Zhukov's Dogs Page 5

  “What the hell were you thinking? Pulling all that attention,” she hissed, crossing her arms, an entirely different person from the one I’d given my newspaper to earlier. Was she so good of an actress that she’d even managed to fool me?

  Val leaned forward to keep his voice low as he and his sister argued. “It wasn’t my fault. Rounds weren’t—”

  “Val,” was all Anya had to say to hush him. He leaned back, and, for a minute, the two simply scowled at each other. Tibbs broke the tension by reaching across the aisle to shake my hand and introduce himself.

  “Name’s Tibbs,” he said.

  I shook his hand and hoped he wouldn’t crush mine within his. “Nik,” I replied, thinking back to the blurb in Tibbs file. An orphan with a warrant out for his arrest after being ruled a suspect in an armed robbery. His smile was far too genuine to belong to a hardened criminal.

  “And we met earlier, I think,” Anya said, looking over at me with the same sweet smile I’d seen before. I had no idea what to make of her anymore, not with how she transitioned from sweet girl, to actress extraordinaire, to scornful sister so easily. Before I could say anything, Anya looked back to Val. Her expression softened, and her lips turned down into a small frown. “Val, you’re being reckless. Did you even get it?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean we can’t intercept it once we get to the city.”

  Anya looked like she wanted to scold him. She held her tongue, though, and looked out the window with a huff. Val slouched into the corner and crossed his arms, leaving Tibbs and me to exchange an awkward stare. He chuckled and assured me, “Don’t worry. They’re not always at each other’s throats like this. You’re the guy who helped Val out, right?”

  I was confused at first as to why Tibbs knew so much when hadn’t been in the car with us earlier. “Anya told me how you chased after those guys,” he explained.

  “He wouldn’t have needed to, if someone had just gotten into position on time,” Val grumbled.

  Tibbs shook his head quickly and pointed a finger at Val. “Oy! You said 7:15, and I was in position at 7:15, all right? Not my fault you got caught.”

  Val didn’t argue any further. To keep the tension in the group from becoming overwhelming, I told Tibbs about Peter Cook and how I was heading to Seattle to help them. Tibbs whooped with laughter over the coincidence of us meeting on the train before saying, “Perfect. We could use more muscle now Tristan’s gone.”

  Maybe it was in my head, but I could have sworn I saw Val flinch when Tibbs mentioned the name. Anya’s eyes flicked up at her brother, absent of any resentment they’d held and replaced with sympathy. She whacked Tibbs in the arm with the back of her hand, and Tibbs pulled his lips into a tight line, like he immediately regretted saying what he had.

  There hadn’t been any mention of a Tristan in the file I’d been given. Then again, Anya wasn’t in there either. I was about to ask who Tristan was when Anya changed the subject. She leaned forward to fold her hands in her lap, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankles as she spoke. “So, Nik, tell us about yourself. What makes you think you can handle running with our team of troublemakers?”

  Clearly, they didn’t want me to bring up Tristan. That was fine, for now. I needed to build my cover story with them, anyway. I dragged a hand through my hair, still not accustomed to the length, and said, “Well, I’m an east-coast guy, for starters. Washington D.C., to be exact.”

  “No surprise there. You’re too tan to be from our corner of the world, sunshine,” Anya teased with a smile.

  I forced a small laugh and hoped the nickname wouldn’t stick. “Yeah, anyway, I’ve been doing some work with the Black Bloc over the last year when I haven’t been busy with school. Mostly recon and tactical planning stuff, but I’ve gotten caught up in my share of street riots, too.”

  “Wait… Wait, wait, wait. The Black Bloc?” Tibbs stammered, putting his hand up to keep me from going any further. His jaw had gone slack, and he blinked several times as he repeated, “The Black Bloc? Anarchy-inducing, WTO-disbanding, President Nelson-ousting Black Block?”

  When I nodded, Tibbs practically bounced in his seat. He pulled the hat off his head, revealing a few days’ worth of dark, unshaved stubble covering his scalp. With the hand he held the hat in, he gestured toward me. “You’re from the big league! Man, talk about getting our first pick in the draft!”

  “Tibbs is one of your biggest fans if you couldn’t already tell,” Val said, rolling his eyes. It seemed he wasn’t as impressed by my fake credentials. His eyes suddenly snapped into focus. He turned toward me, head tilting to one side with his arms still folded tightly over his chest. “Who’s in charge over there these days? Is it still Jeremy?”

  Val was trying to catch me in a lie again. Too bad I’d done my homework. “Nah. Jeremy got arrested a couple months ago. Martha, you know, that snobby Layne girl? She’s been running things,” I told him.

  “Martha? Crazy. And that brother of hers, man, what was his name again?” Val asked, not ready to give up yet.

  “Lucas?”

  “Yeah, how’s he doing?”

  My head was beginning to hurt the longer I strained my brain. Val was asking for minute details about people whose paperwork I’d given nothing more than a glance. The only other thing I knew about Lucas seemed trivial, but I offered it up and hoped it would be enough, “He moved to the coast to marry his partner. D.C.’s still on the fence about all that fair marriage stuff, you know.”

  Just then, the two attendants returned with a bag of pretzels and nuts for Anya. Val shrunk into the corner, his face turned toward the window so the attendants wouldn’t recognize him as the same boy who’d raided a private cabin earlier. I watched as Anya put on a show for them, exaggeratedly thanking them and fanning herself with one hand. It gave me the time I needed to go over what I knew about the Black Bloc again and get ready for Val’s next barrage of questions.

  Anya assured the attendants she was fine, and they left to continue their patrol. All four of us watched as they walked toward the end of the car. They peered through the window, and we held our breath. Val shifted closer to me, mumbling quietly, “We wait until they get into the next car.”

  Something worked itself loose in my chest, and my shoulders sagged with the relief that followed. Val was giving me an order, letting me in on the plan and giving me my first real indication that he trusted me. I gave a small nod. He scooted closer, both of us on the edge of our seats and ready to rush after the two attendants.

  “Last one’s empty,” said one of the attendants.

  “Wanna check it, anyway?” his partner asked.

  “Psh, can Grey Men see their toes? Hell no. Let’s go get a drink in the club car before we check in.”

  Val and I fell back in our seats as the attendants turned to go back up the aisle. We were too close to do so comfortably, our shoulders colliding hard. He bowed his head and pretended to be busy examining the dirt under his nails while I stared over his head out the window. It was a very poorly executed cover-up, but the attendants didn’t even give us a second glance as they passed. As soon as they were gone, I scooted over and sighed under my breath. “That was close.”

  “You two are going to need to work on that.” Anya snickered, wagging a finger between us.

  I turned to Val and saw his posture had gone slack, his shoulders sagging forward with his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows disappeared under his bangs as he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. Neither of his friends seemed concerned, but for the sake of coming across as a good person, I asked, “Everything okay?”

  He opened his eyes and stared down at his filthy boots with a tired smile. “I need a cigarette.”

  Finally, after three hours of idle chitchat and stories about the unappealing sounding underground, the train eased to a stop. My body had grown accustomed to the shaky ride and felt off-balance as I stood to retrieve my bag. I slung it over my shoulder and heard a snicker behind me
from Anya. “Nice purse,” she teased.

  A well-dressed girl like Anya must have known it wasn’t a purse, and yet, she chose to mock me, anyway. I smiled politely as I defended both my bag and my masculinity. “It’s messenger. Vintage Burberry.”

  “An expensive, old purse then,” she said.

  “For men.”

  Anya giggled, but the other two didn’t seem to care about my bag or our conversation. Val and Tibbs were already on their way to the exit, neither of them wanting to stick around long enough for someone to find the bodies in the cargo car. I followed them down the aisle, Anya close behind.

  Through the windows along the car, I watched the handful of passengers slowly making their way off the train. Some were met by friends and loved ones who ran at them with open arms. Pale individuals dressed in tattered, old coats embraced passengers who looked like they belonged in an entirely different world. Even looking down at myself, I could see how my ordinary outfit, specifically worn to help me fit in, stood out compared to the disheveled Seattle inhabitants dressed in dull, darker colors.

  When I stepped off the train and into the frigid Seattle air, all I could think about was how I wanted to rush back inside the car. My breath came out in thick clouds, and cold air filled my lungs in its place. I pulled my coat tightly shut and folded my arms across my chest to try and trap in what warmth I could.

  Val turned and walked backwards, probably so he could appreciate the way my expression changed when I stepped into the cold. He laughed out clouds of steam and said, “Welcome to Seattle, Nik.”

  There was nothing to indicate this was Seattle. I looked back along the tracks and saw we’d made a descent at some point, and the entire area was a basin of sorts, a single-story train station the only building in sight. The man-made crater was lined with cement and almost four stories deep. If I squinted, I could see a fine, wire net above us, covering the crater and glistening like a spider web as it shook in the wind. The net trailed upwards, and I followed its path to see it connected to a tall, wooden beam in the center of the crater. I’d seen a similar design used in old circus tents with colorful tarps.

  “What? They don’t have these where you’re from?” Anya asked when she saw me studying the structure.

  Absolutely not. I didn’t even know what it was, which was saying something, considering how much of the world I’d seen. Technology intrigued me, almost obsessively so, and I tried not to sound too excited as I asked, “What is it?”

  Rather than answer, she just gestured to the ground around us. I was confused at first as to what her message was, but delighted at the opportunity to figure it out for myself. It was just a normal cement floor. As I stared at a crack in the cement, it hit me, and I looked back to the wire net above as I exclaimed, “Are they heated?”

  “Sure are. This area has to stay free of snow since our only way of exporting efficiently is via train,” Anya explained. She pointed to a thick, metal coil running up the wooden beam at the center of the net and told me how it was all powered by steam generated in the underground—steam which also heated their streets below.

  “That’s enough of a lesson in engineering for the day. How about we talk about the plan?” Val said, loudly interrupting Anya mid-sentence. I expected her to look flustered, but she fell in line just like one of the obedient dogs back at base. For every ounce of a girly-girl she seemed to be, she matched it with a surprising diligence.

  “So, the escort’s still got the package,” Tibbs began.

  “He’ll be taking a town car straight to the governor’s place, which means our best point of interception is…” Val paused, looking up like he was going through a visual map in the air only he could see. As he stared skyward, Val pulled a packet of cigarettes from his jacket and rapped the top with his fingers. “Fifth and Pike, right on the canal. Anya, I want you to go on ahead with Tibbs. Take Pike. I’ll text Benji and have him get eyes on the street so we can get a pin on the car. Nik and I will take Virginia just in case they go that way instead.”

  Val sounded like he had it all planned out, and he had no problem leaving me in the dark. Anya and Tibbs rushed toward the station with their orders. I wasn’t so keen to do the same and caught Val by the hood of his coat before he could get away. “Hey! You want to tell me what’s going on?” I asked.

  “Easy on the duds,” Val barked back, tugging his coat free. He looked to the station and then back at me, impatience building in the way he flicked the cigarette between his lips. He took a deep breath, held it and proceeded to dig through his pockets. “Got a light?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t smoke.”

  “Good for you. It’s a bad habit.” Even though he admitted it, he still continued to rummage through his pockets in search of a lighter. He made a pleased noise of triumph as he pulled a cheap, golden one from his breast pocket and held it up for me to see. I inched upwind as he lit the cigarette.

  Val took a long drag, pivoted on the spot, and headed for the station without bothering to give the explanation I asked for. I threw my hands up and let them fall back at my side. His attitude was starting to get under my skin, but I followed after him, anyway. “Great, you’ve got your cancer stick. Now, what’s the plan?”

  Val alternated between lungfuls of smoke and details about his plan. “The guy on the train, the one whose room I was in, he’s carrying something. Our governor ordered himself a pretty little toy which cost a lot of our pretty little tax dollars. We’re going to get a hold of it first and make some alterations before delivering it to Granne ourselves.”

  “Wow, could you be any more vague?”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  I probably should have been annoyed, but his reply caught me so off guard, all I could do was laugh. As much as I hated a smart-ass, I appreciated someone who had quick wit. It was a trait that most of the people I surrounded myself with had washed out of them through detestation programs or post-traumatic stress. Maybe Val wouldn’t be completely terrible to work with after all.

  King Street Station—Seattle, WA

  Tuesday, November 10th, 2076—11:35 a.m.

  he train station had undergone few renovations since its original construction. Dated lighting fixtures, with almost half the bulbs burnt out, hung overhead and swayed slightly in the drafty lobby. Warped, rusty luggage carts were guarded by an old man in a navy blue station uniform, who seemed to have nodded off in his chair.

  Val led me to set of escalators in the center of the room where the tile floor had been crudely broken away. A couple lights were strung along the mouth of the cavern and flickered every few seconds when the escalators screeched for maintenance. Val stopped in his tracks a few feet from the escalator to pull out his phone. He seemed to be busy composing a text, so I decided to go on ahead to explore. As I stepped forward to board the escalator though, Val grabbed my arm and stopped me. I was confused at first, but a second later, a large gap in the moving stairs appeared. Apparently, three escalator panels were missing, and the city didn’t feel the need to fix them. Charming.

  When solid steps reappeared, Val stepped out first and gestured for me to follow. He stomped on the one above him to show it wasn’t going to fall under my weight. “Get used to this sort of stuff. The underground is every bit as unappealing as it sounds,” Val warned. “And we certainly don’t carry fancy purses.”

  I sighed. I’d carried the same bag for years. It had been through all seven continents, up mountains and through trenches, over and into oceans, and had never once caused me a lick of mockery until now. “It’s a messenger bag,” I insisted. “It’s for men.”

  “Mhmm,” he hummed dismissively.

  We descended into a large room, everything lit up in a warm, orange hue. It resembled the train station above with its vintage feel and vaulted ceilings, but it seemed to be better maintained. This must have been where the habitable part of Seattle began. Cream colored tiles clacked under hurried feet of people rushing through the station. The sound of chat
tering voices and a hum of machinery created a melancholy city din, which echoed off the murky, brown walls. Slowly, I realized just how foreboding everything around me felt without sunlight or windows to the world above.

  A sudden hiss made my heart jump. I leaned over the moving guardrail and saw steam fizzling out of nozzles along the escalator. “Powered by steam?” I asked.

  “Whatever is leftover from the net. That’s why this thing is so shaky.” Val gave the guardrail a pat. “You’ve caught us at the coldest time of year. You’re lucky it’s running at all.”

  I was relieved to set foot on solid ground again, even if said solid ground seemed to be covered in a layer of filth my shoes peeled away from with a sticky noise. “You’ll get used to it,” Val assured me when he caught sight of the disgusted look in my eyes.

  “Come on. We need to catch up with the others. Hurry up,” Val said, taking off into the lobby at a run. He was much faster than I expected, and I made a mental note of it for his file as I chased after him.

  Near the exit, I got my first look at what heated the underground. Spanning the length of floor to ceiling was a monstrous piece of hissing machinery. A dark metal cylinder stood at the center, steel support beams welded to its sides and holding it four feet from the floor. Each beam ran all the way to the ceiling while the cylinder at the core stopped at a story high. Four long, semi-transparent tubes connected to the cylinder and wound their way to the ceiling, each wide enough for a grown man to crawl through comfortably.

  “Impressive, huh?” Val asked.

  Primitive was a better way to describe it, but I was impressed nonetheless. Val pointed to the cylinder at the base as we passed and said, “There’s a fire going in the bottom half 24/7. See that pipe?”