The Fugitives, A Dystopian Vampire Novel: Book Four: The Superiors Series (3 page)

CHAPTER Four

Meyer opened a big box and set a stack of pajamas inside, making sure the corners stayed crisp and didn’t get bent during shipping. He hated wrinkled pajamas, especially when the whole set was nice and neat, with the fold lines in the right places. If it weren’t for that, he’d let one of his servants do the packing.

When his pod began flashing, he stood and picked it up. He smiled to himself and flipped on the wall screen before accepting the call.

“Why, hello there, Milton. If it isn’t one of my very favorite people on earth.”

“Hi, Kidd. Packing up to go home?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I know how dearly I’ll be missed.”

“Dearly,” Milton agreed. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I have some news for you.”

“Pertaining to?”

“Pertaining to that fugitive you’re suddenly so interested in. Is this just because of Byron harassing you? Because I have to say, you’re usually not drawn into battles of spite so easily.”

“No, no, I’ve already explained that to you. I have my reasons. And you know I can’t discuss them with you. So, what’s the news?”

Milton sighed. “They were picked up at an endlot. The sapien with him, the one that belongs to one of our Enforcers, staked the Enforcer who brought them in.”

“Is that right? Well, I wonder who taught her to do that.”

“Don’t get smart with me. And please for the love of god tell me you didn’t teach her that.”

“Me?” Meyer said, hardly able to pull off an offended look without laughing. “Now, what would give you a batty idea like that?”

“Here we go again. Son of a sapien, Meyer. You know I can’t work with you if you keep doing these crazy things up here. I could lose my job.”

“In which case I’d give you a better one. You know I look after my own.”

Milton sighed and ran a big hand over his bald head. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Mind giving me an update? Have they been detained?”

“Nope. They got away. Cut off the bastard’s hand and stole his car. Left him on the side of the road in the prisoner transport trailer.”

Meyer laughed and clapped his hands. “Now I’m sure I made the right decision in leaving him out there.”

“You really think your trackers can find him that easy?”

“Of course they can, Milton. The problem with your government trackers is they aren’t paid enough. With enough money, you can do anything.”

“Wish I could argue.”

“Ah, but you can’t,” Meyer said. “Where are they now?”

“The Enforcers found the car’s tracking device easily enough, but this guy took it out of the car. Seems he knows how to disable the thing.”

“This is priceless, I say, priceless.”

“Glad someone finds it amusing. If you’d lost a hand, you wouldn’t.”

“True, but I can’t lose a hand. I’m the man of steel, remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” Milton shifted in his seat. “The Moines Enforcers are looking for the missing car. We think they’re making a getaway in it, but where they’re going is anyone’s guess.”

“Moines, you say?”

“Yes, they left the Enforcer in Moines.”

“This just keeps getting better. I was going back to Texas, but maybe I’ll pop over to Moines for a few months, do some work there. Maybe pay a visit to your fugitive.”

“I really wish you’d just bring him in.”

Meyer shrugged. “Perhaps I will. Depends on how much I like him.”

“Don’t you do anything illegal, Kidd. You know I can only protect you so far.”

“Me? Illegal? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, I’m leaving Princeton, so you don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got other informants, you know.”

“Glad to hear that.”

“I’m sure you are. Your only job now is to keep me updated on that psychotic Byron and his quest to ruin me.”

“I can do that. However, should your fugitive be sent back to Princeton, I’m not protecting him. He’s dangerous, and he ought to be disposed of.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Does it matter how I answer that question?”

“Not especially. I’d like you to activate his tracer for me.”

“You know I can’t do that, Kidd,” Milton said, shaking his head. “All kinds of government forms and red tape to go through. I can’t just do that on anyone I want. He’s a known criminal, and we haven’t even been authorized to activate the tracer.”

“How’s life, Milton? Anything you need? Your desk there is looking a little crowded.”

“Don’t try to wheedle it out of me, Kidd.”

“Wheedle? Who said anything about wheedling? I’m just asking after your general welfare.”

Milton sighed. “My desk is fine, thank you. Life is good.”

“Is it? But I’m sure there’s something that could make it better. How’s your car? I hear they’re putting out a new Rosso this year.”

“My car is in excellent condition. Thank you for asking.”

“And your sapiens? You know, I have a family of them up here this year, and they’re so expensive to transport. Maybe I could lend one to you until, say, next winter?”

“Not doing it.”

“What a shame. You’ve been such a good friend to me, Milton. How about I give you one as a special thank you, just for being so willing to help me out with my little endeavors over the years? Maybe you could lend it to me for a few months when I’m visiting, and the rest of the year, he’s yours to keep and do with as you see fit. I only ask for the use so I won’t have to haul them around with me every year.”

“You’re never going to quit, are you?”

Meyer smiled his most winning smile. “Quitters never win and winners never quit.”

“Dammit, Meyer.” Milton ran a hand over his shiny, bald head again. “Fine, let me see what I can do.”

After agreeing, Meyer continued packing, glancing at the screen every now and then while Milton tapped away at his own screen, looking for the information he needed to pull up the forms. After a while, Meyer noticed that Milton had stopped moving and sat frowning at the side of the screen that didn’t contain Meyer Kidd’s face.

“What is it?” he asked.

“This can’t be right.” Milton studied his findings. “He’s already been activated.”

“Too bad. The Moines Enforcers must be on him by now.”

“No,” Milton said slowly. “No, the Moines Enforcers didn’t activate him. Byron did.”

“Byron? When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“Where is Byron now?”

At last, Milton pried his eyes away from the form. “He’s on personal leave.”

“Since when?”

“Since a few days ago.”

“This should be fun then. He didn’t tell you about this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You can play clean cop to everyone else, but don’t lie to me.”

“Kidd, I swear to you. He—that Draven fellow—hasn’t done anything to warrant tracer activation. Byron left a while back on leave, but he came right back. I didn’t know anything about this.”

“Very well. I suppose if I want to meet this bloke, I’d better get going. There won’t be anything left when Byron is finished.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad. He just got a bug up his ass about you. You could make things easier on yourself if you stopped being such a little shit.”

“I’m officially offended. Here I’m giving you a sap and you talk to me that way?”

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, you know that, Kidd?”

“I don’t know, I’m worth an awful lot. Besides, what fun would it be if I stopped being a little shit? People wouldn’t know what to do with me. You don’t know how annoying it gets to be treated like a child for two hundred bloody years.”

“You are a child, Meyer.”

“Go to bloody hell. I’m more of a man than most men will ever be. Now send me his tracer code, and I’ll leave you alone. You’ve got me in a grump now.”

“I’m sending it right now.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you next year. Enjoy my gift.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Milton said, patting his stomach.

What a wanker.

Meyer closed the connection once he’d stored the tracer code. Speaking of wankers, he couldn’t believe Byron had broken a law to activate Draven’s tracer. Milton would do just about anything for money, but Byron? He was a stick up the government’s ass. Enforcers breaking the Law—didn’t that defeat the whole purpose? If even Law Enforcers didn’t obey the Law, what was the point of having laws at all? No wonder the world was going to hell in a handbasket, as Meyer’s human mother used to say, quite fondly, on a daily basis.

He threw back his head and let out his biggest, most daunting laugh. He liked the sound of it echoing around the room. What a world we live in, he thought. Let them all eat each other alive, and only the strong survive. Chaos, that was the answer. Anarchy, lawlessness, pillaging. Sure, all his money would be worthless then. He probably didn’t really want that. But it was fun to think about. He liked to bugger the government all he could, make them work a little harder. And if one day his money was worth nothing, he’d throw it on a burn pile and warm himself on the flames. Whatever happened, he’d do just fine. He always had. After all, it wasn’t his money that got him what he wanted, it was the brains to know how to use the money.

Let the world go to hell, he thought. He wasn’t entirely certain what a handbasket was, but it seemed as good a vehicle for underworld transport as any.

CHAPTER Five

Quite a few nights passed before Draven came upon something promising, almost too much so. The houses south of Moines were scattered a bit further apart, not right on top of each other as they were inside the city. The place crept in on itself, and instead of gaining the sense of a city that had grown too large for the confines of its borders and spilled over, tapering off into a scatter of small houses, it felt more as if every possible space had been occupied, and the outlying areas encroached upon the overpopulated city sectors, waiting their turn to slip in unnoticed and stake a claim. The important people lived in the city, of course, and those who barely hung onto their spot in the world, and those who only got by and nothing more. Draven had been this last type. Now he was nothing, less than nothing. A fugitive from the law, an escapee of justice, a thief by necessity. A taker of lives that didn’t belong to him.

Each night, he moved through the outskirts of the city to find a residential sector where he could eat. Before deciding on a house, he watched the neighborhood for several nights, deciphering the pattern of departures and returns.

The neighborhood where he struck his good fortune was not a wealthy one, but a declining one filled with houses that had perhaps once belonged to Seconds, but had been snatched up by wealthier Thirds. A total of eleven houses stood at even intervals, with the biggest house—the lone dwelling still occupied by a Second, though not a very successful one—perched at the end of the flat street, lording over the smaller houses lining either side. Draven began at the middle house on south side of the street. The owner of the house owned one sapien, which lived in an old-fashioned mud house in the fenced backyard. The sapien emerged from the Superior’s house each evening when the Superior left, made itself comfortable in its own lodging, ate, lit a few fire biscuits for warmth, and took sleep.

Upon entering the neighborhood the first time, Draven waited until the sapien had quieted. Then he quickly scaled the rock wall identical to the one that surrounded each backyard and dropped to the ground. The wall stood a bit taller than Draven, an effortless climb of less than three meters. He approached the sapien’s mud hut and crept inside. The sap slept on a pallet drawn close to the fire pit on the floor. Draven could hear it breathing as he moved around its home. He found a bit of food, but nothing to hold it. He pocketed two jars of white cubes, potatoes or turnips. The sapien looked healthy, but it didn’t have much food. The master likely kept it in the house.

After preparing to leave, Draven hesitated. He hadn’t eaten in two days, and the sap lay sleeping before him…

He knelt beside the sapien and lifted its arm. It stirred, not struggling yet but pulling away. “What’s going on?” it asked.

“Nothing,” Draven whispered. “I am hungry, that is all. I will eat, and then I will leave.”

The sapien scrambled upright, nearly falling on the cluster of coals that lay in the center of the room. “Who are you?” it asked.

“I am no one,” Draven said. “Do not scream, and I will not harm you. Yes?”

The sap looked terrified, but he submitted. When Draven finished eating, he sealed the punctures and sat back. “That wasn’t so bad. You hardly felt it. It could have been a dream. Yes?”

“Yeah, yeah, Master.”

“Indeed. Now lie down and take sleep.”

“Okay, Master.” The man lay down, leaving Draven to marvel at the obedient behavior of some saps. They’d do whatever he suggested like they’d had the idea themselves. Draven left the sapien’s hut with the two jars in his pockets. The next house had a sapien hut like the last, but it stood empty, and bits of the walls crumbled inward, leaving it lurching perpetually sideways into ruin.

The last house stood at a ninety degree angle to the big house at the end of the street, and Draven didn’t want to risk running into a noisy sap and drawing the attention of a Second. So he turned back toward the end of the street. The next house had a sapien mother and a baby. Draven forced the mud and straw door back and went inside. The house smelled like baby and dirt and smoke. What was left of the fire biscuits smoldered in the pit on the floor. Draven found a bag and a few cans and a box of crackers.

In the last house on the street, the one next door, two dogs began a frenzy of barking. Draven snatched up the bag of food and ran. Just as he leapt the fence onto the street, however, he saw what had alarmed the dogs. Not him, but a pack of dogs. Though once he’d quite liked dogs, even owned one, since he’d been attacked and severely injured, he’d grown more cautious. A pack of wild dogs roaming the streets for food, just as he was, would not be easily calmed.

When they spotted him, the dogs began racing towards him. He considered returning the way he’d come, but he didn’t want to be so near the Second’s house. He started for the house across the street, but one of the dogs lunged into his path and stood growling, as if heading him off. They had nearly surrounded him, so he darted towards the one opening in the pack, towards a house that stood empty. He’d spotted it on earlier visits to that particular street, but since no one occupied the house, he hadn’t bothered with it. No Superior meant no sap, and no sap meant no food.

With a desperate glance down the street, Draven sprinted for the fence. He hadn’t seen any Superiors yet, but the noise would soon bring one out. A dog snapped at him as he bounded past. In one movement, he sprang forward and leapt the fence into the backyard. The dogs outside quieted, but he could sense them prowling up and down, looking for a way in.

Draven thought briefly of going into the sapien hut and hiding in case the Superior at the end of the street came looking. Certainly a Superior had come out to investigate the commotion, but whether anyone had seen him, he couldn’t know. The mud hut behind the house, though in good condition, stood empty. A hard-packed dirt floor, sod walls, a bare corn-shuck mattress standing against the wall, a crooked plastic table in one corner. The pit in the floor contained the charred remnants of several fire biscuits. The hut offered no concealment. He heard a car turn into the street, and he froze. Perhaps someone had alerted the Enforcers of the disturbance.

After the car passed, he dashed up the three back steps, across the small stoop, and through the back door of the house. For a moment, he stood frozen, absorbing the realization of his crime. He’d entered the house. He’d broken into someone’s home. Still in awe, he closed the door behind him and surveyed the house’s interior.

After treason and murder, this was perhaps the most serious crime possible. Superiors had built a social society, and they spent almost all their time together. The government couldn’t stop talking about society and togetherness. But inside, they cared only for themselves. Everyone alone, even together. And part of that aloneness was privacy. Superiors loved their privacy.

Draven had thought the house unoccupied. He hadn’t seen a car come or go on the nights he’d watched the neighborhood. But the house appeared very much occupied. It was small, made of grey stone like the others on the block. Neat outside and in, almost quaint. It had all the signs of habitation—an electronic screen in the wall, a table with a few odds and ends clustered in the center, a couch with a pair of shoes under it. Slowly Draven relaxed and moved through the rooms. The bedroom took up a good part of the house, and by its contents, Draven guessed a woman lived there. The enormous closet housed a rack of clothing and shelves at each end brimming with shoes and sweaters. The bedroom held a large bed, almost as wide as it was long, and a large bureau, also full of clothing, to the right of the bed.

A young woman, Draven guessed, probably a Third—most young Seconds hadn’t made it through a hundred years of war—who loved
things
. He’d partnered a woman like this once. Clothing everywhere. So much makeup, so many products to make one look more beautiful, different. The sliding closet doors were mirrored top to bottom, giving a full view of Draven and most of the room. He didn’t know why anyone would need floor to ceiling mirrors covering three meters of closet door.

A shower room opened off the bedroom, with a full-sized Jacuzzi tub and shower with sliding glass doors. This room also had a floor to ceiling mirror on the inside of the door. Draven studied himself. His face had turned greyer than it should be, somehow gaunt even though it would always be the same as it had been a hundred years ago. His hair was dull and dirty and limp, and he might need a shave. Since his hair grew very slowly, like the hair of a newly dead sapien, he only shaved every few years. His clothing was ragged and dirty, too, though he’d worn his best tonight.

Back in the sitting room, he noticed that the blinders had been left on the windows. Although a Superior clearly still lived here, her scent was only strong in the bedroom. From her fading scent in the rest of the house, he could tell that it had stood empty for a few days. He returned to the bedroom to gather a few clothes for himself and Cali, but when he activated the lights, the wall screen hummed to life. Draven stood frozen while a woman’s flawless face materialized on the bedroom wall. “Welcome home, Molly,” she said in an artificially smooth voice. “How was your vacation?”

After a moment, reason returned and Draven relaxed. Instead of a real woman, this was only a computer generated image. Using voice activation, the house’s owner could respond to the prompt to use her wall screen when she returned…from vacation. For a long while, Draven considered his options. He searched the house, looking for clues as to when the woman named Molly would return, but he found nothing. He knew she’d only recently left, as her scent still lingered.

He stood at the front door and listened before peering out. While he’d explored the house, the dogs had dispersed and the car on the street had gone. He returned to the back door to examine it, but he couldn’t find a reason the lock had not engaged. It appeared functional, and the panel lit up when he touched it. Before leaving, he inserted a pebble at the bottom to keep the door from locking. He had gotten lucky once, but he couldn’t unlock the door again if it closed.

Though he always remained cautious on these outings, not wanting to be spotted, tonight he was so filled with nervous excitement he could hardly bring himself to move from one street to the next. He couldn’t believe his luck. It was so much, too much. He kept looking for something he’d missed, trying to find a reason for his luck. It didn’t seem possible. Up until then, he’d thought keeping Cali alive and evading the law was all he could ask for.

He made his way over the rubble heap of a newly demolished building and found the hole he’d excavated for their tent. When he unzipped it, a wave of Cali’s scent greeted him. He knelt and shook her ankle. “Cali, awaken.”

She sat up slowly and blinked at him in the darkness. “What’s wrong?”

He smiled. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong this time. I found something.”

“What?” She sounded still half asleep.

“A house, for us.”

“A house? For us to stay in? A real house?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t stop smiling.

Cali knelt up in the sleeping bag and threw herself at him and hugged him around the neck. She smelled of warmth and sleep. Draven resisted his first impulse to push her away, and instead, accepted her weight in his arms and returned her embrace. Oh, the other things he could do to her, if she’d let him, he’d make her fall in love with the feeling he could give her. He gave her a quick squeeze, but she let out a strangled cry. He released her at once and held her away from him. She clutched her ribs, every breath coming as a little gasp.

“Have I hurt you?” Draven asked. His mind caught at the edges of panic.

Cali didn’t speak, only shook her head, still holding one side with both hands. How could he have done something so foolish? She’d looked so happy, they’d laughed together, and he’d forgotten for one moment who she was, what she was. How fragile.

“
Zut!
I’m so stupid,” he said, smiting his forehead with his palm. He covered his face and leaned forward, pressing his face into his hands and his hands into the mummy bags. He stayed like that for a long time, until he heard her lay back beside him. When he sat up, Cali lay on her back staring up into darkness. “What have I done?” he whispered.

She shook her head, and her gaze moved in his direction, but she couldn’t see him. Her eyes didn’t focus. “It’s not that bad now,” she said.

“May I look?”

She paused, then nodded and let Draven move her hands from her side. Since the night still held winter’s cold, Cali wore several layers even to sleep, but she had put aside the woolen jumpsuit to freshen with disuse. Under all her layers, the mummy bag and the sweater and the shirt, she still wore a regulation shift like the one she’d had back home. He hadn’t given her any kind of life to make her forget the parts of her past she cherished.

After pushing aside her layers of clothing, he knelt and laid his hand on her bare skin. She shivered at his touch. “Does this hurt you very much?” he asked quietly, trying to keep the ache from his voice.

“No, you’re just cold,” she said. “It hurts a little, though. The cold feels good on that spot.”

“Breathe deeply for me. Does that hurt?”

“No. How do you know what you’re doing?”