Twenty minutes later Pierce called a break, and the group settled on the stairs of a once-dignified building relatively free of the noxious vine. Callie sat just below him and pulled out her second water bottle— the first one long emptied—and a vacuum-sealed packet of cheese and crackers. John and Whit broke out their own food just below her, and Brody, Gerry, Tuck, and Dell scattered in a ragged half circle around them. Evvi and LaTeisha chose a higher spot, away from the others.
The two had formed an unexpected friendship in the weeks since they’d left Hope. Evvi had sobered greatly since her brush with death, and though it seemed she had made peace with the fact she’d never have Pierce, her manner toward Callie remained cool. The one constant was her devotion to Elhanu—and surprisingly, to Pierce, for all he’d disappointed her. Callie couldn’t help but admire her for it.
LaTeisha, on the other hand, worried her. Two weeks ago Pierce had shot Ian in the act of betrayal, then left him for his Morresian cohorts to care for. LaTeisha was appalled by this lack of compassion, particularly in light of Pierce’s own past failures. She’d called him a hypocritical tyrant, though it was his own failures that had given him the insight—and resolve—to do what he’d done. It wasn’t Ian’s first slip, after all. He’d been tasting fire curtains and flirting with the enemy for weeks. Whit insisted Pierce had let it go too long as it was.
LaTeisha remained unmollified, her outrage festering into a resentment that was becoming dangerous to them all. Ironically, Evvi was the only one Teish would listen to anymore. If Evvi didn’t get her squared away soon, they were likely to find themselves with yet another casualty of war.
“Hey, people,” John said, lounging back on the step in front of Callie. “We’re in Splagnos! Congratulations!” He lifted his water bottle in salute.
A low chorus of
all-right
s and
whoo-hoo
s followed.
“Don’t get cocky,” Pierce admonished them. “We’re not done yet.”
They’d left Hope over six weeks ago, crossing corners of Orgais and Fobehho, all of the width of Zelos and Morres, and, just now, the border into Splagnos. They had sneaked through cities disguised as soldiers, smuggled themselves past checkpoints in the secret compartments of traders’ carts, and once even pulled off a direct confrontation. They’d been trailed and trapped and ambushed and nearly apprehended, and though they’d lost people along the way, a good third of them remained. Just when they needed it, they had found an ASB with a cache of ammunition or a hidden passage—or important information like when the guard would change, or how to bypass the main gate, or when the rail tunnels were empty. The one time they’d been caught, the opposition was so intoxicated by their own success they had become careless, and the group had easily escaped.
After that they gained a reputation—and a price on their heads. The city that captured them would win prestige, bragging rights, and the favor of the “gods.” Starting halfway across the state of Morres, they’d been pursued by a continual relay of patrols. Splagnos would be no better.
Surprisingly, the prospect no longer scared her. In fact, the Tohvani was right when it accused her of liking this. Every success increased her confidence—not only in Elhanu’s ability to keep his promises, but also in her own ability to follow his lead and survive. Despite Pierce’s admonition, it was hard not to be cocky.
The others were talking in twos and threes now, and behind her, Pierce said quietly, “That was pretty terrific what you did back there, Cal. Climbing down to find the port.”
She shrugged, watching Whit fire stones at the mites as they tried to make their way up the steps. His praise embarrassed her. “Anyone else would’ve done the same. I just happened to think of it first.”
He tugged on her braid. “Don’t make it less than it is. You did good. And walking over that bridge even unnerved me. You’ve come a long way, my love.”
“We all have,” she said, twisting around to grin up at him.
He wore the days-old grizzle that had been almost perpetual since they’d left Hope, and his hair, cut so very short in anticipation of these weeks in the field, now curled in sweat-drenched waves over his ears and neck. Like the rest of them, he’d tied a bandana around his head to soak up the sweat. The thin gold circlet that served as his upgraded helmet peeked out beneath it.
He also wore a stitched-leather bandoleer, its pockets filled with turquoise E-cubes. It was a gift from a sympathetic Zelosian trader who had nursed the desire, but not the courage, to make his own run for the exit portal. The bandoleer had once belonged to a Splagnosian captain, and it had pleased the Zelosian to see Pierce wear it.
It pleased Callie as well. In fact, everything about Pierce pleased her. Not a day went by that she didn’t warm with admiration and affection for him—and thank Elhanu for bringing them together. Not a day went by that she didn’t have to shove down the still-simmering fear of losing him.
Pierce smiled, reading her feelings. He brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “We’re gonna make it,” he murmured. “He’ll see us through.”
Of course he would. She really did believe the promise. When the doubts came, she had only to bring up an image of Elhanu’s twinkly-eyed grin and gentle voice, or the goats that had helped them cross the mountain, or the Aggillon who had served them so willingly in Hope and had serenaded them with their wonderful ballad that still lacked a proper ending. To say nothing of all the remarkable “coincidences” that had brought them to these steps.
“Six days!” John crowed, lifting his bottle to the skies. “Six days and we’re home! Whoo-eee!”
“Six days is a long time,” Whit rumbled beside him, beaning another mite with one of his stones.
“That was just a guesstimate, anyway,” Pierce said. “We could be weeks yet.”
John twisted to look at him, his face greasy with sweat and grime. “Not if the rail tunnels really
do
go all the way to Splagnos.”
Their map of Old Morres showed an abandoned hub in the Nine Cities’ monorail system not far from their location. John wanted to use the old tunnels to cross
under
the plain to Splagnos.
“Let’s find the tunnel first,” Pierce advised. He bit into a ration bar, then squinted up the street. Callie followed the direction of his gaze to the dome arching overhead—a dilapidated framework of holes and gray, cracked panels. Beyond it lay the great Splagnosian plain, where rocky expanses offered no cover and little usable water. Plagued with earthquakes and violent windstorms, it was pocked with sulfurous steam vents, as well as bottomless mud flats, scalding pools under thin rock shells, and unexpected pockets of lava. With such natural defenses, one would think the Splagnosians would rest easy. Not so. Swarms of surveillance drones searched out the first sign of intruders, marking their location for the regular manned patrols, the number of which had undoubtedly increased in honor of their arrival.
The next few days were sure to be interesting.
Shortly after resuming their trek, they came to what had once been a vast plaza, but was now transformed into a dish-shaped field of toxvine. Craters alternated with the rubble of toppled buildings, giving the plaza an undulating, hilly appearance. At the center, a sagging rotunda housed the deteriorating poles of a fire curtain—one snapped off about five feet from the ground, the other listing at a forty-five-degree angle.
Early in their crossing Tuck discovered a stairway leading to the very hub they sought. Unfortunately, it had caved in long ago and was crawling with mites. Passing it by, they had just climbed a tumble of stone blocks on the plaza’s far side when Whit, on point, signaled an alert. In the ensuing silence, they heard muted voices up ahead accompanied by the thump of footfalls and the clatter of dislodged rock. At Pierce’s silent signal, the group fanned out in opposite directions, taking cover in the buildings, the foliage, and behind the rocks.
No sooner were they hidden than, one by one, six strangers descended over the rubble into the pocket before them. Helmeted, goggled, and gloved, they wore clear plastic respirators and oxygen packs. Heavy leather armor of Zelosian make protected their upper bodies, and all carried short-barreled, thick-bodied Zelosian riot guns. Four of them eyed the surrounding buildings with weapons at the ready while the middle two poked around in the foliage. One came within feet of where Whit was lying. They were too small and poorly equipped to be Splagnosians, but with the respirators and bulky armor Callie didn’t peg them for fellow witnesses, either. And careful inspection revealed the dark-threaded aura of fire-curtain addicts.
As the strangers crossed the flat and climbed the pile of stone Callie and her friends had just descended, her eye caught on the woman bringing up the rear. Considerably smaller than her companions, her over-large armor, helmet, and respirator did a good job of obscuring her identity. Nonetheless she looked familiar. As she climbed after her fellows, Callie leaned over the window ledge, dislodging a stream of gravel that caused the stranger to whirl back, weapon leveled.
Callie recognized her with a jolt. Meg! Before she could gather her wits to speak, however, the woman turned and hurried after her companions, clearly spooked. Callie scrambled through the window in pursuit, calling after her to wait. Meg turned and fired so quickly she could not have seen what she was shooting at, and still the bolt struck Callie squarely, staggering her backward with a grunt of surprise, green fire sizzling across her protective shield. When she didn’t go down, Meg stood there, staring stupidly.
Recovering her breath, Callie moved toward her friend again. “Don’t shoot, Meg! It’s Callie!” Which should have been obvious, since, unlike Meg, Callie wore neither goggles nor respirator.
Meg kept the weapon trained on her, but did not fire, her mouth gaping behind the respirator.
Callie stopped at the base of the pile, four feet below her, nostrils curling at a fetid odor.
Finally, Meg’s weapon sagged to her side. “Callie?” Her voice sounded small and hollow through the plastic.
Rustles and crunchings from behind told Callie her friends were emerging. Meg looked at them, then back at Callie. “Your belt worked,” she said. “And you’re not wearing a respirator.”
“No.”
Meg looked at the others again. “John? Tuck?” Her mouth sagged. “Brody?”
Brody stopped at Callie’s side. “Hi, Meg. Guess you made it.”
“Yeah.” Meg seemed overwhelmed. She turned to Callie again and a smile bloomed on her face. “He did it,” she murmured. “He actually did it.”
At that moment Meg’s companions reappeared atop the rubble, and she twisted back to hail them. “Hold off, Row! It’s Callie and Brody and the others.”
Warily the newcomers clambered down to meet them. Only one was female, so that had to be Rowena, bigger and bustier than Callie remembered. She wore a molded breastplate and carbon-streaked thigh guards. The sleeves of her shirt, which might have been red once, were rolled up over grimy arms marred with oozing boils. Her eyes hid behind tinted goggles, but her mouth hung slack-jawed behind the respirator. For a moment she stood staring, as Meg had, then jumped down to face Callie on even ground. “Bloody harries! It really is you.” They eyed each other, and then she said, “We figured the Trogs had gotten you.”
“You figured wrong,” Callie said.
Meg descended to stand shoulder to shoulder with Callie as she turned back to face Rowena. She smelled terrible.
Rowena held herself stiffly. “How’d you guys get down the mountain? Don’t tell me you followed us?”
Brody cradled his SI in one arm. “We found Pierce’s Safehaven.”
“No kidding?” She glanced at the bearded, heavy-browed man who’d shadowed her down the hill—not anyone Callie recognized. “I left the rim with these people.”
“More gaters, eh?”
Row snorted and scratched under her respirator strap.
“It was just like he described it,” Brody added.
“Too bad he never got to see it for himself,” said Rowena.
“Who says I didn’t?” Pierce’s voice drew their attention to the mat of vines from which he, Whit, and Evvi were now emerging.
If Rowena had been surprised before, now she nearly dropped her rifle. She swayed and stared at him openmouthed. Her skin paled, and when she finally spoke, her voice was flat. “Pierce. You’re alive.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed.” Her voice remained creepily expressionless.
“So where’s Morgan?” Whit asked.
Rowena turned from Pierce. “Killed six weeks ago. Trogs took out more than half our people.” She paused. “I can’t believe you guys made it this far with no armor. What do you do? Dodge energy beams?”
John said, “We have our belts, Row.”
Rowena flicked a dismissive hand. “Those worthless things? We threw ours away weeks ago. You guys must not have seen much action.”
“So what are
you
doing here?” Pierce asked.
“Heading for Splagnos, of course.”
“Shouldn’t you be going in the opposite direction?”
Rowena cradled her weapon loosely in her arms as she scanned the buildings behind them. “There’s an old hub under this plaza. Used to be part of the rail system linking the Nine Cities.” She finally met his gaze, tilting her head back slightly. “That’s the way we’re going in. Soon as we find the opening.”
“It’s back there.” Pierce nodded across the plaza. “Under that twisted railing.”
She straightened to rigidity. “You found it?”
“It’s not gonna—”
“Show me!”
He glanced at Whit, who arched the brow over his good eye.
Pierce only shrugged. “Okay.”
As the combined groups followed him, Meg leaned against Callie and whispered, “When you go, can I come with you?”
“Go?”
“You don’t want to stay with these people. They’re all crazy. Especially the General.”
“Who’s the General?”
“Our leader. But he’s completely whacked out. Too much fire curtain. He’ll think you’re here to accompany him to Splagnos. If you refuse, he’ll accuse you of being Splagnosian spies. It’s happened before.”