“We do know that Mateo’s group has used it to knock down buildings,” Sharra added grimly. “So it can be pretty powerful in the hands of someone who knows what he’s doing.”
Martín walked faster, and we sped up to match him. His legs were much longer than mine, and keeping up had me nearly running as we made our way to the other side of the city.
We had a long way to go. The market where we’d met up with Martín was at the southern edge of Goodland where it bordered the old city, while the government district was in the northernmost sector of the new city.
We turned from our tunnel into another angling more to the northeast, and Martín pointed out a thick metal slab protruding slightly from the left wall. “There are sliding panels that can seal off the tunnels at various intersections,” he told us. “I assume they were originally intended to divert water through the various channels. They serve no practical purpose now, but it is possible to trigger the sliding mechanism with enough tinkering and luck. Mateo has closed the panels at either end of the Goodland Boulevard tunnels, sealing himself inside with his explosives.
“Sealing the doors should limit the extent of the blast, but it also means that we can’t get to Mateo to forcibly stop him from setting off an explosion. We’re only able to talk to him through a small gap he’s left open. He hasn’t been willing to change his mind.”
“I could swear he wasn’t this crazy before.” Sharra sounded bewildered at Mateo’s behavior, but I remembered an afternoon with Rivers and Mateo back before I joined Liberty pack. Mateo had been convinced of the need to bring down the corrupt government, his eyes alight with zealotry as he tried to convince me that a violent rebellion was necessary.
“At any cost,” I murmured to myself.
Martín and Sharra looked at me, and I elaborated, “Mateo once told me the only way to eliminate the corruption in the government was to destroy it … and he used the phrase ‘at any cost.’ He felt that the loss of innocent bystanders was acceptable collateral damage if it came to that.”
I clenched my fists, infuriated all over again at the memory of the day that had ended with Mateo attacking me and almost killing Roomie. “Mat and I argued over it, but obviously I didn’t change his viewpoint on the matter.”
We continued through the twists and turns of the dimly lit corridors, pushing our way through crowded sections and stepping over people’s belongings where they had set up camp. The tunnels grew steadily emptier as we approached our destination. According to Martín, as word had spread through the Warren about Mateo’s plans, people had cleared out of the area. I was relieved. The more people out of the way, the better.
We had nearly reached the intersection of Goodland Boulevard and Washington Street when there was a sudden uptick in the noise level around us. The people still left in this section of tunnels were streaming around us, everyone pushing their way past to run down the narrow passageway in the direction we had come.
Martín snagged a woman by the arm as she scuttled past and asked why everyone was running. She responded in hurried Spanish, her words tumbling over themselves in near panic as she yanked herself away from Martín and rushed away.
Martín translated bleakly, “She says that the crazy man told them the tunnels will explode soon, and they must run.”
Without another word, we ran too, but toward the danger instead of away. If there was still any way to stop this, we had to try for the sake of all our friends and pack members back in Denver. Too many people here in the Warren knew that Mateo was responsible for this; someone was sure to turn him over to the authorities. Unless, of course, Mateo did us the favor of just blowing himself up and ending that line of inquiry.
I assumed Martín’s motivation was similar. I knew him as a good man who would want to save the residents of the Warren who would bear the brunt of any explosion and the inevitable retaliation.
We raced around the corner, and our path forward was blocked by a heavy steel plate closing off the tunnels beyond. Standing before the massive barrier was Mateo. He did look like a crazy man, his hair standing out in wild tufts like he’d been clutching his hands in it. He paced in agitated circles as he shouted at the few people left in this section, telling them to run.
“Mateo!” I shouted his name as we sprinted toward him, and he turned to face us. For a split second, an oddly satisfied expression flitted across his face, but it was replaced by a complex mix of worry and relief.
“Poppy! Sharra! You must help me. I tried to dismantle the explosives, but something has gone wrong. I cannot stop it now. It will all explode. We have to try to clear the streets.” He jerked a thumb at the ceiling, and my heart leapt with panic at the thought of the heavily populated street above us. What would the explosives do to all the people above the tunnels?
“Is there a way up?” I demanded. “How do we get up there to warn people?”
“I was about to go,” Mateo said. “I only wanted to clear this tunnel. I cannot stop it,” he repeated again, shaking his head frantically. “I have tried, but I cannot stop it.”
I punched him sharply in the chest. “Freak out later,” I snapped. “Show us how to get to the street.”
Mateo didn’t even glare at me, a measure of how worried he was. He just turned and ran down one of the side tunnels, the three of us pounding on his heels. After a short sprint, he grabbed the rungs of a ladder set into the wall and started climbing. We followed him up to an access hatch at the top.
Mateo was strong enough that opening the heavy door above his head took only a hearty shove, and then we were all scrambling out into a narrow alley branching off from Goodland Boulevard. A couple of teenagers leaned against the wall, gaping at us in astonishment as we emerged from the tunnels. Not wasting time with explanations, I simply gave the kids a light shove toward the far end of the alley.
“Run,” I commanded. “A bomb is going to go off. You have to get away from Goodland Boulevard.” I kept my voice low and forceful, knowing that people responded better to an authoritative order than a panicked scream. They looked scared but followed my instructions, running down the alley and away from the boulevard.
I ran in the opposite direction toward the main street. The sidewalks were packed with people finishing up their workday or heading out for the evening. Busses and other vehicles streamed bumper-to-bumper both ways along the broad street. The hum of the vehicles and the collected conversations of so many people created a scene that was calm, but loud enough that people couldn’t hear me when I shouted.
I grabbed the person nearest me and repeated the warning I’d given to the kids in the alley. “There’s a bomb. Get away from the boulevard.”
Sharra, Martín, and Mateo were right behind me, all of us repeating my words over and over and trying to tell enough people to make a difference. We just didn’t have enough time.
It seemed like only moments after I stepped onto the boulevard that I felt a deep rumble beneath my feet, the vibrations shaking my bones as the entire street began to shudder from the burgeoning pressure below. Screams rang through the air as the gas ignited with a colossal roar. Towers of flame burst from long-unused manholes and shot thirty to fifty feet into the air.
Tears streamed down my face and I sobbed as I looked at the destruction in front of me. I couldn’t believe how much ruin and death had occurred in only a few moments. The force of the blast had first expanded and then rapidly contracted as the gas burned away. The supporting structures below the street now destroyed, Goodland Boulevard began to collapse inward, dumping buses and personal mag-lev vehicles into what was quickly becoming a massive sinkhole filling with water from broken pipes while flames still danced along debris.
A weighty cloud of choking dust and dirt filled the air, coating us in filthy grit and making it hard to breathe. I pulled my sunscarf over my nose and mouth to filter the air but had to leave my eyes uncovered, though the stinging dust hurt. The smoke and dirt in the air reduced visibility to only a few feet and blocked
the light of the sun.
I don’t know how long we were there trying to help the trapped and injured. So many people needed help. My world narrowed to a blur of victim after victim as we helped people move away from the floods and fire of the collapsed street. I didn’t have any medical supplies to help bandage and repair wounds, but I could transport people and cry with them over everything we had just lost.
Everyone was so stunned by the explosion and its aftermath that no one seemed to care about the presence of Roomie by my side. The big cat helped me, Sharra, and Martín pull people from the rubble. His sharp eyes were able to see better in the smoky air, so he lead us through the streets to where flashing lights of emergency vehicles indicated that a medical triage area had been created.
After what must have been hours, the haze in the air finally began to settle, allowing us to see the full extent of the destruction. The road had fallen in on itself all the way from the gates of the White House to the Congressional Complex at the other end of the street. Thankfully, the destruction seemed limited to the street itself. The massive buildings lining both sides of the street appeared intact and in no danger of immediate collapse; however, they would have to be evaluated by engineers to be sure that they were structurally sound.
If Mateo had managed to control the timing to the point of setting off the explosion as Cruz’s limo drove down the street, he just might have managed to pull off an assassination. Certainly many people had been killed in the street’s implosion. It was possible that Cruz could have met a similar fate if he’d been on the road.
I rubbed a hand across my forehead, exhausted. As much as I wanted to see Cruz pay for his crimes, maybe even to see him gunned down the way my father had been, I could never have done it this way. I fought back sobs of my own when I looked at all the weeping people huddled together for comfort and trying to make sense of this terrible day.
A hand touched my shoulder, and I whirled to find Mateo standing behind me. His eyes were red and his face ravaged with regret. “I never meant…” He choked on the words, then tried again. “I did not think…” He stumbled to a stop, unable to come up with the words.
“I told you,” I reminded him quietly. “That day that you and I and Rivers had lunch and argued over what casualties were acceptable in a rebellion against the government. Your fight is with the people at the top, not with these poor people who just wanted to do their jobs and live their lives today.”
“I know. I know that. I listened.” His face and voice were anguished, and in spite of my long-held hatred for Mateo, I felt a little sorry for him. “I got carried away, and by the time I came to my senses, it was too late. The gas becomes unstable when bottled, and I could tell it was going to go. I tried to relieve the pressure slowly, but it didn’t work. All I could do was try to warn people and get them out of the way.”
He buried his face in his hands, overcome with what he had done. Martín laid a hand on Mateo’s shoulder and squeezed. “What’s done is done,” he said. “We cannot change it now; we can only move forward.”
I couldn’t agree with that assessment. How could I let Mateo blithely walk away from what he’d done just because now he felt bad? On the other hand, I couldn’t turn him over to the authorities, even if I could somehow do so without being detained myself. Giving Mateo over for interrogation would be disastrous for Denver. Cruz would surely have Mateo executed and Denver leveled as an example to any other would-be rebels.
I was going to have to kill him, I realized bleakly. I thought of the knife I had hidden in my boot and wondered if I was capable of sliding the blade between Mateo’s ribs and ending him. Roomie pressed against the side of my leg and gave the chittering sound of a cat on the hunt. I knew he would help me.
I steeled myself for the horrible thing I was about to do and reached down to slip the knife from my boot. Mateo lifted his face from his hands and saw me moving toward him, knife in hand. His jaw dropped in shock.
“You would kill me?” he gasped, “Just like that? What about a trial? A jury?”
I said nothing, just leapt forward, picturing my knife diving toward his heart. Mateo jumped backward, but Roomie was behind his feet and Mateo stumbled and fell.
“Poppy, no! This is not the way!” Martín cried. He grabbed me around the waist and shoulders to hold me back. I didn’t want to hurt him, so I didn’t use my full training to fight back.
“This is the only way, Martín. He has to pay.”
Sharra grabbed Martín’s arms and yanked him away from me. “It has to happen,” she agreed with grim finality.
I advanced on Mateo again as he scrambled backward, still sitting on the ground. Sharra, Roomie, and I were all stalking toward him now and he was panicked, realizing that he was finally facing justice for his crimes.
“You canno—“ his words became a shriek of fright and pain as he moved too far and the sidewalk crumbled away beneath him. I heard several dull thuds as he tumbled into the abyss he himself had created. We peered over the edge, trying to see him. He was sprawled at the bottom of the trench, unmoving.
“My God,” Martín choked. “You’ve killed him.”
“I’m not really sure of that,” I said. “I need to get down there and check somehow.”
Sharra nodded, “Someone around here has to have ropes. We’ll have to get some and climb down there.”
Martín looked horrified. “Who have you become, Poppy? The sweet girl I knew could never …”
He stared at me, and I could actually see the moment that he began to make excuses for me. “You’re overwrought,” he said. “Today has been too much to bear. And certainly, given all that you’ve been through since your father died, it’s understandable.
I let him continue to rationalize my actions, hoping it wouldn’t break his heart when he saw that I really did mean to climb down there and finish Mateo off if he wasn’t already dead.
Sharra returned from her search for rope. “I didn’t find anything for climbing, but … look.” She pointed across the street and I saw a unit of men in army uniforms interspersed with rolling mechs. They were clearly backlit by the setting sun, so I could see that they all held their weapons armed and ready. The mechs cleared a path to the front of the sidewalk so the men could view the destruction of the street. As the group parted, Cruz Rodriguez himself stepped out to survey the scene.
If there hadn’t been a chasm separating us at that moment, I would have leapt on him and attempted to kill him with my bare hands. He couldn’t have heard my gasp of shock, but perhaps he felt the weight of my furious glare as I came face-to-face with my father’s murderer for the first time since the night my world fell apart. He looked across the street directly into my eyes. My sunscarf had fallen to my shoulders, leaving my face fully exposed, though covered in dirt and dust from the aftermath of the explosion.
Cruz had known me since I was a small child; the thin disguise of a haircut and a dirty face were nothing compared to all those years of familiarity. Within moments I saw the stunned recognition flit across his face as he realized who he was looking at.
I lifted my chin and stared back at him, refusing to let him see anything but anger, but I also felt a thrill of fear and deep sadness for the uncle I had loved.
His face was unreadable as our eyes locked for several long seconds, neither of us sure of our next move, but neither of us willing to give ground either. He looked away first, and I would have felt triumph at winning the battle of wills if he hadn’t immediately turned to speak to one of the uniformed men at his side. A quickly snapped order sent mechs striding in my direction, only to be stymied by the canyon that had been the boulevard. Human soldiers began to run down their side of the street in both directions, presumably to round the ends of the crater and come after me.
14
I bolted down the alley, squirming through the pressed pack of humanity rimming the disaster area to break free into clearer streets. I ran as far and as fast as I could, intent on getting away from
where Cruz had last seen me. I knew Sharra and Roomie were right behind me, which was all I really cared about. If Martín kept up, fine. If we lost him I’d have Lucas connect us again in a few days. I’d also have to find a way to learn Mateo’s fate and deal with him later, but for now, I just focused on keeping myself, Roomie, and Sharra safe.
Not knowing how badly the tunnels of the Warren had been damaged by the blast, I didn’t dare head underground again. Instead, I stayed topside but kept to side streets and alleys whenever possible. Street camera coverage was spotty once you got away from the main roads and pedestrian paths, which would make it harder for Cruz to track my path through the city. The crowds of stunned and horrified citizens around us helped. There were so many people on the streets that it would be very difficult to follow any one person through the many camera feeds.
The size of the crowd dwindled once we reached the residential sectors, and people began to disappear inside their homes. Everyone wanted to be off the streets and out of sight in case of trouble. Now that we were no longer surrounded by others in the same state, our grimy appearance became much more noticeable.
Sharra pointed out a public fountain. “We should wash up a little,” she suggested. “Now that we’re away from the blast area, being covered in dust is making us stand out too much.”
I just nodded in agreement and followed her to the fountain. I was exhausted and emotionally battered and couldn’t muster the energy to speak at the moment. I scooped double handfuls of water from the fountain’s basin and splashed it over my head, face, and body. The cool water was refreshing as it sluiced away the caked-on muck that coated my skin and clothing.
“Don’t forget the raccoon eyes.” Sharra pointed at the black eye makeup dripping down her own cheeks in emphasis. I scooped up more water and scrubbed at my face.
“How’s that?”
“Much better. Good thing your face ink is the indelible stuff or your whole face would be blue.”
Into Light (Shadow and Light Book 2) Page 8
