by T. C. Edge
“Thank you, Titus. You saved my life.”
He bends down onto one knee, coming face to face with me.
“You know, I don’t usually do this, Brie. And especially with someone like you. I can’t be sure what you’re up to, but whatever it is, be careful…”
“I’m…not up to anything.”
“I can see what you are. I saw it when you looked at me out there. Your eyes…I know you’re a Hawk. God knows I’ve spent enough time around them to know how they look at the world. I imagine you’re probably a hybrid too, and you were on the run because of it. For all I know, it was you who freed those prisoners being taken to the REEF.”
My lack of immediate response is enough to solidify his suspicions. I consider working up some lie, but don’t. Instead I merely ask: “If you know I’m a hybrid…then why did you save me?”
“Because hybrids are the same as the rest of us. I don’t think they should be rounded up and killed just because they have mixed blood. For my mind, the only bad hybrids are the ones the Consortium have cooked up themselves.”
“The Stalkers?”
He nods.
“They spend their lives hunting people, most of them innocent. But then again, I suppose that’s what they’re designed for. They don’t have much say in the matter. But you do, Brie. Whatever you’re doing, I suggest you cut it out. It’ll only get you killed.”
“I…maybe I have no choice,” I say.
“Few of us do,” he sighs. “All I can suggest is that you be careful. The way you looked at me gave you away. Don’t go making a habit of that unless you’re in safe company.”
I nod slowly.
“Thank you, for the advice. This is all quite new to me.”
“I can tell,” he says with a wry smile. “But I’d better get back to work.” He stands back up to his full, towering height, before fixing me with a firm stare. “Don’t make me regret helping you. Or I’ll escort you over to the REEF myself.”
He starts moving back towards the front of the car.
“Titus,” I say, calling him back. His mighty trunk wheels round. “I won’t ever forget this. Not til I die…”
He smiles.
“Think nothing of it. Sometimes it feels good to do the right thing, even if that means betraying your duty. And this was a good thing, Brie. Just try to make sure you don’t die too soon! Take care.”
He turns again, climbs back into his car, and begins rumbling off away onto the street.
The alley grows quiet, the throbbing in my head becoming clearer once more. And as I stand there, every ounce of me weakens, a surging flood of relief gushing from every pore.
I drop down, lie back against the alley wall, and suck in the stale air.
I got lucky this time. Very lucky.
But sooner or later, my luck is going to run out.
56
My journey home brings with it a sense of high anxiety. That’s not so rare for me these days, although mostly it’s my night-time jaunts after curfew that get my blood pumping.
Right now, it’s still not even mid-morning, and the streets are filled with pedestrians going about their days. Yet still, I shuffle my way through the crowds with an intense aching in my chest, and a deep pool of nerves bubbling in my stomach.
Even hidden under my new jacket, I feel as if I’m completely exposed. Every time I pass a patrolling Con-Cop, or sight a Hawk peering from a high rooftop, I quickly avert my eyes in a manner that would suggest utter guilt to anyone.
In reality, none of them are likely even looking at me. If I keep myself to myself, I’m sure I’ll get right back to the academy safe and sound.
When I reach the Conveyor Line, I get a few funny looks. Lining up in the queue, the people around me narrow their eyes and crinkle their snouts in disgust.
I can only assume it’s a mixture of the mud, and the thick coating of toxic fumes that will almost certainly have seeped into my clothes. I keep my head down and don’t engage with them, stepping quickly onto the Conveyor Line as it swishes around from the east and begins turning northwest.
I cling onto the pole like my life depends on it. It’s not something I can control right now. My hands tremble so hard I have no choice but to clamp my fingers down, my knuckles growing white as I’m carried along through the city.
Until now, I’ve had my run-ins with the law, but nothing like what I’ve been through over the last 24 hours. This time yesterday I was still gearing up to attend the funeral of Fred and Ziggy, an emotional enough experience as it is.
A little after that ended, I was discovering that Drum had murdered a man, had been incarcerated in the holding cells, and was set to be taken out to the REEF that very night.
Firefights, chases through the tunnels, and a terrifying ride through the raging underwater river quickly followed, and that was all before midnight. The events of this morning have only added to the feeling of utter tension that grips to every single one of my muscle fibres.
I feel exhausted. I feel filthy. My head throbs harder than it ever has, and my hands burn with terrible sores and blisters.
I think it’s safe to say that I’ve had a rough time of it recently.
And yet, I can be pretty certain that I’m only just getting started. Now that I’m back safe in the city, I’ll have little rest before I’m being called upon to carry out my mission.
But as with earlier, when I could think of little else but getting warm, now my brain has a single function: get me home to bed.
I’m so drained that even thoughts of Drum and Zander’s safety make little more than a cameo. I’m worried about them, of course, but being properly worried takes energy.
And I have none to give.
What little reserves remain within me are directed to the task of getting me home. With the Conveyor Line doing most of the work, I merely need to look out for the nearest stop to the academy.
When it comes, I step off as the line slows at the debarkation point, summoning my wits to make sure I don’t take a tumble. Safely back on stable ground, I drag my heavy limbs through the streets until I arrive at the bottom of Brick Lane.
So close now…
More funny looks follow from the local residents, who may or may not recognise me. Still covered from head to toe, it’s only when I turn into the academy and pass its threshold that my true identity is revealed.
A few kids linger inside the foyer. They sniff as I pass and ask why I ‘stink so bad’.
I don’t answer. I don’t even look at them. I just drift by like a member of the undead, pumping my legs dry as I move up the stairs and onto the second floor.
I don’t even spare a thought for whether Tess will be around. Seeing me in this state will certainly raise more questions, but our relationship can’t really get much worse right now so it hardly matters.
Mercifully, however, she’s nowhere to be seen – not wholly surprising given the amount she’s been working recently – leaving me to strip out of my clothes in private.
Peeling off one layer after another, I grab my wash bag and fill it to the brim, tying it up tight to make sure the stink doesn’t escape. Then, grabbing a towel, I amble along the corridor to the shower, step inside, lock the door, and let the water flow.
It’s cold, as it almost always is. Not freezing, just unpleasant and tepid at best. After last night, however, my definition of what constitutes freezing water has been permanently modified. Stepping under the flow, this doesn’t feel too bad.
For the first minute or two, my hands feel like they’re on fire. I carefully work to remove the clumps of mud on my exposed skin, before removing the rag from my head and working on my hair.
Despite already having washed it in the lake this morning, it remains covered in filth. The reddening of the water at my feet also tells me that more blood has accumulated, the gash on my head still leaking. It’ll need attention.
But that’ll have to wait.
Working in a state of autopilot, I perform a perfunctory wash of
the rest of my body. Before I know it, I’m trailing wet footprints back down the hall to my room, pulling on my soft nightclothes, and crawling into bed without a second thought.
Shutting my eyes, my mind flashes with lights and guns and toxic, green mist. For a few minutes, I struggle to turn off, the events off the previous day starting on an endless loop.
Soon, I’m back out there, struggling through those woods, being tossed about in that river, running through the tunnels from the hoards of mindless slaves. The memories fill my mind, turning to dreams as I drift into an uncomfortable sleep.
Rarely do I wake in a sweat. Only when I’m sick – which in itself is a rare thing – do I come out of a sleep feeling drenched. Yet today I do, the sheets and blankets both carrying a cool damp as my eyes blink open in the darkness of my room.
It takes a few moments for my vision to kick in, revealing that Tess’s bed isn’t quite how I left it. When I’d fallen asleep, it had been empty. Now, there’s a bag on it – her work bag.
Without even having to check my watch, I know it must be evening. When I do, I discover that I’ve enjoyed a solid 10 hour stretch of slumber, the clock ticking towards 9PM. It’s done me the world of good.
As my fingers grip the watch, however, it takes me a second to realise that my hands are strapped up in coils of white dressing. I squeeze them into balls and then stretch out my fingers – actions which were causing a great deal of pain before I dropped off – and feel little discomfort.
My head, too, no longer throbs. Reaching up, the tips of my fingers come into contact with yet more dressing, my head wrapped up tight in a fresh bandage.
I search my mind for any memory of having had treatment, but nothing materialises.
Did Mrs Carmichael creep in while I was sleeping and patch me up?
I consider that that must be what happened, and set my feet to the floor. With a clearing mind, I move to the door and exit into the corridor, keen to pay my guardian a visit to say thanks.
I hear her music playing inside, and knock. When I appear, she bolts from her chair in surprise.
“Brie, you’re awake!”
“Er, yeah. Was this you?” I ask a little groggily, holding up my hands.
“Um, yes,” she says, frowning. “ You don’t remember?”
I move in and shut the door, lazily dropping into a chair in front of her desk.
“Should I? What happened?”
“Tess found you on your floor, passed out and face down. Your hands, Brie…they were terrible. And your head…” She shakes hers. “Tess was half out of her mind with worry.”
“She was?”
Such a thing shouldn’t surprise me. Recent events have changed that.
“Of course. So was I! We sorted you out and put you back to bed. You were awake for some of it, mumbling about chases in tunnels and firefights and freezing water and all sorts of things…”
“I was?”
I rack my brain for some recollection. Nothing comes.
“I guess it’s no surprise that your memory’s hazy. You were delirious.”
“And did Tess hear?”
“She heard some. I don’t think she knew what to make of it, though.”
She shakes her head, exasperated, and her eyes turn from relieved to accusatory.
“I swear, each time you step out that door you come back with some sort of nasty injury. And they’re getting worse every time. One day I’m going to come back to find you dead in the foyer,” she says grumpily. “But don’t worry…I’m not going to tell you to stop. I’m done trying to do that. Although I would like an explanation from your mouth…I’ve heard bits and pieces and put some of the puzzle together myself, but I want to hear your side.”
“You’ve heard…what exactly?”
“The attack on the prisoner convoy. It’s been on the news. They’re talking about it being the Nameless, freeing all these murderers and rapists, causing all this trouble. It’s all sanctioned by the Consortium, of course, but the people don’t know that.”
“More fear mongering,” I mumble. “That doesn’t surprise me. That’s not exactly what happened, though…”
I lower my eyes and her voice looms again.
“It was you,” she starts. It’s not a question. “I mean, that’s obvious enough. You and Zander set free a bunch of criminals to get Drum back. OK, so it’s great he’s safe and all, but didn’t you stop and think…”
Her words form in my head, but it takes me a second to react.
It’s great he’s safe and all…
Drum’s safe…
“Hold on,” I say, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You said Drum’s safe?! Are you sure?! How do you know?!”
On the table ahead of her is her usual buffet of cigarettes and whiskey. She’s been going hard on both since I arrived. The smoke used to bother me. Not anymore. Spending time around that horrendous toxic mist has toughened me up to anything less lethal.
She tips the last sip of whiskey down her throat and sets the glass to the table.
“Let’s just say I see the resemblance. I have no doubt now that Zander is your twin, much as I don’t like his influence on you…”
“You met him! He came here?!”
“Oh yeah.” She refills her glass. “He came looking for you yesterday night. He looked awful worried. And he looked like you…”
My eyes are swamped in a frown.
“Hang on…he came looking for me yesterday? But yesterday I was off with him, saving Drum.”
Now it’s her brows that drop. Then they lift again in realisation and her head tips back.
“Ahhh. You think you’ve been sleeping all day. Nope,” she says, shaking her head. “You’ve been out since yesterday morning.”
“What! I’ve been out for over a day?”
“After what you clearly went through, that’s not too surprising. I was close to getting the doctor in to have a look at you, that’s how serious it was.”
And that is serious. Mrs Carmichael abhors paying for medical treatment unless there’s severe need for it.
“So, Zander came here looking for me, and you went down to meet him?”
She nods.
“He had given Abby a letter to give to you. When she came up to your room she found me in there, much to her surprise. I took possession of the letter. You’ll have to excuse me for opening it up. He asked to meet at the top of the street. He was rather shocked when I appeared in your place.”
“He wanted to meet on Brick Lane? That’s odd…usually we creep off somewhere more private.”
“Yeah, well, he seemed quite distressed. Told me he couldn’t contact you ‘in your head’ – I assume he was talking about some sort of telepathy – so came right down here to find you.”
“And he was fine? Drum too?” my voice rushes.
“Both of them…just fine,” she nods.
I lean back and let out a long breath.
“Thank you, Zander,” I whisper. Then I turn my eyes to the whiskey bottle. “Do you mind? I could really do with some of that.”
She raises her eyebrows as she pours me a glass.
“I’d urge you not to get a taste for it. It’s a slow killer. Although, I guess that won’t matter the way you’re going.”
I stare a few daggers at her.
“Brenda…”
She slides me the glass.
“You know it’s the last thing I want in the world. But there comes a time, Brie, when you have to be realistic. You’ve told me just what your mission is. It’s barely even gotten started and already I’m finding you at death’s door. I’ve got to be prepared for the worst. It’s easier that way. I know that full well.”
Her eyes swim briefly with the memory of her husband, Derek, who died after a protracted battle with lung cancer. I always considered it odd that his death wasn’t enough to curb her own smoking habit. Then again, she was already too far gone in that regard to quit.
“If I get it, I get it,” she used
to say, talking of her husband’s illness.
I found that odd too. Derek’s last few years, and months in particular, had been difficult to say the least. However, it did give her time to prepare for his passing. Now, perhaps, she’s doing the same with me.
I take a sip of whiskey. It doesn’t burn like it has before. I guess I must be getting used to it.
“So, what else did Zander say?” I ask.
“Not a great deal, to be honest. He didn’t exactly seem pleased with all my questions.”
“He’s just careful. I’ve told you how long he’s been with the Nameless. I guess when you spend your life running and hiding, you’re more selective with who to trust.”
“Oh, I agree entirely. In actual fact, I was pleased with his cautiousness. He’s clearly a prudent young man. His distrust of me made me trust him more, conversely.”
“So he didn’t say anything? Nothing else about Drum?”
“He’s under the protection of the Nameless, that’s all he told me.”
Good. He kept to the bargain.
“But what I want to know is what happened with you after you split,” she continues. “Zander filled me in on a few details. He said the last he saw of you, you were safe in the tunnels and making your way back to the academy. Clearly you didn’t because you only got back the next morning. So where were you?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“I think you’d be surprised. Try me.”
She leans forwards as I speak. When I say: “I was outside the city,” she hardly reacts at all. She merely dips her chin in a knowing nod.
“I thought so,” she says. “I found your clothes. They were putrid, for want of a better word, soaked in mud and poison. Your hands too, all those blisters. I assumed you’d been in some heavy fog somewhere, and you only get that outside the city.”
I purse my lips, impressed.
“I think you’ve missed your calling, Brenda. You’d have made a great detective.”
“I wouldn’t say it took much to work it out. The evidence was pretty clear. What I can’t figure out is how you got out there and how you got back in. Even my skills as an amateur detective aren’t powerful enough to untangle that riddle.”
