Captives (41 page)

But it was a risk he had to take. Liss was his best shot at Carrie. Without her, the drop in odds was as steep as the continental shelf.

Thirty minutes later, a dark figure slouched along the path separating the fields from the parkland Anson had preserved around the lake. Del walked up to Walt staring daggers. "Mason."

"Ding ding ding," Walt said. "Now it's your turn to wait."

He threw the bag of laundry over his back and walked toward the head of the lake. He knew they had electricity here—the spotlight they'd drenched him with when he'd been trying to sneak in, for instance—but it seemed to be limited to emergencies. Scattered candles winked behind curtains. Otherwise, the houses at the lake were dark.

As he neared, he detoured to the outhouse located down the slope, nearer to the outer walls. Inside, he closed the door and squatted down, spreading his feet. He pressed the buttons on the laser. A blue line sizzled through his rubbery fetter, cutting it two inches from his ankle. Once he'd blinked away the retinal image clouding his vision, he cut the dangling strap from his other ankle and flung it down the malodorous hole. He still had alien bracelets around his ankles, but he could see about getting rid of those when he had better lighting.

He exited and continued to the house where he'd carried in the doll from the yard. Outside, the cart rested beside the shed, right where he'd left it. It was lightweight and high-walled, the sort of thing you might use to haul bales of leaves or lawn clippings. He changed out of his Stars-issued laborers' clothes and into a t-shirt and jeans from Abyss' collection.

At the house, he was not particularly surprised to find the back door unlocked. He walked inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darker interior and for his ears to confirm there weren't gangs of thugs thumping up and down the stairs. This accomplished, he crept forward and made his way upstairs. The hallway on the second floor was a forbidding stretch of closed doors. He envisioned the face in the window—it had been the second from the end, left side of the house. He made sure he was oriented correctly and headed down the hall.

The door opened to twin beds. He closed the door behind him, then moved across the rug thrown across the unfinished hardwood. The girl was the older of the two. Probably easier to reason with. He crouched beside her bed and shook her thin shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured. "Serah?"

Her eyes flew open. She pulled the covers to her, dislodging the smell of grass and the rose petals they used to scent the water they used for laundry.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of your mom's," he said. "Of Liss. My name's Walt."

"Hi, Walt." She stared at him, her eyes the brightest thing in the room. "Is my mom there?"

He smiled, trying his best to hide his concern that his entire plan centered on the shittiest hinge imaginable: the consent of two little kids. "She's near. She wants to see you. To take you home. Would you like that?"

She sat up. Away from the distortion of the sheets, she was older than he'd been thinking; had he been putting on too much of a little kid voice?

Serah cocked her head, frowned, and reached for the glass beside her bed. "If she wants us home, why did she wait so long?"

"She didn't have a choice."

"Why not?"

He was now officially out of his element. With no other idea how to proceed, he decided to try the truth. "Anson took you from her. To make her do things for him. And if she refused, or tried to come get you, he was going to hurt you."

The girl gave him a look that almost but wasn't quite a scowl. "He wouldn't hurt us. He's funny."

"Look, your mom loves you, doesn't she? More than anything in the world? Then why wouldn't she come for you unless something awful was stopping her?"

"I don't know." She set down the glass with a clink. "But I want to go home."

Walt grinned. "Can you explain to Ethan? And be as quiet as a ninja."

"I don't know what that is."

Serah hopped from bed and went over to shake Ethan awake. His eyes got wide when he saw Walt, but Serah explained. Unlike her, he had no questions; as soon as he heard they were going to see their mom, he ran to his dresser to find pants and socks. They dressed so fast it was like they'd been mentally rehearsing for this moment.

"Here's what's going to happen," Walt said. "We're going to go outside. You two are going to get in my cart. And we're going to go meet your mom. Until we get to her, I need you to be totally silent. And to do everything I say. Got me?"

They nodded in tandem. He went to the door. As he reached for its handle, it opened inward. The woman on the other side froze, except for her eyes, which expanded like spilled oil. The maid: the one he'd brought the doll to.

"Okay," Walt said softly. "Why don't you come inside and we can talk?"

"What are you doing?" she said. "Aren't you the gardener?"

"Step inside."

The woman bit her lip, glancing between the children. She came in and closed the door, leaving her fingers on the handle. "What is this?"

"Do you know where they're from?"

"I don't understand."

"Serah and Ethan," he said. "Do you know where they're from?"

"Out there," she gestured. "They said they were… orphans."

He shook his head in slow sweeps. "Their mother's alive. I'm taking them home."

The woman found Serah's eyes. "Is this true?" Serah nodded. The maid turned back to Walt. "Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter. Kids, go wait in the hall."

"What's going on?" Serah said.

"Everything's okay. We're just going to talk. Okay?"

The girl hesitated, then took Ethan's hand and led him into the hall. The door clicked shut. Walt and the maid stared at each other. His laser hung in his pocket. Could fry her brain with no sound beyond the sizzle. He gritted his teeth.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "And do you know what you're going to for me?"

She lifted her finger to her lips.

"That's right," he said. "Wait till we're gone, then go back to your room. You never saw us. You didn't know they were gone until you checked on them in the morning. Understand?"

"They told me their parents were killed. That we were saving them."

"That's because you're a good person. They knew they couldn't tell you the truth." He moved past her toward the door. "Maybe you're having trouble buying this. If so, think about why they're not let outside during Abyss' visits."

Her face crinkled in thought. He exited, leaving the door open long enough for Serah to get a look at the woman. He shut the door and gestured toward the stairs. The kids padded forward. Ethan glanced back at him often. In silence, he directed them to the back door. Crickets chirped wildly. He got to the cart and spread a hand. Serah considered him, then walked up beside it. He gave her a boost. Once she was inside, Ethan followed without objection.

He covered the two of them in a thorough blanket of dirty laundry, then pushed the cart down the trail and began what felt like an even longer walk than the one that had taken him from New York to Los Angeles.

The path wasn't paved, at least, which cut down the rumble of the wheels. A leaf-stirring breeze and the symphony of crickets helped dampen the noise. Even so, from his place behind the cart, it sounded as loud as a rocket blasting off. At least the kids weren't making a peep. He was going to have to tell Liss to give them cookies.

As he neared the turn to his shack, he brought the cart to a stop, told them he'd be right back, and jogged to where Del waited in the shadow of the building.

"The cargo's here," Walt said. "If the guys at the gates ask, all we're doing is delivering a pile of your laundry."

"And what do I say if they ask why our laundry has to be delivered in the middle of the night?"

"Because everything you brought got dirty during the trip. And Liss doesn't want to wake up and have to put on a pair of dirty panties."

Del snorted. "Know what, that might pass muster."

They walked back to the cart. Del checked its contents, grinning as he whispered to the kids, who looked extremely relieved to see a face they recognized. Del gave them each a hug, then shushed them. Walt pushed while Del walked a few feet ahead, doing his best to look like a dignitary who was affronted that he had been tasked with such a menial, unpleasant chore.

They reached the gates. The man in the tower leaned over the wooden railing, extending a lantern to get a glimpse inside the cart. He gave Del a thumbs up, then released the pawl, the gate clanking open.

Outside, the air tasted crisp and sweet. Del continued to lead the way, Walt rumbling along behind him. The road began to slope; Del hung onto the cart while Walt moved to the front to guide its descent. Preventing it from flying away down the hill required so much of his strength and attention that he didn't see the others until he was right on top of them.

The group was smaller than he'd expected. Liss, a handful of soldier-types, another four people with the look of attendants. While Walt was still hunting faces, a body crashed into him. He staggered back, clutched in her arms. His nose pressed into her hair.

Carrie.

They squeezed each other as if it were a contest. Beside them, Liss swept up the two kids, their giggles pealing through the night. Though Walt had had a moment like this with Carrie just a few weeks ago—on their initial escape from Liss, ironically enough—this one felt different. Like the light at the end of the tunnel. The breath at the end of a dive. Like life itself: a stretch of confusion, strife, and misery that felt eternal. Like it would be smarter to close your eyes and pack it in. And then, just when you're no longer certain that you can go on, you look up and see that you have arrived.

They unclinched. Tears tracked Carrie's cheeks. He would have made fun of her, but he was doing the same thing.

"No time for crying," Liss said, though she was wiping her eyes as well. "We can do that on the road."

One of her men jogged to the four-car garage attached to the Victorian mansion and heaved open the door, revealing two teams of horses: one attached to a carriage, another to a wagon.

"Isn't that a little old school?" Walt said. "Why not take your van?"

Liss couldn't quit grinning. "The Dead Stars don't allow cars inside the city. The van's waiting for us in the mountains."

"After which we'll be two hundred miles away before they know we're gone. Mind if we hitch a ride?"

"Depends. Grass, gas, or ass?"

That got a good laugh. Her people brought out the teams. Liss opened the door of the carriage for Ethan and Serah, then climbed in after them. One of her troops hopped up to sit beside the driver. A second installed herself on the running board on the carriage's rear. Walt and Carrie got into the back of the wagon, a Robin Hood-esque wooden thing that smelled like manure. Bits of hay scattered the floor. The rest of Liss' people piled in with them. With a cry from the driver, the vehicle lurched forward.

"Has your day been as exciting as mine?" Carrie said.

"Doubt it." He found her hand. "And I hope it's nothing but boring from here on out."

Wheels rang on the pavement. The wagon bed jarred each time they hit a pothole. They were traveling at a good clip, winding westward through the husks of the beautiful homes. He wasn't an expert on local geography, but he guessed they intended to take one of the roads that spanned the hills, cut across the Valley, then follow I-5 until they reached wherever the van was stashed. Fifteen miles? Twenty? Something like that. By the time the sun was up, L.A. would be nothing but a memory.

They exited the neighborhood and began a steady climb overlooking a foreboding canyon. Just as it occurred to him how nice it would be to put the hills between themselves and the fortifications of the Heart, the clack of hooves sounded below, following them up the road.

26

Down the street, two dozen men on horseback watched as Raina was slung over the saddle. She offered no resistance. A man shouted brisk orders. The troops wheeled their mounts and galloped away en masse. Mia ducked around the corner and headed back to the park at a dead sprint.

As she broke from the trees, Mauser spotted her and ran to intercept. The look on his face was raw anguish.

"Twenty-five riders," Mia panted. "They took her. They're already back on their way to their fortress."

"Riders? As in horses?"

She nodded. "The Sworn. Their best warriors."

"I don't give a fuck if they're the Persian Immortals. The problem isn't their mettle, it's that we can't keep up on foot." He cast about, as if searching for something to throw or smash. "
Shit!
"

"She went without a fight. Like she was offering herself up. Why would she do that?"

"Because she knew! She smelled it out. Or one of her fishhead minions whispered it in her ear, I don't know. She decided it was better to offer herself up than to get us all killed."

"But they'll kill her."

"No fucking shit!" Mauser's face had gone scarlet. "I tried to warn her. Reminded her what you'd brought back. She said maybe the recent skirmishes had convinced them to back off. That it was a bigger risk to not come here, and expose our people to a second war, than to show up knowing full well that it might be a trap." He bared his teeth. "Actually, what she
said
was, 'Better to swim knowing there are sharks than to fear to ever touch the water.'"

He turned to bark orders at the others. Mia knew she ought to be listening, but she was struck by the idea that Raina, fully aware that coming here might be a death sentence, had not only identified that it was indeed a trap—she seemed to have literally sniffed it out—but had then delivered herself to it. Why? Why not flee, or hide, or dig in and fight? The answer came to her as soon as she finished forming the question: because she had known they would have had little hope of victory versus the superior numbers and mobility of the enemy. Delivering herself, with a 100% chance of death, was the better option than grabbing at the 10% chance of winning the battle—and the 90% chance of losing everyone.