The Artful (Shadows of the City) (7 page)

“How do we know you’ll hold your end?” I asked.

“You don’t,” Just Stan’s eyes were cold. “And, frankly, I don’t care. But it’s the only choice you have. He’s going to die. And it won’t be pretty either, so you can either sit around crying, waiting for his big exit, or you can attempt to save his life So what’s it going to be?”

I could tell by the look on Dodger’s face that he was about to tell Just Stan to shove it where the sun don’t shine. So I made sure to speak first.

“Fine! Deal!”

e understandably felt hopeless, evicted from our home, our last place of safe refuge taken from us, the people we helped protect turning their backs on us all because of Just Stan and his Suits. We solemnly marched through the station, heading topside. We were used to being on our own, but before we always had a safety net we could return to, it was a sense of security that came with having a home.

Only we didn’t have the luxury of loving parents; instead we’d had the dictator-like zealot we called Preach. Like a true parent, he named us. Dodger and Twist were characters from a book he once loved. I’d never read it myself, but he said the names were fitting. What we knew about the streets we learned from him, what to look for and what to avoid. How to pick someone’s pocket without them giving a second thought, how to crack locks and sneak into towers, what meds were worth money and best to get dosed on. Most importantly he taught us how to speak properly, and to read and write so we could fit in among Tower Babies. He used to call us wolves in sheep’s clothing. In actuality, he’d been nothing less than an encyclopedia. Sure, his methods had been less than savory, but we had to live with the ages. Of course, these were things we had already been doing on our own. But he took our innate skills and polished them into shining gems. He turned a couple of useless street thugs into skilled professionals. But now Preach was gone, we were officially on our own.

Dodger walked ahead, not saying a word. I had to hustle to keep up. A couple times Gia faltered, still visibly dazed from the knock to the face. I tried helping her walk by wrapping my arm around her shoulders, only to have her jerk away. She’d apologize after noticing my hurt expression and offered false assurances she was okay.

This was the type of girl she was. She would never let anyone in, always insistent on taking care of herself. She wanted to make a show of not needing anyone. I wondered what kind of hardships she had gone through to make her so untrusting. I must have gotten lost in my musing. Before I realized it, we emerged from the underground maze. The moonlight yanked me back to reality. We ascended the stairs.

“Who were those guys?” Gia asked.

“What do you mean?” I was confused by her question. “You never saw Suits before? They run Manhattan.”

She hesitated for a moment, stumbling on her words. “I know that. I mean Stan in particular, jerk.”

“They were a pain in my ass.” Dodger surveyed the area. “We need to find Smith. He could be anywhere.”

A shadow fell upon the earth, and, for a moment, I thought the world had ended. And I was okay with that. It would have been peaceful, clearly more preferable than what followed. I gazed in amazement at the airship above us, one of the smaller models, unmanned, rumored to run by remote control―an Empire drone made for spying. A simple balloon, rudder, and undercarriage meant to hold equipment. Speakers hung low on the side.
Would they follow us until we returned
?

“Let’s get going. We should try the Runts and shake the eyes in the skies,” I said, indicating the hovering airship. “Peter might have something for you to take, might know something about what they injected you with.”

“The kid’s a genius, but there’s no way he can figure out what they put into me without actually seeing the stuff. But I agree they might be our best bet for information,” Dodger said.

“Who are the Runts?” Gia asked, trying to keep up behind us.

Dodger and I both looked at her in confusion.

“You don’t know much about what goes on out here, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, you’re as dense at a Tower Baby.” Dodger said, knocking on her head for good measure.

“Shut it! I just have better things to do then play in your little clubs!”

“The Runts run Central Park. It’s usually not a safe place to go strolling, but we are tight with Peter, he’s their fearless leader. He’s kinda a kid prodigy, grew up in a library, and knows mostly everything there is to know.” I looked at Dodge. “Hopefully, he knows what they stuck Dodge with.”

Central Park was a journey made in silence. Dodger was keeping to himself, probably on the verge of panicking. Gia walked alongside me, lost in her own thoughts. She would glance at Dodger time and time again, unsteady looks of curiosity. I wondered what it was about him that was so appealing to her.

It sent waves of jealousy through me. I wanted her to look at me like that. I wanted to be the mysterious enigma who rattled her with questions.

Dodger was always so good with the girls… well, no, he wasn’t good at all with them. But, coincidentally, that’s what worked. His inability to filter, saying the first thing that came to mind, no matter how offensive, was no different than honey to a bee when it came to the ladies. Me, on the other hand, I always found myself fumbling over words and fighting back terror when it came to talking to girls

The shadows of night crept about, promising cool air and comfort. As the weather became more friendly, we began seeing more people about. They were scavengers, hobbling from one broken corner to the next, like rats trying to find anything to nibble, or something that could be bartered for food. A girl with matted blonde hair and a ragged teddy bear stood at a street corner staring at us, her limbs emaciated, as her mother dug through a pile of garbage. Spooky, the way she tracked us, as if she were curious what we tasted like. She was a ghost of a child, not unlike most of the children we were used to seeing. Those born after the fall who couldn’t afford a life in the towers. They had never experienced true joy. They were born to a world of hopelessness, and had no choice but to believe this was all life ever was.

Central Park had become a savage jungle that housed ferocious things. It didn’t help that shortly after the virus wiped everyone out, inhabitants of the Central Park Zoo got loose. I warned Gia to stay close and not wander off the path. She shrugged, oblivious to the danger. We weren’t here for a picnic; we were walking through a safari. The foliage long since abandoned by human care had grown to monstrous proportions. A small child could get lost within the overgrown ferns and rain-moistened grass. Worse still, predators could find concealment until it was too late. Sounds of scurrying steps and scratching paws echoed in the distance, birds battling, bugs humming. Twice I had to smack away spiders from my arm and crush mosquitoes on my face.

Dodger cut through the overgrown greenery, making his way to a long abandoned road of graying cobblestone, cracked with age. Beams of moonlight shone down through the sheltering trees. We padded down the road. I felt dwarfed and disoriented. It all seemed the same, an endless avenue leading into darkness.

“Twist!” Dodger startled me, punching my shoulder to get my attention. “You okay, buddy?”

“Yeah, fine.” I avoided his and Gia’s eyes.

They both shared the same look of worry, which made me feel weak. As if I was one to be worried over. How could I let this stupid park shake my nerves? It was just a park.

“Did you hear that?” Gia spun in place, surveying the area.

“I heard Twist’s balls fall on the ground. Other than that, no, I didn’t hear anything, did you hear his balls drop?” Dodge asked.

“Shut up for a second!” She stopped, focused on an area that led deep within, a path eaten away at either side by the giant trees, which crept up from the ground like the hungry fingers of an ancient evil. The branches arched and interlocked together, creating what appeared to be an eerie tunnel into unknown territory.

“Come on,” I said. “We shouldn’t wander off the road.”

“No, listen, there it is again,” she said.

“I didn’t hear―”

“Yeah, I heard it.” Dodger’s confirmation made my palms sweat. This wouldn’t lead to anything good. I listened, creeping in the direction the sound seemingly came from. And, there, I heard it at the tip of perception, barely enough to fully register. A cry, a wretched shrill of a scream. I knew before Dodger started running that this wouldn’t end well. Before I could protest, Gia took off after him into the depths of Central Park.

The cries grew louder as we ran through the thicket of trees and foliage. More than once I slipped in mud or caught my leg on a root. Dodger legged it like a pro, and Gia followed swiftly behind. Normally this would have been a situation where I could have outrun both, but something didn’t sit right, and I had no problem falling behind. The gleaming light of the evening sky shone clearly down on a clearing up ahead. “Help!” The cry was ahead of us, and my stomach turned in knots. Just before Dodger made it into the clearing, I heard a large snap.

“Crap!” Dodger yelled, holding up a hand, indicating we stop.

“What is it?” I asked, coming up close to Gia.

He pointed down to his feet. “Sprung a trap…” His foot stood on top of a thin thread. I tried following where it led, but it was lost in bushes I was too cautious to explore just yet.

“Idiot, I told you to leave it!” I said.

“What do we do?” Gia asked, inching closer to Dodge. I held her steady, warning her there might be other traps about.

“Back up some, will you two?” Dodger asked.

We slowly did, inspecting each place we set foot. The area grew increasingly silent. As we ran through the park, we had heard a constant hum of noise―animals, bugs, and the marching of our steps. Now everything was quiet.

“I think I might be able―”

Before Dodger could finish his thought, a small boy appeared in the opening. He couldn’t have been any more than ten. He was filthy with matted-down hair, his skin was covered in a mix of green and brown paints, no doubt meant as camouflage. He wore a pair of tattered shorts and a Kiss T-shirt, both his clothes and feet were covered in mud. Despite his appearance, there was an air of confidence about him uncommon in children. He stood tall with pride with a feral smirk. He had a wicked spear strapped to his back and tossed a huge rock back and forth from hand to hand. We were in his yard, and he knew it. He held up his rock and cocked his arm, aiming at Dodger, who held up his hands.