GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two

by J. Gabriel Gates

  Because like the Good Book said, she was seeing right. And that, she thought as she slipped back into bed and pulled the blankets up over her head, was more terrifying than insanity could ever be.

  

  The feel of her soft, sensuous lips pressing lightly against his pulled Nass reluctantly from a dream in which Dalton was kissing him and moving closer . . . closer. It was dark in the living room and quiet in the apartment. A slim, feminine hand ran down his chest, then down to his waist, and on down. Coming fully awake, he pulled away from the kiss and pushed himself up against the armrest of the sofa.

  “I was just getting started.” The voice, always seductive, was even more so in the dark. But it wasn’t Dalton. It was Clarisse.

  “What are you doing?” Nass whispered, confused, nervous, and frustrated all at once. Every kiss he and Clarisse shared would make for another painful confession when he and Dalton finally reconciled. If they ever reconciled, he thought bleakly.

  “Oh, don’t get so excited,” Clarisse said. “What do you think—I came in here to have my way with you, with your mom right in the next room?”

  “What’s up, then?” Nass asked with a huge yawn. The clock on the end table said three-twenty-four in the morning and that made him feel even more tired.

  “You’re supposed to be keeping an eye on the building across the street, right?” she asked, snuggling closer.

  “Yeah—so?”

  “Well, the workers just left. I was up messing around on the Internet and I looked out the window. The lights are off and all the trucks are gone.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of them. Weren’t you supposed to call Raphael or something?”

  Nass turned on the lamp and fumbled for his phone. He was about to call, then decided he didn’t want to wake up Raphael’s pregnant mom, so he just sent a text:

  Workers left Em’s building. Orders?

  “Let’s go see what’s going on in there,” Clarisse said, an adventurous gleam in her eye.

  Nass laughed. “You’re not going anywhere. If anyone goes in, it’ll be me.”

  Clarisse gave him a look. “You think you’re going without me, mijo? Think again.”

  Nass sighed. He and Clarisse had been friends for most of their lives, and up until they turned thirteen or fourteen she could always run faster, throw further, and hit harder than he could. Once eighth grade rolled around, Nass finally got his long-awaited growth spurt and Clarisse shed her tomboy jeans and high-tops in favor of skirts, halter tops, and high heels. But Nass remembered all too well how for years Clarisse had been the alpha dog of their little pack. Once she latched on to something she wasn’t about to let it go.

  “Come on,” she urged. “Let’s do it.”

  “Sorry, not this time. This is Flatliners business.”

  “So?”

  “So you’re not a Flatliner.”

  “I’ll join.”

  “You can’t,” Nass told her. “You’re not from the Flats.”

  “Neither are you.” She crawled up his body, nestled against his chest again and teased his earlobe with the tip of her tongue.

  Nass let his head bang back against the sofa’s armrest in frustration, which only made Clarisse laugh. Seeing her there like that, her wavy hair falling around her shoulders with a smile on her face, wearing a cute little blue tank top, it was easy to remember why he’d always loved her so much.

  Man, life was confusing. Times like these he didn’t know what he wanted—but he knew he had to get out of there if he was ever going to get Dalton back. If he didn’t, something bad was going to happen. Or something really good, which would be even worse.

  “Okay, okay,” he gave in. “You can come. Let’s go.” He slipped out from under her and grabbed his jeans off the chair. “But we’re not going in there alone. Either we get some of the guys to go with us, or we wait until morning.”

  

  Twenty minutes later, Nass, Clarisse, Josh, and Benji stood in front of Emory’s old building. Nass had managed to get Josh on his cell and then he’d thrown little stones up at Benji’s window until he finally got up and snuck out via the fire escape. Beet’s phone went straight to voice mail, and there was no way Nass could call Emory in his makeshift garage apartment without waking up his whole family. Raphael never texted back, which had to mean he was asleep with his phone off.

  “Should we wait for him a little longer?” Josh asked.

  Nass stared at the darkened building for a minute and then shook his head.

  “We don’t know when those workers will be back,” he said. “This might be our only chance to find out what’s going on in there.”

  Benji nodded and Josh shrugged.

  “Let’s do this,” Nass said, and he led the way up the driveway to the back of the building. They found the back door locked.

  “Crap,” Nass said. “We have to find a way to—”

  But Clarisse was already slipping past him. She’d pulled a screwdriver from one of her coat pockets, and in one smooth movement she slipped it in between the door and the frame. Looking up at Nass, she smiled, all sexy and sweet.

  “Come on, popi,” she coaxed. “Give me some of that boy muscle.”

  Nass came forward and slammed the butt of the screwdriver with the heel of his hand and leaned on it, prying until the doorframe made a cracking sound. Then, together, he and Clarisse shouldered the door open.

  “Just like old times,” she said softly. With mock courtesy she added, “Gentlemen, after you,” and stepped aside so they could enter first.

  Nass smiled in spite of himself as he stepped past her and turned on his flashlight.

  “You are amazing,” Benji told Clarisse worshipfully. “I love you.”

  “Sorry shorty, you’re not my type,” she said and then amended, “but you’re kinda cute. Maybe I’ll keep you around for a spare.”

  “I am so there,” Benji quipped. Nass was already forging ahead into the tenement’s hallway. On his left was a door with the number three on it—Emory’s old apartment. Nass grabbed the knob, expecting it to be locked, but it opened easily. What he found inside was bizarre.

  “What the . . ?” Josh murmured behind him.

  Clarisse and Benji piled in behind them, also stopping at the doorway to stare into the apartment, perplexed. It was filled, floor to ceiling, with dirt.

  “Dude, this is trippy,” Benji said, but Nass was already heading down the hallway, opening the door to Apartment 2. When it opened, a tiny avalanche of dark soil slid out onto his feet. This apartment was also crammed with dirt—so much of it they couldn’t see past the doorframe.

  “Okay, seriously,” Clarisse said. “This is weird, right?”

  Nass ignored her and hurried next door, to Apartment 1. He knew the couple that had lived there with their three little kids. It was the largest unit in the building. He tried that door. It was locked.

  He stepped back and kicked the door once, then a second time. On the third kick it cracked and fell inward, swinging half off its hinges.

  “Ooh, tough guy,” Clarisse teased, her voice low and inviting. Nass ignored that too (although it did register). He was already hurrying into the apartment. This one had some dirt in it too, piled up in the corners, but much less than in the others. And something else was different. In the center of the living room there was a huge hole cut into the floor.

  Cautiously, he edged closer and aimed his flashlight down into it. It was about forty feet deep, and he could see tunnels opening out of it in at least two directions. On the far side of the crater someone had propped an aluminum ladder, leading down into the pit. Next to it was a jackhammer.

  “Hey, what do you think this is?” Benji asked. He was standing over a steel plate that was bolted to the floor. There was a round opening in its center. Nass swept the flashl
ight beam over the floor and saw three more of them around the edge of the hole.

  “Mounting brackets, maybe?” Clarisse suggested.

  “Yeah,” Nass agreed. “For whatever heavy machinery they used to drill the hole. That must’ve been the vibration we felt the other day. Remember—when you asked me if we have earthquakes here? They would have had to mount the machine to the floor there so it wouldn’t move while they drilled or dug or whatever.”

  “Yeah, but why dig here in the first place?” asked Josh. “You think they’re looking for oil or gold or something?”

  Nass was already skirting around the hole, heading for the ladder. “Only one way to find out,” he said, and started climbing down.

  A second later, his feet hit the soft dirt. “I see four tunnels,” he called up. “How much you wanna bet one of them runs all the way underneath that wall at the school?”

  There was no answer from above.

  “Guys?”

  The knowing kicked in suddenly, and a wave of dread shot through him. Something bad was going on up there.

  “Guys!” he shouted again.

  Nass looked up in time to see Benji falling toward him. He landed in the dirt a few feet away and rolled onto his back, his wide eyes trained upward. Clarisse’s scream was shrill enough to slice Nass to the bone as she, too, plummeted down and rolled to a landing in the soft soil. Nass hurried over to her.

  “You okay?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

  Above, he could hear sickening thuds as fists struck flesh, and Josh cried out in fury or in pain. A moment later he was dangling over the rim of the hole. Then whoever or whatever was holding him let go and he landed in the dirt, face first and unconscious.

  While Benji hurried to Josh’s side, Nass aimed his light upward, looking for some sign of their attacker—but all he saw was the jagged edge of the hole and the blank white ceiling of the apartment above.

  “You messed with the wrong people today, hombre,” Nass shouted up. He wanted to sound defiant, but he could hear the tremor in his voice. “You think you’re so tough? Show yourself!”

  And a figure wearing a black tank top stepped up to the rim of the hole. He was lean yet terrifyingly muscular, his face gaunt, stern and mostly concealed in the ever-changing shadows.

  Nass felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as the knowing kicked in again. They should have waited for Raph. Now, they were in trouble.

  Without further warning, the figure leaped down and attacked.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nass backed up quickly as their enemy landed softly, like a puma, in the center of the hole. His eyes flicked to Clarisse, and he saw his fear mirrored in her eyes. Josh was lying on his back now, awake but still dazed, and Benji was scrambling to his feet, raising his small fists into a ready position.

  The enemy crouched as if preparing to strike, his face still cloaked in shadow, and it struck Nass how strangely he moved. Each motion was graceful, yet twitchy, unnatural, like . . . a marionette. With a shout, Benji rushed him, but the mysterious combatant spun and nailed him with a kick that crumpled him.

  Clarisse attacked now, too. She’d picked up a heavy rock and she threw it at their assailant, full force, but it was a futile attempt. The powerful stranger deflected the stone the same way Nass had seen Raphael block so many punches in the past, with a simple Pak Sao. Now Clarisse was charging, her wicked-long nails aimed like spears at the enemy’s eyes, but he grabbed her by the throat and, with his longer reach, kept her slashing claws away from his face. With a quick kick, he swept her legs out from under her and she landed on her back in the dirt, the breath knocked out of her.

  Josh was sitting up now, his eyes unfocused, trying to take in what was happening. Nass could see he was stunned and too confused to defend himself. But instead of going for Josh, the attacker turned toward Nass. Quickly, Nass raised the light to his enemy’s face—and his mind went into a tailspin.

  It was Zhai Shao—but the expression of twisted rage on his face was something Nass had never seen, not even when Zhai was in the throes of battle. And there was something else. He had what looked like Chinese characters tattooed on the back of both hands and—Nass thought he must be imagining it, but it almost looked like the symbols were glowing red.

  But there was no time to wonder what it meant. Between one heartbeat and the next, Zhai was upon him, faster than Nass had ever seen anyone move.

  All he knew then was the coppery taste of blood in his mouth, just before his face went in the dirt. His head throbbing, Nass looked up, blinking the soil out of his eyes, and saw that Josh, Benji, and Clarisse were on their feet. They all rushed Zhai at once—and Zhai, moving like a mad puppet, destroyed them. Josh was in the center and Zhai blasted him with a punch right between the eyes, knocking him backward. With one fluid kick, he swept Benji and, with his follow-through, cracked Clarisse on the side of her head.

  Nass was standing now, and he sprinted at Zhai in a blind rage, jumping forward with what he thought was a perfectly timed superman punch. With preternatural speed Zhai spun, grabbed the front of Nass’s shirt and used his own momentum to flip him against the dirt wall. Nass felt his back hit and then he fell, headfirst and straight down, into the ground. It was like the pile-driver wrestling move his cousins practiced on him when he was a kid—but ten times worse. The world was spinning, and streaks of white, like little shooting stars, fluttered across his field of vision as he stared upward. It took a second for him to register what he was seeing.

  Zhai stood above him, the rock Clarisse had thrown at him raised above his head, ready to bring down on Nass’s face. And, Nass knew instantly, a blow like that would kill him. But when he tried to move, he felt like he was in slow motion.

  “Zhai, please,” Nass begged. “You don’t want to do this. Come on, man.”

  Even though Zhai was their enemy, Nass never thought of him as a killer. But there was no sympathy, no hint of mercy on his face now. All Nass could do was close his eyes as Zhai rocked forward to hurl the stone at his face.

  He heard the sound of the impact, but he felt nothing—and he wondered if that meant he was dead. There were more sounds—thudding and grunting—and he reached one hand up and touched his face to assess the damage, expecting to find nothing but a crater where his nose had been.

  But he seemed unhurt. When he opened his eyes, he understood why. The rock was sitting on the ground next to him—and Raphael was fighting Zhai. By the time Nass managed to stand, Raph had blood running down the side of his face, but he was holding off Zhai’s unorthodox attacks—barely.

  “Nass,” Raph shouted desperately. “Get everyone out of here. Now!”

  The urgency in Raphael’s command squashed any hesitation Nass might normally have felt, and he obeyed without question, rushing to Clarisse, pulling her to her feet and helping her up the ladder. Benji followed. Josh stumbled toward Raphael, intent on helping their leader, but Nass grabbed his arm.

  “He ordered us up the ladder,” Nass reminded him. “Remember the Wu-de.”

  Wordlessly, Josh reversed his direction and mounted the ladder.

  “You go too!” Raphael shouted at Nass now, as he ate a hard kick to the gut. He retaliated with three quick strikes, but Zhai blocked them all. “Go up and pull the ladder up behind you.”

  “But—” Nass started to object and then he shut his mouth. Raphael was the leader of the Flatliners, and the Wu-de was their code. It required him to obey, not to question. Reluctantly, he limped to the ladder and climbed up. Then, with Benji’s help, he pulled the ladder up behind him.

  Now, Raph and Zhai were trapped in the pit together. The only way out for either of them was through one of the pitch-black tunnels.

  “What do we do now?” Clarisse asked. “Sit here and watch until they kill each other?”

  From the looks of it, they just might do that,
Nass thought. They were both bloodied, and their pace showed no sign of slowing. But something was different about the way Zhai was fighting. Nass had seen him and Raph duke it out before, and their styles had been identical; today, the way Zhai moved, attacked and defended himself was completely different. More relentless, more determined. More dangerous. Raphael took another fist to the side of his head, and Nass knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up to that kind of pounding indefinitely.

  “No,” he told Clarisse, looking around the room for an answer. And he spotted it. “We help. Josh, Benji!” he shouted as he pointed. “Grab that jackhammer.”

  Meanwhile, he orbited the crater. On the far side, there was a spot where the hole in the floor was larger than the hole in the ground beneath it, leaving a flat section of dirt jutting out. Nass headed for it.

  It was obvious there was something crazy going on with Zhai; there was no way even Raphael could beat him in a regular fight. The best they could hope for, Nass thought, was to stop him.

  Benji and Josh met him on the far side of the hole with the jackhammer, and Nass lowered its tip so that it was digging into the soil at the rim of the hole, about two feet back from the edge.

  He gave a shrill whistle, and Raphael, barely avoiding one of Zhai’s lethal strikes, managed to glance up at him for a second. The grin Raphael gave him told Nass he understood the plan.

  Expertly dodging and weaving, Raphael retreated, backing his way around the circumference of the hole while Zhai methodically attacked him, circling, all the while, toward the spot where Nass waited.

  Nass had never used a jackhammer before. He sure hoped it wouldn’t be too hard.

  As he watched, Raphael lured Zhai closer.

  Finally, Raphael stood with his back against the wall, right beneath Nass. Raph waited there for in an instant in tense stillness, the bait for Nass’s trap. Zhai hesitated, and Nass thought for a second their plan might not work at all; then, Zhai struck. Just as Zhai’s fist hit the earth behind him, Raphael dove and rolled clear.