Z 2135 (13 page)

Adam sat in the corner of a filthy
apartment on the Orient Hotel’s third floor, watching while Carson and Fogerty
interrogated the pimp.

The apartment Adam once lived in with his
family was small. Basic. Slightly
larger but no fancier than those of most of Adam’s friends. He had one
friend, Arnold Denny, whose father was a lawyer. They lived in the high
apartments. Adam had seen his place three times; it was big and the ceilings
were tall. The paint at his place seemed extra clean. Standing in Arnold’s
apartment, Adam had felt somehow taller and stronger, like he could do anything
he wanted, and that feeling had made him want to do more.

This apartment was the opposite: it made
him feel smaller, less significant, and made him want to die.

The Orient Hotel was filthy from floor to
ceiling—wall to wall the most disgusting place he had ever been in. There were
rats and roaches, along with things Adam had never seen and hoped he could
forget. The place was brown and smelled like it, reeking of piss and shit.
Paint peeled where the walls weren’t already caved or broken. The building
weighed on Adam like a wet blanket, and while Adam had only seen one apartment
in the Orient, Little Mitch’s
had
to be the worst.

“So where were you, Mitch? This is a
simple question, and I’m not sure you’re seeing how patient I’m already being.
My partner Carson’s a nice enough guy, but I’m
starting to lose it. Word at the station is that I’m a total cock, and I’m at
my worst since my old lady hasn’t wanted to fuck me for a week. You’re either
gonna spill or not, and if you’re not, we’re gonna do some stuff that will
spread through The Quarters fast enough to get us a month full of
Yes SIR!s.
”

Adam wasn’t sure how long it went on like
that, but it was awhile. A lot about The Quarters had surprised him so far, but
nothing more than the way people were willing to argue with Watchers. These
were bad guys doing bad things, yet they were acting like the Watchers had no
power.

Little Mitch laughed, as he had been
since they stormed his apartment and Fogerty sent Adam into the corner. “Like I
said, I’m not saying shit, and don’t have to. You don’t scare me. You got
questions, you can ask my brother. He’ll tell you everything you wanna know.”

“And who’s your brother?” Fogerty asked,
smacking Little Mitch hard on the back of his head.

“Mac Callum,” Little Mitch said, then
leaned back in his chair, smiled, and watched the Watchers trade a glance.
“Yeah, that’s right,” he added. “Mac Callum. So don’t
fuck with me.”

Everything about Carson’s face changed.
He walked straight up to Little Mitch and launched his fist into the man’s
face. From behind him, Fogerty yelled, “We don’t give a shit who
your brother is,” then stood back as Carson shocked Adam by beating the holy
crap from their suspect.

Beating the man had to be wrong, but Adam
knew rules were different in The Quarters, and that maybe Carson was doing what
was necessary to keep Little Mitch from hurting other people. Carson was so
nice—Adam would have expected Fogerty to do the beating, he was gruff and mean
and it seemed in character. But here was Carson—with no hesitation—kicking the
shit out of the suspect.

Little Mitch was whimpering. Blood rained
from a face that was starting to not look like a face. Finally, he started
talking. Adam was bothered by the beating, maybe even a little scared by it.
But the man finally confessed to killing the woman. “That bitch owed me,” he
whined, as if it were a decent enough defense for murder.

After Little Mitch was all bloody,
Fogerty wrapped him in cuffs and dragged him downstairs, through the filthy
Orient and into the back of the van.

Fogerty got in and turned back to Adam.
“Look kid,” he said, “we don’t like to get physical, but sometimes us Watchers don’t get a choice, especially here in The
Quarters. It’s our job to show the criminals who’s
boss, and sometimes what we did up there,” he glanced toward the burned-out
letters in the sign, “well, that’s the only way we get people to listen.”

Adam nodded, wishing he were anywhere but
in a City Watch van, sharing space with a pimp and two thugs. He thought the
ride-along would be exciting, or maybe scary in a good way. But right now he
felt sick, and all he wanted was to go home to the Academy and climb into bed.

Fifteen minutes later, they were hauling
Little Mitch into the station. Fogerty agreed to book him so Carson could take
Adam to the dining hall before the end of their shift.

The station didn’t use ration cards, so
Adam ordered what he wanted—a protein sandwich, macaroni salad, and an
apple—then sat beside Carson.

“Listen, kid,” Carson said, as soon as
Adam sat, like he’d been waiting to say it. “Fogerty wasn’t bullshitting you in
the van. What you saw, we don’t do that all the time, but today it had to be
done. I know we set a bad example for you, and I’m sorry about that. I don’t
want to tarnish your image of City Watch because we lost control with an
asshole who wouldn’t fess to murder. That’s not who we
are
outside
The Quarters; that’s important to
understand. It’s an important lesson to take with you, because you’ll be in the
driver’s seat someday. You have to be able to disconnect yourself from the
stuff required from this job. I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Adam; I was
good friends with your old man. For what it’s worth, I don’t think he was guilty.”
He smiled. “But that’s between you and me, K?”

Adam nodded, swallowing uncomfortably. He
smiled back at Carson, though, and began eating his food.

He didn’t want anything to stay just
between him and Carson, at least not if Chief Keller asked.

If Liam had ammo left, this would’ve been
easy—or at least easier. Six bandits total: poor odds,
sure, but they would’ve had a better chance.

“We know you’re there, come out now, with
your hands up!” one of the bandits yelled as he approached.

“Come on,” Liam whispered. He shoved the
crowbar into a tool loop on his belt, held his hands in the air, nodded a
trust me
to Ana, and slowly stepped out from behind the tower and
faced the six men.

Ana walked with hands
in the air behind him.
Five of the six bandits fell back, all holding their weapons on Liam. One had
the old gun that had been Liam’s grandfather’s. The
man in front, a thick man with a pure black goatee, stepped forward and punched
Liam hard in the gut.

He cried out, clutching his stomach as he
worked to regain his balance. He wobbled and swayed, then stood straight,
looking at the man, defiant, eyes searching the roof for solutions, unwilling
to surrender to what he couldn’t see. That was Liam—taking punishment to buy
them time.

Liam wasn’t standing straight long before
the bandit hit him a second time, this time with a fist to his jaw. He cried
out, louder and with a warble, clapping hand to jaw as he staggered back, again
at war with his footing.

Liam surprised the bandit—though not
Ana—by regaining his footing much faster than he had let on and charging
straight for him, lunging towards his gut and sending them both to the rooftop.
Ana didn’t know—Liam couldn’t have either—if the bandits behind the goateed man
would start blasting. She wasn’t about to find out, though. Ana put one foot
behind the other, and started slowly backing away from the melee.

Goatee had untangled himself from Liam
and was now standing up. He waved his hand and his men fell back, holding their
barrels on Liam as the leader punched him so hard in the jaw he must have been
trying to prove the first two were tickles. Liam, who was also back on his
feet, fell back, landing on his ass. He wheezed and looked like he might vomit
as the bandit rushed him and slammed a boot hard on his chest.

Ana, now backed up to the roof’s edge,
called out, “Stop! Don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want—just leave him
alone.”

“You’ll do whatever we want anyway,” one
of the men said, laughing and stepping toward Liam so he was standing beside
the goateed man, aiming an energy rifle at Liam’s head.

Ana looked down from
the rooftop, 14 stories to the street below. No way she’d
survive. She remembered how the bandits were leering at her earlier, with such
ugly looks in their eyes, touching themselves. While she’d never been with a
man, she knew enough to know that you could short circuit their thinking by
introducing sex into the equation. Or in this case, rape. She hoped that the
men were more interested in having their way with her than exacting revenge on
Liam. If she was to be their prize, then the only way to command their
attention was to threaten whatever hell they had planned for her.

 She
shouted, voice faltering, “If you hurt him, I’ll jump. Let him go, or else!”

“You ain’t gonna jump,” one of the
bandits said from behind an uncomfortable sounding laugh.

Ana stepped onto the
ledge, nearly losing her balance as a gust of wind whipped at her.

She somehow managed not to fall, and
looked back at the bandits, heart in her throat, “I’ll fucking do it! Let him
go!”

She hoped like hell they wouldn’t call
her bluff.

The bandits looked at Ana, hesitating, as
if they were assessing her willingness to follow through.

Liam looked at her like he wanted to say
no, like he wanted to fight the men and protect Ana’s honor, or commit some
other atrocity of chivalrous bullshit. But he knew better; Liam was smart
enough to take the chance for what it was. He could—and would—return to save
her. Because that was Liam.

But I won’t need
saving.

She would jump once Liam was gone.

“If you hurt him, I’ll jump!” Ana screamed, “Let him go, or else!”

She teetered at the roof’s edge, insanity rimming both of her eyes. If Liam half-believed that she’d do it, the bandits must have no doubt. She was trying to buy him time to reach safety. Liam knew she wanted him to run.

But he couldn’t.

Liam stayed put, rooted as bandits looked from him to Ana, then back, clearly wondering what might happen next—and if Liam might be foolish enough to make a move with his silly crowbar.

If he ran now, he might get out alive. And if he were able to escape, maybe he could find a better weapon, then return with a fighting chance and save both of them.

But he looked around at the half-dozen bandits with their bloodlust and rape eyes, and felt hopeless. Even if he got away, it would take too long to find a weapon and get back. He didn’t dare leave Ana alone that long. Not with these men.

Liam had thought all was lost seconds after waking up that morning. But even with only a quarter of the attackers that they had faced at the tree’s base, Liam figured their odds were better earlier in the day. Then, the bandits were primed for attack, not seeing Liam or Ana as much of a threat. The few that were left were now angry. They had been outsmarted by their victims and pulled into pursuit, through the forest, into The Outback, and up 14 flights of stairs through a zombie-infested building, losing at least four more men along the way.

No, these bandits were out for blood … and more.

The world froze around him as he sized up the situation.

Of the six, three held guns. The one in front—the giant of a man with the thick black goatee—had picked up the wooden club he had dropped when struggling with Liam. The nails that were pounded through it glinted in the sun. Another held a spear. The third bandit without a gun, standing off to the side of the group, swung several feet of heavy chain, the links whistling with a mild scream as he swung it in wide circles against the whipping wind. Liam had nothing but a crowbar, two fists, and the willingness to die if it meant protecting Ana—who was still teetering at the roof’s edge.

Ana stared into his eyes, urging him to go. To flee. To leave her be. But Liam couldn’t, even with murder approaching from every angle. It was better to die than watch her die … or live with the knowledge of what they’d do to Ana if they caught her.

Because if she failed to jump, or they somehow stopped her, they’d take her as a toy, using her fast, brutalizing her body on behalf of their fallen brothers and their own sordid lusts. Liam had seen the atrocities leveled on women forced into The Games all too many times on TV.
This
wasn’t televised. God only knew how much worse they would treat Ana if given the chance.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Liam charged past Goatee and toward the bandit behind him—the one holding the spear—and tackled him hard with what little energy he still had. The move took the man by surprise, and Liam dropped him hard to the rooftop before he had a chance to raise his spear. The bandit scrambled for his spear, crawling on his stomach, his fingers touching the shaft …

Liam slammed the crowbar into the back of the bandit’s skull.

He wanted to go back for seconds, across the man’s face to make sure he didn’t rise as a zombie, but he heard footsteps approaching, and the sound of metal swinging. He glanced up just in time to see Chain Man running at him.

Liam managed to roll out of the way as the chain whistled and slapped the roof beside him. Liam sprung back up and swung the crowbar, taking aim at Chain Man’s kneecap.

The solid steel hit with a loud crunch, shattering bone. The bandit’s leg folded the wrong way, collapsing him to the roof in a scream. He bent over, clutching his bloody knee, dropping the chain out of reach.

Liam swung the crowbar into the top of the man’s skull, twice, killing his screams.

Liam had been expecting gunfire to erupt, but a shot had yet to be fired. He leapt to his feet—
two down
—then looked over at Goatee and saw why he wasn’t riddled with bullets yet: Goatee had his hands in the air, waving his brothers back. His eyes were as red as they were yellow, hungry for Liam’s blood.

Goatee took a step toward him, but Liam held his space, crowbar poised in front of him, ready to swat or swing or parry. Eager to kill. Goatee grunted and swung his club from what might as well have been a rooftop away.

Liam laughed, trying to get under his skin, rattle him.

Goatee swung his club again, this time coming a bit closer to Liam, but not close enough for Liam to launch a counter attack. He moved quickly out of the way.

Goatee was a strong and big, but lumbering. If his club struck Liam, it would probably mean instant death. But even exhausted, Liam was faster and lighter. If he could hang in long enough to get behind the man, or even just near enough to strike, he could take the giant down.

Liam didn’t dare move his focus off the big man. He could only hope no one else was taking aim. Hoped no one was moving closer to Ana. Hoped Ana was still on the ledge and hadn’t already jumped.

Goatee took two steps toward Liam, pushing him farther from both Ana and the other bandits.

Liam stepped back, holding the crowbar tight, watching the giant’s arm muscles to try and predict when he might swing again. He was too close, but Liam didn’t dare step back too fast or too blindly, lest he trip over decades of debris littering the roof.

Goatee snarled, jerked his head toward Ana, and said, “After I kick your body over the side, we’re gonna hold her down while the others take turns fucking her, one from each side.” He smiled, a gruesome sight. “I called pussy on the way over.”

Liam said nothing. He just kept watching Goatee’s arms and feet, and moving out of the way in response. He noticed that Goatee was growing more out of breath as he continued to swing the club.

What Goatee wasn’t tiring of was tugging on Liam’s nerves. “When we’re finished, we’ll take her back to camp and let everyone have a go. She’ll be begging us to kill her. But we won’t. We’ll use her up until she’s wide as a valley. Then we’ll flip her. Maybe even cut some new holes.”

Goatee expected Liam to charge.

But Liam wasn’t biting.

Instead, he picked up his pace, moving faster even though he was stepping back blindly. If he could move fast enough, Liam could tire the giant, and then make his move.

Goatee grunted as he took another swing.

This time, Liam dashed to the man’s right as the club went left.

Liam brought the crowbar up, hitting Goatee in the elbow with a satisfying
crunch
.

Goatee’s grip didn’t weaken on the club even as he screamed out in pain. His eyes met Liam’s, and Liam felt as if he’d spit on an angry bull.

The bull charged, faster than Liam expected. He realized that Goatee was feigning fatigue.

The club flew at Liam’s face.

Liam’s foot slipped on something and he fell back, smacking the rooftop hard and sending the breath out of his lungs.

Goatee was quick to recover. He lifted the club over his head, ready to deliver the death blow.

No way to deflect it …

His mind reeled, adrenaline coursing through his body. Before his brain found a defense, Liam’s foot responded, thrusting straight into the man’s right knee.

Goatee’s leg collapsed, just like Chain Man’s, twisting the club’s arch and causing it to plummet hard, just inches to Liam’s right.

The giant toppled, and Liam raised his crowbar, thrusting the sharp end into the man’s gut. Goatee fell forward, on top of Liam, driving the metal deeper into his own stomach even as he pinned Liam down.

The bandit screamed as his hot blood emptied onto Liam.

It bubbled from the man’s mouth, and his eyes rolled back, wide, scared, and angry. As the man’s blood frothed onto Liam’s face, Liam twisted his head away, closing his lips tight against the taste of warm copper.

“You fucker,” the man managed, as he brought his hand’s to find Liam’s neck.

Trapped, his arms pinned beneath the massive man’s weight, Liam felt the fear tighten its hold on him, just as the man tightened his hands around Liam’s neck.

Why won’t you just die?

Liam wrestled with the crowbar beneath the man’s weight, twisting and turning it as best he could, trying to do as much damage as he could to the internal organs and ensuring the man bled out quickly before Liam could be strangled.

Goatee’s hands didn’t slacken.

Shit!

Liam continued struggling with the crowbar, twisting and turning it, feeling even more of the man’s blood pour out, but he wasn’t dying. His grip was somehow growing desperately tighter.

Then it was Liam who felt himself weakening, struggling for breath as the man kept choking him. Liam struggled to keep his chin down hard on the giant’s hands, lest they completely close around his windpipe and collapse it immediately.

The man’s grip tightened, and Liam felt panic enflame his face as a lightheadedness began to take over.

No!

Can’t.

Pass.

Out!

Liam managed one last surge of strength, turning the crowbar up severely, until he heard an awful crunching sound and saw the man’s eyes widen.

Goatee’s grip, and body, went limp.

Fuck yeah!

Liam wanted to collapse as he felt air fill up his lungs again, but then he heard the guns blazing. Pieces of the roof flew up in chunks as the bandits opened fire.

Liam twisted the giant’s corpse to put it between him and the bandits, using it as a shield. It shook and jolted as bullets and energy blasts beat into it.

It was only a matter of time before something ripped through and found Liam.

He glanced up at Ana, still teetering at the edge, watching and waiting. She was see-through pale. Exposed, but reasonably safe until Liam was dead.

He wished she’d run while the bandits’ attention was on him. But she might have had no clear escape, or was too weak to risk running.

She had to keep suicide as an option.

Liam tried yanking the crowbar from the giant, but it was slippery and stuck.

Shit!

The bandits moved closer, firing.

Thankfully, most were shit shots, otherwise Liam would be dead. Of course, he might as well have been, with nowhere to run.

All he had was a fucking crowbar, which he couldn’t even pull from the giant’s corpse.

Amazingly the gunfire stopped as one of the men, Liam couldn’t see which, said, “Surrender now, and we’ll let you live.”

Yeah, right.

Liam didn’t dare peek over the corpse. Didn’t dare see what they were up to. But he couldn’t help but wonder why they’d stopped firing.

They easily could have finished him off right here. Just kept firing until they broke through his shield.

But they weren’t.

Instead, they were advancing.

There were three men left. The odds had shifted significantly, giving Liam a glimmer of hope that he might survive. But still, they had guns.

The wind picked up, making it impossible to hear their footsteps. But he could feel them coming.

Liam continued to wrestle with the crowbar, finally pulling it from the giant’s body. It was coated in a thick stickiness. He had no time for disgust.

No time for anything but to—

Then he heard footsteps running toward him.

Too late.

Hands pulled his hair and yanked him from his hiding spot.

A hard fist slammed in his back.

Liam dropped the crowbar.

He was helpless.

Liam struggled to turn and fight off the bandit, but the gun was already at his head.

He froze.

He watched as the two others approached, barely able to bury their rotten-toothed smiles behind their smacking lips.

“Well, well, well,” a tattooed man with long, dirty curly dark hair said. “Whatcha gonna do now?”

Liam looked past them and saw Ana, still on the ledge, staring and crying. As certain as he was just seconds from death, he was also certain she would follow.

The man with the tattoos turned back to Ana, “Don’t jump honey. We’ll let loverboy live, so long as you don’t fight us. Just step away from the ledge.”

Liam finally understood: he was their pawn to talk her down. After all they’d been through, to wade through the zombies of this building and city without any prize to show for it must have been crushing. All of this
without
Ana was just not an option.

For them, anyway.

“Don’t trust them!” Liam yelled. He didn’t want to tell her to jump. Couldn’t. But he didn’t want her to move away from the ledge, either. Jumping was her final card—she
couldn’t
just hand it over. “They’re going to kill me, anyway!”

“Shut up,” another of the bandits—a skinny rat of a man—said, grabbing the fallen Chain Man’s weapon. He slinked toward Liam, rat grin teasing intent.

He gripped the chain and said to Ana, “Get your little ass over here right now, or we start whipping your boy.”

“Stay there!” Liam shouted.

“Shut up,” Rat Man said and swung. The chain hit Liam in the back of his calves and dropped him back to the rooftop. Pain shot through both knees.

“Get over here, NOW!” Rat Man commanded, laughing as he walked behind Liam.

Liam flinched, balled his fists, ready to fight back, but then the bandit with the gun reminded him to sit still by shoving the energy blaster against his head.

“I’m gonna count to three!” Rat Man said. “One …”

Ana cried out, starting to step away from the ledge.

“Stay!” Liam said.

“Two!” Rat Man said.

Ana was frozen, shaking her head, her distress breaking Liam’s heart.

“Three!” Rat Man said and swung again, this time hitting Liam across his back.

Liam screamed, and fell forward, hunched over in pain.

“I’m gonna give you one more chance, bitch!” Rat Man said. “One!”

“Stop! I’ll come!” Ana said, and started to step away from the ledge.