Carry the Flame (28 page)

“That's great for the first time,” Miranda yelled. “But it's not really swimming, okay? So don't go throwing yourself in water over your head. But what a start!”

As Cassie beamed with pride and caught her breath, Miranda told her that in the long ago there were special glasses for swimming underwater. “I can't remember what they were called. My mom will know.”

“Moms know all that stuff, don't they?” Cassie said, still exuberant. She patted water with her palms, feeling the sensation of suction for the first time.

“Where's your mom?” Miranda asked.

Cassie stilled her hands. “She got killed by marauders.”

“I'm so sorry,” the older girl said, embarrassment written across her suddenly taut face. “I forgot, I'm never supposed to ask.”

Cassie thought she seemed about to cry, and took her arm. “It's okay. I'm all right now.” She dunked to hide her own tears, and didn't see Steph bury her face in her knees on the bank.

Before they climbed out, Cassie soaked her clothes. The water clouded with dust and dirt from her pants and shorts. Miranda helped her wring them mostly dry, but Cassie still felt a chill when she put them back on. She had been cooled to her core for the first time in her life.

“Let's keep heading down along the river,” Miranda said, taking Steph's hand, “and I'll show you where we can go, and where you definitely don't want to go.”

Oddly spaced gaps in the ceiling lit their path, and Cassie saw where sand had spilled into the cavern. She wanted to hurry to the waterfall, but Miranda stopped when they stood across from a dark cavern on the river's far bank. The opening was taller than half a dozen men.

“This is one of those places in the river you don't ever want to go until you can really swim because it's definitely over your head. So look around you. It's right by this bridge, so it's easy to remember.” Two weathered beams lay side by side across the water.

“Okay, I'll remember,” Cassie promised.

“And you
never
want to go in that cavern,” Miranda warned, glancing at the tall opening. “Not for anything.”

“Why's there a bridge, then?” she asked. “Someone does.”

“But you don't want to,” Miranda replied. “It's the catacombs,” she whispered. “Millions of bodies are in there, except they're skeletons now.” Steph pulled back, but still held Miranda's hand. “It goes on forever,” Miranda explained. “They're piled really high.”

“Skeletons?” Cassie's eyes were fixed on the dark opening. She hated skeletons. She'd seen so many in the desert.

“You know most people died, right?”

“Yes,” Cassie said somberly.

“They had to put the bodies somewhere, and after the flood they really piled up, and not just from the water. So they used giant bulldozers to push them into the canyon and caverns that had big openings. I guess some of the storms moved them around since then. That was a long time ago. I once had a nightmare about skeletons marching out of there and chasing me. It was pretty bad.” She looked at the cavern. “They're supposed to be stacked higher than the wrecking yard.”

“Millions of them?” Cassie asked nervously.

“That's what I heard.” The other girl stared at her. “Don't be scared, but we use some of the bones.”

“For what?” Cassie remembered hearing about a church of bones in the long, long ago.

“A couple of things. We take the dried-up marrow for our garden. You should see it. It's huge, and a lot nicer than here. Let's go.”

Before they could turn away, they heard footfalls from the catacombs. Cassie saw a lantern's dim light floating like a ghost in the dark. A moment later Sam and Yurgen stepped from the darkness with a shorter man. Sam waved to the girls.

Each of the adults carried a pick and shovel, their noses and mouths covered with rags coated in dust. From bones, Cassie thought. They shook them out as they walked across the beams. Sam snuffed the lantern candle and smiled at her.

“This is William,” she said.

The short man nodded at her. His cheeks were so sunken, Cassie could see their bowl shape despite his scruffy beard. A dirty canvas bag hung from his shoulder with a wire poking out the top. He pushed it down when she gazed at it.

“Did you sleep okay?” Sam asked her.

“Really good,” Cassie said. “It's nice down here, except for in there, I guess.” She glanced at the cavern, and noticed William staring at her from a few feet away.

She looked back at Sam as he said, “This kid's perfect. She'd fit through there.”

“Me?” Cassie jumped. The intensity of William's eyes alarmed her. “Fit through what?”

Neither he nor anyone else answered, but Sam shook her head. Not like she was saying no to him, but like she was sad.

“I'm sure she could,” William said. “She's a godsend.”

“No, I'm not,” Cassie insisted. She didn't believe a god or anything good had sent her down there. She was in the caverns because killers had attacked the caravan and murdered Maul. And
then
she got lucky. She might be only nine, but she knew it wasn't the kind of luck you prayed for.

At last William looked away. But Cassie found little relief because he finally answered her question with his eyes fixed squarely on the catacombs. “It's a tight spot back there, but you'd get through—if you kept your wits about you.” He turned to Sam. “We need her, and don't tell me you didn't know that from the start.”

Maybe her being there wasn't luck at all.

S
creams from the women prisoners woke Jessie repeatedly from a nap riddled with nightmares. They were so hallucinatory, she feared she'd become infected with the virus that was ravaging minds and bodies only feet away. Wicca
might
be weakening in the North, but the disease remained a virulent horror here.

It's only a dream.
Jessie had to reassure herself each time she stirred, grateful to find Burned Fingers by her side. He was keeping watch on the clawed, purulent arms grasping for them through the bone bars, or yanking them with unmasked madness. He was trying to protect her, much as she had wanted to help him after a guard pounded him to his knees on the march there. Her instinct to survive slowly grizzled by affection, reeky and alarming.

But now as she limped into consciousness, the din softened, supplanted by a muted voice. She opened her eyes on a straggly-haired teen, pressing her face against the bones to reach toward her. But the girl's cracked lips appeared to move soundlessly, and the voice Jessie actually heard belonged to a bald, beardless man who was talking to Burned Fingers through the bars in their cell door. He said something familiar to her sleep-addled ears.

“What was that?” she asked, climbing to her feet.

“ ‘I've got some food and water for you,' ” the man repeated, sounding kinder than he looked. As Jessie's eyes cleared, she saw that he also lacked eyebrows or eyelashes, which highlighted the unpleasant angularity of his hard features.

“Who are you?”

“The Mayor's special emissary,” he said to her. “He wants me to make sure you're both fed so you can keep your strength up.” He handed smoked chicken to Burned Fingers, then leaned closer to the door. “Listen to me, I—”

“You're the guy who came to the pit this morning,” Jessie said, keeping her voice low. Now she knew why he sounded so familiar.

He looked left and right. “That's right. I was making sure you didn't starve. I had no idea if the Mayor planned to feed you. I wanted to give you some hope, too. Now's different. He told me to come.”

“Thanks,” Burned Fingers said, “but we're going to need a lot more than hope and chicken to fight those Komodos—if he wants us to last more than a few seconds.”

“Listen closely,” the emissary whispered, handing Jessie a thick bunch of dried mustard greens. “There's an action set for tomorrow night during the fights. If you last long enough, you could help us and help yourselves.”

“What kind of action?” Jessie whispered back. “And who would we be help—”

“If you spit on me again,” he shouted at her, “I'll cut your lips off.” He backed away, swiping at his arm.

Before Jessie could bellow her outrage, Burned Fingers gripped her arm and shook his head once. Two guards immediately appeared in front of the door.

“What is it?” demanded a brutish-looking white man.

“She spit on me,” the emissary said. He rubbed his hands on his pants, glaring at Jessie. “I gave her food and she
spit
on me.”

The guard studied him, then turned to Jessie. “You want her punished?” he asked, unsheathing his knife.

“No, the Mayor wants them in one piece.” The emissary stormed off.

The guard moved the blade over his lips, elbowed his black buddy and said, “Like mother, like daughter.” He pointed his knife at Jessie. “You know where she is now, don't you? The one that looks just like you? Section R. Know what that means?”

Jessie looked away, refusing his cruel game.

“Your little girl's the reward. She's a real porn queen now. Best ever. She's got something
everybody
likes.” The guards walked away amused.

Jessie almost collapsed. Burned Fingers eased her to the floor. She forced herself to breathe evenly. Her stomach steadied.

“Sorry to grab you when our friend was here,” Burned Fingers whispered, “but he was covering his tracks with the guards.”

“I get that.” She glanced up and saw the straggly-haired girl still reaching through the bars. With the appearance of food, the teen looked more desperate than ever. Now, fully awake, Jessie heard her say, “Please, please,” muttering her miserable plea so softly that she might still have missed it. But she could not avoid the swollen red rims of the girl's sodden eyes.

Jessie handed her the greens. The child shook and wept and nodded her thanks.

She's somebody's daughter.

J
ester stopped at the first row of wrecked cars. For two hours he'd plodded across broiling sand dunes, carefully avoiding a minefield. He threw open his pack and gulped water from a steel canister. Every mouthful lightened his load. The wrecks looked steaming hot and utterly empty. He figured the yard scum must be holed-up in the heat of day, dying of envy every time they looked at the City of Shade. No more than a few miles away, but a different universe. This was a hellhole. All he wanted was to get back to the city. Three squares a day, naked bitches for Catch the Queen, raids on dumb shits trying to cross the Bloodlands. Taking slaves. Beating them bloody. A great life! Good as it gets.

But here he was in the suffocating heat because of some iddy biddy bitch. He wondered what she looked like. Had to be skinny—they were all scraggy as snakeskin—and ugly as a dog bite. No sense even looking for her in the desert. If he did find her out there—if some goddamn beast hadn't already dragged off her scrawny body—she'd be dead, and the Mayor would feed him to those giant cocksucking lizards anyway. Jester shuddered at the thought, feeling a chill that defied all logic in the unremitting heat.

She had to be hiding in these cars, the ones not buried in the sand. Maybe with somebody's help. Pity that fuckup. He planned to check all the ones on the ground first, hoping to flush her out. Wherever he found her, that kid was going to pay. And when he dragged her back all broken to pieces, he'd blame the damage on some guy he'd killed for raping her and cutting out her tongue and making her face look so bad nobody would ever want her. Revenge sweeter than Choctaw pie. Then
she'd
get fed to the Brothers Grim. That's what one of his buddies called the Komodos—but never around the Mayor. Wouldn't want to offend His Royal fucking Highness, now would we?

“Get out,” he yelled at a lazy hairy bastard in the first car he checked. Didn't have enough respect to move on his own. No, but stared at him like he was a parasite. The gunman knew he looked like shit. Face burned up like an old rag, eye hurting so bad he wished he had the balls to rip it out. He'd like to stab this asshole's eye, hold it up on the tip of his blade and make it stare at
him.

Now the asshole was moving, climbing out the other side. Be fun to see him stumbling around half blind, hurting so bad he'd bite rocks to forget the pain. But the Mayor wouldn't hear of it.
Do not go starting a rebellion.
The big black bastard's fruity accent haunted him all the way out here.
Do not go spoiling Fight Night.

Jester trudged to the second car. An ancient Audi. Looked like a carcass picked clean, but on the steering wheel he could still make out four filthy circles, each looped into the next like a chain. He wished like hell he had one. He'd whip these asswipes down to their bones. Someone would talk. Someone always did—right before they died. But mostly the chain made him think about how tightly his fate was linked to the iddy biddy bitch.

And then he thought of the Brothers Grim living the good life only a few miles away.

Getting hungry.

C
assie couldn't leave behind the catacombs fast enough, and was glad to see Miranda hurrying Steph along.

In less than a hundred yards the cavern narrowed to the width of the river, which shocked her by vanishing beneath the rock floor.

“Where'd it go?” she asked the older girl.

“It's right below us.” Miranda crouched and put her hand on the stone. “Go ahead, you can feel it.”

Cassie joined her, and a slight vibration filled her palm. “What about the waterfall?”

“Don't worry, it's not gone.” Miranda stood, letting Steph take her hand again. “The river comes back up. But you just don't want to go in it anywhere around here 'cause there's no getting out for a while.”