Dane jerked his head toward the savanna. “The light out there is better. Wouldn’t want him to accidentally snip off an ear, right?”
She ran her fingers over the engraved tag, tucking it into her dress, and slowly followed him down the steps. She’d never been on the lower level, where the soil was sandy and patchy with dry grass. This was where the real action was, not up in the lodge. The garage, with its artificial trucks that ran along a bluelight track, and the armory, row after row of rifles. Her heart skipped a beat, seeing those guns. She knew they wouldn’t work for her, and yet it seemed it would be so easy to grab one off that wall and blast her way to freedom.
Footsteps came from around the side of the garage. Roshian. Something about the way he carried himself made him loom despite his short stature. He let his eyes run down and up her body, settling on her hair. For a second, she wanted to go back on their deal. The idea of his hands on her, cutting away the hair she’d had her whole life, made her feel sick.
She glanced at the dashboard of the closest safari truck, where the rough carving had been made.
POD30.1
It gave her a small boost of hope. “Let’s get this over with,” Cora said.
“Yeah.” Dane’s voice had an odd tone. “Sure.”
She looked for scissors. Neither of them seemed to have a pair, and neither seemed in a hurry either, though Dane was giving off an anxious sort of energy. He pulled out his yo-yo, tossing it distractedly. A slow, uneasy feeling started to creep up her back. They had to do this fast so the others didn’t get suspicious of her absence. And did they really need to come all the way out here?
She glanced toward the veranda. Dane was standing between her and the stairs, legs spread a little wide. If she tried to bolt back to the lodge, he’d catch her in a second.
“What’s going on, Dane? I thought this was about my hair.”
“Oh, it is.”
Slowly, Roshian took out a long black case from the truck’s backseat. Cora took a shaky step backward. Roshian was bound by the same moral code as all the Kindred. As deranged and self-serving as that code was, none of them ever went outside of its boundaries. Kidnapping children was fine. Dragging them out to a savanna and shooting them wasn’t.
Roshian opened the case: a rifle, this one battered and dented. Not Kindred technology. Her heart started screaming for her to get out of there.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“I asked you once how fast you could run,” Roshian said. “Unfortunately, I never got an answer, but I have studied the way you move. You are flexible, and your reflexes are fast. I would guess that you can run quite fast when pressed.”
She leveled a wary look at him.
He couldn’t kill her.
He couldn’t. He was Kindred. Was this some sick joke he and Dane were playing? A game?
“I suggest you start running,” Roshian said.
24
Mali
THE LODGE WAS DARK during Free Time. Mali had never liked the inside of the menagerie—she preferred the wide-open spaces of the savanna, even if it was artificial, to the smoky air with the chained animals and clinking glasses. She couldn’t imagine that on Earth people really just sat around in dank rooms like this. If Lucky’s theory about POD30.1 was correct and they returned to Earth, would she have to spend so much time indoors too?
She tucked the backstage door key into the pocket of her safari uniform. She’d stolen it from Dane while he had slipped out earlier, claiming he had to help Cora clean up, which didn’t sound at all like Dane. So Mali had stayed behind a few extra minutes, pretending to repair the safari truck’s windshield, keeping her eyes open for something suspicious. That was when she had seen Roshian sneak around the side of the garage, and she’d rushed into the garage to hide. He was up to something, and all she could think about was what he had done to Scavenger.
She’d slipped out the back of the garage and climbed the stairs to the lodge, but there was no sign of Dane or Cora or Roshian. The lodge was empty. None of the fleet trucks had been taken. She pinched herself to keep worry at bay and started to return backstage. It was a big station, and Dane’s key could only get her so far. There was no way she could track down which level and sector they might have taken Cora to.
But a rustle from the bar made her freeze. Years of fighting made her body react by instinct and her muscles tensed in a familiar pattern. There. A shadow, moving behind the bar.
Glass shattered and the figure cursed. “Bloody hell.”
Mali’s muscles eased. “Leon.”
He stuck his head up, grabbing for a bar towel to clean up whatever bottle he’d broken. “Mali?” His hand immediately went to smooth back his hair. “Aren’t you supposed to be locked up?”
Mali walked to the bar in quick, silent steps. She pulled out a stool so she could lean in close. “What are you doing here.”
“What does it look like?” He finished dabbing off the spilled liquid that smelled so sweet it made her stomach turn. “I was doing a run for Bonebreak, and it took me right by here. The lights and music were off, so I didn’t think anyone would mind, eh? This bar has the best drinks of all of them.” He flashed his best smile. “Want one? You and me and a few drinks could be fun.”
She leveled him a cold stare. Such an idiot. Such an attractive, stupid idiot.
“You will ruin all our plans if someone catches you,” she said.
“Eh.” He dismissed her worries with a wave, then poured her a glass of orange liqueur anyway. “You don’t give me enough credit. I’ve been crawling around this station for weeks and I haven’t been caught. I even broke into Council chambers once, and tried on their ceremonial uniforms. A little stiff around the collar, but not as bad as you’d think.” He downed Mali’s glass of liqueur when it was clear she wasn’t going to touch it. “What are you doing sneaking around? Miss me?”
That smile again. It almost, almost, made her want to smile back. But she tossed a look at the backstage door, then leaned across the bar. “I believe a Kindred named Roshian has taken Cora and I fear for her.”
“Roshian?” Leon grunted up the name like fresh vomit. “Shit. We need another drink.”
Mali narrowed her eyes. “You are aware of him.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s one of Bonebreak’s best customers. I deliver contraband to his quarters every half rotation. All the other Kindred have quarters like army barracks, you know? Not a thing out of place. And Roshian’s is like that, at first glance, but he’s somehow got himself another room, a secret one, connected through a viewing screen he can open. It’s filled with a bunch of human artifacts. Dude seriously likes his comic books. And all that witchcraft stuff you were talking about, powdered animal parts and antlers and shit.”
Mali pinched herself, hoping the pain would help her focus, because what he was saying made no sense. “You must have misunderstood. The Kindred condemn such beliefs.”
“Well, damned if I know. Maybe he’s got Axion friends.”
“What is in the packages that you deliver.”
“I’ve never looked. I don’t want to know what messed-up contraband guys like him want.”
Mali had rarely felt this uneasy. First Cora disappearing, now these revelations about Roshian . . .
Leon narrowed his eyes. “Why do you have that look on your face?”
“What look.”
“That I’m-going-to-make-Leon-do-something look.”
She leaned on the counter. “You know how to get to Roshian’s quarters.”
He sighed. “Here it comes.”
“I want you to take me there. I want to see what is in the packages that you deliver. It might explain where he took Cora.”
He held up his hands. “Okay, but I’m going to expect a thank-you at the end of this. A foot rub to start. We’ll negotiate from there. And I’m taking this.” He swiped a fresh bottle.
Mali let her smile come this time, despite her worry.
Leon motioned her
to a panel behind the stage that was hidden by a curtain. He removed the balled-up bag of potato chips that held the panel open, and bowed.
“After you. At least I’ll get a good view out of this.” His gaze dropped to her butt.
She dropped to all fours and crawled in. He clambered in after her, making a ruckus as he crawled along. From his strained breath she could tell the tunnel’s thin air bothered him, but she didn’t mind the tight passages. For a second, Mali let herself think about what would happen if they could prove Earth was there, and if they could go back after the Gauntlet. She had asked Cora once how she could go about finding her family. Cora had said that she’d need a phone number or mailbox or email address, none of which Mali had, and none of which sounded like things a Saharan nomad camp would have either. But Leon might be able to help. Leon seemed to know how to get around official requirements. And, if she was being honest, she wouldn’t mind getting to know him back on Earth.
They crawled up two levels, then turned down a maze of ducts, avoiding a cleaner trap that she saw even before he did, and finally came to a drecktube marked with chalk. Leon jerked his thumb at the crudely drawn face with x’s over the eyes. “I do that to mark which quarters belong to assholes.”
He shouldered open the narrow door, holding a finger to his lips to be quiet. But no sound came from within except the constant whir of air through the wall seams. They climbed into a set of standard crew quarters that looked identical to all the quarters she had seen for low-level officers. A single bedroom. One chair, and a table that folded out from the wall. Blue bins holding blankets and a few rationed belongings. Leon went to the viewing screen and gave it a firm jab with his elbow. It clicked open.
Mali inspected the hinges closely. “These mechanisms are very crude. It is odd that he does not protect this hidden door with perceptive ability.”
They climbed inside. Leon fumbled with something in his pocket and then a light strapped to his forehead came on. The beam cut through the darkness, showing only a circle of light. Leon moved it slowly around the room so she could see everything. One wall was covered in animal heads that had been detached from the bodies and mounted on hard backings. Not just antlers and horns, but entire heads. An antelope. A deer. Mali had seen much in her life to disturb her, but her pulse had never quite raced in this fluttering, anxious way before.
“I do not understand,” she said.
Leon barely glanced at the animal heads. “He’s a hunter. Deer antlers. People do it all the time at home.”
He spoke so casually of something so strange.
“Not the Kindred,” she said. “I have never seen this.”
Leon kept swinging the light, and it settled on a table where various animal parts were laid out, along with containers of chemicals and the thick black wire the Mosca used for their masks. She stepped closer, squinting at the fur in the darkness. A hyena pelt.
Scavenger.
Her stomach started to turn in revulsion. This was more than just cutting off a claw. He’d completely desecrated Scavenger’s entire body. Her pulse was fluttering harder now, and she glanced at Leon, afraid he could see. Something was very, very wrong.
Leon pointed to a small desk in front of a mirror that was covered by a heavy black cloth. “I leave the packages under there.”
Mali lifted the cloth, trying to calm her heartbeat, but there was only a single black canvas bag underneath. She pulled it out.
“Keep the light on it.” It was closed with intricate Kindred knots, and her fingers flew over them until she had untied the final one. She looked in the direction of Scavenger’s pelt on the table one last time.
She opened the canvas bag.
Leon leaned over her shoulder, the light attached to his head bobbing as he rubbed his chin. “What the . . . ?”
Mali pulled out a Kindred uniform. It was standard for someone of Roshian’s rank: cerulean blue, with five knots down the side. There were also paper notebooks—artifacts from Earth—filled with writing that looked like human speech. But beneath it was something odder. A small, clear box that contained two black half circles that were soft and rubbery. And a tube with a screw-top lid, with writing in a language she didn’t understand, and two heavy barbells.
Leon swiped up the box of half circles. “No way.”
“Do you know what those are.”
“They look like enormous contact lenses.”
She grabbed him, swinging the light so that it shone right in her face, but she didn’t blink. “What are contact lenses.”
“We can’t just magically improve everyone’s eyesight on Earth. People wear them to see better. And the tube is some kind of chemical paint. Don’t you get it, kid? It’s a disguise. The uniform. The weights, to keep his muscles huge. Roshian is only posing as a Kindred.”
Mali found a small square of plastic in the bottom of the bag. She held it up to the light. The words on it were scratched and difficult to read. John Keller, it said. Medical Student, Epidemiology, Boston University. There was a two-dimensional reproduction of a face in the upper corner; it was Roshian’s face, only the skin was pink. His hair was longer. He was smiling and wearing glasses.
“He’s human,” Leon said.
Human. Mali glanced back at the animal heads on the walls. That explained his odd predilections. The way he kept to himself in the Hunt. Why he only seemed to have the cloaked side of his personality.
It also meant that he was not bound by the Kindred moral code.
She dropped the identification card. “We must find Cassian. Now.”
“No way,” Leon said. “If he sees you outside of the menagerie, he’ll know we can sneak out. He’ll put a stop to it. And he’ll turn me in to the guards.”
“This is more important. There will be no more sneaking around if Cora is dead.”
“Please tell me you’re exaggerating.”
“I do not exaggerate.” She climbed one leg back into the service passageway. “The Kindred do not kill humans. But humans kill humans. And I do not think that Roshian—John Keller—only wants Cora for her hair. Now take me to Cassian’s quarters.”
She climbed in the drecktube, and they scrambled through the tunnels, dodging packages and cleaner traps, and this time Leon didn’t make a single comment about staring at her backside.
25
Cora
CORA SHIELDED HER EYES against the bright savanna sun. It glinted off the hood of the nearest safari truck, blinding her so that all she could make out of Roshian was a dark outline.
She took a shaky step backward, nearly tripping over the uneven ground. “Dane, what’s going on?”
He stood at the base of the veranda steps, blocking her. “You heard him,” he said quietly, tossing the yo-yo. “Run. You might have a chance.”
“You brought me here to die?”
His eyes snapped to her. “That’s up to how fast you are. I can’t say I’m optimistic.” He shoved the toy in his pocket, and when he spoke again, his tone was more resigned. “I’ll tell Lucky that you died in an accident. I’ll watch out for him. He could go far here.”
She contemplated hurling herself at him, clawing his face, ripping out clumps of his hair, but it wouldn’t change anything—he wasn’t in charge.
“You!” She spun on Roshian. “If this is just about some trophy, take it! I’ll give you my hair, no favors in return, no questions asked.”
“It is the trophy I want,” Roshian said calmly. “But the trophy means nothing without the hunt.”
He picked up the old rifle, an enormous dark-gray monster that had to weigh twenty pounds, nothing Kindred about it in the slightest.
“Just run already!” Dane hurled his yo-yo at her feet.
She let out a hoarse cry. Her mind kept spinning, trying to find a rational explanation, as Roshian stroked the length of the rifle barrel. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t kill a human. And then he rested a finger on the trigger, and her spinning mind stopped.
Apparently
, somehow, he could.
“Only one way to escape the Big Bad Wolf,” said Anya’s voiceless whisper, and for a second, Cora was glad at least she wasn’t alone. “That’s to run.”
Cora’s heart throbbed harder. Anya might think in riddles, but this one wasn’t hard to decipher.
Cora turned and ran.
Heat rose from the ground, turning the artificial savanna into hazy waves. Tall grass. The watering hole. Rolling hills. Not many places to hide, which was exactly how it had been designed.
Behind her came the metallic clicks of a rifle preparing to fire. Back in DC, her father had once dragged her to a shooting range for a political photo op and made her put on ear protection and fire at a person-shaped target. She had hated everything about that dank cement room of sweaty men, but she remembered one thing: it was a lot harder to shoot a moving target.
Her long dress tangled around her ankles, slowing her, and she jerked it up around her knees so she could run faster, darting and weaving to make herself harder to shoot. Her feet pounded over stone and tufts of grass, throwing up sand behind her. She ran for the closest hill. If she could get behind it—
A bullet whizzed by her side.
She shrieked and veered to the right, throwing herself behind a tree. She could just make out Roshian on the horizon, still standing by the veranda steps. He had lowered the rifle to reload. Even if the bullets were artificial, they would still immobilize her so that he could slice her throat. Her breath slammed in her chest as she dug her fingernails into the tree.
What chance did she have? He was Kindred, and all Kindred were faster, and stronger, and smarter. Tessela, Cassian, Lucky, and Mali—none of them could help her, because they had no idea that at this moment a twisted creature in a safari uniform was lifting a rifle to aim again.
“Anya,” she thought as hard as she could. “Help!”
For a minute, there was nothing. The sun beat down mercilessly. It was only a matter of time before Roshian would corner her, shoot her, and cut off her hair and keep it as a deranged trophy. No one would be left to run or cheat the Gauntlet.
The Hunt Page 15
