Dead Mann Walking

23

The escapees pooled in the hall, blocking the way. I had to push through them. Once I made it out of the pile, like a bunch of zombies they followed me. I tried explaining that the exit was the other way, but they either didn’t believe me or, in the case of one earless guy, didn’t hear me at all. With a nod to Frank Boyle’s efforts during the Bedland hakker attack, I tried turning them toward the exit, but some slipped by and toddled deeper into the basement.

My Boy Scout efforts ended when a howl and a thud snapped all our heads back toward the door to the jail cells. There, the one-eyed cowboy flew into the hall and headed for the exit faster than if he’d been riding a horse. The moaning inside had turned into growls.

Son of a bitch, he’d opened the cage.

Far down the hall, I could see a staircase, but there was a lot going on between me and it. The chakz that’d slipped by me were already meeting up with some seriously armed LBs on their way down. I started running the other way, thinking I’d follow the cowboy. But once I took some turns, raced up and down some carved stone hallways, I was totally lost. The place was a fucking labyrinth. If the ferals didn’t get me, I was afraid I’d run into a Minotaur or a giant piece of cheese.

A fancy wooden-slat-and-banded-iron door took me into a huge room, a cross between a wine cellar and some kind of freaky herb garden. I was thinking it was a dead end until I saw a bit of luck. A fire ax and hose were mounted behind one of those glass doors marked IN CASE OF EMERGENCY. The ax was only half the fun. Sitting next to it was a great big, juicy series of circuit breakers. A little chaos could go a long way in helping the chakz escape, and me get around.

So, ax, meet circuit breakers. Circuit breakers, ax.

My first swing didn’t do much. The second earned a major spark shower and plunged the place into darkness. The emergency lights kicked in, but they were few and far between, leaving the basement dim enough to make it hard to tell the living from the dead. Plus, I still had the ax.

Screams came from all directions, wet and dry. Guards barked to one another, trying to organize themselves enough to cut off the exits, keep us down here.

“Herd them south! Nets up!”

“Twenty-one, where are you?”

From what I overheard they’d already screwed up. A couple of ferals had reached the grounds, forcing the guards to split up. I crept along, trying to stay away from everything, until I kicked into something on the floor. It spun and sloshed. A water bottle, half-full. Nice that Green kept his employees hydrated. I scooped it up.

About a minute later, I found another staircase. Unfortunately, there was a guard in front of it, and, unlike the others, he was decked out in thick body armor, like he was training German shepherds to attack fat, ugly people. He also had a flamethrower.

I got as close as I dared, then made it to a small, windowless room off the hall without being spotted. It could’ve been knocking the lights out, or maybe it was Nell’s hoochie-coo dance, but I was starting to think I might be able to pull some shit off.

Water bottle in hand, I got ready to try an old trick. It didn’t always work, but with all the yelling going on it might. I took a mouthful, let it soak my leathery throat. Then I shouted, nice and LB-wet: “This is twenty-one! They got my radio. I think my leg’s broke.”

I hoped the guard wouldn’t hear the water spitting out as I spoke.

“Hang on, Mike!” the man at the stairs said. It worked.

Through a crack in the door, I saw him lumber toward the room, his outfit making him look like the Stay Puft marshmallow man. I pulled away, pushed my back to the wall, and waited. When he came in, I jumped out, then used the ax to wedge the door shut.

“Hey!” he said.

He slammed into the door, but his protective gear acted like padding, making it tough for him to really pound. I doubted he’d use the flamethrower. Even so, it wouldn’t hold forever, but it didn’t have to.

I scooted up the stairs, moving on all fours, keeping low and lower as I reached the top. I stuck my head out near the floor. The stairs opened on a white-tiled corridor, silver cabinets lining the wall. Best guess was that it was a storage space for the kitchen. With all the action downstairs and outside, it was empty.

There was a second staircase right across from me, heading farther up. Up was probably a good bet if I wanted to find Nell Parker. Green’s “playground” had been at least two stories tall, and she’d slipped up some stairs after leaving the stage.

After listening carefully for any possible company, I went for it. At the top of the second staircase, I stopped short at the sound of running. Green’s personal guard, the two dog-gunsels, were pounding down the hall. With the glasses and the hair, these guys really could be twins. One had a slightly fatter jowl, maybe.

The other had his hand cupped over his ear. “More ferals inside? Bullshit!”

He slapped his pal on the shoulder, bringing him to a stop. “This is fucked-up. Nobody knows what’s coming or going. They want me to seal the basement manually. You check on the girl. Green still wants her ready.”

I assumed Nell was “the girl,” but ready for what? Was Green going on with the show?

Dog One headed back where they came from. Once he was out of sight, I followed Dog Two nice and easy, sticking to the walls when I could and hoping the cameras were out thanks to the blackout.

A few rights, a few lefts, I didn’t count. Instead of quieting down, like they would if things were getting under control, the shouts and gunfire were getting louder, which meant things were getting worse.

The current hallway ended in a glass wall with a nice view of the playground. I guess it was like a TV for the servants, in case they got bored. Dog Two stopped at the last door and rapped. As he stood sideways, I ducked to the side of a pedestal holding a headless Roman bust. No accounting for taste.

“You almost ready, Nell?”

“What the fuck’s going on, Charlie? Where’s the lights? What’s with all the noise?”

Her voice was rough, typical for a chak, but it surprised me just the same. It wasn’t what I expected from her.

“Don’t worry about it; just get ready.”

“Why? He really still wants me to go on?”

The dog started barking. “Do I look like him? Do I sound like him? Just get the fuck ready!”

“Be nice, Charlie! I’m doing it. Takes a while, is all, especially without the electricity. I’ll be out in fifteen.”

“Make it ten,” Charlie said. He stomped off, right past me.

Ten minutes. If I was going to talk to her, it’d have to be quick. I didn’t think knocking would work and I figured the door was locked, so I raced up and shoved my shoulder into it. Either the door wasn’t locked, or I was a lot stronger than I thought. It flew open, slammed against the wall.

And there she was, stark naked, standing on a plush white carpet, surrounded by mirrors and racks of outfits. All the clothes were in shades of black or white, except for one gown that was as green as her eyes.

She snatched a towel and covered up. That was bizarre. Modesty in a chak was unheard-of. She looked pissed, too.

“Who the fuck . . . ?”

Green said she was smart. All those dance moves meant she had a lot on the ball above the brain stem. That shit requires neurons. Of course, I was the one whose tongue started acting like a dead piece of pigskin.

“You’re in danger. Someone’s going to try to kill you.”

She glared. I looked away as she grabbed a robe. All of a sudden I felt like I was in one of Green’s weird little experiments, as if someone was watching from somewhere, trying to figure out if we were real or not.

“Kill me?” she said once she covered up. “Little late for that, don’t you think?”

I took a step closer. “I don’t mean kill. I mean cut up, at the neckline. D-cap.”

She stopped at that. “Like those chakz on the news? The litter?”

She was smart. “Exactly. They were executed twice for killing their spouses. First by the prison, then by decapitation. Sound familiar?”

Her face flipped through a dozen expressions like it was searching for the right one. “Wait. What? Hold it. Who the hell are you? What are you playing at? You’d better get out of here before they catch you. They’ve got a nice little spot in the basement for troublemakers.”

“I know; I’ve seen it. I’m Hessius Mann. I’m a. . . .” Calling myself a detective sounded silly in this place, like I might just as well say cowboy or spaceman. “Never mind. What matters is I’m telling the truth. Just give me a minute and listen to me, please.”

I told her what I knew. I think I spoke in English sentences, but I was talking fast.

By the time I finished, I could tell she hadn’t bought into me or the story. She was glaring again.

“Nice story, but I’ve got two big problems with it. First, no one’s ever tried to help me, not when I was alive, not since I died. My husband? I didn’t kill him, but I would have. The bastard deserved worse than he got. The second? Even if it is true, this is the safest place I’ve ever been. I’m his favorite. He watches after me.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I’m afraid there’s more to it. There’s something going on here, and Green’s not saying what it is. There are ferals loose out there. The estate is practically empty, and he still wants you ready for a show? You call that watching after you?”

“Okay, so maybe I’m not always treated perfectly, but I’ve got it better than any chak I know! See this room? It’s mine! See this stuff? Mine!”

She pointed, and every time she did, her robe flopped open and I couldn’t see anything else. I don’t know why—I didn’t know her at all—but I stepped closer still and grabbed her shoulders.

“Okay, forget the ferals; forget my stupid theories. You think you’ll always be up here? You don’t think he’ll run out of variations and you’ll wake up in that basement sooner or later?”

She twisted away. “What have you got, some kind of noir audiobook hooked into your brainpan? Why am I even talking to you?”

I had no answer for that one, but I couldn’t leave. There was something about her that pushed all my buttons, even the ones I thought were broken. I was scared for her, and at the same time she was pissing me off.

I grabbed her arm and pulled. “Listen to me! I’ve got to get you out of here!”

I’d never had a fight like this with a chak. Even our arguments were tepid at best. This was so . . . so different.

She started screaming. I was so crazy, I actually tried to drag her out. But she was a dancer, strong legs, arms, and hips. She knocked me off easily, then reached for a lamp to bash my skull in.

I heard the Reservoir Dogs thundering down the hall. How’d they find me? Cameras? Of course—some of that emergency power would be tapped to keep tabs on Green’s favorite.

That was it, then. She was staying.

There was one window, so I went for it. Before I tried to open it, I turned back to look at her. “You win; I’m out of here. Just remember what I said. Keep your eyes open. Just do that, okay?”

She lowered the lamp and laid those real-green emerald eyes on me. “Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Hessius Mann. I’m a detective.”

It had never sounded more stupid. And, for a dead man, I’d never felt more alive.