Paired Pursuit (6 page)

“If he's alive.”
Gareth ran a hand through his closely-cropped hair.

“There's bound to be clues somewhere.”

“Hope so. This City is going to fall real soon. Ah hell, there's the driver. We're going to have to give her a rundown of what happened while she was pissing around fixing things. She could at least have let us know what was up.”

Finn sent him a mental snort, and both men walked down the carriage to where the driver was waiting. Fortunately, the woman apologized right off the bat for keeping them in the dark about the mechanical problem, explaining that she'd gotten straight to work fixing it. By the time she'd had a chance to take a break, she was afraid that calling back to the carriages would alert Barks to their presence.

“I hadn't reckoned on having
Twins
aboard,” she said. “When I checked the passenger list and saw the government stamp, I was damn happy, I'll tell you that.”

Her evident admiration for them was a nice change from the open suspicion they often encountered. Gareth forgave her, even though he politely shook off the hand she placed on his arm. He hadn't wanted to talk to her this long in the first place. Debriefing was his least favorite part of any mission. What was done was done—water under the bridge. And he wanted to get back to Mari.

“I guess you're here for a few days, then,” he said, trying to disengage. The woman was flirting too overtly for him, and she wasn't his type. Nor Finn's.

“Three, at least. There's another train coming in from Portland on Saturday, so I won't have to be here long.” She grimaced. “Not exactly the best City to spend a layover, but at least we aren't Bark dinner.”

“Things can almost always be worse,” Gareth said, backing away another step.

“They're worse
now
,”
Finn snapped at him.
“Mari's gone.”

Gareth spun. It was true. Her luggage was missing too. He dove for his own stuff, strapping his UV-saber to his wrist, and hightailed it out of the carriage into the station. Pausing, he took stock of the situation, looking around for any traces of Mari. Where could she have disappeared to in so short a time?

The damn place was utterly seething, with people demanding refunds for their tickets, workers unloading cargo, mechanics hustling toward the busted locomotive with bags of tools. Everything had a kind of down-and-out quality to it, even more so than most Cities. Peeling paint adorned the walls, and a layer of dust and grime covered everything. Most people hurried about their tasks with a single-minded grimness, as if immersing themselves in work would save them from having to think about anything in the long term.

In unspoken accord, the Twins hurried toward the main station exit, looking left and right on what passed as the City's Main Street. Yet there was no sign of Mari. Panic welled up, slamming into his gut like a freight train. Why had she left them? Where had she gone?

Gareth cursed.
“Let's split up. I'll take left.”

“Fine. Wait. She told us where she was going—the Wanderer.”

“All right. We'll go there now.”
Such was his panic that he'd forgotten that small detail. He was grateful Finn had remembered. They'd find her there, surely—and hopefully before one of its debauched patrons bothered her. Shouldering his bag, Gareth swung into step with his brother, heading toward the seedier part of Scar City.

Chapter Three

Mari set her heavy suitcase down at the side of the road, panting with exertion—and struggling not to cry. In their minds, the Twins probably felt fine. They'd offered her breakfast, perhaps as a kind of repayment for sex. But the last straw was them walking away as soon as the train stopped.

Mari took a deep breath. Maybe good-byes were overrated, but did they have to flirt with another woman so soon? And directly in front of her?

She huffed out, breathed in, working on breath control as a panic attack threatened. She had no idea where the Wanderer Inn was located. All she wanted to do was hide, hide and cry while her out-of-control adrenaline pumped through her blood. Her heart beat at a million miles an hour, and the hostile nature of the street she stood upon only made things worse.

Focus. She had to focus. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out the sheaf of scrap paper her father had kept beside his bed. Most of the white space was covered in his scratchy handwriting. She'd meant to study it on the train, see if it contained any clues she could spin into practical advice.

Diagrams filled the first three pages, half-sketched plans of some kind or other. Mari swallowed. Dad had always been inventing things. She flipped past the drawings, all the way to the last few pieces of paper, where his handwriting had taken a marked turn for the worse.

Scavengers, $150 offer. Valuable. No-show. Winter St. Other half???

Mari shook her head. There was nothing written here that she was unfamiliar with. Her father had slurred these words over and over, holding her hands as if he were desperately trying to communicate something. Perhaps the cancer had ravaged his memory.

In any case, it wouldn't hurt to walk down Winter Street, would it? She pulled out her crude map of the City, orienting herself as she went. The roads were still vaguely maintained, but there was none of the buzz she remembered from living here as a teenager. Here and there, buildings had been knocked down to create areas to grow crops or keep stock.

She hurried onward, turning a series of corners. Thankfully, there were still green street signs at each corner, battered but readable. When she came to Winter Street, however, she hesitated. There weren't many houses here, and most of them were dilapidated. Halfway down, a small knot of people squatted on upturned crates, passing around a plastic bag.

Mari winced and looked down at her map, only to look up again as someone emerged from the porch of a nearby house. The man was about her age, scruffy but clear-eyed.

“Want to buy something?” he asked.

Mari shook her head, and the man shrugged and sauntered away in the direction of the train station, a mostly empty burlap sack draped over his shoulder. She relaxed as she realized he was likely a scavenger, not a junkie, come to hawk his wares. So this was a kind of market area? That made sense. She continued onward, looking closely at the house the scavenger had visited.

With a start, she realized there was an old lady sitting on its porch. She wore baggy trousers and a long shirt. Her gray hair was cropped close to her head, and a Rottweiler sat at her feet.

“You lookin' for a place to stay?” she asked.

“No, I'm trying to find the Wanderer Inn, but thank you.”

“Wanderer's pretty full these days,” the woman said. “Rates are high, since trains aren't coming through very often. I charge less than half of what they do, and I reckon my place is more comfortable and quiet.”

The
quiet
part appealed to her. All she wanted to do was sit somewhere quiet and recover herself.

“What do you charge?”

The old woman named a price that made her blink. “That's lower than I expected.”

“Take it or leave it, but you seem like a good sort. You remind me of my granddaughter Abigail. She left a year ago. Haven't heard from her since. They say no news is good news, but these days, I figure otherwise.”

“I'm sorry.” Mari bit her lip. “My father passed away recently.”

They looked at each other, briefly kindred souls. Then the old lady went back to business mode. “Interested?”

“I'll pay for one night and see if I like it.”

“Done.” She got to her feet. “I'll show you around. You'll be my sole lodger. I only take one at a time, and only women. I got a safe for your valuables since it ain't too nice around here anymore. Dog-eat-dog world, though I wish it was a Bark-eat-Bark world, then we wouldn't have near so much trouble.”

She snorted at her own joke while Mari followed her inside. The dog sniffed her politely, following its master. Inside, there wasn't much in the way of furniture, but the place was clean. A cherrywood table in the corner was completely covered in a jumble of eclectic items, from a bottle of laundry detergent to cutlery, candles and various pieces of hardware. All were neatly dusted, even the partially-disassembled laptop computer.

“You're welcome to make me an offer for any of that stuff,” the woman said when she saw Mari eyeing the table. “My daughter and granddaughter were scavengers. Used to bring me things to sell. I got a reputation as a middleman, so I still get scavengers dropping by now and again.”

So that explained the man she'd seen earlier. Maybe she should show this woman her father's notes, see if she recognized anything that came from an alien ship. But that would have to wait—she wanted to settle in first. Besides, she didn't want to come across as unhinged.

Hey, do you have anything here that might have belonged to an alien?
wasn't a very good introduction.

“I'm not sure I need anything, but thanks,” Mari said politely.

The woman let out a rusty-sounding laugh. “Tell you the truth, I haven't been able to shift some of that crap for years. Can't bear to get rid of any of the things my daughter found. It reminds me of her. So I let it sit there, and I call it
nouveau
art.”

Mari looked at the oversized watch on her wrist, fingered the locket around her neck that had once belonged to her mother. “I can understand that line of thinking.”

“My daughter went east with my granddaughter, Abigail. That was a year ago when the attacks here started to really get bad. Haven't seen either of them since. Come on through here.”

Mari's room was up a short flight of stairs. It boasted a double bed with a desk and chair near the window. There was even a small attached bathroom with a shower.

“Will this do you?” the old woman asked. “I'm Patrice, by the way.”

“Mari.” She dug in her purse for money, handed it over. The woman's hands shook a little as she carefully tucked the coins away, and Mari frowned as she realized how thin the woman was.

“Do you like turnips?” she asked.

* * * * *

Hours later, Mari rubbed her eyes, sitting up in bed. She hadn't meant to nap quite so long, but after last night's excitement, she had been exhausted. She and Patrice had eaten bread and boiled turnips for lunch, frugally storing the uneaten portion for later. The old woman had been a good listener, although Mari was careful not to confide everything to her.

Still, she'd come away with the distinct impression that Patrice was trustworthy. So, after taking a shower, she went downstairs in search of her, eventually finding the woman sitting on the porch in her rocking chair. A pistol was within reach, as was an old, battered paperback, but Patrice watched the streets.

“Used to be busier out there,” she said by way of greeting. “Lots of people have left over the past decade. Crime's gotten worse. So's the drugs. But there's still folks to watch, and it passes the time.”

“Will you be all right if I take a walk?”

Patrice frowned, her blue eyes sharpening. “A walk? At this time of evening? Girl, it'll be full dark in a few minutes, and the Barks will be attacking that wall.”

A little chill took her. “Is it in danger of falling?”

“Not tonight. Soon, though. They're relentless.”

Her father had formed a theory about that, she vaguely recalled. He'd discussed it with her mother, but Mari had been too young to understand what she was hearing. Then they had fled Scar City, and she'd all but forgotten about the theory for more than a decade. Flagstaff had been so safe by comparison.

The aliens wanted something in this City, and they wouldn't stop until they got it.

Her mother had argued that the Barks wanted meat, but her father pointed out that hunting wild animals was more efficient than trying to dig under a wall every night. Then Mari's mother had cried, asking why the aliens kept attacking, begging her father to make them stop. He hadn't replied, merely stormed off into the night to make his usual observations.

Within a week, however, they'd left. And, Mari admitted, found more peace in Flagstaff City than anywhere else they'd ever been. It was a shame her mother had died before truly realizing that.

“There. Look!” Patrice tugged her arm. “Those are Twins.”

Mari's eyes widened and she bent down, peeking from behind the rocking chair as Finn and Gareth passed. They looked…intent. Worried. They paused halfway down the street, conferring.

Probably just talking about her father's rumored device. It was best that they'd parted ways. Mari needed whatever her father had left behind.

On impulse, she decided to follow them. Maybe they would lead her in the right direction. She felt a stab of guilt for leaving them without a good-bye, but she'd wanted to spare herself the pain of being dumped.

Not that she had any lingering guilt over losing her virginity to them…

But sleeping with them again was painfully tempting.

“You look like you ain't never seen Twins in your life.”

“I hadn't until recently.” Mari kept her eyes on the men. “Well, I'll go for my walk now.”

“Be careful.” Patrice reached for her paperback. “Ain't exactly the friendliest of Cities after dark.”

The Glock was heavy against her waist, and Mari flashed the old woman a quick smile. “Thanks for the warning.”

She devoutly hoped that following the Twins wasn't a stupid move. The men were moving again, striding along as they animatedly discussed something. When they stopped in front of a large building to argue, Mari ducked behind a Dumpster and pretended to adjust her shoe. Then she had to hurry when both men strode off again. God, they could walk fast.

The men disappeared into the building, which seemed to be some sort of gaming hall, judging from the sounds within. Mari paused on the threshold, but a group of loud men on the street behind drove her inside. Despite the revolver at her side, she felt uneasy, both at the leers the men gave her and the seedy appearance of the interior.

Oh hell. This was the Wanderer Inn. She stared at the sign above the counter, reading it twice before it sank in. The place had changed from a friendly saloon to a raucous gaming hall.

“You want a drink?” A passing waitress gave her a frankly dubious look.

“I can order at the bar.” Mari had no intention of doing so. Not here.

She vaguely remembered the layout of the Wanderer. A former casino back in Reno's heyday, the slot machines had all disappeared from its floors. Pool tables and couches took up most of the large room. The bartender was serving up home-brewed beer in large glasses, flipping out the occasional shot of what was probably moonshine in small glasses.

Mari sidled along the wall, eyes widening as she caught sight of what was going on in the shadows. A man stood with his hands on a kneeling man's shoulders, eyes closed in pleasure as he thrust his naked cock forward. His partner's lips slid sensuously down his shaft, head bobbing rhythmically.

A few feet away, a couple was getting busy against the wall, oblivious to their audience. Several people watched the action from couches, nursing their drinks as they leaned against high, circular tables. Somewhere in the shadows, a woman hit orgasm and let out a loud shriek of pleasure.

Mari jumped as someone placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. She smelled stale body odor, accompanied by the stink of beer breath.

“You alone, li'l lady?”

“I'm otherwise engaged,” she replied coolly.

“Doesn't look like it.” The man kept his hand on her shoulder, looking her up and down. “You're like steak in front of a dog, walkin' in here. How do you expect me to resist?”

“I once owned a Labrador who loved prime rib. But he wouldn't take anything off my plate without my say-so.” She turned to glare in his face. “And if you behave worse than a dog, you might as well give yourself up to the Barks outside.”

Mari rested her fingers on the butt of the Glock, wrenching out of his grasp. Behind the man, she caught the waitress's smirk of approval, but she didn't wait around, striding quickly for the door. It had been a mistake to come in here at all.

She crossed the threshold, the sounds of a scuffle following her. Without pausing, she continued on through the streets, trying to visualize where she was. She only vaguely recognized this area, having rarely been allowed outside their tiny family dwelling after dark. But she could see the wall in the near distance, so she turned to head there, retracing her father's steps.

Footsteps pounded behind her. Her eyes widened—had the man come after her? She pulled the gun, whirling, and came face-to-face with—

“Finn?”

“Thank God we've found you.” He ignored the gun and crushed her to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head in such a comforting gesture that she briefly let herself relax against him, letting him tuck the gun back into its hidden holster.

Then she wriggled. “You were looking for me? Why? I intended to leave without you seeing me in there.”

“You nearly succeeded. Gareth's back there…
remonstrating
with that man. And
yes
we were looking for you,” he practically shouted. “We were worried sick! When we didn't find you at the Wanderer, we searched the entire City, even searched outside the walls.”