Torch Song: A Kickass Heroine, A Post-Apocalyptic World: Book One Of The Blackjack Trilogy (39 page)

He nodded, already on his way through the door.

She followed him out and down the stairs. He ran for the back doors, she for the elevators.

Quinn the cashier was standing at the end of the hallway, looking out the window, when she got to Samm’s room. It occurred to her to send him downstairs to find Zack and sign up, but Samm might need something. He was still weak and still too eager to do more than he should.

Quinn hurried to her. “What’s going on down there? Looks like a lot of people gathering. Zack’s—”

“Some Rockies crossed the border, maybe killed the guard, maybe took a village. We don’t know for sure, don’t know how many, but we’re sending the army and anyone else who’ll go. Is Samm awake?”

Quinn flushed, his white eyebrows standing out like fuzzy chalk marks. “I should go!”

“Sorry. Need you here.” He started to object. “Consider it an order from Zack,” she barked. Enough of this crap. She pushed the door open. If Samm wasn’t awake he soon would be. The noise coming from the parking lot would penetrate a more heavily drugged sleep than he was likely to be enjoying.

Sure enough, he was trying to get out of bed.

“Lie down, Samm.”

“What’s—” He waved a hand toward the window.

“That’s what I’m here to tell you.” She repeated what she’d just told Quinn, and emphasized that only a few dozen raiders had actually been seen.

Samm’s face flushed with anger.

“Quinn!” he screamed.

Quinn came running in.

“Go down there and tell Zack I’m on my way. Then go get me some fucking crutches!”

“No, Samm!” Jo’s voice rose to match his. “None of the wounded are going. Certainly not a man who can’t walk.”

He glared at her. “Then I’ll walk! Quinn, forget the fucking crutches.”

“You’ll only slow them down. They’ll be so busy taking care of you they won’t be fighting. Use your damned head.”

He tried to stand. “I’m fine. Much better. I’m in charge of this army, Jo, not you.”

“Yeah. You are. And you’re going to run it by sys. Open link to Zack.” She retrieved his sys from the nightstand and dropped it in his lap. “I will not let you be a liability.”

He tilted his head back and roared a string of curses they must have heard down in the parking lot. Then he fell against his pillows, tears running down his cheeks, and punched his sys.

“Zack?”

“I’m here, Samm.”

“Keep it open. I’m going to be there, with you, by sys. Every minute!”

What are you doing out here in your underwear?

I was having trouble sleeping.

I knew a lot; I didn’t know enough. I wanted to stay. I wanted to dash back to Redwood and actively, in person, rally its defenders.

Defenders? I had to laugh at the thought. Political dreamers like Macris and Petra and Gran? The social workers who tried so hard to get vax-dregs to the poor, and often failed? The cops who talked about bandit-bashing but managed to bash one out of twenty, if that? The collection of corrupt and silly and mostly harmless sheriffs who strutted around their territories and held meetings from time to time in San Francisco to talk about how good they were at keeping the peace while eating a lot of sushi and pasta and dim sum? The chiefs who got drunk with the sheriffs or built moats around their own little castles? The council that had been talking for five years about creating some sort of guard that would protect the borders if they needed protecting?

What would happen to beautiful, incompetent, wonderfully disorganized Redwood if Rocky overran the West? The Colemans, attitude and all, were the only buffer I could hope for, and someone had to stop Newt’s army of scum.

I didn’t want to join a cause. Not the Colemans’, not anyone’s. It was all bullshit and I was a merc.

So were those toxbags in Newt’s army, but I’d always had some sense of decency even when I was working for thieves and petty tyrants. Hadn’t I? Of course. I was not an indiscriminate killer, not just a merc, not even just a spy. There were too many things I cared about. Some of them even cared about me.

I hurled myself out of bed, jostling my punctured elbow. Even though Doc had told me to wear the sling for five days, I didn’t need the stupid thing to pace around my room.

I paced. Then I realized there seemed to be a hum of voices and vehicles coming from somewhere down below. Before I could get to the window, though— What was that? Horrible noises coming from the second floor?

I grabbed my pistol and threw open the door. Below and down the hall. Someone shouting. The sound was coming up through the open window. Samm. Yelling. Something about fucking crutches?

I ran to the elevator, faster than the stairs, I reasoned, if it came soon enough. The doors opened instantly and I punched the button for the second floor. As I did that, I realized that I hadn’t gotten dressed and was wearing nothing but a thin halter and skimpy pretty-much transparent underpants.

Quinn was sitting on a chair outside Samm’s door. His eyes widened just a bit at the sight of me.

“Quinn? Is he okay?”

Quinn grimaced. “Yeah, just really burned because he can’t go. Because of his leg.”

“Go where?” As I said the words I remembered that before Samm had drowned everything else out, I’d heard activity down in the parking lot. I strode to the hall window and looked out.

There must have been fifty people down there, and more arriving. Even in the dim light of the lamps I could see that Zack stood in the middle of the crowd, and that Drew was handing out weapons.

I swung around. “Quinn, what’s going on?”

“Border raid. Rockies. Heading this way. Sounds kind of bad.”

I had to go. Why hadn’t anyone told me? I was in their stupid army, too, after all. I was about to turn and go get dressed when Jo marched out of Samm’s apartment, scowling. The scowl turned to a flush. She took in my pistol, the only one they’d let me keep, and then the rest of me.

“Rica? What are you doing out here in your underwear?” I was delighted, for once, that she was the one blushing.

“Why didn’t anyone let me know?” I waved toward the window with my good arm.

“Because you can’t go. You’re wounded. You’ll be a burden. Like Samm.”

I stared at her. “Burden? That’s ridiculous. It’s just a little…”

“Major wound in the elbow. Just a little one of those. The only one-armed soldiers going are the ones who’ve been one-armed for years. Go back to bed. That’s an order.”

An order? An order? She must have noticed I wasn’t taking that well.

“I said it’s an order, soldier.”

She was right. I was a soldier. In Samm’s army. The army that was leaving without him. And, so she thought, without me.

The business down in the parking lot was getting louder. I raised my voice. “How can I be kept informed?”

“If there’s anything you need to know, Rica, I promise to tell you.”

Suddenly, under her hot glare, I felt self-conscious and naked. I threw her a sarcastic salute and marched to the stairs. I didn’t want to be standing there waiting for the elevator while she watched.

When I got to my room, I closed the door behind me and went directly to the windows overlooking the lot.

The crowd that was assembling was bigger than the one that had shown up at the rally. Looked like close to a hundred people already and I could see more coming on foot and by car, a few with floaters. Some were straining to hear Zack, who was yelling instructions through a bullhorn. Just as many were milling, talking or waving to each other, or trying to use a sys. Some of them never got out of their cars at all, which made sense to me. Someone must have heard Zack’s orders, because they began consolidating, those without cars joining those who had them. At around two a.m., Zack handed the bullhorn to a woman with a noticeably crooked leg who supported herself with a single crutch. He climbed into a floater and pulled to the head of the line. They began to move out of the lot.

Stragglers continued to show up and I saw what the woman’s job was. After the cavalcade had moved out of sight, she pointed to the road, explaining where the main group had gone and telling them they could catch up if they hurried. I could hear some of her bullhorn-amplified instructions.

Before all the uproar, I had been considering taking one of the milder pain pills Doc had given me and getting some sleep. But that was out of the question now.

So was sitting around waiting to hear about the battle.

The last of the would-be soldiers seemed to have gone. No one new had shown up for a while. The woman with the crooked leg stumped off to her very old model car, bullhorn tucked under her arm, and everything was quiet again.

I would wait another half hour, just to be safe. Then I’d set off in pursuit of the army pursuing the invaders. I might not be much use as a fighter, but I could still be a spy if I stayed out of sight and out of the way.

At just after three a.m., I threw on some pants and a shirt, tucked my laser pistol into my waistband, slid my arm into its sling, and headed for the elevator again. This time, though, the elevator button stayed dark when I punched it. I punched it again. Still dark. What the hell? No little lit-up arrows, either. The stupid thing was broken again. So Hannah was a lousy fixer, on top of everything else. I took the stairs down. As I passed the second floor landing and headed down toward one, a short, sharp cry of pain or fear, followed by a doggy whine, came through the landing door.

What now? I sprinted back up to the door, holding my bad arm close to my body, and shouldered through into the hallway.

Quinn was lying twisted on the floor, eyes wide, a laser burn through his forehead, blood trickling red into his white eyebrows. A few feet down the hall, Lizzie was standing over Owen the barker with the dog, Soldier.

She was waving a bloody fist, growling, “Did you kill him? Did you kill him?”

Owen was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. His nose was bleeding; he was crying, tears flowing from his blind eyes, and moaning, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” Lizzie grabbed his shirt collar and shook him, demanding his gun. She had a knife in her hand now. I moved toward them and she glanced at me.

“Soldier,” she said. “Soldier barked and we came out in the hall and…” She swung back to Owen, clutching his collar tighter, choking him. He didn’t struggle or argue, just moaned about how sorry he was. What was he sorry about? No weapon was anywhere in sight, and how could a blind man aim a pistol, anyway?

But then I noticed that the door of Samm’s apartment was open.

“Liz!” She turned toward me and saw where I was pointing.

“Samm!” she howled, letting go of Owen’s collar. I dashed for the door and collided just inside with three bodies on their way back out. Billy Scorsi, Hannah, and cousin Ky. I grabbed for Billy. I was too late but Lizzie, right behind me, moved fast. In an instant, Billy was down, blood spraying from his throat. Lizzie had used her knife.

I managed to catch hold of Hannah’s gun hand with my one good one, saw her pistol skitter into the hall, and jerked her halfway to the floor before she chopped me away, aimed a kick at my sling, caught me in the hip, and bounced upright again. Lizzie jumped Ky, the dog hopping around them barking hysterically, snapping at Ky. Lizzie was roaring. Was she hurt? Hannah raised a short dagger. I kicked her in the head, hard, watched her drop and turned for a quick glance toward Liz, who’d been battling with Ky near the bedroom door. Ky was lying on the living room carpet, a bloodstain spreading on his chest; he looked stunned. Lizzie could have finished him off easily but she was ignoring him, keening, staring into the bedroom. I left Hannah on the floor, unconscious or dead, and dashed past Liz.

Samm was lying in his bed, a laser burn through his eye, half a dozen knife wounds reddening the sheets. Lying in his own blood. Gone. In his own blood. I felt Lizzie grab me, clutching my shoulders so hard it hurt, the tremors of her body coursing into me through her hands.

I turned to hold her, as if I could still her shuddering, and saw Ky trying to stand up. Red rage all but blinding me, I hurled myself back through the door, tackled him and aimed my pistol at his nose. Lizzie wrenched him away from me and began banging his head on the living room floor, over and over again. I pulled him back and began to hit him, hot tears running down my face, screaming with rage that burned my throat. I hit him until my fist gave out and my wounded arm dripped blood through its bandages. He was out again; another inert mass lying a few feet from Hannah.

It had all moved so quickly. Employees roused by the noise of the fight were showing up, half-dressed, running through the apartment door. First to arrive were Willa, the elderly cashier I’d met my first day at Blackjack, and one of the restaurant’s day people, a new guy I’d never spoken to.

Lizzie took a sys from her pocket. “Jo…” she was saying.

But Jo was already there, racing past the bodies down and standing, heading for the door of Samm’s room. I followed, all the way to the bed. She stood crouched unsteadily over him, reaching toward him but afraid, I thought, that she would hurt that wounded body, knowing he was dead but not knowing it, too. She reached out for Lizzie’s hand and pulled her close. After a moment, Lizzie backed away.

In that same instant, I felt the pain of a dozen unhealed wounds, including a couple of new ones. The sling had been lost somewhere. My arm dropped to my side, a lump of agony.

I came up beside Jo, put my good arm around her, holding her up. She leaned into me, crying. We both were. I held her tight.

Then I heard that full, warm voice behind us, a roar of pain. “Oh god! Oh no!”

Judith had arrived. Willa reached for her, standing in the bedroom door, and tried to lead her to a chair. Judith wouldn’t move. She was crying, too, but what I saw in her face wasn’t just grief, it was an anger that twisted her soft features into a devil’s rage.

Jo and Judith reached for each other and I reluctantly let my arm slide away from Jo.

* * *

The waiter was feeling for Samm’s pulse. He shook his head and closed Samm’s eyes. That was as near to a declaration of death as we’d get that night; I was sure that Doc was on his way to the border with the troops.