The Lost & Damned 1

by Keira Michelle Telford

  First stop: her old theater.

  Omega has ransacked the place, and barricaded it with yellow ‘OMEGA QUARANTINE – DO NOT CROSS’ tape. Silver slices through the tape with her knife and enters the building anyway.

  This place is tainted now, and she has only one purpose here.

  A symbolic cleansing.

  She drags out three drums of butanol from behind the stage and douses everything in sight. With the strike of a single match, it all goes down in flames.

  Just like that.

  Second stop: the Sentinel District.

  She exits the tunnel system through a drainage pipe in front of the DDH, and her arrival turns heads. Police Division Agents watch her with suspicion, unsure whether or not they should apprehend her. They grow even more suspicious when she strides into the building, clearly armed.

  Daily routine grinds to a halt in her presence.

  Walking through the tag detectors, she sets off a series of bells and alarms and the screen flashes ‘no tag detected’. Having never encountered this problem before, the security guards on duty are confused and flustered. They hesitate to draw arms on her, and by the time they do, it’s already too late—she’s gone.

  She enters the elevator and pushes the button for the top floor. It’s a long way up, and by the time the elevator reaches its destination, the security personnel on that level have already been advised of her arrival.

  They greet her with weapons drawn, except … when the doors open …

  She’s not there.

  While they huddle around the steel box, examining the interior, trying to find her, she slips out of a stairwell doorway behind them and rounds the corner toward an office at the end of the hall, perfectly unobserved.

  Gabriel Maydevine’s office.

  Maydevine’s cigarette drops from his mouth when Silver enters his office without knocking, and smashes the pin pad entry system with the butt of her HK USP—sealing the door shut behind her.

  He gazes at her in stunned silence until the embers from his cigarette ignite the papers on his desk, and he’s forced to put the flames out with his sleeve. Brushing scorched papery remnants off his shirt cuff, he steps out from behind his desk. The black band around his shirt sleeve is a painful reminder that, for the last several days, he’s been mourning her loss.

  “Ellie Bean …”

  “I’m very pleased to announce that the reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.” She winks at him.

  “How the hell … ?”

  Silver dumps the backpack down on top of his desk. “I have a present for you.” She opens it up and removes Arcadian’s severed head, holding it out for him to see. “Meet Arcadian, the man responsible for the Sentinel District murders and the attempted assassination of the Governor.”

  She offers the slightly squished head to Maydevine, but he takes one look at it and grimaces, quickly indicating that she should put the rotten, oozing thing away before it starts to drip onto the carpet.

  “Most importantly,” Silver continues, “it represents my end of the deal. Phaeden’s arch rival is dead, and now I’m here to collect my fee.”

  Though she’s beaming with pride, and anticipates receiving a hug or a smile—or even an enthusiastic handshake—Maydevine opts to keep his distance. He’s eager to embrace her, but even more eager to learn how she came to be here, in front of him, and still so very much alive.

  “I don’t understand.” He shakes his head. “You deliberately went off the grid? Why would you do that?”

  “Phaeden used the GPS in the tags to track me in the Fringe, and he tried to sabotage my repatriation.”

  “Another conspiracy theory? Jesus, El.”

  “He was monitoring us the whole time, just waiting for an opportunity to cut me out of the deal. Why else do you think he was so quick to sign my repatriation papers? He never planned on letting me live long enough to need them.”

  “That explosion in the Fringe …” Maydevine latches on to her insinuation. “You’re not trying to tell me it was intentional? That Phaeden planned the whole thing?”

  “When he discovered I knew the whereabouts of Arcadian’s sister, who’d escaped from one of his prostitution rings, he figured he didn’t need me anymore.”

  This is all a revelation to Maydevine. “Fusion prostitution? In the Fringe?”

  “It’s big underground business. But you don’t exactly get to peruse that type of merchandise without a platinum tag and the highest level of Hunter Division clearance.”

  “Let me guess: Fusion girls are bought and sold across the city line in exchange for supplies to keep their population afloat? Like Hunters buying favors in the Fringe.”

  “That, and security. Phaeden promised not to expand the city into Fusion territory, so long as they agreed to keep him up to his ears in Fusion booty and free weed.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “Phaeden got greedy and blew the deal, so Arcadian retaliated. The Sentinel District murders were supposed to remind the Governor who was really in charge.”

  “That worked well.”

  “It would’ve, if Phaeden wasn’t such a dumb shit. Instead, he kidnapped a defenseless woman out of my care, did god only knows what to her, and tried to sell her back to the very people he stole her from in the first place, in exchange for a temporary truce. And that, by the way, represents the very least of the crimes he is responsible for committing against these people.”

  Outside the door, an armed search of the building is underway. They’ll reach Maydevine’s office in minutes, and their short window of time spurs Maydevine’s need to glean as much information from Silver as he possibly can.

  “And the girl? Where is she now?”

  “Back where she belongs.”

  “What about your friends?”

  “I need you to send a team of your men to extract them from the Out District as soon as possible. Just Alex and Red. I’ll give you the co-ordinates.”

  “Not the others?”

  “They’re gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Quite gone.”

  “Better off?”

  “They’ve made some new alliances, let’s put it that way.” She can sense Maydevine’s hesitancy, and a lifetime of experience tells her there’s still some kind of worry lingering on his mind. “Look, I did everything that you asked me to do. What’s the problem?”

  The search reaches Maydevine’s door, and the lead Agent knocks upon it.

  Maydevine ignores it.

  “The atrocity in the Out District …” He remains undeterred by the continued pounding against his door. “I’m not in the loop, but I hear things. I heard that this man, Arcadian, launched one heck of an attack against Phaeden’s motorcade.”

  “He fought back, that’s true. But it was the Hunter General who destroyed the motorcade—not Arcadian.”

  “The Hunter General was shot with an armor-piercing bullet.”

  “So?”

  “Where on earth did Arcadian get weapons like that?”

  Silver falls silent.

  “Ella …” Maydevine finally takes a step toward her. “Did anyone from the city see you?”

  “My cover’s intact, I swear. As far as the official record will state, I showed up when the fire fight was already over and there was nothing I could’ve done to stop it. I killed Arcadian, and put an end to the Sentinel District murders—that’s all.”

  “Christ, Ellie … you tried to kill the Governor,” Maydevine whispers, as if someone might overhear.

  “He tried to kill me first—and the rest of my team.”

  “You’re walking such a dangerous line.”

  “It’s almost over.”

  “You promise me, once you’ve been repatriated, you have to drop this. I don’t care what Phaeden’s done to others, I care only about what he does to you, and I want you to give him no cause to send you back to the Fringe. Or worse.”

  “He’s a criminal, Papa.”

 
“You can’t win this, Ella.” He shakes his head at her. “There are lines you just can’t cross, and whether you like it or not, this man is above the law.”

  “How can you say that? After everything he’s done to me.” Silver can’t help but become offended at his apparent lack of hatred for the person responsible for all the evil she’s suffered. “How can you stand there, listen to what I’ve been telling you, and not want to rip his throat out?”

  “Because I’ve lived through enough to know how to pick my battles, kid.” He closes the gap between them and pulls her into him, wrapping her up in an embrace. “Your life is not something I’m willing to risk, no matter how desperately this city needs social reform. You must know that if I have to choose between you and this wretched place, I will choose you. Every time.”

  The Agents finally kick down the door and target their weapons on Silver, until Maydevine holds up a hand and calls them off.

  “Stand down,” he orders them.

  “Sir?” The lead Agent seems uncertain.

  “Stand down,” Maydevine repeats. “This woman is no longer an enemy of the city.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” a familiar voice sounds out from behind the Agent in the hallway.

  Silver recognizes it and her blood freezes. “Uh-oh.”

  She pulls back from Maydevine just in time to see an electric wheelchair buzz and whir into the room, its patient only just released from hospital.

  Lockie McKean.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Treason

  Silver sits in a small, underground cell in the detainment corridor of the DDH. In the cell, there’s a filthy, shit-stained toilet; a wash basin, splattered with stale vomit; an uncomfortable metal chair; and a small wooden table.

  On the table: Silver’s HK USP.

  The empty magazine has been removed. Beside it, there’s one bullet, carefully and precisely placed. Sitting in front of the table, Silver stoically rebels against the magnetic lure of the gun, averting her eyes with deliberate care.

  Shuffling her feet against the debris covered floor, she finds a shard of a broken, rusty razorblade. Could be rust, or blood. She’s not sure, and even less sure that she cares. Taking it between her fingers, she picks dirt and dry blood out from underneath her nails, trying to ignore the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall, growing louder.

  Sure, steady footfalls.

  Maydevine.

  Emerging in front of her cell, he says nothing. In the silence, he pulls out a packet of cigarettes and rolls one back and forth between his fingers.

  He waits for her to make the first move, and she vice versa.

  Neither of them budges.

  She glances up at him, but the disappointment written all over his face quickly shies her away from maintaining eye contact. Trying not to fidget, she tosses the razorblade aside, rests her elbows on her knees, and stares down at her feet.

  The silence persists.

  Silver cracks first. “What’s the matter, old man? Got nothing left to say to me?”

  “Plenty, but you never fucking listen.”

  “I already told you: I did what was asked of me.”

  “And then some.”

  “I gave it my own personal twist,” she admits.

  Silence.

  Silver nods toward her HK USP. “What’s the deal with that?”

  “It’s a courtesy.” Maydevine lights up the cigarette at last.

  “At your request?”

  He doesn’t answer that.

  Instead, “You said you were careful.” A puff of the cigarette. “You said there were no witnesses.”

  “I shot him. He should be dead. How the hell was I supposed to know he’d manage to crawl out of there with his life?”

  Her words, and the sharp tone of her voice, instantly crush the fragile and fading image of an innocent little girl, fondly preserved for all these years in Maydevine’s memory. The little girl who liked to bake cakes with mud and leaves, and build forts out of couch cushions and bed sheets, is long gone. In her place, is a vengeful and bitter woman with an apparent disregard for human life, and Maydevine’s got no-one to blame but himself.

  He’d steered her toward the enforcement program. She’d resisted, but he’d twisted her arm. She’d abhorred the thought of killing humans, but he’d convinced her that homicide could be justifiable, under the right conditions.

  Unwittingly, he’d laid the framework for her crusade against the Governor—he can see that now. He’d spent six years drilling into her the notion that some people just deserve to die, and she’d taken every word of it to heart.

  He didn’t realize how deep his influence had taken hold, and how lost she’d become in the swell of it. If he didn’t already feel guilty for manipulating her into joining the enforcement program in the first place, he does now.

  Yet, he shouldn’t.

  Desperation wasn’t the reason she’d accepted his invitation. The truth is that she’d seen the anguish in his face when he spoke of the program, and of the fate of so many Enforcers who’d come and gone before.

  Suicide.

  She knew he felt responsible for their lives in some way, and she wanted so much to spare him from that. If only she could now spare him from this.

  “Why the fuck did you have to do this?” he says at last. “Why couldn’t you just let things be?”

  The despair in his voice almost breaks her, but she clings on to her hard, detached exterior for all it’s worth.

  “They’re charging me with treason?”

  Maydevine nods. “Thanks to McKean’s testimony, and your affidavit of events.”

  Silver knows what a treason charge like this means.

  Enforcement.

  “Not to mention the attempted murder of a Hunter,” Maydevine continues, “and the unlawful death of the Hunter General.”

  “That wasn’t my fault,” Silver defends. “He wasn’t even supposed to be there.”

  “But he was, and now he’s dead.” Another puff.

  Silence.

  “What about Alex and Red?” Silver sighs. “You’ll ensure their safety?”

  “There aren’t any witnesses to their involvement. That, together with your own sworn statement, seals things up pretty neatly from an administrative point of view.”

  “You read my statement?”

  “Every word, and I’m ashamed that we didn’t even consider the possibility of the old service passages underneath the city still being intact.”

  Silver shrugs. “Don’t be. Phaeden forged the paperwork—Alex has proof. He made it look like the tunnels had already been taken care of, so he could move the commencement of the Third Reclamation forward.”

  Maydevine nods. “Sounds like something he’d do.” He puts the cigarette to his lips again. “The rest of your statement is bullshit, though.”

  “That’s the point.”

  “You confessed to an attempt on the Governor’s life. Why? And why the hell did you let anyone interrogate you without my being present?”

  “They knew they wouldn’t be able to get the treason charge to stick properly without a confession—just like last time. Only, back then, they didn’t seem to care so much; they were happy to settle for banishment. This time, they offered me a deal.”

  “Silver …”

  “In exchange for my admission of guilt, they agreed not to go after the others.”

  Of course, Maydevine doesn’t see that as a fair trade. Her life outweighs all others to him.

  “They were all complicit,” he reminds her. “They should share the burden.”

  “Where’s the benefit in that? Besides, this way it wasn’t all for nothing. Alex and Red don’t deserve to be punished for something I led them into—you know that. And if the Council believes Oz, Jax and Dylan are dead, they won’t have to spend the rest of their lives on the most wanted list.”

  “They won’t thank you for this, you know.”

  “For what? For saving their
lives?”

  “For martyring yourself.”

  Silver rolls her eyes. “Typical.”

  Silence returns.

  Maydevine frowns upon her seemingly relaxed attitude. “You think this is funny?”

  “It is what it is.”

  Maydevine lets the ash from his cigarette fall to the floor, suddenly so disinterested in it. Today, the nicotine does nothing to quell the unease or the desperation, or his erratically pounding heart. A nauseating loss is already preemptively building within him, and it’s taking all his strength to remain calm.

  Stepping so close to the cell bars he can smell the rusting iron, he challenges her to give him something real. “Stop pretending that you don’t give a fuck.”

  She looks up at him. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  Eyeballing the cigarette in his hand, she gets up from the cold, metal chair in her cell and stands to face him, reaching out through the bars to take it from him.

  He lets her.

  “You said it yourself: I martyred myself for them.” She raises the cigarette to her lips. “So don’t ever question how much I fucking care.” The first inhalation takes her back two decades. “I care more than you’ll ever know.”

  Maydevine is irritated by her failure to grasp his meaning. “Your loyalty runs deep and I’ve always known that, but I’m not talking about them.”

  “Then what? What else is there?”

  “The only thing you’ve never cared about.” His fingers itch for another cigarette already. “That sweet, little girl who fell into my arms thirty-some years ago and gave me a reason to be a better man.”

  “She’s dead.”

  “She’s about to be.” Maydevine stumbles for words. “And, kid … I can’t.”

  Silver’s chest feels hollow, her heart dropping at his reference to her impending enforcement.

  “I can’t get you out of it, not this time.” He shakes his head. “You’ll be put before the Council and enforced for treason. You’ll face a bullet for what you’ve done—or what you’ve confessed to doing—and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

  Silver takes another drag from the cigarette, trying to ignore the tears behind her father’s eyes. “Phaeden Rist’s done terrible things to those people.”