“The power.” Graham turned his head, following the light back to its source. “She must’ve turned it on.”
I replayed the video of Beverly’s demise in my brain. Her terrified gaze… the pistol… the flash of light… I knew all of it would haunt me for the rest of my life.
I thought back to my childhood, to Dad’s suicide. I recalled laying on his body, draped over him like a blanket. Eventually, a few construction workers coaxed me into the building. I sat there for what seemed like hours, unmoving and covered with sticky, dried ice cream.
Eventually, Mom arrived. She quietly took my hand, led me away. I didn’t remember much else about that day. I didn’t remember where we’d gone and whether or not we’d eaten lunch or dinner. The only thing I recalled was lying in bed at night, listening to Mom sobbing into her pillow.
I never asked her how she got over Dad’s death. Frankly, I’m not sure she ever did. Part of me had always wondered if that was the reason she disappeared years later. If she’d just reached the end of her rope and couldn’t go on any longer.
Graham exhaled. “We should go.”
I stooped down and gathered up the Capitalist Curtain papers. Rolling them into a tube, I stuffed them into my jacket pocket.
People don’t need reasons to live. But they sure as hell don’t hurt. And as I followed Graham out of the vault, I felt something take hold of me. A purpose, if you will. A reason for going on.
You’re dead, Malware.
Chapter 27
Why’d she turn on the power?
Mulling the question over, I hiked through the crumbled masonry wall and the broken drywall partitions. Malware had my grandfather’s papers. She’d killed Beverly and deleted the evidence from my satphone. In her own words, the game was over. There was no reason to keep playing around with us.
We entered the main portion of the basement and headed for the stairwell. I took the lead, racing up the steps two at a time. At the top, I saw more lights, heard more humming sounds.
I paused on the landing. The lobby’s overhead fixtures were now brightly lit. But otherwise, nothing had changed. The floor was still made of concrete, still torn up in places. The walls were still unpainted and covered with spackle. I still saw wheelbarrows, raised platforms, that Welcome to The Falcon! sign, and lots of dust.
A new sound, a soft clicking sound, filled the quiet lobby. Then light blazed and a blinding array of colors plunged into my eyeballs. Sirens blared. I heard screams, shouts, smashing metal… all the sounds of urban warfare. And above it all, a distant chant…
“You can’t run, the revolution has begun! You can’t run, the revolution has begun!”
I glanced at the front door.
It was open.
Berserkers ran up and down the streets. Most wore hoodies and jeans, which I supposed was as close to an official outfit as a riot could get. But I did see a topless girl as well, flashing her bouncing tatas for all to see.
“This must’ve been Malware’s plan all along,” Graham said. “Get the papers and then turn on the electricity. Open the doors and let the rioters do their thing. They’ll destroy the basement, the vault, everything.”
I patted the rolled-up papers in my jacket pocket. “Not everything.”
“I would’ve let well enough alone.” The voice, gruff and determined, filled the lobby. “But an offer like this? It’s too good to pass up.”
I shifted my gaze. Looked at the speaker.
It was Saul.
He stood off to one side of the lobby, backed by his masked cronies. They reeked of vodka and sweat.
Offer? What offer? What is he talking about?
Saul’s eyes, dark and focused, blazed holes through mine. Then he glanced at his gang. “Hurt them, cut them, beat them within an inch of their lives. But don’t kill them.” His voice turned cold, menacing. “That’s my job.”
Chapter 28
Graham wheeled around. Moving quicker than I’d ever seen him move, he ran back to the stairwell and hightailed it up the steps.
I sprinted after him, my tuxedo shoes clomping against the grit-covered stairs. Behind me, I heard angry voices and shuffling sounds. Then rubber soles scraped against the steps and the chase was on.
Up and up we ran, passing the second floor, third floor, fourth floor, and so on. By the time we reached the eighth floor, Graham was beginning to wheeze. His pace slowed and by the ninth floor, he was gasping for air.
“Take the next door,” I whispered.
He grunted and scaled another two flights of stairs. Behind me, I heard footfalls drawing closer and closer.
Graham reached the tenth floor and darted through an open doorway. I followed suit and we entered a small, unlit entrance hall. Two-by-fours, metal brackets, paint cans, plastic tarps, and other construction materials were gathered together in a nearby heap. Darkness… weapons… all in all, not a bad place to make our stand.
I glanced at Graham. He stared at the ceiling with his one good eye, gulping at oxygen like it was in short supply. “How much have you got left in the tank?”
“More…” He gulped at the air. “… than enough.”
I didn’t doubt his heart. But his body, well, that was a different matter. He’d pushed it hard during the riot. Now, his face was bright red and his muscles shivered uncontrollably. A straight-out brawl with Saul’s gang was out of the question. We needed a different plan.
Separate entranceways, sans doors, lay on either side of the hall. Taking the lead, I hurried to the left and entered a long hallway filled with partially completed rooms, sitting areas, and other nooks and crannies.
Turning left again, I jogged to the end of the hallway and saw another corridor to my left. Most likely, following that corridor would eventually lead us to the opposite side of the entrance hall.
“They’ll need to split up to cover this floor,” I said. “Let’s set up an ambush, quietly bash a few heads. Then we’ll make a run for the stairwell.”
Graham inhaled again. “You had me at ‘bash a few heads.’”
The guts of a large apartment lay off to the side. There wasn’t much to look at, just unpainted walls, dark corridors, dusty windows, and tarp-covered floors.
I entered the open doorway and stole down one of the corridors. In one of the rooms, I found some pieces of wood. They were roughly cut and lying in a heap against a wall. I picked up two pieces, handing one to Graham and keeping the other for myself. Then we took up position just inside the room, on opposite sides of the doorframe.
I stood there silently for a minute or so, thinking about Beverly. Remembering her looks, her scent, the way she tasted, the sound of her voice.
A series of faint footsteps brought my memories to a halt. The footsteps paused, drifted away for a bit. Then they returned and moved a little closer to us. Then they drifted away yet again. This cycle repeated itself a few more times.
“Sounds like…” Graham paused. “… just one person.”
“Dibs.” Secretly, I hoped it was Saul. I would’ve preferred Malware, but that wasn’t an option.
Shoes scraped against plastic tarp as someone entered the apartment. He proceeded to walk through the place, checking each room and moving on.
The footsteps grew closer and closer, louder and louder. And then he was right outside the door. A hard smile crossed my lips. My fingers tightened around the wood.
A head popped through the doorway. It belonged to… yes, it was Saul. His eyes glittered when he saw me. His grip tightened on a knife and he started to back up. But I was already swinging. The wood smacked into his face and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. As he sagged to the ground, I grabbed hold of him, hoping to keep him from hitting the floor too loudly. Then I saw him.