The Ward (22 page)

“Governor’s not going to be happy,” he spits.

I’m left alone with the scouts as he crawls back into the abandoned tunnel, so I sit myself down, unsure what to do. One of the three men mutters to himself, something ’bout knowing this was a “bunk mission.” The others nod their heads. Start talking ’bout another Appeal. They ignore me, which I’m fine with, ’cause that’s how I hear Chief’s voice through the wall.

“Yes, sir . . . I don’t know, sir,” I hear him say. He’s apologetic—a tone I’ve never heard him use before. Must be speaking with someone higher on the totem pole. And there’s only one person higher up than Dunn.

Governor Voss.

“The girl claims no one else knows. . . .” he goes on, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure he’s talking about me. “Yes, she’s here now. I don’t believe she’s telling the whole truth either, sir. Absolutely, I’ll call in another agent from HQ straightaway. He’ll keep an eye out and report back to you. Yes, sir, I understand what’s riding on this find.” The conversation comes to a halt.

Without thinking, I start gnawing at my nails. They don’t believe me, they’re going to have me watched. I don’t like it, not one bit.

After some more time straining my ears, Chief responds. “A half dozen squads? . . . Within the hour, yes . . . I’ll leave right away, sir.” Then the tunnel’s quiet again, and I hear him tapping the commands into his cuffcomm.

He’s leaving? And he’s gathering squads. . . .

“Dane!” Chief barks. “Out here, now!”

I jump and wriggle myself through the crawl space, head peeking out the other side. “What’s that, sir?” I ask, pretending I somehow missed his yelling.

“The sample came back positive,” he begins, not even looking at me. “You were right, it’s fresh. As such, I’ll be suspending your pay until you can tell me where it went.” He says it so easily.

I stand there like an idiot, jaw gaping wide.

“Sir . . . ? I don’t understand—I found the stuff, and I’m being
punished
?” The words croak out of my mouth, one by one.
He can’t
do
this
.

Chief Dunn spins to face me. In the flashlight’s harsh glow, he could be the Reaper. “It doesn’t add up,” he says in a growl. “There’s something you know. And whatever it is that you’re not telling, the governor
will
find out. Now is not the time for games.”

“Chief,” I plead. “I’ll look all over the Ward if you want me to. It’s just my . . . my friend—you saw her—she’s in the hospital. Surgery’s scheduled for today. We’ve got bills to pay—”

Chief Dunn laughs. It’s dry and full of meanness. “Well, here’s a simple fix, Dane: as of right now, the surgery is no longer scheduled for today. Problem solved. Can’t have you running to the hospital, wasting our time.” A pause. “And don’t think I won’t know.”

I’m unable to swallow, a slew of curses forming inside my mouth with nowhere to go. I choke them back, feeling like my tongue has grown in size, and all my bones too. I step forward—all 206 of them want to fight. Smash his face to the wall—but I stop myself, when I remember my size. I’m not that strong. I’d get myself killed. “She’ll die if you do that,” I finally manage.

“Not my priority, Dane! The West Isle is in an uproar. People are afraid of the Blight, and the water crisis has grown dire. Governor Voss doesn’t want your excuses, and neither do I. Get me a location, we’ll talk about your friend’s surgery.” Pointing in the direction of the stairwell, “Dismissed!”

I don’t even give Dunn the requisite “sir.” I just spin away, desperate to be as far from him as possible, and race through the empty subway tunnel, all the way up the stairs.

At the top of the stairwell, I collapse in a heap, head spinning.

He wants me to find another spring?
I can’t breathe, and I don’t even fight off the hornet’s nest swarming in my stomach. Only one word repeats itself over and over again in my mind:
No—no, no, no
.

No
.

Not after what Callum showed me on the Core.

Especially not after Dunn telling me he’s canceling Aven’s surgery.

Dunn’s a fool if he thinks that will keep me from going to see her. Clearly he’s never cared about anyone, ever. Now that I don’t know how long she’s got, I have to get to her. Have to be with her. He’s just made the hospital my first stop.

And after that—Callum’s. To bring Aven whatever medicine he’s able to concoct from the mud, that won’t make her sicker. Reaching for the cuffcomm he gave me, I type in a message:

Can you do it?

It’s a ramshackle plan. It’s no plan at all. It’s a decision to step forward, one foot at a time, for now. But it does the trick. It’s enough. I’m able to pick myself up, force my head thinking again. Focus on how to make the not-plan a reality.

I head back into the empty room on the fifteenth floor. The quadrant is quiet, free of roaring helis, so I know the coast is clear. I rotate the dial to the side of my cuffcomm, trying to decide who to call on.

It’s too early in the morning to ask another favor of Ter—he just brought me to Mad Ave a few hours ago, and I doubt his dad would want him running back to the racing district. Once a month for the races is danger enough.

Calling Derek is out of the question. I am “barely a friend” after all. . . .

I find the channel I use to call Benny. I hate to ask him—he already saves my butt on a regular basis—but I’ve got no choice.

I need to get out of here.

22

5:15 A.M., SUNDAY

I
run to the windowsill overlooking the canal, but it isn’t the sound of Benny’s mobile that brings me there. It’s not a sound at all. Across the Hudson Strait, the West Isle city center is crowned in thick, dark clouds, just as the sun begins to rise. The Quad Nine Trade Centers block much of my view—I’m full-on blinded by the glass and steel of One World—but I can see enough.

Billows of black, swallowing the tops of even the tallest skyscrapers.

The rally . . . it must be coming from the rally.

I’m shocked—it was supposed to be a protest. West Isle citizens voicing their discontent, that’s what the radio transmission said. But this ain’t just a rally.

Smoke means fire.

This is a riot.

Part of me hands it to them for taking a stand. But another part is laughing. A rally, or a riot, or a protest can’t fix our issues. Public opinion counts for nothing in our situation. Much as I want to blame Governor Voss for not doing more, he’s no magician.

A pink smudge skimming the canal draws my attention back to the water.

It’s a Cloud9 Steamer, one of Benny’s mobiles, and she’s moving much faster than she should. Cloud9s ain’t much more than glorified balloons—open-topped, floaty rides sold in pastel colors only. And they’re no better under the hood, used for scenic travel. Benny must have upgraded this one, though, ’cause she’s hauling like nobody’s business.

I climb out the window and onto the fire escape, inspecting the water for the DI guy Chief said he’d send to watch me.

I’ve got to spot him. And then I’ve got to lose him.

’Cause I’m about to disobey direct orders from Chief Dunn, something I’ve never done before. Once he finds out—which he will if I can’t lose my tail—I don’t know what he’ll do. He could make it so I never see Aven again.

I scan the canal even more thoroughly, pausing at every shadow I see below the surface. But the water’s dark and murky, and I know this won’t be easy. Seeing nothing, I look up and wave my arms. “Over here!” I shout, motioning to Benny.

As he nears, my breath catches. He’s not alone.

Derek’s with him; no one else has that rusty-colored hair. My body reacts before my head has a chance to remind me that I’m angry. He doesn’t deserve that silly, giddy feeling my stomach can’t seem to shut down.

“Front door service!” Benny says when he’s just below the rickety ladder. I lower myself and Derek stands, holds out his hand for me.

I don’t take it.

Instead, I monkey swing myself from the bottom rung, gripping it between my palms, and hover over the mobile. I let go to land in the Cloud9, but the boat sways—my balance staggers. Before I’ve got a chance to catch myself, Derek’s hand is firm at my shoulder, steadying me.

I jerk away from his touch.

I don’t know . . . maybe I’m overreacting—but the moment I feel his hands on my skin, I’ll go all weak-kneed and googly-eyed. I’ll forget he wasn’t there for me when I needed him most.

He pulls his hand away, but I still feel his eyes on me.

“I’m happy to see you, Ren,” Benny says, letting go of the steering wheel. He wraps his arms around me and examines my temple. Lifting each hand, he looks for evidence of the accident. Even under my nails, which I’ve torn to pieces.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I breathe out. “Where were you doing here, up at this hour? Right around the corner, too. It took you, like, ten minutes to get here.” Turning to Derek, “And how’d you get dragged along for the ride?”

He avoids my eyes now. No doubt it’s from all the warm, fuzzy feelings I’m radiating.

“No dragging involved,” he says. “We were close and I wanted to see you. Kent called the others for an early-morning, ‘friendly’ practice race in Quad Eight—no betting, of course. He just wanted to see if he should buy an Omni, so he swapped mobiles with Ter.”

A race—even a “friendly”—and no one told me about it?

The insult stings for no more than a moment when I realize the real reason I wasn’t invited. “That’s a load of bull and you know it. Kent wants to know he can win with an Omni first. Otherwise he’d just give it a test drive like anyone else.”

If I were part of the race, and he
still
lost, he’d never recover.

Derek laughs. “I’m sure you’re right. Either way, you’re about to see how he does. We’re headed back to Eight right now. What are you doing here anyway?” he asks, but I have no intention of answering that question.

“You’re headed to Eight? Do they need you?” I whine, unable to stop myself. “I’ve got to get to Ward Hope. . . .” My skin prickles and all of a sudden I’m antsy. My mind starts tilting away, that feeling of free fall comes back.

What if she didn’t make it through the night?

Benny looks at me in the rearview mirror, brows knotted. “We have to drive through Eight as it is. Why don’t you take the Cloud and drop us off. I was going to loan her to you anyway.”

Exhaling, I’m once again grateful that I have someone like Benny on my side—even though the Cloud is pink.

As I turn around to face the rear, a sunbeam spills over the building tops. The water lightens to a golden brown, and I can even see dark ropes of seaweed in our wake.

And just beyond it, an oblong shadow, trailing us.

I watch the shadow. My throat goes dry, but I say nothing. Until I’ve dropped off Benny and Derek, there’s not much I can do. Telling them we’re being followed will only lead to the little question of
why
—a can of worms I want to keep closed and locked, buried six feet under.

I’m afraid I’ll give it away on my own, though. Every few seconds I’m checking the water to make sure I haven’t lost him.

At the rumbling of motors overhead, I look up. We all do. Throughout the quadrant, echoes.

“Sounds like they started without you,” I say, eyeing the building tops. I don’t see anyone, not yet, but this far north in the quadrant the buildings are low enough—six stories high, max—I should be able to.

For a moment, my legs get that itch—same as before the races. It’s instinct. I shouldn’t want to race, but I do. Mobile metal is in my bones.

But with a head filled to the brim with worry, just thinking about that kind of thrill feels like cheating. Aven could be dead or dying this very moment.

That kills the itch pretty quick, leaves me feeling guilty my bones wanted to race at all.

We boat through a few more blocks, and then one, two, three shapes hurtle off one of the taller building’s roofs. The first and third are both Hondas—Jones and Ter, I’m guessing, as Derek said he swapped with Kent.

In the middle, Ter’s Omni flashes orange against the bright sky, swerving. As it lands, angled all wrong, it buckles and bottoms out, hard, on the next roof.

Pale sparks from metal scraping brick arc across the morning sky, dropping and burning out.

I groan, feeling for Ter; Kent’s got to have punctured something on the undercarriage.

“The boy’s an idiot,” Benny howls.

“Which one?” I mutter under my breath. Ter never shoulda switched mobiles.

The orange Omni is out of sight, but reappears just before Kent’s about to make the next jump. It sails through the air slowing too soon. He hasn’t added enough speed. It lands on the next roof. Bounces. Rear tires catch, spinning over the building’s edge. Kent steps on the acceleration—rubber burns brick, but the Omni moves not one inch forward.

Next, we see the rear prop gearing into motion.

“He didn’t just do that, did he?” Derek asks, pointing.

“He did.” Benny covers his mouth.

“He’s going to—”

“
Brack!
” Benny curses.

The propellers chip away at the rooftop’s brick edge. No one shouts for Kent to turn them off—he wouldn’t hear us.

“The Omni’s going down. Drive it closer . . .” Derek says to Benny.

“Closer? And let him take my Cloud down along with Ter’s new Omni? I think not!”

“Fine. Bring me over—I’m going up. You can pull back after. If I’m fast enough, I might be able to get to him before he does any more damage.”

“You need help,” Benny tells him. The two exchange glances, and it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out what they’re thinking.

Benny’s too old. By the time he makes it up all the stairs, Kent will be ground-up fish food. Which leaves me.

“No way,” I say as Benny drives the Cloud around the side of the building. “He wouldn’t do it for me.”

We pull up beside an escape ladder and Derek grabs the railing. Hopping out, he extends his arm. “You’re better than him, Ren.”

What if I’m not
.

I throw him a glare and stand, not sure if it’s because I’m actually a better person, or because I’m fighting the guilt that comes with not being a better person.