Zhukov's Dogs (28 page)

If I warned Val and the others the city was coming down, then they could evacuate. But they would certainly try to evacuate everyone else. They would also ask how I knew about the fall. I could lie and say I overheard it while being interrogated at the governor’s home, but the truth was: The governor didn’t even know about the plan. What if they tried to blame him or attack him to keep the city from being lowered? Granne would contact D.C., and then it would all come back on me, a traitor. I couldn’t warn them. But if I didn’t, then all my friends would be killed. If I warned Val and the others…

My mind cycled through it again and again, weighing the consequences and looking for any alternatives. The only conclusion I’d come to in the last hour was that I couldn’t go back to D.C., not yet. I had to find a way to save my friends.

I considered calling Aiden and explaining my predicament. I doubted he would understand, but at least he’d listen and manage to talk some sense into me. Maybe he could arrange to have the revolutionaries removed from the city and relocated. They wouldn’t go quietly. If they were removed by Grey Men, they might not even be willing to go alive.

My phone buzzed in my lap. I picked it up and hooked a finger under the screen as I debated answering Val’s call. Six rings later, the phone went still. As if I didn’t have enough to figure out, there was still the matter of Val Grey and the last voicemail he left.

The Y.I.D. never prepared me for anything like this.

I waited for the phone to buzz again, but it never did. Val hadn’t left a voicemail this time. There was something troubling about it, almost like he’d given up on me. After sixteen unanswered phone calls, I couldn’t blame him. Was he still on the porch waiting for me?

Of course not
. At the same time, though, I found myself hoping he was. Why? I couldn’t make sense of it and was giving myself a headache.

I needed to stop thinking about Val. I needed to not dwell on the night we sat on the porch, watching the galaxies on the ceiling, or the things he said when I pinned him in the hallway. I had to forget about the icy fingers which ghosted over my chest and wrapped between mine. I had to stop wondering if the rest of his body was just as cold.

Above everything else, I had to stop thinking about his last voicemail. The sadness in his voice. The way it trailed off. It was so unlike him; such a stark contrast to the cocky, outspoken boy I’d bumped into on the train.

It was all because of me.

I hung my head and rubbed my shoulders, stiff from sitting still for so long. A dull pain pulsed in my gut as I stretched. The morphine was wearing off. I needed to either get another dose or go to sleep soon if I wanted to get through the night comfortably. My watch said it was nearing midnight, but I was wide awake.

Sleep would be impossible. I got out of bed. The nurse’s station nearby was stocked with supplies. Antibiotics, bandages, various syringes, and other things I recognized as a rare commodity in Seattle.

Compared to his stash, this is…

I tried to force the thought out before I could finish. It was too late, though. Val was back in my head again. How he’d shared his secret collection of pills with me when he found out I was sick; bragging about how he knew as much as any doctor, thanks to his work in California.

It still blew my mind that Val had been part of the cartel. If the S.O.R. ever found out about him, a fugitive who’d somehow slipped under their radar, he’d be executed without trial. I imagined Grey Men dragging him down the long hall in the basement of headquarters toward the electric chamber.

I stabbed a syringe of morphine into my arm. The jolt didn’t help distract me like I hoped it would. I was still in the basement, watching Val struggle and swear. He cursed my name over and over again for betraying him.

I fell on the mattress and tried to focus on the cold morphine crawling through my veins. I reminded myself everything I was imagining wasn’t possible. After all, I hadn’t reported a single detail about Val’s involvement in the cartel.

That didn’t mean I hadn’t betrayed him.

My hands flew up over my face as guilt reared its head again. I inhaled as deep as I could and held my breath. I needed to sink into the bed and disappear, just for a few days until everything made sense. I had to go back to D.C. tomorrow, though. I couldn’t stay in Seattle. The entire city would be buried soon. The entire city, including everyone living there. Including Val.

Only after several, silent minutes did the pressure building in my lungs finally escape through a mangled growl into my hands. I wished I’d held my breath. Blacking out would be a blessing compared to the crushing weight dropped on my chest.

My eyes stung. The second I recognized the long-since forgotten feeling, I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or panic. All those years of desensitization, what happened to them? I thought back to the early days. Seven-years-old, spending three hours every day in a classroom with other new recruits. The footage we were shown was enough to make a grown man crumble. We were tazed if we made as much as a peep. The older we got, the worse it got. The older we got, the smaller our class size got.

I was leaving Val behind to go back to all that?

The stinging dulled. Moisture built under my palms. I laughed at the absurdity of it all and then laughed harder when I realized how impossible it was to leave the Y.I.D. behind. I’d been in for too long. I had both a family in the system and a reputation of my own. Marco might have managed to escape, but he’d been an insignificant private and the running joke of our division; they would never simply stamp AWOL on my file.

Maybe they wouldn’t have to.

I sat up so fast; the sudden head rush knocked me off balance and sent me tumbling out of bed. From where I lay on the floor, almost completely numb, everything aligned. I didn’t want to lose Val. I didn’t want to lose any of the revolutionaries. But I’d much rather have them alive and hating me than dead.

Scrambling to my knees, I pulled the clock on the nightstand to face me. Just past midnight. By now, the Grannes were asleep. According to the itinerary from Aiden, I had eight hours until my train left King Street Station. Plenty of time to get to the base, take care of business, and get back in bed before anyone realized I was gone.

I used the nightstand to hoist myself to my feet, hyperaware of the tingling numbness in my limbs. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken an extra shot of morphine after all. Then again, when I took it, I hadn’t been planning a rescue mission.

Rescue mission
, I repeated. I was determined to call it that. The word “mission” implied all feelings and bias would be left on the sidelines until I retrieved them upon completing my objective. Getting distracted was the reason I was in this mess in the first place. Walking into their place of origin and confronting Val was a dangerous move, but I couldn’t leave everything behind now.

The clothes I’d arrived in were in a hamper in the bathroom. I pulled the jeans on and Val’s sweater over my head, ready to get going, when I spotted the bloody scarf at the bottom of the hamper. It was the same one Aiden had given me before I left D.C. for Seattle. I’d used it to bind Val’s arm when he’d been shot and forgotten about it. Apparently, Val decided to hang onto it. I couldn’t explain why, but the sight of the bright argyle scarf/tourniquet made me smile. I threw it around my neck.

Halfway to the window, I got an idea. The nurse’s station next to the bed was full of useful supplies, things the revolutionaries might need in the next few days. I grabbed one of the pillowcases and poured the station’s contents into it. Then, throwing the bag over my shoulder in a Santa-like fashion, I opened the window.

Last time I’d fled from the governor’s estate, I’d slid along the roofing at the third story. This time, I went for a less dramatic escape and shimmied down a hot water pipe, which ran along the outside of the house. With Grey Men stationed at the gate entrance, I climbed the fence along the river and walked the bank to the bridge. Half an hour later, I made my way up Second Avenue.

Other than the light in the hall, the rest of the revolutionaries’ base was dark. I checked the time on my phone. Nearly one o’clock. They must have been sleeping. I hoped they were sleeping. My rescue mission would work better if they were asleep. I went over it in my head again on my way up the porch, a small pile of cigarettes butts on the top step.

Step one, if necessary, was to convince them I’d been interrogated by the governor and Grey Men. That I’d escaped and found the hospital, but not after stealing Granne’s medical supplies. Half those supplies were exchanged for treatment at the hospital, explaining why I was stitched up and clean.

Step two was to plant my phone’s GPS chip on one of them, ideally Val. He always had the same lighter on him; I could hide the chip in it. That part would be tricky.

All that was left was step three. Slip away, vanish from Seattle, and go back to D.C. The city wasn’t going to fall until next week, so I had time to call in a few favors with the less respectable, but trustworthy, individuals I knew. A staged abduction would be just the thing to get the revolutionaries out of the city. Take them somewhere far, far south and then release them after the collapse. Everything else would be easy, so long as I could get past step two.

There was no turning back now. I was resolved. Let them think whatever they wanted of me after tonight. Let them hate me if they ever found out the truth. Just let them be spared the same fate as their city.

The light in the hall welcomed me through the front door. I expected to see Val nodding off in a chair next to the door, or maybe on the stairs with his phone clutched loosely in his hands. The hall was empty, though, and I was surprised by just how disappointed I felt. I looked into the parlor and dining room; both were as lonely as the foyer. Had they all gone to bed and forgotten about me?

I made my way upstairs. The second floor was as quiet as the one below. I couldn’t believe it. I was risking my neck for a bunch of people who were able to sleep, thinking I was a casualty of the Grey Men. Part of me wanted to bang on Val’s door, the other part wanted to bitterly crawl into bed and see their reactions in the morning when they discovered me. On the third floor, though, I saw a light on in the war room. I stepped close to the door frame and stopped to listen.

“Since it was one of Granne’s town cars, we should check the garage where they’re stored.” That was Tibbs’ voice.

Benji replied, “Why? Not like he’ll be in there.”

“But we might find traces of blood,” Tibbs argued.

“Or, we might find him in the trunk,” Fritzi said.

“None of that,” Val snapped at them. “Benji’s right. There’s no point in searching the garage. I vote we go ask Granne himself.”

I kept listening as they raised their voices to protest Val’s reckless plan. They were all there. I picked out each voice from the noise and realized that none of them had forgotten about me. The longer I listened, the warmer I felt and the harder it was to keep myself from smiling. My friends were just as determined to save me as I was to save them.

There was no denying it was Val’s voice that carried the loudest. I walked toward the door, wondering how I could have imagined him sitting on the porch, moping like a sad puppy waiting for me to come back. He had probably been tracking the car, canvassing the Oxford District himself, and spearheading my rescue mission. Val might have sounded brave and determined as he roused the others, but all I could think about was how he had snuck off on his own so many times to call me, how his voice quivered when he left those messages.

I reached out and pushed open the door as my mind dwelled on the last voicemail. The room went silent. I stayed in the frame, still as a soldier, looking from one shocked face to the next. All around the table, jaws dropped. Even Anya’s face, palest of them all, visibly drained of color. Some mouths moved like they might have been trying to figure out how to properly make words.

It was Gemma who found her voice first, stammering out, “Nik?”

Michael was at her side, and he rushed across the room to throw his arms around me with a delighted cheer. “I told them you would come back!”

Even with a system full of morphine, Michael’s hug shot a quick jolt of pain through my body. Tibbs saw my grimace and pulled Michael away by the collar of his shirt. “Ease off, Mike,” he scolded, and then he beamed at me with a smile. “Good to see you in one piece, Nik.”

“How did you…” Val didn’t finish his question.

I looked up in time to see him fall into his chair behind the table. He let out an exasperated laugh and tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair with one hand, the other pressed over his brow. Val might have thought he was being sneaky about it, or maybe I was just looking too closely, but I could see his hands shaking.

Gemma and Anya came to my side, obstructing my view as they expressed their relief to see me alive. Anya had always looked so composed and put together, never a hair out of place and always ready to strut down on a runway in some swanky, European fashion show. Tonight, however, her eyes were bright red, and her hair was tied back in an uncombed mess.

“We all thought you were dead.” She half sobbed.

“I didn’t,” Gemma said, poking at my shoulder. I could almost see her fighting the urge to latch onto me in her usual, koala-like way.

“What happened to you, man?” Tibbs asked.

Step one.

“I blacked out,” I told them. I had to, at least, start with some truth. “When I woke up again, I was tied up in the governor’s cellar. He and a couple Grey Men had some questions for me.”

“Oh my God,” Fritzi mumbled as she pressed her hands to her mouth. If she was buying my story, then I had no reason to think the others would doubt it. I sighed like it was difficult to retell, cast my eyes downward, and let my shoulders sag before continuing.

“Yeah… Don’t worry; I didn’t tell them anything. I even managed to get loose after a couple hours. Snagged some stuff from the cellar and headed straight for the hospital. Traded them half of this stuff in exchange for a patching up.”