Eden (13 page)

The thing is, it's an alligator.  On a wall.  There's
nothing else interesting, nowhere to go except into the tunnels, and nothing to
even poke at.

I look down the tunnel.  "Maybe it's an encouragement. 
To tell us we're in the right place, and we should go on."

Apollon squints down the tunnel.  "Or a warning to say
that if you go down this tunnel you will be eaten by alligators."

I manage a small laugh, rising to my feet and taking a step
toward him.  "What am I supposed to do?"

Apollon is quiet for a long moment.  Finally, he shines the
light at me.  "It's a scavenger hunt."

"What?"  I shield my face with an outstretched
hand, ducking behind its shadow.

"It's another clue," he says.  "Think about
it."

I'm thinking, but I'm missing whatever he sees.

"The first clue she gave you was in the back of her
journal, right?"

I nod.

"And that triggered your weird dreams about
alligators.  And helped you to remember the way to this place."

"Yeah..." I say.  "So you think this is
another clue."

He nods, like he's certain.  "Lily was learning all
that stuff about brain training for the whole Sentry thing.  She used it to
train your brain to recall certain information when presented with the right
visual cues."

"OK...  But seriously, a scavenger hunt?  She couldn't
have made it easy?  She couldn't have just made me remember what she wanted me
to know, instead of sending me into the sewers?"

Apollon's laugh echoes down the tunnel, bouncing from wall
to wall.  "We are talking about you, you noggin."  He tousles my hair
affectionately before turning back and heading the way we came.

I hurry after him.  "So... why didn't she just put the
book here?  Why another clue?"

His back is to me, but I know he's wearing his speculative
face.  Finally, he says, "Because she didn't want anyone else to find
it."

"You think a lot of people come here?"

He shrugs.  "I think she wanted to make it
difficult."

"For someone else, or for me?"

He shrugs as he walks.  "Maybe she wanted to make you
earn it."

"Sometimes I think Lily was a real bitch, you
know."

Apollon laughs, throwing his head back as he walks.  We make
it to our entry point, and he looks up at the dog before squatting down and
linking his hands into a step for me.

I consider him.  "You're not going to throw me this
time, are you?"

"I could leave you down here."

I roll my eyes and step into his hands.  It doesn't get me
high enough to be able to reach the portal.  I'm still stretching toward it
when he tosses me.

I shriek and grab for the edge, swinging.  Below me, Apollon
is really laughing.

I'm too busy grunting and trying to pull myself up, at
first.  Then I'm too busy scrambling up the edge, cursing, and simultaneously
trying to hide my face from the dog's overly-friendly tongue.  When I'm finally
on solid ground, I spin around on my knees and lean over the hole. 
"Smartass."  But I reach down to grab his hand.

Apollon starts to pull himself up, and I pitch forward. 
Lucky for me, the hole we dropped through is not that big, so throwing out my
other arm and legs, playing starfish, keeps me from falling back in.  Apollon
ignores my cursing, and works on climbing up.  God, he's heavy, and every inch
of it bone and muscle.  For a minute, I think he's going to pull my arm out its
socket.  The pain brings back memories of an icy lake, fishing for my friend
below the surface.  Absolute panic.

Apollon grabs hold of the edge, effectively shoving me out
of the way to climb up.  I don't care.  I get out of the way and turn back to
him as he wiggles onto solid ground.

"You know," he muses, brushing himself off,
"Jonas and I were just trying to save you when we threw you onto that
roof."

When he turns to me, I'm sitting there grinning.  "I
know."

He cocks his head, narrowing his eyes at me.

I climb up and dust off my bottom.  "We've been through
a lot together," I say, looping my arm into his.

"Hell yes," he agrees as we wander down the alley.

We're about five paces from the end when the dog starts
growling.

Chapter 12: What Dogs Are
Not Good For

Synchronized, we draw our guns, aiming them at the alley
opening in front of us.  The dog plants itself between us, leaning down on his
front paws, bearing his teeth.  I only risk a quick peek, but he looks like one
vicious mutt.

Silence.

Apollon and I glance at each other.  The silence stretches
on.

Something leaps into the alley opening in front of
us—something vaguely human-shaped, and cackling.

"Back the fuck off," Apollon warns, cocking the
hammer of his pistol.

The dog snarls.

The person—whatever he is, keeps laughing. 
Unsettling
. 
That's the best word for it.  I chamber a round, too, and squint at the guy
through the darkness.  He's an upset silhouette, with sticks, or poles, or
weapons, sticking out at odd angles from his back.  His hair is a wild bush
that encompasses most of his face.  The rest is smeared with dirt—or maybe he's
that dark.  His legs are bare and his garments are a mishmash of patchwork rags
befitting a caveman.  There's a wildness in his eyes that is truly frightening,
and if he's at all concerned about our guns, he certainly doesn't give it
away.  He takes a step toward us, pulling a stick from whatever arrangement is
on his back.  The end is sharpened to a point.

"Nuts," Apollon says under his breath.  His glance
says it all—he doesn't want to have to kill a crazy person.  Neither do I.

"Run."

We run.

The dog stays behind, snarling and snapping, and Apollon and
I hightail it to the other end of the alley.

"Left," Apollon says.  We go left, and keep
running.  We take another turn, and we're a few blocks down when we hear the
clickety-click behind us.  The dog suddenly overtakes us and keeps running,
tongue trailing out to the side.  About half a block down, he slows to an easy
trot, then turns and lopes back to us.  I swear to god, the damned thing looks
happy as peaches.  There's a bit of blood on his chomps.

"Please tell me that's not
your
blood," I
pant, stopping and crouching down.  The dog comes to me, wagging his tail.

Apollon stands over us, looking the way we came.  I guess we
lost the weirdo easily enough.

I pat the dog and stand up, glancing back.  "Let's keep
moving, huh?"

"No shit," Apollon says, and we start walking at a
quick pace.

The dog seems to know that we're going back, because he
takes the lead.  We're going a different route this time, but it's much the
same, littered with assorted filth, stinky, and overgrown.  We pass a lump that
is a carcass—I know it by the overwhelming smell, but I refuse to look close
enough to identify the species.  Probably a good thing, because sometime later
Apollon stumbles on something that turns out to be a human skull.  Neither of
us comment, but we keep going with grim determination.  Either Apollon is as
creeped out as I am, or he's just determined to get back to the party, because
he sets a hefty pace.

We're probably halfway back, and the dog is a good deal
ahead of us, peeing on something, when Apollon stops in his tracks, cocking his
head.

"What?" I whisper.

"Do you hear that?"

I strain my ears and hear nothing, except my heartbeat
pounding in my head.  Uneasiness pours over me.

Apollon turns his face to the side.  "You don't hear
that?"

I shake my head, swallowing.  I'm about to suggest we get
moving when he turns off to the side.  He starts wandering down an alley,
looking half-dazed, like he's just seen a herd of topless women or something.

"Apollon," I hiss, going after him.

"You really don't hear that."  He stops, and
listens.

"You're freaking me out."  I grab his arm and
tug.  "Come on.  Let's get back."

He shakes me off—gently—and steps forward.

"Shit," I say, trailing after him.

The dog clicks into the alley behind us, stops, and whines. 
Now I'm really freaked out.

But Apollon is picking up his pace, and I'll be damned if
I'm going to lose him.  I curse under my breath and follow along.

Apollon leads us down the alley, and turns into another
one.  He's following something—whatever he hears that I don't.  Far behind us,
the dog yips and whines, but does not come along.

The second alley runs out suddenly—a dead end with buildings
rising on all sides except for the way we've come.  The small space in the
middle is as messed up as the rest of this place, and very much the same.  But
something catches my eye—bright blue paint on the far wall.  Concentric
circles.

Apollon stops walking without entering the space, and looks
up.

My eyes follow his.  Whatever he's looking for, I don't see
it.  But a host of windows stare down at us like gouged out eyes.  Anyone could
be up there, looking down on us.  Watching.

A chill runs through me.  "Apollon," I whisper. 
That's when I see it again, above, on one of the buildings.  Blue concentric
circles.  My eyes dart around.  There it is again, on a side wall.  And
opposite, again.  It's everywhere.  This place is marked.

My blonde friend is still staring upward, transfixed, mouth
open.

"This is a drop zone," I say through clenched
teeth.  "We should—"

A noise, above.  The Sentry falls out of the sky.  There was
nothing, and then it's there.  Its metal feet hit the pavement with a thunderous
crash, sending up a cloud of dust and debris.  It straightens from its landing
crouch, a human body lying across its arms.  The faceless face turns toward us.

"Run!" I scream, and I'm backpedaling, spinning
around, sprinting away.

Footsteps.  Motion.  Metal and pavement.  A noise, behind
me, that I know is Apollon.  I spin around to see the machine's hand jerk my
friend into the air like a rag doll, lifting him, preparing for the kill.

"No!"  I swing my gun toward it, but I'm too
slow.  The other hand—the killing hand—is slicing through the air.

WHOOMPH.

The Sentry, Apollon, go flying.  I'm knocked onto my back,
blinded by the pulse of light.  I scramble to my knees, blinking, trying to see
anything.  It's all spots and silence.  Darkness behind moving lights.  I blink
furiously, willing my vision to adjust.  I force myself to my feet, stumbling. 
Apollon is groaning on the pavement.  The Sentry, beside him, twitches and
tries to right itself.  It's injured, if machines can be injured.  Damaged, anyway. 
But not dead.  Not even close to dead.

I run to Apollon, who is trying to lift himself up.  He
grunts as I grab his arm and help him to his feet.  He's bleeding from his
head.  I throw his arm around my shoulder and we stumble toward safety.  The Sentry
thrashes wildly.  And beyond it, there's a whimper and a groan.

My eyes widen on the girl—she must have been injured when
the Sentry tossed her aside.  I want to help her, but there's no time.  We have
to leave.  Now.

Apollon and I flee slowly, limping.  We make it out of the
alley and to the dog.  Behind us, I can hear the sound of the machine finally
getting to its feet.  The whirring of motors.  It's coming after us, but it
sounds like its dragging a limb.  If we can just move a bit faster.

The dog barks at me, and runs to a bunch of weeds sprouting
from the sidewalk.  Weeds aren't going to hide us from a Sentry, but we’re too
slow, and its coming after us.  I decide to trust the dog.

"Thank god," I say when my hands find another
sewer opening in-between tufts of grass.  I pull the grate off.  "In you
go."

Apollon obeys, dropping into the darkness below.  I follow
quickly behind him.

This time, we don't risk a light, or try to go anywhere. 
Apollon's hurt, and moving will just make noise.  We stand below the opening
and hold our breath, gazing up at the dog's head silhouetted in front of the
full moon.  It sits there—my stupid dog—and the Sentry makes it to the open
street.  We can hear it, dragging its metal leg along, hobbling.  As the Sentry
goes by, the dog wags its tail.  Thump, thump, thump.  Maybe it’s a nervous
gesture, but really?

We stand in the dark for long moments after the Sentry has
gone by.  Nothing.  Just the dog, occasionally shifting above.

Finally, I let out a long sigh.  I wrap my arms around
Apollon and bury my face against his chest for the briefest of moments.  Then I
look up toward my dog.  "Stay here," I murmur.  "I'll be right
back."

"What are you doing?" Apollon asks quietly.  But
he lifts me, despite whatever wounds he has, toward the exit.

I grab the edge and swing myself up.  "I'll be right
back," I reiterate, and I make off into the darkness, leaving my friend
below.

The dog and I lope into the alley where it all started.  The
girl is still laying in the middle, groaning.  When she realizes our approach,
she tries to pick herself up, but she doesn't have the strength.

"It's OK," I murmur, kneeling at her side.  The
dog circles around us, sniffing, unsure.

She's hardly more than a child—a little thing with matted
hair, bruised face, torn fingernails.  I almost vomit, remembering waking up in
an alley.  The disorientation.  The fear.

"Come on," I say, hauling her up.  "We have
to get moving."

She's woozy, clinging to me, but she manages to place her
feet underneath herself.  I swing her arm around my shoulders and we stagger
down the alley together like a couple of drunks.

A moment later, we're back at the sewer entrance.  I ease
her to the ground, then lean over the hole.  "Apollon?"

There's no answer.

"Apollon?"  My voice is rising in fear. 
"Apollon, answer me, dammit."

Footsteps slosh toward me from below.  "Here." 
It's the most beautiful voice I could possibly hear at the moment.  "I was
just checking it out down here."

"Seriously?  You were checking out the sewer?"

He appears below the hole, with the flashlight. 
"Wondering if we could make it back to Wynwood through these
tunnels."

I purse my lips.  It's a good idea, if we had a better sense
of direction.  But the sewers aren't necessarily safe, either, and we're more
likely to get lost in them than to find our way home.

The dog starts whining again.

"We need to get out of here," I whisper. 
"I'm not getting lost down there."

He nods and reaches for my arm.  We haul him up as quickly
as possible.  At least he seems steadier on his feet, now, which is good,
because the girl isn't.

Apollon's eyes widen when he sees her.  "Holy hell,
Eden," he whispers.  But we get her to her feet, support her on both
sides, and start walking.  The dog leads the way.  I'm pretty sure we're circling
around, but by now I figure the mutt knows what he's doing.

We walk for moments in silence, the dog's claws clicking
ahead of us.  The shuffling of our feet.  Our breathing.  My heart pounding. 
Nothing else—just the desire to get home in one piece.  We don't even ask the
questions we're dying to ask.  We just keep moving.

The dog is the perfect guide, sniffing out the way, leading
us in wide paths around other people.  It must be able to smell another human
from blocks away.

I'm pretty sure we're getting close.  I think we're back on
our original path now, and only blocks from Wynwood.  In the distance, there is
the sound of music.

We come around a corner.  The dog walks on.  Apollon and I
freeze.  The Sentry—the one that the dog walks toward—unfreezes, scanning our
faces.  We drop the girl and scatter, but we're too close to make a run for
it.  And whatever happened back there is unlikely to happen again.

I draw my gun and fire, fire, fire, fire, fire.  Its face
shatters, but it doesn't slow.  It reaches toward me.  From the side, Apollon
lets loose a blast of rounds.  Its smashed head pivots toward him instead.

My turn.  I fire again.  But I know we can't do this
forever.  We're going to run out of rounds.  Three shots this time.  Just
enough to get its attention.  It turns to me.  Reaches for me.  I'm hoping for
a miracle, remembering the time the Sentry went for me and stopped. 
Remembering that our friends in Outpost Three have some small portion of
control over them.  Or did. 
Come on, Matt.

Apollon shoots it again, and it turns back to him.  We
really can't keep this up.

Revving.  Squealing.  A motorcycle screeches sideways to a
stop in front of the Sentry.  The rider aims a huge gun—more a cannon—at it,
and fires.  The Sentry stumbles back a step.  The motorcycle takes off.  The
Sentry runs after it.

A swarm of motorcycles move in on us, barely stopping before
they hit us.  I raise my pistol at one of them, but there are too many, really,
and they're all around us.

The rider staring down the barrel of my gun pulls off a
helmet and cracks a grin.  "Want a ride home, Lily?"

"Hell yes," I say, stowing my gun and climbing
on.  Apollon and the girl get on some of the other motorcycles, and we take
off, zooming back toward Wynwood at breakneck speed.

They take us all the way back to the street below the
terrace.  We disembark.  I turn back to the guy who gave me the ride.  I've
never seen him before.  "Who the hell are you?"

"RC, Division Fourteen, at your service, Lily." 
He gives me a little salute.

I don't really know what to say to that.  So I stare at
him.  Stupidly.  Finally, I manage, "RC?"

"Rodeo Clowns.  We take care of the Sentries," he
elaborates, obviously reading my confusion.

"Ah."  I scan his face.  He's grinning from ear to
ear.  An adrenaline junky.  I bet they all are.  "Well....  Good work. 
Thanks."  I turn to retrieve my friends, but it's not just them.  We've
gathered a crowd.