When they turned the last corner, she could see the orange glow of the night sky through holes in a vent cover. Rowan reached it and pounded on it with his fist, sending it flying outward. “Almost home free,” he said.
She heard something hiss through the air. A plastic net flew into the opening of the vent and gripped Rowan, cinching tightly around his torso. He thrashed as it suctioned to the shape of his body. Arms pinned, he bucked around, smashing the sides of the vent.
Then something started pulling him out into the street. She grabbed his legs, planting her weight on him. But the pull was too strong. “Hold on!” she told him, but a second later his feet slipped through her fingers, and he flew from the vent. She heard him hit something twice. All went quiet.
She shinnied to the edge of the vent, careful to stay out of sight. Below she saw him lying in an alley among heaps of trash. The white fibrous net covered him from head to waist, attached to a cable. Two Repurposers held the other end, hurrying to where Rowan lay prone. They’d been three floors up.
She saw now what he’d hit first. A ledge protruded from a second-story window; his body had crashed through it. Broken masonry lay scattered about the alley. She peered through the hole he’d made on his way down. Though he might have broken bones, the ledge had probably slowed his fall and saved his life.
As they approached him, they didn’t notice her. Maybe he’d used this escape route before, and they had been waiting for him.
The shorter one bent over his body.
The other Repurposer stood, pale and gaunt. She recognized him as the one Rowan had kicked in the nose earlier that night. Crusted blood covered his upper lip and mouth. “Does he have anything on him?” Broken Nose asked his colleague.
The short one patted Rowan down. Rowan wasn’t moving. She saw wet crimson pooling beneath his head. “We’ll have to cut the net. It’s too tight.”
Broken Nose pressed a button on his utility belt. The net retracted back into a tiny holster on his hip.
Still Rowan didn’t move.
They started patting him down again, searching his pockets. His satchel still hung around his torso. Whatever he’d stolen, it must be important, and it was in that bag. She had to do something. She had no doubt that once they’d taken everything off him, they’d kill him. Or worse.
Rowan groaned, rolling over on his side. He pushed their hands away weakly.
“He doesn’t have a head jack.”
“Then you know what to do,” Broken Nose answered. “He can’t be allowed to enter the city again.”
While they bent over him, searching through his clothes, H124 quietly pivoted inside the narrow confines of the vent. She swung her legs over the edge, out into the open air. Her body flooded with adrenaline. Right now she was vulnerable, her legs swinging down into open space. If they happened to look up, they’d see her.
Lowering herself to hang from her fingertips, she gazed down to the ledge below. She aimed her feet for the unbroken section, then let go.
With a thud she landed squarely on the ledge, out of sight.
“What was that?” she heard the short one ask.
“There’s someone up there.”
“Get your gun.”
The window next to the ledge was bricked up, a long time ago from the look of it. Her only way out was down. She knew the Repurposers stood right beneath her. Bracing herself, she leaped down through the hole to the alley below.
Chapter 9
H124 came down with a crash, her feet hitting the shorter Repurposer squarely in the head. She knocked him over, then sprawled into the alley. Broken Nose reached for his energy discharger. She flung herself on the shorter one’s body, her quick hands closing around the weapon on his belt. She brought it up, firing at Broken Nose before he unholstered his weapon. Bright tendrils of electricity lit up the alley, burning her retinas.
She rolled off the other one and fired again. Light enveloped him, flashing again in the darkness. Struggling to her feet, she moved to Rowan. “Can you get up?”
She could see all the blood now, too much of it. “How badly are you hurt?”
He brought a hand to his head, and it came away crimson. “Feel sick to my stomach,” he slurred.
“We have to get you out of here.”
The short Repurposer groaned, holding his head and trying to stand up. She hurried back to Broken Nose and grabbed his weapon. But when she tried to shoot them, it wouldn’t work.
“It’s fried,” Rowan said behind her. “A flash burster’s one weakness is being hit by another one.”
She took the one good weapon she still had and shot both of them again. Their bodies jittered on the black asphalt and then lay still. She returned to Rowan. Handing the weapon to him, she hooked one arm around his waist and draped his arm around her shoulder. He gripped the gun. She half dragged him out of the alley with a hammering heart. They had to get out of there.
Struggling under the Rowan’s weight, H124 dragged him through darkened alleyways.
He drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he was dead weight, and other times he managed to stumble. They couldn’t keep this up for long.
“What about your place?” she asked when he came out of a stint of unconsciousness. “Could we hide there?”
He looked at her groggily. “My place?”
“Yes, how far is it?”
“I don’t live in the city.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
He met her eyes. “I come from outside the city.”
“Outside the city?” She raised her eyebrows.
He managed a smile. “Outside the city.”
“But . . . I’ve heard that you can’t survive out there.”
“That’s not far from the truth. It’s a nightmare.”
“How long have you lived out there?”
“My whole life. I was born there. And that’s where we have to go.”
Her mouth fell open. “I can’t . . .”
“No choice. You’ve been marked. I have to get this to my people.” He placed his hand on the satchel where he’d hidden his stolen prize.
“How far is it to the edge of the city?”
“A couple miles or so.”
“Which way?” she whispered.
He pointed vaguely west, so she dragged him in that direction. She looked at him as they walked, too afraid to stop. A deep gash along his temple was already turning purple and red. Blood streamed down his neck, soaking his sleeve and the back of his shirt.
“Can’t seem to focus,” he mumbled.
She ripped off a sleeve from her shirt and pressed it against the wound. “Can you hold that there?”
He tried to focus on her, though his eyes wandered. “I’ll try.”
She readjusted his arm over her shoulder as she continued to hurry down the dark alleys. A few times they had to cross over the main streets, the orange lights gleaming down on them. She felt exposed and terrified, hastening to escape into the shadows.
She lugged him on for what felt like an hour, Rowan half awake and stumbling. “My head . . .” Progress was agonizingly slow.
He almost fell, but she caught him. “You’re going to have to dump me,” he slurred.
“No.”