by Patti Larsen
Poppy slides in beside Vander to the delight of the puppies who tackle her with soft whining sounds and eager tongues, tails swishing so hard their little bodies shake. Their eager liveliness shakes me out of my funk and makes me smile again.
They aren't so little anymore. The steady diet of meat and attention has done wonders for them. I slide to the ground, crossing my legs, welcoming the golden boy, Shine, as he bounds over for some love. He's put on weight, coat glossy and I marvel he is so beautiful. His black sister, Shade, joins him shortly, her warm tongue washing my fingers before the pair of them settle in my lap with sighs, chins in paws while their father stretches out next to me, furry body pressed to my leg. My hands gently stroke the two puppies absently, the contact a great comfort washing away my anxiety as Beckett speaks.
“We need to figure out what to do next.” His tone is calm, reasonable, and I'm a little shocked. But everyone nods easily, focused on his words, like this is simply a conversation over dinner, a common discussion about the weather or some point of interest. He's a natural leader, my Beckett, that much is clear, the energy he radiates completing the relaxed state the puppies have put me in. I find myself as focused as the others, as calm, willing to listen to every word he says.
Startled, I wonder when I began to think of him as mine.
“I'm sorry about Chime.” Socrates slumps, fingers tapping a rhythm on his leg, expressing his guilt in a steady beat, dark skin shining silver from the glow of Vander's luminescence. “I should have known not to trust her.” His thick mess of black hair shines in the light.
“It's quite likely she'll evict us from the train.” Vander's soft voice holds no worry or fear, blue eyes, so light they are near transparent, meeting mine. “Which means we will have to find a new source of transportation.”
I find myself nodding even as I connect the formal way he speaks with years spent alone and only books and scientific research for education, thanks to his academic parents and a long life of solitude. He sounds like Socrates in many ways.
“What about a train of our own?” Poppy rests her chin on one fist, propped up on her knee. She's adorable, the picture of health, pink cheeks glowing in the low light. My heart skips at beat when I remember her illness, her death. Her brown eyes opening as she asked me why I was crying.
I shudder from the memory and look away from her. I can't even consider losing her though I don't know why. She of all of them I will give my life for in a moment, without hesitation. As much as my task drives me, my need to keep Poppy safe outweighs even the embedded pressure of those who sent me here.
“If we could find another steam engine,” Socrates says slowly. “But we'd need more coal. And you can bet Chime won't be sharing any of the fuel I found for her.” Bitterness creeps into his voice. “How did this all go so wrong?”
“Because of me.” I've spoken aloud before I realize the words emerged and see them all look at me, Socrates with a flash of guilt.
“Trio,” Socrates says. “I didn't mean—”
Beckett opens his mouth at the same time, face crumpled in protest, but I shake my head, reaching out to pat first the boy genius's hand then Beckett's knee. “It's true and we all know it. I've caused this, attracted one disaster after another. I really think it's time to consider your own safety.”
“We've talked about this.” Beckett's anger shows in his body, his tight posture, shattering his illusion of control. “No matter what happens, we're not safe anywhere. Eventually the Sick will get us. Or another group.”
“Beckett's right,” Socrates says. “Nowhere is safe anymore.”
Glum oppression pushes down on me, a tangible thing, and from the way the others stare at the lantern, I'm not the only one. I've ruined the moment as much as I've ruined their lives.
“I don't trust Chime at this point anyway.” Beckett finally breaks the silence. “We'll figure something out. But I do think we need to head out on our own.”
Socrates sighs. “Unless you can find another way, I think we're stuck.” He grins suddenly. “Did you want to walk?”
Not really funny, but I find myself laughing anyway.
“I hate to knock your suggestion,” I say, “but I don't think I have that kind of time.” Anxiety stirs inside me as I think about it, my humor leaving as the pressure of my task, whatever it might be, still hidden behind my memory loss. It finds a way to drive into me as I stand there and look at the faces that have become beloved to me, a tension I find almost painful.
“Once Chime calms down, will she perhaps think twice?” Vander slides back the sleeves of his shirt, emanating more light with the motion, though I'm sure it's not his intent. “Surely she must be aware she can't go back, not after helping us.”
Socrates chews his lower lip. “Maybe,” he says. “She's always been volatile, but she's also pretty logical. If she knows her only way out of this mess is to take us to New York, she might ease up.”
“Then you'll have to convince her,” Beckett says with a grin.
Socrates groans and rolls his eyes, but his white teeth flash against his very dark skin so I know he's already taken on that responsibility in his own mind. And considering he has the most history with her, he's really the best choice.
I was a fool to think I could talk her down. What was I thinking?
“Heads down from here on in,” Beckett says, mood shifting again as he leans forward. “Stay out of their way and out of trouble. No starting fights,” his eyes flicker to me, “and no finishing them either.”
I take the hint though it's almost unfair of him. Still, he's right. If we're going to convince Chime to take us further, we have to do whatever we can to show her we're not a threat. Even if that means hiding here in this car all the way to the Atlantic.
“What if we tell Chime Trio's purpose?” Vander turns to me. “That she's the cure for all of this?” He waves his hands around his head, indicating the world, the glow from his skin casting freaky moving shadows as he does.
He's assuming that's the case. I can cause the Sick, yes, and I can also heal. But even I don't know my real purpose, and guessing is getting us nowhere.
“We don't know so for sure.” Socrates echoes my thoughts, staring at me like I'm inanimate, or a problem he needs to solve. “And besides, it might make matters worse.”
“Agreed.” Beckett almost growls the word. “Chime's already blaming us for the Crawler attack. For Cade. If she finds out what Trio can do...”
No one says anything while a shudder passes through me. The Sick. I can give kids the Sick, and not the normal kind either, but some accelerated version melting them to nothing in moments. No cure, no save. No conversion to one of the different versions arising from infection.
Just death.
“I agree with Beckett,” Socrates says. “Chime's an act first, think once the dust has settled kind of girl. If she gets wind of Trio's abilities, she's likely to stop the train right here rather than waiting to kick us off at the station.”
Beckett's chin drops, our two light sources at war on his face as he scowls at his hands. “We need more information,” he says. “Maybe if we can find out why the Crawlers are really after Trio we can use it to convince Chime.” He taps his fists together, gaze far away as his forehead creases. I get the impression he's imagining hitting someone and it troubles me very much. “There's only one person on this train who might have the information we need.”
Ah. I was correct. And as much as I'd like to join him in the mental attack on the prisoner this train holds, I can't go there. Beckett doesn't speak further, only rises and disappears through the stacks of boxes, hands still clenched into weapons. The others follow in silence, the lantern swinging before Socrates like a beacon.
I shed my jacket and spread it on the ground, laying the sleeping puppies into the still-warm nest, before forcing myself to walk behind my friends, the dog padding along beside me.
***
Chapter Three
I catch glimpses o
f the captive through the shifting bodies of my friends, sliding in beside Poppy as they come to a stop in a rough semicircle at the back of the car. I try not to allow empathy a place in my heart at the sight of the young man at my feet, but it's difficult, no matter what he's done.
Brick lies on his side, hands and feet cruelly bound with dirty rope, trickles of blood seeping from his wrists where he's struggled to free himself. His face is a mass of forming bruises, one eye closed over, the socket filled with crusted blood from a cut on his forehead. It's clear someone's been busy interrogating him while I reflected on my present position and I feel a surge of guilt no one did anything to stop the beating.
Until I remember Poppy, how he tried to kill her. And all of my compassion dies in a puff of smoke.
“Chime's people,” Socrates says. I nod, knowing my friends would have had nothing to do with this. Though I catch myself glancing at Beckett, the knotted fists he holds clenched to his sides, the dark, angry look on his face, how I'm certain he's still thinking violent thoughts and take back my first assessment.
Beckett would.
Is likely to do more if I don't stop him.
The dog takes a step forward, sniffs Brick, only to growl at him, a deep and angry sound, primal, threatening. To my surprise, Brick growls back, matching the golden lab's tone exactly.
“Who told Cade where we were?” Beckett's voice rumbles, harsh and heavy.
Brick ignores him, tongue snaking out to lick at his dry lips. The lower one cracks, a bead of blood rising before it breaks and trickles down his chin.
I'm fascinated by the glittering line of black, which would be crimson in brighter light, hardly hearing Beckett's question. I already know the answer anyway. Dauphine. Though I am sure the blind seer only supplied the information under extreme duress. Of all the people I've met, at least those who aren't with me at present, I trust her the most.
More guilt. I should have saved her. But she was busy killing Genki for his second betrayal, the one she trusted, the hoarder leader who only used her for her abilities and, though I couldn't blame her, the act sealed her capture.
“Why are the Crawlers after Trio?” Socrates takes his turn, crouching to examine Brick's face. “You must know.” The boy prods the bigger young man with his fingertip, like a kid tormenting an anthill.
Brick's grin is nasty, teeth red with blood. But he maintains his silence, beyond spitting a wad of darkened saliva at Socrates's feet.
This is useless. I'm certain if Brick were willing to talk he'd have done so while being beaten by Chime's people. From how he appears they were more than eager to work him over, though I wonder how many questions they asked between blows, or if there was a questioning at all, really. At least his limbs look intact. I'd hate to have to heal him for answers. The thought of touching him makes my skin creep.
No, simply asking him questions will get us nowhere. Beckett sways, both fists rising as I grasp his arm and pull him toward me.
“He doesn't know anything,” I say, trying to sound bored, hoping cunning will win where brute force failed. “He's a lackey, not a leader. I'll tell Chime to pitch him off the end of the train.”
Brick's one working eye catches mine, a flicker of fear in it. And yet, despite the threat, he just lies there and says nothing.
The others leave, Poppy leading them. Of all of us, she refuses to look at him, in fact spent the entire time behind Beckett's legs. I don't blame her. He did try to kill her after all. But it's not like her to hide from danger. In fact, quite the opposite.
So what did he do to her to make her so afraid? My blood heats again and I find my own fists forming. Instead of allowing my anger to defeat my plan, I take the lantern from Socrates as Beckett strides past me, anger radiating from him. I pause, the light falling on Brick's damaged face, alone but for the dog who continues his horrible growling.
“He doesn't like you.” I stroke the dog's ear. “He remembers what you did to him. What Cade did.” The dog's whole body shakes with rage under my hand as I recall the insane leader, handsome Cade with his army of terrified kids, how he kicked the dog so hard he broke ribs. If it hadn't been for my healing ability, as equally powerful it seems as my power to kill, I'm certain my faithful golden friend wouldn't be standing beside me.
I continue, voice level, doing my best to stay clinical. “He's smart, this one. Makes me wonder if the Sick doesn't affect more than humans.”
I'm freaking Brick out, it's clear in the frown on his face, the way his unharmed eye flickers from me to the dog to the path my friends followed when they left us. I find myself smiling almost gently and watch in fascination as fear crosses his face in a surge of uncontained emotion. I wonder what a gentle smile from Cade could have meant to raise such concern in his second in command.
Or is it me, after all? And if that's the case, what is it about me that he finds so frightening? My ability? No, it's not that. I'm sensing something else from him, a terror much deeper than the fear of death. I crouch at last, studying him as he fights his emotions. When he finally succeeds, I shrug.
“You're not like her.” His voice cracks and warbles a little, a show of bravado as he sneers at me. But traces of anxiety make it through his act.
Her? “You're sure about that?” Who is he talking about? I need to be careful if I want him to tell me anything. Someone has convinced him his silence is more valuable than his life.
His eye narrows. “I'm sure.” Suddenly his body relaxes, as though I've given him the answer he needs. But instead of falling silent, he goes on. “The Crawlers are after you, but we were never told why.”
I believe him, though his phrasing puts together a new connection. “Cade is now working with them, isn't he?”
Brick snorts, spits again, this time to the side as though unwilling to offend me. “It's that or be eliminated.”
So much for his crazy leader's desire to rule the world. I am almost happy the model-handsome Cade is being forced to take orders. The very idea is lovely, delicious even.
When did I become so vindictive? I'm certain it's not a normal trait for me.
“I chose to escape.” Brick's gaze doesn't leave mine as he continues. “I won't work for the Crawlers. And if they are after you, I'm against them.”
His words have an echo in memory. Almost the exact argument Beckett used when Nico challenged my presence. It makes me pause, consider.
“You're saying you're on our side?” I can't keep the skepticism from my voice no matter my comparisons.
Brick doesn't react with anger, but keeps his same level gaze locked on me. “I knew you would never believe me,” he says. “Not after what happened. But it's true.”
“You tried to kill Poppy.” Rage ripples, makes my hands twitch. The dog barks once, angry, shaking his head.
“I saved the little girl,” Brick says, voice very soft. “Ask her.”
I find myself standing, backing away from him, the dog retreating with me, Brick's confidence driving me away even as I recall her leaving first, slinking away, head down, eyes down. Not facing the one who supposedly tried to harm her. Not her usual reaction at all. And yet, it can't be true, Brick is the enemy, heartless, soulless, as much as his former leader.
It just can't be true, then.
Can it?
I leave him there, mind churning, unwilling to trust him, but needing to hear Poppy's side of the story.
No matter how much the story might challenge what I believe.
***
Chapter Four
I find Poppy curled up around the puppies, the rest of our friends standing off to the side, talking by the light of Vander. Beckett looks up, beckons me but I ignore him, at least for now. His frown follows my actions when the lantern makes a soft thunk as I set it down in the middle of the area they'd cleared for sleeping. Poppy's eyes flicker open to catch mine at the sound.
“I'm tired of talking,” she says. Yawns. Golden Shine mimics her before snuggling closer with a soft murmur and a
smack of his lips.
“I know,” I say, stretching out next to her, head on my arm, stroking a clump of hair from her cheek, back behind her ear. “But I have a question for you.”
Tears well, trickling down to pool in the hollow of her eye and nose before spilling down the line of her nose and into her hair. “You're going to ask me about him, aren't you?”
My lips find her forehead before I press my cheek to hers and hug her, the puppies between us. “Did he save you, Poppy? Did Brick save you?”
She nods against me, misery in her every motion.
“Why didn't you say anything?” I keep my voice soft, free of judgment while my mind battles with scenarios. Why did Brick do such a thing? What possible motives, good or bad, could he have had and what does it mean for his trustworthiness?
“I tried to say it.” She snuffles. “Beckett didn't want to hear me. And then the others were hurting him and no one would listen.” Another sniff. “It's my fault he's hurt and tied up like that, even after he saved me.”
“What happened?” I kiss her again, so she knows it's okay.
“One of the guys grabbed me,” she says. “I hit him with my pipe, but he took it. He was dragging me off the train when Brick showed up. He kicked the other guy in the face. But he slipped when he did it and fell on me.” She draws a shaky breath. “I don't like him,” she says in a whisper, “but he saved me, Trio.”
We both fall silent and soon her regular breathing tells me she's fallen asleep. My mind is far too active for rest. Brick could be telling the truth, then. Or he could have acted with a motive still untold. I listen to the soft murmurs from our friends as they continue to talk, the sighs of the puppies, the deep groan from the dog as he rolls over, all over the rattle and thump of the racing train.
It takes me a moment to realize the background sounds, the rails, wheels, and cars have slowed. I slide free of the little girl, turning to the dog.
“Watch her.”
