“I don’t have any,” she said worriedly.
“You and everyone else in here,” he said. “Keep going!” he urged Shakes.
A bullet shattered the rear window, the truck struck a wall of ice, and everyone was thrown forward.
“Gimme those!” Wes commanded, and Nat threw his goggles back to him as he barked orders at his team. “Farouk! See if you can track their signal and jam it. Slaine boys—take out their snipers! I’ll take care of the behemoth.” He reached for his gun even as he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Guns were antiquated weapons for a dying empire. Wes carried one because he had to, but he’d never killed anyone with it; he’d threatened many, of course, he’d waved it around, and shot drones and trucks and who knew what else, but his hands were clean, and so were his boys’. There was enough killing in the world. He turned to Nat. “Cover me—you know how to use one of these things?” he asked, motioning for her to pick up a rifle.
She shook her head, and he stared at her for a moment. Every child in the RSA was trained to shoot; “every citizen an armed citizen” was the country’s unofficial motto . . . but there was no time to question. He called to Farouk and the boy shouldered the rifle, peered through the scope and set off a few rounds through the window. “Okay, go!” he yelled, backing down as Wes popped through the roof, rifle in hand.
Wes scanned the area, the goggles having turned the world green and black. He could see the tank coming after them a few blocks away. They were past the Strip now, close to the edge of the city, not far from the border. If he could stall it, they would be home free. There had only been one rocket.
He fired and missed the first two shots. Steady, he ordered himself. Steady . . .
Two more bullets sailed through the cabin. One nicked Farouk’s arm. “Snap out of it, boss!” the kid shrieked from the back. “Next one will be through our heads!”
“It’s the sniper—take him out already!” Wes yelled back.
“He can’t hide from me,” Daran promised, peering through his scope for the elusive shooter.
“Over there!” Zedric yelled, pointing to the top of the nearest building. “I see him!” They let off a few rounds, but the bullets continued to whiz by their heads.
A shell exploded just aft of the LTV, rattling the vehicle and sending them spinning.
“This is some escape,” Nat said, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to get me to the water? You can’t even get me out of the Strip.”
“Hey now, a little confidence would be nice,” Wes snapped. “Trying to keep us alive over here.”
“Get that tank down!” Daran yelled, while Shakes fought to keep the truck upright.
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Wes huffed. “Patience, everyone, patience.” He wasn’t planning on dying in a firefight.
Wes popped back up through the hatch and saw that he had his first clear shot. He targeted the engine, so he could disable the vehicle without hurting any of the soldiers. He’d been in their shoes not so long ago.
But just as he was about to fire, the whole world went dark. He was blind. His finger jerked as he pulled the trigger. He missed again. He let out a string of expletives. Frostblight. He’d been ignoring it for some time now, the blurred vision, headaches, but lately it was getting harder to deny.
A bullet whizzed past his ear. A second shot blew off their truck’s left-hand mirror.
“Hurry, man,” Shakes said from the driver’s seat, his voice calm but with an edge. His hands were gripping the wheel so hard it was vibrating.
“Let me,” Farouk said, reloading his weapon.
“I got it, I got it, everyone relax,” Wes said, with a slightly injured air. He lifted his gun again. The tank’s sleek white hull glistened like a child’s toy in the snowy air. He focused. The behemoth was an easy target; they were made that way so that their four-foot-tall wheels could grind up the snow. But there were half a dozen holes in the armor already. Typical. The white elephants looked intimidating, but they were vulnerable. Nobody knew how to fix anything anymore. The country was living off the past—all the technology dated back to the wars before the Flood. It was as if the toxic waters had washed away not only New York and California but all the knowledge of the world as well.
His hand steady and his vision clear, Wes pulled the trigger, and this time the bullet hit the target, piercing the armor and blasting the engine with a single round.
One more and the tank was dust, but the temporary blindness had dulled his reflexes, and before he could move, a fiery round hit him square in the chest. Where did that come from—?
“Sorry!” Daran yelled.
“Got him!” Zedric whooped, as his bullet shot the rifle out of the sniper’s hand.
Wes’s body shield held, but the pain was unbearable. The Kevlar jacket caught on fire, and he ripped it off, tossing it into the snow. A hole the size of a baseball was burnt through the fabric of his down vest. Black smoke drifted from the burn, bringing tears to his eyes.
“You’ll be all right,” Nat said, helping him down into his seat. “Surface wound.”
He grunted.
• • •
Up front, Shakes swerved to avoid a second round of rocket fire. The convoy had arrived, more tanks, and soldiers on snowFAVs. But the fence was only a few blocks away and once they crossed, they were free. The army wouldn’t risk a nighttime mission into the Trash Pile; at most they would send a seeker party in the morning, but by then Wes hoped to be well into the wastelands and impossible to track.
“Gimme a hand,” Wes said, slinging an arm around Nat’s shoulder. His right arm was numb and he had to switch hands to shoot.
“But you don’t have your armor,” she warned.
“Doesn’t matter, I need to get this done,” he insisted.
Nat nodded, helped him back up, and steadied him.
They were so close that he could smell her hair, even as his head hurt and he knew he would pass out soon. He lifted the gun and peered through the sight, then jumped back, startled.
The tank’s big gun was trained right at his head. He didn’t have time to think, didn’t have time to move; he fired, the gun an extension of his mind. The second shot destroyed enough of the engine to stop the tank. The big white heap of metal spun violently, its gunfire spraying a nearby building, rattling windows. There was a sharp cry from inside the beast, then silence.
Three more white elephants slammed into the faltering tank and the whole convoy came to a stop, just as Daran and Zedric took care of the snow bikes, sending them crashing into the ice walls.
The top of the tank opened suddenly, and its captain appeared, a boy his age, who’d wanted to get a look to see who had grounded their pursuit. He gave Wes the finger.
Wes saluted him with a smile as the LTV sped out of the city toward the fence, an invisible electric barrier that Farouk had just disabled with his handheld.
“Hit it, Shakes,” Wes said, rapping on the roof of the truck. “Time to root through the trash.”
Part the Second
LILACS
OUT OF THE DEAD LAND
Human society sustains itself by transforming nature into garbage.
—MASON COOLEY
11
NAT HAD NO IDEA HOW WES HAD SURVIVED that hit. She was burning with adrenaline, fear, and excitement. His heroics were no joke, not like the show he’d conjured up at the casino. For the first time, she allowed herself to feel optimistic—maybe there was more to this cocky runner after all.
“Get someone to help you and choose wisely,” Manny had advised grudgingly. “Runners will swear up and down they can take you to where you want to go, but instead most of them end up dumping their passengers or selling them to slavers. Or they’re overtaken by slavers, which is almost the same thing. Or they give up when the food runs out. You want someone who can think on his feet, who’s
fast, who’s brave.”
She had chosen Wes, and while she still wouldn’t put it past him to ditch her if a better opportunity came along—and she sure wasn’t ready to trust him with the treasure she carried: the stone she wore on a chain around her neck—she was on her way now, and he had gotten her this far.
But still a long way to go, the monster in her head reminded. Thankfully I am patient.
Her happiness faded a little at that—to know each step led her closer to fulfilling the darkness of her dreams. For a moment, she saw the face of her former commander again. You are not using the extent of your power, he had told her. You do not even try. She wondered how much harder he would have tried to break her, if he had known what her dreams bore, if he knew about the monster in her head.
“You okay?” she asked Wes.
He gave her quick nod, but his face grimaced in pain. “It’ll pass. It’s just the shock. You?”
She shrugged. “How far to the fence?”
“Couple of blocks, we should be clear,” he said, as the truck made its way far from the glittering lights of New Vegas and the snowy terrain became harder to navigate.
“Good.”
Even though there was no physical barrier that kept the city from the borderlands, the fence was as real as the invisible electric volts that killed anyone who breached it. Nat noticed the group in the LTV hold their breath as they crossed silently into the darkness. But Farouk had done his job, and they made it through without incident.
Beyond the fence was a mountain of junk. A century of trash tossed over the border, forgotten and left to rot in the endless cold. “No wonder they call it the Trash Pile,” Nat said, a little awed by all the strange electronic equipment, rusted, burned-out cars, and mountains of plastic, cardboard, and glass.
“My family was from Cali,” Wes said, peering out the window over her shoulder. “My dad said his dad’s dad used to talk about it—how pretty it was, how you could go from the mountains to the desert to the beach. They’d moved after the Flood, of course, and did the March down the Ten. Vegas was the only city left standing. Family legend had it they went straight to the casinos.” He leaned back and gave her a wry smile. She could see that he was still in pain, but trying to make light of it.
“What’s that?” Farouk interrupted suddenly, pointing at the twinkling lights far in the darkness and what looked like distant figures moving through the frozen garbage landscape.
“Don’t mind that,” Wes said curtly. “There’s nothing to see out there. Nothing we want to see, anyway.”
Nat kept silent, staring at the moving lights, wondering how much Wes had told his crew about what they would face out here.
“How’s that second fence coming along?” Wes asked.
The boy turned back to his device, working furiously. The LTV was barreling through the rocky roads and the next barrier was coming up soon. They had to disable it or they would fry.
“There’s some code on it I can’t figure out. It’s got to be one of the German ones—those are the hardest,” grumbled Farouk.
“They must’ve changed it since the last time we did a run,” Shakes said.
“German codes?” Nat asked with a frown.
“The army recycles codes from the old wars. No one can make up new ones. They were lucky to find these,” said Wes.
Nat knew it was the same story for everything. The generation that had come up with the heat suits and discovered cold fusion were long gone: survivors from Before, who remembered a different time, when the world was still green and blue, and who’d marshaled their resources and knowledge to figuring out how to survive the cold. But there were very few scientists these days, and the only books that remained were the physical ones that dated back to the early twenty-first century.
“Can I try?” she asked Farouk.
He handed her the device, a small black phone with a tiny keyboard. “It’s talking to an old Enigma machine, using radio signals. The fence is locked by a certain transmission, but I can’t figure it out. I need to send a message to the machine that’s holding the wall. But this is all it’s giving me,” he said, showing her the screen of numbers.
She stared at the sequence, at the pattern it made, and typed out an answer. “Try it now,” she told Farouk.
He studied her work, then hit the send key. “Here goes nothing,” he muttered.
But a few minutes later, Shakes called excitedly from the driver’s seat. “Fence is down!” he whooped, checking the electromagnetic sensor.
“How’d you do that?” Farouk asked.
“I just saw it.” She shrugged. Numbers came easily to her. Patterns. She’d been able to break the code, and read its simple request. TO OPEN GATE SAY HELLO. She’d simply typed the word “hello” in the code and the fence had opened for her.
“Good work,” Wes said. “You’re almost part of the team.” He smiled. “Hey!” he said, noticing that Daran and Zedric had opened the food packs. “You boys better share.”
Zedric threw him a foil-wrapped object and Wes caught it deftly. “Mmm. Curry pizza burroti.” Wes grinned. “Want a bite?” he offered. “Best McRoti in Vegas. And looks like the boys picked up some McRamen, too.”
“No, thanks.” Nat shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll leave you a piece if you change your mind,” he said. He offered her his chopsticks. “Pull for luck,” he said.
She took one side and the sticks broke off, leaving her with the bigger half.
“You win.” He grinned. He was such a Vegas boy, superstitious about everything, including the chopsticks-wishbone game. He began to unwrap his food, whistling a melody that sounded familiar.
“What is that?”
“Dunno. My mom used to sing it,” he explained, and his face pinched a little.
“Listen, I know you from somewhere—don’t I? I feel like we’ve met before,” she asked him suddenly. She was certain of it, she just couldn’t place him, but it would come to her soon enough. That tune he was whistling . . . if only she could remember, but her memory was gray like her lenses, cloudy; she could put together bits and pieces but not the whole thing, not her whole life.
“Nah, I don’t gamble.” He smiled, taking a big bite of his burroti.
“Only with his life,” Shakes said, from the front. “Hey! What about me?” he said, holding up his hand, and Farouk tossed him his own multi-cuisine mash-up.
“I swear I’ve met you before, and I don’t just mean from the casino the other day,” she said to Wes. It was suddenly important that she remember why his face was so familiar to her. “But I guess not.”
Wes regarded her thoughtfully as he ate. Nat became worried that maybe he would think she was flirting with him—even if she wasn’t. Besides, she thought with a secret smile, if she was flirting with him, he would know. She was about to say something else when Shakes released a yelp from the front seat that startled everyone, including Nat.
“What is it?” demanded Wes.
“Drones in the sky; they sent a seeker team out,” Shakes said, pulling out his scanner, which was beeping. He shook his head as he peered out the window at a small black plane circling the distant horizon.
“Where?” Wes asked, sticking his head out the window.
“Not sure. He’s off the radar now.”
“Fine, we’ll take the back roads,” Wes said. “Seekers stick to the main highway. We’ll have to loop around, take us close to MacArthur, but it’ll be okay. We should be able to shake them once we—” Wes never finished his sentence, as a blast of cold air hit and a cloud of silver flakes filled the cabin.
“What now!” Daran yelled, as the flakes flew up his nose. They were everywhere. A second gust of wind sent more snow pouring through the openings.
The boys yelped and Nat batted at the flakes, feeling them fall on her eyelids, her ears.
“Burglar alarm,” Wes said tightly. He explained the silver cloud wasn’t smoke or snow. Crossing the fences had released nanos—machines no larger than a grain of dust that sensed and recorded human pheromones. Nanotechnology was old hardware, just like the fusion batteries; it was from the last global war before everything started breaking down. The military didn’t know how to upgrade the system, only how to maintain it.
“They’re like robo-bloodhounds,” Farouk said excitedly. “They catch your scent and then feed it into the defense network.”
Wes cuffed him in the shoulder. “What are you so hopped up about?”
“I’ve never seen one before, is all,” Farouk said. “A nano cloud, I mean.”
Wes gestured out across the garbage-strewn landscape. “The locals call ’em pop-cans. The bombs are usually hidden inside old soda cans, and the Pile is littered with them.”
“What do they do?” Farouk asked.
“They pop,” Shakes said, cutting in. “You get close enough for one of them to sniff you, to make a match for one of the pheromones that just got transmitted into the system, and they blow, taking out whatever part of you is closest to it.”
“We’ve never been in the system before,” Daran complained. “I didn’t sign up for this. I ain’t losing an arm or a leg to a soda can.”
Nat shuddered as Wes stared out at the snow-covered landscape. “Look, I wouldn’t think less of you if you wanted to turn back,” he said. “We snuck you out, we can sneak you back in. You can have your credits back, less a percentage for our trouble, of course.”
“I’m not turning back,” she said, annoyed. Was this his way of trying to scare her out of the trip? Get her to change her mind? Pop-cans didn’t scare her like her nightmares did.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked again, his voice gentle.
She realized then that he wasn’t trying to wriggle out of the job, he was simply being decent; she felt another rush of affection for this impulsive, good-looking boy.
Frozen: Heart of Dread, Book One Page 6
