Melissa la Cruz - Frozen

Wes nodded, hiding the wave of nausea he felt from the news. “Let’s go, maybe we can lose them.”

They climbed back on board the LTV and Wes took the wheel again. He stuck to the back roads, plowing the truck through front yards and rough earth, forcing the truck to go as fast as it could. The team was quiet, tense, and even the Slaines were subdued. They knew Wes was angry with them for giving away their position.

“What happens if the seekers find us?” Nat wanted to know.

“Let’s hope they don’t,” Wes said.

“You keep saying that. Will they kill us?”

“There are worse things than being shot and dying quickly,” he said tightly. There was no use frightening everyone. Either they would be caught or they would be able to evade them. Life or death, but wasn’t it always? Military prisons were notorious for their brutal treatment of captives, and Wes sure hoped they wouldn’t end up in one. He’d been lucky so far; maybe his luck would hold.

“If it looks like they’ll be able to take us into custody, just shoot me, okay, boss?” Shakes whispered next to him. “Promise. I’d rather die at your hand than theirs.”

“It won’t come to that,” Wes said testily. “Cut that self-defeating chatter.”

“Go faster,” Nat whispered from behind him. Her breath was almost at his ear, and he felt his skin tingle.

“I’m giving it all she’s got,” Wes said.

“I think we lost them,” Farouk said, looking up from his scanner.

Nat exhaled, but it appeared the young soldier had spoken too soon. She looked up just as Wes hit the brakes and the truck screeched to a halt.

A pair of white-camouflaged Humvees were blocking the road.

The seekers had found their prey.

THERE ARE WORSE THINGS THAN GETTING shot and dying quickly, Wes had said just moments ago. Even he had to admire his own bravado. That was a good line. He willed his fear away. Maybe there was hope yet, since the Humvees hadn’t shot them on sight.

“It’s fine, leave it to me,” he told Nat as he turned off the engine.

Zedric’s fun with explosives in the hills had brought the seekers directly their way, just as Wes had warned, and running into the rebar and the caravan hunters hadn’t helped. They were trapped now. There was no use running; the trucks were too close to them and heavily armed. Even if he tried, there was a pair of drones circling above that would fire on command.

A soldier wearing officer stripes on his jumpsuit got out of the nearest Humvee, followed by a team of his men. They all had rifles slung over their shoulders, but no one made a move to attack.

Daran gripped the top hatch and drew his weapon.

Shakes moved to follow, but Wes stopped him. “Sit tight, boys, I’ve got this one.” He kicked open his door and jumped down onto the muddy, snow-covered road.

“What are you doing?” Shakes wanted to know. “Those aren’t some fool tour guides you can bullshit, those are RSA boys, you know.”

“Yeah, well, and so was I once,” Wes said. He got out of the truck, his heart beating in his chest, but his walk as smooth and languid as ever. He kept a lazy grin on his face as he approached.

The officer was leaning against one of the Humvees’ front grilles, its engine rumbling behind him, making clouds of steam rise from the truck’s warm hood.

“Morning, sir,” Wes said.

There was no reply. The soldier just stared up at the cloudy white sky and waited for Wes to come closer.

I hope I’m right about this. Wes kept his cool as he walked toward the seekers. He saw that both of the Humvees had their long guns trained at his head, the massive barrels rotating slowly to follow his progress. He noticed that the group of soldiers hanging back had a marked one with them, a boy his age, his red eyes gleaming with hatred, the mark on his forehead like a third eye. Wes had heard those who bore the third eye could read minds. The seeker team had probably used him to sense them. That program was supposed to have been shut down after Santonio, but knowing how things worked, Wes should not have been surprised to find it up and running.

He deliberately kept his thoughts blank.

“Explosions that size are pretty hard to miss around here,” the officer drawled, breaking his silence at last. “Next time just radio us your location. It’ll make all of our lives a little easier.”

“Sorry about that.” Wes smiled. “I hate to inconvenience you.”

“Don’t your guys know better than to play around in the hills?”

“They’re just kids,” he replied.

“All the more need to keep them safe.” The officer stared him down.

Here it comes, thought Wes.

“I hear you runners make a good living hauling illegals through the Trash Pile. What’s a trip fetching these days? Five, ten thousand watts?”

Wes stared at the red-eyed soldier. “Five.” It was a lie, but Wes made himself believe it was true.

The boy did not argue.

Wes was relieved; maybe it had worked somehow, since he’d kept his poker face on, his mind clear.

The officer smirked. “Well? Hand it over. I’m cold and my men want to get out of this godforsaken junkyard. Then you can be on your way.”

Wes just shook his head as he reluctantly gave the officer one of the platinum chips from his pocket. “You guys are making it hard out here for an honest smuggler.”

The officer grinned broadly as he took the chip from Wes. “Next time, just wait for us at the border and I might cut you a better deal. Rather not dig for gold if we can help it.”

Wes tried to laugh, but the whole thing stunk. He needed those credits and so did his guys. He thought about clocking the smug bastard on the chin, but then he remembered those t-guns. Both barrels were still trained on his head, and the marked boy never took his eyes off him. He didn’t put it past them to shoot them still, or drag them away to one of their prisons.

He turned and jogged back to his truck and slipped into the driver’s seat. “What did I tell you guys, we’re fine,” he said, revving up the engine.

“They’re just going to let us go? Just like that? What did they want, then?” Nat asked as the boys exhaled.

“Entrance fee at the toll booth,” Wes quipped. “Look, we’re finally in K-Town.”

THERE WAS NOTHING ACROSS THE LINE— that’s what the government said—what they wanted you to believe, anyway. As the LTV drove down battered Wilshire Boulevard, Nat saw signs of life everywhere—buildings dug out from the snow, with flashing signs in Korean and textlish, the symbols almost interchangeable. The streets were teeming with people of all kinds, a cacophony of noises and a variety of smells. This was more than a tent city; if there was such a thing as the capital of Garbage Country, this was it.

Wes put a hand on her arm as she stepped out of the truck. “Watch your step,” he said, and she nodded to let him know she understood; he meant not just her footing but to be mindful as she moved around the area. This was a lawless place, populated by all manner of criminals—scavengers, slavers, vets, refugees, and illegals.

The Slaine brothers and Farouk disappeared into a nearby building with a pharmacist’s symbol painted on its door. Oxygen addicts. The clean-air craze.

“Lunch?” Shakes suggested.

“Is food the only thing you think about?” Wes chided him.

“What else is there?” Shakes asked, and it was a good question.

Nat realized she was starving; she hadn’t eaten much since the night Wes knocked on her door. She wondered now when anyone would notice she was gone. What would happen to her apartment, to the books she’d shoved underneath her bed? She had thrown her lot in with Wes and his crew without looking back for a moment; there was only the way forward.