empty auto-cab.
She puts her head on my shoulder when we get into the vehicle.
“Can you send that list over your people’s network?” I say.
“The Lionhearted don’t use HoloNet,” she says, staring at me like I’m stupid, “all paper. That’s how I know I could trust you.”
If only she really knew.
Carina stumbles out of the auto-cab, insisting that I stay within the confines of the vehicle. I do as I’m told, peering out of the tinted glass in futility for a couple minutes before directing my attention to the screen.
This gray-haired bastard has had a long day. The wrinkles are showing beneath his make-up—they haven’t had the opportunity to slather on more. Full-on firefighting requires constant vigilance. They use their best and brightest for stories demanding damage control, but by the footage, anyone with a brain can tell that this is an issue that no amount of propaganda can fix. The ash cloud has spread well past Wyoming, now, the entire Northwest is a pile of jumbled dominos, and the police have been putting down minor uprisings throughout the day in New Manhattan—supposedly the safest city in the whole world.
I tap the screen and Old Silver Fox’s voice pipes in low, like a friend whispering in my ear.
“Circle officials indicate that reports of significant crop damage are unsubstantiated. Please do not engage in food hoarding. Any such behavior, or individuals caught marking up products for resale outside of official channels will be subject to severe penalties.”
The charade continues. I wonder how long it can last—like Chancellor Tanner in his shimmering tower, the whole illusion is about to come tumbling down like a house of cards. Tapping the screen with my knuckle, I lean back into my seat, enjoying the silence. Old Silver Fox keeps blathering on, but I’m not listening.
The day’s been so busy, I haven’t thought about Slick or my old crew back in Seattle. They’re probably dead, and for a second, my chest crushes inwards, and I can’t breathe. Which is why I haven’t thought about it. You want to survive in this business, you gotta compartmentalize. Friends have come and gone before, and they’ll come and go many times before I die.
One time, it’ll be my turn.
Still, Slick’s the only mentor I ever had, the guy who taught me everything after Pops passed—damn. I sneak a glance at the screen through slightly blurry vision, tell myself it’s from the liquor, and hope that somewhere in that maelstrom, Slick and my boys made it out.
I’m not too optimistic, though. The door clicks open, and I wipe my eyes.
“You miss me,” Carina says, her hands getting dangerously gropey for someone who believes in chastity, her hot breath heavy with booze, “I did what you wanted. They’re running it down now.”
“I don’t want the engineers hurt,” I say, moving away as she nibbles at my lip, “just find where they live.”
“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms and pouting now, “if that’s how it’s gonna be.”
“It’s not like that,” I say. Goddamn emotion. Focus on the next part of the plan. I still have a damn body to get rid of. My brother’s body—no, I can’t think of it like that. A body . A problem.
I sit up straighter, square my shoulders. Before I can speak, another breaking announcement comes on the screen, and Carina punches the glass window separating us from the front.
“Those bastards,” Carina yells, hitting the divider again. “Those…” I half expect her to start crying when her voice trails off, but when she looks at me, I can tell she’s just seething. If she had a gun, and Tanner was sitting right here, she’d paint the insides of this car with his brains, no hesitation.
Then she’s hitting me, screaming you bastard , over and over again, and I remember, for all she knows, I’m the goddamn big bad wolf—the incarnation of the Devil. In the Lionhearted’s little secret meetings, they probably burn effigies of the Inner
She puts her head on my shoulder when we get into the vehicle.
“Can you send that list over your people’s network?” I say.
“The Lionhearted don’t use HoloNet,” she says, staring at me like I’m stupid, “all paper. That’s how I know I could trust you.”
If only she really knew.
Carina stumbles out of the auto-cab, insisting that I stay within the confines of the vehicle. I do as I’m told, peering out of the tinted glass in futility for a couple minutes before directing my attention to the screen.
This gray-haired bastard has had a long day. The wrinkles are showing beneath his make-up—they haven’t had the opportunity to slather on more. Full-on firefighting requires constant vigilance. They use their best and brightest for stories demanding damage control, but by the footage, anyone with a brain can tell that this is an issue that no amount of propaganda can fix. The ash cloud has spread well past Wyoming, now, the entire Northwest is a pile of jumbled dominos, and the police have been putting down minor uprisings throughout the day in New Manhattan—supposedly the safest city in the whole world.
I tap the screen and Old Silver Fox’s voice pipes in low, like a friend whispering in my ear.
“Circle officials indicate that reports of significant crop damage are unsubstantiated. Please do not engage in food hoarding. Any such behavior, or individuals caught marking up products for resale outside of official channels will be subject to severe penalties.”
The charade continues. I wonder how long it can last—like Chancellor Tanner in his shimmering tower, the whole illusion is about to come tumbling down like a house of cards. Tapping the screen with my knuckle, I lean back into my seat, enjoying the silence. Old Silver Fox keeps blathering on, but I’m not listening.
The day’s been so busy, I haven’t thought about Slick or my old crew back in Seattle. They’re probably dead, and for a second, my chest crushes inwards, and I can’t breathe. Which is why I haven’t thought about it. You want to survive in this business, you gotta compartmentalize. Friends have come and gone before, and they’ll come and go many times before I die.
One time, it’ll be my turn.
Still, Slick’s the only mentor I ever had, the guy who taught me everything after Pops passed—damn. I sneak a glance at the screen through slightly blurry vision, tell myself it’s from the liquor, and hope that somewhere in that maelstrom, Slick and my boys made it out.
I’m not too optimistic, though. The door clicks open, and I wipe my eyes.
“You miss me,” Carina says, her hands getting dangerously gropey for someone who believes in chastity, her hot breath heavy with booze, “I did what you wanted. They’re running it down now.”
“I don’t want the engineers hurt,” I say, moving away as she nibbles at my lip, “just find where they live.”
“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms and pouting now, “if that’s how it’s gonna be.”
“It’s not like that,” I say. Goddamn emotion. Focus on the next part of the plan. I still have a damn body to get rid of. My brother’s body—no, I can’t think of it like that. A body . A problem.
I sit up straighter, square my shoulders. Before I can speak, another breaking announcement comes on the screen, and Carina punches the glass window separating us from the front.
“Those bastards,” Carina yells, hitting the divider again. “Those…” I half expect her to start crying when her voice trails off, but when she looks at me, I can tell she’s just seething. If she had a gun, and Tanner was sitting right here, she’d paint the insides of this car with his brains, no hesitation.
Then she’s hitting me, screaming you bastard , over and over again, and I remember, for all she knows, I’m the goddamn big bad wolf—the incarnation of the Devil. In the Lionhearted’s little secret meetings, they probably burn effigies of the Inner
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