Outcasts (49 page)

She heard him moan again and gasp for breath, so she increased her grip on Ciddah’s sleeve until her fingers ached.

Ciddah turned the knob on the front door, and it swung it open. An enforcer on the porch turned to look, a gun in his hand. Ciddah pulled Shaylinn back as the enforcer walked through the open doorway. He looked up the stairs, then into the room where that horrible man was hurting Omar.

Ciddah towed Shaylinn behind the enforcer, out the door, and down the steps. Shaylinn looked back to see the enforcer step outside again and close the door, shaking his head. She stumbled over a rock and almost fell.

“Sorry,” Ciddah said. “I just really want to get out of here before they catch us.”

But the tears lacing Ciddah’s voice were obvious, and Shaylinn started to cry too. She didn’t want to leave Omar and Mason behind, but there was nothing they could do, not without help and not with a baby in their care.

She prayed that General Otley would let Mason and Omar live.

O
mar had been watching from where he lay on the floor. He could barely see the foyer. But he’d seen the blue suits walk to the door, open it, saw the enforcer come inside and look around, and then the blue suits had gone out and the front door had closed again. The girls had gotten out. They were safe. And Omar was done being a kicking bag.

He scrambled to his feet and picked up a lamp from a table by one of the sofas. He ripped off the shade and threw it at Otley. The enforcer general batted it away, but Omar took the lamp by the fixture and bashed the base over Otley’s head.

Otley growled. It started low and rose to a scream that turned his face a mottled shade of magenta. Omar grabbed a vase and threw that next, but it only bounced off Otley’s chest and landed near the chair Mason was sitting on. Omar didn’t know what had happened to his brother, but he didn’t look so good.

Otley went for his gun, so Omar dove behind a sofa. Great plan,
Owl
. Now what? He’d only needed to stall long enough for the girls to get away. Now that they had, he needed to get Mason and get out.

Footsteps over the floor had him momentarily paralyzed.

“He’s come ‘round the piano side,” Mason said, his voice slurred.

Omar crawled along the back of the couch and around the corner just as a bullet pierced the floorboards. He bit back a curse and crawled faster. Real bullets from an enforcer-issue dual-action pistol. Omar reached for his own gun, but it was gone. It had likely fallen out of his waistband when Otley had been using him as a kickball.

“Gunfire is our cue to leave, Mr. Task Director,” Kruse said.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Otley said.

Omar looked around for a place to hide or for anything he could use as a weapon. He was almost to the fireplace, which had a rack of tools beside it. The poker hanging by the little broom and shovel might work. He started crawling toward it.

“You’re going to shoot me, General Otley?” Lawten asked. “The bullets would match your gun, and you would be caught.”

“Maybe you got hit by a stray. I was shooting at one of your rebels when he attacked me. Unfortunate accident.”

“You’d still be liberated for my death,” the task director general said. “And you know what that means.”

“I will
never
be liberated.”

“It’s that or the Ancients,” Lawten said. “I didn’t think you liked them. And I doubt they’d accept you, treasonous as you are.”

“Enough of this. Hay-o, rat! How do you like this?” The gun fired again, a pop of exploding air. Mason screamed, and it tapered into a whimpering groan.

Oh no. Mason! Fire shot through Omar. He grabbed the poker and crawled to the end of the couch.

“You want me to shoot him again, rat? I kind of like making holes in him.”

Unbelievable maggot of a human being. Omar peeked at the scene. Mason was doubled over in the chair, pressing his hands to his thigh. Omar couldn’t see his face. Otley stood only a few paces ahead of Mason, gun still pointed at him, his back to Omar’s side of the room. To Otley’s right, Bender sat on the floor cradling Rewl’s body. And
Renzor and Kruse were standing across the room, near the exit to the foyer.

What now? Even if he managed to strike Otley, with Mason’s leg injured, they wouldn’t be able to move fast enough to get out of —

“Tell me something, Mr. Elias,” Lawten said. “Who shot first when the enforcers came to your village?”

“General Otley shot first,” Mason said in a tight voice. “I’ll never forget. He said, ‘One kill each. Sleep the rest of the village.’ ”

“Witnesses, general,” Lawten said. “And I bet he’s not the only one.”

Again anger coursed through Omar. That overgrown boar had killed his father on purpose? Why hadn’t Mason ever said so? Omar had to try to take him out.

He ran out from behind the couch and bashed the poker against the back of Otley’s head.

Otley roared and wheeled around, his gun still in his hand. Omar hammered the poker down over Otley’s forearm. Once. Twice. The gun clattered to the floor and Omar kicked it away.

Otley punched Omar, who dropped the poker and fell against a wing chair so hard he knocked it over. Omar hit the floor but flipped himself onto his stomach and scanned the rug for the gun. He saw it on the floor by Mason’s foot. Mason must have seen it too because he moved his foot and carefully pushed the gun under his chair.

Otley stalked over the carpet, looking for his gun while growling low under his breath. When he didn’t find it, he walked back toward Mason. As he passed, Omar grabbed his boot and yanked with all his strength.

Otley tripped and fell on his knees. Omar tried to slip past him to get to Mason, but Otley snagged the back of Omar’s shirt. Omar snapped back and landed on his rear in front of Otley, who wrapped his arm around Omar’s neck.

Omar’s breathing ended right there. He struggled against Otley’s hold, but there was simply no way he could get free. His head started to tingle. He rolled his eyes up to focus on Otley’s face and reached for the tusk in the man’s nose.

“Don’t you dare,” Otley said.

But he did. Omar took hold of the metal, winced, and yanked hard. A scream burst out of Otley that sounded like a boar stuck in barbed wire. Blood fell hot and wet on Omar’s neck, but Otley’s grip lessened enough that Omar slipped away and crawled to his brother’s chair. He reached between Mason’s legs for the gun, but his fingers knocked the weapon farther away. It slid to the other side of the chair.

Omar got up to go around for it, but an enforcer picked it up. Two other enforcers stood behind the first, guns in hand.
Maggots.
Omar put his hands up.

“I’m going to break your neck, rat,” Otley said, stepping toward him. Blood had painted a glossy red, three-inch stripe down his lips and beard and onto his uniform, and it looked like he had only one nostril. “And once your brother sees you die, then I’ll break his.”

A gunshot rang out. Loud and Old.

Omar jumped. Mason yelled. But neither brother fell.

Otley’s body tipped like a felled tree and smashed onto the floor, rattling the nearest lampshade. Behind him, Bender was pointing Jordan’s gun in the direction of where the enforcer general had been standing.

Omar stayed put, waiting to see what Bender would do next. But he dropped the gun and looked down at Rewl’s face.

“Thanks,” Omar said to Bender. He grabbed Mason’s sleeve and pulled it. “Let’s go, brother. Can you walk?”

Mason looked almost green and his eyes were closed. “Ciddah?”

Good grief. “Come on, Mason. I need you to stand up, brother.”

“Oh, no. You’re not going anywhere,” Renzor said.

Omar had almost forgotten the creep was there, now standing over by the walkway to the front door. “We saved you,” Omar said. “You’d be dead if it wasn’t for us.”

Renzor waved a few enforcers into the room. “He wouldn’t have killed me.”

“Yes, he would have!” Omar said. Renzor was a fool to think otherwise. “Wait. Is this because my brother stole your medic woman?”

“I’ll find her,” Renzor said, narrowing his eyes. “Ciddah belongs to me.”

Omar snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Really? Because I don’t know if you’ve seen them together but, uh … I just don’t think she likes you anymore.”

“Arrest them,” Renzor said.

“Down on the floor,” one of the enforcers said. “Hands on the back of your head.”

And there was nothing to do but comply.

A
fter two days in the Medical Center, Mason joined Omar in the RC. Two more nights there and Mason and Omar were transported to Champion Hall to appear before the Safe Lands Guild. That seemed a bit rushed to Mason.

Their arms were bound behind their backs from the moment they left their cell, and they remained bound as they were led down the wide hallway toward the auditorium.

Luella Flynn stood beside the auditorium doors, armed with her signature microphone and accompanied by her cameraman. “Mr. Elias,” she said, “do you know the whereabouts of Ciddah Rourke and Baby Promise?”

Mason smiled at her. “That’s one story you’ll never get.” He hoped. He prayed again that Shaylinn and Ciddah had made it to safety. They must have if Luella Flynn was looking for the story. And since Otley had killed Rewl, perhaps Bender wouldn’t be so eager to betray the location of Ruston’s basements. Bender had been in the RC too, but he’d been taken out yesterday and hadn’t come back.

The guards pushed Mason through the front doors. Every step hurt. His leg was still sore from being shot, though he knew he was
doing remarkably well, considering. If he had doctored his own gunshot wound, he would still be in bed.

The auditorium was icy cold, and the sweat on his body made him shiver. The place seemed small compared to how large it looked on the ColorCast. The paint job was hideous: purple floor, orange theater seats, and lime-green walls. Omar probably thought it was artistic, but Mason didn’t dare ask his brother anything with the guards and their stunners so close.

Mason did
not
want to be stunned again. Or shot, for that matter.

Omar didn’t look so good. The RC had given him a mercy vape, but he was suffering from a pretty bad withdrawal.

The auditorium seats were filled with people. Tables edged the front and side walls and sat up on platforms, like a dais. People in black robes with pointed hoods that hid their faces sat behind the tables. There were six people on the left, six on the right, four in front, and Lawten Renzor, right in the middle of the front table, the only person on the platform not wearing a robe.

“What’s with the creepy death hoods?” Omar whispered to Mason.

“Silence!” the guard on Omar’s right yelled.

The guards led Mason and Omar down the center aisle and up into a raised box with half walls. It reminded Mason of the witness boxes people sat in during trials of Old, though rather than facing the audience, this box faced the front — faced Lawten.

The guards instructed Mason and Omar to stand at the front of the box, then they stood behind them. On the dais, Lawten was talking with a hooded person, their heads cocked toward one another as if Lawten were having a conversation with Death.

Mason was glad they’d freed everyone, truly, but the only thing that really mattered to him right now was that Ciddah had chosen Mason over Lawten. She loved Mason and no one else. Knowing that gave him the strength to stand before Lawten.

An enforcer dressed in a formal black uniform walked to the front of the room and faced the audience. He stood directly under the place where Lawten sat. “All rise.”

The audience stood, but Lawten and the hooded people remained seated.

“The distinguished court of the Safe Lands Guild is now in session. Task Director General Lawten Renzor presiding. Please be seated.”

Rustles and murmurs filled the auditorium as the audience sat.

Lawten spoke next, his voice amplified through speakers. “Good morning, Ancients of the Safe Lands and ladies and gentlemen of the audience. Calling the case of the Safe Lands versus Mason Elias and Omar Strong. Be advised that national status has been revoked from these two men. The safety of this land and its people make it necessary for this Guild to invoke Ancient authority over such outsiders. We allowed them into our fair city on Fortune’s faith, and they have not measured up. Therefore, they will not be permitted legal counsel or a right to testify on their own behalf.”

Mason glanced at Omar, who raised his eyebrows. This shouldn’t be surprising, but it made Mason’s gut churn. They were going to be liberated, he was certain.

“Colonel Stimel,” Lawten said. “Are you ready with the facts?”

A man seated in the front row stood and approached the enforcer, who was still standing at the front of the room. Colonel Stimel was the enforcer Mason had seen the day he’d barged into Lawten’s office.

“Ready for the Safe Lands, Mr. Task Director General,” Colonel Stimel said.

“You may proceed,” Lawten said.

“Mr. Task Director General, Ancients of the Safe Lands, ladies and gentlemen of the audience, the defendants have been charged, and their charges read thusly: removal of SimTag identifiers from their bodies, theft of government property, trespassing, kidnapping of Safe Lands nationals, possession of illegal firearms, assault on Safe Lands officers, and war crimes against the Safe Lands. You, the Ancients, have read the evidence against them. I encourage you to see that they are guilty as charged.”

“Thank you, Colonel Stimel. Does the Guild have any questions at this time?” Lawten asked.

“Are the accused infected with the thin plague?” a scratchy voice asked from the right-hand side of the room. One of the hooded people.

“Yes.” Lawten looked down his nose at Mason, and his beady eyes seemed to rake Mason’s courage into shreds. “Both outsiders ignored my warnings and contracted the virus from Safe Lands nationals.”

“He’s lying!” Mason yelled. “I don’t have it!”

The enforcer behind him pulled his stunner and pressed it against Mason’s back. “None of that, now.”

“Another outburst and you are to stun him, officer,” Lawten told the enforcer.