Reapers (Breakers, Book 4)

by Edward W. Robertson

  "Hands up." He swung his gun across the dining room. "You move, you die."

  People sat at four different tables. Other than one couple in their thirties, the rest were men in suits, divided evenly between old white wrinklebags and buffed young dudes with pistols on their hips. A craggy-faced old man made eye contact with the bodyguards at the next table. He nodded. Slowly, they lifted their hands.

  Ash's people stripped them of their guns, patted them down. Ash strolled up to the craggy-faced man.

  "Jim Rimbold?" Ash's jaw dropped in mock surprise. "What are you doing here at the same time and the same place you always come here like a man who doesn't have a city full of enemies?"

  The man gazed back steadily. "Supporting local business."

  Ash laughed merrily. "Supporting local business! So what do you call trading with the aliens? Adapting to the growing demands of interstellar commerce?"

  "Are you here to rob us?" Rimbold said. "You're welcome to anything on my person."

  "How kind of you to offer. Know what, it was a long walk and your dinner looks astounding." He dropped into an empty chair and pulled Rimbold's plate across the table with a harsh scrape. He forked up a mound of orange curry and chewed. "What a kingly feast! Want some?"

  "What do you want?"

  "For you to enjoy your meal. Too rich for my blood." Ash stood, jolting the table. Silverware lurched. Rimbold's guards jerked. Lucy trained her pistol on one man's back. Ash lifted a bite of curry and airplaned it toward Rimbold's face. "Open wide!"

  The man pursed his lips like a recalcitrant child. Ash raised his pistol and tick-tocked the barrel back and forth. Rimbold opened up. Ash slid the fork inside and scraped its contents off on the man's teeth. He set down the utensil, put his hand on the man's jaw, and helped him chew.

  "What do you think? Delicious, right?"

  Rimbold swallowed before replying. "Is there a point to these theatrics?"

  "Now that we've shared bread, maybe we can be honest with each other. I don't like you, Jim. I tried to negotiate with your people. I told them you get your half of the city, we get ours. How do they respond? A counteroffer? Gentlemanly negotiations?"

  "Is that what you think you're doing right now?"

  "Nerve didn't so much as consider my proposal!" Ash went on. "Predictably enough, the fists start to fly. And you—savvy, alien-fucking businessman that you are—decide it's a good idea to send your people to burn my bar and kill my people."

  "Hold on a minute," Rimbold said. "That was a message-mission. No one was authorized to kill."

  "Used those nonlethal flaming Molotovs, did you?" Ash grinned in fury. "You should have stuck to your business. Because this is how we handle ours."

  Rimbold's face paled. "We can neg—"

  Ash shot him twice in the chest. Rimbold's partners and bodyguards shouted and began to stand. Ash knocked three of them down as fast as he could pull the trigger. Bodies tumbled back, legs askew. The table uprighted, spilling curries and steaming platters of rice. The fake fruit centerpiece tumbled into the air, bouncing plastic oranges across the floor. A young man in a suit dived at Ash. Lucy blasted him onto the toppled table. Guns roared around her.

  The shots stopped as suddenly as if someone had held up a flag. The smell of burnt powder overpowered the spices. The young couple pressed themselves against the far wall. A red string of goo fell slowly from the ceiling. The young man bent double and vomited.

  Ash blew smoke from his pistol and jammed it into his holster. "That curry really is good. Wonder if they do takeout?"

  One of his soldiers pointed at the vomiting man and his girlfriend. "What about them?"

  Ash waved to get the woman's attention. "Hey. You two who don't appreciate a fine meal. You're not associated with Distro, are you?"

  The woman shook her head in panicked jerks. "It's our anniversary."

  "Probably the most memorable one you ever had! You're welcome." He leaned over Rimbold's fallen body, grabbed the man's face, and shook it back and forth. "That's one dead son of a bitch. Let's get out of here."

  He walked back into the kitchen. The employees stared, wide-eyed. Ash collected Benson from guard duty and the group exited into the courtyard and picked their way across the broken glass on the jewelry shop floor.

  "Did we just whack Distro's CEO?" Lucy said.

  "Would you like to register a complaint?" Ash said.

  "No."

  "Well, I would. Never, ever use the word 'whack' to describe a killing again."

  "Got it," she said. "How do you think they'll retaliate?"

  "With any luck, they'll attack us on our home turf." Ash flung open the shop door and took a long breath of the cold night air. "We can end this feud then and there."

  They ran uptown through the snow. The streets were quiet, but Lucy had the feeling she wouldn't have to write any notes at this point. As for the massacre, she felt neither guilty nor happy. These people were arrogant. Trading with aliens. Bullying farmers. Taking slaves. They thought all they had to do was get people so scared they'd forget how it ever felt to stand on their own two feet.

  But there was a place beyond fear. When you've lived in death's shadow long enough—smelled his breath, felt his knuckles bump down the ridges of your spine—your hatred for whomever put you next to him is the one thing that can become deathless.

  The gangs had sown fear for too long. The harvest would be merciless.

  As soon as they got back to Sicily, Ash spread the word. All non-essential operations were suspended. Everyone was to be armed at all times. The scouting presence was quadrupled. They were given code words: "Wilson" to challenge the identity of someone unknown to you, "Mookie" to confirm you were Kono.

  Three days of fortifications ensued. Men hauled old cars to barricade the ends of the block. Saws rasped and hammers rapped. Ash's sapper planted pipe bombs along the advance to Sicily, concealing the explosives in planters and under piles of trash. Workers affixed hollow wooden panels to the fire escape landings, then packed the panels with dirt and scrap metal, turning the landings into armored firing platforms with access to rooftop snipers' nests.

  It was all very impressive. If Distro came straight at it—and after the destruction of their import pipeline and the murder of their leader, they had no choice but to retaliate—they'd die on the ramparts.

  While this went on, Lucy helped push Buicks up to the lines. Patrolled the streets with binoculars around her neck, eyes flicking to every flap of a pigeon's wing or swirl of gusted snow. And planned her retreat from the city.

  Early in the morning, with a half inch of fresh powder muffling the streets, the call went out. Distro was on the move. Scouts came in one after another updating the army's advance. Times Square. 49th Street. Columbus Circle. Ash sent messengers to muster everyone the Kono could bring to bear. Men and women climbed the armored fire escapes and set up behind the wall of cars. A thicket of rifles grew at both ends of the barricaded block. If things got bad, Lucy would slip into Sicily and out the back side of the building. Pretend she'd been out scouting. After Distro was routed, and the Kono counterattacked the Tower, she'd grab Tilly and be on her way.

  But Distro never came. The scouts brought in the news: at 65th Street, the enemy force had swerved into Central Park. They were burning out the farmers. Kono's main source of food, trade, and profit. If the Kono didn't move, the city might be theirs, but there would be nothing left in it worth having.

  26

  Ellie jogged across the street into the park. It was midnight and the paths were deserted. An unsteady breeze tossed the naked branches. It carried the smell of smoke and snow.

  "What could have happened to him?" Dee said. "Wait, nevermind—there's no use speculating, that's what we're here to find out, blah blah blah."

  "Add a few more blahs, and you've got it covered," Ellie said. "With any luck, after dinner he was too tired or drunk to walk home."

  "Don't bullshit me."

  "Don't swear at me." She ru
bbed her eyes. "But yeah. I don't think he's just drunk. I hope."

  "Do you think he parties?" Dee said. "I bet when he's drunk he rides his cane around the room bronco-style. Waving his bowler all 'Yee-ha!'" Dee laughed, but sobered quickly. "We shouldn't have let him go by himself, should we?"

  "We had to take the chance. It sounded like he had a real lead."

  She scanned the road while they ran, fighting off thoughts of heart attacks. He was far from young and they'd been pushing themselves hard. She had left her snowshoes behind—they were better for long distances, but awkward to run in—and she slipped often. Her feet and knees grew damp. Within ten minutes of leaving the apartment, they turned down the trail to Turtle Pond.

  The cabin's windows were blacker than the skies. Ellie stopped, panting, and wiped the wet from her nose. "If I go knock on the door, can you cover me?"

  "Got it."

  She turned. Dee was already going prone, bracing her gun over a rock beside the path. For a moment, Ellie was saddened, hollowed out that her daughter had so quickly become willing to lie in the midnight snow and open fire on an old woman, but as Dee set her eye behind her scope, the empty sadness became pride. Dee wasn't becoming a monster or sociopath. She was just learning to navigate a landscape after most of the lights had gone out for good. And to protect herself and her family.

  Becoming who she needed to be in order to survive.

  "Don't be too eager to shoot," Ellie said. "If she's done something to him, she won't be able to answer many questions with a hole in her heart."

  Dee nodded. Ellie thought she should impart more wisdom, but there was nothing else to say. She crunched through the snow on the lawn, stopped at the door, and knocked.

  After her third try, steps clunked across the floor inside. The window beside the door squeaked open.

  "Hands where I can see them," a man said.

  Ellie raised them high. "I'm here for Sheriff Hobson."

  "About six hours too late."

  Heat poured down her skin. "What did you do to him?"

  "Not a damn thing," the man said. "They took him. Guess they thought he looked suspicious."

  Ellie blinked at the dark window. "Who?"

  "Who do you think? The Kono."

  "How did they know he'd be here? Did you tell them?"

  "I don't like the Kono any more than the next man. They think they own us and everything we grow. But if they gave you the choice between your wife and a man you never even met, you'd make the same decision I did."

  "Where did they take him?"

  "I had no interest in asking." A gun barrel glinted behind the window. "Now get off my land before they see you here."

  She walked from the house. Tracks marred the snow. Some were long and shallow, as if toes had been dragged over the surface. She beckoned Dee over and followed them all the way to the footpath, where they disappeared amid countless other footprints. Ellie knelt, but it was hopeless.

  "What happened?" Dee said.

  "The Kono got wind of us. They took Hobson."

  "Who told them? Kroger?"

  "Or Nora."

  "Nora?" Dee glanced east through the trees. "But she's supposed to be helping us."

  "As far as we know, she's the only one who knows why we're really here." Ellie stood, but she couldn't make her feet move forward. "Or maybe I'm going crazy. We came here to find Quinn and now we've lost Hobson. If our cover's blown, we can't keep poking around the park. We're back to wandering the streets for the Clavans' van. Which probably returned to Albany two weeks ago."

  The wind blew the snow across the mingled confusion of tracks. Clouds came and went from the face of the moon. Ahead, the path disappeared into the woods.

  "If I told you all that," Dee said, "what would you do next?"

  Ellie looked up. "Follow the trail that's still warm. Hobson. If it hits a wall, or wanders afield, return to the original objective."

  "So where does Hobson's trail point us?"

  "To push back on Nora." She turned and headed back the way they came in. "But first, we need sleep. We're already hours behind. A few more won't hurt us, but chasing after gangsters when we can't think straight is not a winning combination."

  With a new course in place, she already felt better. They hiked back to the apartment, peeled off their socks, replaced them with dry ones. Her mind spun, but it was already so late she fell asleep within minutes. Anxiety woke her a half dozen times. Around dawn, she woke Dee. They shared the last of the meat pies and trekked back to Nora's boathouse. The sun was up, but it was hidden behind buildings and clouds, and the early light was foreign and gray.

  Nora answered the door in a thick bathrobe. She saw it was Ellie and her lips pulled back from her teeth. "I told you not to come by during daylight."

  "Did you tip us off to the Kono?"

  "The Kono?" Nora's face bent with anger. "I've risked my family to help yours. If you ever accuse me of helping slavers again, they'll be the last words you speak to me."

  "Someone found out who were are," Ellie said. "Last night, they took Sheriff Hobson."

  "Get inside." The woman opened the door wide. When Ellie hesitated, Nora rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Why would I give up Hobson and not you?"

  "I don't know." Ellie exhaled deeply and stepped inside. "Someone at the government has been after us from the moment we went to City Hall. Maybe they heard we came here. Found you. Made threats."

  Nora had just closed the door and now looked regretful she'd let them in at all. "I'm sorry your friend's been taken, but I've done all I can. You can't blame me for not wanting to get in any deeper."

  Dee snorted. "You're going to just let them get away with it?"

  "Dee," Ellie said.

  "Don't 'Dee' me. This is ridiculous. The only reason Quinn got taken is because no one in town had the balls to stand up to the men in the black fedoras." She turned on Nora. "You think you're keeping yourself safe by not lifting a finger against the Kono. But as long as they're here, you'll never be safe."

  "And if I help you, you're going to scrub them from the city?" Nora said. "Or are you going to find your boyfriend, wave goodbye to New York, and run home to the mountains?"

  Dee flushed. "If we show they're not invincible, maybe others will stand up, too."

  Nora tightened the belt of her robe. "If they decide not to kill him, they'll probably sell him to one of the farmers."

  "Then we're back to square one," Ellie said. "Except now the Kono are looking for us, too."

  "I don't know how much I can do. But I'll keep my ears open."

  Ellie laughed bitterly. "Or we could turn ourselves in. Who knows, the Kono might reunite us."

  Dee frowned at the curtains across the bay windows of the converted dining room. "What if we did?"

  "Can't. They might shoot us. Or split us up and sell us to three different people." She rubbed her hand down her face. "We'll keep going door to door. I don't know what else we can do."

  She knew it was a deeply stupid idea—one that had already cost them Hobson—but there were only so many farms in the park. If they acted quick and got lucky, they might stumble onto Quinn before the Kono hunted them down.

  But it was time to open a new avenue. As they knocked on cabins, asking careful questions of the guarded residents, Ellie inquired not only about whether they'd recently acquired new help, but where she might go to buy it for herself. Most mentioned Kroger. One man recommended checking in at the Kono bar, a place on Amsterdam and 90-something.

  "Maybe they haven't had time to sell Quinn yet," Dee said after they'd walked from the farmhouse to a snowed-in bike path along a pond that had partially iced over. "If the Kono are that powerful, I bet they make the Clavans sell exclusively to them."

  Ellie nodded. "The Clavans could even be a franchise of the Kono. Or vice versa. Whatever this network is, it's spreading threads through the state like a cancer. When we get home, we'll have to make sure it can't take root in the lakes."

  "As l
ong as we're here, why don't we quit sniffing around the park and go straight to the Kono? If we pose as buyers, we could find Quinn and learn more about who they are."

  "Won't work. Even if they don't have our exact description—and if the Talcotts gave them Hobson, I'm sure they gave up that, too—there can't be too many young women and their old mothers running around asking about slaves."

  "You're not old," Dee said softly. "I think we should get off the road."

  For a moment, Ellie thought that was some strange metaphor. Through the trees, she glimpsed four men walking down a path. They were a hundred yards away and following a curve in the trail that would spit them out in direct view of Ellie and Dee. Besides the leafless trees and a couple of scarred benches, there was no cover.

  Ellie grabbed Dee's hand and pulled her to the banks of the pond. Reeds grew to unruly height in the riparian spaces. The water at the edges had frozen semi-opaque, layered with thin snow. Ellie led Dee onto the slick surface and crouched behind the thicket of brittle brown reeds. The ice creaked under the tread of her shoes.

  Back at the trail, the men slogged through the snow, shoulders swaying. Each carried an assault rifle. They gazed into the trees and didn't speak. At the spot where Ellie and Dee had left the path, one man stopped and stared at the tracks in the snow. He reached into his pocket, removed the half-smoked stub of a cigarette, lit it, and exhaled voluminous smoke into the frigid air.

  He jogged to catch up with the others. The men disappeared beyond a low hill. Ellie crawled on her hands and knees toward the bank. The ice popped. A crack traced itself across the surface, as if drawn by a ghost. She lowered herself and spread her limbs to distribute her weight. She was just a couple feet from shore, but the park's ponds were cut deep at the edges. And a brief plunge risked hypothermia.

  "Go on," she said to Dee. "Slowly."

  Dee's mouth was an O of stress. She army-crawled into the reeds, then rolled into the snow. Ellie followed. The ice creaked but held. On the bank, she stood hesitantly, wary for any sight of the men, then brushed off the snow and shivered.