Zhukov's Dogs Page 6

  “Water?” I guessed.

  “Yup. There’s a factory topside which melts down the snow and ice, some filtered for household use and some sent straight in there.”

  Val led me out a set of doors on the other side of the room and into the street. I had to remind myself it wasn’t actually late—there just weren’t any natural light sources. It wasn’t entirely dark, though. Slender black poles, no more than ten feet from the next, ran along the street as far as I could see. Each had a large, cream colored glowing orb strung from a chain connected to the top of the pole. I moved closer to examine one of the makeshift streetlamps as I passed. Inside each orb, I learned, a fire danced away. Some sort of slow burning oil powering them, perhaps?

  Val didn’t explain them and didn’t even seem to notice I’d fallen behind. I hurried to catch up, glancing up at the streetlights curiously and then to the buildings along the road. Each had the same rustic feel to it, despite obvious attempts at restoration. The mismatched bricks and cracked windows held a certain charm I couldn’t quite explain, but not enough to make me ever consider calling a place like this home.

  I made a few quick deductions as we ran through the city. Somewhere down here, a great body of water flowed freely. I could smell the moisture in the air and hear it echoing off the walls. Based on how the people walked in the streets, it was safe to assume there weren’t a lot of cars, either. The air was damp and heavy with a metallic taste, and, yet, I wasn’t lightheaded. There must have been some kind of filtration system in place to circulate airflow.

  The sudden sound of crunching metal ripped me from my survey of the city. It was the sound of a car crashing; I’d recognize the noise anywhere. Val seemed to realize what it was, too, and he cursed colorful combinations of swears.

  He rounded the corner, almost a full six feet ahead of me. The street signs read Fifth Avenue and Pike Street. When I looked ahead, I saw a bridge, carved out of a solid piece of earth, and a black town car was smashed against the stone wall lining it. Another town car was at the opposite end of the bridge, and four men in navy blue uniforms I didn’t recognize stepped out.

  A switch in my head flipped at the sight of guns being raised, pointed right at us. Adrenaline pulsed harder. I ran faster. I caught up to Val just in time to seize him under the arms and yank him into an alley off the street. My back hit brick right as the four uniformed men across the bridge opened fire. I pulled Val further into the alley and reached for the gun concealed in my bag.

  Before I could get a grip on it, Val’s hand dove into his jacket, and he forced a cheap looking pistol hard against my chest. I took it and instinctively ran through the basic checkpoints. Lineup of sight, safety, ammunition. When I looked back at Val, I saw he’d been watching me.

  “So, you’ve used one of these before, huh?”

  No point in lying when he’d already seen me handle the gun. “Once or twice. Why are those guys shooting at us?”

  “They’re Granne’s goons,” Val told me as he drew another pistol from inside his jacket. “We call ‘em suits, and we shoot ‘em dead, or they kill us.”

  Val pressed his back against the bricks at the edge of the alley. I crouched in front of him, eyeing the wrecked vehicle and ready to sprint for it the second there was a break in the gunfire. I was calculating. Val was impatient. He didn’t want to wait. He fired around the corner blindly at first and then, despite my hasty warning not to, took half a step into the street.

  Quickly, but cautiously, I followed him. I fired twice, one bullet going through a suit’s arm and the other through the same suit’s chest. I had just trained my aim on another when Val snarled in pain. I shoved him back into the alley and rushed after him. Val fell against the wall, shoulder-first, and immediately, his footing slipped. I pushed him upright so his back was flat against the brick Val steadied to support his own weight, but he kept his right hand clamped tight over his left arm.

  “It’s fine,” he said before I could even ask.

  I shoved the pistol under my belt and untied the scarf around my neck. We needed to act quickly before the suits realized he was injured and tried to overtake us. Val seemed to understand that, too, because he dropped his hand from the wound when I raised the scarf toward him.

  It was a graze, a deep one, and more than enough to scare an inexperienced shot into a frenzy. Val remained calm, though. His breathing was a bit shaky from obvious pain, but steady enough to tell me this wasn’t the first time he’d taken a bullet. A noise, which was half swear and half growl, rose in Val’s throat as I fastened a tight bandage. His hand went back to putting pressure on the wound as soon as I finished with the binding.

  On the street, we heard suits shouting orders between themselves and a set of feet running toward our hiding place. They were coming for us. Val started to stand upright, but I pushed him against the wall and said, “Stay put.”

  The glare he gave me suggested he didn’t take kindly to being ordered about. No sooner had the words left my lips, though, than one of the suits came around the corner. I flipped the gun over in my hand and gripped the barrel tightly, two fingers looped through to grip the metal guard behind the trigger. I swung the gun as the suit raised a far more sophisticated firearm and caught him in the jaw with the metal butt of my pistol. The bone cracked and the suit dropped his weapon.

  His hands shot up to clutch his face. I tucked the gun back under my belt before bringing my hands together, lacing my fingers as I turned to my side. I threw my weight behind my right arm, leading with my shoulder and knocking the suit out of the alley.

  The last two suits on the bridge panicked and fired, thinking it had been me or Val thrown from the alley. The suits swore and called to their partner. With them both caught off guard, I leapt over the corpse and ran for the bridge. Small sidesteps and quick feet kept the suits’ aim off, and I slid behind the tire of the crashed town car, unscathed.

  “Nik?” came a familiar voice. I hoped I was only hearing things. The passenger door next to me cracked open, and Anya poked her head out.

  “What the hell are you doing in there?” I demanded, shoving her head down as bullets struck the opposite side of the car.

  With both hands over her ears, Anya asked, “Is Val okay?”

  “He’s fine. Keep your head down until I say it’s safe.”

  Still on one knee, I leaned so I could peer underneath the car. I spotted a suit’s set of polished shoes hurrying toward us and another close behind. I pulled the pistol from my belt, flicked the safety off again and fired at the suit’s feet. He fell over with a wail, and I jumped out of hiding so I could cripple the suit behind him with a bullet to the leg. Before either could recover, I rushed from behind the car and snatched their guns away.

  “Coast is clear,” I called, holding one of the large guns up like it was a trophy.

  As Val stepped into the street and made his way toward the bridge, Anya sat up in the back seat and smiled brightly at me. Her face suddenly fell as an engine revved behind me. The car at the opposite end of the bridge surged to life and headed straight for us. I dropped the guns and pulled the door to the crashed car open.

  “Move! Get out now,” I urged.

  “Tibbs,” she said, pointing to the large boy at the steering wheel. His head was hung from sight, but I recognized the puffy coat. I looked back to Anya and reached to grab her hand. She resisted when I tried to pull her from the car. “We can’t just leave him!”

  I looked over my shoulder at the car speeding straight at us. Anya and Tibbs weren’t important anymore. I had to save myself. As I stepped back from the vehicle, someone ran past in a blur.

  “Val!” Anya screamed, latching onto my jacket and burying her face in it.

  Val ran right toward the car, no fear in his eyes and no mind to his injury. He grabbed one of the suits off the road and jerked him to his feet. Ignoring the man’s loud protest, Val hauled him along straight toward the car. They were both going to be struck. I pressed my hand against Anya�
��s head to keep her from turning to look. Even if I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the scene, she didn’t need to see her brother get killed.

  Five feet short of the speeding vehicle, Val shoved his hostage forward and leapt toward it. There was something surreal about it all—watching the car swerve as it struck the suit and watching Val slide over the roof. The vehicle crashed into the opposite side of the bridge as Val hit the ground.

  My jaw hung open. I forgot about Anya weeping against me and Tibbs unconscious at the steering wheel. How could I focus on anything after that? It was only when Val got to his feet and straightened his coat that the world around me fell back into perspective.

  “Anya… Anya he’s okay. Look,” I said.

  Anya let go of my jacket and leaned to look around me. Laughing, she shoved me out of her way and scrambled from the car. She ran across the bridge and threw her arms around Val so violently I feared she’d topple him over. Val cringed, and as soon as Anya realized he’d been injured, she began to criticize him for him for behaving recklessly.

  I tuned out the bickering siblings and walked over to lean against the dented trunk of the car. My body and mind were easing out of active combat mode, a mild headache accompanying the fading rush of adrenaline. I took a deep breath and put my hands behind my head as I looked up at the sky.

  Ahh, that’s right. No sky, I thought with a scowl aimed at the dark ceiling high overhead. I never imagined one day I’d be bitter about not being able to see the sky. Not even an hour in the city, and I already hated it.

  When the bickering to my right ceased, I allowed myself to listen to their conversation. “Did you guys get it?” Val asked.

  “Yup,” Anya said, proudly. She hurried back to the car and reached into the floorboards of the backseat to pull out a small box wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. It was then I noticed the unconscious suit in the backseat she had to climb over. I was far more interested in the box she held out to Val, though. He looked thrilled, a rare expression which fit him much better than the cold one he seemed so fond of.

  Val took the box from her carefully and reached behind him, only to pull a very familiar looking bag in front of him. My hand shot up to my shoulder in search of the strap where my bag should have been resting. How the hell had he gotten it off me?

  “Nice purse,” I said. He was lucky I didn’t rip it off him, but I was certain the tone in my voice made my desires clear.

  A lopsided smile toyed across his face and made me even angrier. “It’s a Blueberry.”

  “Burberry,” I spat.

  “Purse,” Anya said sharply to put an end to our feud. “Val, give it back.”

  Val pulled the bag over his head and held it out to me with the same infuriating smile. “Take it easy. You just dropped it in the alley back there.”

  He was lying. I was a good enough liar to spot a fellow. This wasn’t the time to go accusing him of thievery, though, not when it finally looked like I’d done enough to secure my place in their ranks. I threw the bag over my shoulder and thanked him for bringing it back.

  Val left our side to rouse Tibbs from where he was unconscious in the driver’s seat. I shook my head and slumped against the trunk again, rubbing the back of my neck. Anya joined me, wearing a smile far more genuine than her brother’s. She gave me a soft nudge with her elbow. “Don’t scowl like that, sunshine. Val’s just a little… Well he’s not always like this I promise. He’s really a nice guy.”

  I didn’t believe her.

  Spectrum Canal—Seattle, WA

  Tuesday, November 10th, 2076—12:24 p.m.

  y expectations for the revolutionaries’ base were very low. What could a couple kids afford in a city like this? My first guess was a sketchy storage shed, toward the water probably, or an abandoned freighter.

  We maintained a slow pace through the city for Tibbs’ sake. He was conscious again, but understandably still disoriented. As we walked along the Spectrum Canal, Anya explained how the water wasn’t for drinking or anything like that. It was a murky brown color, and the air around it smelled something like rotting earth, so I doubted anyone would have thought to use it for drinking.

  “About thirty years ago, a crack appeared in the ceiling, so a canal was built for all the runoff,” Anya said. She suddenly squealed and ran across the street to greet a pair of girls sitting on the front steps of what looked like a bakery, or maybe a hat shop. It was hard to tell what any of the buildings on this street actually were, since half the oil lamps along the canal were out.

  My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom and shadows of the city. We kept going from well-lit streets, lined with working oil lamps and spilled in the orange glow from waterfront factories, to less inviting streets, which were almost completely dark. The constant strain the dark environment put on my eyes explained why at least half the adults I saw on the street wore glasses.

  “Why didn’t you guys just patch the crack?” I asked Val, since Anya was busy chatting away with the girls.

  “Didn’t have the resources back then,” Val said. “By the time the city accumulated enough material to fix the hole, the canal was already half full.”

  Tibbs nudged my shoulder and pointed skyward, or rather ceiling-ward. Mismatched colors and textures of concrete were distinguishable in parts where the city below was bright. The way the lights flickered and danced on the ceiling made it look like a moving galaxy. I saw a bright, uneven mess of concrete where Tibbs pointed out the patched crack at the mouth of the canal.

  “The old governor approved emergency funding to build a big, hydroelectric power plant,” Tibbs said, pointing up along the water. I couldn’t tell which building he pointed at since everything in that direction looked like a factory to me. “Thanks to him, this canal powers the whole city.”

  “Only good thing a governor’s ever done for us,” Val grumbled. He’d been in a strange mood ever since the bridge and continued walking several feet ahead of us.

  I looked to Tibbs for answers, but he just made a short gesture with his hand across his throat, which suggested I should drop it. “You’re a Grey, too, aren’t you?” I asked bluntly. While neither Val nor Anya looked like the children Grey Men were known to father, Tibbs fit the bill perfectly.

  Tibbs laughed and clapped me on the back, the giant’s hand nearly knocking me down. “I get that a lot. My old man was a cobbler though.” Scrawny Russians came from Grey Men and giants from shoemakers. This city was getting stranger by the minute.

  We turned down First Avenue, and Tibbs told me how this was the western end of the underground, and on the other side of the cement wall was the Puget Sound. Large industrial elevators here were used to bring down cargo from freighters topside. I half expected to be led onto one of the elevators and taken up to the revolutionaries’ base. Instead, we climbed a small flight of stairs along the cement wall and stepped out onto a monorail station. The tracks ran along the wall, curving away and around the boarding station.

  “Does it go all the way around?” I asked, spotting the blue and gold monorail car speeding toward us.

  “Yup,” Anya said with a nod. She dug through her coat pockets and pulled out a handful of change. Seventy-five cents in assorted coins was counted out for each of us as fare, and in no time we were flying around Seattle. We were on the train for five minutes before Anya stood and pulled a cord on the wall. The monorail curved away from the cement as it had before, and the doors along the windowless wall opened. With Anya taking the lead this time, we left the train and hurried down a flight of stairs.

  It was warmer here than it had been by the canal, so much warmer that even I felt comfortable unbuttoning my coat. Two and three story homes with fenced in yards lined First Avenue, and similar dwellings spanned four blocks at least. We walked a block up and turned down Second Avenue. Cozy mini-mansions. Was this where they lived? Sure enough, Anya opened the gate at the third house down on our right.

  257 Second Avenue East was not what I’d expected as a
base, with deep red bricks, white shuttered windows, and a lawn covered in layers of imitation grass. I caught sight of something in front of the home which explained why the revolutionaries were able to call such a nice place their base. ‘FOR SALE’ the sign read, complete with a listing for the house and realtor contact information underneath. They were squatters.

  “You look surprised,” Tibbs said.

  Surprised was an understatement. I lingered on the porch next to the giant and looked around the neighborhood. Three out of the five lawns had the same signs in them. From the look of it, the revolutionaries weren’t the only ones living in the vacant houses illegally. Lights were on in houses up and down the street, and there were even a few children playing a makeshift game of soccer in the road.

  Tibbs read the question in my expression and answered it before I could ask. “Yeah, this sort of thing is pretty common down here. Nobody can afford to actually buy swanky places like this anymore.”

  “Nobody minds?”

  “Oh, they mind. There ain’t nothing they can do about it, though.”

  I bit my tongue, but the words came grumbling out anyway. “Isn’t anything.”

  Tibbs looked confused. I should have been more understanding and blind to the grammar of one of my hosts, especially given his size. Unfortunately, there were few things I hated more than the word ain’t.

  “There isn’t anything they can do about it,” I said.

  To my relief, Tibbs just laughed. “So, you’re the word police?”

  “Sorry, it’s a bad habit of mine.”

  “Heh, well, there are worse habits to have,” Tibbs said with a gesture toward the door. “C’mon inside, warm up, and meet the others.”

  As soon as he opened the door, we were met with a series of battle cries. Three barefoot children charged down the hall toward us, waving foam swords above their heads. One wore an orange colander on his head, and all three had off-color dish towels tied around their necks. Tibbs gave a great roar which even made me jump. He bent his knees and rushed at the children, easily scooping all three up in his enormous arms. They squealed with delight as Tibbs roared again. He spun them in place while the boy with the colander on his head beat him on the back with his foam sword.