The Renegades (The Superiors) (36 page)

Chapter 49

While
Cali slept, Draven sifted through the layer of new-fallen snow, rooting
through the heap of trash. As a rule, Superiors did not generate much waste,
but if something truly had no use, they discarded it. Superiors had found early
on that nearly anything could be used many times. The endlot Draven and Cali inhabited held items that no longer functioned, that could not be repurposed to play
a new role, take on a new identity, become something else.

Draven
admired Cali’s ingenuity in using things that to him had found their last
resting place. He seldom found anything he could reuse. On this night, he found
a stack of crumbling gypsum board. Under the soggy top layers, the sheets
remained somewhat dry. The powdery gypsum leaked from its covering, filtering
down through the pile. Draven began peeling away the covering in papery strips.
Perhaps he could use them in starting a fire, if only he could find something
substantial to burn.

He
stopped shredding the paper and stood when he heard the soft squeak of tires
packing the new layer of snow atop the old. He had stayed near the tent since
the little woman had spotted them, but he’d begun to consider resuming his old
habit of searching for food each night. Cali had eaten little for the past few
days, having nearly finished the supply he’d stolen for her, and they’d seen no
one since the night he’d startled his observer. He no longer knew the month,
the night. Only that winter had gone on for quite some time, and that snow
continued falling every few days. Lately he had noticed a slight shortening of
nights, and he knew that winter had reached her nadir and soon would turn back
towards the warmer seasons. They would leave then, find a more secluded refuge.

Draven
crested the mound of trash, whose blanket of snow gave it an odd, soft
appearance. For a moment, he stood watching the car and its small trailer
making its way along the uneven road. When it passed the last turnoff, it had
no place to go but the endlot. Draven dropped the bundle of paper strips and
bounded toward the tent. He could intercept the car, drawing it away from Cali.
But after the car’s occupants dealt with him, they might search for his hiding
place. Even under a blanket of snow, the tent would become apparent after a
short search. Trackers or Enforcers would want to retrieve Byron’s property,
while less law-abiding citizens would want whatever valuables he chanced to
possess—and what had more value than a sapien? Whoever was coming, they would
have more interest in Cali than in him.

“Cali,”
he said, unzipping the tent so fast that the zipper caught on the fabric and
lodged, immobile, with the door half open. “Awaken, Cali.” Draven reached into
the tent and pulled one of the packs through the opening.

“What
is it?” Cali asked, instantly alert upon hearing the urgency in his voice. She
clutched the wooden dagger in one hand, the one that had killed the trackers so
long ago, now sharpened and honed to near perfection.

“They’re
here,” Draven said, sliding Cali through the tent’s opening. She had to
struggle through the space he’d opened, bracing her bare hands in the snow to
support herself. Once free, she stood, wiped her hands on her trousers and
looked around. “Shoes,” Draven said, thrusting them at her. She pushed the
knife into the top of her trousers and stooped to pull on her shoes. “Hurry.”
On the wind, Draven caught the scent of the car’s contents, of Superior, metal,
leather, and cannabis. From this, he determined that the car had arrived and
dispatched a passenger, and that the car’s owner was a Second, as most Thirds
could afford neither leather seats nor cigarettes.

He
left the tent and the other bag. They would have to do without. They hadn’t
time to collect their things, or, more devastating, the tent. Draven gathered
Cali into his arms and sprinted towards the back fence. Again, he caught a
faint trace of Superior scent drifting over the new snow, but he did not stop
to look back. They had yet to approach the camp.

“Whatever
you do, don’t stop,” Draven said. “If you must, go on without me.”

“But
what about—”

“Do
not stop.” Draven lifted Cali, and she scrambled up the fence.

“Stop,”
a calm voice commanded them from across the endlot. Draven did not turn back.
Already the man had drawn too close.

Though
Draven had plenty of practice climbing, Cali did not. She picked her way down
the other side carefully. Draven waited, each moment seeming to stretch into
hours. If he leapt onto the fence, he feared he’d shake Cali loose and she’d
fall.

“Hurry,”
he said again. When he could not wait another moment, he leapt to grasp the bar
lining the fence top. As his feet hit the chain links, he used his momentum to
push off the fence and flip over it, still holding the metal bar. A few weeks
before, he’d detached a section of razor wire topping the fence behind the
tent—perhaps the first sensible thing he’d done since stealing Cali—allowing
him and Cali both to cross the fence unharmed.

Upon
reaching the zenith of his body’s arc, he took a moment to cast his senses,
feeling for movement below him. He spotted the Superior passing their tent,
closing in. The man did not rush after them as if he had any great concern for
the escapees. This worried Draven.

He
released the bar and landed in the snow without a sound. He wrapped his arms
around Cali’s legs, lifted her from where she clung to the fence, and began to
run. When he heard the fence rattle under the Superior behind them, however,
Draven knew he could not outrun their pursuer. He set Cali down, gripping her
against him for a moment, pressing his face to her hair. “Run,” he breathed
into her ear. “Defend yourself if you can.”

“North
American Law Enforcement,” the man behind them drawled. “I order you to halt.”

Cali sprinted ahead. Draven continued, veering away from Cali in an attempt to lead the
Enforcer astray. When the man had nearly drawn within reach, Draven turned to
face his pursuer.

Part Three

Chapter 50

Draven
readied himself with the crude knife he’d carved. It resembled a rudimentary
stake more than a knife, but it would accomplish the nearly impossible task of
killing a Superior. Killing an Enforcer meant severe punishment, swifter and
deadlier than if they pinned the trackers’ deaths on him. Perhaps this man only
wished to satisfy his curiosity about the endlot’s dwellers…

But
he would scan Draven. In the absence of papers, he’d gather information through
a scan, and Draven’s entire file would come up on the scanner.

Draven
crouched slightly, ready to spring, the stake held close to his body. The
Enforcer halted just beyond striking distance, relaxed but wary as he regarded
Draven. Moonlight glinted off the thick metal rod he tapped casually against
his thigh.

“Who
are you?” he asked. “Why’d you run?”

Draven
remained silent, inhaling the last traces of Cali’s fragrance. As she’d fled in
the direction of the wind, her scent darted ahead of her instead of lingering
behind. If only he could stall the Enforcer until she found a hiding spot…

The
Enforcer stepped forward, his eyes trained on Draven. Draven’s grip tightened
on the wooden handle until he felt it begin to crack. “We had a report that
someone had taken up residence in the endlot,” the Enforcer said, his voice
calm and even. “I just wanted to come down and make sure you weren’t causing
any trouble. Let’s have a look at your papers.”

Draven
shook his head slowly.

“Not
a problem, I can scan you,” the Enforcer said. “We’ll just need to see your
hands, and then I’ll scan your eyes and tongue. Standard procedure, nothing to
be afraid of. You ever been scanned before?”

Draven
shook his head again. When he’d gotten arrested before, he’d been papered.

“It’s
our routine, to make sure we’re not dealing with anything illegal,” the
Enforcer said. “Quick and painless, you understand. Do you speak North
American?” He looked more interested now, turning his head to one side to study
Draven.

Draven
didn’t move. He waited. He waited until the Enforcer stepped forward again,
scanner in one hand and the metal bar in the other, hanging at his side as if
he’d forgotten it. While he’d explained the procedure, he’d fished the scanner
from his pocket and flipped it open. Draven kept his eyes on the Enforcer’s
other hand, the one holding the weapon. The fingers didn’t tighten their grip
even when the other hand, occupied or trapped in a pocket while retrieving the
scanner, left the man defenseless.

“Now
I’ll need you to hold out your hands so I can scan them,” the Enforcer said. He
stepped towards Draven, scanner poised. Draven held out one hand, palm up.
“Both hands where I can see them.”

The
Enforcer’s calm frightened Draven. He’d have done this before, arrested or
scanned shiftless Thirds. Enforcers who patrolled seedy parts of the city made
arrests all the time. One more arrest meant nothing to an Enforcer—and everything
to the one he arrested.

Draven
drew his other hand from inside his coat, stake poised, and thrust it at the
Enforcer’s heart.

The
Enforcer moved to block the dagger so quickly that Draven had time only to
register the movement before the Enforcer’s steel rod cracked his wrist. Before
he had recovered from the force of the blow and its resulting shock of pain,
the Enforcer had wrestled his smaller, weaker opponent to the ground and forced
his face into the snow. He knelt on Draven’s prostrate body and twisted his
arms behind his back until the shoulders separated at their sockets.

Twin
fireballs rocketed the length of Draven’s arm and lodged in the base of his
skull. To avoid crying out, he bit down on his lip until his drawing teeth pierced
through. This self-inflicted pain served to cleanse him, leaving only the
instinct for survival. Bracing his chest on the ground, he writhed under the
Enforcer, employing every shred of his strength in his attempt to break free.
It proved futile against the older man. The Enforcer restrained him without
difficulty. In his panic, all dignity deserted Draven, and he thrashed like a
wounded animal.

“Now
you know I didn’t want to have to do that,” the Enforcer said. Then, without
speaking further, he went about securing Draven, a frown of concentration on
his brow. When he finished, Draven lay bound and immobile.

“All
that over a simple scan,” the Enforcer said. “Now, I don’t know where you got
that wood, but if you had the need to use it, I’m assuming your scan won’t come
up clean. Open your eyes and let me scan you.”

Draven
didn’t move.

“I
command you.”

Still,
Draven did not move.

“Open
your eyes, or I’ll take them out and scan them. Your choice.”

Draven
submitted to the scan. Losing an eye would matter little, as he’d be executed
soon enough. But as the Enforcer would scan him either way, he might spare
himself unnecessary pain.

“I
see you stole that human,” the Enforcer said, reading the screen in his palm.
“So. I’m arresting you for violating the laws of the government of North
America. You’ll be charged officially at the Enforcement Office. Come along,”
he said, bending to scoop his bundle over his shoulder. At the fence, he heaved
it over. Draven’s body thudded to the ground inside the endlot, his fall padded
only by the snow. The steel bonds cut into his wrists, and a stab of pain
flared between the broken bones.

The
Enforcer scaled the fence as nimbly as Draven ever had, lifted Draven and threw
him across his shoulder as if he weighed nothing. He carried him to his car,
opened the prisoner transport trailer, and flipped Draven off his shoulder to
land inside. Draven fell onto his back, crushing his hands, still bound behind
him, and jerking at his dislocated shoulders. He stifled the scream that burst
into his throat, threatening to tear its way from his mouth.

The
Enforcer stood back and brushed his hands together before wiping them on his
trousers. “I see you’ve been arrested before, so you probably know what comes
next,” he said. “We’ll take a short ride down to the office to get everything
set for your transport back to Princeton. If they’d caught you there, it would
all be over by tomorrow, maybe the next day. This might take a few more days,
til we have someone heading that way, but Princeton isn’t far. I don’t expect
it will take more than a week to know your sentence. Just sit tight and we’ll
take care of everything.” The Enforcer closed the door, plunging Draven into
complete darkness. The lock activated with an audible click. Draven lay on the
cold steel floor and waited for what came next.

Chapter 51

As
Draven lay waiting for the vehicle to activate, his mind moved to the last time
an Enforcer had caught him, when Byron had discovered him trying to secret Cali from the old theater. Then, he’d only wanted to help Angel, that ethereal creature
whose chilling presence had so captivated him. This Enforcer had not used the
Deactivator on Draven, and he was thankful for that small kindness. The
terrified panic of his paralysis still haunted him even a year and a half after
Byron had shot the steel spike into his brain, paralyzing him in the theater
full of dead humans. If Angel had not set him free, he might lie there still,
only his mind moving forward. Or perhaps the rats would have come, eaten him
along with the human carcasses. The thought crawled over him like the paws of
little creatures, sticking to his skin and dragging through his hair, clinging
claw-like to his shoulders and neck, worming their way into his brain,
tunneling into the deepest reaches of him and lodging themselves there,
entombed in his coldest terror.

Lying
in wait, Draven let the memory take him over the way he seldom let them. For a Superior, memory was more like traveling through time, reliving the event. When first he’d
evolved, before he knew how to block them, Draven had lost himself in these
moments, unable to control them or prevent them from dragging him under their
influence. Twice, he had run his car off the road when one overtook him while
driving. Since then, he rarely let himself remember in that way, relive a
moment. Instead, he retained the knowledge of what had happened without having
to experience it again.

Now,
without thinking to stop it, he sank into the moment of his prior arrest, to
the moment he’d lain on the floor of that room strewn with humans. The
Deactivator had not had the same effect on Angel as it had him. Although he had
fallen after Byron shot him, he had risen and began lamenting the loss of Cali,
his heart’s apparent greatest desire, while Draven lay immobile. After a time,
he had come to realize Draven’s condition. Crying, always crying, Angel had
come to cradle Draven’s head on his lap, this time weeping for Draven, who,
when paralyzed, must have appeared as dead as the humans that littered the
floor. The hope that had sprung into Draven when he realized Angel’s miraculous
immunity to the steel spike in his brain had drained away as quickly as it had
come.

And
then, a new miracle had occurred. Somehow, Angel had detected the life left in
Draven, though Draven would never know how. Any other creature on earth,
perhaps even a Superior, would have concluded he was dead. But Angel, that
strange and tragic mutation of Superiority, had done the thing Draven imagined
impossible. Still cradling Draven’s head, he had ceased weeping and stared into
Draven’s dry eyes with such strange intensity, hungry and envious and curious
at once. And then, as if sensing Draven’s exact disability, he began to search
Draven’s skull, his cool fingers sinking into Draven’s hair, moving over each
cranial ridge and fissure. After a few moments, his fingers found what they
sought.

Pain
ripped through Draven when Angel’s fingers circled the wound Byron had left,
but he could no more scream than he could make any other movement. So he lay
helpless while Angel explored the surface of the wound. Nearly maddened with
pain, Draven had wondered if Angel meant to torture him thus. He wished for
Angel to drive the steel rod further into his brain, to end his life and
therefore his suffering. Instead, Angel resumed his weeping.

After
a time, he laid Draven’s head upon the floor and slid down to lie beside him
with the same liquid fluidity he used in all his movements, something so far
from human as to seem almost serpentine. A charge of dread ran through Draven,
a panic borne from his inability to see the boy’s movements and wariness of his
strangeness. What alien habits might he have acquired, what taboos might he
find acceptable, even routine?

The
blanket of dread that lay over Draven converged into something more desperate
as Angel moved closer, positioning himself against Draven’s body. He turned
Draven’s head a bit, nestled his face into Draven’s hair and pushed his mouth
against the wound. Remembering how this particular being gained life and
energy, panic exploded in Draven. He longed to thrash out, to writhe and flail
at his attacker until he broke free, to explode from the building and run
blindly, as a rabbit spotted while crouched and frozen bolts from its predator,
heedless of destination or direction. But he could only lie frozen, corpselike,
while Angel’s mouth began to pull at the wound.

Though
Angel had told Draven he gained energy solely from live humans, it seemed he
had deceived Draven as easily as he eluded him. For several torturous minutes,
he was certain Angel was siphoning his soul from his incapacitated body. Though
he knew little of incubi, he knew that they fed on raw human energy, eventually
draining the life from a human’s body and capturing the soul upon death. Could
they not as easily take his soul, his life?

After
some time, however, the spike Byron had shot into his brain began to recede.
Pain swelled in Draven, and for a time after Angel had drawn the rod free, he
did not move. Angel sat studying him, no longer weeping. At last he spoke.

“I
have brought death, but little suffering. For I have held back, taking only
what I must needs take, and bringing joy above sorrow to each I fortuned to
love. Never have I desired to bring harm to any creature, and yet, I have
brought only suffering to myself in each death, no matter the joy of the
receiver. For death is an end to suffering, while my suffering continues past
their deaths as love continues after grief.”

Draven
tried to move, but after straining to exhaust every resource in his body, he
could only manage the slightest twitch. Angel sat stroking his hair. “To have
given back what so many times taken… This I longed for.” He studied Draven a
bit longer before pouring his body onto the floor again. This time when his
mouth found Draven’s splintered bone, a coldness leapt into the pathway left by
the spike, a biting iciness that ached into the core of him, and with it, a
sense of peace floated over him, like the chill spray drifting off the moonlit
ocean onto powder-fine sand. Every urge to escape had vanished, replaced
instead with the sweetest calm. As it swelled inside him, so too did another
sensation, one he could not control as it warmed his frozen body any more than
he could control the muscles swelling in response.

Never
before had he been overcome by such intense desire, known such peace and
certainty, and such utter helplessness in its power. A wave of terror surged
through him, violent enough to send a spasm through his entire body, but he
could not yet control his movements. He forced a sound from his mouth, though
his tongue could not yet form words. Angel had continued for a short time
before releasing Draven. When he’d finished, he had bid Draven goodbye, risen,
and before he vanished, advised Draven to draw all the sap from the dead
sapiens. Draven had protested that he could not eat so much, but Angel had only
given him a strange look and told him that of course he could.

As
it happened, he could. He seemed to never fill, although at times he had to
rest. His head had healed quickly, and he had continued eating until he thought
he would burst. After only a few minutes, however, he had been able to eat
again, draining each of the saps in the room as well as he could without the
pressure of a heartbeat to aid him. He had been thankful that Angel had gone
and could not see him glutting himself on the blood of dead humans. But soon
afterwards, he had strength he had not known possible, and had learned exactly
how powerful Superiors could be when fed adequately.

Since
that day, Draven had avoided thinking of Angel when possible. Still he did not
know for certain what had happened, or if he could have known even if he’d seen
it taking place. Had Angel taken energy from him? That seemed impossible. Angel
had given him something, had put some healing remedy into the wound. He had
given Draven strength. Hadn’t he? Or perhaps he had urged Draven to eat so that
he would not notice his weakened state after Angel had taken from Draven what
he took from humans.

As
he lay in the Enforcer’s trailer, Draven began to wonder what Angel had breathed
into his wound, what coldness had entered to heal him. Like a Superior, did the
incubus use saliva to heal, and had he pushed his tongue or a saliva coated
finger into Draven’s brain? Or had he only pushed his breath into the
passageway the rod had left? And if so, had that changed Draven somehow, in
ways he had not dared think of until now? He had tried to maintain order in his
mind, but lately he had begun to wonder. Now, alone in the trailer and facing
his impending prosecution and execution, he let himself consider the changes
that had come over him since that day in the theater. Changes that perhaps had
occurred as a result of months spent in the hands of Sally’s vigilante
community and his subsequent isolation, but perhaps had some deeper, more
sinister origins.

Draven
shifted in the cold trailer, forcing his mind to his current predicament. The
Enforcer had never started the engine. What had become of him? While Draven lay
waiting, unwelcome thoughts continued to haunt him. During these last months
with Cali, he’d occupied his mind with thoughts of avoiding capture and had not
allowed himself to dwell on the scenario he now faced. Though he’d known the
dangers, it had seemed far away, hypothetical. Now, the full weight of it
settled over him. If someone had found the trackers, if they had found a way to
tie him to the murders, he would face execution. He knew little of the
techniques Enforcers employed. Though he had done his best to destroy all trace
of the trackers, Enforcers likely had ways of unearthing what evidence they
needed.

Where
had the Enforcer gone? He’d said he meant to take Draven to the office, but the
car had not moved. Perhaps he’d left Draven to lie captive in the endlot until
he went mad from hunger. Perhaps he had taken matters into his own hands and,
knowing no one would miss an inferior-class criminal, sentenced him to lie in a
tomb forever. Byron would find such a punishment fitting, especially if an outlaw
like Draven tried to stab him to death.

Draven
grew increasingly agitated the longer he lay in the light-and-soundproof
trailer. The steel’s cold burned against his cheek and neck. The cord circling
his middle cut into his abdomen and his shoulders throbbed. He had heaved
himself onto his stomach to take the weight off his bound hands, but the pain
in his shoulders only subsided a bit. Now he pressed his cheek against the
floor and cast his senses in the vacuum of silence, searching for a vibration.
The steel blocked all, shut him away from the outside world. Other than his
discomfort, every sense was void. He could almost believe he’d already been
executed. That this was what waited after death.

Suddenly,
the door slid up and his senses were flooded. He twisted his body, jackknifed
to see the door, realizing why the Enforcer had not left once he had Draven in
custody. Of course he’d gone back. Her scent rushed in to greet him, the warmth
and comfort of it, the familiarity that made him recall her taste and all the
mornings he had fallen asleep beside her in his mummy bag. That was idle
memory, meaningless now. Never again would he enjoy the intoxicating flavors of
her sap or savor the bouquet of fragrances that made up her aroma, all the
qualities and flavors subtly mixing to create the perfect combination, the
fascinating result of which was Cali.

“Let
me go,” she said as she writhed and twisted in the Enforcer’s grasp. He showed
no sign that he noticed her movements. Instead, he lifted her and deposited her
inside the trailer as if she were a sack of sapien feed. As the Enforcer began
to close the door, Cali dove out and scrambled away through the snow. Again the
Enforcer collected her thrashing body and stuffed it into the trailer.

“I
can bind you if you prefer,” he said. Halfway through crouching to spring free
again, Cali paused as if considering, then slouched against the wall with a
sullen look. The door closed.

Absolute
darkness swallowed them. Now, though, the trailer contained more than Draven
alone. Casting his senses, he could detect her position, could hear the sounds
of her life continuing inside her, could feel her warmth radiating across the
space between them.

“Where
are we going?” Cali asked, and he could feel the movement as she slid down
further against the wall, her feet approaching him until they touched his side.

“You
will go back to Princeton.”

“And
you?” she asked, her voice smaller than usual, higher.

“I’ll
be alright.”

“You
always say that.”

“And
you? Did that Enforcer hurt you?”

“Not
much. Just when I struggled, he squeezed me a little.”

“Did
he draw from you, or touch you…inappropriately?” Draven shifted away from
Cali’s warmth, uncomfortable at the thought. In all the years he’d worked
catching sapiens, he’d never once thought to ask that. It simply did not cross
his mind that a Superior would want such a thing. And the Enforcer had seemed
businesslike enough with Draven. Certainly he’d only chanced upon the thought
because he’d let memories of Angel creep into his mind.

“No,
of course not,” Cali said.

“Good.
That’s good. Then he’s probably an honest man.”

“How
do you know that? He caught us, didn’t he?”

“He
was alone and could have done anything he liked to either of us, but he didn’t.
We’ll be treated fairly in his hands.” He did not mention that the Enforcer
would soon turn them over to others, some of whom may not be so kind,
especially to him.