Captives, p.25
Captives, page 25
A third shot spat sand a foot from Mia's left. She grunted and swerved toward the path. The fourth buzzed over Jenny's head. The girl hit the concrete patio surrounding the bathrooms and ran to the corner of the building. Mia joined her, electricity shooting down her limbs.
Jenny edged her nose around the corner. "Did you see where they're coming from?"
"North. One of the buildings above the cliffs. Didn't see which one."
"Not the answer I was looking for."
"What's our next move?"
Jenny withdrew from the corner and squinted at the sun. "Tempted to stay right here until it gets dark."
Mia waited for more. "They're shooting at us."
"And we don't know where from, do we? Except that it's high ground with an angle on the entire fuckin' beach. Do you want to bet you can make it up the ramp without taking one in the forehead?"
"Probably not. But I'm not going to hide in a bathroom while the guys we're here to stop roam free."
Jenny laughed, the noise harsh and loud in the absence of the gunfire. "Okay, Death Wish. How do you want to handle this?"
Mia moved to the southwest corner of the building. The view to the north was largely blocked by the bathrooms. She stuck her shoulder around the side, gave it a moment, then scurried out along the wall. Near the northwest corner, a scabbed metal door interrupted the grungy cement wall. She pulled on the handle. The latch stuck, then came free with a tired, rusty squeal.
The inside was dark and musty, lit by narrow horizontal windows set near the ceiling. Stalls, urinals. A door hung open at the side of the room, opening to a cave-dark hall that fed into a storage/maintenance room. Metal racks held cleaning supplies and jugs. Sunlight peeped around the edges of a door on the east wall. She climbed up one of the metal shelves and pressed her eye to the window. Not thirty feet up the bike path, a ramp led up to the condos, sheltered by a metal railing and boisterous, mist-fed succulents.
She climbed down, withdrew to the back of the building, and after a bit of convincing, brought Jenny to the storage room.
"I'm going for the ramp," Mia said. "Cover me from the window. It's a little high, but you couldn't ask for better protection."
"What about you? That ramp is totally exposed. You'll be alone on two hundred feet of pure shooting gallery."
"It's not as bad as it looks. It ascends north; unless the shooter is right above us, he won't have a great angle." She smiled thinly. "And I'll have you to give him something else to worry about, won't I?"
Jenny moved to the metal shelves and gave them a tug. "Shit. If you go down, I'm telling Mauser you swam off with the dolphins."
She found a ladder on the opposite wall and dragged it beneath the high window. Mia unlocked the door and gave it a test tug. Sticky, but it felt like it would yield to a good yank.
Jenny installed herself in the window, resting her gun over a shelf, draping herself over the ladder. "Ready."
Mia counted down from five. At zero, she wrenched open the door. She dashed onto the bike path, blinking against the dazzling light. She hadn't made it halfway to the ramp before the first shot crackled from above and whined off the face of the bathroom. She hunched low, weaving erratically, and hit the ramp. Two quick shots tore into the succulents on the hillside.
The next shot came from behind her.
"Blue apartments!" Jenny called. "Fourth floor, corner!"
The building was less than a hundred yards ahead of her. As she counted floors, glass shattered on a corner window. Jenny followed it with a third shot, a fourth. Mia scurried up the ramp, knees pumping. The sniper fired, but the shot ricocheted from the bathroom wall—he had turned on Jenny.
Mia hit the top of the ramp and cut down the alley dividing two banks of condos. Behind her, a rifle went off every one to three seconds, an irregular, startling tempo. The shots slowed as she reached the street. She risked a quick glance around the brick fence. Condos looked down from both sides. Palms fluttered, their bases crowded with fallen leaves.
She hadn't heard a shot in several seconds. The shooter was on the move, then. She ran around the corner and across the piebald lawns, sticking tight to the faces of the buildings. Pistol in hand, she sprinted up the steps of the blue apartment building. The foyer door was unlocked. At the foot of the staircase, she pressed herself to the wall and listened.
Wind whistled outside. Distant waves smacked against the shore. She crept up the stairs, taking them to the fourth floor. The door to the corner apartment stood open. She paused outside it before rushing in low, gun in hand.
The wind tousled the curtains of the picture windows. Broken glass and spent brass twinkled in the overpowering sun. Once she was certain the apartment was empty, she moved to the edge of the broken window and gestured the okay sign. A moment later, Jenny emerged from the bathroom and headed toward the ramp.
They searched for hours without turning up a trace of the shooter. With the end of the day looming, they retreated to the south edge of the beach. Mia holed up in the lifeguard shack while Jenny ran through the hills to report to the sentry in the lighthouse.
Moonlight skated over the waves. Jenny was back by midnight. "We stay here. Stick to the schedule. If at all possible, take them in live."
By the end of their week-long shift, however, they'd seen nothing else. Back in Pedro, Mauser debriefed them together, then spoke to Jenny alone for a minute before calling Mia into his "office"—the skylit room in his earthen house.
"So," he said, kicking his feet up on a card table that was also supporting a pistol, a sloppy stack of paperwork, and a tall blue bottle. "Any guess as to who might have shot at you?"
Mia shrugged. "Like I said, it was probably the Dead Stars. People of the Stars. Whatever they call themselves."
"But you have no proof."
"Depends. Do you have a ballistics lab around here?"
He sighed, picked up the bottle, and held it to the shaft of light slanting from the ceiling. "This is becoming a pattern, isn't it? We're attacked. All signs point to our northern friends. But any proof is whisked away before we know what to make of it."
"Have you ever thought about, I don't know, talking to them?"
"We just did that. While you were out."
"And?"
"Our diplomat met with a woman named Reeds. Representative of the People of the Stars. Real sharp one, according to our man. Said she came across like a librarian with a meat cleaver."
Mia put on an arch look. "Sounds like I wouldn't mind her taking a whack at me."
Mauser laughed dryly. "Nothing gets the heart pumping like a woman who only wears glasses to protect her eyes from blood spatter. She denies the People of the Stars have any involvement in the recent hostilities. According to her, what we're dealing with are the remnants of the gangs they've forced out of L.A."
"Bullshit," Mia said. "What about the dam? The man I captured worked for them, too."
"You mean the fellow you executed before we had the chance to talk to him?"
"He went for my gun."
"I'm not criticizing you for defending yourself. I am merely dismayed that we lost yet another opportunity to learn something concrete."
"How much proof do you need? You don't have to convince a jury. Why not declare that any further incursions will result in a state of war?"
"Because wars, as it turns out, are about the absolute worst thing there is." He removed his feet from the table and turned the bottle in his hands. "Now get out of here. I have to consult with my sexy blue friend."
She exited and walked down to the fountain to exchange gossip with the other warriors. Mostly, they wanted to hear about her run-in with the mystery sniper. In return, she learned another pair of scouts had seen men prowling around the Hawthorne Airport, but that the outsiders had scattered at first sight of the scouts.
Without the prospect of a skirmish, the hours grew cruel again. When she couldn't stand practicing with her weapons any longer, she took long walks through the ruins. But these only reminded her of things that no longer were.
She was up in the woods in the hills when she saw the girl. Crouched in the dust, knees splayed to the side. As Mia approached, Raina's head twitched, but she didn't look up from the object of her attention: a striped skink moving unhastily across a dusty sheet of plywood.
"If a man approaches with a blade, there is no question how you greet him." Raina stared down at the lizard. "But when he comes at you showing nothing but a grin, it does not look good to stab him."
"Sorry," Mia said. "I'll get out of your hair."
The girl turned, watching Mia from over her shoulder. "I wasn't talking about you. There was another fight this morning. Jake Garza was shot."
"Dead?"
Raina shook her head. "The attackers fled after the first exchange. I think he will live. His testicles want children too badly to let him depart so soon."
"I see." Mia rested her hand against the trunk of a pine. "All this skulking around they're doing. It must be hard to know what to do."
"Why would it be hard?"
"Like you said about the man with the grin and the empty hands. You can't just shoot him."
"Yes I can. If he keeps coming, I will."
"But it would look bad, wouldn't it? Mauser doesn't want to commit to war until he's sure there is a war."
Raina smirked. "That is because he is Mauser and he thinks you cannot read what is not spelled out. Their people are attacking our people. What else is there to know?"
Mia tapped her finger on the rough bark. "Then what's stopping you?"
"Is the poison confined to the pit? Or does it taint the entire fruit?"
"You mean, is this coming from one person urging them to war? Or does everyone there want it? How do you figure that out?"
"I don't know," Raina said. "But no matter how much the stranger smiles, when he gets too near, I must draw my sword."
"You'll go to war."
"And I will purge them."
On the plywood, the skink kicked away, flicking leaves behind it. As soon as it quit moving, Mia couldn't separate it from the mess of leaves and dirt. "What if I could find out who's pushing this?"
Raina laughed. "Then you will have surprised me. Do you have a suggestion?"
"I become one of them," Mia said.
"You think it's that easy?"
"To deceive people?" It was Mia's turn to laugh. "Sure. All you do is show them what they want to see. Tell them what they want to hear."
"Your stories," Raina said. "That may work on men of weak minds. Those who would rather turn their backs on the darkness than understand what it is made from. But if this man is worth the steel he carries, he'll cut you down the second he senses your lies. Just as I would."
"You think so?" Mia let a long second pass. "I hope you're not too proud."
She shucked off her overshirt, peeled her t-shirt over her head, then skillfully unwound the bindings around her chest.
Raina's eyes widened, then twitched in recognition, and finally slanted in amusement. "Sometimes, when I've been lost, a gecko has shown me the way. Today, I think I've been shown a chameleon."
Mia glanced downhill, but the trees hid them from anyone but each other. "When do I start?"
21
Arms raised, he turned and sprinted toward the orange trees. The spotlight tracked him, cutting across the uneven grass.
"Stop!" a male voice hollered from behind the wooden wall. "Or we will open fire!"
The trees were just ahead. He could reach them in another couple steps. Use them for cover until he dropped below the ridge. Good chance he wouldn't be slaughtered. Once he was down in the houses, they could search for days without finding a trace of him.
Then again, if he wanted to get inside the installation, what better way than to be led in by an armed escort?
He came to a stop, flung his laser into the brush, and lifted his hands back above his head. "I give up! Please don't shoot!"
A rope arced over the wall. A woman slid down it, followed by another. Walt turned and slowly walked toward them, keeping his hands high. As the man apprehended him, pulling his arms behind his back, the woman kept a rifle trained on him. A plastic zip tie cut into his wrists. The man patted him down, pocketing his jackknife, dumping the rest of his things in the grass. He was taken around the side of the wooden wall to a gate flanked by a security tower. The woman called up to the sentry, who threw a lever. A counterweight cranked down from the tower, drawing back the reinforced gate.
They marched him inside. Crops grew in clean lines. Further back, trees clustered around wooden buildings that had the simple look of things built after the plague. Past the trees, a lake sparkled under the stars.
He had little time to admire them before being taken inside a one-story structure with wooden walls and few windows. Mismatched strips of rugs lined the hardwood floors. The woman led the way, lantern in hand. At the end of a cramped hallway, she opened a door and ushered him inside a windowless room furnished in the style he now recognized as prison-standard: one blanket and one bucket.
The man moved to close the door. "If you need anything, don't bother asking. I got a double shift thanks to you."
"Sorry," Walt said. "Hey, not to bother you with stupid questions, but… what now?"
"You wait," he said. "For her."
He closed the door, then clicked the lock. Walt was then given several hours in which to decide whether or not he'd just made a huge mistake.
Eventually, he was rousted from sleep by a different man and taken to a larger room with a chair and small desk. Walt moved to sit down and the man shook his head. Walt rolled his eyes and leaned against the back wall. Fifteen minutes later, a woman walked in, round-lensed glasses straddling her nose. She wore trim black pants and a long-sleeved shirt.
She sat at the desk and set down a notepad and pen. "Name?"
"Dalton."
"Full name?"
"Patrick," he tried.
"Patrick Dalton?"
"No, Dalton Patrick," he said, leaning forward as if this were a critical point. "Of the Los Angeles Patricks."
She gazed at him through her round lenses. "What were you doing outside, Dalton?"
"I wanted to talk to Anson."
"In the middle of the night?"
"Apparently."
"Are you aware the Heart is off-limits except to the Sworn?"
"I barely know who the Sworn are," he said. "I thought we were free here. Is our government off-limits to regular Joes?"
"For the safety of the People, access to the Heart is restricted." The woman scratched something on her pad. "Does this strike you as unfair?"
"Who cares what I think?"
"I do, Dalton. Or I wouldn't have asked in the first place."
"I'm not generally a fan of anything being deemed too pretty for the grubby plebes. What's going on here that they're supposed to stay away from?"
She made another note. "I already answered that."
"No, you didn't. 'Them's the rules' isn't an answer. It's just another way to tell me I'm too dumb to be here."
"Do you believe you're an exception to the rules?"
"I think," he said, "that this is pretty weird. What's the penalty when an un-Sworn stumbles into the Heart?"
The woman tapped the end of her pen against the pad. "I don't recognize you. You are a resident here?"
"Just got here a few days ago. I'm with the fishermen down at Santa Monica pier." He cocked his head. "This was all my idea, though. They don't even know I'm here."
"If all you wanted to do was speak to Anson, why keep it a secret from your link?"
"What's a link?"
"The person assigned to oversee your transition from the outside world."
"You mean Soo? She made it clear we weren't supposed to wander outside our zone without approval."
"You knew you weren't supposed to be out, yet you did so anyway?"
He laughed. "What would happen if I said 'no' to that?"
The woman stared at him, weighing him with her eyes. She made a final note, stood, then nodded to the soldier in the corner of the room. He walked Walt back to the end of the hall.
"Hang on," Walt said. "I'm claustrophobic. Can we walk around outside a little before you put me back in the box? I'll pick you some flowers."
The man smiled like he was laying out a winning poker hand. "Home sweet home."
Walt shuffled inside. The accommodations were even more basic than the Abyss' cell at the reservoir. His life of late had whiplashed between wandering across wide open spaces and being stuffed into tiny lightless boxes. Were these people drawing inspiration from each other, or was all the kidnapping and imprisonment a case of convergent evolution? If the former—if it stemmed from one guy deciding to do the unthinkable and blazing a trail for others to follow—then said guy was in need of a serious stomping. If the latter—if different groups of people separated by hundreds of miles were coming up with the same idea on their own—well, it got a whole lot tougher to fault the aliens for wanting to shuffle humanity off the stage.
24 hours later, he was extracted from his room and taken past a quarter mile of fields on his way to a clapboard longhouse. As he and the guard waited, he got a good long look at the people tending to the fields. Carrie wasn't among them.
After ten minutes of standing around, they were approached by an older man in a lab coat. The man fitted Walt with anklets connected by a tether a little more than two feet long. The material was slightly springy, like soft plastic or hard rubber.
"What did you build this out of, Doc?" he said. "A jumprope?"
The man in the lab coat laughed through his nose. "The absolute latest in restraint technology. A fraction the weight of steel, yet no less strong."
Walt couldn't tell if the man was joking. What was certain, however, was that the restriction on his gait was maddening, a few inches shorter than his natural stride. The fastest he could travel would be a shuffling jog. Climbing would be virtually impossible.
