"It's over there," Fixit announced.
Because he was carrying one end of the Weatherman's litter, he couldn't point, only nod, so none of them was sure what he was indi–cating. Owl looked in the general direction of his nod, but didn't see anything.
"It's behind that semi–trailer, over there by the pileup," Fixit contin–ued. "See the big tires? That's a Lightning AV."
Owl was willing to take his word for it, even though she still didn't see anything. Fixit knew a lot about the vehicles his elders had ridden in before almost everything on wheels stopped working. The source of his knowledge was something of a mystery given that he read so little and was content looking at pictures in old magazines, but she supposed it had to do with his mechanical nature.
She looked doubtfully at the abandoned vehicles, clusters of them stretching away down the ramp and onto the freeway for as far as the eye could see. It made her wonder what that last day had been like when the owners had simply abandoned them. It made her wonder what had happened to those people, all those years ago, when the city began to change.
Mostly it made her nervous about what might be down there that they couldn't see. Lots of things made their homes in old vehicles, and you didn't want to disturb them.
Still, they had no choice. They couldn't afford to wait where they were, so far from where Logan Tom had told them to be. Not unless they were threatened, and as yet, the only threat came from the water–front behind them.
"Lead us down, Fixit," she told him, trying to keep the reluctance from her voice. "But everyone stay together and keep a close eye out for anything that might be hiding in those wrecks. Candle? Warn us if you sense anything."
They started down the ramp, a strange little procession, Fixit and River at the forefront carrying the litter with the Weatherman, Candle right behind, Bear following with the heavy cart, and Chalk, pushing Owl and Squirrel in the wheelchair, bringing up the rear. There was a pale wash of light from the distant compound, the walls of which they could just begin to see, and from the torches beginning to close on the docks of the bay. The drums still beat, and now there were shouts and cries, the sounds of a battle being fought. She heard weapons fire, as well.
Her thoughts drifted to those still missing. She hoped that Sparrow was well away by now. She shouldn't have given her permission to go up on the roof for that final check; she should have made her come with the rest of them. She wondered about Panther and Logan Tom and about Hawk and Tessa. Too many people missing, too many ways for them to get hurt in what was happening down there.
Everything is changing, she thought without knowing exactly why she felt it was so. But the thought persisted. Nothing will ever be the same again after this night.
She thought suddenly of their home, of how cozy it had been. She remembered cooking for the others in her tiny, makeshift kitchen.
She remembered telling them her stories of the boy and his children. She could picture them sitting around the room, listening intently, their faces rapt. She could hear their voices and their laughter. She could see herself tucking Squirrel and Candle in for the night, their faces sleepy and peaceful as she wrapped their blankets around them. She remembered the quiet moments she had shared with Hawk, nei–ther of them speaking, both of them knowing without having to say so what the other was thinking.
No, nothing would ever be the same. She glanced around, looking at each of them in turn. The best she could hope for was that they would be able to stay together and stay safe …
She stopped herself suddenly, aware that something was wrong. She counted heads quickly, certain that she must be mistaken, that she had simply missed him.
But there was no mistake. Cheney was missing. The big wolf dog, there only a moment earlier it seemed, was nowhere in sight. Where was he?
She started to ask the others, and then stopped. In the shadows of the broken–down vehicles ahead, dark shapes were emerging into the light, crawling out of the wrecks.
Not just a few, but dozens.
CHAPTER THREE
TIME STOPPED, an intransigent presence.
But at the same time, it seemed that it fled in the wake of their pounding footsteps on the city concrete, another frightened child.
Panther was ahead when they reached the T-intersection at the end of the alleyway Sparrow had sent them down, and he drew up short, uncertain which way to go.
"Go left," she ordered as she came up behind him, her breathing quick and uneven.
He did what he was told, unwilling to argue the matter. He could tell she was beginning to fail, her strength depleted from their struggle with the Croaks and her own physical limitations. She was younger than him, and her endurance was limited. She would never admit it, not to him and probably not to anyone else. Sparrow, with her dead warrior mother and her legacy of self–expectations, he sneered to him–self Frickin' bull.
But he held back anyway, just enough to let her keep pace. He didn't look around, didn't do anything to indicate he knew she was tir–ing, just slowed so that she could stay close. Say what you wanted to about that girl, she was a tough little bird. She gave him a hard time, but she was a Ghost and no Ghost ever abandoned another. Didn't matter how much she bugged him; he would never leave her behind.
They reached the end of the alley and emerged onto a street filled with swarming forms that had come up from the docks and the water–front and maybe the square, as well. Spiders and Lizards and Croaks and some others Panther had never seen before in his short life–things dark and misshapen–all of them massed together as they ascended the hill to get away from the battle being fought below.
"Must be bad down there for this to happen?" he declared, catching Sparrow by the arm as she almost raced past him into the surging throng.
He had never seen anything like it. Normally these creatures, their strange neighbors, kept carefully apart from one another. Some, like the Lizards and the Croaks, were natural enemies, fighting each other for food and territory. Not today. Today the only thought, it seemed, was to escape a common enemy.
"What now?" he demanded.
Wordlessly, Sparrow turned back into the alleyway, and they re–treated down the darkened corridor to a pair of metal–clad doors. Pan–ther didn't ask what she was doing. Sparrow never did anything unknowingly. He watched as she climbed a short set of steps to the doors and wrenched on the handles. The doors opened with a groan, but only several inches. Sparrow pulled harder, but the doors held.
From deeper inside the alleyway, a handful of shadowy figures lum–bered into view, coming out of the T-intersection and turning toward them.
Panther went up the steps in a rush. "Let me try," he said, all but el–bowing her aside. He heaved against the recalcitrant doors, and they moved another few inches. Rust had done its work. "What's in here, anyway?"
"Hotel," she answered, shoving him back to let him know she didn't appreciate his aggressive attitude. "Connects to buildings farther up through underground tunnels. We can avoid all the Freaks if we can get inside."
"Big if, looks like," he said, hauling back again, straining against the handle. "Isn't there some other way?"
She surprised him by laughing. "What's the matter, mighty Panther Puss?" she taunted. "Cat's on the wrong side of the door and can't get in?"