Wanderers (33 page)

Behind her, someone drew in a sharp breath and there was a desperately uncomfortable pause.

“You mean like Kai?” asked Inna, astonished. “Am I going to eat
Kai
?” She burst out laughing. “No! Oh no, no, no, no. Of course I'm not going to harm the baby. What an idea!”

She rose and then bent down and picked him up from his playpen. “Here,” she said, “just look at him.” She cooed at him, nuzzling his neck as she brought him over to Esther. “He's in perfect health . . . absolutely perfect.”

Kai clung to Esther's shirt, burbling, and grabbed her hair. It was obvious he was in better shape than he had ever been in his life: clean, well-fed, and full of energy.

“Satisfied?” said Inna, and Esther nodded, abashed.

“You see, he's not like the rest of us,” continued the older woman as she smiled down at him. “We're all contaminated by the water and the sun and the soil, no matter how much we try to keep them away . . . we're garbage, really. But babies are different. They're pure . . . untouched. With any luck, Kai will live to be seventy, eighty years old. And he's going to regrow the Earth.”

Esther was trying to follow what Inna was saying, but her words were too confusing. The woman seemed to be thinking aloud, no longer acknowledging there were even other people in the room.
It was,
Esther decided,
time to go.

“See?” she said to the others. “I told you they don't eat children.”

With Kai at her shoulder, Esther turned to leave. But the older woman roused herself.

“Oh,” Inna said, “I didn't say
that
.”

“
Stop!
”

Aras had no choice but to comply. With difficulty, he pulled Pilot to a halt. If he was about to be attacked, he thought with grim resignation, at least he wouldn't go down without a fight. His dog was already growling and straining at the lead, his body tensed to spring.

The two had crossed a bridge late that morning. Over the past two days, Aras had not run into anyone to ask directions. He had done his best to calculate the distance and could only hope it was Mundreel. Yet as they made their way through the echoing streets, he could hear no one; the panting of his dog was the only sound. At the command, Aras couldn't help but be filled with relief, as well as illogical hope.

But when the voice called again, closer this time, he realized with a sinking heart that it wasn't Eli or Silas; it belonged to someone he didn't know. And there was more than one. He could hear the sound of several bicycles, only a block away and approaching fast. Even with his sight, it would have been impossible to flee. And so Aras waited, outwardly calm yet prepared to set his dog loose.

He heard bikes skidding to a halt—three, possibly four, it was hard to tell. Then a boy spoke.

“Leave Mundreel.” Aras figured him to be maybe fifteen or sixteen. “Ain't safe here.”

Aras nodded; at least he was where he intended to be. “Why?”

“The ones inside,” the stranger said. He spoke with assurance, even a kind of swagger; Aras figured he was the leader. “The ones who got and we don't. They hunt us. Like we was some kind of—”

He was interrupted by the blare of a siren. It was impossibly loud, drowning out their voices and echoing through the silent streets.

“They seen us!” Someone else, a girl, screamed over the din. “You got to come before they start shooting!”

“But why—”

Aras felt himself pushed into some kind of wagon. Having no choice but to trust these strangers, he pulled his dog along with him. No sooner were they inside than the vehicle took off. Aras lurched to one side, nearly falling to the ground, as the wheels rattled over broken pavement. He thought he heard the distant crack of a rifle.

After several minutes, the vehicle braked; around them, Aras could hear other bicycles skidding to a stop. When he and Pilot emerged, he heard people milling about and murmuring: many more, perhaps dozens. They were now inside a large space, and the smell of smoke hung heavy in the air.
An encampment,
he decided.

“You lucky this time.” The leader's voice came from close by. “There ain't always an alarm . . . it's only if they ain't got bullets. Most time, they just shoot to kill.” There was a pause, as if the boy were appraising him. “I'm Gideon. Why you here?”

Aras detected wariness in his voice. “I'm looking for people.” Pilot had stopped straining at his leash, although the guide could tell he remained alert. “Seven of them. One's a baby.”

“Was they led by a girl?” spoke up another voice. “Thin, and her hair stick up?” At the description of Esther, Aras felt his chest tighten.

“That's them,” he said. “You know where they went?”

“We tried to save them,” another boy said. “But we was too late. They got them.”

“Got them?” Aras's reply was sharp. “You mean she's—”

“Don't know,” said Gideon. “But no one git out alive.”

Aras recalled the words of the dying child he had met on the road and a chill fell over him. “Tell me about this place.”

“It's near where you was. They take folks. Strangers, mostly, who don't know no better. And ain't no one see them again.”

Aras's mind was racing. “Is there a way in?”

Aras could hear the boy spit on the ground. “We been trying a long time. But ain't nothing work.” There was a pause. “You got an idea?”

Aras heard the calculation in the boy's voice. Unless he was mistaken, there was something shrewd beneath Gideon's apparent crudeness. Aras wasn't sure if he trusted or even liked him, and the last thing he wanted was to get involved in someone else's fight. Yet he also knew he was alone in a strange city, facing an unknown foe.

He would need all the help he could get.

As if he could read his mind, Pilot stood and pushed his muzzle into the boy's hand, whimpering. Aras crouched down to scratch him behind the ears.

“It do seem a shame,” he remarked to his dog, “to come all this way for nothing. Right, boy?”

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

E
STHER WAS DRAGGED AWAY BY THE MAN CALLED
T
AHIR
.

There was no fighting him; although his hands were soft and scented, they were like a hawk's talons gripping her arm. Glancing over her shoulder in despair, she could only watch as her friends, escorted at gunpoint, disappeared into the darkness.

Tahir forced Esther around a corner. She thought she was perhaps being kept separate from the others because she was their leader; now she was brought, alone, down to the basement level. She had found it difficult enough to walk in the red shoes Inna had given her; now she stumbled and nearly fell down the narrow metal stairs.

“Don't try anything,” snapped Tahir as he yanked her back.

At the bottom of the steps, the man led Esther through the cluster of abandoned restaurants on the underground level. Then Tahir let go of her arm and shoved her, hard. As she landed on her hands and knees, she could hear the squeal of the rusty metal grille being pulled down behind her, followed by the click of a key in the lock.

“Get used to it,” Tahir said. Then he turned and soon the sound of his footsteps faded away.

The moment she was alone, Esther ripped off her shoes.

Then she unfastened her bracelet, one Inna had given her, and smashed it to the ground. The gifts were a torment, a terrible reminder that she alone was to blame. For Esther had acted no better than a little child, impulsively and without judgment. Her face burned with shame when she realized why.

Inna had seemed like a mother.

And instead, she had guaranteed the deaths of herself and her friends.

There was only one comfort: Kai wasn't among them. From what Inna had said, Esther didn't think there was any threat to Kai, no possibility he would be killed and consumed, like them. It was a small relief, yet a real one.

By now, Esther's eyes had adjusted to the faint spill of light that came from the atrium and through the gate. Gazing around, she saw she was indeed in what was once a restaurant, with matching tables and benches made of fake wood bolted to a grimy tiled floor. The ground was strewn with trash and a dank smell arose from what looked like a filthy pile of bedding in the corner.

Children were kept here before me,
Esther realized with a dull shock. She thought of the small skull and felt sadness and fury in equal parts.

Esther forced herself to focus: She had to find a way out. Using her sense of touch and the dimming light, she searched the walls and floor for any vents she could pry open, any hidden storage spaces, any weak places in the plaster. She could find nothing. Then she checked the metal grille, looking for any loose slats, something she might be able to use as a weapon. But whoever had been there before her had clearly tried the same thing, and in vain. The entrance and walls were marred with the fading scratches of someone else's fingernails.

There was no escape, and no way to protect herself when her captors came for her. Yet for some reason, Esther found herself thinking of her childhood in Prin.

No escape, no protection.

The words reminded her of one of the many games she used to play with Skar, the all-day competitions that took the two girls across the tangled ruins of Prin and deep into its outskirts. Although the contests changed from day to day, the rules were always brutal, simple, and, for Esther, nearly impossible. She had lost many, many times to her best friend. Yet over the years, the games had made her fast and strong while also teaching her the skills of stalking and escape that all variants learned when they were very young.

A faint clanging noise brought her back to the present. Someone had begun descending the metal stairs to the basement.

No escape, no protection.

Esther had only a few moments to think.

What could you do if you had no means of escape and no weapon with which to defend yourself? When you had absolutely nothing, what could you use against your enemy?

The answer came to Esther in a flash:
You could use surprise.

She gazed at the doorway. The entrance took up most of the wall that faced the central court. Fake wooden trim ran around it, with perhaps a two-foot gap above it to the ceiling.

That was the part that caught Esther's eye.

She took a moment to grab a piece of bedding, a foul-smelling sheet that she draped around her neck. Then she approached the door and examined the trim.

The bevel was shallow yet had a sharp angle, which allowed her to take a firm hold. Pulling hard and hoping it wouldn't break away from the wall, she lifted one foot and set it on the trim, just below her hands. Treating the plastic strip as a kind of ladder, she managed to inch her way up the side of the door. When she could go no farther, she clambered onto the section that ran across the top. Crouching low, she managed to brace herself against the ceiling as she looked down over the entrance beneath her feet.

All she had to do was wait.

She smelled it first: the aroma of cooked vegetables. Although she realized she was starving, it made her nauseated.

Esther could hear footsteps growing closer. Then there was the jangle of keys, and the sound of one being fit into a lock.

“Come and get it!”

It was Tahir. She heard him grunt; she figured he was kneeling to raise the gate. It screamed in rusty protest and she could feel the reverberations travel up the wall and into her legs as she silently undid the sheet from around her neck.

She could see a tray being slid inside. Then silence. Esther didn't move.

“Hey,” Tahir said. “Where'd you go?”

Esther tried to quiet her breathing, which was coming quick. The man cursed.

“Where are you hiding, sweetheart?” he asked, and made the endearment sound ugly.

There was a click; and then a faint glow of light spilled into the dim interior of the restaurant. Esther watched as it wavered, exposing first the bedding, then the piles of trash, then the area underneath the tables.

Tahir cursed. Then she heard and felt him push the gate higher.

Esther saw the top of his head beneath her, shifting back and forth as he held a lit firestarter, still trying to see around the room. She waited for the right moment. Finally, he stopped rocking.

Esther dropped onto him.

She aimed both feet at the top of his skull, hoping to maximize her meager weight. Combined with the element of surprise, it worked as she planned: He fell as if clubbed, hitting the ground with a crash. In an instant, Esther wadded up one end of the sheet and stuffed it into his mouth. He wasn't quite unconscious; he blinked once or twice, his eyes not quite focusing. But she had already used the rest of the cloth to bind his wrists and ankles.

It wasn't perfect, she knew; but there was no time to tie him more securely. She grabbed the key ring from his belt and the communication device that emitted an occasional squawk. His handgun, however, gave her more trouble. As she struggled to free it from its leather holder, something kept it in place and she had to leave it where it was.

She didn't think to take Tahir's firestarter, a decision she would soon come to regret. But for now, all she knew was: She had to get to the others.

Esther bolted from the restaurant, then, with a leap, grabbed the gate and yanked it down. Fiddling with the keys, she finally found the one that locked it.

Then she took off.

Esther raced through the hallways and up the staircase, her bare feet silent on the cold marble and metal surfaces. She ran the way Skar had taught her years ago: zigzagging like an animal from one safe place to the next, keeping to the deepest shadows possible. As she went, she kept her ears keyed to any sound. She knew it was only a matter of minutes before Tahir worked himself loose and called for help.