Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

With a whoosh, the holo-ad races past, stopping just ahead to block their path.

“I’ll be damned,” Luce says. “Apparently the new ad delivery system is set to Super Pushy.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Benson says as another hover-screen rushes past, stopping next to the first. “I think they’re purposely trying to stop us.”

Luce opens her mouth to respond, but before she can a half-dozen screens surround them, seemingly appearing from nowhere. Acting on instinct, Benson stands back to back with Luce. “Benson, this isn’t good,” Luce says. “We’ve got to break through the gaps. Make it to the Tunnels if we can. It’s our only hope.”

“The Tunnels will be swarming with rogue Hunters,” Benson says, watching as the gaps between the holo-ads are quickly filled by more screens, zooming in from every direction. It’s like every floating holo-ad in the city has locked in on their position, as if Luce destroying one of them incited the rest to revenge.

“It’s a risk we’re just going to have to take,” Luce says. “On my count, let’s break for the alley ahead on the right.”

Benson glances in the direction she indicates, spotting the “T” sign immediately. There will be stairs or a lifter—something to get them below to the Tunnels. “Okay,” he says.

“One…”

The holo-ads begin closing in, jerking and shimmying, as if expecting their quarry to flee at any second.
They got that right
, Benson thinks.

“Two…”

Beams of light issue from a glass strip above the screens, bathing their faces in a red glow. All of the screens try to speak at once, their computer-like voices mashing together in a stream of commands. “Lucy—Benson—Harris—Mack: Stop—don’t move—and put your hands—and drop to the ground—in the air—under arrest—for crimes against—the Department of Population Control—your country.”

Benson’s heart pounds in his head, like it used to do when he was a kid and his father first took him down to the river.

“Three!” Luce shouts and they charge for the part of the circle leading toward the alley.

“Stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop-stop!” a dozen holo-screens say in quick succession.

Luce ducks low, attempting to slide under the floating screens. The screens dive, trying to cut Luce off, and Benson tries to hurdle them. He’s airborne for a long moment, the wind rushing around his face, the voices of the holo-ads garbling together…

And then his foot clips the top of one of the screens, throwing his heels in the air and his face toward the street. In an awkward tangle of arms and legs, he lands on Luce’s back just as she emerges from the holo-ad circle. “Uh!” she says, crying out. He rolls off, scraping his palms on the asphalt.

“Luce! Are you—”

But she’s already on her feet, grabbing his hand, a stream of blood curling from a gash above her eye to her chin. And then they’re running, their feet pounding the pavement, feeling their pursuers behind them.

When they reach the alley the holo-ads are all around them, like pesky flies but without the buzzing. Benson slaps one, the collision stinging his hand, and it backs off for a moment, before charging toward him once more. Luce grabs it from midair and wrestles with it before slinging it to the ground where it sparks and shoots off plumes of smoke. They duck and dodge and fight their way to the entrance marked with the “T,” and push inside, slamming the door behind them. One holo-ad manages to sneak in at the same time, but together they grab it and bang it against the wall until the screen shatters and it can no longer hover. Luce takes the broken screen and drops it down the stairs, where it clatters all the way to the bottom.

Panting, Benson says, “Are you okay? You’re bleeding.”

Luce raises a somewhat shaky hand to her face and her finger comes away red with blood. “I—I think so. How does it look?”

“You probably need stitches,” Benson says. “Sorry about…well, landing on you, I guess.”

“There will be time for apologies later. We’ve got to find a place to hide.”

“Those holo-ads will be guarding the door. And their masters won’t be far behind. We have no choice but to go down.”

Luce nods and starts down the steps, moving quickly but quietly, stopping at each landing to listen for sounds. They pass the mangled holo-screen, which looks more like a pile of junk, right at home amidst the litter.

Silence.

Three floors and seventy-two steps later, they emerge into the Tunnels, which are exceptionally quiet for this time of night. Dim yellow lighting casts a timeless glow on everything. A depressing sheen. It could be the middle of the day or the middle of the night and you’d never know the difference. A few late-night commuters lean against the stone wall, waiting for the next train. The tunnel curves away in each direction; they’ve entered at one of the large bends. Benson’s brain reconfigures itself for a trip underground to their destination.

“Left,” he says. “Uptown. We’ve got a few kilometers to go still.”

As they head in the indicated direction, an approaching train rumbles from somewhere behind them. “We have to separate the first chance we have,” Benson says. “I can’t keep putting you in this kind of danger.” His heart begins to race, if it ever stopped.

“Do you really think that Geoffrey is safe with Check and the others?” she asks.

Benson knows if he says no that she’ll leave him, that she’ll try to find her brother. He should lie to her, tell her the one and only thing that could save her life, but he doesn’t. He can’t lie to her anymore. “Yes. He’s safe with them. But you should still get away from me.”

“It’s my choice, Benson. I’m not going anywhere.” Luce glances in his direction, but he can’t meet her eyes. This is his fault. She’s aiding a Slip, the penalty for which is…

He can’t say it.

Can’t even think it.

“No,” he says, stopping abruptly and grabbing her shoulder. Everything is spiraling out of control. Just a night ago she was baring her soul and he was holding her hand. And now it’s over. Both their lives are over. “We should separate—split up.”

“Benson,” Luce says.

Benson ignores her and keeps talking, so rapidly his words seem to stick together. “Yeah, I’ll lead them away and they’ll forget all about you.” He hates the panic in his voice, but it’s hard to speak when you can’t seem to breathe right.

“Benson.”

“In fact, you stay here, and I’ll go back up the stairs and surrender myself to the holo-ads. Yeah, you can get away.”

Luce grabs him roughly and shoves him against the wall. “They’ll kill you. They won’t hesitate. I won’t leave a friend.” There are tears in her eyes and his vision blurs as tears flood his own vision. Luce’s grip on him slackens as she seems to realize how close together they are.

When Benson blinks the moisture away, he almost gasps. A dark-clothed Hunter strides past directly behind Luce.
Crap.
“Luce, they’re here,” he whispers.

Her eyes widen and he sees the fear that penetrates her expression. But just as quickly her eyes narrow and he can almost see the wheels turning in her head. Then, before he can so much as take another breath, she flexes her muscles, takes a deep breath, and leans forward and kisses him hard on the lips.

His entire body stiffens, shocked by the strange action taken by Luce when they’re in mortal danger, but then relaxes when he realizes what she’s doing: acting. She’s pretending to kiss him, just an act to fool the Hunters—two lovers in the shadows. Not the most wanted fugitives in the city. And yet, even her fake kissing sends Benson’s heart racing. Automatically, his lips melt into hers, rolling over them like gentle waves. His hand curls around the back of her head.

“Anything?” the Hunter shouts to someone Benson can’t see.

Luce jolts and her eyes pop open, but Benson stops her from turning, kissing her again. They watch each other as they kiss, which should be weird and sort of interesting, but Benson’s too scared to think about all of that.

“Nothing,” says someone else, presumably another Hunter. They must’ve been closing in from either side, rounding the curve, invisible until the last moment.

The train rumbles closer.

“Did you check everyone?” the second Hunter asks the first. The tone sounds so familiar. Benson tries to place it.

“Not everyone, but there was no one suspicious,” the first Hunter says.

“Go back and check everyone, you moron. The little buggers certainly didn’t get past me.”

“I’m the moron? You were one of the first ones inside the last time we had them trapped. How’d that work out for you?”

“Check them,” the second Hunter growls, a command this time. The cyborg, Benson realizes with a start.

Benson can feel Luce’s heart pounding against his chest. Or is that
his
heart? No. His, as usual, has switched with his brain and is trying to break through his skull. They’re screwed.

With a screech of brakes, the train pulls to a stop, a burst of wind following it a moment later. “Wait until the doors are about to close,” Benson whispers, his lips brushing hers.

She nods against him.

“Hey you!” one of the Hunters shouts. Benson holds his breath. Is he talking to them? Adrenaline pours through his veins, his body preparing to run. “Yeah you. Did you see a couple of teenagers come down these stairs?”

The law of the Tunnels is that no one talks to Crows or Hunters.

Benson risks a glance past Luce. The train waits for a few stragglers to board, its doors open. The Hunter’s back is to them. He’s facing an old guy with a thick gray beard.

“I’ve got to catch this train,” the man says, trying to pull away.

The Hunter grabs him. “Did. You. See. Them?” the Hunter says.

A loud tone sounds. Last chance to board the train.

“I’ve really got to go,” the man says.
Don’t look at us, don’t look at us
, Benson thinks.

The Hunter whips out a large black gun and points it at the old guy’s face.

“Okay, okay,” the guy says. His eyes flick over the Hunter’s shoulder. They lock on Benson.

No.

Why are the doors not closing yet? Then Benson sees her. How he missed her before, he doesn’t know, except she’s standing so still it’s like she’s an inanimate object. A young girl, no more than eight or nine, is holding the door open with a hand. She’s staring at them.
Are you coming?
her expression seems to say.

The old guy raises a hand and points at them.

The Hunter turns.

Benson shoves Luce and pushes off from the wall. In his peripheral vision he sees the Hunter whirling, his gun catching up to his body, taking aim, firing…

Within the confines of the Tunnels, the blast is like an echoing explosion, and for a moment Benson can’t hear anything. Luce is still beside him and they dive inside the door, which is finally closing, the girl having moved her hand away, her face shocked as she clings to her mother, who’s similarly clinging to a metal pole. And their mouths are open and they’re…screaming?

The sound rushes into Benson’s ears, the screams of the train passengers like alarm sirens.

The doors close and Benson looks at Luce, who seems okay, if a little stunned. Using each other as crutches, they stand, peering out the window as the train lurches forward. A black metal gun barrel faces them, just ahead of the cyborg’s gleaming white smile.

Benson pushes Luce down, throwing himself on top of her, just as the window explodes inward, throwing tinkling glass shrapnel and heavy wind all around them. The screaming gets louder, reaching a crescendo.

The train accelerates. They made it. They made it. They—

THUD!

A metallic hand crashes through the seal between the two doors. There’s a grunt and a groan and the doors shudder. The gap widens as the cyborg pries the doors apart.

“Benson!” Luce cries.

“C’mon!” Benson says, once more fighting to his feet, pulling her after him. Slipping on glass shards and nearly tripping on the girl and her mother, who are cowering on the floor, they stumble down the car, which is careening around the bend in the tunnel.

There’s a shout—no, a roar—behind them as the cyborg slams the doors open. Heavy footsteps sound in their wake. They reach the end of the car and Benson presses the button to open the door to the next one, risking a glance behind him as the door breathes open. The cyborg is stalking toward them, taking his time. He’s wearing the same smile as before, and Benson’s shocked once again to see how young he looks. Thankfully, he’s unarmed, having lost his gun while trying to smash his way onto the train.

They flee to the next car and press the button to close the door.

Surprised looks and heavy stares flash past on either side, but the passengers stay out of their way as they reach another door. Behind them, the previous door sighs open. “I see you, Slip!” the cyborg croons. “Your ass is mine.”

God. “Uh, maybe later,” Benson says, opening the next door. Maybe never.

Following the same pattern, they race from car to car, glancing back occasionally, where their pursuer is always about a car behind. The smile plastered on his face makes it obvious he’s enjoying their little game of cat and mouse.