by CJ Brightley
She blinked at him innocently. “What do you mean?”
“This is East Quadrant. Why are you here?”
“Like I said, I was just on a walk. This isn’t where I’d normally go, but it’s not any farther.”
“Three miles from home.” He frowned at her skeptically.
She blinked back at him innocently. “I’m a student. I walk everywhere.”
“Hm.” He noted something on the tablet. “We’re done here. Gert, call cleanup.” Then to Aria, “Go home. Have a good evening. I’d recommend staying in North Quadrant for your walks from now on.” He smiled at her coolly and pointed her toward the door.
As she left, she heard another IPF officer say quietly, “It’s number 235, sir.”
She hurried down the hall, away from the blood streaks and terror. She’d gotten more than she bargained for. What had she expected if she broke into his apartment, anyway?
Any man would be annoyed, at best, at finding someone breaking and entering. Dandra was frightened, either of him or of those he worked with. Worked with, as if she knew what his connection was with Petro. Or who Petro was. Not to mention the danger of other things. Some men couldn’t be trusted alone with a girl at all. She’d thought she could take care of herself, but he’d taken her by surprise. Twice.
Now, in the aftermath of the… What would she call it? Her attempt at breaking into his apartment? The incident with the great wolf beast? The second time he could have killed her but didn’t? In the aftermath, as she walked into the light winter sleet, she thought about him.
He meant to be frightening, but she wasn’t frightened. Not of him, anyway. The thought of another vertril in the streets was enough to make her look over her shoulder and hurry a little faster. She was curious, still. Worried, too. Guilty.
What if they caught him? The IPF hadn’t seemed concerned about his wounds at all. She tried to put into words what she’d seen in the corporal’s face. Bloodthirsty? It sounded harsh but terrifyingly accurate.
She heard IPF teams as she hurried through the darkness. They were quiet, but she was alone in the street and she could tell that many people moved through the darkness around her. Their boots squished softly on the damp asphalt.
“That way.” She heard them running swiftly past her. She stopped, her heart in her throat, at the quick flash of a laser sight. It disappeared, and she heard them moving again. No shot sounded.
She stood frozen in the street. They’re trying to kill him!
She tried to follow the sounds, but they were fast and she was already tired. She lost them some blocks away. Not that she had any idea what she would do if she caught up with them.
Maybe she was wrong.
Maybe they weren’t going to kill him. But what were “retrieval ops” and why did they merit weapons with laser sights? The whole team had been armed, once she thought about it—heavily armed. Their guns had silencers. She’d assumed it was to deal with the vertril, but now she wasn’t sure. How had they known to come in the first place? Number 235? What did that mean?
She walked home briskly, huddled in her coat. It was a long walk with the sleet picking up, and she wondered why she’d thought it was a good idea to walk in the first place. She stayed under the lights on the busier streets. Even at this hour, there were plenty of people out in the commercial district.
How many of them know about the vertril? Would they hunt here, among the crowds? How had she lived in this city for twenty-four years and not known of such monsters? She slipped into her little apartment with a sigh of relief. She locked the door behind herself and pulled off her coat and sweater, her boots, and finally, her jeans. She ran her hands over her face and through her hair.
A shower. I’ll feel better after a shower. She shivered.
As the hot water ran over her, she felt some of her tension and fear melt away. No vertril would get her here. But it didn’t soothe her guilt. Somewhere, a man was dying, and she had barely tried to save him.
Chapter Two
Aria spent the next day inside. She had plenty of books full of sticky notes and highlighting and she stared at her computer screen for hours.
But the words wouldn’t come. She had ideas, but no thesis. No coherent story for her paper. She had no thread to pull that would unravel into a line of thought.
Except the uneasy suspicion that there were things the Empire didn’t want her to know. But that was silly. Every government has secrets. It doesn’t mean the government is immoral. No government can operate with complete transparency. She knew that. She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t understand the need for secrecy… sometimes.
But why had she heard nothing about forests in the last few years? Surely someone would have mentioned forests, or woods, or rivers, or something. Not busy waterways like the Anacostia and Potomac, but a real river, with fish and rocks and maybe even a waterfall. The images in her mind were hazy and dreamlike, but she knew they were real.
Where had the book gone? Why did Dandra deny it? Aria was sure Dandra knew which book she meant. But why would she lie about it?
What if he’d died?
He had died, of course. No one could live with those injuries. No one could evade the IPF, much less when injured so terribly. Maybe they’d found him and taken him to a hospital. But that’s not what they intended.
She bundled up against the cold and went out. A walk would clear her head. Or perhaps give it more to think about. More questions might lead to answers or connections between questions, which might be almost as good.
She considered turning toward Connecticut Avenue, where her friend Amara lived. But this was an alone kind of walk. An alone kind of mood.
Aria looked in the shop windows as she passed. The familiar upscale clothing boutiques and trendy bistros didn’t interest her. Fashionable mannequins modeled outfits she couldn’t afford on her graduate student stipend. Only the restaurants and coffee shops were open this late.
She considered a hot drink, perhaps tea to break with her coffee tradition, but decided against it. The shops looked small and cozy, but the bleak weather suited her mood better. She had warm boots and a hood against the coming snow. She pushed her gloved hands further into her pockets and continued on.
There were few others walking the streets; they all looked like they were headed somewhere in a hurry. Maybe they’re smarter than I am. It’s miserable out here. But there was traffic, the bluish headlights and red taillights of electric cars meandering through the commercial district. A door opened briefly as a man entered a little bistro, and she heard laughter from inside.
Without meaning to, she found herself near the river. The edges were just crusting with ice; it was barely below freezing. She turned southeast, with the river on her right, and followed it morosely.
Had she caused his death? Had the IPF caught him? Why had they hunted him anyway?
Was it her fault?
She wondered if Dandra’s shop was open this late. Probably not. Should I tell her what happened? Aria headed to the bookstore anyway, not looking up until she was nearly to the door. Then she stopped in surprise.
The lights inside were off, of course; that was as she’d expected. A handwritten note taped to the inside of the glass door said Closed until further notice. That was odd. She peered in, but the streetlights behind her barely illuminated the interior. Nothing looked unusual. The row of tiny tables near the coffee bar at the front was neat and clean; behind it, the aisles of books could barely be seen. Shadows cloaked the bookshelves and tables, but nothing looked out of place.
She ran her hand along the icy handle and finally turned away. Maybe Dandra was ill or something. At the bridge, she looked to her right across the undergirding. She almost walked past, then a barely perceptible movement caught her eye, and she froze.
There, forty feet above the water, was a dark form on the metal. Well out of the light, the dim shape was scarcely visible, but it was in the same place she’d seen him before.
It wa
s impossible. He was dead. He had to be. Anyone would have died, wounded like that.
But she stared anyway, trying to make out the shape. Was it a person? A dead body? His body? She glanced up and down the street and saw no one.
It took only a moment for her to decide. She slipped down the dark, wet slope toward the base of the bridge. The ladder rungs were high, and she had to jump to reach the bottom one. Her glove slipped and she nearly fell, but she caught it again and kicked hard against the metal piling until she could lunge upward for the next one. Finally, she got one foot up high enough to climb the ladder the normal way. She was breathing hard, and she stopped at the top to catch her breath and look across the girder. The supports were arched, making room for the ships that traversed up the Potomac River.
From this angle, it was clearly a man’s form. He lay on his back with his feet toward her, one leg dangling off the edge toward the water. He was barefoot and completely motionless.
She edged toward him on hands and knees. The girder was wide, perhaps three feet, but the water was far below and very cold, and it made her nervous to be so high. She tried not to think about the height. Closer. Breathe, Aria. She focused on her hands as they moved, dark gloves against dark metal. At least, the girder was flat. Even without an angle to it, the metal was slippery in the damp.
When she glanced up again, he was sitting, leaning forward with one arm resting on his knee.
“Why are you following me?” His voice was soft. “I’ve done nothing to you.”
“I wasn’t following you. I was walking, and I saw a shape here. I wasn’t sure it was you.” She edged a little closer. “I was worried. You were hurt, and the IPF…” her voice trailed away. “I thought they meant to help you at first.” She frowned.
He huffed softly, a short hard sound that might have been a laugh. “They never mean to help us.”
Aria tried to see him in the darkness. His form was shadowy, and she could see only the pale, angular shape of his face, his arms, and his bare feet. Closer. “I wasn’t looking for you, but you’re hurt. It’s freezing out here, and you don’t have any shoes. Let me give you mine. I have more at home. They’re boots, and they’re too big for me anyway. They ought to fit.”
She sat back and started to pull at her laces.
He reached forward and stopped her with one bare hand. “I’m fine.” There was a hint of warmth in his voice now, and she met his eyes.
He swallowed and looked away first, glancing back toward the empty street beyond the steep bank. “Thank you for your concern. It is unusual.”
She stared at him. “You must be freezing. You have no coat either?”
He looked back at her. “No.” He rested his left hand against his stomach and shifted with a wince.
She stared at his hand. It was bandaged with what looked like torn strips of one of his dark shirts.
“Are you healing? Who are you? What are you?”
He laughed softly. “Dandra told you not to ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”
She stared back at him. “How did you know that? You were gone.”
“I hear many things.” He smiled at her, teeth very white in the darkness.
“What maps did you want?”
He cocked his head to one side, staring at her with cold suspicion. “Who do you work for?”
“What?”
He lunged at her, caught her by the throat, and flipped her on her back. He knelt by her and whispered with icy menace, “You ask a lot of questions. Who do you work for?”
She shook her head, unable to speak against the pressure on her throat. Tears squeezed from her eyes against her will. “No one,” she gasped. Mouthed. The words were inaudible, and she stared at him, willing him to believe her. Her heart thudded wildly.
He let her go and sat back. He was breathing as hard as she was, and he pressed his bandaged left hand against his stomach. He glanced past her toward the street again.
She wiped at her eyes. Her gloves were wet, and the chill stung her cheeks. “I was just trying to help you. Why do you keep assuming the worst? I don’t even know what you mean.” She wanted to go, but curiosity kept her. And compassion.
He leaned back against the vertical support, and this time, his pain was more obvious. He stared at her for a long moment, then looked back toward the street again. “You should go. If you’re not one of them, you won’t want to see what happens next.”
“One of who?”
“Them.” His eyes flicked toward her face again, and she blinked at their cold intensity. “Hunters.”
“Hunting you?” She let her confusion be obvious. If she didn’t know what he meant, perhaps he would trust her a little more. The wind gusted suddenly. It caught her hood and dragged it backward, and she tugged at it, shivering.
“They can track you, you know.” His blue eyes watched her for a reaction. “You’re leading them to me.”
She frowned at him. Was he mad? “No. They can’t. They wouldn’t. Why?”
“Trackers. They’re in almost everyone. Except for my people.” The cool blue gaze rested on her, gauging her reaction before moving back toward the street again.
She glanced back toward the street too. “Why? Where? How?” She shivered, and this time, it wasn’t only because of the icy wind.
“I believe you. That means you have a choice.” He pressed his bandaged left hand hard against his stomach and stood, with a soft huff of pain. He leaned back against the vertical support and looked at the opposite shore of the river for a long moment before looking back at her. “You can leave the tracker in and follow their rules. Go back to your life. It’s the easiest way. Safest.”
He glanced over his shoulder again thoughtfully. “Or you can let me remove it. There’s no going back. You’re out of everything. No job, no school, no electricity, no money. You’re invisible. And hunted.”
She swallowed. “What happened to Dandra?”
He watched her face. “What do you mean?”
“Her shop is closed until further notice. What happened to her? Did you tell Petro?”
“No.” His voice was flat, as if he didn’t really care whether she believed him.
“Why should I leave my life?” She wondered that she was even considering it. But then, it wasn’t so great, was it? A school she didn’t enjoy. A thesis that made her question everything she remembered. A boxy little apartment that she’d tried unsuccessfully to make cozy. A family that consisted of fragmented memories. A few school friends. No one close, not anymore.
“I didn’t say you should.” His voice was soft, and she glanced up at him. He was watching the street again, and she studied him for a moment in the dim light. Lean and hard. Like a soldier, she thought again.
“What are you?” she asked again.
He glanced down, meeting her eyes. “There’s not much time. Make your decision.”
“Do it.”
He knelt suddenly in front of her. “You’re sure? There is no changing your mind, afterward.”
She swallowed. “I’m not giving up much.”
He studied her for another long moment, then nodded once. He pulled a shirt from his rucksack, nearly invisible in the darkness. “Cut a strip off this.” He pulled a knife from his belt and held it toward her, hilt-first. She stared at it. Eight inches long, sharp on both edges and narrowing to a needle point.
“You’re going to cut me.” She pulled her gaze away from the blade to stare at him.
“Yes. You said you wanted it out.”
“Will it hurt?” She felt her breath becoming short. The cold air burned her lungs, and she shivered again, pulling her coat closer around her chest. As if that would protect her, if he wanted to kill her now.
He snorted softly. “Yes.”
She took a deep breath and felt her heart thudding. She forced herself to take the knife from him. The blade was razor sharp, but cutting the fabric into a usable shape was hard in the darkness. He reached out with his good h
and to help her stretch the fabric taut. She tried not to think about what she was doing. It was crazy. She was crazy.
“Take off your coat and pull up your sleeve. Right arm.” He set the knife down beside his knee.
She pulled off the coat and put it behind her, shivering harder. It was getting foggy, and though the wind had lessened, the cold still cut through her thick sweater to her bare skin. She pushed her sleeve up just above her elbow.
“More. No, take it off completely.” He glanced over his shoulder at the far shore, then back at the street nearest them.
“It’s freezing,” she whispered.
“I’ll be fast.” He was still searching the street, cold blue eyes flicking down the long stretch of road and resting for a long moment on something. She turned to look over her shoulder as she pulled her right arm out of the sweater sleeve, but didn’t see anything. She pushed her arm down and out the bottom of the sweater, keeping the rest of it on. The thick knit bunched around her throat and she pulled at it, trying to keep as much covered as possible.
“Lay down on your coat. And get your phone out.”
She lay back, shivering. Aria, you’ve officially lost it. This is insane. You’re on a bridge with a crazy man with a knife, and you’re about to let him cut you. No, you asked him to cut you. What is wrong with you?
He moved forward, still kneeling, his bare left foot on the edge of the girder, his right knee beside her ribs. He bent to look at her arm, eyes intent. What will it look like? I don’t know why I believe him, but I do.
He reached out and ran his hand along her upper arm, fingers cold as the metal, and she gasped at the chill. He prodded at one spot, then brought his bandaged hand up to the place and held her arm down firmly. “Don’t move.”
The warning was unnecessary. The knife flickered in and out so fast she barely had time to gasp at the sudden pain. He pressed, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. Then it was done. He held a tiny metal object up for her to see.
“Hold it.” He dropped it into her hand and wrapped the strips of cloth around her arm. She stared at the tiny metal capsule, the size and shape of a grain of rice. The wound burned, but not as much as she’d expected.
