Max Collins - Skin Game

Her eyes tightened again, this time mockingly. “You shittin’ me, right? They make doctors out of any of you Manticore men? You killin’ machines, not healin’.”

“I don’t know — a lot of the X5s and X6s have medical training.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t know if I can make it over there — can I rest for a while first?”

He didn’t like that, but she’d been cooperative enough, so he said, “A while longer, Cindy — then we’ve got to go. Or do we need to wait till dark?”

She studied him. He knew what she was thinking: if she trusted him, and Bobby turned out to be a spy for the feds or something, she might be endangering everybody inside those fences.

Finally, she said, “No — I can get us in, during the day. No problem.”

“Great — but you better be quiet and rest, because I’m really anxious to join my brothers and sisters.”

Lying back, she closed her eyes.

Original Cindy was tired, and still woozy from the probable concussion. But as she began to drift off to sleep, she suddenly remembered why she’d crashed...

It had been him — Bobby Kawasaki — he’d scared her.

So tired, so tired, but she thought something about his wanting into Terminal City so badly was... whack. She didn’t know what that was, exactly — it was her gut, and Original Cindy listened to her gut, it was a goddamn eloquent instrument, and she knew this nondescript little brother was wrong ... and she had to buy as much time as she could until she figured out a way to warn Max.

In what seemed like seconds — which was a little over an hour later — she felt hands on her, as he shook her awake.

“Come on, Cindy — rise and shine! Time to go.”

Groggy, she managed to sit up; but the pain filled the whole side of her head, ran into her neck, down her shoulder and into her arm. It might only be a concussion but, damn, girl! Everything hurt.

“I’ve got to call them,” she told him, “to tell them we’re coming.”

“No — no calls. Come on. Get up. You need my help?”

“They... they won’t let us in.”

He shook his head. “If they’re not maintaining radio silence, they should be, and I’m not going to be the one to break it. We’ll worry about getting in when we’re there. Come on.”

“How... how are we going to get there?” she asked. Her legs were rubbery. “My head’s poundin’ like a bitch. I can’t walk.”

“We’ll flag down a cab.”

He let her lie there while he pulled out a large suitcase and laid it open on top of the dresser. She watched as he pulled something big and tan out of the closet and gently folded it inside the case. The object looked like leather, a patchwork garment, very amateurish, even primitive; but she couldn’t be sure what she was seeing, exactly. Between her fuzzy vision and the duskiness of the room, it could have been almost anything...

Bobby put a small flashlight in one pocket, tucked a long knife and scabbard into his boot, and carried a stun rod under one arm.

She noted this, the knife and the stun rod reasonable precautions for a transgenic... but that intelligent stomach of hers was sending warning signals...

Once Bobby had packed up, he none too gently led her outside. She recognized the neighborhood, once they exited the motel. The only good thing was that in a slum this dumpy, it would take them forever to get a cab, even in the middle of the day.

Unfortunately, he’d been kidding about the cab. The first car they came to, he broke into, tossed her inside in the front, put the suitcase in the back, and hot-wired the car.

As they drove, she focused all her energy on trying to think of a way to warn her sister.

Max was worried, and wishing she could trade this leadership gig in on kicking the crap out of some bad guy, any bad guy.

Alec and Joshua were still missing, Logan had been gone for some time now and she hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him, and when she tried to call Original Cindy, her Boo’s cell phone had this odd buzz to it, and no dial tone. Stomping into the media center, she tossed the phone on a table.

“Any ideas?” she asked Dix.

His half smile was only technically a smile. “Cell phone ain’t working, is it?”

She shook her head angrily.

“None of ’em are,” he said. “Looks like the feds are taking the gloves off. Instead of just monitoring our transmissions, they’re jamming them now. They cut off the power into the area, a couple of hours ago. By now they’ve figured out we have our own generator.”

Luke walked in, an empty glass in his hand. “They just cut the water.”

“Is our system up?” she asked.

Dix shook his head. “But we’re close — fifteen, maybe twenty-four hours, we’ll be up and runnin’.”

“Hope we’ve got that long,” she said.

Those who were the closest to her — the inner circle of Logan, Joshua, and Alec — were now all outside the perimeter, and she could no longer contact any of them. Well, at least she could talk to Clemente. Who woulda thunk that cop would be her new best friend?

She said, “I’ll be back,” and strode out of the media center.

Max bounced down to the fence line and found the Guardsmen and police officers huddled behind the cars in tense silence. “Hey, guys! Where’s Clemente?”

Several of them shrugged, and a couple said, “Don’t know.”

Across the way, Colonel Nickerson came out of the restaurant where she’d met Clemente. She watched as he marched over, ramrod straight.

“Colonel, I need to talk to Clemente.”

He shook his head. “Detective Clemente’s on assignment and can’t be reached.”

“Well, reach him anyway.”

“No.” He frowned in such a way that it encompassed his whole body. “Detective Clemente’s off the front lines. You may have noticed, we’ve turned off the power and water and jammed communications in and out. This is going to end, 452. It’s going to end soon.”

She thought about leaping the fence, kicking his ass, then jumping back over. Can’t do it , she told herself. Gotta be mature... Damn leadership, anyway.

“Thanks ever so,” she said, and turned back toward the compound.

Time to call a meeting.

Half an hour later, the whole mess of them had gathered again in the garage.

“There’s no water!” someone yelled.

Dix stepped forward. “We’re working on it. One more day at the most.”

The crowd grumbled at that.

“We’ve got bigger things to talk about,” Max said, taking over again.

“Is the Army really coming in?” one of them called, and several others more or less echoed the question — literally, in the cavernous garage.

“That,” she said, “is the threat.”

Contradictory shouts erupted everywhere:

“ We’ve got to go!”

“ Fight ’em!”

“ Fight with what?”

Max held up her hands but it did no good. The crowd — this outcast mix of the beautiful and the grotesque — was only a heartbeat away from chaos.

Stepping forward, Mole raised his shotgun, aiming it up the ramp into the next level. He glanced at her for permission — and Max nodded her go-ahead: the cops couldn’t possibly think they were being fired upon, neither could the crowd, and cement dust wouldn’t come raining down on them if he fired it straight up into the roof.

Mole fired once and, when the roaring echo had died, the place went eerily silent. He had gained their undivided — if somewhat momentarily hearing-impaired — attention.

“A week ago,” the lizard man yelled, circling as he spoke, “I wanted to run!”

A voice shouted, “You were right!”

Mole looked in the direction of the voice as he pumped another round into the chamber — the pumping of the shotgun was a small sound that seemed very loud. “Shut the fuck up. It’s my turn to talk.”