Z 2136 (Z 2134 Series Book 3) (11 page)

Adam crept along the wide city street, running hunched from one hiding spot to another, trailing the coach as close as he dared. As he hid behind one of the many hunks of stripped cars shoved to the side of the street (trying not to tremble from the wind as much as from his fear) he was surprised that the noises of clopping hooves, turning coach wheels, and metal chains scraping on the ground were doing nothing to attract nearby zombies.

Adam wondered if whatever was keeping the swarm gathered at the base of the building ahead was responsible. The closer he inched to the carriage, the more certain he grew that the women were being used as zombie bait of some kind, even if they weren’t yet doing their job.

He wondered what the bandits did once the women were attacked. Was the purpose to keep the riders safe through the assault—give the zombies easy prey to distract them—or something darker?

Did the bandits sit and watch? Or maybe place bets? What happened next? How would they deal with the horde? Maybe that’s when they’d pour from the coach and start hacking undead, Adam figured.

He realized with an uncomfortably large lump in his throat (suddenly missing Colton more than he cared to admit) that this looked like something designed for sport.

What kind of sick bastards do something like this?

Bandits, of course.

Alone in a cell for more than a long half year, it was finally easy for Adam to figure out how much of his City Watch training was mere propaganda. Still, as Michael had said before his murder, every lie had truth inside it, otherwise lies were hard to believe. Adam had learned plenty about the packs of bandits that lived as subhuman savages, haunting The Barrens with murderous intent, so this sort of thing shouldn’t have been a surprise.

Crouched behind a wall of warped metal and ancient tires—now nothing but rims in the snow—Adam found it easy to accept the City Watch rules about bandits:

Never trust a bandit.

Shoot first. Ask questions later.

Never sympathize with one of their women or children, lest you be tricked and stabbed in the back by one of their men.

At the time of Adam’s training, he had secretly wondered if perhaps the antibandit stuff was just a warped City Watch perception. He had never been outside The Walls but figured that the people in The Barrens couldn’t be all that different from citizens living inside The Cities: people were people, after all. If you spent life on the lookout for zombies, without any safe bed to call your own, scavenging for limited resources in a dead land, any man could be turned into a savage. Still Adam had always figured there was something human left in them.

Not any longer.

No one who chained women and dragged them through the streets deserved an ounce of sympathy. They deserved to die in the worst way imaginable—shot but not killed, then left to be dined on by the undead.

Adam darted from behind his metal rampart to a slab of rubber and concrete that reminded him of the partitions that kept City 6 stuffed behind Walls. He made it to within 20 feet of the chained women, when he realized that his idea—using the blaster to separate the chains—might not work. Blasters fired energy strong enough to disintegrate men, but he’d never used one to shoot at inorganic matter. If he were wrong, and the chain didn’t break, he’d be forced to take out the bandits—as many as five—entirely on his own.

And if any one of them got a shot off with a Hellweaver, Adam would be a dead man.

He peeked around the partition’s sheared-off edge, making sure the bandit riding atop the stagecoach wasn’t looking back, then launched himself forward to close the distance between himself and the women.

His heart slammed against his chest as he drew nearer, sucking in icy breaths that stung his lungs. Adam wondered how long he’d been chasing the coach, and more importantly, how much distance he’d put between himself and Colton.

He looked back, but the rotten buildings all looked similar, with one crumbling facade mirroring the next. Seeing everything lined in a row, Adam couldn’t remember—or determine—which building had held them for the night.

He cursed his impulsive stupidity.

Adam had managed to piss off Colton—the one guy in The Games who not only didn’t see him as an enemy but also was his path to possible freedom
if
they could find Zelle and make it to The Gardens, which might or might not exist.

Adam rechecked if the coast was clear, then darted to the left, crossing the street for a better look at the windows on the right, trying his best to see Colton.

Nothing seemed familiar. They’d barely glanced at the exterior as they ducked inside the night before, happy to find a place away from the screaming, a few alleys up and away from where Hooper had been feasted on after Colton put him down.

Even if everything looked different when cast under the bright morning light reflecting up from the snow, Adam didn’t think his memory was sharp enough to draw their particular hovel from the line.

Shit.

The coach pulled farther ahead.

Adam sprinted again and this time kept running until he pulled up even with the girls, some 70 feet behind the coach.

They looked at him, startled. The older woman cried out.

Adam put a hand to her mouth and shook his head.

“I’m here to save you,” he whispered, just above the icy wind, hoping like hell no one in front had been able to hear him.

The younger woman, the one who looked even more like Ana up close, seemed relieved. “Please, help us,” she whispered, looking ahead at the stagecoach.

Seeing her, some part of him wondered if this
was
his sister. It had been so long since he’d seen her that anything was possible. But then he noticed that she was shorter than Ana and had slightly different—fuller—cheeks.

Adam showed his blaster to the women. “I’m going to try and shoot your chains off. Once I do, run into one of the buildings and just keep running. Can you do that?”

The older woman looked like she desperately wanted to make words but just shook her head violently, as if that was the only way to rattle the words out. “They’ll k-kill us,” she finally managed.

“I won’t let that happen,” Adam said, surprised at his boldness and the unreasonable belief that he might be able to handle the bandits.

“Do it,” the younger woman said.

Adam aimed at the long thick chain linking body to collar, then angled down to the road, and back up to an iron rung at the stagecoach’s rear, figuring the chain was about 70 feet long.

He aimed at the ground, as the chain slinked this way and that. He had to aim low, or risk killing the women if the disintegration spread in either direction.

He fired and missed.

Shit.

Adam didn’t bother looking ahead to see if the driver had heard the blast, though it was hard to believe that he hadn’t, even if the horses weren’t spooked.

He fired again and this time hit.

A section of chain burned bright blue before it faded, leaving ash behind as the connection broke.

The girl’s eyes widened, relieved as she pulled up the remaining feet of chain still connected to her collar and ran toward the open door on the building to their left.

A yell came from up front. The clomping stopped and the stagecoach lurched to a standstill. Adam looked up front and saw the man in the black hat turn back toward him.

“Hey!” He screamed, then aimed a gun—a blaster, not his Hellweaver—at Adam.

The second woman, still chained, cried out, “I didn’t do anything!”

Adam fired at the driver. He missed, then dove to the ground, expecting the bandit’s shot to tear through his body.

Top Hat missed.

Adam had popped up, ready to fire another shot, when the carriage doors burst open and another three bandits poured out, all aiming their weapons at Adam.

The chained woman screamed, though Adam wasn’t sure if she was yelling for him to save her or because she was certain the bandits wanted her dead. Either way, he couldn’t look up.

Adam scrambled toward the same open door where the younger woman had fled. Dirt kicked up at his feet, chips of concrete sprayed his body as chunks of wall burst to dust around him.

He kept running, then dove through the open door and slid hard into a wall.

Pain splintered his head as he struggled to stand.

Suddenly, hands were on him, pulling him up from behind.

“Well, well, well, looks like we’ve got another member to the party,” the man in the black hat said before punching Adam in the nose.

Unbearable pain—like everything was breaking all at once—tugged at his consciousness. He considered the horror of what would happen to his body if his mind couldn’t fight.

It wasn’t enough.

Adam fell and knew he would die.

Liam watched as Katrina’s light bobbed along the stairwell walls. Without a light of his own, he was forced to keep close to her and Clark or risk getting left behind in a tangle of shadows, maybe missing a step. There was nothing he hated more than the idea of climbing stairs in the dark, one-eyed no less, with danger in wait above and below.

They’d climbed three flights so far but had yet to run into any more zombies. As they continued upward, Liam’s chest kept constricting. He hoped Katrina would choose the next floor to leave the stairs, yet she kept climbing and climbing.

“How high do we need to go?” he finally asked.

She turned, aimed her light at Liam, blinding his eye. “What do you mean?”

He raised a hand, and she lowered the light toward his chest. “Why are we climbing?”

“Because.” She spun the light from Liam, shined it up the stairs and kept walking.

“Thanks,” Liam grumbled, falling in step behind Clark.

The stairwell stank of death. They climbed another three floors, hearing scratching from the hallways past the stairwells, before they reached a quiet floor. Katrina insisted they climb another two floors to the tenth. Clark agreed—although he gave no indication why—giving Liam little choice but to follow and nod.

On the tenth floor she opened the door and held it open for Liam and Clark. The room was oddly empty. Most rooms Liam had seen, both this time and when he was forced to trek The Outback, were littered with Old Nation debris amid the few remaining relics of desperate survival. This room was barren except for dust like a carpet on the floor.

The room was relatively bright, lit by a long row of oversized windows displaying the city’s horrors below.

They went to the windows and looked out into the wasteland. Liam wondered if his face looked as hopeless as Katrina’s and Clark’s. He saw zombies, players, and orbs. No hope. From 10 floors up, in an office building that had managed to stay reasonably tall while so many of its brothers and sisters had crumbled to nothing, they could see much of the chaos.

An orb flew by the window, one floor below, then burst into a smoky plume lit by azure sparks. The broken machine swirled through the air on its descent to a few feet above the ground, where it was chased by a huddle of bandits.

Liam turned from the window to see that Katrina was gone. “Where did she go?”

Clark shrugged, still staring out the window. Liam stared with him, until a few moments later when Katrina returned.

“Floor’s clear,” she said. “There’s some stuff in the other rooms. I suggest we check it all out, see if there’s anything we can use. This area’s too neat. My guess is someone lives here. It’s worth checking out. Agreed?”

Katrina said it like a question, but Liam knew it wasn’t. Clark probably knew too. Both men nodded without a word.

They split up and, as expected, Liam found nothing. He did think Katrina was probably wrong—the area
had
been someone’s home but had long ago been abandoned. He found a room lined with shelves and neat rings in the dust. Outlines were faint but Liam was sure they had once harbored cans. One shelf read
Water
.
He swallowed to kill his sudden thirst.

“Find anything?”

Startled, Liam looked behind him. Katrina was standing at the room’s threshold, arms crossed, gaze and posture as sharp as her tone.

Liam could no longer hold it inside. “What in the hell is your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem.” She crossed her arms tighter, and her scowl seemed to deepen. Everything about her said the opposite of her words.

“Yes, you do. And if we’re all working together, it would be great to know what’s crawled up your ass.”

“Nothing’s
crawled up my ass
, Liam. I just want to get this over and done with.”

“Over and done with? You knew what we were going to do. You
wanted
to go find Adam.
So why did you volunteer if you were afraid?”

“Who said anything about afraid?” she asked. “Besides, it’s not like I had much of a choice. What was my option, to let you go alone? Or go with Ana? You’d both be dead, and we still wouldn’t have Adam.”

Liam wanted to lash out, angry that she doubted him so much. Who was to say that he couldn’t have found Adam on his own or with Ana’s help? Liam wanted to argue but couldn’t. He didn’t know much about a past Katrina wasn’t willing to share, but he did know that much of her life was spent surviving the elements, predators, and zombies, while Liam grew up relatively safe behind City 6 walls.

No, he wouldn’t argue. He was ready to change the subject instead, until a deafening gunshot tore through the morning and took his chance. The first shot was followed by another immediate two.

“Clark?” Liam said, knowing it wasn’t.

“No.” Katrina shook her head, arms now uncrossed. She reached for her weapon. “He has a blaster, not a lead shooter.”

As if to answer Katrina and the gunfire, the sound of a blaster echoed the shots. Then, a tiny voice cried, “Sorry, I thought you were a zombie!”

From far off it sounded like a little girl. Up close, Liam saw he was wrong. She was much taller than he pictured from her voice. He could only see her from the back as he and Katrina approached, but her voice was smaller than her size. She was at least a teenager, if not an adult, and wore the blue that Egan had told them all the players were wearing.

“Put the gun down or I’ll shoot you,” Katrina said.

The girl was holding her gun on Clark, who looked as confused as Liam did. She half turned from the tattooed man to the newcomers, saw that they were both armed, and that Clark still had his blaster aimed at her. She aimed the gun to the floor, extended her arm, slowly squatted, and rested her gun on the ground.

“Please don’t kill me.”

“Get her gun,” Katrina instructed Liam.

He went over, keeping his own blaster trained on the girl, and bent to grab her pistol—an old revolver.

Liam stood, his heart nearly skipping a beat as he met her eyes and saw the girl’s face for the first time.

“Chelsea?”

“You know her?” Clark said.

“Yeah, she’s from City 6. We grew up together. She was a friend of Ana’s a long time ago.”

Something crawled onto Katrina’s face and died. Her eyes darkened and her mouth curled down at the corners. Her soured silence gave Liam a thirst to slap her. He turned to Chelsea.

She peered at Liam, studying his face. He remembered his hair, beard, and eye patch. He wondered if she knew who he was, then figured his voice hadn’t changed. He was about to identify himself anyway. She struggled for words and stuttered, “Liam? I . . . I th-thought you were dead!”

“No, that’s just what The State wanted you to think. How did you end up in The Games?”

Her face relaxed, ever so slightly. “Do you remember Alfonso Frailey?”

Liam thought, then shook his head.

“He’s your age. We’d been going out for a while, turned out his dad was in The Underground. Alfonso wasn’t, me neither. I didn’t even know his dad was until all of us were arrested—his mom and little sister too. I haven’t seen anyone but Alfonso since we were brought in.”

“They took you in?” Liam asked. “Just like that?”

Chelsea nodded. “The new Chief, Ives, he’s been going crazy since Keller left. Alfonso thinks it’s because he has something to prove. We weren’t doing anything wrong when City Watch came, just looking at old flix. They stormed in and dragged us off. I can still hear Samantha screaming.”

Liam could feel Katrina’s growing impatience and ignored it. “Have you seen Adam yet or anyone else from the City?”

“No. I spent last week alone in a cell, then was driven here in a van with five others, two more girls and three guys. But I didn’t know any of them. Only person I recognized at The Opening Rush was Alfonso, but he was all the way on the farthest side of the line and didn’t see me. At least, I don’t think he did.”

It looked like Chelsea was trying not to cry.

She swallowed, then seemed to catch herself. “What about you guys? Are you in The Games?”

Liam’s back was still to Katrina, but he could feel her stare and imagined her tapping foot.

“No, and neither of my friends are in The Games. They’re helping me.”

“Helping you with what?” The question left in a whisper, harsh, as if afraid of his answer. “And what about Ana? Is she alive too?”

“Yes, Ana’s still alive; she’s safe.” He nodded toward Clark. “They’re helping me find Adam. We have to get him and bring him—”

“That’s enough.” Katrina cut him off. “We need to get going. We’ve wasted too much time here already.”

Liam smiled at Chelsea, awkward and apologetic, then said, “I’ll be right back,” and walked to Katrina. Clark kept his blaster trained on the girl as Liam pulled Katrina to the side and whispered.

“We need to bring her along.”

“No,” Katrina barely let him finish. “Absolutely not.”

“You can’t be this cold,” he argued. “If we don’t help her, she’s dead.”

“You don’t know that, Liam. She could be fine. Plenty of people survive. We’re on a mission. Last thing we need is to be looking after some kid.”

“She’s not a kid, Katrina. She’s the same age as Ana and me.”

“And you’ve survived fine.”

“Barely, with a lot of help, and now a missing eye. She’s not a fighter—if we don’t help her, we’re consigning her to death.”

Liam realized he might have said the last part too loud and felt a flush of guilt for showing his hand.

“Exactly. She’s not a fighter; you said it yourself. She’ll slow us down at best. At worst, she’ll consign
us
to death.”

“How can you be so selfish?”

“I’m not being selfish, Liam. You are. You’re putting your need for warm fuzzies above the practical truth: your little friend could slow us down or get us killed. You left Ana so you could bring her brother back. How do you think she’s going to feel when you bring
that
back instead?”

Katrina nodded at Chelsea, as though she were a bag of garbage waiting for the dump. Again he wanted to hit her.

“Well, I’m not going to just leave her to die. If I can help someone, I will. What harm could one more person possibly be? Another set of eyes and ears, more senses to help us stay alive.”

“Another mouth to feed or scream too loud.”

“I’m giving her my gun, then. It’s the right thing to do. If you’re so concerned about our odds of survival, know that it’s your choices making them worse.”

“This is your choice, Liam. And a stupid one. Why give up
your
weapon, just to prove a point?”

Liam turned from Katrina and walked over to Chelsea, drawing his weapon on the way. He made his eyes as kind as he could. She opened her hand as if by instinct and Liam set the gun on her palm. She wrapped her fingers around it.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t come with us. We have to find Adam and can’t afford to take anyone. We’ve been out here for a while, and know what to expect. If you come with us, we’re all at risk.”

Her voice cracked as she tried not to cry. “But I can’t be alone. Please, you can’t leave me. You can’t go. You can’t do that to me.”

He squeezed her fingers tighter around the gun. “This will help you.” Then, knowing what he was doing, Liam added, “Do you know how to use it?”

She shook her head and burst into tears. “No!”

Liam wouldn’t turn to see but felt reasonably sure that her vulnerable wail, trying hard to stay strong, had to have
some
effect on Katrina. Plus, there was no way Liam was going to use that peashooter Chelsea was carrying.

He looked at Clark and saw the man’s resolve to side with Katrina slipping.

“I’m sorry,” Liam said sadly, setting a hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “We have to bring Adam home, make sure he’s safe. We have to go.”

Chelsea tried harder to choke back her tears, but lost them anyway. “What do you mean
home
? Where are you living?
Please,
you can’t do this. Please take me with you. I’ll shoot whoever I have to, I’ll do whatever I can to help. Just please don’t leave me.”

Liam looked back at Katrina but didn’t give her a chance to recant. He turned back to Chelsea. “Sorry, we just can’t. We have to go.”

Liam patted her on the shoulder, then turned toward the exit. Chelsea erupted in fresh tears behind him, then audibly choked them back, forcing herself into steady breath, seemingly unwilling to lose any more pride than she already had.

“You can come with us,” Katrina said out of nowhere. She dipped down, grabbed the girl’s gun, and snatched Liam’s blaster back. She threw it to him.

Katrina turned to the girl. “Stay in the middle and keep your eyes out for everything. Got it?”

“Got it,” Chelsea vigorously nodded.

Katrina nodded at Clark, then the door, gesturing for him to go first. He stepped through the doorway, then Chelsea behind him. Before Liam could follow, Katrina pulled him back and whispered.

“If she slows us down even a little, I’ll put my sword right through her.”

Liam stepped through the doorway and muttered under his breath. “I don’t doubt that at all.”