Not Flesh Nor Feathers (Eden Moore 3)

“Where are we going now?” Nick asked.

I pulled my attention away from the face-filled windows and looked through and past a mound of overturned cars at the intersection of Broad and MLK. “Over there, at the end of the next block up. It’s right on the corner. ”

I dodged a cop with a bulletproof vest bulging under his jacket. “We’re asking everyone to get inside,” he told me out of the corner of his mouth, without slowing down.

He was too frantic for my taste. A glance at Nick told me that similar thoughts were brewing in his head, too.

Another pair of police officers as well as someone in a uniform I didn’t recognize—SWAT? FBI?—came tearing around a corner, waving and chattering into their radios.

Nick took my arm and pulled me back off the sidewalk against the building in order to let them pass. “They’re trying to get everyone inside,” he said, as if I hadn’t heard the first guy. “We’re going to have to get while the getting’s good. ”

“Something’s about to hit the fan. Can’t you feel it?”

“Yes, and I’m no psychic. Come on. ”

I pulled ahead of him then. I slipped past him and out around the corner where the hotel parking garage was. “Let’s go through—underneath. Fewer prying eyes on the back of the block. ”

He nodded and chased me into the dark first level of the garage, then out into the bright whiteness on the other side. Our shoes made scuff marks on the wet cement of the sidewalk, and I’d been right—there weren’t nearly as many people back there. Everyone was concentrating on the front, where people came up begging for food, water, and a corner to sleep in.

We took flight without trouble and without interruption. It was easy to run on the straighter ground, even with the duffel bags and their heavy, illicit contents.

I thought I heard my name.

I looked over my shoulder, mid-step, and didn’t see anybody but Nick. “What?”

“What? I didn’t say anything. ”

“Oh. Sorry. ” So I kept running.

I could’ve sworn I’d heard it again, but we were almost there.

The next intersection was even worse than Broad and MLK; there had been several wrecks as vehicles tried to ram their way out and failed. You can ram past a couple of cars, maybe, but half the city’s fleet of SUVs proved unmoved by the two sedans that had made a charge for it.

I turned sideways and shimmied my way past crumpled hoods and blown tires. Nick did likewise, and between us, we made our way to the boarded and forlorn little building on the corner.

“I don’t think I’ve ever noticed this place before,” he said.

“It’s been closed up as long as I can remember. ”

“What did it used to be?”

I shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But I got inside around the other way. Come on. ”

“Sure. Let’s just add breaking and entering to the list of charges. Swiping these shells has to be some sort of felony, and—”

“And as for the rest, you’re only entering. I did the breaking before you got here. Stop being such a worrywart. ”

“I’m mostly worried about what’s waiting in there,” he confessed.

I found my loose sheet of plywood and gave it a good yank, reopening the window I’d used earlier.

“After you,” he said.

“As you like. ” I crawled through and onto the garbage inside. The scratching, scraping, dragging, shuffling was louder—much louder than when last I’d visited.

Nick came through behind me.

“Watch your step,” I told him. “I covered the hole in the floor with a bunch of crap, but the floor isn’t very stable, I don’t think. Be careful. ”