Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (59 page)

His phone rang into his ear, the endless jingle a melody to the already annoying soundtrack of questions in his mind.

Good God, pick up the damned phone already.

He walked down the tracks, passing the one unhinged car he'd noticed before, the one that had clearly brought the entire train down. Something caught his eye, a beautiful thing that was wrapped around the car's metal hitch, as though it had been connecting the cars together. As though it had been...
 

"The chain pulley," he murmured. He picked up the silver-blue silk, the fabric slipping like cool, moist-less water over his skin. Alchemic power was still emanating from it, as soft and gentle as the fabric in which it lived. He stared at the silk, enraptured.
 

"911. What's your emergency?" The operator's robotic voice finally came through.

"An accident..." he began, suddenly unsure, gazing at the silk. "I'd like to report an accident."

North, north, keep going north. North, north, keep going north.

It was like a song, really. Not so bad. At least, Zeika had convinced herself of that once she'd hit mile fifteen in her jog. It helped her keep pace, and it was all she allowed herself to think as she took step after agonizing step towards Paj.
 

Ever since she'd jumped out of the moving train like an idiot, she'd been walking all night. This was all after she'd caught a few hours' sleep under some logs in the woods. Again, like an idiot. Hungry Ninkashi were surely roaming the forest, especially now that their car had crashed open in the woods. Yet sleep had taken her, fitful and freezing, but welcome. She'd awoken to a physical torment she'd never known, not even in all her years of athletic training. Muscles practically shredded beneath her skin, swollen joints and extremities, creaking and throbbing bones... hell, she didn't even know bones
could
throb.

Either way, she needed to get back asap, so she'd decided to jog off her agony, which was probably the one smart decision she'd made. The pain never left, but there was nothing like a pair of aching feet to take a girl's mind off an aching ass. So she continued the silent psalm: north, north, keep going north. North, north, keep going north.

And like a shaman's chant, it eventually worked, and she could see the sun rising over the wooded edge of Demesne Five, only a few miles in the distance.

*
*
*
*
*

She staggered into Paj a few hours later, daylight just breaking through the overcast sky. It was a little after nine a.m., and the summer sun was late in its shine. Only in the Protecteds, though, where there weren't enough atomizers to dissolve the Canopy and the muddy shroud it cast over the earth. Normally, she might have cursed this, but the prolonged darkness seemed to keep all the cockroaches in their holes. Very few APs were on the streets or back alleys today, and it was easy to slip through quickly and unnoticed. Her body pulsed with an almost blinding agony, but she wasn't far from Franz' hideout. It was just around the corner, a block away.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it before she came on it, and on instinct, she slowed down, opening her senses to the alleyways. Movement. It was muffled and quick, but the skidding of shoes, the grunts, and the thuds of flesh on stone were unmistakeable. She knew a good fight when she heard one, and she could hear this one well. APs, it sounded like.
 

She crouched against one of the walls and peeked around its corner, looking down the passageway where the alley met St. John's street.
 

She was right. One of the alley walls, the one forming a side of Franz' hideout, had been blown open. Bricks and blasted mortar were scattered across the alley, and in the middle, fists and feet were flying.

"Oh shit..."

It was Franz, and he was getting the crap kicked out of him by three APs. He growled in a drunken rage and swung with reckless abandon, clocking one AP in the jaw and kicking another. Despite his efforts, though, the three were overpowering him. She felt a pang of pity as she watched him get pummeled, but it was what she didn't see that kicked her terror into gear. Manja.

Two of the APs got the jump on Franz and threw him to the ground. Another pulled out his billy club. Zeika clenched her swollen fingers into a fist and starting to move out of the shadows-- and stopped when Franz turned his gaze down the alley and saw her. He shook his head, just slightly, enough so that the APs didn't notice as they searched him. Zeika crept back to her hiding place around the corner as she watched Franz' bloodshot eyes drift to his hideout. The message was clear. Manja was inside. Safe.

"Kill him," Franz mouthed-- and Zeika had to hold back a scream as the billy club came down hard on the back of Franz' skull, spraying blood. Then again. And again. Dull cracks split the morning, as did Franz' screams. Then he was silent.
 

Bile rushed into Zeika's mouth as she slumped against her hiding place, weak. Then she heard the sliding as the APs dragged Franz across the alley. The slam of the paddy wagon doors, the screech of the tires as they drove off. Then silence.

She trembled, but somehow she was on her feet, running and limping down the alleyway. Tears slid down her cheeks as all her thoughts swam in and out. Franz. Dead. If they hadn't killed him by beating him to death, he'd definitely be a vegetable. Why didn't he use his powers, why didn't he want her to intervene, and why didn't she stop it, even though she knew she could? All questions without answers swarming her mind.

She walked into the hazy hideout and saw it had been tossed, more in a scuffle than in a search. There was no doubt that Franz had deliberately taken the fight outside, probably to protect Manja. But where
was
she? Zeika's eyes drifted to the garbage can next to the refrigerator. She ran over to it, reaching out to the lid with trembling fingers.

She swallowed, preparing herself for what she might find, and finally she lifted the lid. Two blue eyes glanced up at her, filled with fear. Manja's spacey headphones were snug over her ears.

"Oh, Zeeky!" The little girl's eyes filled with tears. "It's so stinky in here!"

The weight of the world rolled off Zeika's chest. The little one was in tact, afro puffs and all. Zeika pulled her out and set her on the ground.

"Where's Mister Franz? Why did he put me in the garbage like poo?"

"The police took him away."

The girl lowered her eyes, the information sinking in. "Is he dead?"

"I--" Zeika's throat clenched, her eyes brimming with tears. "I think so. I don't know."

"Are we going to die too?"

She knelt on one knee and lifted Manja's chin. "No, honey. I'm not going to let you die." It was a promise that was hard to make, especially with Zeika herself on the brink of a breakdown, but she meant every word. "Never. Okay? I have a way out. We have a way--"

"That's a lie. Everybody dies. No one can stop death, not even you. Mommy and Daddy are dead too."

"Mama and Baba are alive, Manja. You have to believe that."

"Then where are they? Why'd they just leave us here?! Mr. Franz said Mr. Morgan is mad and mean. He works with bad men, and he's hurting everyone. Nobody can stop him."

"Morgan can be stopped. Morgan is not a god. He's just a man."

"How do you know? How do you know
anything
?" Tears were pouring down Manja's face. She was shaking, truly terrified. "We always have to hide, everywhere we go, we hide!"

"If we get out of Demesne Five, we can be free."

"No, we can't! We'll never be free. You can't stop him. No one can!"

Zeika could feel her eyes burn as she stared at her sister. She had never seen Manja's resolve break so completely.
 
She wanted to tell her all about Julie, about the boat to the Seventh, about the other way out that had nothing to do with Koa. But in her own way, Manja was right. So long as the APs were out there, so long as Morgan was out there, they'd never be safe. No Civilian would be, no matter
where
they went.
 

She looked at Manja and pursed her lips, the girl's tears shifting something in her, the resolve she'd lost in the alley returning. What she had to do had never been so clear to her, so simple. It wasn't about vengeance, or even justice. It was about survival.

"I can do it, Manja," Zeika responded, hard as stone. "I can stop him."

"When are you coming back, Zeeky?"

"I don't know."

"Are you mad at me? I'm sorry! I'm sorry for hitting you, please--"

"No baby," Zeika had felt her throat tighten. "I'm not mad. I love you very much."

"Then why are you leaving? Please don't leave! I won't be bad anymore, I promise! ZEEKY! ZEEKY, DON'T LEAVE ME!"
 

Zeika pulled the tattered shreds of robe around her body more tightly, trying to keep the bitter morning chill out her bones. The Canopy and its winter were here, and she had gone days without a decent meal. Her supply bag had gone with Manja. A few pieces of bread and some dried fruit were all that Zeika had taken for herself, and now even that was gone. There had been nothing since, and her already malnourished body was beginning to feel it. Worse, she had run out of time.
 

While she'd given up the idea of joining Koa, they could still track her down, now that she'd failed initiation. The terrorists would probably trace her tattoo and butcher her like Davy had said they would. And yet, none of that mattered anymore. From one asshole to the next, it no longer mattered who was hunting her. All that mattered was that Sal Morgan be stopped, and there was only one way to do that. Only one way she could handle.

Whether he took it himself, or Koa tossed it in a river, or she was found dead and starved in the bitter snow, the world would finally have the body of Ezekiel D'jihara Anon. The Vigils in the Protecteds would end. Manja would be safe. Happy.

I'm sure Julie'll give her everything she needs.

It had torn her apart to watch her one love sail away from her on a river, but soon, she wouldn't feel the pain anymore. She wouldn't feel anything. It was small sacrifice for what mattered: Manja. She deserved to be safe and happy, to live life the
right
way. She didn't need to be yoked with someone like her, who constantly sold herself to one devil or the other. If Mama or Baba ever made it to the Seventh, then the three of them would reunite. Things would be fine. If not, then Manja had a great chance at being adopted by an Azure. She was adorable, loving, kind, and pure... nothing like what Zeika had become.

Zeika's chest heaved as she lurched forward, finally crossing the zoning lines of the Civic and Azure neighborhoods in the Fifth. She'd been okay with avoiding cops or Ninkashi... maybe because APs were only satisfied when Civilians looked dead. And maybe because the Ninkashi only wanted Civilians if they were really alive. Guess she was somewhere in between. Who the hell knew. Either way, she must have looked like a total ghoul because she was now drawing disturbed looks from passersby as she shuffled through.

By the fur coats, stupid spats, and unnecessarily antiquated street lamps, she knew she'd stumbled into Times Circle, the most high-brow of rich Azure neighborhoods in the Fifth. It was a brand-new "designer" neighborhood that'd been built after Burke's zoning laws had passed, a specially-themed enclave for insulated Azures who were bored with their own lives. Every year, the chronological theme of Times Circle was supposed to change, hence the name. The inaugural year's theme was a pre-Collapse 1950s motif, and Azures were out in full-force. It would be a year-long parade of gussied-up jerks who had escaped to the past because they couldn't deal with the present. Of course, Sal had muscled Civilians out before he'd given the go-ahead to build Times Circle. Now they, the uninvited, had the nerve to be staring at her like
she
didn't belong.

She huffed and kept moving, glad to be an affront. Screw 'em. She had bigger things to worry about, like making it to Sal's estate. It was either that, get caught by Sal's men, or die on her way there. She had a feeling though that she had no choice in anything but the latter. Every step felt like walking on pins. She could barely feel herself move, and even when she did, her vision spun out of control, causing her to drink in huge gulpfuls of air just to set herself right again. Every couple of blocks, she paused to sit, sometimes right in the way of shoppers, some of whom were carrying large expensive packages.
 

"Are you crazy? Watch it, you little scamp!" One woman hissed at her after having nearly dropped her designer shopping bag, which undoubtedly held thousands of dollars' worth of antiquated baubles. Important stuff, like cheesy, gold-gilded fashion dolls or some shit.

Zeika didn't bother to look at the nasty woman as she crawled to one side and leaned against a shop window. She wished she could tell them that she couldn't help it. Falling down wherever she could was the only way she wouldn't die right there on the street. Willing herself to live was like wrestling Death itself out of her body. Damn if any of these people understood. Getting a body to restart against its nature was hard enough, much less finding an out-of-the-way place to collapse in a heap so as to not inconvenience the oblivious public.