J. Mitchell - Midnight City

Holt shut his eyes tight as the cannon roared behind him. He dropped Max to the ground and the two of them rushed for the water, just a dozen yards away. The ground shuddered behind Holt as the walkers moved to pursue, still covered in black goo, relying on other senses.

Max had no issue following Holt this time. A few more strides and they reached the water, leapt in, let the current rip them downstream. They were going to make it.

Or were they?

The river kept them close to the bank as it flung them forward. Holt realized they were going to pass just feet from the two walkers. All the machines had to do was step in, and he and Max were done for.

The Mantises rushed to the water. Holt shut his eyes.

But the walkers made no move to venture into the river. In fact, they stopped well short of the water.

Holt, stunned, watched the Mantises as he and Max floated right by them.

They called out furiously; their plasma cannons flashed. Yellow bolts incinerated the water all around them… but it was too late. The current swept Holt and Max quickly out of reach.

With what little strength he had left, Holt swam for the shore, pushing through the frothing current. The water threatened to bury him, but he finally reached the other side and painfully pulled himself onto the opposite bank, using the last of his energy to crawl onto the sandy ground. He collapsed face-first into the dirt, breathing, filling his lungs, miraculously alive.

Holt lay that way a long time, concentrating on his exhaustion and the aches in his body.

From above him came the sound of heavy breathing, in and out. A panting.

Holt knew the sound.

He pulled his face from the sand. Max sat staring down at Holt with a curious look. He was soaking wet. In his mouth was an old purple rubber ball, thoroughly chewed through and faded from repeated use. It was Max’s favorite toy. But how—?

Holt looked to his right, saw where his pack lay about ten feet away, its strings opened, its contents spilled onto the sand.

The dog must have made it to shore before him. And the first thing he’d looked for… was his stupid purple ball from Holt’s pack.

Holt glared at him. “Give me that,” he said testily, grabbing the ball from the dog’s mouth. Max stared at him in excitement, assuming Holt was about to throw it. Holt sighed, but smiled regardless. They had both made it.

Holt scratched Max’s head… and threw the ball. Max barked and chased after it.

Holt scooped the spilled contents back into his pack, trying to remove as much sand as he could. He sealed it, slung it over his shoulder, checked the guns on his back, his other equipment, making sure he hadn’t lost anything. Somehow, he hadn’t.

Holt pulled himself to his feet as Max came running back with the ball. Holt frowned down at him, feeling the soreness in his muscles already.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” Holt said. Max made no comment.

Holt looked back down the river to where they had left the Mantises.

There was no sign of them now. They hadn’t attempted to follow.

Holt was beyond surprised. He had no idea they had an aversion to water. But somehow… Zoey had. She’d been right again. But where did that insight come from? And was it something to be thankful for… or wary of?

Holt set off down the riverbank, looking for any sign of Zoey and Mira. After fifteen minutes searching both directions, he finally found what he was looking for.

Disturbances in the sand where two people—one older, one much younger—had pulled themselves onto shore. He followed the tracks into the forest, saw where they disappeared into the overgrowth.

Mira Toombs. She’d gotten away. Again.

From nowhere, the scent of her hair, mint and soft spices, replayed in his mind. He forced the thoughts away, angry with himself.

So her hair smelled nice. So she had eyes the color of emeralds, what did it matter? She was a wanted poster to him, and that was it. She was his ticket to escaping the Menagerie once and for all. And she was absolutely, most definitely, not attractive in the slightest.

But none of that changed the fact that she’d escaped.

Max whined at his side, studying the tracks, eager to pursue.

Holt petted his head. “Don’t worry, pal,” he said as he pulled his pack off his shoulder, opened it, looked inside.

There, wrapped in some spare clothes, was the glass cylinder Mira had risked her life to get in Clinton Station. The strange brownish substance glittered in the center of the clear liquid.

Holt smiled when he saw it. “This time, I think she’ll find us. ”

MIRA AND ZOEY MOVED through the forest as the afternoon sun pushed through the treetops, lighting everything below in a kaleidoscope of light and shadow.

The weight of the pack behind her was noticeably lighter. It felt deflated, and every step she took, it sagged against her shoulders, a constant reminder that Holt had one-upped her. When had he taken the cylinder? When she was sleeping last night?

It infuriated Mira that she’d been outsmarted. Especially by the bounty hunter. Images of Holt rushing to save that stupid dog had played in her mind all morning. The way he’d run at the Mantis walkers, shotgun drawn, like some kind of white knight.

She forced the images out of her head.

He was no white knight, she reminded herself. He was a bounty hunter intent on turning her in to Midnight City. But hadn’t he let her go… in order to save Max? It couldn’t have been an easy decision, if he needed the reward money as much as she guessed. Losing her was as big a deal for him as losing the cylinder was for her.

Then again, had he really let her go? He had the cylinder, he knew how important it was to her, probably even anticipated she’d come back for it. He might even expect her to just show up and turn herself in.

Well, if he did, he had another thing—

The Tone swelled in Mira’s mind, blocking out all her senses in a burst of static, like from a broken television. It was so loud, it was jarring, the loudest it had ever been… but it went away as quickly as it had come, receding away. Was it just her, or did it seem louder now in the background, swirling and waiting in the back of her consciousness?

“Do you think we’ll see the Max again?” Zoey asked in her softly casual tone. She walked and held on to Mira’s shirt as they moved. The flare-up had been too quick for the little girl to notice.

“I’m fine with seeing either of them,” Mira replied, forcing the last bit of the Tone away. “But I would prefer they didn’t see us. ”

“Why not? Aren’t you and Holt friends?”

“Most definitely not,” Mira said with a frown.

Zoey smiled, looking up at Mira. “You seem like friends to me.”

Mira looked down at the little girl. She stared up with her blue eyes, and there was something behind the look. A… pondering was the best word Mira could come up with. Every look Zoey gave her had an implied curiosity to it.

“Zoey, where are you from?” Mira asked.

“From?” the little girl asked.

“How did you get here?”

“I crashed in a ship, Holt saved me.”

“Before that, I mean. Where were you before that?”

Zoey’s demeanor darkened at the question. She looked away.

“Zoey?” Mira pressed.

“I don’t remember,” the little girl finally responded, still not looking up at Mira. Her voice was barely audible now. “I don’t remember anything from before the crash.”

Mira stared at Zoey as the words sank in. “Zoey, you’re at least eight years old. You must remember something from before. Your parents, brothers or sisters, things you did before the Assembly, something. ”