Captives (11 page)

The stall door swung open. Carrie rushed in and squeezed him tight. She withdrew before he did. "How long have you been up there?"

"Twelve hours. Now hang on while
I
pee." He unzipped, glancing over his shoulder. "I see two arms and two legs. Are you okay?"

"Until a minute ago, I was owned by other people." She glanced toward the door. "Given that, though, I'm pretty okay."

"But not so much that you'd prefer to stay."

Carrie turned and gave him a look. "Get on with it. And don't flush. I already did and it might sound suspicious."

"Or like you're in need of some probiotics." He closed the lid and crouched to offer her a boost. "When you get up in the vent, head to the left. I'll be right on your ass."

"Really? Can't you wait until we're outside?"

She grinned and hugged him again. She stepped up on the toilet, then his shoulders. He braced himself against the wall. She scrabbled at the hole in the ceiling. The weight lifted from him. Her feet disappeared into the vent. She was wearing blue shower sandals. Not really appropriate for a long hike through bleak mountains. Then again, she probably hadn't been expecting him. Or had any choice in her footwear.

Once she was clear, he followed her up, backing down the left side of the shaft. "Pass me the grate."

"How do you want me to pull that off?" she whispered, lying down in the tight space with her feet pointed back at him. "Go Pele on it?"

"Never mind."

He stretched across the gap and snagged the grate. He'd left the candle burning in the stall so as not to kill himself while he was climbing up. Before he put the grate back, he got his water bottle from the small pack he'd taken inside with him, aimed, and squirted. On the third try, the candle hissed and the room went dark.

He fit the grate into place over the hole, climbed past it, and felt around until he brushed the sole of her sandal. "Straight forward. Keep one hand on the left wall. Take the third opening we pass."

"Got it." She began to inch forward. "Why couldn't you have tunneled through the floor?"

"Because I wanted to see you again before you turned sixty."

She chuckled and rustled forward. He followed. The vent was extremely dusty and now and then his forearms brushed over small things he hoped were dead bugs rather than rat turds. They passed one branch, then a second. At the next, Carrie shuffled to the left. Furtive though they tried to be, the shaft reverberated every motion. He kept waiting to hear someone tap on the ceiling in puzzlement or shout at them in anger, but Carrie reached the end of the shaft without interruption. A cold breeze sliced through the slats, carrying the smell of sagebrush and more dust.

Silvery light silhouetted her face as she wormed around for a look at him. "Now what?"

"I already loosened the grate. Pull it inside and drop down."

"Face first?"

"Shit." He rubbed dust from his eye. "We'll back up and turn around at the intersection."

She pulled the grate in with a low scrape. He backed up all the way to the turn, getting himself out of the way while Carrie maneuvered to reenter the tunnel feet first. Completing the passage in this way felt like it took five forevers, but soon enough, the cold wind wicked up the tunnel. Getting down from the vent's exit was awkward, frightening, and painful on the forearms and shins, but with a minute of careful wrangling, they got themselves to the ground.

Along with her flip-flops, Carrie was dressed in pink pants and a long white t-shirt. Walt pulled off his jacket and handed it to her.

She pulled it over her shoulders. "It didn't occur to you to bring two coats?"

"Guess I forgot to bring my jailbreak checklist with me." To his left, a floodlight spilled across the patio, but they were at the edge of its glare. Far in the distance, an engine idled, the only sound in the stillness of the night. "I've got a bike on the other side of the hill. We need to put some miles between us and here as fast as we can."

Carrie nodded, her expression shifting from the flush of escape to the realization there was still a long road ahead of them. Walt hugged the face of the building until they were removed from the lights, then snuck into the open field.

As soon as he cleared the building, the purr of the engine doubled in volume. He froze. Uphill past the fence, a pickup rested in the middle of the road, headlights pouring over the asphalt. Three silhouettes stood to the side of the light, talking back and forth. Walt got out his binoculars. One of the men had his thumb hooked through the strap of his rifle. His other elbow rested on the handlebars of a bicycle.

8

Thom held the girl's gaze. A listless wind stirred ashes through the bones. The brick crescent was clearly a seat, but Thom remained standing, as he did for all his performances. "Let the Moon judge me as it will."

He stuck to the same story he'd told Mauser, including all the facts he could while omitting any related to his true motivation for visiting the man who'd pretended to be Walt Lawson. His nerves shook, but he'd gotten used to ignoring them years ago, entering the hypnotic state where there was nothing but his voice and the path to the story's conclusion. It took no more than two minutes to complete the tale.

Through it all, Raina watched unflinchingly. "Is that everything?"

"I don't know why he wore the other man's identity," Thom said. "But it seemed to be paying off. He had enough women around to start a baseball team."

Raina nodded to one of the men watching from the side of the brick seats. "Kill him."

The man drew a straight-bladed sword. Panic surged across Thom's chest. "It was self-defense!"

"You lie to me."

"Ask Earl at the tavern. I am not a man of violence!"

"I have spoken to him." She stepped down from her brick seat, bones clicking under her shoes. "As well as the others you have spoken to."

The swordsman advanced, blade glinting in the morning light. Thom held his ground, sweat popping from his face and back. "You're right. I haven't told you everything."

The girl made a cutting gesture. Thom felt vomit rise in his throat, but rather than lifting the sword, the executioner lowered it to hang alongside his leg.

Raina loosened her larger sword from its lacquered red scabbard. "Do you understand your next words may be your last?"

Thom nodded. "That's abundantly clear."

"Then speak them."

"When I went to see this man, it was to do more than speak to him. Walt Lawson killed my brother—and once I got his confession, I intended to kill him."

The girl scowled, hand on the wrapped grip of the Japanese blade. "Why would you hide this from me?"

"Things happened just as I've said. It was self-defense. But my motives throw doubt on the facts. Implicate me in a crime."

"Since when is it a crime to take revenge on those who have wronged you?"

A few of the observers laughed. Mauser smirked.

Thom cocked his head. "Isn't it against the Law of the Good Moon to seek revenge without approval?"

"These people are not members of the Place. They have no protection beneath our law. As for slaying this man when he attacked you, if you won't protect your life, you don't deserve to keep it."

"Just ask Karslaw," Mauser said. The others chuckled darkly.

"It is not surprising fate came for this man," Raina said. "By not announcing himself, or declaring his fealty to me, he disobeyed our laws." She turned on Mauser, eyes narrowing. "The most curious matter is that they lived in our lands without us knowing."

"Surely the Moon knew," he said. "Otherwise, why would it have meted out its terrible vengeance, m'lady?"

"I am not your lady."

"My most wise and understanding warrior-chieftain."

Her gaze lingered on him, then shifted back to Thom. "Your life is spared."

Thom let out a ragged breath and bowed his head. "Thank you for your mercy."

"Don't thank me yet. You lied to me upon the Bones. And your killing of this man might have been a good death, but you left his allies alive. They will be angry. In this way you have brought danger to the Place."

"Tell me what I can do to erase it."

"You will serve the Place for twenty cycles of the Moon."

His throat tightened. "As a slave?"

She shook her head. "As a soldier. Serve with honor and you will be blessed. If you falter or flee, you will be dead to the Place and all its people."

"I accept."

Raina drew her sword. "Touch the blade."

Thom hesitated, then reached out, fingertips brushing the cool steel.

"Is it sharp?" Raina said. "Is it strong? And so are you, because you serve it."

Thom nodded. Beside Raina, Mauser tipped his head, eyes bulged, indicating the ground. Thom knelt. Raina moved the blade beside his head and jerked it back toward her. Thom's right ear tickled. He touched it and saw his fingers smudged with blood.

Raina wiped the blade on the leg of her pants and sheathed it. "Now stand. Stand and stay standing until your legs are cut from their cords."

Thom stood. Bones clinked beneath his knee. A droplet of blood fell from his ear to his shoulder. The girl regarded him another moment, then turned her back and walked from the ashes of the old world.

* * *

He soon learned the trial's swiftness was the modus operandi of the Place. That afternoon, as he was sweeping out the shack he'd been assigned to on the fringes of the Seat, Mauser arrived with a cloth-wrapped bundle tucked under his arm. Thom leaned the broom against the side of the shack and walked through the weeds to meet him.

Mauser withdrew a sheathed sword from the bundle. Its scabbard was black leather. It was roughly a yard long, the blade comprising three-quarters of that. He extended it pommel-first.

Thom accepted it and turned it in his hands. "What's this?"

"I'm no historian, but I used to play my share of video games. I believe the ancients called it a 'sword.'"

"You own everything between the peninsula and Long Beach. Don't tell me you don't have guns."

Mauser snorted. "By the ton. But guns are for those we trust to use them."

"And I'm a green trooper, conscripted unwillingly, who's to be shot on sight if I try to flee."

"Glad you understand. In consolation, here's another present." He reached into his pocket and fished out a black leather string. A serrated shark's tooth hung from its center. "Our warriors don't have uniforms, because screw that, but you may identify your fellows thusly." He handed over the tooth and winked. "Rumor has it Raina killed its original owner herself."

"Did she?"

"If I knew that, it wouldn't be a rumor."

Thom clasped it around his neck and pulled his high collar an inch away from his skin, dropping the tooth inside his shirt. "I've never used a sword before."

"It's a simple chop-and-stab interface. I'll dig up Kolton, he's always up for a sword fight. You'd better get
some
practice in before tonight's raid."

"Raid? Tonight?"

"On your buddies. When you find a scorpion in your bed, you don't roll over and wait until the morning to cut off its head." Mauser yawned, covering his mouth. "So practice hard, I guess. But not so hard that you're worn out."

He padded off in his black Chuck Taylors, which were faded but in good enough condition to suggest he had a rack of replacements in his closet. For a moment, Thom couldn't remove his gaze from the star insignia beneath the ankle. Young person's shoes. A brand people like Raina and Kolton might once have wanted to associate themselves with to set themselves apart from their mainstream peers (albeit in an acceptably tame way that had itself become mainstream). Now, rather than associating it with old-timey basketball players and the kids who smoked weed in the woods behind the school, Raina would probably look at those stars as the soldiers of the Good Moon, supporting his reign in the sky.

Mauser disappeared into the trees, taking his shoes with him. Thom resumed sweeping.

Within minutes, Kolton walked out of the trees, walking silently through the weeds and brittle pine needles. He had a sword on his hip and a light in his eyes.

He descended to the trail and stopped six feet from Thom, eyeing the broom. "Unless you intend to fight with that, put it down and draw your weapon."

Thom obeyed. "Thanks for being willing to show me the ropes."

"Mauser tells me you need a teacher. But I think you already know how to handle a sword."

"I doubt that. The closest I've gotten to one of these is watching
Lord of the Rings
in the theater."

Kolton nodded slowly, then whipped out his sword, wheeled it through the air, and arced it down at Thom's shoulder. Thom leapt to the side, swinging his blade to meet the incoming weapon. They met with a clash that shivered his elbow.

"Looks to me like you know how to use it," Kolton grinned. "But you shouldn't have blocked. Not when you had already jumped out of the way. You should have struck me instead."

"If I'd done that, you wouldn't be here to impart your wisdom on me."

Kolton considered his sword as if only now realizing that it could gut a man with the flick of a wrist. "Until you know enough to not hurt me, we use sticks."

As it turned out, he'd brought a pair of these, springy bamboo rods that whooshed through the air and made satisfying clacking sounds when they hit each other. Or, all too often, Thom's knuckles. Kolton taught him a few extremely basic techniques and concepts—angles of attack, getting your weapon close to the enemy while keeping his far from you, the difference between a parry and a block. After two hours of drilling, they took an extended water break in the shade.

"Not bad," Kolton said. "Not good, either."

"Mauser said we're going in tonight," Thom said, still breathing hard. "So what's the point? How can I expect to get good at this in a single afternoon?"

"You can't," Kolton said. "But if you survive, you'll be one day closer to skilled."

He was more than ten years older than the boy, but it wasn't until that moment that Thom felt discouraged by the gap in their ages.