Wiped (5 page)

T
hey were going underground
. My breath all but left me. There’d be no room to manoeuvre down there, if any room was left at all. From the state of the road aboveground, I could only assume that some of the damage reached deeper than street level.

But I understood what they were doing. I understood, and under normal circumstances would have applauded it, but that didn’t mean that right then I had to like it.

“Makes sense,” Alan said quietly at my side. “We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the Lunnoners aboveground. Where else could they be?”

“Hmmm,” I said, evasively.

“But what the fuck is she planning once she’s down there?”

Good question. And if I knew Lena, it was the only one that mattered.

She’d made a mistake. Lena was nothing if not honest with herself. She’d recognise the ambush had gone south and she’d want to step up to the plate and correct things. But going down blind into a dark hole under the streets of a forgotten city was not the way to achieve it.

And Cardinal Fucking Beck was encouraging her. The idiot.

I sat on my haunches and watched the Cardinal team move out. Fluid. Silent. Stealthily. I had to hand to him, he’d trained them well. And there was Lena. In the thick of it. As much a part of their team as the man who led them.

In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, Beck took his lead from Lena.

Tan had a hand in this. I’d laugh, if I wasn’t so monumentally fucked off.

Lee Fucking Tan interfering from across the sea.

Figures.

But what was his endgame? What did he think Lena was doing?

I thought about it, as we followed them down into the darkness. As we navigated fallen masonry and dust filled hallways. As the signs of a lost city became clearer, untainted by wind or rain or sunlight. It reminded me of a mausoleum. Preserved and protected from outside elements.

Farther away from the entrance to the Underground the damage was more contained. Occasionally the roof had collapsed, but the deeper we went, the more intact it all seemed. The logic was sound; if anyone lived,
survived
, in Lunnon, then they’d do it underground. But the air was stale, putrid even. The heat was excruciating, reminding me of Wánměi in the middle of summer. And the facilities were practically nonexistent.

Who lives like this? Who would have to?

And why would they?

There was something about these Lunnoners that made me nervous, and it had nothing to do with their homemade laser guns. It was the way they behaved. Aggressively but resolutely. As though they didn’t have a choice. As though more than just their lives depended on it.

I couldn’t put my finger on it. Every time I thought about the way they’d almost sacrificed themselves in that ambush, determined to give us nothing but their bodies, I’d come up blank.

Who fights like that? Not even drones. Everyone has a self-preservation switch. Mechanical. Human. It doesn’t matter. Suicide by gunfire was not something I could relate to.

But I wondered if Lena did. If she knew something, or suspected it. I wondered if what compelled Lena to find these people had something to do with their behaviour. Perhaps more to do with that than the fact she’d kept a dangerous secret from me.

I sighed as we dodged more debris, quietly stalking our prey through the shattered remains of a once bustling railway. In truth, I’d reconciled why Lena had done it. I’d seen her logic, even if I disagreed. Calvin was right. I’d been as bad as her father.

Trying desperately to protect her from a threat that seemed real.

Cal loved her. He was just attempting to make up for it in record speed.

I’d exacerbated the situation, by insisting Lena keep close, keep safe, keep contained. No one should contain Lena. I should have known better. I
did
know better. But where Lena was concerned, sometimes I lost the ability to think clearly, it seemed.

Base instincts and knee-jerk reactions. That’s what Lena did to me.

I’d die protecting her. I’d give up everything to keep her safe. But I had no right to take a thing. And by containing Lena, I’d taken that which she prized most dearly.

Her freedom. Her equality. In a nutshell,
her
.

I’d done the exact thing I shouldn’t have.

No wonder she’d kept the ambush a secret from me.

I shook my head and came to a halt at an intersection of the tunnel. Tracks went off in two different directions, both ominously dark, neither giving up their secrets. But something stayed me. Something made me pause. There was little noise. The occasional scrape of boots on loose stones, but no more than you’d expect a rodent to make. I knew which way Lena and the Cardinal team had gone, but not why they’d chosen it. Perhaps they’d flipped a credit.

But still I didn’t follow. Alan crouched down silently beside me, not uttering a word, nor barely breathing. If he questioned my hesitation, he didn’t show it. Just sat patiently waiting for me to proceed.

The Cardinal team was getting farther and farther away, and by extension so was Lena. Part of me screamed for me to move, to follow, to keep her close.

Another part remembered how confining I’d recently been.

But my hesitation wasn’t due to guilt or regret. It wasn’t due to any redeeming quality. I’m not that perfect.

It was a gut instinct, a primal urge. Or maybe I was just thinking tactically.

Because if I wanted to ambush an invading army, I’d do it right here. I’d let them pick a route and I’d silently peel out of the shadows and follow. I’d let them think they’d made a choice, when in fact I’d herded them into a trap and was closing the noose behind them.

They were desperate these Lunnoners. For what, I wasn’t sure. But desperate people do desperate things.

So we sat and waited. Time stood still and Lena got farther and farther away.

I started to think that I’d made a mistake. The seconds were ticking by into minutes. I’m not sure how many; I was too frightened to count.

Even Alan shifted on his knees.

And then they appeared, more animal like than human. Some crouched, some hobbled, some walked on all fours. In the darkness it was hard to see, but a small amount of illumination spilled down from a break in the tunnel’s ceiling, enough to make out at least a dozen. Small, ragged, filthy, and not just a little horror movie creepy.

These were what was left of the Lunnoners? It didn’t make sense. Those we’d fought were poorly dressed but in relative good health. These seemed not real.

I looked across to Alan, he shrugged his shoulders and then nodded towards where the tail end of the underground army had been.

Fuck! Now we had a bunch of deformed children between us and Lena. I couldn’t see this ending at all well.

We crept out of our hiding hole, slowly following the creatures as they slowly followed Lena and her team.

I should have known better. This
was
Lena. The Zebra of Wánměi. The woman jumped off tall sky-rises, somersaulted through clear air thirty storeys up. I should have known she’d have equally as reckless skills under the ground.

One minute we were following the followers.

The next we’d been caught in Lena’s trap. Along with the creepy crawlies.

L
ights flashed
. Sounds echoed. The tunnel became a riotous clammer of cries and screams. I shouted a warning to the Cardinals. “Don’t hurt them!” But protecting ourselves from the stones and metal bars and clawed hands meant retaliation of some description was necessary.

Still, we took a battering. The intermittent illumination made it difficult to identify them, but the stench of their ragged clothing determined we’d finally found what was left of the Lunnoners.

Or, at least, a portion of them.

But as the Cardinals got the situation under control, contained those last few who bucked and scratched and bit and spat, torches flashed on and we could see.

Ten, maybe twelve, small children sat on the ground, their dirt smeared tanned skin blending into the shadows, their dark almond shaped eyes staring up disgruntled out of sneering faces. Crooked teeth and rotten breath added to the imagery.

So small. So neglected. And, other than their skin tone, so different from the men who’d attacked us upon landing.

And then a Cardinal hauled two adult sized bodies forward, both with their hands raised in surrender and amused smirks gracing their faces.

“What the…?” Cardinal Beck exclaimed. “Were you following us?” he then demanded.

Trent’s eyes found me. We stared at each other, neither uttering a sound. The stand-off interrupted by Alan.

“Ungrateful prick,” he grunted.

“Ungrateful?” Beck challenged. “You could have ruined the plan.”

“Oh, you had a plan?” Alan said, deadpan. “Thought you were blindly going into a dark hole without any consideration to your safety.” He paused. “Or Lena’s.”

Ah, so he was going to take that path, was he?

“Why are you here, Trent?” I said softly, before the Cardinal blew his stack.

Trent let out a small huff of breath, shrugged out of the shoulder hold of the Cardinal who’d been detaining him, and took a step forward. Laser guns whirred to life all around me. The children flinched, but watched on with avid interest. Trent looked at me and raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, face impassive.

I just sighed.

“Stand down,” I ordered. The laser wielding Cardinals didn’t move. “For crying out loud, he’s one of us!” Nothing. “Beck,” I growled.

“Stand down,” he murmured, but his stance said he was doing no such thing.

“Trent?” I said encouragingly. He’d better have a damn good reason for being here. He’d dogged my steps enough lately. Turning up and throwing his rebel leader weight around right now would be the final straw.

I wasn’t sure how much heartache my body could take.

“Lena,” he said, my name a soft whisper on his lips. It was just a name, but the way he said it made it so much more. As though he still adored it. As though he was in awe of it. As though, merely voicing it, meant everything.

I felt trapped by his heated gaze. A trap I had never wanted to get out of.

“I’ve been a jerk,” he said, making me narrow my eyes in confusion. The Cardinals didn’t exactly shuffle uncomfortably on their feet - they were too well trained for that - but if a blink of their eyes could convey discomfort, then theirs did in that moment. Call it what you will, male solidarity, manly pride, but none of them wanted to be in Trent’s shoes, right then.

I almost snorted. But laughing at Trent would only make things worse. And looking at him now, I realised I didn’t want things to get worse. I wanted him back. In my corner. On my side.

I’d missed him. It seemed ridiculous somehow. But there it was.

“Not just yesterday,” Trent added, meaning the ambush from hell when we’d landed. “But for the past few weeks. And here’s the thing, I thought I was taking care of you. I guess my compass is a little off, huh?” He thrust his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged his shoulders, looking a little lost.

I almost caved. I almost took the few short steps needed to reach him. And then my eyes caught the neutral expression on Alan’s face. Ordinarily Alan would be disturbed by Trent’s bare knuckles confession. Ordinarily he’d snort or shake his head and stare off into space, as if watching this train wreck unfold was too absurd to even contemplate. But he wasn’t doing any of that.

He was standing there patiently waiting for the moment to pass. No shock on his hard face. No disgust in the curve of his lips. Nothing.

My eyes came back to Trent; he’d seen my assessment. He wasn’t looking so chagrinned now, was he? No, he looked ready to do battle.

I started to shake my head and then Alan murmured, out of the side of his mouth in a overloud mock whisper, “Try harder. She’s not falling for it.”

Trent offered his best friend a hard glare and then turned back to look at me. His eyes briefly took in the audience we had. And there it was, real emotion. Embarrassment mixed with anxiety. He was covering the truth with a lie.

I knew Trent. I knew what he’d had to be to keep the rebels alive. To keep them going. At times, there’d only been a handful of them. At others, there’d been more than fifty. He’d adjusted his management techniques to accommodate the numbers, or lack thereof. He’d been what was needed when it was needed. No questions asked.

He could be hard and unforgiving. Motivational and inspiring. A friend or a teacher. He’d played the roles that were necessary in order to keep them fighting.

But what was he fighting here? Me?

No. He was fighting his part, the character he’d been forced to play. He was fighting the role of rebel leader.

“Baby,” he said, but I held my hand up for him to stop. The more he said, the worse it got. Alone we could be honest with each other. But we couldn’t be alone right now. The fact that he’d come at all should have meant something. Either he was trying to protect me again, which would make me infinitely mad. Or he was really trying to reach out to me. To meet me halfway. To back me up. To be what
I
needed him to be.

It was hard to trust my head when my heart was hurting. But the bottom line was without Trent this meant nothing. Life. Liberty. Chasing our past, changing our future. Without Trent it would be a hollow victory.

I turned my attention to the children, effectively shutting down the conversation for now. We’d talk later. I’d reassure my heart later… that, in fact, he’d meant everything.

Trent was not an easy person to get inside of, to get behind the façade he kept between him and the world at large. But despite the cover he wore, despite the role he insisted he play in public, if I let myself, if I trusted in what I felt, I could see. Him. The man beneath the label.

Just like he usually saw the woman beneath The Zebra.

“Do you know who we are?” I said in D’maru. A dozen large eyes blinked slowly. “Do you know where we’ve come from?” Nothing.

I felt Trent walk up to my side; a show of solidarity. It meant more than the confession. And maybe that was the answer; trust in his actions and not the words he was forced to utter.

I glanced at him, but his attention was on the children. He studied them with a calculated look. Took in their appearance, their location, the entire situation, in one sweep of his laser-sharp eyes.

“Do you speak Anglisc?” he asked. Nothing.

“Wáitaměi?” I tried. “Mahiah,” I added out of desperation when we got blank looks unanimously.

No one said anything for several seconds, and then Trent turned to face me. Arms back across his chest, the move not defensive but more contemplative. He stared at me for a suspended moment, and then he whispered quietly, “Care to test a theory?”

I arched a brow, but nodded my head; just once. I was still a little angry.

He reached forward and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. My traitorous body betrayed me; swaying into his touch willingly. I tried to straighten, to pull back, but Trent shook his head. Minutely. But I saw it. I also saw the hunger in his eyes. A hunger that hadn’t diminished in all the time I’d known him. Just intensified, like a fire burning out of control. Banked on occasion, but an inferno when let free.

There was no denying Trent desired me, but what with his behaviour lately, I sometimes wondered if he did in fact love me.

“Baby,” he murmured. “You
are
everything.”

I searched his face for a clue, for a hint that he wasn’t acting. He looked sincere. But he was putting on a show, of that I was certain.

“This is hardly the place or time,” Cardinal Beck interrupted. “We are exposed here. If these urchins have backup, we’re sitting ducks.”

Trent offered him a growl, his hand slipping to the back of my neck possessively. And here was the protective instinct kicking in again, I thought.

But then the children moved. En masse, surging up and growling. At Beck. A bigger ‘back off’ he couldn’t have received.

Trent smiled. His eyes on me and not the ragged kids.

“They understand,” he said.

“They understand body language,” I argued.

“Yes and no,” he said, pulling away with a soft stroke of his finger over my cheek. “They appreciate a good love story, but there is understanding of our language to some degree.”

His hand slipped into mine, then he pulled me down into a crouch before the children. Bringing us to their height. They stilled, but didn’t pull back. Anticipation and curiosity shone from their eyes. A sense of greed poured from their little bodies.

This close I could see their injuries, the disabilities they lived with, that they could have lived with since birth. It was hard to tell. This environment would not have been conducive to a healthy lifestyle. Danger would have lurked at every pass. I also had trouble identifying what was wrong with them. In Wánměi we didn’t suffer like this. Upper lips split so wide the teeth inside were missing. Feet pointing in the wrong direction to such a degree it was clear the children walked on their ankles. Some had hands missing. Some had wisps of hair on their head as though they were eighty. Bones at odd angles. Eyes milky white. Skin covered in open sores.

This close my heart weeped.

“What’s happened to them?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“There are parts of Lunnon,” Calvin said in my ear, “that should not be seen.”

“This happened because they went there?” I queried. When none of the Cardinals, nor Trent and Alan, looked confused at my question, I knew Calvin had made his comment to everyone wearing an earpiece.

“This happened because they were born too near them,” Calvin said softly.

“All of this?” Beck asked. I hadn’t realised he’d come up behind me. And as my hand was still in Trent’s, I felt Trent stiffen at the Cardinal’s proximity. I was sure it was his proximity to me.

But Trent didn’t react, other than to hold my hand tighter. Then he forced his punishing grip on my fingers to loosen. The effort required looked painful. He was trying, I’d give him that. And somehow it made a difference. Somehow it made it easier to believe.

The confession had been delivered as an act; the rebel leader pretending to be contrite. The irony was the words had been honest.

I squeezed his hand back.

“Life here would not be easy,” Calvin was saying. “Born in the shadow of such devastation. Forced to survive in a world already half dead. Why they stay is a mystery.”

“They have no way to navigate the ocean,” Alan offered.

“Where there is a will, there is a way,” Calvin said cryptically.

I watched the children watching us. They didn’t shuffle in their seats as the young of Wánměi so often did. They didn’t look elsewhere when their attention span short circuited. They watched with an intensity that puzzled me. Not scared, but wary. Not aggressive, but tightly coiled.

They’d attack given half the chance. But they understood the threat of the Cardinals’ laser guns. Still, their interest piqued my own. They were waiting for something.

Despite their physical injuries, they were intelligent of mind. Maybe Trent was right. Maybe they understood more than body language. But what tongue did they speak?

I leaned over slightly and placed a hand to the centre of Trent’s chest. He automatically lifted his free hand to cup mine, holding it against his heart without conscious thought. Yes, actions spoke louder than words. But I needed the children to speak.

“Trent,” I said. Then repeated it. I pulled my hand from his grip, feeling the cool air as soon as his heat left me, and laid it flat against my own chest. “Lena,” I added. Repeating my name again for good measure.

Then I slowly, so very slowly, shuffled forward, reaching out my hand to the closest child. He had dark hair, not wispy in the slightest, but his upper lip was split, leaving his mouth constantly open. It looked painful, but he didn’t show it, if it was. He watched, fascinated, as my hand came closer. Not moving. Barely breathing.

And then my fingers reached his chest.

His clothes were rough, hard where they should have been soft. Stiff with dirt and a life lived underground and inside a broken city. I could feel his ribs through thin skin. His eyes met mine, big pools of dark brown liquid. This precious little child didn’t move a muscle. He let me touch him, almost as though in awe.

I raised my eyebrows in question, but when he didn’t say a word, I pulled my hand back. Watching as his body followed before he could stop it. I touched Trent again. Faster this time. Desperate to have that contact with the child again.

“Trent,” I said. Then tapped my chest. “Lena,” I added, returning my hand, forcing myself to slow down, back to the child’s chest.

I tapped it twice, leaning down, meeting his eyes, brows arched in question.

“You?” I whispered.

He whispered something back. It could have been a mimic of what I’d just said. ‘You’ but different, encumbered by his damaged upper lip. I wondered if he could talk at all. Then wondered if I’d chosen the wrong child to try to reach.

But this one had called to me. So small. So filthy. So… fragile. So broken needlessly.

“You?” I said again, slightly louder, more probing.

“Nirbhay,” he blurted, and then a torrent of words followed. The name was one I recognised. D’awan. But the words that flowed afterwards were foreign.