Black Widow (23 page)

I needed to get out of here before that happened or I was dead.

Still keeping low, I moved away from the remains of the counter and hurried into the back of the restaurant. I must have inhaled more smoke than I'd thought because I felt slow, stupid, awkward, and clumsy, with a dull, languid fog that wouldn't leave my mind no matter how hard I tried to push it away. I kept banging into the scorched walls, knocking free giant chunks of brittle ash, and I tripped over something lying just beyond the obliterated double doors.

I did a face-plant onto the floor. The fall stunned me, as did the charred, ashy thing below me. I slowly lifted my head and realized that I was staring at a charred, blackened skull. It took me a few more seconds to realize that I'd tripped over and was now lying on top of the dead woman I'd dragged out of the freezer earlier. Her body had been burned to a crisp, just like I'd wanted, but that didn't mean I enjoyed the up-close view of what I'd been forced to do to her corpse.

I swallowed down the hot bile in my mouth, rolled off the body, and staggered back up onto my feet. I managed to stumble over to the back corner of the restaurant, where my frozen-food fort had been, and realized that I had another problem. This was the only part of the restaurant that wasn't singed and scorched, as though something had been sitting on the floor that had been removed, showing the smooth, unmarred surface below.

I couldn't let Madeline realize that I was still alive, so I staggered back the way I'd come, scooping up burned bottles and other debris and tossing it all over into the corner. For added measure, I kicked ash, soot, and smoky ruin all over the clear space, until it was as dirty, dingy, and damaged as everything else was.

But now that I'd disguised my hiding spot, a large question remained—how to actually get out of here?

Slipping out the back door was out of the question. I couldn't take a chance that the cops were still stationed outside. But I needed to see exactly what was going on in the alley, so I went back over to the corner, crouched down on my knees on top of my duffel bag, and peered out through my breathing hole.

I still couldn't see anything but the back of the metal Dumpster that was perched in front of this corner of the restaurant, so I put my ear up to the opening, listening. A few soft murmurs of conversation sounded, but they seemed to be at the far ends of the alley, and not right outside the back door. The firefighters must have cleared the cops out of the corridor to make sure that no one got hurt from the flames that had eaten through the restaurant.

I listened another minute, just to be sure, but the murmurs didn't get any louder or come any closer. This was the best chance I had to get out of here. A small portion of my magic had replenished itself while I was waiting out the fire, so I flattened my palms against the wall and let what little Stone power that I had seep into the bricks and chip through the gray mortar that held them together.

If I'd been at full strength, I could have sent out one burst of magic and crumbled the entire wall—the entire restaurant—in seconds. But I was weak and exhausted and still coughing up all the soot, ash, and smoke that had polluted my lungs, so all I could do was loosen one brick at a time, pry it free from the wall, set it aside, and then wearily start on the next one.

Sweat poured down my face and neck, my short nails cracked and bled, and the jagged edges of the stone bit and tore into my skin as I tugged and yanked and pulled each brick free. I made myself work as quickly and quietly as possible, but it still took me the better part of fifteen minutes to make an opening that was wide enough for me to wiggle through. But I managed it, pulling myself through to the other side.

I lay against the cold, dirty, cracked pavement of the alley, panting for breath. Even though all I wanted to do was suck down giant gulps of air, I clamped my lips shut and made myself breathe in slowly through my nose, listening to see if anyone had heard my dig to freedom or had sensed me using my Stone magic. But those voices remained at the same low volume and distance, and I felt safe enough to sit up and slump against the part of the wall that was still intact.

When I had recovered enough of my strength, I took a few moments to take care of my lady business, then reached back inside and dragged my duffel bag out through the opening. Normally, I would have slung the bag over my shoulder, gotten to my feet, and staggered off into the night, but I wasn't done yet. Because I hadn't escaped just to let Madeline realize that I was still alive.

So I gathered up all the bricks that I'd loosened from the wall, including the one from my breathing hole, and put them all back into their proper places. As I placed each stone back into its slot, I reached inside, scooped up a handful of soot, and rubbed the mess all over the part of the brick that would face the interior of the restaurant. Hopefully, the black smears would help disguise that the mortar wasn't as smooth and solid as it should have been.

When I finished, I leaned back, eyeing my work. It wasn't the best job I'd ever done, and if you looked closely enough, you could see the cracks, gaps, and uneven edges between the bricks. But I was hoping that no one would peer too long and hard at this corner of the restaurant. Or, if they did, mistakenly attribute the damage to the fire. Hopefully, they'd be too concerned with the body and the rest of the destruction to even dream that I'd escaped.

When I'd bricked up the wall as best I could, I grabbed the duffel bag and crawled over to the edge of the Dumpster, peering around the corner. Just as I'd suspected, both ends of the alley were blocked off. A mix of cops and firefighters milled around each exit, standing in front of long ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape that had been tacked up between the walls there. The red, white, and blue lights of the fire trucks and the police cars on the side streets beyond highlighted the words on the glossy tape:
Do Not Enter
.

It didn't look like the cops and firefighters were going to come back here anytime soon, but I still needed someplace to hide. I looked longingly at the crack in the opposite alley wall that I used to hunker down in when I was
a kid and searching for a safe place to sleep for the night. But my body was far too big to fit in there now, and I didn't have any magic left to help me widen the spot.

But I couldn't stay here forever. There was too great a risk of someone seeing me. If nothing else, the firefighters would eventually examine the back wall of the restaurant to make sure that the structure looked sound enough for them to enter. They would easily spot me in my current location. So where else could I hide? The only thing that was even big enough to conceal my entire body was the Dumpster that I was crouching behind . . .

I sighed.

I really, really didn't want to do it, but I needed someplace to rest and hide while I got my strength back, especially since I was so exhausted that I was in danger of passing out at any second. I knew from my time living on the streets that nobody ever looked in the Dumpsters except the homeless bums searching for food and stuff to salvage. There was too much of a chance of finding a dead body stuffed into one. Nobody wanted to deal with that hassle, not even the cops. I'd be safe enough sleeping in the Dumpster for the rest of the night. And if I wasn't, well, I'd tried my best to survive.

So I waited until one of the cops at the end of the alley closest to me brought over a round of coffee for his men and the firefighters. Then I got to my feet. I stood in the shadows, looking and listening, but now that the fire was out, all the action was on the streets, and no one was peering in my direction. So I stepped up onto a dirty milk crate that someone had left in the alley. I hoisted my duffel bag up and over the side of the Dumpster, holding
on to it for as long as I could before letting go. It landed with a soft
thump
. I held my breath, but the sound hadn't carried, and the cops and firefighters didn't even glance in my direction.

So I hooked one leg over the side of the Dumpster, then the other one. I clutched the side of the pitted, pockmarked metal, even as my body sagged against it, my heart racing, sweat trickling down my neck, my breath once again coming in shallow pants. Just that small motion had exhausted what little strength I had left, and I didn't have the energy to move again for several minutes.

I listened over my ragged breathing, but no one entered the alley, and no one had noticed my slithering into the Dumpster. Even if someone had, I didn't have the magic or the strength left to fight off an attack or the energy to try to make a break for it.

When I slid into the Dumpster, I landed on—well, I didn't want to even
think
about what I landed on. All sorts of foul things moved and squished and slopped around beneath my boots and then my body as I sank down into the muck. Trash bags rustled. Plastic cups splintered. Spoiled food slithered this way and that, shifting under my weight. And a small, sharp squeak sounded that could only have been a rat, angry that I'd plopped my ass right down into the middle of its nest.

But the worst part was the smell.

Sticky soda. Rotten banana peels. Blood and snot and vomit and all the other foul, disgusting things that come out of human bodies. And, yes, even spoiled barbecue from the Pork Pit that had baked for far too long out in the autumn sun. The stench invaded my nose and throat,
choking me like the smoke had, and I had to swallow down my bile again.

Using small, quiet movements, I grabbed my duffel bag, unzipped the top, and rooted around until I found one of the tins of Jo-Jo's healing ointment. I popped off the top and buried my nose in the sweet, vanilla-scented balm. I inhaled deep, deep lungfuls of the soft aroma, trying to get the scent of the garbage out of my nose and mouth. For added measure, I dipped my grimy fingers into the tin and smeared some of the ointment under my nose. It drowned out the worst of the stench.

I also took the time to smear the ointment over all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I could reach on my face, hands, arms, and legs, as well as across my lungs. It wasn't as good as Jo-Jo's healing me herself, but she'd infused plenty of her magic into the ointment, and I felt the soft pins-and-needles of her Air power prick at my skin, stitching together and smoothing out the ragged parts of me that they could.

My movements were slower and more awkward than ever before, and it took me a couple of concentrated tries before I managed to put the lid back on the empty tin of ointment, drop it down into my bag, and zip it all up again.

Then I put my duffel bag underneath my head, made myself as comfortable as possible in my bed of garbage, and drifted off to sleep.

17

For once, my slumber was peaceful and free of the dreams and memories that so often plagued me.

But the noises woke me all too soon.

Footsteps
slap-slap-slapp
ed back and forth through the alley. Shouts and yells and steady
beep-beep-beep
s bounced off the brick walls. The
rattle-rattle
and
scrape-scrape-scrape
of cars and heavy machinery rumbled at a steady level on the surrounding streets.

I opened my eyes and had to squint against the growing glare of the early-morning sunlight as it slipped in between the buildings and streamed down into the Dumpster, highlighting all of the filth that I was cocooned in. I didn't know what time it was, probably a little after seven, but the fire department was getting an early start dealing with what remained of the Pork Pit, just like the fire chief had promised Madeline. Then again, I imagined that she had paid
him or perhaps someone else even higher up on the food chain more than enough to kick everyone into high gear this morning.

One by one, people started trickling into the alley. The Dumpster was high enough to hide me from sight, although I did have a few tense moments when some giants walked by. They were so tall that they could easily have peered over the side of the container, but they strolled on without even looking in my direction. But I remained as quiet and motionless as possible, not wanting to attract anyone's eyes or ears with a stray movement or an unfortunate
squish
of garbage.