Authors: Kate Wrath
Eden (18 page)
A new day has come, full of sunshine. Finding Jonas doesn't
take long. He's on one of the lower terraces, surrounded by hangers-on.
There's a bustling around them this morning, an energy that speaks of tasks. I
shove my hands in my pockets and approach slowly, trying to catch his words. A
wiry-armed teen nods and rushes away.
Jonas catches sight of me, tosses me a smile, then touches
Holly on the arm, murmuring something. She nods, gestures, and about half the
group follows her off. The rest of them look lost for about two seconds as
Jonas steps away, but they huddle and take over whatever he has left them to.
Jonas eyes flick to my trailing of guards, then he looks me
over as he stops in front of me. "Doing OK?"
I manage a quick nod. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"I thought you could use the rest."
"Ah." I look off into the distance where a thick
row of buildings shoves into the sky from the other side of the street below
the terrace. A small child sits against pushed-back curtains in a broken
window, holds a paper bird out over the street, and lets go. The paper makes a
slow spiral to the ground several stories below. Down there in the street, a
shriek of delight followed by giggles.
Jonas laughs softly, his head turned to watch the little
spectacle. "How many times do you think they'll do it?"
I shrug. "Eventually they'll tire of running up and
down the stairs."
"Maybe."
I squint at him through the bright sunshine. "What's
going on?"
His eyebrows go up as he looks at me, his mouth opens, and
he hesitates. He's considering not telling me, but when I frown, his tongue
loosens.
"Preparing for a raid," he admits.
Now my eyebrows go up. I wasn't expecting that—not so
soon—but I guess Jonas was right when he said I wasn't very aware of what was
going on around me. I've been absorbed in so many things other than the things
I'm supposed to be absorbed in.
"It's alright," he says, stepping forward, taking
my arm and drawing me further away from the preparations. His voice has
lowered. "You have enough to think about right now."
But I shake my head. "I could use a distraction. When
are we going? Tonight?"
Jonas is the master of giving dark looks. "It would be
better for you to stay here. You're already a target. No sense in walking
right into their territory."
"Oh, I see." I regard him with my arms crossed
over my chest. "It's safer for you, since they'll just flat out kill
you."
A half-amused smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
"I didn't think you'd be interested, anyway."
I shrug, letting my arms drop. "Where exactly are you
going?"
"The Roads."
"Isn't that—"
"Deep in? Yes. They won't expect it."
"I want to see more of Miami."
We consider each other for a moment, then he nods.
"You'll stick with me, though."
I can't help but smile. "OK."
He nods. "OK, then. Come on." He ushers me by
the shoulder back to the group with the plans.
***
Crack after crack flicks by beneath us, measuring our
immense speed as we zoom down I-95. Around us, a swarm of motorcycles, keeping
pace, falling forward and sometimes back as potholes and chunks of concrete are
dodged. I hold tight to Jonas' waist, burying my face against his back to hide
from the wind. I wear sungoggles to protect my eyes, and leather to protect my
skin, which makes me feel more like myself, at least until I remember looking
at Jonas' face, also wearing sungoggles—Jason's repaired sungoggles. Then I
feel like too much, and nothing, and everything—an explosion expanding in every
direction. A gaping hole filling up a space with emptiness.
This is our raid. We're hitting hard, and we're hitting
fast. But we couldn't take this route without the help of our alliance. The
ancient freeway has been cleared of enemies, ally forces swooping in on
strategic points to distract those who would normally take pot shots at a group
of riders. With this help, we'll bypass some of the thickest parts of the No
Man's, where we would have to pass on foot, or pick our way slowly through
winding, debris-filled streets and watchful enemies.
Just past Overtown, we have to leave I-95 to skirt around
Riverside. Hasty ramps have been built and placed for us. We corner and pick
up speed, jumping the crumbling gap that leads us onward. Then we're on 12th
Avenue, deep in, now, but we're moving fast and no one expected us. It's a
straight shot to The Roads. We take it at full throttle, only slowing slightly
to swerve around debris or confuse a spatter of gunfire.
One of our riders goes down and the motorcycle tumbles end
over end behind us. A thread of a voice hits me from a motorcycle in front of
us. I can't make it out, though I know they're yelling. Then I see the
outstretched arm and I know the words for what they are—a tribute to the dead.
Thank you for your sacrifice
. My own mind whispers the repetition. No
one slows down.
We screech to a halt along the western border of The Roads.
Three men carry rocket launchers, running forward, slamming them into place on
the ground, chunks of dirt flying. Guard posts explode and crumble. Fast
after the rocket launchers is a wave with automatic weapons. The Roads' patrol
guards go down with sharp grunts, clutching chests, red fountains, grey
explosions, suddenly missing limbs. We move forward and forward, leapfrogging
our way deeper into The Roads. Our target is only two blocks into their
territory—a major storage facility that our sources tell us holds a great deal
of medical supplies and weapons. The building is practically one big vault,
and breaking into it would take much more force than what we've brought with
us. But we're not here to steal. We are destruction.
As our gunners volley back and forth with the guards on the
roof, our special team moves in, running to the building's base to place their
explosive charges. They've planned it out carefully, where to place each blast,
and if we get it right, the whole building will come down. We only have a
moment to do it all. Maybe a block over, I can hear another battle
raging—we've brought a full division of the RC with us to distract the
Sentries, but even so, it won't give us long.
Everything is going exactly according to plan. Jonas and I
are hunkered down with the front line, trying to keep the remaining guards
distracted with gunfire. Our explosives team is already beyond the reach of
The Roads’ guards on the roof—under a ledge and too close to the base of the
building to be within their line of fire. They've separated to place their
charges, but the two that need to get to the other side of the building are
stuck, pinned down as fire comes toward them from the other side.
"Get them through!" Jonas shouts, and the front
line focuses its efforts on eliminating enemies from beyond the building. But
we can't see where the shots are coming from in the mess of buildings beyond.
We return fire sporadically, but we could just be wasting bullets. I stop
firing, huddling against a wall, and peek out, squinting, straining to see
where our enemies are located. Light reflects off the barrel of a rifle in a
third story window. I swing my own rifle around, take aim, pull the trigger.
The body tumbles forward and drops toward the pavement, leaving blood smears on
broken glass. I look away, not wanting to see the rest. Even as I do, there
are shouts from the back lines—warnings.
The lines behind us are a frenzy of chaos as they turn on
their rear, where our enemies have come up on our flank. My hand grips Jonas'
arm as I take stock of the situation. "What the—"
His eyes scan through the mess methodically. He frowns.
"Probably one of their allies. One of the tribes we had to pass.
Overtown most likely. Or Allapattah. They're unprepared, though.
Look." He nods toward a group of gun-toting goons. Half of them are
armed only with pistols, and they're already backing down against our return
fire. But some of them have more substantial weapons, and prepared or not,
they're a splinter in our butt. With our forces turning to deal with them, our
forward progress has halted. My eyes move back to the demolitionists, still
forced to shelter with their packs. The clash of metal and buzz of motors,
whoops and hollers of adrenaline junky robotic cowboys is growing closer. We
don't have time to get everything into place. We need to retreat.
Jonas must see all this at the same time as I do, because he
motions to our explosive-toting infiltrators. "Blow it now! Right
now!"
The ones out of place share an uncertain, alarmed glance
that lasts only a fraction of a second. Then they lay the charges—two of
them—right where they are, share hand signals with the other team as they set
the clocks, and run like hell for our lines. All of them are screaming at us
to retreat.
We struggle to our legs and run. We've managed about three
strides before the charges blow. The ground shakes, heat blasts into our backs
as we hit the ground, covering our heads. A cloud of smoke and dust and pieces
of crumbling building roll over us, sparks in the air, whoosh of
oxygen-stealing fumes. I'm alive, I'm not buried, and I'm able to climb to my
feet in the black fog. I turn this way and that, stumbling over an uneven
ground. "Jonas!" I shout, but I can barely hear my own voice. I
choke on the air so I pull my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth, squinting
into the blackness, trying to find my friend. There are people moving every
which way near me, but they're only dark blurs fading to nothing. I search the
ground around me, and there seems to be no body, so I'm fairly confident that
he's alive, somewhere. I pace toward the nearest mass of movement. A bullet
whizzes through the smoke, leaving a little trail of pulled black air. I'm
muttering curses under my breath when a hand closes around my arm. I whirl,
already saying "Thank god, I—" My words drop off as I blink the
smoke out of my eyes, trying to focus. "Apollon?"
"Hey," he says, with his usual joviality. His
voice seems small and far away, though I'm pretty sure my hearing is starting
to come back. "We need to get the hell out of here."
"No shit. I lost Jonas though." I scan the foul
cloak of clouds, trying to get my bearings, but I have no idea which way is
which. Fighting seems to be everywhere. Likely The Roads has reinforcements
in the mix by now. Everything has degraded to chaos. We definitely need out,
and now.
"He'll be fine," Apollon says, drawing me away.
"Come on."
I follow him a few steps until a lithe, black-swathed body
materializes out of the smog. Celine's decked out in leather, with a helmet
tucked under one arm and a sawed-off shotgun slung casually against her
opposite shoulder. Her caramel hair is a wavy mess, tumbling over her
shoulders like a waterfall. She's wearing that lackadaisical half-smile.
"Which way is which?" I ask as we form up. I'm
still choking and coughing. So is Apollon. But Celine seems mostly fine.
She nods to her right. "The motorcycles are that way."
Unfortunately, most of the gun blasts seem to be coming from
that direction, too. Some of them may be from our own people, but we can't
walk into it. With visibility what it is, we'll end up dead in two seconds.
"And that way," Celine continues, gesturing over
her shoulder, "are the Sentries."
"OK," I say. "Which means that way is deep
into The Roads."
She nods.
"Which leaves us with
that
way." I wave my
hand vaguely behind me. We don't have any choice in the matter. "But
it's the wrong direction. We'll have to circle back around once we get
somewhere a little more clear. Maybe up along the other side, even. If we
find the other end of I-95 we can swing back up alongside Brickell." It's
probably the path of least resistance, because The Roads will be concentrating
on
this
border.
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. "No."
She turns sideways and points. "We're going that way."
"The Sentries?" Apollon and I say at once. I
think we'd both rather walk into the entropy of bullets.
It doesn't make sense. Not only are we headed straight for
the Sentries, but we'll end up crossing right into Riverside before we can get
back to 12th. They're part of the southern alliance—the one we have a
ceasefire with. But the way we avoid them... "You mean to rejoin the
others further up on 12th," I say. "But it's risky, heading right
into Riverside like that. Cease fire or not, I know things with that alliance
are touchy."
Celine hands Apollon her helmet, then favors me with a smile
as her hand falls on my shoulder, guiding me toward the Sentries. "You've
been studying your book."
I nod.
"Look," she says, becoming serious, "we're
not going to rejoin the others now. Anyone who makes it out will be long
gone. It's everyone for themselves, now. But if we cut into Riverside a bit,
there's a place where we can cross into the No Man's further up. We can pick
our way home from there."
I shake my head, considering. "Wouldn't it be better
to go around? I know it's a lot longer, but no one will be looking for us that
way. We won't have to go right into any territory. We won't have to get
through a bunch of Sentries. And you can't tell me that Riverside isn't
focused on that border right now, what with all the noise we're making over
here."
Apollon nods gravely. "They'll be watching it. Maybe
we should circle around."
"No." Celine is not arguing. She ushers me
toward the Sentries. Apollon tags along behind us, but his footsteps are as
uncertain as my gut.
Somewhere to the side a motorcycle revs, then another. The
noise of the motor spins off into the distance. Every man for themselves.