyes with such ferocity she couldn't help but turn her face to it, basking in its warmth. She would have felt glorious except for the nagging sense that something wasn't quite right. She fought the hands that tried to push her through the door, but a warning hiss in her ear and a forceful, impatient shove made each attempt a waste of energy.
The monotonous chant was the first thing that her mind registered, and she knew at once they were in the parking lot with the hordes of people chanting for her death. The chanting turned to cheers as they called out for her death, shouting in excitement at someone who had exited the building from another door.
She had enough time to twist away from Cain, face the crowds, and notice the person they were cheering for was Ezekiel and that he had in his arms a be-gowned body with a hefty stake protruding from its belly. He threw this lifeless form to the pavement amid raucous cheers, making a grand show of pouring liquid from a can onto it. Her mouth went dry, watching it and she thought she heard her name rising above the crowd. When the flames leapt to life and danced on the body, she cried out from instinct, and in pain as Cain struck an angry blow to the side of her head.
Chapter 12
She hung, fireman style, over Cain's shoulder. Her ribs screamed for relief as he strode with sure purpose away from the crowd, acting as though he was in charge of ridding the world of one more religion monger. He didn't put her down until they had rounded several corners and were striding down an alley that smelled of garbage and rat feces. He helped her steady herself on her feet, taking care to prop her against the brick wall of an old building. He did a quick check behind his shoulder before he spoke.
"Sorry about that," he said. "But we were getting some attention. I needed it to look as though you were my prisoner, not an escapee that I was aiding and abetting."
"I understand," she said, testing the strength of her legs as she held onto the wall. Her knees shook and her stomach felt as though someone had taken a bat to it. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, thinking foolishly that she had to hold herself together.
His palms went beneath her chin, tilting her face toward him, peering into her eyes. Like Ezekiel, he had beautiful eyes: a different shade of green certainly, but no less piercing. Unlike Ezekiel, he had a wine stain in the middle of his forehead, pale, but very distinct in shape, reminding her of some Latin letters she had seen in her father's early religion books. But though it was reminiscent of those forms, it wasn't quite a replica of any of them. Rather, it was almost a blend of two, but which two? She should know, she was sure of it, but the scars and freckles that surrounded it made discernment difficult.
Strange how she hadn't noticed it before, but she'd been so afraid, and it had been so gloomy in the hallway and in the closet, she supposed she must have missed it.
"Have you figured it out yet?" he said, interrupting her thoughts and she shook her head before turning away, embarrassed.
"It's going to be a long haul," he said, changing the subject. "Do you think you can make it?"
How different from the time Ezekiel had rescued her from the capital building, not caring whether or not she was too sick to move, only pulling her steadily forward until she at last couldn't stagger any farther and he carried her the rest of the way. She'd been sick then, too, except it was drug sick, and she'd begged him to let her rest. Now she knew she didn't have that luxury. They'd already wasted precious time as she had stared slack-jawed like some idiot at his birthmark.
She nodded. "I have to make it," she said.
"Good girl," he said. "Can you walk?"
"I'd rather lie down somewhere, but yes. With help. I think."
He slipped his arm around her waist again, taking smaller steps, letting her try to match his stride before he readjusted his and ended up using his right leg as a sort of walking aid against her own. It felt very much like a sack race, but Theda adjusted enough that they made some progress. She tried to look casual as she walked along with the horseman, trying to take in every inch of her surroundings as covertly as she could. Nothing looked familiar, but he seemed to know where he was going. They passed several people on the sidewalks, close enough that once she bumped into an old man and nearly collapsed from the pain as he'd accidentally jabbed her in the ribs.
"Are you okay?"
She stuffed her fingers into her mouth to keep from moaning and it was then that she remembered Ezekiel had left her with his blood on her finger. In a panic, she examined her hands for traces of the fluid, expecting the remnants to have dried to flakes or be gone completely.
"What are you doing?" he hissed against her neck. "You're drawing attention."
"The blood," she whispered. "It's gone."
He picked up the pace at her words, finding a broad door frame in a building that housed a coffee shop. He pressed her against the wall there in the alcove as people swept past them, carrying aromatic paper cups as though the apocalypse hadn't changed one single thing in their little world.
His hands moved to the sides of her head as he leaned into her, palms against the brick. "Of course it's gone," he said. "It would have wiped off long ago."
"But he wanted me to have it. He wanted--"
"Well, whatever he wanted, it's gone now. He should have just told you what he wanted you to know."
Distraught, Theda reached for her sunglasses because they were pinching the swollen side of her chee
k and she was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Even as she started to pull them away from her face, he reached up and jammed them back up her nose.
"Blind or not, you bitch," he growled. "I've told you one too many times to stop begging on doorsteps." He turned as he said this last, giving a scowl to a well-dressed gentleman who had come up behind them. To the man he said, "What are you staring at? You worry for someone's welfare?"
The man averted his gaze so quickly Theda thought he imagined being arrested, which was ridiculous. Rather than letting it go, Cain, persisted, actually yanking at the man's arm, and staring him brazenly in the face.
"You," he hissed. "What's your name?"
"I have no name," the man said. "I'm nothing. No one."
Cain looked him up and down, seeming to be considering whether or not he should let the man go. It was a disconcerting reminder of the days just after the apocalypse, when the horsemen had ravaged the city as ferociously as they had ravaged the god's army, killing with impunity each person they suspected of harboring any sense of moral justice or religious belief. Theda watched as all of those memories raced behind the man's eyes and she cringed as the man tried to squirm his way out of Cain's grip. Through the glasses, the man reminded Theda of the Beast. Perfectly groomed, with an immaculate sense of taste that seemed to belie the state of flux the new super-city was in. And yet, he was a reminder that it was still in a terrible flux. This perfectly well groomed, seemingly upscale man showed primal fear that revealed just exactly how bad off they all were when an innocent need for a cup of coffee could end in a conflict with the horseman, who would execute a person without thought.
The eastern end of the city had it easier than the western end. There were no coffee shops in the western part of the super-city, only survivor stations where coffee was doled out to the homeless along with a few sandwiches, if the need was great; homeless people like Theda, who lived on the streets because the war with the god had ruined nearly every building in her district. Despite her best intentions to sympathize with a fellow survivor, she glared at the man who worked to extricate himself from Cain's grasp. She wanted him to feel uncomfortable, to feel the fear.
Although she was wearing dark glasses, Cain seemed to understand exactly what was going on behind them. He released the man's arm with a warning. "Next time, be careful who you scrutinize."
With a curt nod, the man hustled down the street, jamming his hands in his pockets and huddling his chin against his chest.
Cain sighed heavily. "Let's get moving." He wrapped his arm around her waist again as the alcove emptied. "Are you rested enough?"
"I can't go anymore," she told him. "You had me walking for hours. I'm sick."
"It hasn't been hours," he said. "It hasn't even been twenty minutes."
She groaned. "Then I'll never make it. Just leave me here like a common beggar. Maybe someone will feed me." She sank to her bottom and splayed her legs out onto the sidewalk, letting the rubber clogs fall off her feet.
"We're not far now," he urged. "Just another couple of blocks."
She looked up at him suspiciously. "We're nowhere near that close."
He leaned over, extending his hand, waiting for her to take it. "We are. General Eazy gave me an address very near here."
She wanted to ask how well he knew General Eazy but swallowed the query, thinking there would be a better time to get all of the information. And she would get it. She wanted to know every last detail of why Ezekiel had left her in that place long enough to be tormented, why he decided to rescue her at all. It was all such a mess. But it was the thought of finding Ami, of settling into a place that might actually be safe, that drove her to her feet again and she leaned into Cain gratefully.
In the end, he was only half right. They managed two blocks before he paused in front of a stately brownstone. Theda noted that the planters on either side of the stoop were empty of foliage. In one, a crooked husk leaned over the rim, but other than that, there was no evidence that anything had ever been planted. She looked again at the brownstone façade. Instead of curtains, there were sheets; the doorbell hung away from the wall as though it had been torn off.
"This looks exactly right," she said, groaning. Leave it to Ezekiel to find her a place equally as comfortable as the one she'd left.
"Does it?" he asked, his brows scuttled down into an uncertain line.
"How well do you know the General?"
Cain looked back at the façade as well. She watched him chew the corner of his lip. Then he turned back to her with a half grin. "You're probably right," he said. "Can you manage the steps?"
"If it means a hot drink, some food, and a place to finally lay this sore body down, I can climb Everest."
He had to help her up all five of them, and she was winded by the time they reached the door, but she didn't pause long enough to thank him or to knock. She put all of her weight into it as she pushed it open and nearly fell into the hallway. Cain steadied her as she stood there, letting her eyes adjust to the light, trying to calm the racing of her heart. Safe. Could it be possible?
She gripped Cain's elbow as a thought occurred to her. "It's so close. You sure it's safe?"
He nodded. "They won't be looking for you. The General took care of that, and even if they doubted you were actually dead, they would never expect you to be so near."
She thought of the time Ezekiel had taken her to the spitters'den. Hiding in plain sight was his specialty. She let go Cain's arm and took in the space, searching for evidence, listening for movement.
"Where is he?" She asked. If indeed Ami was alive, she wanted to see him before she collapsed.
"I'm not sure. He's supposed to be here." Cain put his arm across her midsection, holding her back protectively as he advanced into the foyer and craned his neck up the stairs, listening.
"Do you think--"
He shushed her quiet, cutting off any theory that might have crept to her tongue. With careful, quiet steps, he made his way down the hallway, evidently scoping out the measure of safety in the building. She wondered if he had any sort of weapon, and then remembered Ezekiel's Taser. Surely Cain would have one.
She was so intent on watching him, her breath caught in her throat, that when the door opened behind her she let go a terrified squeal. Cain swung around, his eyes narrowed in focus, his hands poised in front of him as though to ward off or take on anything that sprang at him. Theda only had time to think that he'd certainly be ready to protect himself, but he was nowhere near close enough to her to make a difference.
She spun on her heel, trying to load the springs in her legs with enough adrenaline to sprint through the door past the invader. Before she could make her legs obey, she was enfolded in arms that swept around her and pulled her close, crushing her aching ribs against hard muscle. Her first thought was that it was Ezekiel, and she let herself go slack in his grip, telling herself the pain in her side was a small price to pay for such relief. And when a face plunged into her neck, nuzzling her close, rasping day-old whiskers against her tender skin, she reached up to pull him close, lifting her face, her mouth, for a kiss she had been thirsting for what seemed an eternity.
She didn't care if the hands that cupped her cheeks made her wince, she only cared that the fevered mouth took her own and inhaled her breath as though it was the only oxygen necessary to sustain his life. She felt her knees go weak with release. She felt his arms grip her tighter, supporting her, and didn't break the kiss until she realized that the way he was holding her was far too trembling and uncertain to be the Pale Rider. It was then that she noticed that the smell coming from his skin wasn't right. It wasn't the heady fragrance of Ezekiel's day old cologne. She knew then she was in someone else's arms, and the little frightened squirrel in the back of her mind squeaked out a warning.
Chapter 13
She heard Cain cough behind her.
"I had the distinct impression that I was saving you for the General," he said.
Theda pulled away,
looking up into the face of the man holding her; she could care less about the disapproving tone in Cain's voice and ignored the comment of possession.
"Sweet Jesus," she said. "It's really you."
"Jesus is long gone, Theda," Ami said with a rasp in his voice. "And language like that is what got you in trouble in the first place."
She took in the sandy hair, the ginger color of days' old whiskers on his jaw, the way he appeared so gaunt that the hollows beneath his cheekbones looked like smudges of dirt. In that moment, she doubted she had ever seen anything quite so amazing.
Even as she regarded him, Ami was already doing his own inspection, and she had the feeling he didn't like what he saw. She stepped backwards, putting a nervous hand to her chest as her friend scowled down at her.
"What did they do to you?" He demanded, directing the question to Cain as though he had been the one to injure her, not bring her safely to this haven. When he stepped toward the horseman, Theda put herself between them, thinking either one would resort to violence.
"It wasn't him," she said. "He's the one who rescued me."
Cain didn't seem to appreciate her meager protection and stepped around her. "The General rescued her," he said. "I just brought her here."
Ami snorted derisively. "The same General who tried to kill me."
"If he had wanted to kill you," Cain drawled. "You would be dead."
"Oh, yes," he said. "The famous Pale Rider. I've seen him on the promos. He didn't look too frightening to me." His words, though cocky, held a bubble of false bluster, fragile and overblown.
Cain shrugged at Ami's statement, sending the message that he didn't care what Ami thought. Instead, he turned to Theda and even as he regarded her, his face softened from militant determination to sympathy. "We need to get you some place to rest."
"Food first," she said, putting her palm to her stomach. It was strange that after all she'd been through; her stomach had begun to gurgle painfully, pressing its own mandate of hunger above that of comfort. "I don't remember when I ate last."
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