Captives (13 page)

Thom didn't place the same faith in the Place as Kolton, but it was clear that its management had a vision. That was more than could be said for most anywhere else. In his wanderings, he'd run into two general categories of societies: decentralized peaceful types who seemed like they'd be overrun by the first serious threat that came their way, and the aggressive, violence-prone gangs that would likely do the overrunning. These two options weren't the makings of a promising future.

Yet in San Pedro, they appeared to be walking a middle path. That, above all else, was what drew him to it, motivated him to become a wheel of the fledgling machine. Maybe he could do more than stand before crowds reciting histories. Maybe he could become a part of that history.

The day after receiving the bow, he convinced Kolton that he was fully proficient in its use. They switched back to swords. Mostly the bamboo training wheels, but Kolton began to integrate the real versions as well, running him through slo-mo, modular combinations of moves Thom could deploy in response to the right triggers.

"Tomorrow I leave on a long patrol," Kolton told him several days later. "I'll be gone until Monday morning."

Thom wiped dust from his blade. "Where are you going?"

"Up the coast. Malibu."

"Looking to bring home a Bentley?"

The word appeared to mean nothing to him. "To see what is there. Animals have honor; if the coyotes come to your hills, they will warn you with their yips. But people? They'll slink through the shadows and sneak to your bed while you sleep."

Thom gazed north, as if he might see through the green hills to the distant shores of Malibu. "I used to know this whole city like it was my back yard. But it's a forest, isn't it? It changes every season."

"And that is why we must watch it. Once I'm back, I think it's time you start coming with me." Kolton smiled mockingly. "If you survive your watch on the market."

The next day, Thom carried out his morning practice solo, bringing his bamboo sword to bear against the corn stalk dummy they'd built behind the shack. The spring rains arrived, drenching the hills and driving all but the most determined merchants out of the market and into the tavern. Thom watched the road from the shelter of a sheet of tin hung between two trees. Three days later, the clouds blew away, leaving the land damp and cool, and the market resumed its lively routine.

Monday morning, Thom wandered down from his shack to draw water from the fountain and get his morning meal of cornbread and fish. Kolton wasn't yet back. Thom went to his duties at the Dunemarket, patrolling up and down the maze of blankets and stalls. At his afternoon break, he jogged back to the Seat. Kolton still hadn't reported in. He found Mauser at the stables—a cul-de-sac where the three-car garages had been stuffed with pens and straw, the large yards opened to grazing—and waited his turn to inform the sheriff that Kolton was missing.

"I don't think a few hours counts as 'missing,'" Mauser said, striding away from the stables and their smell of wet hay and dung. "He went all the way to Malibu, for God's sake. He probably got delayed taking a nap in all of Barbra Streisand's beds."

"Are you kidding me?" Thom said. "His programming doesn't allow for lateness. He's a model warrior. Ned Flanders with a sword."

Mauser laughed, then grew thoughtful. "We're talking about a forty mile trip each way. Through suspicious territory. He could have been delayed by a hundred different things."

"I would like permission to search."

"Nuh-uh. You've already got a job, mister."

"Guarding the market? From what, the crows? I'd accomplish more trying to reverse the canal with a rake."

"He's a big boy, you know. And I don't know if you've noticed, but this city is fucking enormous." Mauser sighed. "If he's not back by tomorrow morning, I'll grant you leave for this fool's errand. But if you get yourself lost, don't expect anyone to come for
you
."

Morning came. Kolton didn't. Thom got his sword, his bow, and his pack, then checked in with Harriet, Mauser's assistant who oversaw the scouts' schedules. She informed Thom that Kolton had been instructed to follow the coast all the way to his destination, then to take the highway on his path back. With no idea where Kolton might have gotten delayed, Thom decided to follow the same route.

He followed the road around the peninsula. The country club was vacant, untouched since the raid. The waves were high and white-capped, still frothy after the storms that had closed down the market. By noon, Thom reached the lighthouse and moved into its shadow to rest and eat. A man called down to him and he launched to his feet, spilling cornbread as he scrambled for his bow. It was one of Raina's scouts, keeping watch on the sea. He said Kolton had checked in five days ago.

Thom thanked him and moved on. The road hugged the curving coast, taking him between banks of proud mansions. He gazed at their windows for signs of life, but they were as empty as ever.

He descended to the wide beach fronting Redondo. The windows of the condos glared with reflected sunlight, opaque, spooking him. He found the remains of a cook fire outside one of the beach stations. It had been soaked by the rains, but he doubted it had been there more than a day or two before the storms.

The bike path led him to the pier, built thickly with restaurants and shops. Seals barked from the shore. He made a complete loop through the pier and continued on. With the sun nearing the sea, and no desire to miss anything once the light weakened, he set up camp on the patio of a derelict sports bar.

The dawn showed him nothing new. Beyond the marina, the beach resumed, the condos replaced by the homes of dead millionaires. The morning was cold, the air thick with the smell of salt.

He soon reached the Manhattan pier. Through everything, Pill had stayed there, though his face had weathered and tanned over the years. He greeted Thom warmly. Thom told him he was searching for a friend.

"I've seen a few people," Pill said, buttoning his flannel against the morning wind. "What's he look like?"

"Young. Eighteen, twenty at the most. Lanky. Long and blond on top, shaved on the sides."

Pill's mouth twitched. "I saw him. Twice. Wish I hadn't."

"What do you mean?"

"God, I'm sorry, man." Pill grimaced and rubbed his face. He went inside for a rifle, then led Thom up the sand to the unmarked spot where he'd buried the body.

9

Hunched behind a mound of sagebrush, Walt lowered the binoculars. "Correction. I
had
a bike."

"I've still got legs," Carrie whispered. "Let's use them."

"Yeah, but that route suddenly looks a lot less appealing. Something to do with the armed guards strung across it."

"So we go overland. Connect with the road later."

"There's nothing over there but mountains and dust. If they search for us, we can't hide. We'll have to start doing somersaults and hope they mistake us for tumbleweeds."

She stared at the truck, then glanced downhill. "There are farms a few miles below the reservoir. Towns beyond that."

"That's what I'm thinking. We can travel by night and hide by day. We'll be home in no time."

She nodded vaguely. "If you haven't done the dishes, I'll bring you right back here."

He snorted. In preparation for his break-in, he'd located a seam in the chain link surrounding the installations. He returned there now, staying low, keeping one eye on the men at the truck. At the fence, he held up the chain while Carrie crawled under. On the other side, she stood and held it for him. Open hillside waited under the weak moonlight. Walt hunched forward, laser in hand. The prison and the truck shrank behind them. To their left, the reservoir reflected a thousand silver stars. It was too dark for a good look at the ground ahead and Walt kept his pace to an unhurried walk. There was no way he could risk a light and the last thing he wanted to do was trip and sprain an ankle. All they had to do was be careful and patient. Walking could feel intolerably slow, but as long as you never quit moving, it was good enough to get you anywhere.

Within twenty minutes, they were level with the reservoir, separated from it by a mile of horizontal distance. The prison remained dark and silent above them. The heights were unpleasantly cold, but on the trip in with Dim, he'd picked up a longjohn-style top to wear beneath his t-shirt. Between that and the walk, he stayed warm enough.

"Seriously though, you're okay?" he murmured once they'd dropped below the reservoir.

"Have you heard me complain?" Carrie said.

"You look good. But you've got this cat-like thing where you'd rather pretend everything's fine than display any weakness."

"I'll tell you if I need to find a porch to die under."

"Then they didn't hurt you?"

She glanced at him, then returned her gaze to the path ahead. "What way do you mean?"

"
Any
way," he said. "No matter how small. I want to hear about it if they scraped your calluses too hard during your pedicure."

"So you can come back and murder them? Or so you can stew over something you can't change?" Carrie shook her head. "I'm fine. In all ways. Whatever that place is, it's weird."

"What's weird about enslaving your fellow man?"

"That's just it. They didn't pretend it was anything but what it was—that I was now a piece of property—but they didn't try to hurt me. Didn't even raise their
voice
."

"They're middlemen," Walt said. "They probably don't want to damage the merchandise."

Her flimsy sandals rasped through the dirt. "It's more than that. The same day they brought me in, a woman came to see me. She had eyes like a big cat—you know the way they look at you and you know they don't fear you in the slightest? That you're nothing more than prey?"

"I saw a few jaguars in the Yucatan. And was very glad they weren't any bigger."

"That's this woman. She even moved like one. Loose, but ready to explode. But you know what she said to me?"

"'Don't you just hate rhetorical questions?'" Walt tried.

"'I'm sorry.' That's what she said." Carrie laughed too loudly, glancing at the reservoir. "She said she was sorry. But that if I did everything I was told, I wouldn't be hurt. She promised."

"Did she explain why she wasn't sorry enough to
not
kidnap you?"

"That's all she said. I didn't think it would be smart to pry at the wound."

"Weird. Was her name Liss?"

Carrie looked his way, expression darkening. "How do you know that?" She gestured a semi-circle over her belly. "Don't tell me she was the one who claimed you'd—"

He shook his head. "Different person. To find you, I used a guide named Dim. He's a local tom. Have you ever heard of those?"

"Sure, they're the… guys. The what-do-you-call-'em. Traveling poets."

"Right. This guy operates out of Salinas. On the way, he told me about Abyss." He stepped around an outcrop of rock. "Sorry it took me so long to get here. Before he'd help me, he made me steal back Willie Nelson's guitar."

Carrie was silent for three full seconds. "Willie Nelson's guitar? Were you planning to go on, or am I going to have to beat the story out of you?"

The reservoir and the road were falling behind them. Below them, lightless farmhouses waited in the darkness. He explained his last few days, starting with spotting the van as it carried her away, then Sirita pointing him toward Dim, then the detour to San Jose for the guitar.

"Is that a real story?" she said once he was done.

"Unfortunately."

"Are you a real
person
? You zip-lined to another building for a
guitar
? Why on earth would you do that?"

"You," he said.

"That's not fair," she said. "Next time, promise me you'll torture the answer out of them instead."

"For you? Anything."

They crunched through the wind-scoured dirt. "Do we have a plan here?"

"I thought we would run," he said. "And then try running some more."

"Exhaust all your plans breaking in?"

"I don't think I can top hiding in the women's bathroom. Years of
GoldenEye
finally paid off." He drew his arms to his chest. "My big idea is to get as far as we can before dawn or we're ready to drop dead, whichever comes first. If we can make it to first light, we should try to find some bikes before collapsing."

She shook her head. "We can't move by light. They told us there was no point trying to escape—that the farmers would turn us in before Abyss had the chance to ask them."

"Are they that afraid of them?"

"When Abyss can shut off their water at any time? You bet they are."

"Okay. Guess we'll have to search on the move."

Ahead, the scrubland ceased, replaced by orderly rows of trellised vines. Most were dead, the brown stems gnarled around their wire guides, but a few bore leaves, hanging on after all this time. Grapes, he thought. As they entered a lane between two of the rows, he was only mildly disappointed to find no fruit. Carrie seemed to have been well-fed, at least. And he'd had the good sense to rob Dim before sending him off. He glanced uphill toward the reservoir. The only light came from the stars and the chunk of moon that was already three-quarters of the way toward the horizon. He muttered to himself. There was hardly enough light to travel by as it was.

Another mile on, and the grapes were replaced by high bushes. Most were still alive. A few sported small green berries, obviously unripe.

"Suppose we should—?" he started.

"Shh." Carrie whisked her hand through the air in a cutting motion, then pointed ahead and to the right.

Through a gap in the shrubs, candlelight flickered inside a window not far from where their present course would take them. He angled to the left, bypassing the farm by hundreds of yards. Once they were well beyond it, he took up their original course to intercept the highway that ran the entire length of the valley.

Soon, the air wasn't quite as brisk as it had been in the heights. The descent, no doubt, but he feared morning was coming on. It had been at least three in the morning when he'd surprised her in the bathroom and something like an hour and a half had passed since then. With no one keeping track of daylight savings time anymore, the sun would be up by six o'clock. Something like that. That gave them one to two hours before dawn. After that, every minute they spent in the open would risk them being reported to Abyss.