The Nine Page 10

  Hell was still Hell. As much as some of us tried to make something livable out of The Nine, human life was all but worthless here, and the streets were only the beginning. The real scum hung out in private clubs and bars where unspeakable things happened, and Hell earned its reputation for being every jagged-edged nightmare promised in the big black book. Too bad the print version waters down its descriptions the way bartenders water down beer on ten cent draft night. If the good book preached even one uncut version of the world down here, people might not be so eager to line up at the fiery gates and take their chances.

  The shop was all buttoned up for the night when I got there. I rapped my fist hard against the door, but the solid metal did little more than emit a dull thud.

  “It’s me. Open up.” Something rustled around inside, then the door opened a crack. I shoved it the rest of the way open.

  “Rule number one. Never open the door at night without checking to see who’s there. Anyone could have ...” I stopped talking, letting my mouth hang wide when I noticed the Whip-Crack in Stray’s hand.

  “All right. Easy. That thing is very dangerous. If you flick the handle the wrong way, you’re going to take my leg off or worse.” I crossed my hands in front of my crotch and wished for an armor-plated sports cup.

  Stray rolled her eyes and snapped the Whip-Crack. My legs flexed on their own, and I jumped high enough to crack my head on corrugated roof of the shop. I managed to land on my feet and reached up to rub my head. I did a quick inventory of all my appendages. To my surprise, they were all there. More surprisingly, the Whip-Crack had coiled and receded back into its holstered position at Stray’s side.

  “Relax,” Stray said. “I had one of the Hellions show me how to use this in case I needed to protect myself when you’re not here.”

  “You just asked a Hellion to teach you how to use this incredibly illegal weapon that no Woebegone has any business owning, for any reason?” I peeled my hand off my still aching head and examined my palm to be sure I wasn’t bleeding.

  “Yeah.” Stray shrugged. “He was nice.”

  I let out a stream of hysterical laughter. “Stray, you are one of a kind.”

  “Thanks. I like to hope so.”

  “Oh, that reminds me.” Stray clapped her hands together and did a little hop. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

  I narrowed them instead. “What did you do?”

  Stray scissored her fingers and pretended to poke me in the eyes. “I said close them or no surprise.”

  “I hate surprises.”

  “Just close your damn eyes and stop being an ass,” Stray said. “I did something nice. You could try to be a little gracious.”

  “All right, all right.” I closed my eyes, leaving them open a crack, but Stray moved around behind me and slapped her hands over my face ... hard. “No peeking.”

  She guided me through the rear doors to the bus storeroom and giggled. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” I groaned.

  “Are you sure?”

  I reached up and pulled her hands away. “All right, just tell me ...”

  As I peered down, words left me. There among a field of sea-foam green sheet-metal and school bus windows sat a Vespa 98 scooter. Remnants of its bright blue paint job showed through here and there, but the little scooter had sustained lots of bumps and bruises. Age had browned it around the edges and in-between. The chrome had been blacked out and the street tires replaced with some sort of insane off-road rubber that would be right at home on an armored personnel carrier. It was no Harley. But the little rusty ride was about as incredible a gift as anyone could receive in a place like this, and somehow Stray had scored it for me.

  “How ... who ...” I slapped my hand over my mouth and tried to reset my brain.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Are you kidding? This is incredible. How did you do this?” My excitement made me want to squirm like a kindergartner who went too long without peeing, but I throttled it back to a grin wide enough to double as the front grill on a Cadillac.

  “This little guy wasn’t cheap. But you needed something to drive around, and walking is going to get you killed, so ...”

  “Yeah but how?”

  “Luck really. Someone came by with it. He found the Vespa after the firestorm, but he was terrified someone would cut his throat for it. I made a pretty good deal, considering.”

  I reached out and caressed the rust-pitted handlebars. “You are one of a kind.” My eyes went a little watery, so I cleared my throat and pretended to scratch some sort of nondescript moving itch on my face.

  Stray beamed. “It was the least I could do after all you’ve done for me.”

  I shrugged. “I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “Whatever.” Stray smacked my arm. “Anyone else would have left me for the Fields. Plus, you took me and in and gave me a place to stay. I wanted to say thanks.”

  I smiled, “You’re very welcome. I think I’m going to go out and get a little air before I turn in.”

  “You found cigarettes, didn’t you? Give.”

  She held out her hand, and I placed the pack, minus one, in her palm. Stray didn’t want to smoke them, she wanted to trade them. They were one of the few things more valuable than Twinkies.

  “I can’t believe you were going to hold out on me.” She sounded serious, but the smile never left her face.

  “Me?” I winked. “I would never do something like that. Now if you will excuse me, I am going to head out and smoke some of the merchandise.”

  “That’s going against one of the golden rules,” Stray admonished.

  “I know, but I like the way these make me cough like I’m going to lose a lung.”

  Stray reached for something and tossed me the Knuckle Stunner I had set down when I went into the shop. “If you’re going to stand out there, you might want this back. Just in case.”

  “Thanks.” I shoved the weapon into my pocket and walked out the door. I put the cigarette in my mouth and realized I had no way to light it. Stuck in Hell and I couldn’t even find a flicking flame to light a cancer stick. If that wasn’t the true definition of perdition, I didn’t know what was.

  I turned to go in and find a couple of sticks to rub together when I saw someone slink out of the dark and head my direction. My hand found its way into my pocket, and I slipped my fingers around the Knuckle Stunner, ready to give my new visitor everything it had.

  “Gabe.”

  I relaxed a little and squinted into the dark. “Jonny, is that you?”

  “Yeah, I tried to catch you on the way in. I didn’t want to knock. I have some information for you, about ...”

  “Really? That was quick.”

  “Wasn’t hard to find.” Jonny lowered his voice and took a step closer to me. It made me a little nervous, but I didn’t back away. “Look, I’m just giving you the information, okay. Don’t be mad at me.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Spill it. What did you find out?”

  Jonny hesitated. “I think your girl in there is a Disposable.”

  I faced him. “What?”

  “Yeah, word is, there’s a big ring operating out of the Skin Quarries. They lost a couple of their slaves.” Jonny leaned back again, seeming to realize he still stood too close, and wrung his hands as his eyes shifted from side to side. “They’re looking to get them back, but right now, I don’t think they know where they all are. Someone known as the Scarecrow is hunting for them. Those guys use all kinds of names. If they’re out of circulation much longer, they’re going to regain their memories, then they won’t be worth much to anyone.” Jonny cringed. “Sorry, you know what I mean.”

  I sighed. “Yeah. After years of violent abuse, torture, and death, getting your memory back may not be such a good thing. I can’t believe this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jonny said. “If I can do anything ...”

  I flipped him my unlit cigarette and gave him a weak grin. “Thanks for your
help, Jonny. If you come across anything else, give me a shout.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The ride into the Agency the next morning was amazing. The Vespa, officially dubbed The Rusty Rocket, smoked like an oil rig fire and sounded like a chainsaw cutting its way out of a 55-gallon drum. The thing also screamed down the road like it had eaten a bad burrito and the nearest bathroom was a hundred miles away. When the streets ahead became congested, all I had to do was down-shift, and The Rocket backfired like a twelve-gauge shotgun, scattering the loitering riffraff out of my way. A ninja, The Rocket was not. As fun as it was, I would have to find a way to quiet it down. I didn’t want to run into little Vespa pit traps set by Woebegone irritated by The Rusty Rocket’s outgoing personality.

  I parked behind tower three and made my way up the rarely used stairs to Judas’s office. He listened as I ran through the events that transpired the night before, and my reasoning for not interfering. When I finished, he sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers at his lips and closed his eyes.

  Procel and Mastema flanked him, occupying their usual corners in the room. I wanted to ask Procel if he was the mysterious Hellion who had helped Stray, but it wasn’t the time. Mastema crouched on her pedestal as usual, blindfolded and following my every move like a grinning raptor out of a horror movie. She creeped me out so bad I couldn’t even look at her. I wanted to hold up my hand and pretend we had an imaginary wall between us to block her murderous grin.

  Judas remained silent. He sat behind his desk with his eyes closed, breathing deep and looking angry enough to feed my balls to a herd of rabid llamas. My attention slipped. I thought about a documentary I saw about llamas. Something about the males gnawing off one another’s dangly bits to maintain breeding superiority. Barbaric little beasts. I hoped Judas didn’t own any llamas.

  “So, you are telling me,” Judas said, interrupting my llama rumination, “that you sat there while she injected an unknown contagion into a gallon of milk, introducing it to the world population.” Judas leaned forward and slapped his hands down on his desk. “Is that what you are telling me?” The sharp noise made me jump. I took a step back, raising my arms in defense.

  Mastema let out a giggle and followed his movements with a sensual bob of her head. “Because I thought we discussed the fact that you were chosen to prevent that sort of event from occurring.” His voice boomed and his eyes bulged, red and irritated. Judas stood up. I took another step back.

  “Anything could have been in the syringe. A bad case of dysentery or the next Ebola virus. You had every opportunity to spill the milk, break the syringe, pretend to inject the bottle yourself, a thousand things to stop this from happening, and yet you did nothing. You just watched her do it.”

  Judas walked around the desk, stalking toward me, locking me into his gaze. My chest tightened and breaths came in shallow little hisses. The door wasn’t far away. The window was even closer. Diving out almost seemed like the better option.

  “And why?” Judas continued. “Do not tell me you failed to act because you believed you were right. I’ve been around a long time. Heard every excuse. I do not need to hear any more of yours. Fear stopped you, nothing else. You feared being caught or ruining your partner’s career. The career based around cultivating misery and death.”

  Judas closed the gap between us, and I reflexively dropped my hands in front of my crotch because, well ... llamas.

  Judas turned his wiry bearded chin up, accentuating the insane look in his eyes, and seemed to peer right through me and into my head.

  “I know the doubt and fear that lives in your mind.” He spoke through clenched teeth as if it were the only way he could keep from yelling. “I know how they lurk, waiting for you to weaken, hoping for a chance to make you turn away when you have a duty to act. I have exploited that weakness to destroy families and crumble nations. If you can’t overcome something as simple as childish doubt, then you have no place here in this Agency and even less in my personal employ.”

  Judas stood for a moment, staring at me. When I didn’t respond, he barked out, “Well? You have nothing to say?”

  “I agree with everything you said,” I choked out the words in a speed-yodeled panic. “And I would just like to thank you for not feeding any of my bits to your llamas, if you own any.”

  Judas eyed me then turned away, calming his voice a bit. “Needless to say, the sample you provided for us to test was inert. Had you not mixed them up, and kept the correct vial, Sabnack would have considered the entire mission a failure and moved on. Instead, he has a contagion we still know nothing about, and it is now out among the populous.”

  “I am sorry.” I cast my eyes to the ground and put a hand to either side of my head, rubbing in slow circles. “You’re right. I screwed up bad. I was afraid I couldn’t stop her without getting caught. I thought ... I don’t know what I thought. I can only say that it won’t happen again.” Weight fell heavy on my shoulders, and I couldn’t shrug it off. Nothing Judas said now would make me feel any worse than the realization that I was a coward and now countless people would pay.

  “This could decimate populations,” Judas said. “Disease, war, and famine are the worst of the mortal threats. If one gets out of control, hundreds, thousands, millions could die.”

  I shuddered and wanted to sit, but I didn’t deserve to.

  “Saying it won’t happen again is not enough.” Judas crossed an arm over his chest and used the other to illustrate his words as he spoke. “You must understand. This is how these things always begin. An infected bird, a mosquito bite, a tainted glass of milk. It’s always something small, and almost always set up by this Agency, The Disaster Factory. One infected individual. One person placed in the right place at the right time, and an infection becomes an epidemic. Remember that next time you think that a gallon of milk is of no consequence.”

  I dropped my hands to my side and managed to nod but still couldn’t meet his eyes. It seemed to be enough. Judas rounded his desk, lowered himself into his chair, and started to write something on a stack of forms. I stood for a moment, wondering what I should do, then I glanced up at Procel. He tilted his huge horned head, gesturing me toward the door.

  I took a breath to say something and caught the words in my throat. I didn’t know what I would say. Odds were, it would be wrong anyway. Procel was right. Making a quiet exit while Judas had his attention focused away from me was best.

  Procel nodded toward the door again, and I backed away as quiet as I could. When the door swung closed behind me, Judas chuckled. I turned back in time to hear one word—llama.

  Chapter Twenty

  I stepped into the cavernous hall outside the reception area to Judas’s office and reached back to keep the door from making any noise when it closed. He wouldn’t hear anything this far away, but I couldn’t seem to stop slinking. I could have blamed everything on Alex, saying she kept a close hold on things or wouldn’t allow me to have any part in the op, but morals kept getting in my way. The very idea was laughable. I lived in The Nine. No one thrived on morals; we survived on opportunity. But if I lied to Judas, who would I tell the truth to?

  I made my way through the empty hall, staring at the intricate black marbling at my feet. The dull echo of my shoes bounced off the walls and, after a second or two, a smile tugged at the side of my mouth. I realized something. Bad as the situation was, I owned up to it and survived. In a place where a little mistake could buy you a trip to the Gnashing Fields, I did all right.

  The elevator opened, the one that takes people between floors, not the tilt-a-whirl dimension masher, and I got on feeling a little better. This was a new start. All I had to do was make sure nothing went sideways from here on out. When the doors opened on the first floor, the universe laughed at me.

  “What are you doing here?” Alex stood not three feet away, waiting for the same elevator I was on. Sideways, here I come.

  I stared with my mouth half open so long the doors began to shut,
threatening a blissful reprieve. No such luck. Alex stuck her arm in the door. They rattled and groaned before bouncing open again.

  “I was upstairs doing some in-processing stuff.” I blurted the answer way too fast and prayed there was at least one upper floor where my story might be plausible.

  The elevator let out an annoyed buzz and tried to close again while Alex stared at me, narrowing her eyes. “Are you getting off, or are you just going to stand there in the way?”

  I had forced my mouth to move but not my feet. So I stepped forward, causing Alex to take a step back, and let the doors close behind me. Alex’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I wasn’t waiting for that or anything.”

  If I were any smoother, I’d be concrete.

  “Oh. Geez. I’m sorry.” I punched the up button like an epileptic junkie.

  “Forget it.” Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me around toward the front doors. “I hoped I would run into you anyway.”

  It took a few steps for me to match her rapid pace, but I managed to catch up before she got to the doors.

  “Look, I haven’t been very nice to you.”

  “Really.” I put on a shocked face. “I hadn’t noticed. I just told the guys upstairs about the Agency fruit basket you put together for me.”

  Alex glared at me out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t interrupt me when I’m apologizing. This is hard enough as it is. And if you tell someone I bought you a fruit basket, I will kill you.”

  I made a motion to zip my lips and then pretended to peel a banana.

  Alex cast her eyes forward, ignoring me and leading us on the familiar path toward tower three where we worked. “Like I said, I could have been nicer, and I wasn’t all that honest about my experience. I guess I wanted the chance to prove myself on my own.”