The Pack-Retribution (17 page)

They rounded the park in the center of Sector Five, about twenty or so miles from headquarters. Over a year ago, Sector Five was considered a paradise—before the demise of Monev destroyed parts of the city. Her team of friends and the many other kids she helped freed were a part of that war. She choked up for a moment remembering the failure she’d felt at the cost of the freedom of so many kids from Monev. The disappointment that some of the kids she’d hope to save had died in the process of helping her cause. Passing through the large family park that separated the harsh streets of Sector Five and the plush, well-kept neighborhoods in Sandlewood where she lived, was never easy for her. Her chest constricted as she recalled the time she and David went to the park last year. She’d taken her brother there to play, and it was the last time she’d seen him since Monev kidnapped him. If she hadn’t met Valens, she would have never been able to save him, or her family, which was falling apart at the time. Thankfully out of it, she gained Taren and Manny as new siblings. She didn’t even want to contemplate on what would have became of them had she not found them when she did.

Since then, she hadn’t brought her siblings here. Instead she dragged them to Sector Four where Valens lived. Sadness closed in on her, since David was the only one of them not to complain when she skipped over the park that held tormenting memories of his capture.

Garcia made one final turn down Sable Street. Shamira stopped short of the city block since it was too narrow to keep her bike hidden. She slid her leg off the motorcycle and commanded her sight deeper onto the dimly lit street to observe Garcia park.

Reaching in her pocket, she put on the sticky stubs Valens had created for the team. She had to admit she couldn’t wait for the rush of free running while following Garcia undetected. She missed her friends, wished they were here too, but it couldn’t be helped. One of them was doing double duty. She’d bet her life on it. She just wasn’t sure who. Maybe this time she wouldn’t be attacked by assassins, because now no one would be around her to send for them. Also, she had scrambled the signal on her suit so not even anyone from the Security Force could find her.

Sticking on the last tab, she peeked around the corner, hearing Garcia’s hard footsteps walking casually through the litter of beggars, and stray cats. A small group of former recovering drug addict dream heads squatted on the ground playing handheld game systems that allowed them to jack-in and be part of the gambling games that were one of Monev’s main draw for their high paying customers.

Her fingers rubbed against her thumbs. “You always did make the best toys Valens,” she mumbled and took a hasty glance around to make sure no one spied her ascent up the building. Slowly, the simmering returned, the rage that taunted her most of her life. It comforted her in times where she was on the hunt and stilled her fears. Pulling herself up and over the edge of the building, she back-flipped gracefully and landed on the roof. Stealthily, Shamira jumped from building to building while pursuing Garcia.

“Where are you going, Garcia?” She picked up her pace and stood on the ledge. Breathe, relax, go, she coaxed herself to control the anxious lick of energy traveling up her back while she rocked on the balls of her feet. That angry raging part of her that had clawed her back from death, beat against her ribs. It threatened to spill over to war with her technosuit, something she couldn’t let happen if she wanted to live to get her revenge. As the calm peace of a year of intense practice settled within her, she leapt against the wind and with a twisted flip, landed with legs spread on the shorter building.

She trailed Garcia for two more blocks. Suddenly, Garcia stopped across the street from Shamira. The officer glanced furtively around the outside of a rusty metal door on a windswept brick building several stories shorter than the one on which Shamira crouched, waiting. Several surreptitious knocks later, a tall, bulky boy emerged. The upper portion of his face was concealed by a knitted cap, but his pale skin was illuminated by the dim light above the door.

Shamira made her way down the side of the building, never taking her eyes off them.

Garcia punched the boy in the face. His hand remained fisted, but rested now at his side. Their argued voices got louder. Shamira shut her eyes briefly to concentrate on filtered words through the wind.

“I won’t believe it! You…will do it!” Garcia yelled.

The boy pulled out a weapon, pointed it at Garcia. “It’s true…Special…Nobles will…”

Garcia nodded. “Fine, dead…” Her hand twisted and the boy’s gun was in her hand. Then she stepped forward, choking the boy before she uttered a whispered threat, leaving the boy visibly shaken.

Shamira moved quickly. She was halfway down, hoping to stop the officer, but Garcia ran back toward her car. The boy warily observed Garcia’s retreat. Shamira snuggled closer to the building to remain undetected. The boy may prove to be more valuable for information than Garcia.

Her feet landed softly on the ground. She stilled, awaiting the boy’s next move. He tightened his jacket, hesitated, and stuffed his hands his jacket. Pivoting, he searched the city street one last time before heading toward the alleyway.

The wind kicked up, and the sand slapped her face. But she kept her distance while tailing him.
Special Nobles dead?
Can’t be. What the heck had they been talking about? Her steps faltered a moment while she digested what it could mean. She tucked the taunting thought of a possible additional threat to her parents could be the topic of the boy’s conversation with Garcia.

Shamira stalked the boy around the corner of the building and down the deserted alleyway. The area smelled a bit smoky. It was probably caused by some faulty underground heating pipes. This area wasn’t on the list to be serviced by the Mars Reconstruction Department for a year or so. Geysers of steam sprouted from small cracks in the jagged sidewalks. Light from the street barely touched the middle of the rock-paved alley between the several imposing buildings of iron or rock.

The boy hurried along, but comfortably, as though he was alone. Unfettered by the pulsating pieces of sand being carried upward by the whistling wind, he strode heedlessly on. Shamira tracked him with a frown on her face, barely able to hold her anger in check at the thought that Garcia and this kid were involved in some way with the fate of her family. Her muscles tensed, and her blood boiled. Taking a calming breath, she reined in her emotions when he pulled out a knife.

She smoothly pushed her back on the wall, gulped as a gust of sand hit her closed lips. Shamira observed him opening a manhole midway down the alley. He pushed the heavy lid aside, leaving it open as he disappeared inside.

Giving him a brief reprieve, she inched forward. A reflexive command delved her sight beneath the layer of ground to watch him descend deeper on the metal ladder. She waited a moment before she followed, climbing downward about two-hundred feet on the metal ladder suspended from the ceiling of the tunnel. While descending, she realized the boy had gone ahead into the carved rock tunnel to the left. With a final jump off the ladder, Shamira took a brief look around.
Humph, train tracks for the underground heating system maintenance crew.
She continued her pursuit.

Shamira observed the boy standing as if waiting for something. She hung back, watchfully awaiting his next move. Within seconds, the booming sound of one of the small maintenance trains pushed forward from his direction. She ran toward the wall of the tunnel, activating the sticking mechanism of Valens’ climbing tabs and scaled the wall. The train stopped, its front poking forward. Shamira took a deep breath before she leapt to land silently as possible onto its roof.

Every muscle within her body tensed as she flattened herself upon the metal roof. A squeak sounded in the hollowed space when the train took off. Her eyes closed against the onslaught of air pummeling her body. She held on as the train speed toward an unknown destination. Lowering her head a bit, her gaze traced the metal top below her to search out her target.

The boy sat alone, his heavy but fit body slumped on one of the six seats in the travel compartment. She laid her head down on the cool surface, thankful for her enhanced hearing, the side effect of her prolonged blindness. Maybe, just maybe, he would think out loud, and she could get a clue to what was really going on.

He snatched off his knitted hat, and threw it down onto the seat. Covering his face with his hands, he yelled, “I hate this shit!” Recovering, he took a look around. His brown eyes, set on his pale cheeks, looked pensive. “I did my damn job. They can kiss my ass, pay me and leave me the hell alone! Why would he send some sidekick to rough me up?”

The train veered off the main track to a side tunnel that resembled a repair stop. It was dark, smelled a bit damp, and the tracks weren’t as maintained like on the main path. Bumping slightly along the way, the train came to a jerky stop on a dimly lit platform.

Shamira moved toward the back of the train with caution as the guy sauntered on the narrow platform. Silently, she followed, concealed by the soft light and her tight black ensemble. With a blink, her eyes highlighted the dark path ahead. The jagged concrete walls narrowed and, after a few steps, the kid slid his gaze from side to side before knocking on a metal door.

The door opened, and the sound of pounding music poured out. After a brief conversation, the boy pushed past the entrance. Shamira quickened her step to follow. Before the door could slam shut, she jabbed her foot forward and continued inward with her shoulder.

“What the hell?” someone roared.

She used the heightened strength from her technosuit to push the broad boy backwards, and closed the door. “Sorry, he forgot about me.” She smiled and winked.

The surprised look on the guy’s face gave way to a scowl. Before he could speak, she rushed past him and melted into the crowded dance floor. She danced her way through the throng. The music pumped with rhythmic drums and guitars. Kids of all ages littered the floors, or leaned on the walls and tables. Heads bobbed, voices rose to the song boasting from angry lips of the band on the stage.

She held in a cough at the strong scent of cigarettes and a sweet sickening smell similar to dream. Her hand went up to cover her nose, and she danced through the crush as she closed in on her target. He was arguing with some kid standing in front of a door on the side of the stage. The kid acted like he guarded the door with his life.

“Hey! You new here?” A handsome fair-skinned boy grabbed her by the waist to dance close behind her.

“Uh, yeah! You know that guy over there?” She relaxed into the dance briefly, hoping he had an answer.

“Ki? You here with ’im?” the guy said with attitude in his voice. “He’s a kiss-ass. Freaksheep’s errand boy. Forget him. Stay with me and I’ll give you something that will blow your mind with the first puff.”

She turned sharply out of his grasp. Her hand grabbed his wrist and forced his ear down to her lips. “What is it? What you selling?” She glared.

Shock at her strength registered on his face. “Just some dream-ash. Not as good as the old stuff, but will still give you a buzz. I-I don’t got none on me now, but I can get it if you go back to the bunk-down-shack with me.”

“What’s a bunk-down-shack?”

Confusion marred his features. “I thought you were—if you were with Ki, that’s where he sleeps. Where all the kids on the street go to shut our eyes without, you know, having to put up with the bullshit.”

She let his wrist go. “You sell that stuff?”

He swallowed, eyeing her suspiciously. “You sure you not a cop or something?”

“No, I’m not.” She made herself relax.

His eyes held Shamira’s, while the other dancers partied on, ignoring them. “I don’t, but I know someone who does. You know, can give us the hookup, if you want.”

“No, not this time. Hey, what’s your name? Where can I find you if I want to party?”

He relaxed, dancing a bit slowly. The kid grinned. “Here, and at the bunk-down-shack, if you know what I mean. Ask around for Drake. That’s me, baby.”

She nodded and headed toward Ki. She’d thought they brought those bastards to their knees, ended the drug trade on Mars, and kids suffering because of it. But all they’d done was give Mars a small break. Her head went side to side as she grumbled with disgust.

After a moment she spotted Ki, who stood next to Freaksheep, who was surrounded by two other large guys.
I guess I killed Tiny, the one who gave me the second warning that I had a target on my head
. She checked to see how the place was secured. Hoped she’d have a moment to get her hands on the Freaksheep guy who was talking to Ki, but there were too many witnesses.

Shamira sighed and danced over to the wall next to them. Closing her eyes as if to the music, she slit her gaze at them and focused on snippets of their conversation.

Ki stood rigid as Freaksheep yanked him by the shirt. “Do it! If you don’t, you’ll die,” he said with his nose on Ki’s.

“I told you, I don’t sell,” he pulled away slightly, “the shit killed my brother!”

Freaksheep whispered close to Ki’s ear.

Ki replied, “There’s no one left for you to kill, ’cept me.”

“You lucky I need you. When I don’t…”

The crowd yelled out, jumping with hands waving.