Читать книгу Shattered Roads - Alice Henderson - Страница 12

Chapter 6

She darted down the alley, listening at each corner for sounds of the Repurposers. It seemed she’d lost them—for now, at least. She ran on, knowing it would take at least an hour to make it to the Tower.

The residential complexes stretched on and on. She’d never known there were so many. This was the longest she’d ever been outside, the farthest she’d ever traveled. She knew she was at least two miles away from her living quarters.

The air hung like a wet weight, so heavy she sweated from every pore. Her shirt clung to her, and her feet swam in her work boots. Above the skyshield, the gray clouds of the night sky hung low, their undersides lighted by the orange wash of the city lights. The streets lay empty. She wasn’t surprised. At this hour, only a corpse cleaner like herself would be out. The laundry, food, cleaning crews, all would have finished by now. An electric buzz hung in the air, filling the silence.

As she ran past the residential skyscrapers, she tried to count how many people must live in each, then how many buildings stretched to the horizon. Would anyone notice her? Help her? Every few blocks, she passed industrial complexes like the one she lived in, massive warehouses that contained the laundry, food-making, and baby facilities, as well as the living quarters of other workers. The dull throb of machinery thudded outward from these buildings, the ever-present deafening cacophony of laboring equipment, hidden away from the residential buildings, all that menial labor out of sight of the residents.

She sped on, navigating by the landmark of the Tower. She passed another industrial building. Light poured out from an open door, and she felt the blast of heat from clothes dryers working overtime just inside the entrance. Her body ached for a drink of water, but she forced herself onward.

As she passed the mouth of an alley, she heard something move behind her. She staggered forward as someone struck her in the back of the head. Blistering pain erupted inside her skull, and she went down hard on one knee, collapsing on the hot asphalt. Hands grabbed her arms and pulled her down the alley. More hands grabbed her legs, and she felt herself propelled forward, into the dark shadows of the stinking, trash-filled back street. Her head throbbed in pain as she fought a grogginess that stole over her body. Her limbs felt like great manacles held them, and though she tried to thrash, her dull headache slowed her reflexes.

“Place her down here!” one of her captors said. She turned her head to see the same dark-haired Repurposer she’d seen before. Sweat streamed down his face from under the brim of his hat, and his dark eyes glistened eagerly. He pulled out the gleaming tool, switching it on. The anticipation in his eyes chilled her. This was not just a job to him. He enjoyed this.

“Should we blast her first?” another asked, reaching for his energy discharge weapon.

“Then she wouldn’t be awake,” the dark-haired one said simply. He had the air of their commander. “Hold her down!”

Her head started to clear. She craned her neck around as they pinned her down on her stomach. Four men gathered around her, all dressed in the dark uniform of the Repurposers: the efficient, tight-fitting suits, the shiny shoes . . . She kicked the one holding her legs square in the face. His nose erupted in a crimson spray, and he fell backward.

“What the hell are you doing?” their commander barked to him. “Get up!”

He struggled to grab her legs again as she tried to wrench free from the men holding her arms. Panic seized her as she felt the man grab her feet again.

“Sit on her!” the commander shouted. She felt a crushing weight as the man pinning her left arm sat down on her rib cage, forcing all the air out of her lungs.

Now the leader came forward with the tool. He revved its tiny motor, and she heard the whir of the bone saw inside it. He was going to cut right through her skull. She thrashed her arms, flailed her legs, bucked her hips, and tossed her head around. As her head connected with the leader’s hand, he almost lost hold of the tool. Cursing, he grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her face down hard against the asphalt. She fought with everything in her, hands thrashing against the pavement until they bled.

She felt the cold metal of the tool connect with her scalp. A searing pain cut through her skin.

Then a swift boot appeared, and the tool went flying. She heard a grunt. The leader flew backward, slamming against a brick wall. The weight off her back vanished, and she lifted her head as the Repurposer slammed back against the wall. The man holding her legs cried out, and suddenly she was free.

She punched the last man holding her right arm, sending him crashing onto his back. She was up, braced to fight.

Standing in front of her, holding one of the men in a head lock, was the tattooed stranger. As the Repurposer struggled in his grip, another came toward him. The stranger wrenched his elbow upward, cinching tighter around the man’s neck. She heard the snap of bone, and the man slumped lifeless at the stranger’s feet.

Against the far wall, the leader leaped up. She faced him, expecting his men to jump her all at once. But the man on the opposite wall ran for the end of the alley, vaulting over a fence there. Another followed. The leader watched them go, eyes enraged, then turned to her.

He brushed off his jacket and calmly bent down, picking up the shiny metal tool. “I might have to do more than Repurpose you,” he said, walking toward her. “I might have to accidentally botch the operation.”

Fear shot through her like an electric jolt. Her mouth went dry, her limbs heavy as cement bags. He didn’t even acknowledge the outsider. The tattooed stranger stepped over the fallen Repurposer and stood next to her. She could smell him when a gust of hot wind hit them, a curious mix of unidentifiable spices, sweat, and an earthy scent. The leader took in his fallen worker, then gazed slowly up at the blond-haired stranger.

“I have no interest in you, wastrel. Go back to whatever sewer you crawled out of.”

He advanced on H124, but she fought the urge to bolt, knowing he’d only catch up to her again, bringing more reinforcements. But she’d never fought in her life before tonight. He came forward, and she stepped back, keeping a safe distance while she figured out what to do. The tattooed stranger did the same. Then hands grabbed her from behind. The two men had circled, not run away. The leader sneered. One of the men grabbed the stranger, but he bucked him off, whirling around and kicking him in the face. H124 kicked out as the leader approached, landing a solid boot right to his knee. He went down hard, cursing. She thrashed, trying to throw off the man who held her arms. His fingers dug into her flesh as he held onto her relentlessly. The stranger’s attacker had recovered, holding on to his ruined nose. Blood streamed through his fingers. The outsider charged, sending the bleeding man sprawling into a fetid pile of garbage.

As the leader advanced, bringing up the tool, while the other man held her head still, H124 saw a blur of motion. The stranger leaped up onto the leader’s back, twisting his body around. She saw genuine shock seep over the commander’s face as he fell back, arms flailing. The stranger grabbed the gleaming tool and pressed the trigger all the way. The machine whirred to life, flashing light from one end. The stranger brought it to the leader’s chest. H124 watched in horror as the bone saw cut through the man’s clothes and rib cage, and hit his heart with a violent crimson spray. The leader fell limp.

The stranger stood up, tool in hand. Releasing her from his grip, the man who was holding her turned and ran down the alley. The other one picked himself up from the garbage, nose seeping blood, and limped after his partner.

“The commander’s dead!” one shouted into his PRD as he retreated.

“We need backup,” yelled the other. “Now!”

H124 stood in the alley, alone with the stranger. He tucked the Repurposing tool into his satchel and glanced around at the carnage.

He then rummaged through the clothing of the two bodies, removing their PRDs. He looked up, meeting her eyes. A pleasant thrum buzzed through her, his gaze a visceral force.

“You have to get out of here,” he said. “Stay in the shadows. Leave the city. It’s not safe for you now. You’ve been marked.”

“Who are you?” she asked, finding her voice.

“Rowan. And you?”

“Um . . . I don’t have a name. My worker designation is H124.”

“Nice to meet you, H.” He smiled again, then turned and sprinted down the alley, vaulting over the fence at the end.

Now she was truly alone, her attacker’s blood pooling at her feet.

Heeding Rowan’s advice, she followed suit, taking the same course as he had. She would take these side alleys as far as she could toward the Tower.