Armageddon’s Children

TWO

HAWK WALKED POINT as the Ghosts emerged from their underground lair beneath what had once been Pioneer Square and set out on foot for midtown

Seattle. It was an hour before midday, when trade negotiations and exchanges usually took place, but he liked to give himself a little extra time to cushion against the possibility of encounters with Freaks. Usually you didn't see much of them when it was daylight, but you never knew. It didn't pay to take chances.

As leader, it was his responsibility to keep the others safe.

The city was quiet, the debris–littered streets empty and still.

Storefronts and apartments stood deserted and hollow, their glass windows broken out and doors barred or sagging. The rusted hulks of cars and trucks sat where their owners had abandoned them decades ago, a few still in one piece, but most long since cannibalized and reduced to metal shells. He wondered, looking at them, what the city had been like when vehicles had tires and ran in a steady, even flow of traffic from one street to the next. He wondered, as he always did, what the city must have been like when it was filled with people and life.

Nobody lived in the city now outside the walls of the compounds. Not unless you counted the Freaks and the street children, and no one did.

Hawk stopped the others at the cross streets that marked the northern boundary of Pioneer Square and looked to Candle for reassurance. Her clear blue eyes blinked at him, and she nodded. It was safe to continue. She was only ten years old, but she could see things no one else could. More than once, her visions had saved their lives. He didn't know how she did it, but he knew the

Ghosts were lucky to have her. He had named her well: she was their light against the dark.

He glanced momentarily at the others, a ragtag bunch dressed in jeans, sweatshirts, and sneakers. He had named them all. He had tossed away their old names and supplied them with new ones. Their names reflected their character and temperament. They were starting over in life, he had told them. None of them should have to carry the past into the future. They were the Ghosts, haunting the ruins of the civilization their parents had destroyed. One day, when they ceased to be street kids and outcasts and could live somewhere else, he would name them something better.

Candle smiled as their eyes met, that brilliant, dazzling smile that brightened everything around her. He had a sudden sense that she could tell what he was thinking, and he looked quickly away.

"Let's go," he said.

They set off down First Avenue, working their way past the derelict cars and heaps of trash, heading north toward the center of the city. He knew it was

First Avenue because there were still signs fastened to a few of the buildings eye–level with the ornate streetlights. The signs still worked, even if the lights didn't. Hawk had never seen working streetlights; none of them had.

Panther claimed there were lights in San Francisco, but Hawk was sure he was making it up. The power plants that provided electricity hadn't operated since before he was born, and he was the oldest among them except for Owl. Electricity was a luxury that few could manage outside the compounds, where solar–powered generators were plentiful. Mostly, they got by with candles and fires and glow sticks.

They stayed in the center of the street as they walked, keeping clear of the dark openings of the buildings on either side, falling into the Wing-T formation that Hawk favored. Hawk was at point, Panther and Bear on the wings, and the girls, Candle and River, in the center carrying the goods in tightly bound sacks. Owl had read about the Wing-T in one of her books and told Hawk how it worked. Hawk could read, but not particularly well. None of them could, the little ones in particular. Owl was a good reader. She had learned in the compound before she left to join them. She tried to instruct them, but mostly they wanted her to read to them instead. Their patience was limited, and their duties as members of the Ghosts took up most of their time. Reading wasn't necessary for staying alive, they would argue.

But, of course, it was. Even Hawk knew that much. Overhead, the sky began to fill with roiling clouds that darkened steadily as the Ghosts moved out of

Pioneer Square and up toward the Hammering Man. Soon rain was falling in a soft, steady mist, turning the concrete of the streets and buildings a glistening slate gray. The rain felt clean and cool to Hawk, who lifted his angular face to its cool wash. Sometimes he wished he could go swimming again, as he had when he was a little boy living in Oregon. But you couldn't trust the water anymore. You couldn't be sure what was in it, and if the wrong thing got into your body, you would die. At least they had the rain, which was more than most of the world could say. Not that he had seen much of that world. At eighteen, he had lived in exactly two places–in Oregon until he was five and in Seattle since then. But the Ghosts had a radio to listen to, and sometimes it told them things. Less so these days, as the stations dropped away, one by one. Overrun by the armie of the once–men, he assumed. Once–men. Madmen.

Sometimes they learned things from other street kids. A new kid would show up, wandering in from some other part of the country to link up with one of the tribes and provide a fresh piece of news. But wherever they came from, their stories were pretty much alike. Everyone was in the same boat, trying to survive. The same dangers threatened everyone, and all anyone could do was decide how they wanted to live: either inside the compounds like a caged animal or out on the streets like prey.

Or, in the case of the Ghosts, you lived underground and tried to stay out of the way.

It was Owl who knew the history behind the underground city. She had read about it in a book. A long time ago, the old Seattle had burned and the people had buried her and built a new city right on top. The old city had been ignored until parts of it were excavated for underground tours. In the wake of the Great

Wars and the destruction of the new city, it had all been forgotten again.

But Hawk had rediscovered it, and now it belonged to the Ghosts. Well, mostly. There were other things down there, too, though not other street kids because other street kids respected your territory. Freaks of various sorts.

Lizards, Moles, and Spiders mostly–not the dangerous kind, though he guessed they could all be considered dangerous. But these kinds of Freaks ignored them, stayed away from their part of the underground, and even traded with them now and then. These kinds of Freaks were slow–witted and shy. They could be bad and sometimes scary, but you could live with them.

The Croaks were the ones you had to be careful of. They were the ones who would hurt you.

Something metal clanged sharply in the distance, and the Ghosts froze as one. Long minutes passed as the echo died into silence. Hawk glanced at his wingmen, Panther and Bear, the former sleek and sinewy with skin as black as damp ashes, the latter huge and shambling and as pale as snow. They were the strong ones, the ones he relied upon to protect the others, the fighters. They carried the prods, the solar–charged staffs that could shock even a Lizard unconscious with just a touch.

Panther met Hawk's gaze, his fine features expressionless. He made a sweeping motion with his arm, taking in the surrounding buildings, and shook his head. Nothing from where he stood. Bear had a similar response. Hawk waited a few minutes more, then started them forward again.

Two blocks short of the Hammering Man, at the intersection of First and

Seneca, movement to his left stopped Hawk in his tracks.

A huge Lizard staggered out from the dark maw of a parking garage, its head thrown back and clothing all in tatters. It moaned as it advanced up the street toward them, its approach erratic and unfocused. Blood soaked through dozens of rents in the thick, plated skin. As it drew closer, Hawk could see that its eyes had been gouged out.

It looked like it had been through a meat grinder. Lizards, Moles, and

Spiders were mutants, humans whose outer appearance had been changed by prolonged or excessive exposure to radiation and chemicals. Moles lived deep underground, and the changes wrought were mostly in their bone structures.

Spiders lived in the buildings, small and quick, with squat bodies and long limbs. Only the Lizards lived out in the open, their skin turned reptilian, their features blunted or erased entirely. Lizards were very strong and dangerous; Hawk couldn't think of anything that could do this to a Lizard.

Panther moved over to stand next to him. "So what are we doing? Waiting for that thing to get close enough to hug us? Let's blow like the wind, Bird‑Man."

Hawk hated being called Bird‑Man, but Panther wouldn't let up. Defiance was too deeply ingrained in his nature.

"Leave it!" Panther snapped when he didn't respond quickly enough. "Let's go!"

"We can't leave it like this. It's in a lot of pain. It's dying."

"Ain't our problem."

Hawk looked at him. "It's a Freak, man!" Panther hissed.

Bear and the others had closed ranks about them. Their faces were damp, and their hair glistened with droplets of water. Their breath clouded in the cool, hazy air. Rain fell in a misty shroud that obscured the city and left it shimmering like a dream. No one said anything.

"Wait here," he told them finally.

"Shhh, man!" Panther groaned.

Hawk left them grouped together in the center of the street and walked toward the stricken Lizard. It was a big one, well over six feet and heavily muscled. Hawk was slender and not very tall, and the Lizard dwarfed him.

Normally, a Lizard would not intentionally hurt you, but this one was so maddened with pain that it might not realize what it was doing until it was too late. He would have to be quick.

He reached into his pocket and extracted the viper–prick. Tearing off the packaging, he eased up to where the Lizard lurched and shuffled, head turning blindly from side to side as it groped its way forward. Up close like this, Hawk could see the full extent of the damage that had been done to it, and he wondered how it could still even walk.

There was no hesitation as he ducked under one huge arm and plunged the viper–needle into its neck. The Lizard reared back in shock, stiffened momentarily, then collapsed in a heap, unmoving. Hawk waited, then nudged it with his toe. There was no response. He looked down at it a moment more, then turned and walked back to the others.

"You just wasted a valuable store on a Freak!" Panther snapped. His tone said it all.

"That isn't so," River said quietly. "Every living creature deserves our help when we can give it, especially when it is in pain. Hawk did what needed doing, that's all."

She was a small dark–haired twelve–year–old with big eyes and a bigger heart. She had come to them on a skiff down the Duwamish, the sole survivor of a plague that had killed everyone else aboard. Fierce little Sparrow had found her foraging for food down by the piers and brought her home to nest. At first, Hawk hadn't wanted to let her stay. She seemed weak and indecisive, easy prey for the more dangerous of the Freaks. But he quickly discovered that what he had taken for weakness and indecisiveness was measured consideration and complex thought.

River did not act or speak in haste. The pace of her life was slow and careful.

She's like a deep river, fitted with secrets, Owl had told him, and he had named her accordingly.

Panther was not impressed. "Nice words, but they don't mean spit. We don't

live in the kind of world you keep talking about, River. Most of those creatures you want to help just want to see us dead! They're nothing but frickin' animals!"

Bear leaned in, his blunt, pale face dripping rain. "I don't think we should stand out here like this."

Hawk nodded and motioned them ahead once more. They spread out in the

Wing-T without being told, disciplined enough to know what to do. Panther was still muttering to himself, but Hawk paid no attention, his mind on the dead

Lizard. If there was something in the city that could take on and nearly kill a

Lizard that size, then they needed to be extra careful. Up until now, there hadn't been anything that dangerous to contend with, not counting Croaks and Pukes. He wondered suddenly if maybe a pack of one or the other had done this, but quickly dismissed the idea. Croaks and Pukes didn't travel in packs and didn't inflict that kind of damage. No, this was something else–something that had either crawled up out of the deeper parts of the underground or come into the city from another place.

He would ask Owl when they returned. Owl might be able to learn something from one of her books.

They reached the Hammering Man and paused for a quick look, just as they always did. The Hammering Man stood frozen in place, a flat black metal giant with one arm raised and the other outstretched in front of it. The raised hand held a hammer; the outstretched hand held a small anvil. It was a piece of art,

Owl said. The building behind it had once been a museum. None of the Ghosts had ever seen a museum except in pictures. This one had long since been looted and trashed, the interior set afire and the windows broken out. The Hammering Man was really all that was left. Hawk drew them away and turned them uphill toward the city center. The streets were slick with mud and damp. Climbing the sidewalks was slow and treacherous. Candle went down twice, and Bear once.

Panther frowned at them and kept going, above such failings. He had worn his hiking boots for better traction. Panther always wore what was needed. He was always prepared.

In another place and time, he might have been leader of the Ghosts. He was bigger and stronger than Hawk, and only two years younger. He was more daring, more willing to take on anything that threatened. But Hawk had the vision, and they all believed that without the vision, you were lost. Owl was wise, Candle blessed with infallible instincts, and Bear steady and strong. Panther was brave. Chalk was talented, Sparrow fierce, and Fixit inventive. All the Ghosts had something that Hawk didn't, but Hawk had the one thing they all needed, so they followed him.

Two streets up, they found the Cats waiting, ten strong, at the appointed meeting place at the intersection of University and Third. Their home was in one of the abandoned condo buildings somewhere on the north edge of the city, although Hawk was unsure which one. This was neutral territory, uninhabited by any of the other tribes, a gathering place for all wishing to do business.

Trades were how they all lived, each bringing something to the bargaining that the others needed. The Cats had a source for apples and plums. Fresh food of any sort was rare, and the demand for all of it high. Where the Cats found such food was a mystery, although Owl said she thought they must have discovered a small rooftop garden with the apple and plum trees already in place and had simply taken advantage.

Whatever the case, you needed fresh fruit to stay healthy. Owl had studied up on it and told them so. Much of what had once been the diet of their civilization was gone–nearly everything that had been grown on the farms. The compounds still grew their own food, but they were having only mixed success, given the soil and water they had to work with. Most of what the street kids ate was prepackaged and made edible by adding water and heating. There were certain canned foods you could still eat and bottled liquids you could drink, but these were fast disappearing. Stores of all kinds had long since been raided and cleaned out, and only a few useful ones remained, their locations carefully guarded secrets. The Ghosts had discovered one a couple of years back, and still carried out and stockpiled what they needed from time to time.

What they had brought to trade at this meeting was as precious and as hard to come by as fresh food and was the sole reason the Cats might be willing to give up a portion of their own stash.

"You're late, Hawk," called out Tiger, the Cats' big, muscular leader.

They weren't, of course, but Hawk didn't argue. This was just Tiger's way of marking his territory. "Ready to deal?"

Tiger was wearing his trademark orange–and–black–striped T-shirt beneath his slicker. All of the Cats wore some piece of clothing that was meant to suggest the kind of cat from which they had taken their names, although some of them were hard to decipher. One kid wore pants with vertical blue and red stripes. What was he supposed to be? Panther liked to make made fun of them for working so hard at being something they clearly weren't. Real cats were small and sleek and stealthy. The Cats were a jumble of sizes and shapes and might as well be called Elephants or Camels. He was a better cat than they were, he was fond of saying. They didn't even have a "Panther" in their tribe. Besides, they had only started calling themselves Cats and taking cat names after they found out about the Ghosts.

"Ain't nothin' but a bunch of copycats," he would declare, sneering at the idea.

Hawk met Tiger alone in the center of the intersection while the others on both sides stayed where they were. Trades were rituals, marked by protocol and tradition. The leaders met first, alone, talked through the details of the trade, came to an arrangement, and settled on a time and place to make the trade if it wasn't to be done that day. This time both sides had come prepared to trade immediately, having done so often enough before for each to know what the other needed. The Cats would bring their apples and plums and the Ghosts would bring a valuable store to offer in exchange.

"What have you got for us?" Tiger asked, anxious to get to the point of this meeting.

Hawk didn't like being rushed. He brushed back his ragged, short–cropped black hair and looked back down toward the water and the Hammering Man, thinking again of the dead Lizard. "Depends. How much you got for us?"

"Two boxes. One of each. Ripe and ready to eat. Store them in a cool place and they'll keep. You've done it before." Tiger hunched his shoulders. "So?"

"Four flashlights and solar cells to power them. The cells have a shelf life of thirty years. These are dated less than twenty years back." He smiled.

"Wasn't easy finding them."

"They still make them twenty years ago?" the other asked suspiciously.

Hawk shrugged. "It says what it says. They work. I tested them myself."

Tiger looked around, maybe searching, maybe killing time. "I need something else."

"Something else?" Hawk stiffened. "What are you talking about, man? That's a fair trade I'm giving you."

Tiger looked uneasy. "I mean, something more. I need a couple of packs of pleneten."

Hawk stared. Pleneten was a heavy–duty drug, effective mostly against plague viruses. No one outside the compounds could get their hands on it unless they happened to stumble on a hidden store. Even then, it usually wasn't any good because it had to be kept cold or it would break down and lose its curative powers. Unrefrigerated, its shelf life was about ten days. He hadn't seen any pleneten in all the time he had been a Ghost.

Except once, when Candle caught the red spot, and he'd had no choice but to ask Tessa.

"It's for Persia," Tiger said quietly, looking down at his feet. "She has the splatters."

Red spot. Like Candle. Persia was Tiger's little sister. The only family he had left. He wouldn't be asking otherwise. Hawk could sense the surfacing of the other's desperation, radiating off him like steam leaking through metal plates, white–hot and barely contained. Hawk glanced back at the other Ghosts.

All expected an exchange to take place and would be disgruntled if it didn't.

The fruit was a treat they had been looking forward to. Some of them would understand, some wouldn't.

"Make the trade," Hawk told the other. "I'll see what I can do."

Tiger shook his head. "No. I want the pleneten first."

Hawk glared at him. "It will cost you a lot more if you don't make the trade now. A lot more."

"I don't care. I want Persia well again."

There was no reasoning with him. But Hawk would lose face if he gave in to what was essentially blackmail.

"Make the trade now," he said, "and you can have the pleneten for nothing."

Tiger stared at him. "You serious?"

Hawk nodded, wondering at the same time if he had lost his mind.

"You can get it? You give me your word on it?"

"You know you got my word and you know it's good. Make the trade or you can forget the whole thing. Find someone else to get you your pleneten."

Tiger studied him a moment longer, then nodded. "Deal."

They touched fists, and the deal was done. Both signaled to their followers to bring up the stores, the Cats the boxes of fruit, smaller than Hawk would have liked, but still sufficient, and Candle and River sacks containing the cells and flashlights. The stores were exchanged and their bearers retreated to their respective positions, leaving the leaders alone.

Hawk looked up at the sky. The rain had passed and the clouds were breaking up. It would get hot before long. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at Tiger.

"Came across a Lizard down past the Hammering Man on our way here," he said. "A big one. It was all torn up. Dying. What do think could have done it?"

Tiger shook his head. "A Lizard? I don't know. What do you think did it?"

"Something new, something we don't know about. Something really dangerous.

Better watch your back."

The bigger boy pulled back the edge of his slicker to reveal a short–barreled flechette hanging from his belt. "Found it a few weeks back. Let's see anything get past that."

Hawk nodded. "I'd be careful anyway, if I was you."

"Just get me that pleneten," the other growled, dropping the slicker back into place.

"Tomorrow, same time, same place."

"I need three days."

Tiger glared at him. "Maybe Persia doesn't have three days."

"Maybe that's the best that I can do."

Tiger stared him down a moment longer, then wheeled away to join the other

Cats. They slouched off up the street in a tight cluster and didn't look back.

Hawk watched them until they were out of sight, thinking about the bargain he had just made, wondering how he could justify asking Tessa to risk herself yet again when he knew the danger of doing so.