Children of Ash (Meridian Six 2)

I nodded and flipped the page. This picture was of an old actor, a legend, they called him. I had to read the caption to remember his name. “Yes, but they got paid lots of money to do it.”

She frowned. “What’s money?”

I laughed. Blue had been born after the war to parents who’d managed to escape the city and live among the rebels, until they were caught in a Troika ambush. Toddler Blue had been abandoned by the remaining rebels, who worried about an extra mouth to feed. I’d found her in a cave, half-feral and starved.

“People exchanged money for goods and services. Sort of like how we sometimes trade supplies with other groups we run into.”

Her brow creased as she thought this over. “You never play make-believe, do you, Papa?”

I paused. “No, I guess I don’t.”

She patted me on the shoulder. “Maybe you should try it.”

Polonius let out a low growl and leapt off the floor, unseating the youngs who’d been crawling on him. He took a couple of steps toward the door leading to the corridor. His head was low and his ears lay flat against his skull.

A crash sounded somewhere deeper in the caverns. Voices raised.

Polonius took off like a bullet, barking the entire way. I rose quickly and told the children to stay put while I checked out what was happening.

The voices were louder in the corridor, and now I could tell they were not raised in anger, but in excited greeting. I started toward the mouth of the cavern, but hesitated. Saga had told me he was summoning a particular rebel troop to help us get Bravo and the youngs back. I knew nothing about them. I’d had a few experiences with other groups, and the results were mixed. Some maintained their humanity and were happy to help other humans any way they could. But others had become mercenaries and weren’t much better than the vampires when it came to monstrous behavior. While I trusted that Saga would not summon monsters to help us, he’d called on

the sort of people who could infiltrate a vampire work camp—not a job for sweethearts.

No, I decided, I needed to secure the children before meeting these newcomers. I backtracked to the book silo. Once inside, I hushed the youngs and rounded them up. They fell into a quiet line quickly. Then it was just a matter of getting them down the corridor and into the cell we shared. Luckily, the hall we were down was the opposite direction from the main entrance where Saga was welcoming the rebels. I promised them I’d be back soon, but I needed them to stay quiet until I returned. Satisfied they’d follow orders, I backed out of the room and shut the door behind me.

My heart hammered behind my ribs and my breaths came in shallow bursts. With effort, I pulled air deep into my lungs to calm them. I was nervous, yes, but also excited. After several days cooped up in the bunker, we could finally start making plans to rescue Bravo and Mica. I let out my breath and, with it, a promise.

I will get you both back. I swear my life on it.

Six

Meridian Six

Saga limped ahead of us into the book silo—a massive round room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Tall ladders rose to staggered catwalks lining the fronts of the shelves. On the floor a massive wooden table was covered in old maps and open books and ink-smeared sheaves of paper. I’d seen all that before though, so my eyes went directly to the stranger.

“Six, this is Zed.”

I nodded at him. He tipped his chin. Neither of us spoke, as if aware that being the first to speak would somehow be a defeat.

The calm confidence in his posture hinted at maturity gained by experience, not age. He looked younger than Icarus, who had twenty-eight years under his belt. Closer to my twenty-three, maybe, but younger. The top of his hair was pulled back into a bun and the lower half shaved. Dark circles under his eyes and a tight jaw hinted at trouble—or maybe I was just presuming that last part. No one ever went to Saga because things were peachy.

As I looked him over, he was taking stock of me too. For the first time since my escape from the Troika, I felt conscious of being female. What’s worse, I wanted him to like what he saw. I had no patience for this sort of thinking. Saga wouldn’t have summoned me to meet this man unless it was a matter of life or death. And judging by the grimness of the man’s expression, his problem involved the latter.

“Zed is the leader of a rebel band from the western sectors,” Saga said. “Six days ago, a Troika patrol captured two members of his group, including his second-in-command and a child.”

Zed didn’t say a word. His expression remained unchanged, but I sensed keeping it so took some effort.

“Six days is a long time,” Icarus said from behind me.

“He arrived four nights ago with the remaining members of his tribe.” Saga motioned toward the corridor, as if to suggest the others were sequestered in another part of the bunker. “In the meantime, I’ve been sending out feelers to try to track down those taken. And, of course, I had to wait for you to arrive.” The rebuke in his tone came through loud and clear.

“Still,” Icarus said, “six days is a long time.” His implication came through loud and clear—it was too long to hope they’d still be alive.

“Normally, I’d agree with you,” Saga said, “but while we were waiting for you to grace us with your presence, I got in contact with a spy within one of the labor camps. I have reason to believe Zed’s cohorts are alive.”

My head snapped up. “Really?”

“Krovgorod.”