The Earth Dwellers (29 page)

Not my brightest moment.

But it’s done now, and we scanned the removed chip into my bed, laying down chairs on the mattress to try to trick it into thinking I’m sleeping.

Time to go.

“Be careful,” Avery says. “No unnecessary risks.”

“They’re all necessary at this point,” I say wryly.

“You know what I mean.”

I give him a quick hug, because it just feels right after everything they’re doing for me. Lin goes down with me, because the exit door won’t open without someone scanning their chip, and my chip needs to stay in my bed with the chairs.

When we reach the bottom, I give her a hug too. “Knock when you get back,” she says, but I get the feeling she’s just saying it to make us both feel better. It’s not likely that I’ll be coming back. “And kick some presidential ass.”

“I will,” I say. She scans her wrist on the door, which will raise some alarms, but then they’ll assume she just poked her head out for some fresh air the moment she scans it upstairs and gets into bed.

I slip out, a blind spot on Lecter’s radar; like a ghost, I’m invisible.

“There will be night patrols,” Avery told me before I left. “The city’s broken up into eight quadrants, each with a separate patrol pattern. You’ll have to make your way across three of these to reach your destination. Watch each patrol to get a feel for it, and then make your move.”

I didn’t ask him how he knows of all of this. I’ll just have to take his word for it.

The first patrol is in our quadrant, and I won’t have a chance to observe it because I’m already in the thick of it. My only chance is silent speed. My white clothes flash around me as I race down the street, and, not for the first time, I wish for a darker wardrobe.

Reaching the first cross street, I turn right. I’m halfway down the block when I hear voices and footsteps, just ahead, perhaps around the corner. I slam on the brakes, bolt across the street, duck into an alley. It’s full of shadows that grab me and pull me under, cloaking my presence.

Across the street, two Enforcers stroll by, carrying semi-automatic weapons and talking and laughing. They look completely relaxed. I’m guessing they usually get a pre-warning if someone’s out on the streets who shouldn’t be. Because they won’t get that warning, they’ll think it’s just another boring night on the job.

They pass and I slip behind them, sticking to the route that Avery and Lin mapped out for me. Two more blocks and then left, leaving the first quadrant. I look for a place to hide, to observe.

There are no nearby alleys, but there is a military truck, parked near the corner. It’s not safe enough to prowl behind it, so I dive to the ground, roll underneath, peer out.

Silence.

If the city is strange and sterile and somewhat frightening during the day, at night it’s downright spooky. Not a soul in sight. Utter silence. Dim lighting from lamp posts, sheening everything with a luminescent white glow.

Voices. Footsteps. The next patrol. Different than the last one. Four Enforcers, two on each side of the road, shining lights in alleyways and at the shadows as they pass. I’m lucky I didn’t try hiding from these ones. My only choice here is to avoid them completely. They’re coming right for me, but Avery promised they wouldn’t cross over into our quadrant, so I’m holding my breath and biting on my thumb and hoping he’s right…

They turn right at the intersection, away from me. I let out a silent breath.

There’s no time to waste. I roll out from hiding, scramble to my feet, and bolt across the road, running hard, secure in my knowledge that the patrol is behind me. Three blocks, make a right—

WHAM!

Something hits me; or rather, I hit it. Not a wall, because it gives way, groaning and collapsing in front of me as I stumble over it. A person. No, an Enforcer. Another patrol in the same quadrant? Avery must’ve forgotten to mention that.

But I’ve hit him from behind and landed on top of him, and though I’m shocked, I’m already recovering, raising my hands like a club, ready to bash his skull in…

When I see the blood.

It’s already pooling around us, escaping from somewhere in the front of his head, which he must’ve hit on the stone-block street when he fell. My head’s on a swivel, looking for his partner, who’s probably right behind me about to—

Nothing. We’re alone. Which really means that I’m alone, because I’m pretty sure this guy is dead.

Crap, crap, crap!

This was not part of the plan. I could try dragging him away to an alley somewhere, but I won’t have time to clean up the blood. Do I go back, find a way to break into Avery and Lin’s building, knock on their door, start over fresh in the morning? Or do I continue on, really turn this into a suicide mission, doing everything in my power to kill Lecter tonight?

I go on, grabbing only the dead guy’s gun, which thankfully clattered away in front of him, several feet out of range of the blood.

I leave the body, dashing into the night, being more careful, peeking around corners before turning them. The second quadrant disappears behind me and I don’t stop to observe the patrols in the third quadrant, because at any second someone might raise the alarm that there’s a dead Enforcer in the streets and a crazed, disgruntled, chipless citizen on the loose.

It might be luck, it might be fate, or it might just be that the entire patrol had to take a bathroom break, but whatever it is, I don’t see a single Enforcer in the third quadrant.

And just like Avery said, there was no chance I’d miss Lecter’s house. House is a loose term—it’s more like a mansion or palace. Not quite as grand as the Nailin Palace—after all, it’s still as sterile and white as everything else in the city—the presidential quarters are surrounded by a head-high brick wall—easily climbable—with a tall, glass sheet above it—impossible to climb.

I creep along the wall, looking for a break, a gate, something.

There’s nothing on the side I’m on, so I turn the corner and head down the next section of wall. Ahead there’s a blank spot in the wall. An entrance?

Tucking my stolen pistol under the waistband in the small of my back, I stride toward the gap, like it’s the most normal thing to be doing in the middle of the night. When I risk a quick glance through the entrance, I see a guard station. There are three guards this time, each toting black weapons.

Things are about to get even messier.

I turn the corner, advancing without caution, like I belong. One of the guard’s shouts and then there are three guns pointed at my head. “Hiya, boys,” I say.

“How the hell did you get onto the streets?” one of them asks, a tall brute with a chest like an iron statue. There’s no way I’ll be able to take him one on one.

“A little gift from Borgie,” I say, rolling the made up pet name for Lecter off my tongue like syrup. “He made it possible so I could pay him a little visit.” Although I know I’m just playing a role, my own words make me want to spew up the half-dinner I ate.

“No one told us,” the second guard says, a guy with a face so wide it almost looks stretched.

“He doesn’t always tell us,” the third guard says, his dark skin like chocolate, his white teeth flashing with each word. It’s music to my ears, not that I’m surprised. I’d expect a man like Lecter to take advantage of every last bit of his power. Maybe he likes the young ones the best. The only question left: Will they buy it?

“Lecter’s not even here,” Iron-Chest says. “Something happened. He rushed off with his guards.”

My heart sinks. Now I’ve got myself a real problem. How to talk my way out of here, away from these guys, who are still pointing their guns at me, although they’ve dropped them a little, more toward my legs. But
should
I talk my way out?

“We’ll send someone to escort you home, ma’am,” Wide-Jaw says, the polite one in the group.

I make a decision. Screw getting away from here. I’m only going to have so many chances. “Maybe I could wait inside,” I say. “Borgie won’t like it if he doesn’t get a chance to
see
me tonight.”

White-Teeth’s mouth flashes open to speak, but I hurry on. “I could even keep you boys company. We could take turns.” Vomit, vomit, spew, vomit. I let my thoughts hurl—no pun intended—through my head, but my face is relaxed, my lips pouted out slightly, as I look at them through lowered lashes.

“Ma’am, I think we’d better get you home,” Wide-Jaw says.

I close my eyes. Either I have zero sex appeal, or Lecter’s chosen, trained, and paid his guards well, because these guys aren’t falling for it. Which leaves only one option. Brute force.

The moment Wide-Jaw steps within my circle of reach, I snap a kick hard and high, rocking his monstrous jaw back, his teeth clacking together as his open mouth bites shut. One of the other guards shouts something, but I’m not listening because I’m already drawing my pistol, aiming it at Iron-Chest’s bulging left pec, pulling the trigger…

BOOM!

The gunshot rocks the silence like an explosion, and even as he’s raising his gun he’s falling back, a red hole in his chest, which apparently isn’t made of iron after all.

I dive to the side, because I know—
I know
—that when you fight three guys, the one to be the most worried about is the third.

Bullets whine through the air around me, ricocheting off of the brick wall and the cement walkway. I scrape against the ground, the impact stinging my arms and legs, feeling a particularly sharp burst of pain where Avery stabbed me with a freaking fork earlier, but I ignore it because it’s nothing.

Turning, I fire three shots, each of them into White-Teeth’s gut. Even as his eyes widen and his mouth opens to reveal his pearly whites, he raises his arm to take a final shot. I’m a sitting duck and it’s all I can do to turn my body, hoping to get hit somewhere that won’t kill me, like an arm or a leg, just not the head…

There’s a thud. No gunshot. Just a thud.

Slowly, I roll over. White-Teeth is down, his fingers still closed around the trigger, even though they didn’t have enough strength left to pull it.

Nearby, Wide-Jaw is groaning and rolling around. Blood’s pouring from his mouth, from his teeth—which are probably broken and shattered—and his tongue—which he might’ve bitten off.

Images of bodies…children and men and women…

Lying dead in the desert…

Grinning soldiers, mugging for the camera…

I shoot Wide-Jaw in the head.

And then, even as voices and lights rain down from the building above me, I run past the guard station and dart along the side of the structure, into a narrow space between the outer wall and Lecter’s house.

In the shadows, I stop, because I’m shaking and breathless and freaking crying uncontrollably, my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. What did I just do? When did I become a cold-blooded killing machine? Is this what my mother and Tristan’s mother were hoping for when they chose me? Is this what my father intended when he trained me?

Back against the wall, I slide to the ground, trying to get control, trying to justify my actions. There are bad people and good people. Those were bad people, right? Do I know that for sure? Do I know anything for sure? But they were polite and they didn’t even try to take me up on my lewd offer…

Tristan. His name pops into my head and at first I cry harder, but then I grab onto him. He’s something I know for sure, and if he was here, I know he’d trust that what I did to those men was necessary. Anyone carrying guns for Lecter is undeserving of mercy. I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears, grit my teeth and clench my fists and pull every last muscle in my body tight.

I. Get. Control.

There are voices in the front now. Scared shouts and calls for help. They’ve discovered the bodies. They’ll be searching the premises. I have to find somewhere to hide.

And Lecter’s not even here. Where could he possibly be? What could be so urgent that he’d rush off into the night? Did they find the Tri-Tribes? Will we get an announcement about another massacre in the morning?

I have to believe we won’t.

Above me, the building rises three stories. Those searching for me will check the lower floors first; the higher I can get the better. I start to climb, starting with a windowsill and then grabbing onto a pipe, tightening my feet around it and pulling myself up. My muscles are still burning from all the cleaning I did this morning and my arm hurts like Avery is
still
jabbing it with the fork, but all of that is just pain. I bite it away.

Reaching the second floor, I find a foothold on another sill, and then reach up to grab a third-floor window. I shove upwards with all my might, but the window doesn’t budge, doesn’t move one inch. Locked.

There are more windows on either side; I’ll have to try those ones, hope for a miracle.

But before I can step across to the next sill, the window above me opens and a head pops out.

I have to jump—I have to—no other choice—just drop and hope I don’t break a leg and then run as hard and as fast out of this place as possible, because I’m caught.

I’m caught.