The Catalyst: (Book One)
Page 17
Through the chaos, she caught Addar’s eye. Something fierce moved in the gray depths, even as the rest of his face stayed impassive. It was over before she could make sense of it, the arms around her snatching her back as Addar leapt from her living room window. Robin froze, arm still extended to him, as if she could summon him back, but he was gone, and the rough grip on her arms was pulling her backwards.
She struggled to stumble along with the two officers holding her, some part of her mind intact enough to know the danger she was in, even as the rest floundered. He had left her. Without a single glance back, he simply abandoned her to her fate and disappeared. She had no doubt he survived the fall, his leap into the dark night. The hallway of her building and the elevator ride down to the ground floor passed in a blur.
He had to leave her, some part of her knew it, but the rest was reeling. The riot gear of the officers around her rattled and clanked as they dragged her from the elevator. She was silent in her shock, all but boneless. The front doors to her building were thrown open from the outside and the daylight-brightness of police flood lights struck her in the face.
A light snow had begun to fall, just barely dusting the ground. Somewhere along the way, she had lost her shoes and the snow soaked through her socks in seconds. In a crush of toes, one of the officers stepped on her dangling sock and it was torn from her foot. The other joined it before she made it to the edge of the awning.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing through her nose in deep draws to keep from panicking. The voices were louder outside, officers yelling to each other, the ones in control barking orders. She caught a glimpse of Ken’s pale face, then a black van. The back door yawned open, like a great beast seeking to swallow her. A deep gut reaction stole over her. She could not get into that van. If she did, she would never see daylight again.
Her bare feet scrambled against the rough pavement, the surface holding the chill of the falling snow. As she looked down at her feet, she noticed the snow take on a pink tint. Still, they hauled her forward. No. She could not go. She collapsed her weight, thrashing like a wild thing, the cultured doctor in her far out of reach. For a fraction of a second the officer on her right loosened his grip. It was long enough.
She slithered out of his hands, clawing at the arm of the man on her left until he released her with a hoarse shout. Robin spun away, barely ducking in time to avoid the butt of the gun aiming for her head. Her feet slid across the slush, numb to the cold and pain as she fled. Ducking through the crowd of grasping hands, ignoring the shouts from all around her, and partially blinded by the bright lights, she slid under a police line and squeezed between the bodies of the gaping observers.
She ran until her chest burned and every breath was a gasp. When the darkness of night began to fade away, she paused in an alley to look around. The sharp panic had faded to a dull fear, the need to get far away, but her mind was again engaged. She scanned the deserted street. From the state of the neighborhood, she assumed she was south of her building.
Large, family homes backed up to the narrow alley, each with a perfectly painted privacy fence. Robin started to take a step forward and nearly fell from the sharp pain that lanced through her foot. For the first time in hours, she took a moment to assess her injuries. Her eyes followed the path she had taken, noticing the bloody footprints, bright red in the pristine snow. She limped over to the fence on her right and slid down to the ground.
Carefully pulling her right foot up to lay on her opposite knee, she sucked in a harsh breath. The soft, delicate skin was no more. The bottom of her foot was a mass of torn flesh. Robin carefully slipped off her jacket. She shed her long-sleeved shirt and put her jacket back on over her t-shirt. It took the edge off the cold wind.
Robin forced herself to stay calm and scooped up a handful of snow from the small drift next to her. The moment she pressed it to her foot, agony speared through her leg causing the muscles to spasm, her toes twitching as she bit her lip to hold back a shout.
Once she regained her breath, she used the hem of her shirt to dab at the broken skin. Repeating the actions until the small rocks and sand were washed away. Hands shaking, Robin tore the right sleeve off her shirt and wrapped her foot. The pressure brought another knife of pain, but she gritted her teeth until it passed to a dull ache. With a deep breath, she straightened her right leg and brought her left foot up to examine it.
Robin gave it the same treatment and wrapped it with the other sleeve of her shirt. It was not much, but it would hold for a short time. She frowned at her sleeveless shirt and removed her jacket again, adding the shirt as another layer of warmth over her t-shirt. She was not sure how long she could avoid the police, but she would not let the common cold ruin her. She forced herself to her feet.
Her eyes swept the alley, again. A large, black trash can sat against the fence one house down. Robin curled her hand against the fence beside her and took a single step forward. Her nerve endings screamed, but she forced herself to take another step, then another. Slowly making her way to the trash can and the possibility of something useful.
When Robin reached her target she gripped it with both hands, pulling the lid free and tossing it aside. The usual trash stared up at her. From the smell, she assumed it had been in the alley for several days. Ignoring the stench, she reached into the trash can and began to dig. Rotting food, broken toys, shredded paper, and halfway down, what she needed. Robin jerked the unopened meat packages free of the other trash.
The cool temperature hid some of the smell, but her nose could still pick up the cloying, almost sweet scent of rotting meat, as she carefully opened the packages and examined the plastic wrap for holes. Dropping the Styrofoam and meat back into the trash can, Robin hobbled over to the fence and slid down. Without the adrenalin flooding her system, her feet pulsed with each heartbeat. She tried to ignore it, as she wrapped the plastic wrap around her bandaged feet.
It would keep them dry until she found something better. A siren wailed somewhere in the distance and she jerked her attention away from her feet to look around. She shoved up from the ground and took an experimental step. It still felt like walking on glass, but her toes were warm and dry. She limped down the alley to the edge of the road.
…
He returned to the theater to find Ilan gone. Addar stood in the middle of the balcony for a moment, before he bent and picked up a discarded chair. He hurled it as hard as he could over the edge of the balcony. It slammed into the seats below with a satisfying bang. He threw another, and another, and another. His screams of fury mingling with the crunch of metal.
“Problems?”
Addar whipped around to see Ilan standing in the doorway watching him. His black eyes glittered in the low light.
“Where were you?”
“Busy.”
Addar had him by the throat before he made up his mind to move. He pinned the assassin to the wall and growled in his face.
“Where were you?” he demanded, punctuating each word by slamming the man into the wall.
“Feeding,” Ilan wheezed.
Addar released him and took a few stumbling steps back. “Fine.”
Ilan watched him with dark humor. “You reek of the human female.”
“Silence!”
The assassin quieted, but his expression stayed amused.
The two stayed quiet for several minutes, Addar thinking and Ilan watching him. Finally, Ilan broke the silence.
“I sent for the armada.”
Addar slowly raised his head to look at him. “When?”
“When I was able.”
When he was able. Addar stared at him. He had been able to connect with the armada from the moment he was able to feed. Ilan had summoned the army days ago. It could not be true. Addar closed his eyes to focus on the part of his mind reserved for his people. There, just as Ilan said, he could feel them approaching. No. Not approaching. Already arrived.
“Why did you not tell me?” Addar asked him.
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“I owe you no great loyalty, Scout. The armada is here.”
Yes. It was. Addar looked up at the ceiling, almost able to see the ships entering the earth’s orbit. It would all be over soon. All of his attempts at sparing Robin would be for nothing.
“Are you not pleased, Scout? Our brothers and sisters are here. Does that not please you?” Ilan questioned, as he moved closer. “Are you not pleased that the mission will be completed?”
Addar turned his head to look at him. Ilan could sense his changed allegiances. He had not been certain of it before but, from the sneer on the assassin’s lips, it was a fact. Addar was not sure what Ilan knew and what he only suspected, but it would make Robin an oddity. Things that made Ilan curious never lasted long. He had a way of pulling things apart to slake his curiosity.
He would kill him. Before he found Robin.
“Soon, Scout. Very soon.”
Addar looked at Ilan, careful to keep his face blank. “Yes. Soon.”
The Catalyst
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Two
She shoved aside the empty beer bottles and crushed cans to reveal stained carpet. The house was barely warmer than the air outside, but at least it was out of the wind. The snow had not stopped falling. What had been a thin layer of snow was quickly becoming deep enough to hold her footprints. She could not afford to have anyone follow her.
Robin looked around what had been a bedroom. The skeletal remains of a set of box springs stood propped against the wall beside the boarded over window. Between the slats, the gray light of midday struggled to reach the floor. Robin shivered, as a gust of wind snuck through the gap and ruffled the trash beside her.
Without her phone, she had no idea how many hours had passed. The police would be looking for her. She was not foolish enough to think they would simply stop searching. The lawyer had lied. For hours, as she roamed the streets of the neighborhoods she used to avoid, she pondered the events leading up to her situation.
Either they had placed listening devices in her apartment or they had been watching since before she arrived. They knew Addar would return to her. And when he did, they had planned to lock her away. Two birds, one stone. Obviously. Why would they let her remain free knowing what she had done?
Robin slid down the wall to crouch on the floor. She was a fool. Her life, the one she was born with and the one she had worked to have, were gone. It was over. She let her head fall back against the peeling wallpaper. Her parents would be so ashamed of her. Robin stared at the ceiling, letting herself indulge in self-pity.
After a few minutes, she stood and limped from the room. The dark hallway stretched left and right of her. To the right was the noisy staircase she had climbed to reach the bedroom. The left was unknown territory. She gripped the doorway and closed her eyes, listening for any sign that she was not alone. Nothing moved, but the flap of plastic on the windows behind her.
She stepped into the hallway and opened the first door. Another bedroom. Decorated in a similar trash motif. She glanced both ways down the hall and stepped into the room. The piles of trash seemed deeper. It was only after she dug through the stack along the wall across from the window that she realized there was a bed.
Robin shoved the trash to the foot of the bed with both hands, ignoring the sharp edges of broken bottles. She perched in the middle of the mattress. When it did not collapse, she let it take her weight. It groaned, but held. Robin sighed and closed her eyes. The moment her feet could rest they began to ache.
Robin scrubbed at her face. She needed water. Food. Shoes. She lowered her hands and looked around. It was unlikely that the water was still on at the house, but there could be food left over. Something the squatters had missed. Robin forced herself to stand and ignore the way her feet screamed at their continued mistreatment.
She limped out of the room to open the last door on the second floor. And immediately closed it again. Something was rotting in the bathroom. From the stench, she assumed it was a small mammal of some kind. Robin turned and walked back to the room with the bed. For a long moment, she braced herself in the doorway and stared at the boarded over window.
Her mind threw out possibilities, each one impractical in some way, until she turned and walked to the stairs. She had to find food. The moment her hand touched the banister, the paint chipped and flakes rained onto the floor. Robin stepped over the small pile and crept down the stairs. The wood planks groaned with each step, the sound mingling with the whistle of the wind and the flapping of the plastic sheeting over the windows.
The kitchen was in much the same shape as the rest of the house. Trash was piled on the floor, pushed up against the lower cabinets almost level with the counter. The top cabinet doors hung open, the ones that were not missing altogether. Not so much as a can of tuna remained. Robin scanned the trash. With a wince, she dropped to her knees and began to dig through the piles of paper, plastic, and metal.
A stray shard of aluminum nipped her fingers, as she shifted aside a plastic bag. Robin sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden pain, but a flash of cloth drew her attention back to the trash pile. There, lying halfway buried beneath a stack of old newspapers, was a worn out boot. She snatched it and held it up to the faint light coming through the living room window. Men’s and a size too big, but it would do.
She set it aside and dove back into the trash pile with renewed vigor. After several minutes and a few more shallow cuts to her hands, she found the other boot. It stunk like mildew and the sole was thinner than the right boot. Robin tipped it upside down and shook it. A dead beetle and a crumpled piece of paper fell to the floor.
After swiping inside the boot for anything sharp, she tucked it under her arm and gave the other the same treatment. No bugs, but a wadded up rag fluttered out. Robin shoved it into her back pocket and hurried toward the stairs. No food, but with the sturdy boots she could venture out to scavenge. She froze at the thought.
Her hand squeezed the stair rail until her fingers ached. Scavenging for food. Less than a day ago, she had a safe place to live and secure food supply. She drew in a shaky breath. That was the past. Ruminating on it would not help her. Robin raised her chin and climbed to the second floor and returned to the room with the bed.
She scooted across the mattress until her back rested against the wall, the boots on the bed beside her, and set about pulling the plastic wrap and cloth from her right foot. The fabric of her shirt was damp with blood. Robin gently pushed on the broken skin. It did not start bleeding again. She considered it a good sign.
Doing a little shimmy, she worked her arms out of her jacket and pulled the sleeveless shirt over her head. Robin ripped another wide strip of cloth free to wrap her foot. After checking the inside of the boot again, she pushed her foot into the leather depths and laced it tight. Her left foot was a little better off than her right. The wounds did not seem to be as deep.
Robin wrapped it in the remainder of her shirt and pulled on the other boot. Her toes were still cool, but warmer than they had been wrapped in plastic. She wiggled them inside the boots. Definitely a size or two too big. Robin stood up from the bed and paused for a moment. She smiled. Much better. She would still have to walk gingerly, but walking the nearby neighborhood should not be too difficult.
She would need to pick up some medical supplies while she was out. At least, something clean to wrap around her feet until they healed completely. Robin dug through her pockets to see what she had managed to bring with her. Three folded twenty dollar bills and twelve cents. Not even a stick of gum. No, that was in her purse along with her credit cards, ID’s, and the rest of her life.
Robin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, curling her hands into fists until they stopped shaking. She could not afford to dwell on that. She had immediate problems to address. She would be able to last another day or so before she began to weaken from lack of food, but she could already feel her body calling out for water. That would be her first priority.
She took the steps faster than before, the boots providing a good buffer between her wounded feet and the hard floor. Robin paused just inside the door that led from the kitchen to the overgrown backyard. Nothing moved. She frowned and took a step forward, her right foot on the top step and her left still in the relative safety of the house.
It was the middle of the day, no later than two or three in the afternoon on a Saturday, yet the neighborhood was empty. Robin crept along the back of the house and peeked around the corner to scan the houses across the street. A few were clearly abandoned, their lawns overgrown and the paint peeling. But not all. Yet, every driveway was empty, even the spots along the street were vacant.
Frowning, she eased her way to the front of the house. The city skyline was visible in the north, but it did not seem as bright as usual. With the overcast sky, she should have been able to see the lights in the office buildings. Many of the skyscrapers were dark. Shaking her head, Robin turned away from the odd sight and made her way to the deserted sidewalk.
The thud of the boots on the sidewalk echoed down the empty street. Robin pulled her jacket closer around her. There should be people around. Even in such a crime-ridden neighborhood, there would be at least a few people around. Robin turned her head as she walked, searching the front windows of each house she passed.