City of Time (12 page)

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"Yes, let's go and buy a newspaper," Cati said sarcastically.

"Better than that." Rosie wriggled forward into the cab and began fiddling with buttons and dials on the dashboard. Suddenly there was a burst of music.

"A radio station?" Owen said.

"Course," Rosie said. "What, do you think we're backward round here or something?" She twirled the dial until they heard a man's voice.

"We'll be going to Metro news next," he
said,
"but first the weather for the Tri-land area. The City and boroughs remaining cold with scattered snow showers. Temperatures remaining low in the Sound also, with pack ice reported off the south shore. Heavy snow this morning in the north county"
--"That's us," Rosie whispered--
"which will give way to clear skies within the next hour."

"We're about five miles north of the Speedway," Rosie said.

"What's that?" Owen asked.

"You'll see." Rosie grinned. "Now, that was useful of me, wasn't it? So have you made up your minds about me being a guide?"

"Come here," Dr. Diamond said. His shrewd eyes met Rosie's. She held his gaze steadily, until the doctor reached out his right hand. "You're hired."

Rosie spat in her palm and, despite the fact that it must have caused her great pain, she shook the doctor's hand vigorously. "We'll discuss terms later," she said, and then she was suddenly all business. "We need to get

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going as soon as the snow stops. We don't want to get caught outside the City gates after dark. Once we're in there we'll play it by ear. You haven't got any papers, I suppose? Ah well, Mrs. Newell will know what to do with you."

Before Owen could ask who Mrs. Newell was, Dr. Diamond had held up his hand for quiet. They listened as the radio presenter spoke.

"Mr. Magnier, chairman and Chief Seller of the Bourse, said that the supply situation was critical. Raids were carried out in inner-city districts overnight by Terminus Special Police in operations aimed at detecting those hoarding heirlooms."

"The Specials," Rosie hissed disdainfully.

"Who are they?" Cati asked, feeling a bit like the country cousin in front of the big-city girl.

"The police," Rosie said. "Everybody hates them."

"Terminus spokesman Mr. Headley earlier today said that the hostage issue would have to be revisited. In a prepared statement he said that executions were being considered."

Owen looked at Rosie, whose face had gone very pale, but she turned away before anyone else could notice. The news ended with a traffic report that mentioned several multiple-vehicle pileups on the Speedway.

Owen and Cati exchanged nervous glances. Then the radio started playing opera, which made Owen feel queasy because it reminded him of Johnston.

But the forecast was accurate. Within an hour the

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snow had stopped. Dr. Diamond stood outside shading his eyes and looking into the forest.

"Are you ready to go?" Owen asked.

"I am," the doctor said, "but there is one problem."

"What's that?"

"I still can't see properly, Owen. I can drive slowly with you guiding me, but that won't work in City traffic."

"What are we going to do?" Owen said. "I can't drive. Neither can Cati."

"But I can," came a voice from above. Rosie was looking down at them from the tailgate, a broad grin on her face. Cati was standing behind her, looking dubious.

"All right, Rosie," Dr. Diamond decided. "You drive the next few miles and see how you get on." Then, catching Cati's expression, he added, "Right now we have no other choice."

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Chapter 14

Cati and Owen watched nervously as Rosie climbed in on the passenger side. She adjusted the pedals. Then she put a cushion on the driver's seat so that she could see over the top of the steering wheel. But she turned the key and put the engine into gear expertly. They moved off with a jolt that rattled Owen's teeth, but at least they were under way.

After a few miles it became clear that Rosie knew what she was doing. "Where'd you learn to drive?" Owen asked.

"Me and my brother, Les, used to drive the slop truck," Rosie explained proudly.

"What's the slop truck?" Cati said.

"Well, it's not the best job in the world." Rosie

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grinned. "People bring their slops to it. Any kind of old rubbish--veg and meat and sour milk and stale beer."

"Kind of like recycling?" Owen asked.

"Kind of," Rosie said cheerfully, "but there's other stuff too. We picked up at the hospital, and from the Terminus. You wouldn't believe some of the things that people--"

"What's that noise?" Dr. Diamond interrupted. Despite his limited vision, he didn't seem to be downhearted, although Owen was worried about him.

"What noise?" Cati said, then she heard it too--a noise that was somewhere between a hive of huge bees and buzz saws, with loud clangs and screeching noises thrown in.

The road had narrowed and angled downward. Then another road came into view, one that could not have been more different from the calm, snow-covered stretch on which they were traveling. Owen couldn't make out how many lanes of traffic there were, but it didn't matter anyway because nobody was using them.

There were all sorts of vehicles: battered trucks, motor cycles with sidecars, tractors with tall swaying funnels, motorized tricycles, cars stripped down to just a chassis and an engine, rust-streaked amphibious vehicles covered in barnacles, army personnel carriers with tracks and machine gun ports. What they all had in common was that they were packed side by side and bumper to bumper, traveling at a breakneck pace on a road pitted

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with potholes and littered with cast-off machine parts. The sides of the road were piled high with the mangled debris of a thousand car wrecks.

The din was indescribable. The roar of engines and blaring of horns mingled with the screech of brakes and grinding of metal as each vehicle jockeyed for position. Over the whole road hung a mist of polluted air and dust and half-frozen particles of ice.

"You're not taking us into that," Cati yelped. But Rosie just accelerated with such force that they were thrown back against their seats. Owen dived forward and hit the ski button and the truck slewed sideways as the skis retracted.

"Watch out!" Rosie shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

With a roar the truck shot from the end of the side road into the traffic. At once they were surrounded by swerving cars and trucks and cursing drivers. Owen had never heard such bad language, even from Rutgar's troops at the Workhouse, and certainly not in such a variety of languages and accents. A truck beside them swerved violently, dumping half its load of tomatoes into the road, to be hit by the next tanker so hard that a red spray of crushed tomato enveloped that lane. Rosie laughed and gunned the engine, and the front bumper struck the sidecar of the motorcycle in front of them. The motorcycle veered sideways and almost overturned before the rider got it under control.

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Rosie stuck her head out of the window. "Speed up or shift over," she bellowed. "Rosie's coming through."

The occupant of the sidecar, a small man wearing a large leather jacket, turned and gave Rosie an evil grin. He opened the jacket to show an array of throwing knives fixed to the lining.

"What's happening?" Dr. Diamond asked.

"You don't want to know," Owen groaned. Cati's knuckles were white where she held on.

The truck lurched as it struck an immense pothole. Rosie wrenched the wheel sideways to stop what looked like a small snowmobile from cutting in front of them. "Now we're on our way," she shouted cheerfully. "You have to throw your weight around a bit when you join the Speedway or you don't get nowhere."

It was true. The vehicles around them now seemed to be giving them some space, even if that space could only be measured in inches. Every few moments the truck's wheels crashed into a great rut in the road, and it swayed from side to side and groaned.

"Traffic's moving well," Rosie said. "Shouldn't take too long to get to the City."

"Either that or get killed," Cati said.

"That could happen too," Rosie admitted as she eased the truck in front of an eighteen-wheeler.

Owen could hear an enraged bellowing. The trailer was full of bulls, tossing their horns and stamping their feet. He looked across the line of traffic, blinked, and

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looked again. He saw what looked like a small wolf leaping from vehicle to vehicle--a wolf that appeared to be moving on two legs. "What's that?" he said, and pointed.

Rosie glanced out of the side window. "Trouble," she said shortly. "Dogs."

She began to accelerate through the traffic, barging through tiny gaps. There were more Dogs now, moving across the speeding lanes of traffic, jumping onto hoods, balancing on bumpers. They seemed to be children, but they were wearing dog's-head masks. They carried large bags slung over one shoulder and, as they leapt nimbly from one speeding vehicle to another, were stealing anything they could.

Owen saw one reach inside an open car window and pull out a purse. A passenger of the car pointed a gun through the window at the Dog. Without faltering, the Dog snatched it and dropped it into the bag too. They stole hood ornaments, boxes of produce, and tinned goods. They snatched hats off drivers' heads and wing mirrors off doors, and whipped sandwiches out of drivers' hands. They moved with incredible speed and daring.

One Dog descended on an open engine and emerged with a handful of wires. Another seemed to be siphoning olive oil from a tanker into a flask. Owen watched with horror as one climbed onto the tow hitch of a huge truck. The Dog tugged the pin connecting the trailer to the truck until it came loose. He held it up to

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the light in triumph, then dropped it into the bag and skipped onto the hood of the car alongside. Owen watched as the trailer slowly veered away from the truck. With an earsplitting crash it struck another truck and flipped over. Other vehicles swerved to avoid it and crashed into each other. The last sight Owen had as they sped on was debris, car wheels, and pieces of bodywork flying high into the air.

"Better check the back is closed up," Rosie said.

Cati climbed through the hatch. It was dark and it took her eyes a moment to adjust. She had just decided that everything was fine when she saw a hand with long, clawlike fingers coming through a gap in the canvas flap. It worked rapidly at the ties and the flap fell open. Before Cati had a chance to move, a Dog's head came through the flap. Cati knew it must be a mask, yet the way the head cocked to one side and the eyes gleamed was eerily real in the gloom.

The Dog spotted Dr. Diamond's rucksack and Cati could have sworn that its ears pricked up. Another hand came through the canvas, followed by a wiry body dressed in rags. The Dog began to creep across the floor toward the rucksack. Cati knew she should do something, but she felt paralyzed.

"Everything all right back there, Cati?" Owen shouted through the hatch. The Dog started, and for the first time looked in her direction. Just as a real dog would, its lips curled back from its teeth and it gave a low, threatening growl. It began to creep toward her.

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Cati looked around frantically. A saucepan was sitting on top of the stove. She grabbed it and swore as it burned her fingers, then flung it toward the Dog. Hot liquid splashed the Dog's fur before the pot hit it firmly on the nose. The Dog yowled and ran toward the exit. Just as it reached the canvas, the truck lurched over a pothole. The tailgate caught the Dog in the back of the knees. It tottered, then with a whimper fell backward out of the truck.

Feeling sick, Cati rushed to the tailgate and looked out. Behind the truck thundered a line of grim vehicles, barely inches apart. The scarred tarmac raced past between the wheels of the truck. There was nowhere for the Dog to go except under the rushing wheels. Cati sat down on the tailgate, shocked.
It didn't deserve to die
, she thought.

She thought how thin its limbs had been, and how it had whimpered pathetically as it fell. She felt responsible for its death. As she lifted her eyes from the road, she looked through the windscreen of the tractor following behind. It was being driven by a muscular woman with a thatch of flattened blond hair and prominent teeth.

She couldn't work out what the woman was staring at, and looked up to follow the gaze. Her stomach lurched as the Dog swung down from the roof of the truck, where it had been hiding. One long-nailed hand caught in her hair and began to haul her upward and outward. For one sickening moment Cati slipped out of the back of the truck, dangling precariously by her hair

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over the Speedway. Frantically she grabbed at the canvas and swung herself back inside.

The Dog hauled on her hair and she gasped in pain but managed to keep her grip. The other clawlike hand caught her shoulder painfully. Then the Dog reached for the hand that gripped the canvas, striking so hard that it tore the material. Her hair felt as if it would come out by the roots. She couldn't hold on much longer.

"Cati!" She heard Owen's voice.

"He's on the roof!" she gasped. "Hit him with something!" The claw found her shoulder again.

Owen appeared beside her. He had the rope and hook that Dr. Diamond had used to get into the tunnel from the river. He threw the hook out of the back of the truck. It landed right on the roof of the tractor coming behind and caught among the lights there. The blond woman shook her fist, but there was nothing she could do. As fast as he could, Owen knotted the other end of the rope around the Dog's wrist where it held Cati's hair.

He turned back into the body of the truck. "Rosie!" he shouted. "Put your foot down!"

With a roar the truck leapt forward. The rope tightened around the Dog's wrist and an almost comical look of alarm grew in its small black eyes. The rope snapped tight and the Dog was yanked from the roof, releasing Cati's hair. It plummeted toward the ground headfirst. This time, Cati thought, it would surely be run over, but just before it struck it twisted in the air