“What’s this now?” Dix asked.
The picture abandoned the police barricades beyond the Terminal City fence in favor of an area just outside a checkpoint in another sector, where three police cars and an ambulance sat parked, their lights flashing.
A female voice-over intoned somberly, “A sector officer was found murdered this morning, when his replacement reported for duty.”
The video cut to a pair of EMTs pushing a gurney up to the back doors of the ambulance. Whatever was underneath the sheet on the stretcher, it seemed to be bleeding through everywhere, damp crimson splotches making terrible polka dots.
The female newscaster continued: “Police refuse to comment on the rumor that the officer had been skinned.”
“Skinned?” Luke asked with a touch of disgust, wincing at the thought.
As the ambulance doors closed, the voice-over continued, “If this officer was skinned, it would mark the second such murder in the Seattle metroplex in the last four months.”
Mole harrumphed. “And they’re worried about us?”
“The previous victim, Henry Calvin, a shoe salesman, turned up last March in a part of Sector Three known to be heavily frequented by transgenics.”
“Didn’t take ’em long to try to pin this shit on us,” Dix said.
“One of White’s men?” Logan wondered aloud.
Mole said, “They’re reachin’ — any way to blame this damn thing on us, they’ll find.”
But that was the end of the coverage of the sector cop’s murder, and the news broadcast returned to the studio for other local news. There was a perverse sense of disappointment among the transgenics monitoring the coverage now that the focus was no longer on them.
Turning to Dix and Luke, Max said, “Logan and I have some things to talk over. We’ll be back in twenty.” She glanced at Logan for confirmation and he nodded.
Walking out next to each other, they barely noticed Joshua hanging back far enough to give them privacy, but close enough that — should anything bad happen — he could get to them to protect Max. Girl’s best friend...
Even though she could more than take care of herself, Max didn’t mind the idea of Joshua staying close. Now that Ames White knew where she was, it would only be a matter of time before he and his next squad of muscle bitches came calling again.
They left the building that housed the media center and walked down the rubble-strewn middle of the twenty square blocks that made up Terminal City. Mostly biotech companies back in their day, several had lost containment when the Pulse hit, and the area had long ago been declared off limits to the citizens.
Though the transgenics had been treated against biowarfare agents, the ordinaries couldn’t last for extended periods within the restricted area. No one had any sense of the specifics of that, just the inevitable danger of prolonged toxic exposure. Sooner or later some biological agent or other would take nontransgenics down — which meant Logan, Sketchy, and Original Cindy would have to move on, before long.
Most of the buildings within the walls not only were crumbling, but had long since been ransacked for any valuables. Occasionally the transgenics would find a piece of equipment they could use or cannibalize, but mostly what Terminal City was — before the transgenic squatters moved in, anyway — was a ghost town.
The couple let the first few blocks pass in silence, Max waiting for Logan to get around to telling her whatever it was he had to say. Behind them Joshua — the world’s biggest puppy tagging along — seemed fine about keeping his own company while watching them.
At last Max’s patience reached its limit. “You gonna tell me where we’re goin’?”
Logan, with a tiny smirk, checked his watch. “I wondered how long you could go.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it up. “You were right, Joshua. Eight-fourteen. She couldn’t go ten minutes without asking.”
The big fella came forward, accepted the bill, turned to Max and said, “Thanks, Little Fella.”
She stopped, looked from one to the other, then shook her head, not nearly as amused as they were. As she and Logan started forward again, Joshua again hung back, letting the distance widen.
“Okay,” she said, a tiny edge in her voice. “We’ve demonstrated I’m not the most patient person in the world. Granted. I do like to know what’s going on, and where I’m headed.”
“You’re a control freak. Admit it.”
She whispered, “Is Eyes Only calling somebody else a control freak?”
He gave her that sideways, amused, look of his. “We’re all freaks here, right?”
Now she smiled. “Yes we are... Now, are you gonna tell me why we’ve marched all the way back to the ass end of Terminal City?”
Logan pointed at a low-slung concrete building in front of them.
“Medtronics,” Max said, reading the faded sign with the bold blue letters. “Yeah. So?”
“You know what’s behind this building?” Logan asked, something impish in his tone.
What was up with him? She shrugged elaborately. “Let me guess, since you seem to want me to — a parking lot?”
“And beyond that?”
Another shrug. “The back fence and, oh, maybe a bunch of pissed-off cops and National Guardsmen.”
He smiled enigmatically and started walking again, this time toward the front entryway of Medtronics. When they got to the metal door, Logan produced a key that he slipped into the lock, then turned and opened the door. He waved for her to enter.
“Neat trick,” she admitted. “And where did you get the key?”
Yet another shrug — a matter-of-fact one this time. “I own the building.”
Stepping inside, she took a quick glance at the dust-covered receptionist’s desk and pitiful little waiting room. “You owned Medtronics?”
“Not exactly. My uncle Jonas did. After the Pulse, naturally, he couldn’t give it away. When I offered him a pittance for it, a while back, he sold it to me without even a question. Glad to be rid of any real estate attached to Terminal City.”
“I hear that.”
Moving to a door to the right, Logan said, “Come on, Max — you too, Joshua.”
Logan produced a small flashlight, as the building was windowless and dark. His penlight’s small beam was the only illumination as they walked down a long, narrow flight of stairs.
In the basement, he gave the flash to Max. “Hold this a minute, will you?”
She pointed the light at a stack of heavy boxes against the wall where Logan had moved.
“Give me a hand, Joshua?”
The two of them moved the stack out of the way and, to Max’s surprise, their efforts revealed a door with a lock, but no knob.
Inserting another key, Logan pushed the door open, flipped a light switch, and Max found herself at one end of a long tunnel with fluorescent lights strung from the ceiling every thirty feet or so. Still, it seemed dim. The concrete walls had been painted a very pale green, and the tile floor was about the same color. Unlike Medtronics, this area was free of dust, even clean. With the lighting, the effect was of a hospital, or worse, Max thought, a morgue.
“Where does this lead?” she asked. “If I’m right about my directions, we’re at the back of the building.”
Logan nodded. “Tunnel goes under the parking lot.”
“We’re beyond the fence?”
“Yes. This passage leads under the street — and the police barricade and National Guard — and comes up in a building in the next block.”
She struggled to see Logan’s face in the dim light. “A building outside Terminal City?”
“That’s right,” he said with a small self-satisfied smile. “Outside Terminal City.”
“How did Logan know about the tunnel?” Joshua asked him, eyes tight with the desire for knowledge.