Grasping the rung above, I hoist myself up … and freeze. My eyes pull back to Digory’s. He could have left me lying in the alley and saved his own skin, but he didn’t. Better for both of us if he had. His chivalry has definitely complicated things. If I crawl out of this hole, they’ll nab Digory too. Who knows what they’ll do to him?
No. I’ll wait it out a few, until we’ve gone our own ways, before surrendering. I owe him that much at least.
“Any citizen harboring violators is asked to remand them to authorities at once!” a female voice bullhorns through the alley.
Looks like the Imps aren’t giving up that easily. Once they lock onto the scent of their prey, they rarely let go, just like the Canids. And I’m sure we smell pretty ripe about now. It’s only a matter of time before they stop searching the alley and start searching underneath it.
Digory shoots me a look, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. He nudges his chin downward to the catacombs. Great. He wants to move into the maze beneath the city, hoping to lose them. How can he know that’s the last thing I want to do right now? Guess I have no choice but to follow him down, conveniently separate myself from him in the dark, then backtrack once I’m sure he’s in the clear.
A rumbling growl startles me, almost making me lose my grip on the ladder. Digory’s arm is behind my back in a flash, holding me tight against the handrails. Something warm and wet drips onto my forehead and I look up … and into a set of jaws crowded with glistening fangs, snapping and spraying drool through the gash in the manhole cover. The growls turn into a series of deep barks, which vibrate through my ears. As hideous as that muzzle is, it’s not quite as unnerving as the eyes that take its place-cold, bloodshot pools of amber fury.
The Canid has arrived.
In seconds, a set of black boots appears by the hound. “Got something, boy?”
The male Imp’s voice.
Digory pulls me against him, pressing us both close to the wall to avoid the angle of the grill’s opening. He gently places a finger to my lips.
For what seems like forever, there’s an eerie calm. The sound of the beast’s panting commingles with the babbling of sewage slogging through the tunnels below, the skittering of roaches and other vermin creeping over pipes and into crevices, and the pounding of Digory’s chest competing with my own. Maybe they won’t see us.
The manhole cover begins to slide open, shattering that dream.
My eyes meet Digory’s.
“Take him, please! We didn’t know. I swear!” a voice shouts from above. It doesn’t sound like one of the Imps.
The grate stops moving. The Canid and the boots have moved away from the opening. Could it be a trap?
Digory and I compete for who looks the most confused.
“No, let me go, please! I didn’t do anything!” A different voice this time.
What’s going on up there? Ignoring Digory’s tug at my arm, I risk ascending another rung to get a better look.
Two men are gripping a struggling third between them. He looks to be about twenty, short and wiry, dressed in a dirty gray Sewage Plant jumpsuit. Tears stream from his eyes and onto quivering lips. I’ve seen that cornered look on more than a few Parish faces over the years, and each time it brings a lump to my throat. The old-timers say you eventually get numb to it.
I’m not sure I want to live that long.
Digory joins me on my rung. He doesn’t look at me or say anything, just stares at the scene being played out. His hand touches mine and stays there.
The female Imp moves in closer to the terrified prisoner, the Canid now leashed at her side. She gives the beast’s harness some slack and it lunges forward.
The young man shrieks. But the Canid stops just short of its mark, jaws snapping, spittle flying, each bark drawing another yelp from its potential prey.
The eyes of the disheveled men restraining the young guy are vacant, as if their minds have left the premises. The shorter, portly one is Fernando Frye, the foreman at the Sewage Plant. The tall lean one is Frye’s son, Felix. It’s probably not the first time they’ve turned in a friend and co-worker to the Imps. And certainly not the last.
“We found these in his locker, Captain Valerian.” Avoiding her eyes, Frye senior hands the female Imp a stack of documents.
Valerian leafs through the bundle, handing them off to her partner one at a time. “Looks like we have ourselves a Worm, Arch.”
Even from here I can see the telltale triangular symbol of the ID cards. The fact that there appear to be dozens of them, instead of just one, can only mean one thing.
I don’t know what sickens me more, the fact that this poor guy’s desperate enough to prostitute himself as a Worm or that potential Recruits would be driven to hire a Worm to impersonate one of their two Incentives-another of the Establishment’s benign terms masking an unspeakable malignancy. Family. Friend. Lover-that’s who they really mean when they say Incentive. Human beings reduced to mere choices, expendable collateral discarded round after round during a Recruit’s ascension to hell.
Considering what I’d do for my little brother, I realize I’m not much different than this unfortunate young man or the people who might hire him, and that thought both comforts and repulses me.
The prisoner sinks to his knees. “You’ve got the wrong guy!”
“Black-market traitor,” the male Imp called Arch grunts. “Don’t you know it’s an honor to serve as an Incentive for the Recruits? You and the other Worms pollute the process with your filthy impersonations.”
“Please,” the prisoner whimpers. “I just needed some extra cash for rations, I don’t have enough-”
Arch’s booted foot flies up. There’s a loud crunch as it sideswipes the Worm’s jaw, spraying blood.
I flinch.
The young man’s head slumps over. He coughs, spitting out a couple of small white teeth onto the pavement.
Now I’m the one who’s shaking, but not with fear. Digory’s fingers entwine with mine, holding me in place. His other hand grips the rung, pulsing, as if he’s trying to squeeze his fingers through the metal.
Valerian snatches the ID cards back from Arch, looking at the first one. “Well,Tim Fremont, or whatever your name really is. I’ll Radio HQ. We have enough evidence here to start investigating these citizens and seeing which one of them was willing to pay off a Worm like you to commit fraud upon the Establishment.” She turns to Frye senior. “We’re going to hold you two for questioning.”
“But-”
A growl from the Canid cuts the elder Frye off.
I can imagine scenes like this one taking place all over the Parish today. People being pulled out of their homes, dragged into the street, beaten, hauled away. All for daring to let people into their hearts.
All for daring to love.
Blinking the cold sweat from my eyes, I turn to Digory, motioning him to climb down into the tunnel. I need to get away from here, get to the Citadel, do whatever I can for Cole. That’s all that matters.
Digory nods, then moves to follow me down.
“Just one more thing.” Arch’s voice dumps ice into my pores.
Digory and I stop and look back.
“Who is your cell leader?” Arch asks.
For the first time, the prisoner looks confused instead of afraid. “C-cell … what?”
“The other traitors,” Valerian spits. “The ones that had you put these up all over town?” She holds out the poster I saw her tear from the alley wall across the street.
“Don’t forget the one I found by the Dumpster.” Arch is unrolling another poster, this one tied with a familiar yellow cord.
My eyes flash to Digory. He’s searching his coat pocket, where there is now only one rolled sheet. The sun’s angle has shifted, casting a shaft of light that slashes across his neck, which bobs in a silent swallow.