I finished my coffee, then took a deep, calming breath and called to the shifting magic. I imagined dark hair and eyes, and a thin, unpleasant face. I also changed my scent, giving it sour overtones. Jonas might have said he’d deal with whoever was following me, but if for some reason he didn’t, then the caution would pay off. Especially if it was one of Sal’s companions.
With that done, I squatted down beside the trapdoor. There were two small holes on either side of the panel; I hooked my fingers into them and pulled it free. The space beyond was tight and dark, with barely enough room to maneuver. I lay on my belly and peeked in; a ladder led upward into a deeper darkness, and it didn’t exactly look in the greatest state of repair.
Still, it wasn’t like I had another choice. I squeezed into the small space, tucked my knees up, then grabbed the rope and pulled the bed back against the wall. Once the trapdoor was secured, I called to the night and the shadows, and became one with them. I flowed up the ladder, my particles brushing against its cool metal surface. Within a few minutes, slivers of light began to flicker through the darkness above me. I gained flesh once more, but the ladder wobbled alarmingly under my sudden weight, forcing me to hang on grimly for several seconds.
Once I was certain it wasn’t about to break, I slowly climbed up the rest of the way. As the shadows grew dimmer and the light stronger, a small, circular hatch became visible. I hooked an arm around a rung, then reached up and carefully turned the wheel. There was a slight groan—the sound of metal grating against metal—then it spun and the hatch popped. I blinked against the influx of bright light and cautiously peered out. The rooftop was a sea of technology—there wasn’t just an odd assortment of antennas and satellite dishes, but a battery of solar units, some of them almost as old as the ones on the tower at the museum—and might, in fact, provide spare part possibilities if I ever got desperate enough.
I climbed out of the hatch, ensured it was locked, and then rose and scooted across to the building’s edge. The gap to the next building was only six feet and really didn’t take much effort. I found the drainpipe easily enough, and a few seconds later was back on the street.
But I didn’t take the route Jonas had pointed out. I simply walked out onto Twelfth Street. Even if my follower was still out there, she would see and smell someone other than me.
It didn’t take long to get back to my bunker, and I was almost immediately surrounded by ghosts, who weren’t just happy to see me, but anxious to pass on their news.
For the third time in as many days, someone had tried to get into our bunker.
I swore softly and tried to concentrate as they excitedly relayed all the details—all of them doing so at the same time. Our would-be intruder was a gray-skinned man who wore military pants—not déchet pants, but something similar, if the images the little ghosts pressed into my mind were anything to go by. It wasn’t Sal—aside from the fact he was with me all last night, this man had an unusual scar running down his left cheek. It reminded me somewhat of the slashes rangers used to signify their rank and unit, but the scars on this man were thicker, uglier, and certainly not a result of a knife or claw—or not the claw of any creature in this world, anyway.
At least whoever it was didn’t get in, but next time it might be another matter entirely. I praised the little ones for their vigilance, even as I wondered what the hell I could do to further protect this place. I had no doubt whoever it was would try some form of code breaker next—it was, after all, a logical step. It might take some time to crack open this grate, but they would eventually get through.
And while this tunnel was now a part of the bunker’s secure system, there were no laser curtains within it to drop down if a break-through occurred, and no automated weaponry, either. It was alarmed, and that was about it.
And I couldn’t ask the little ones to keep on defending it, simply because I had no idea what other technology or magic these people had access to. If they could make false rifts, then they might just have a way of dealing with ghosts, too.
I bit my lip as I punched in the code, then stepped into the tunnel. I hesitated as the grate closed, my gaze settling on the control box. I could fuse it; that would certainly stop them—at least until they got a laser torch and simply cut the bars open. Hell, that might even be their next option—it would certainly be quicker than using a code breaker.
But fusing the control box would also stop me exiting the bunker during daylight hours, as I couldn’t use the riskier museum exit. Right now, the last thing I wanted was to trap myself.
I moved on. Maybe there was something in the weaponry store on the sixth floor I could use. While I was familiar with most of the items stashed within the vast room, there were boxes in the rear I hadn’t opened for decades.
The ghosts trailed ahead of me, dancing along to the beat of my footsteps, their little forms faint wisps of fog in the tunnel’s darkness. But it was a beat that made me feel oddly lonely—though how I could ever feel that way in a place filled to the brim with people I had no idea. I guessed it was just the fact they weren’t living people.
It was, I thought somewhat bleakly, going to be a tough few weeks getting used to it just being me and my ghosts again. I might fear others discovering what I was, but I really couldn’t deny that—despite everything—it had been nice to have flesh-and-blood company for more than a few hours at a time.
We reached the sixth floor, and I made my way across to the security door that divided the corridor section from the bunk rooms, the stores, the main medical facilities, and what had been the training grounds
for prepubescent déchet.
“Name, rank,” Hank’s gruff metallic voice said.
“Tiger C5, déchet, lure rank.” I pressed my thumb against the blood-work slot and waited until the system geared up and took the required sample. It took even longer than usual for the door to open, which wasn’t a good sign when it came to the generators. When it finally did open, I immediately headed toward the main generator room. The backup generator was making an alarming amount of noise and was shaking so badly I’d swear it was attempting to shear free from the bolts holding it down. I checked it and couldn’t see anything obviously wrong, but hit the maintenance switch, anyway. It would take the generator offline for an hour, but that wasn’t much of a risk given I had no intention of leaving to meet Jonas until the last possible minute.
With that done, I made my way to the weapons store, and searched through old boxes stacked at the rear of the room. A few of these were even older than me, with the date stamped on some indicating they’d originated from the years before the war. I had no idea if the equipment within those boxes would even be usable this far down the track, but old guns weren’t what I was looking for, anyway.
I began moving the various crates and dust bloomed, catching in my throat and making me cough. The ghosts laughed and dashed through the clouds, their little forms briefly gaining substance before the particles fell away. Eventually, I found something I could use: movement-activated electro-net devices. They’d been designed to capture both shifters and vampires, and while they wouldn’t kill either, they’d certainly incapacitate them for several hours, long enough for the ghosts to deposit them in the holding cells, out of harm’s way until I could get back and take care of them.
I went back to the South Siding exit and set them up, ensuring the deactivate switches were well hidden. With the tunnel as protected as I could possibly make it, I headed to the hydro pods to clean up. Once I’d changed back to the orange-haired, sweeter-smelling form that matched the RFID information in my wrist, I dressed in fresh clothes, then headed for the weapons store to kit up. When I came to the box of flares, I hesitated. My supply of them was running low, but it would be stupid not to have some with me if the bunker in the Broken Mountains was infested with vamps. I grabbed a backpack and threw a couple in, then headed back to the south tunnel.
After giving the ghosts instructions on what to do with anything or anyone we caught, I switched on the electro-net modules and walked around the back of the museum to meet Jonas.
The sky was dark and the air thick with the scent of rain. I grimaced and half wished I’d brought a coat with me . . . although if the mountains were infested with vampires, then getting wet would be the least of my problems.
Jonas was waiting at the far end of the museum’s grounds. He leaned against an ATV that had definitely seen better days, although the treads, at least, were thick and new-looking.
“Did you dig this thing out of a garbage dump or something?” I stopped several yards away from him. Despite being upwind, his scent still washed across my senses, oddly electric. It was as if the oncoming storm were somehow echoing through him.
“It’s called camouflage.” He pushed away from the vehicle. “We don’t need to be drawing attention to ourselves.”
I snorted. “What you call ‘camouflage’ we used to call ‘rust.’”