Ruins of the Fall (The Remants Trilogy #2) (16 page)

I consider all this and decide on a way forward. To convince Reno of what I know, deep in my bones, to be true. “I bet that man he sent back, he had his tongue cut out?”

Reno gives me a strange look. “How’d you know?”

“Because he probably told Kid about your little tunnel. Maybe just a rumor, a hint, a bit of hearsay he caught while knocking back a few beers. But enough that Kid put the pieces together.” I have a smug look of satisfaction on my lips. It’s refreshing, to be neck-and-neck with genius. And oh-so-sweet to stifle a revenge attempt. “You pop out, I guarantee someone’s waiting for us.”

“A lot of moving parts,” Reno says. But the skepticism has left his eyes. He’s convinced. Knows I’ve tangled with this particular beast before. Emerged with a couple deep cuts, but no mortal wounds. That type of experience is invaluable, can’t be taught. Like surviving a giant swell in the middle of the sea. You count your blessings, batten down the hatches and make sure you don’t run into the buzzsaw again.

“You wanna hear what I got in mind?”

“Long as I tell my people it came from me,” Reno says. “That’s the deal.”

It’s not a power grab, but a plea for stability. “Tell them what you want. I got no dog in this fight.”

“You got one,” Evelyn says in a muted whisper.

“And what’s that?”

“Me.”

“Lady’s got a point,” Reno says. He steps away from the ladder and shakes my hand. “You may just be full of shit enough to survive.”

I don’t know if that makes sense, but I get what he’s saying all the same.

The Gifted Minds building is pockmarked by explosions and gunfire, the halls blackened by stray grenades and missiles. But when we finally return topside and walk through the halls, the din of battle has receded to a more distant front.

A soldier runs past a cluster of ruined lockers and stands at attention. “Commander. We’ve rebuffed the enemy forces.”

Reno gives me a look and then says, “Gather the officers.”

“Sir?”

“I have a special announcement,” Reno says. “Set it for an hour. Tell them it’s time to buckle down.”

The soldier’s eyes grow wide. “Yes sir.”

Then he darts away, running faster than before, buoyed by the very important message he now carries. I shift Evelyn’s body on my shoulder, and she mumbles.

“What?”

“You need to put me down,” she says. Her long blonde hair tickles my nose. I can’t do anything about it, though, because balancing her now requires both of my arms. Every muscle around my neck burns, but I still keep walking. “You can’t keep carrying me around.”

“Just be quiet.”

“Carina’s not your fault,” she says. “I’m not your fault.”

“You got kinda pissed when I told you that.”

“Because you can be a condescending prick.”

I laugh, and immediately regret it when her weight shifts slightly. She’s right. If I’m going to enact this plan and help Reno and the Oshies out, I can’t be carrying her on my back the whole time. I’ll just have to trust that she’ll be okay wherever I put her.

Looking up, I find a thin man running towards us. His gaunt skin and unkempt hair make it clear that it’s Martin.

“You’re alive,” he says. “Martin is very pleased.” I notice that he has a guitar on his back. He sees me staring and says with a wide smile, “Martin found it in one of the rooms.” It’s the kind of expression not driven by extrinsic motivations like women or wine or fame, but actual genuine passion and love.

Against my better judgment, I begrudgingly admit to myself that this slightly inspiring. Like the tiniest four-leaf clover growing on a massive mountain of shit. But it’s a start.

His face falls when he realizes that Evelyn is hurt.

“Is she…”

“I’m not dead, asshole,” Evelyn says.

“Martin is pleased,” he says, brushing his ratty hair out of his dirty face. “I’m pleased.”

“Great,” I say. “Can you do me a favor?”

His face lights up. “I’ll write a song about you.”

Reno, who has been watching this exchange with a pleasant detachment, finally steps in and says, “Look, sir, Mr. Stokes is important. We have plans.”

Martin gives him a funny look. “Mr. Stokes? This guy?”

“Martin,” I say. “Just look after Evelyn. Get someone to set her leg.”

“No songs,” Evelyn says beneath her breath.

“Lots of songs,” Martin says. “I have so many
ideas
, you know? Just tons of them. When the world comes back, maybe I’ll go solo. Yeah, I think I’ll go solo. The other guys are probably dead, you know, which is a bummer—”

“
Martin
,” I say.

“Right, right.” He runs off. Two minutes later, he returns with no less than half a dozen people. I hand Evelyn off, give her a wordless goodbye pat, and then watch as they take her away.

Reno and I walk through the ruined institute. We stop in front of his office, but don’t go inside. Just look through the doorway, at the huge hole in the wall.

“I hope you know what you’re doin’.”

“So far so good,” I say. But his words send an icy fear through my chest. Maybe this is what Kid wanted all along.

But there’s one wild card that gives me confidence.

Kid has no way of knowing I’m out here.

And the snake you don’t know is waiting in the brush is the same as the one you don’t recognize.

All the officials and important military personnel gather in the institute’s auditorium right before nightfall. It’s a group of about thirty people, mostly men, although a couple tough looking women are present, too. They remind me of Jana. If I had to grapple with anyone, I’d probably take the burliest guy here.

The more difficult the fight to the top, the tougher the animal. Even if they’re smaller, grit has an interesting way of evening things out.

Reno stands at the lectern. A new cowboy hat, identical to the old one lost in the salvo, sits atop his head. He looks remarkably clean and put together. Fresh pressed jeans and a sport jacket. Looks ready for a date at a nice steakhouse.

Each faction’s customs amuse me to no end, since I have none of my own. I think that’s true atheism—having no superstitions, no illusions about certain things. Always being prepared to use the right tool for the right task. Maybe I’m just fooling myself and can’t see my own beliefs.

That tends to be how it is. After all, didn’t I lap that shit up about being a hero, on some level? Which causes you to be stupid, risk your life on gambles. You imagine the legends, how the history books will sing of your exploits.

When really it’s the little things—like not going up that damn ladder—that are the true turning points. But no one ever sees those, and the hero of the unseen gets no accolades.

Reno taps the microphone. The light buzz in the auditorium abates as the people settle into the vinyl seats. It’s a fairly large place, easily seating three hundred. The visual is striking, showing just how far the world has fallen in the past two decades.

Humanity is hanging by a thread. And here we are, talking about how we might kill more of us.

Before starting, Reno walks over and shares a word with me. I’m standing on the side of the stage, leaning up against a giant projection screen that reminds me of the tent city in the Black Hole. The one that shattered in two, almost crushed me.

“You cool with me taking all the credit, right?”

“Nervousness doesn’t look good on you, Reno.” I don’t say it, but I liked him better when he wasn’t afraid to die, out by the Pacific Lodge. But he hasn’t known me for very long. No longer than a day. And it’s hard to prove what a negative. There’s still a doubt in his mind—maybe the ladder was the right call. We could be sitting ducks here. Kid Vegas could be another step ahead.

I see all this in his eyes.

“I’m goin’ all in with you,” Reno says. “You know how that feels, don’t you?”

I look past him, at the hungry, expectant eyes waiting in the audience. Placing their faith in their commander—that he has answers which they possibly cannot see. I’m uncomfortable with deification, but in this case, I do know answers impossible for them to have.

For I have been in Kid’s jaws, and I have survived. Not without paying my pound of flesh. Matt is gone. HIVE threatens to turn everyone into passive floating heads. Carina died. Three years have vanished. Evelyn is injured.

And one of my closest allies is a junkie ex-rock star who opened our relationship by trying to rob me.

So yeah, I know a couple things about going all in. More about faith than I want to know. It’s not comfortable for me, either, since I’ve always been the one exploiting others’ tendencies to believe.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s why you’re following my plan.”

Reno holds my gaze for a moment, then walks away to the lectern.

He begins addressing the audience. Official and polite. They hang on every word. It takes a moment for the implications to sink in. I glance across the stunned room, half-expecting someone to burst out, scream that’s lunacy.

But the Oshies are nothing if not loyal. Surviving the unpredictable seas has made them trust those above them. There is no time for second-guessing when the waves are churning, threatening to blast apart a platform. You simply must have faith that your superiors have done their due diligence while you were battening down the hatches.

Everyone rises wordlessly a minute later, and files out of the auditorium in an orderly fashion.

“They might hate me forever, this don’t work,” Reno says. He’s taken a sizable chunk of tobacco and put it in his cheek. Gives a round sound to his words. He spits on the floor. A year of taking care of this place and none of it will matter in a few hours.

“Evelyn’s out of harm’s way, right,” I say.

“You got our map,” Reno says, staring out at the empty room for what will be the last time. “You seen our operation. It’s a little bigger, now. Get new ships coming in every coupla weeks.”

“You still got people out on the seas? Shit.”

“Some of ‘em like it out there,” Reno says. “A man can get used to anything.”

He spits again and walks across the stage, his boots ringing out on the thin wood.

“I need the chopper here in thirty minutes.”

“It’ll be ready in twenty,” Reno says, pausing in the door. “My boys won’t let you down.”

As he disappears and the door clicks shut, I hope silently that I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.

And that my plan is right.

Once you gain a reputation for the grift, it’s rare that people try to pull the wool over your eyes. Sure, you got some loose cannons who swing their dicks through, try to match your wits. We also cleaned those idiots out.

But occasionally, someone good would slide through town. These guys were always dangerous—get too close, and you get burned, just like anyone else. The temptation, though, to improve your skills, stake out your territory, it was a lot.

Hence the reverse con. Where someone’s tagged you as a mark, but, really, they’re the mark.

It works best on novices. The loose cannons were always fucked before they came into the bar. Someone like Kid Vegas, though, you’re not playing with fire when you run something like this. You’re toying with a kind of pain that you’re not even sure exists.

All I know, is if this doesn’t go off, I’ll find out what he’s got in store. And it’ll be nastier than before.

The chopper’s rotors blow back my hair as it touches down in the road. After a couple seconds, the pilot manages to settle onto the chewed up ground. The terrain looks worse than when I came in, and it didn’t look great to begin with. Kid’s bluff was a damn good one. A bark with just enough bite.

I hurry to chopper and pop the door open.

“You Luke?” The pilot’s an old-timer, but the kind of old guy with more vitality than an eighteen year-old.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Benny,” he says. “Climb in.” When he offers a hand to pull me in, his grip is shockingly strong. He notes my expression and says, “From lashin’ lines and hangin’ on for dear life in the waves.”

Then he laughs, long and rolling, as I close the door.

“Reno told you the plan,” I say. “I’m presuming.”

“Goin’ straight into the heart of the enemy’s camp,” Benny says. “You got balls, kid. I like that.”

“You like balls?”

His white, furry beard shakes when he laughs. “Sure, you can say that.”

The chopper lifts off, leaving the dust swept street and rubble behind. From above, the landscape looks like a child has left their toys a jumble. And that everything will be all right once his parents tell him to clean everything up.

But nature doesn’t work that way.

The world doesn’t work that way.

So that idea fades into the realization that
this
—the buildings crushed on top of another like a pile of cracker crumbs—will take many years to fix. Even getting back to whatever the North American Circle was, before it all fell down, will be a struggle.

The question, then, is simple: what path do we want to travel? At the end of those years, do we want to surpass where we once were, or create a grander, more robust version of the machine we all hated?

My mind’s already set. I’m in the chopper.

It’s everyone else that I’m worried about.

“Where’d you get the bird,” I say. “Doesn’t strike me as too useful on the boat.”

“It ain’t,” he says. “There was a warehouse full of ‘em outside downtown Seattle. Can you imagine that? The roof was light enough, they survived getting’ buried.”

“Lucky.”

“Sometimes the world throws ya a bone after kicking your ass.” Benny plays with the sound system. “Only music they had was kinda shit, though.”

I listen to the opening bars. They sound familiar. “What’s this?”

“Some shit by this Rhinoceros band,” Benny says. “I don’t know. My kid woulda liked ‘em, I think. She had shit taste in music.”

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“For what?”

“Your kid.”

He glances over, gives me a kinda shrug. “It is what it is, ya know? I’m still here.” Not sure he sounds super happy about it. Another man’s discontent can be a tricky thing to gauge. Maybe his tremendous energy is betraying him, and all he wants to do is die.

But Benny dispels that notion when he says, “It’s all right. I figure, we get everything up and running again, she’d be proud.” Then he nudges me with an elbow. “Besides, I got a couple young broads sitting around to take my mind off things.”

“That helps,” I say, not really listening. I’m examining a trail of smoke on the horizon. We’ve traveled about twenty miles northeast. Reno’s scouts claim this is where Kid Vegas has set up his main base of operations.

Until an hour ago, the Oshies were laying siege to it. But it’s a pain in the ass fighting a battle when your opponent has state of the art drone defenses. Courtesy of Blackstone’s stockpile, no doubt.

It’s a razor’s edge, what Kid is doing. But then, so is my response. We’re both gambling, hoping that the roll doesn’t come up snake eyes.

“They’ve been hittin’ it pretty hard,” Benny says. He eases up on the throttle a little, slowing down as we enter less friendly airspace. “Reno was pretty adamant about that.”

“I heard.”

“He don’t change his mind much,” Benny says. “Straight shooter. Must’ve seen something written in the stars.”

“Yeah, something like that,” I say. The smoke is dense, an acrid shade of blackish gray. It streams from the walls around the settlement. Kid has only been here a few weeks, but it’s a surprisingly sophisticated operation, given that time constraint. Must’ve had some of the Gifted Minds nano-builder bots lying around to help him out.

It reminds me of the enemy I’m about to square off with: ruthless, focused and with far more resources than me. The Oshies are tough, but they’re like a less-crazed version of the Remnants. Nomads struggling to survive and find a home.

That’s why I’m so damn important. I can actually think like Kid, Blackstone, Olivia Redmond. Because I
am
them, on some level.

The trick is not to become them completely.

“I’m gonna swing down and around,” Benny says. “The charge should go off in—yeah, there she goes.”

Just like the plan, one of the walls erupts in a massive plume of flame. It belches horrid amounts of smoke into the air that blankets the airspace. It’s all for show—and cover. The chopper dips down lower and plunges straight into the gray.

“They’ll know you’re coming,” Benny says. “No avoidin’ that. But they won’t know
when
or exactly
where
.”

“That’s what I’m counting on.” I take the parachute from the backseat and adjust the straps. Test them to make sure they’re secure.

“Anyone tell you this?” Benny says, navigating through the zero-visibility conditions with detached cool. I count the seconds in my head, using the speed gauge to calculate when I should jump. “You might be the craziest son of a gun I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Then I open up the chopper door and jump, wind streaming past my bare ears as I hurtle into the unknown.