Chaos (12 page)

She leaned toward me. “You’re right,” she said. “You
don’t
know Takeshi.”

“Are you sure you do? Takeshi has been gone for ten years. People change. You thought he’d be some noble leader of a resistance movement, and instead he’s been out for himself the whole time.”

“What would you have done if you were in his position, Lela? Tell me, since you’re apparently better than the rest of us.”

I sagged, defeated, and rested my forehead against the warm metal bars. “No idea. I just don’t get why he disappeared. And why he hasn’t tried to rescue us.”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I do know he loves me. He never stopped. And he loves Malachi. He won’t let him continue to suffer.”

“By leaving us in here, that’s exactly what he’s doing.” I wanted to rip the bars from the wall. I wanted to knock the building down with my bare hands. Somewhere out there, Malachi was about to endure the fire hour. Chained in the middle of that square, with nothing but a flimsy metal roof over his head. His shackles would get so hot they would burn his skin. The mere idea of it made me want to shriek.

“You should be more worried about what they’re going to do to us,” she said softly. “We’re going to have to try to make a break for it before they chain us up. We need to come up with a plan.”

I sank to the concrete, my hands falling away from the bars. “I was trying to.” I bowed my head on my knees, suddenly so weary that I could no longer hold it up. No grenades. No allies. No way out. A few hours until we became a public spectacle. “Any ideas, Captain?”

Ana sighed. “None at the moment.”

“Let me know when you come up with something.”

She didn’t answer. If we were lucky, they’d decapitate us. Maybe if we appeared at the gates of the city, we’d have another chance to escape. I chuckled grimly to myself. “Lucky” took on a whole new meaning in the Mazikin realm.

As the banging and roars outside fell silent, I drifted into dreams of Malachi, hoping that somewhere in their shifting sands, I would find our path to escape.

ELEVEN

I
AWOKE TO THE
sound of clanking chains. Next to me, Ana was getting to her feet. “Lela,” she whispered. “Here they come.”

I slid up the cement wall, my heart starting to pound. Memories of Malachi, covered in his own blood, his face a mask of pain, flooded back. Was that what lay ahead for us?

“Orders?” I asked as heavy footsteps clonked down the corridor.

“We’ll have to see what they’ve set up,” she answered in a low voice, talking fast. “If you can grab a weapon, go for it. I’ll do the same.”

“Sounds good,” I whispered as two men reached our cells. I might have considered taking them on once they opened our doors, but from the scuffling sound of boots I could tell that they’d brought a squad of helpers. There was only one exit from this corridor apart from the barred window, and without weapons, Ana and I were unlikely to be able to plow through all of them.

A bear of a man with pale-gray eyes lifted a set of shackles. “Some pretty jewelry for you,” he said, grinning.

Standing next to him, Nazir did not look amused. “Get them out and chained, Holloran. Don’t talk to them.”

“What are you going to do to us?” I asked.

Nazir’s eyes met mine, and in them all I saw was regret and pain, no softness. It was like everything kind or compassionate inside him had fossilized ages ago, leaving only stone. “He’ll make an example of you. He’ll put on a show for the Mazikin. And he won’t be satisfied until he has what he wants.”

Which was Takeshi, who had abandoned us. Me, I could understand. I didn’t mean a thing to him, really, and I’d never fully trusted him, as much as I’d wanted to. But I had trouble comprehending how he could have left Ana to this fate. I’d seen the way he looked at her, his eyes reflecting secret shared moments and years of want.

Nazir pulled one of those elaborate skeleton keys from a ring latched on to his belt and unlocked my cell. I held still while Holloran chained my hands in front of me and shackled my ankles. Once I was fettered, he and Nazir did the same to Ana, who stared at them with such intense hatred that it was a wonder their faces didn’t melt off.

Nazir took me by the arm and led me into the corridor. His grip was firm but not painful. Armed men and women, scarred and blistered and wearing pale leather cloaks, stood on either side of the hall. Every one of them held a weapon, knives of various shapes and sizes—some hooked and barbed, some long and broad, some curved and narrow. All deadly. They weren’t taking chances on us. Holloran walked behind Ana, his meaty fingers closed around the back of her neck. Her posture was taut as a bowstring despite the fact that her steps were hampered by the chains. The group turned toward the wide door in unison and one of them held it open for us.

As we filed out of the hallway and through a massive set of metal doors, I waited for my chance. Nazir let go of my arm when we reached a huge fenced-in space filled with humans and a few Mazikin wearing the cloaks with black triangles that I now assumed marked them as members of the enforcement squad. They stared at us with leering eagerness. Probably none of them recognized us, but the Smith had invited them in the hopes of drawing out the man who had been the scourge of the city for a decade, and they were here to make sure he didn’t leave a free man. There were at least twenty of them in the crowd, weapons sheathed at their belts, teeth bared. The humans gave them a wide berth, as if scared to draw their attention. Only Nazir and Holloran kept their heads high as we passed.

The crew led us through an opening in the crowd, and as Holloran moved to the side and shoved Ana next to me, our destination came into view. We were at the southern side of the factory, by the looks of it. To our right was the wall of the city and the filmy dome above us, smog curling against its surface, lit by lights below. Night had fallen while we were imprisoned, which probably meant, somewhere out in the city, my love was about to have his heart ripped out once again. I had wanted to save him from that, and I had failed. But I wouldn’t give up. I would endure whatever they did to us and take any opportunity to escape. I supposed one advantage of not being able to die was that I had endless chances to try. That also meant endless chances to be hurt, but I’d survived pain before. And I’d never had a better reason to go on.

The “yard,” as the Smith had called it, was surrounded by a high sturdy metal fence, barbed wire coiled at its top edge, large stadium lights blazing down on us. The space was about the size of a football field, and there was scaffolding ahead with a platform near the top and metal steps leading to it. As I had feared, the setup reminded me of Malachi’s platform in the square, and I was betting the Smith had very similar plans for Ana and me.

He stood on the platform, all four and a half feet of him, sporting a black cloak. He watched us approaching, his face grim, and then glanced at a low table next to him, his fingers grazing an object that lay atop it. He had a makeshift bullhorn in his other hand, attached to a wire that connected to enormous speakers on the metal roof over his head. He lifted the device to his lips as we reached the bottom of the steps. “Unfasten their ankle shackles. Let them approach their fate on their own two feet.” His voice blasted from speakers positioned against the factory building and at the top of metal columns between stretches of fencing.

Nazir unlocked my shackles and then knelt at Ana’s feet. As soon as he got Ana’s chains open, Holloran shoved us up the stairs.

The Smith’s huge round head came into view again as we climbed, our boots clanging softly against the metal steps. The top of the platform had no railing. One wrong move and someone could go plunging twenty feet or so to the ground below. An interesting prospect, though it looked like it would take a Mack truck to knock the Smith more than a few inches; he was built like a tank and had a low center of gravity, being so short. I looked around, trying to map a possible escape route. We were about ten yards from the high barbed fence that marked the boundary between the factory grounds and the city on the other side. Blocks of three-story cement buildings were all that lay beyond. About a mile away, I knew Malachi was on his platform. I wondered if I was imagining the distant cheers.

“Welcome,” murmured the Smith, his eyes skating over me and Ana. His thick fingers toyed with a ring of keys at his belt. That key ring probably held the one that could unlock Malachi’s chains, but though it was only arm’s length away, it was far out of reach. The Smith turned to Nazir and Holloran. “Put them in position.”

Nazir abruptly grabbed my arms and wrenched my bound hands over my head. Something in the movement drenched me in terrible black memories, and before I could stop myself, my knee jerked up and slammed him in the groin. He groaned and dropped to his knees.

“Men!” shouted the Smith, and the thunder of footsteps told me we wouldn’t be alone up here for long. To my left, I heard a wheezing grunt, and I glanced over to see Holloran tumble over the side of the platform, the victim of a sharp side kick from Ana. Yowls from below told me he had landed on startled members of the crowd.

I spun around, preparing to knock as many men off the platform as I could, but pain blasted through my back. I looked down to see the tip of a metal blade poking through the middle of my leather tunic. Someone had stabbed me straight through. As sticky drops of blood fell heavy on my boots, I sank to my knees. Ana called my name, but I couldn’t answer. And then the Smith’s breath was hot on the side of my face. “I take no pleasure in this. You gave me no choice, Guard.” He yanked the blade out of me, ripping a wet scream from my lungs.

I began to tip forward but was caught by a woman at the top of the steps. “Get her in position,” yelled the Smith.

The woman grunted as she lifted me. “Don’t fight him,” she whispered.

Senseless with pain, I was pressed up against a cold metal surface, my arms forced above my head. Two men held me there, their sweat-scented bodies keeping me upright as a third man fastened my wrists to the wall. And then I was left to hang, my toes brushing the platform’s surface. Ana, still struggling, was chained next to me a moment later.

“Are you okay?” I asked, barely able to get any volume. Below us, the crowd cheered our display.

“Better than you,” she said.

I looked above me—I wasn’t locked to the platform. My shackles had merely been looped over a hook in the wall. If I had the strength, I could get free. But I didn’t. And I couldn’t move my legs. Was I paralyzed? I hadn’t considered this, being alive but unable to run. “Ana,” I whispered, my voice breaking. I was useless once again, and the knowledge amped my pain to an unbearable level.

“See what happens to the enemies of our masters!” shouted the Smith. “See what happens to those who cause trouble in our city!”

His bullhorn PA system carried his booming voice over the crowd’s waving arms, overpowering their screams and cheers. He looked over his shoulder at me, focusing on the bloody mess of my torso. I swear I saw a flash of regret, but it didn’t last long—he was grinning as he turned back to his people. “How should I punish them?”

He looked at the Mazikin, who were the only ones not cheering. They looked wary, their round ears twitching, their black noses trembling. The Smith’s smile wavered, then turned into a line of determination. His thick fingers closed over a curved knife on his table, which was laden with instruments of torture—pliers, blades, tools I couldn’t even identify—all of which seemed designed solely to cause pain. I closed my eyes. If we had any chance at all, it was Ana. If I could draw the abuse and hold his attention, she could stay strong and maybe escape. I pushed a laugh from my tight throat, and the Smith turned back to me with surprise. “This amuses you?”

I swallowed back the metallic taste of blood on my tongue. “It’s funny, that’s all. How pathetic you are.”

“Shut up, Lieutenant,” Ana snapped.

The Smith’s attention remained focused on me. “You have an odd sense of humor.”

“No, I just realized that old cliché is true.” When he gave me a questioning look, I continued, forcing my voice into steadiness. “You’re just a little man who drew a short straw.” I let my gaze flick to his pants. “And you’re working hard to compensate.” I chuckled again, though it caused waves of agony. “Don’t let me stop you, dude.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” he growled. He raised his curved blade and came toward me, and I closed my eyes again, willing myself to be elsewhere.

“But maybe
I
could,” said a voice distorted by the screeching feedback of the audio system.

The Smith flinched, and the crowd hushed. “Who is that?”

“You invited me here,” said the voice.

“Show yourself,” the Smith roared. He stepped up to me quickly and pressed his blade to the side of my face. My eye twitched as the knife’s edge cut into my skin, but I stayed quiet.

“Let them go, and I won’t hurt any of you.”

The disembodied voice had a remarkable effect on the crowd. Many of the people crouched low, their eyes darting from speaker to speaker as if the challenger were actually hiding inside one of them. The Mazikin had dropped to all fours and moved to the edge of the courtyard, by the fence, frantically scanning the crowd, their fangs glistening, their claws curled.

The Smith laughed. “If you are who I think you are, you’re alone. And one man. Your threats are empty.”

The voice
tsk
ed. “I am one man.” A chuckle. “But I’ve always considered myself special. Let them go.”

The Smith’s blade carved a hard line of pain down the side of my face, and I screamed. “Show yourself, and then we can talk,” the Smith said, sounding bored. But his hand shook as he wiped his bloody knife on my tunic.

“Very well, Smith. Here I am.”

This time, the voice hadn’t come from the PA system.

It had come from only a few feet above us. A man swung down from the metal roof of our platform, sending a few other men plummeting to the ground as he cleared a path to the Smith using his fists and feet. He lowered his hood and grinned as the Smith backed against the table of torture implements.

Takeshi’s black hair stuck up in every direction as he leaned over the Smith and raised his eyebrows. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”