Equinox (14 page)

“Three,” she whispered at her aunt’s questioning look. She didn’t bother to number the Senate guards.

“They’ll have at least two more out front,” Essie said. “We’ve got maybe five minutes. We need to move.”

“I know.” Hands shaking, Rosie pulled her com from her pocket. Aunt Essie made a noise and grabbed her hand in a surprisingly strong grip, her voice a harsh whisper.

“What’re you doing? They’ll find us!’

“It’s okay. Riley fixed it so it can’t be tracked.”

She looked unconvinced. “You sure?”

“It’s not like we’ve got many options.” Rosie dialled up her com, hoping it hadn’t run out of charge or been damaged. It hadn’t and Dalton answered on the second tone.

“Pilot Girl.” He grinned on the screen. “What–” His smile disappeared as he took in her mud- and blood-smeared face. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Rosie whispered.

He looked alarmed. “Wait two seconds.” A dizzying scene of blurring grass and trees whipped past the screen, then his face came back on. “Where are you?”

“In the river, in the reeds behind Riley’s place.” She took a breath. “Aunt Essie’s hurt pretty bad. Riley’s gone. He set a bomb for Helios. We got caught in it, and now we’re stuck. There’s a Senate fire crew and Helios operatives. Can you get a boat?”

“My dad has one. But Rosie, are you hurt?”

“Aunt Essie is. Can you bring a doctor, someone we can trust?”

He frowned. “I think so. But it’s going to take me a while, and if there’re operatives they’ll see the boat.”

“I know.” Rosie glanced at her aunt. She was so damn pale. “I’ve got to find a way to get out without being seen.”

“Can you walk about half a kilometre?”

“I hope so. Why?”

“You’re near the edge of the old city,” Dalton said. “There should be some ruins along the riverbank. You can use them for cover.”

Of course. Rosie could have kicked herself for not remembering. The explosion must have really rattled her brain.

“I’ll need about an hour,” Dalton said. “The boat’s called
Libertine
. It’s white and has a five-pointed blue star in a circle on the prow. Do you know what a prow is?”

“I’m not a moron,” Rosie said.

His smile was tight, worried. “Right. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Hang on.”

The screen went blank. Rosie looked at her aunt.

“I’m okay, kid,” her aunt whispered. She held out a hand to her and Rosie took it. “Get my gun.”

Rosie swallowed.

“I won’t be able to use it and move. Get it out.” She pushed Rosie’s hand down towards her leg.

Rosie reached reluctantly into the shallow water and pulled the small pulse weapon out of its clutch. It was heavy. “It’s all wet,” she said.

“It’ll still work. But we can’t go out along the bank; we’ll have to use the river.” Aunt Essie gritted her teeth and hauled herself up to her good knee, then gestured for Rosie to go ahead. “Find a path through the reeds. I’ll follow.”

Rosie began to crawl towards the open water.

It was hard going. The reeds grew thickly, the roots tangling in the muddy bottom, threatening to trap hands and feet. The river got deeper quickly and soon they could no longer crawl and keep their heads above water. They staggered to their feet. Aunt Essie had started to shiver. She was swearing under her breath. Every second, Rosie expected to hear someone behind them, or feel the thud of a pulse in her back. The river stretched away to the opposite bank, wide and brown, sunlight glinting on the ripples. On the opposite bank the city was a humming mass of towers and shuttles, a beige-tinted haze hanging over it. There was about another thirty metres of reeds that would give them cover from the bank, but then it was open water until the old city. Aunt Essie had an arm around Rosie’s shoulder and was on the river side while Rosie shuffled along, gun in her hand, against the reeds.

“Rosie,” Essie whispered, “if I pass out, you leave me.”

“Shut up.” Rosie blinked. Her vision was wrong, blurry.

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

Rosie didn’t answer. Why was her vision blurry? She heard a sudden high-pitched whine, like her eardrums had popped, and something flashed across her line of sight. Words. A map in glowing green. She stumbled and nearly pitched them both under the water.

Aunt Essie swore and Rosie struggled to regain her feet.

“I’m okay.” Rosie shook her head and blinked.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Nothing. Keep going.” She tugged her aunt forwards. It was as if she’d been suddenly immersed in a virtual connection, but that was crazy. Must have been the bump on the head she didn’t remember.

The water was deeper, the current swifter as they reached the end of the reeds. Rosie stashed the gun in her waistband and they clung together, letting the current wash them downriver. She kept an eye on the bank, terrified they’d be spotted. The scrub and trees were thicker the closer they got to the old city. Too many spots for a grunt to hide. The ache in her head returned, making her light-headed and nauseous.

Aunt Essie was shuddering by the time they got close to the first broken walls of the ruins, her breath coming in short forced bursts. Rosie estimated about half an hour had gone by since she’d spoken to Dalton. She had to get them out of the water. She began to drift closer to the bank. Spindly trees grew along the edge, casting spots of shadow across narrow bands of grey-sand beach edged by tufts of salt grass.

She was in the shallows, pulling Aunt Essie along behind her, when she saw him: a grunt, moving higher up against the tree line, his back to the water. He hadn’t seen them. Yet. Rosie froze. Aunt Essie’s saw him too and her hand clenched hard on Rosie’s arm. Just a few metres further down the river was a narrow strip of sand with a broken wall that tumbled into the water. If they could get there, maybe they could hide against it. Rosie tilted her head towards it and her aunt nodded.

Slowly, slowly, they drifted further along, so low their noses were just above the water. The grunt was searching the scrub along the higher part of the bank, methodically moving along looking at the ground.
Please don’t look up, please don’t look up
. The words circled Rosie’s brain. He didn’t. They made it to the wall and crouched behind the crumbling brown bricks, hidden from the grunt on the bank. Relief washed over Rosie so hard, she was shaking. Beside her, Aunt Essie was hanging onto a protruding brick, her injured leg floating out straight, but she didn’t look relieved. She was frowning and staring out across the river, towards the city. Rosie followed her gaze and saw the sleek white shape of a boat. A blue five-pointed circle was on the prow. At the same time she heard the thud of boots hitting sand and the snap of a twig. The grunt was on the beach on the other side of the wall. The spark of hope that had risen at the sight of the boat fled.

They heard the snick of a com and the grunt spoke. “Boat coming in. No sign of Shore, but Bree suspects the girl and her aunt were in the house. No sign of them either, but the boat looks suspicious. Orders?”

Terrified, Rosie looked at Aunt Essie.
How the hell?
Then she remembered. Her bag. She’d left it in the house.

A reply came clear through the grunt’s com. “If the boat stops and they show, get rid of them. Kill the aunt, capture the girl. Bree is on her way. Out.”

Rosie felt ill. She crouched in the water.

Gun
, Aunt Essie mouthed. Rosie hesitated.
Gun
, her aunt mouthed again. She frowned and raised a hand towards her, then quickly jerked it back as she almost slipped underwater.

Rosie’s hand shook as she pulled the weapon from her waistband, but her hand was steadier than her aunt’s. There was no way Essie could fire the gun when she couldn’t even keep upright. She set the pulse to stun. It should knock the grunt out.

Dalton’s boat was close; he’d be here in minutes. Her insides felt light. Rosie drifted towards the lower part of the wall, keeping her back against it. Her heart hammered so fast she could barely breathe. She crouched in the water and curled both hands around the grip of the gun, listening. The thrum of the boat’s motor came across the water. Insects buzzed in her face. And then she heard the sound of water sloshing against boots. He was so close. If she missed, it was all over. But it was like her legs were locked down.
Move, Rosie Black. If you don’t do this, Essie and Dalton are dead
. Strangely, the voice in her head was Riley’s.

She pinched her lips together, put a finger over the trigger, faced the wall and slowly rose up.

The grunt was three metres away, slightly turned from her, staring out across the water. But his peripheral vision was good and she was moving. He saw her and reached for his weapon.

He was ferociously quick, but Rosie already had her gun raised. She pulled the trigger and the pulse hit him square in the chest. He arched back, arms flung skywards. His weapon, still clutched in one hand, fired harmlessly at the sky. She stared, frozen, as he hit the sand, a deep gasp pushing out of him. His whole body spasmed, but he didn’t stay down. He was rolling to his side, to his feet. Too late she remembered Helios grunts were armoured and jacked-up on enhancers. Rosie lunged over the rough wall and dived under the shallow water as a savage whump of pulse fire hit the wall where she’d been a moment before. Shards of brick rained down around her. Rosie launched to her feet and surfaced, spitting water, firing blindly. But he was behind her and grabbed her right arm, almost wrenching it from its socket. She screamed at the pain and dropped the gun as he flung her onto the beach. She hit the sand face first. A half-buried rotted branch spiked her cheek, drawing blood, but it barely registered as she rolled over in panic. He was already coming for her again and Rosie kicked out hard, getting him right in the groin.

He groaned and staggered. She kicked out again, aiming for his face, but he caught her boot and yanked her forwards, dragging her across the sand with a snarl before pinning her down. Fingers hard as steel curled around her throat.

“Calm down.” He swatted aside her paltry attempts to pry him off with the butt of his gun. Pinpricks of light sparked in her vision and pain streaked through her skull. Rosie’s eyes rolled. Choking, she saw past him along the beach to the water and registered a miracle: Aunt Essie on her knees, dragging herself from the river, picking up the gun Rosie had dropped. Time felt like it was slowing down. Rosie writhed, fighting for air as Aunt Essie raised herself unsteadily from the water, aimed and fired.

The pulse got the grunt in the back and conducted through him and into her like a million sparks scraping along her skin. His eyes widened and he jerked, arching back above her. He let her go, then collapsed onto his side, wheezing. Rosie tried to crawl away, but his hand lashed out and grabbed her foot, and he dragged her back. She could hear herself making weird whimpering noises as he pulled her against his chest and crossed his arms over her. His gun ended up near her face and she grabbed for it, panting, wrestling for control. But he was still much stronger.

“Stop struggling, little bitch,” he said hoarsely in her ear. His breath was hot on her neck, stinking. Rosie bit down hard on his thumb. He yelled and lost his grip on his gun. Rosie grabbed it, turned the muzzle over her shoulder and pulled the trigger.

For a second the sound disorientated her. Her ears rang with a high-pitched squeal, his arms went slack and she lunged away, her breath coming in gasping sobs, her throat burning. She saw Aunt Essie lying on the sand, not moving, and crawled to her without looking back. The heavy gun was still in her hand; it dragged over the sand. Blood was dripping from Essie’s leg, but when Rosie touched trembling fingers to her aunt’s neck she felt her pulse, thready but there. She was still alive.

Then she looked back.

The grunt had stopped moving for good. There was a black singed hole where his eye had been and slivers of glistening white bone. She stared. He didn’t look real.

The rumble of the boat engine was louder and she turned to see it close to shore. Dalton dropped over the side and ran towards her.

“Rosie–” He slowed as he saw the grunt.

She got to her feet. Something felt like it was trying to crawl out of her throat. She swallowed it back down. “There’s another one coming,” she said. “They know you’re here. We have to go now.”

He was looking at her weirdly. “Can you get to the boat?”

Why was he asking her stupid questions? “Just get Aunt Essie.” She stepped into the river. An odd numbness was rolling over her and time wasn’t quite moving right. She reached the boat and Dalton was suddenly back and lifting her aunt up to another man who was waiting on the narrow dive platform at the back. He carried Aunt Essie inside the cabin.

Dalton turned to her. “Give me the gun.”

“No.” She shoved it in the waistband of her pants and climbed aboard.

The other man had Essie laid out on a long couch in the cabin and was checking her wound. Rosie stood dripping and staring at the barely perceptible rise and fall of Essie’s chest. Why wasn’t she more worried? She didn’t seem to feel much at all. She barely noticed Dalton go past her to the bridge. The boat’s engines revved with a deep rumble and they were peeling away from the shore. She staggered with the motion, falling down on another couch. Through the tinted windows she saw the dark speck of the grunt’s body on the beach. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her stomach heaved. Rosie lunged for the door. She shoved it open, rushed to the side and threw up. Shuddering, shaking so hard it seemed her bones would crack, she vomited again and again until it felt like there was nothing left inside.

She woke the next morning back in Dalton’s beach house. Her mouth was dry and tasted foul and she was wearing only her underpants. She vaguely remembered getting here, the doctor bringing her aunt inside and Dalton’s worried gaze. She sat up slowly and squinted out the window. The sun was high outside. A dull throbbing pain pulsed in the back of her skull and everything ached. There was no sign of her clothes, but her com was on the table by the bed. She picked it up. Totally dead. Next to the com was the grunt’s gun.