Sovereign Hope (36 page)

I pushed her
back, but the creature was so strong. She snapped at my neck and
shoulders, pausing for a second to reposition herself. I saw my
opportunity and struck out with the blade. Its edge caught her
across the neck, grazing the skin, and the whyte roared like a
wounded animal.

I have to get
out of here. I have to get her off.

There was only
one thing I could do. I lashed out with the knife again, aiming for
the same spot. When my mother dodged my attack, I pushed my hips
up, unseating her. The whyte toppled sideways and rolled straight
into the pool, but her legs were still tangled in mine. I scrabbled
to catch hold of the side of the pool but the tiles were wet and
slippery. It was no use. I was being pulled in, too.

The water was freezing and filthy. It stabbed at my ribcage
as I struggled to get back to the surface, but the whyte grabbed
hold of my foot. She was trying to drag me to the bottom. I
couldn’t go down, though; I had to go up. My lungs were on fire. I
needed to take a breath. I
had
to.

I leaned down
towards my foot and slashed, frenzied, with the blade. The move
paid off and the edge of the knife stuttered across flesh. Suddenly
my foot was free. I didn’t pause to find out whether the whyte was
coming after me. My lungs needled when I broke the surface,
dragging in a painful breath and choking up skanky pool water. I
heaved myself out of the water and lay gasping on the ground as the
rain pummeled me, washing me clean. I had to get up.

My body was a
lead weight as I tried to get to my feet, but somehow I managed it.
I coughed and choked as I scanned the water, looking for the whyte.
I’d seen way too many horror movies to think it was all over.

The heavy raindrops bounced off the layer of floating leaves,
distorting and rippling the surface. I couldn’t see her but she was
still in there, I was sure of it. I stepped away from the edge,
determined not to be pulled back in, and waited. Surely she’d have
to come up eventually?
Not if she doesn’t
need to breathe
, I thought.

Something
white moved beneath the surface. This was it. I stepped back and
held my breath, waiting for the whyte to leap from the water.
Seconds passed by but nothing happened. I took a timid step closer,
trying to get a better look, and then jumped out of my skin as a
white plastic bag bobbed up and broke the surface.

Then I heard
her. I turned slowly and there was the whyte, right beside me, her
face inches from mine. The side of her dress was slashed open and
the material was seeped in dark red. Stale blood ran in a sluggish
brown river down her leg.

The whyte fixed those dead eyes on me and paused for a moment
as if she recognized me.
She doesn’t,
though,
I thought.
She’s not my mother anymore.

The whyte
snarled and launched herself, diving in for the kill. I clenched my
eyes shut, awaiting the feel of teeth and nails on my skin.
Instead, a huge wave of pressure nearly knocked me from my feet. I
opened my eyes. The whyte was moving, flying sideways through the
air like a rag doll. She hit the water with a loud splash and sank
down into the darkness. A moment later she bobbed to the surface,
face down in the pool.

I stared
numbly at the body, waiting for her to move again. She didn’t. A
massive, gory hole was blown into her side. I turned to look behind
me, astonished, and found Merv standing on the walkway. He had a
shotgun propped against his shoulder. He lowered the gun and
scowled.

“
I swear, I get more trouble from the folks who
aren’t
staying here than
the ones that are.”

I let out a
stunned laugh and sank to my knees, unable to hold myself up any
longer. “Of course, Merv,” I replied shakily. “By the way…there’s
no way your pool is heated.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Homecoming

“
Agatha? Aggie, I can’t hear you…” I looked down at my cell
phone, cursing when I saw the reception was dropping
out.

“
Agatha?”

“
They ambushed us. We… explosion… they killed… had to
leave…whyte…”

“
Agatha, I can’t hear you!”

“…
have to get to safety… Farley…. others are gone…
dead…”

I reeled. The
silo had been attacked? Someone was dead? The line crackled one
last time before it disconnected entirely, and I threw the phone
down onto the empty seat beside me.

That word
‘whyte’ echoed around the car. I’d tried to convince myself that I
must have been wrong, but Agatha had just said the word herself. A
cold, stony feeling settled on my stomach. I was headed for the
Reavers’ fastness, the tower. It was time. This had to end.
Tonight.

The closest
entrances were in Chinatown. The streets were busy, and I felt numb
as I dodged through the traffic. I couldn’t clear my mind. I tried
to piece together what had happened to the others in the last
twenty-four hours.

Is she okay?
Is she safe?

I merged off
the main strip and headed towards one of the lower entrances near
the shopping district. It was a bold move, entering one of the
closest access points to the Tower, but it could pay off. I would
have further to go if I went in via an entrance closer to the
city’s industrial areas, and it would be much harder to disguise my
approach.

This way, all
I needed to do was move quickly and not give anyone a chance to run
ahead. If I succeeded, I’d be able to sneak up on them before they
could prepare. Of course, it was much more dangerous, more heavily
guarded.

Chinatown was
fast approaching. There were at least two entrances in the area,
both of which would be packed with people. They wouldn’t appreciate
me charging through their buildings. I would just have to create a
distraction.

I sped up
through a traffic light and ran the red, swerving the car through a
hard left into the narrowing streets of the Chinese district. A
left and then a left again, and the streets began to narrow until I
was forced to lose some speed. The gutters were strewn with ticker
tape from some street party. Small red clouds fluttered up in the
wake of the car’s tires as I skidded through a right-hand turn and
sped up along the stretch of road ahead.

I screeched to
a halt behind a delivery truck. The driver was lifting heavy boxes
of exotic-looking fruit off the sidewalk and carrying them into a
Chinese deli. I paused for a moment, running through the plan in my
mind. It was hugely flawed and could go very wrong at any moment,
but I had no other option. I took the key out of the ignition and
got out of the car, heading to the trunk where I pulled out a gas
canister. I got back into the Charger and popped the cap, and then
sloshed the pungent liquid across the back seat and into the foot
wells.

Once the
canister was empty I wound down the window and got out of the car.
I waited for the delivery driver to carry another armful of
groceries into the building beside me and then produced the
matchbook from the breast pocket of my shirt.

The match
flared brightly when I struck it to the pad, and the flame wavered
a little before strengthening. I gave one last mournful look at my
Charger before I flicked the match through the open window. I heard
the whoompf of the fire catching on the gasoline, but my back was
already turned. I didn’t want to watch, and besides, I had no
time.

The small
explosion startled the people eating their late lunch in the
restaurants along the street. They streamed to the windows and out
onto the street to watch as the battered car, riddled with bullet
holes, burst into flames.

Chen’s Golden
Palace was one of the busiest restaurants in Chinatown. Its patrons
and staff were amongst the growing throng of people gawping at my
Charger. They didn’t notice my dark shadow as I slipped by.

I ran along
the length of the empty restaurant, past tables still laden with
steaming bowls of food, and pushed through the double doors into
the back kitchen. A young Asian guy in stained chef whites looked
up from the woks he watched over as I burst through the second set
of double doors. He lowered his eyes back to the cook top,
uninterested in me as I barrelled through the kitchen and
disappeared through the exit.

The large
storeroom was filled from ceiling to floor with hundreds of tins
and sacks of flour and rice, all stacked neatly on shelves. There
was nothing here the last time I came through this entrance. I
cursed when I saw the metal shelves bolted down to the concrete
over the grid I needed.

I looked
around but found nothing I could use to unbolt the screws, so
instead I planted my foot back against the wall and pushed hard
against the metal shelving. They were top-heavy under the weight
stacked on them, and it took very little effort to push them over.
Tins crashed loudly to the floor and sacks split open, spewing
their contents onto the concrete as the three-tiered frame toppled
back, smashing into the shelves behind it.

The rear legs
of the shelf were bent and the bolts remained intact, but the front
two had pulled out of the concrete. There was just enough room to
reach under and tug at the grid. I inserted my fingers between the
gaps and pulled up, sliding the heavy iron cover to one side, then
I shimmied under and pulled it back over.

This entrance
used to be popular, but the air smelled stale as I ran through the
dark. The tunnel was only a hundred feet long, and I slowed when I
judged that I was approaching the door. I’d judged it well; a few
tentative paces later I reached out and felt cold steel beneath my
fingertips.

“
Home Sweet Home,” I muttered under my breath.

I found the
heavy wheel in the center of the door. Pulling out the handle, I
carefully turned it until I heard a small metallic grinding inside,
then spun it back the other way. It was like opening the door to a
safe. If I got the combination wrong, the consequences wouldn’t be
pretty. As I spun the wheel a final time, I prayed they hadn’t
bothered to change the locks on me. It clicked. The door swung back
an inch in my hand, casting a shard of light into the dark
tunnel.

I pushed it
back quickly—there were voices approaching on the other side of the
door.

“
They’re bringing them here now, sir. What would you like us
to do with them?”

There was a
long pause before the second person spoke. His voice was arrogant
and sharp. Instantly familiar.

“
You know what to do with the boy. The girl, the one you say
was bitten by the whyte? Don’t bring her anywhere near Tobin. He’ll
skin you alive.” Their footsteps came to an abrupt halt on the
other side of the door. “The other girl…. I think he would actually
like to meet her. He seems to have some sort of morbid curiosity.
Make sure she’s mentally competent when you bring her to him. He
doesn’t like playing with his toys when they can’t put up a
fight.”

There was a small grunt and the sound of feet shuffling off
into the distance, but I remained still, aware that one person
remained. I stole myself and leaned forward, daring to pull the
door back just a few
millimeters
so I could
squint into the corridor.

Jacob stood
alone, staring into space as the Immundus disappeared off down the
hall. When I had first met Jacob, his effeminate features and
lankiness had given the impression he would be gentler and softer
than the Reavers before him, but in truth he was far, far
worse.

The bastard
had forced me into that box, and he’d laughed as his lackeys had
picked it up and thrown it into the ocean. My blood began to boil
in my veins. It was easy to bully a child, but I wasn’t so small
anymore.

I’ll deal with
you later, Pretty Boy.

But for now I
mulled over the conversation I’d just overheard and held my
position in the dark. Someone had been bitten? Was it Tess or was
it… no, I couldn’t even think it.

They have her, boy. Save her… You have to save her. Save
her…. Find her….
The whispers rose up in
frantic chorus, drowning one another out. I pushed them back down,
desperate for some room to think.

When I
regained my focus, Jacob was gone. I edged out of the doorway in
time to see the tall man disappear around the corner to the right.
I ran in the other direction.

The design of
the place had always troubled me. There was nowhere to hide. The
passageway surrounding the Tower was a huge, sweeping circle that
broke off into four pathways. They lie to the north, south, east
and west, leading to the Four Quarters. In the center was the
Tower, unlike other towers in that, instead of spiraling upwards,
it wound down into the bowels of the earth. Its entrance was on the
other side, across from the passageway to the North.

The hallway
was an optical illusion; no matter how far I ran, it always looked
as though I were just about to turn the corner up ahead, yet the
curve in the wall remained constant.

The lights
mounted on the sandstone walls zipped past my head with increasing
speed as I ran faster. I couldn’t tell how much ground I’d covered
or exactly how long I’d been running, but I knew I couldn’t be far.
Up ahead, the northern passageway suddenly came into view. To the
left, a gap in the wall appeared, the path to the First Quarter,
and on the right hand the smaller, narrower opening, which led down
to the Great Room below. That was where I would find Elliot. When I
reached the entrance to the right, I paused for a second to get my
footing. The way was narrow and treacherously steep. If I stumbled
and fell, it would be a long time before I hit the bottom.