Steelheart Page 5

  The garbage truck pulled away, moving faster than I’d have thought possible. Behind us a group of the thugs came out of the alley, firing on the truck. It didn’t do much good, though we weren’t out of danger quite yet. Overhead I heard the distinctive sound of Enforcement copters. There would probably be a few high-level Epics on the way too.

  “Fortuity?” the driver asked. He was an older man, perhaps in his fifties, and wore a long, thin black coat. Oddly, he had a pair of goggles tucked into the breast pocket of the coat.

  “Dead,” Megan said from behind.

  “What went wrong?” the driver asked.

  “Hidden power,” she said. “Super reflexes. I got him cuffed, but he slipped away.”

  “There was also that one,” the guy in the camo jacket—I was pretty sure that was Hardman—said. “He came up in the middle of it all, caused a wee bit of trouble.” He had a distinctive Southern accent.

  “We’ll talk about him later,” the driver said, taking a corner at high speed.

  My heart started to beat more quickly, and I glanced out the window, searching the sky for copters. It wouldn’t be long before Enforcement was told what to look for, and the truck was rather conspicuous.

  “We should have just shot Fortuity in the first place,” said the man with the French accent. “Derringer to the chest.”

  “Wouldn’t have worked, Abraham,” the driver said. “His abilities were too strong—even attraction could only do so much. We needed to do something nonlethal first—trap him, then shoot him. Precogs are tough.”

  He had that part right, probably. Fortuity had possessed a very strong danger sense. Likely the plan had been for Megan to cuff him and maybe lock him to the lamppost. Then, when he was partially immobilized, she could have rammed her derringer into his chest and fired. If she’d tried that first, his power might have warned him. It would have depended on how attracted he was to her.

  “I wasn’t expecting him to be so strong,” Megan said, sounding disappointed with herself as she pulled on a brown leather jacket and a pair of cargo pants. “I’m sorry, Prof. I shouldn’t have let him get away from me.”

  Prof. Something about that name struck me.

  “It’s done,” the driver—Prof—said, pulling the garbage truck to a jarring halt. “We ditch the machine. It’s been compromised.”

  Prof opened the door and we piled out.

  “I—” I began to say, planning to introduce myself. The older man they called Prof, however, shot me a menacing glare over the hood of the garbage truck. I cut myself short, choking on my words. Standing in the shadows, with his long jacket and that grizzled face, hair peppered with grey, that man looked dangerous.

  The Reckoners pulled a few packs of equipment out of the back of the garbage truck, including a massive machine gun that Abraham now toted. They led me down a set of steps into the understreets. From there the team hustled through a set of twists and turns. I did a pretty good job keeping track of where we were going until they led me down a long flight of stairs, several levels deep, into the steel catacombs.

  Smart people stayed away from the catacombs. The Diggers had gone mad before the tunnels were finished. The ceiling lights rarely worked, and the square-shaped tunnels through the steel changed size as you progressed.

  The team was silent as they continued down the passages, turning up the lights on their mobiles, which most wore strapped to the fronts of their jackets. I’d wondered if the Reckoners would carry mobiles, and the fact that they wore them made me feel better about mine. I mean, everyone knew that the Knighthawk Foundry was neutral, and that mobile connections were completely secure. The Reckoners’ using the network was just another indication that Knighthawk was reliable.

  We walked for a time, the Reckoners moving quietly, carefully. Several times Hardman went ahead to scout; Abraham watched our rear with that wicked-looking machine gun of his. It was hard to keep my bearings—down in the steel catacombs it felt like a subway system that halfway through development had turned into a rat’s maze.

  There were choke points, tunnels that went nowhere, and unnatural angles. In some places electrical cords jutted from the walls like those creepy arteries you find in the middle of a chunk of chicken. In other places the steel walls weren’t solid, but instead had patches of paneling that had been ripped into by people searching for something worth selling. Scrap metal, however, was worthless in Newcago. There was more than enough of that lying around.

  We passed groups of teenagers with dark expressions standing beside burning trash cans. They seemed displeased to have their solace invaded, but nobody interfered with us. Perhaps it was due to Abraham’s enormous gun. The thing had gravatonics glowing blue on the bottom to help him lift it.

  We worked our way through those tunnels for over an hour. Occasionally we passed vents blowing air. The Diggers had gotten some things working down here, but most of it made no sense. Still, there was fresh air. Sometimes.

  Prof led the way in that long black coat. It’s a lab coat, I realized as we turned another corner. One that’s been dyed black. He wore a black buttoned shirt beneath it.

  The Reckoners were obviously worried about being followed, but I felt they overdid it. I was hopelessly lost after fifteen minutes, and Enforcement never came down to this level. There was an unspoken agreement. Steelheart ignored those living in the steel catacombs, and they didn’t do anything to bring his judgment down upon them.

  Of course … the Reckoners changed that truce. An important Epic had been assassinated. How would Steelheart react to that?

  Eventually the Reckoners led me around a corner that looked like every other one—only this time it led to a small room cut into the steel. There were a lot of these places in the catacombs. Places where the Diggers had planned to put a restroom, a small shop, or a dwelling.

  Hardman the sniper took up position at the door. He’d taken out a camo ball cap and put it on his head, and there was an unfamiliar emblem on the front. It looked like some kind of royal crest or something. The other four Reckoners arranged themselves facing me. Abraham got out a large flashlight and clicked a button that lit up the sides, turning it into a lantern. He set it on the floor.

  Prof crossed his arms, his face emotionless, inspecting me. The woman with the red hair stood beside him. She seemed more thoughtful. Abraham still carried his large gun, and Megan took off her leather jacket and strapped on an underarm gun holster. I tried not to stare, but that was like trying not to blink. Only … well, kind of the opposite.

  I took a hesitant step backward, realizing I was cornered. I’d begun to think that I was on my way toward being accepted into their team. But looking into Prof’s eyes, I realized that was not the case. He saw me as a threat. I hadn’t been brought along because I’d been helpful; I’d been brought along because he hadn’t wanted me wandering free.

  I was a captive. And this deep in the steel catacombs, nobody would notice a scream or a gunshot.

  6

  “TEST him, Tia,” Prof said.

  I shied back, holding my rifle nervously. Behind Prof, Megan leaned against a wall, jacket back on, handgun strapped under her arm. She spun something in her hand. The extra magazine for my rifle. She’d never returned it.

  Megan smiled. She’d tossed my rifle back to me up above, but I had a sinking suspicion that she’d emptied the chamber, leaving the gun unloaded. I started to panic.

  The redhead—Tia—approached me, holding some kind of device. It was flat and round, the size of a plate, but had a screen on one side. She pointed it at me. “No reading.”

  “Blood test,” Prof said, face hard.

  Tia nodded. “Don’t force us to hold you down,” she said to me, removing a strap from the side of the device; it was connected to the disc by cords. “This will prick you, but it won’t do you any harm.”

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “A dowser.”

  A dowser … a device that tested if one was an Epic or not.
“I … thought those were just myths.”

  Abraham smiled, enormous gun held beside him. He was lean and muscled and seemed very calm, as opposed to the tension displayed by Tia and even Prof. “Then you won’t mind, eh, my friend?” he asked with his French accent. “What does it matter if a mythological device pricks you?”

  That didn’t comfort me, but the Reckoners were a group of practiced assassins who killed High Epics for a living. There wasn’t much I could do.

  The woman wrapped my arm with a wide strap, a bit like what you use to measure blood pressure. Wires led from it to the device in her hand. There was a small box on the inside of the strap, and it pricked me.

  Tia studied the screen. “He’s clean for certain,” she said, looking at Prof. “Nothing on the blood test either.”

  Prof nodded, seeming unsurprised. “All right, son. It’s time for you to answer a few questions. Think very carefully before you reply.”

  “Okay,” I said as Tia removed the strap. I rubbed my arm where I’d been pricked.

  “How,” Prof said, “did you find out where we were going to strike? Who told you that Fortuity was our target?”

  “Nobody told me.”

  His expression grew dark. Beside him, Abraham raised an eyebrow and hefted his gun.

  “No, really!” I said, sweating. “Okay, so I heard from some people on the street that you might be in town.”

  “We didn’t tell anyone our mark,” Abraham said. “Even if you knew we were here, how did you know the Epic we’d try to kill?”

  “Well,” I said, “who else would you hit?”

  “There are thousands of Epics in the city, son,” Prof said.

  “Sure,” I replied. “But most are beneath your notice. You target High Epics, and there are only a few hundred of those in Newcago. Among them, only a couple dozen have a prime invincibility—and you always pick someone with a prime invincibility.

  “However, you also wouldn’t go after anyone too powerful or too influential. You figure they’d be well protected. That rules out Nightwielder, Conflux, and Firefight—pretty much Steelheart’s whole inner circle. It also rules out most of the burrow barons.

  “That leaves about a dozen targets, and Fortuity was the worst of the lot. All Epics are murderers, but he’d killed the most innocents by a long shot. Plus, that twisted way he played with people’s entrails is exactly the sort of atrocity the Reckoners would want to stop.” I looked at them, nervous, then shrugged. “Like I said. Nobody had to tell me. It’s obvious who you’d end up picking.”

  The small room grew silent.

  “Ha!” said the sniper, who still stood by the doorway. “Lads and ladies, I think this means we might be getting a tad predictable.”

  “What’s a prime invincibility?” Tia asked.

  “Sorry,” I said, realizing they wouldn’t know my terms. “It’s what I call an Epic power that renders conventional methods of assassination useless. You know, regeneration, impervious skin, precognition, self-reincarnation, that kind of thing.” A High Epic was someone who had one of those. I’d never heard of one who had two, fortunately.

  “Let us pretend,” Prof said, “that you really did figure it out on your own. That still doesn’t explain how you knew where we’d spring our trap.”

  “Fortuity always sees the plays at Spritz’s place on the first Saturday of the month,” I said. “And he always goes to look for amusement afterward. It’s the only reliable time when you’d find him alone and in a mind-set where he could be baited into a trap.”

  Prof glanced at Abraham, then at Tia. She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I think he’s telling the truth, Prof,” Megan said, her arms crossed, jacket open at the front. Don’t … stare …, I had to remind myself.

  Prof looked at her. “Why?”

  “It makes sense,” she said. “If Steelheart had known who we were going to hit, he’d have had something more elaborate planned for us than one boy with a rifle. Besides, Knees here did try to help. Kind of.”

  “I helped! You’d be dead if it weren’t for me. Tell her, Hardman.”

  The Reckoners looked confused.

  “Who?” Abraham asked.

  “Hardman,” I said, pointing at the sniper by the door.

  “My name’s Cody, kid,” he said, amused.

  “Then where’s Hardman?” I asked. “Megan told me he was up above, watching with his rifle to …” I trailed off.

  There never was a sniper up above, I realized. At least, not one specifically told to watch me. Megan had just said that to make me stay put.

  Abraham laughed deeply. “Got caught by the old invisible sniper gag, eh? Had you kneeling there thinking you’d be shot any moment. Is that why she calls you Knees?”

  I blushed.

  “All right, son,” Prof said. “I’m going to be nice to you and pretend none of this ever happened. Once we’re out that door, I want you to count to a thousand really slowly. Then you can leave. If you try to follow us, I’ll shoot you.” He waved to the others.

  “No, wait!” I said, reaching for him.

  The other four each had a gun out in a flash, all pointed at my head.

  I gulped, then lowered my hand. “Wait, please,” I said a little more timidly. “I want to join you.”

  “You want to what?” Tia asked.

  “Join you,” I said. “That’s why I came today. I didn’t intend to get involved. I just wanted to apply.”

  “We don’t exactly accept applications,” Abraham said.

  Prof studied me.

  “He was somewhat helpful,” Megan said. “And I … will admit that he is a decent shot. Maybe we should take him on, Prof.”

  Well, whatever else happened, I’d managed to impress her. That seemed almost as great a victory as taking down Fortuity.

  Eventually Prof shook his head. “We aren’t recruiting, son. Sorry. We’re going to leave, and I don’t want to ever see you anywhere near one of our operations again—I don’t want to even get a hint of you being in the same town as us. Stay in Newcago. After today’s mess, we won’t be coming back here for a long while.”

  That seemed to settle it for all of them. Megan gave me a shrug, an almost apologetic one that seemed to indicate she’d said what she had as thanks for saving her from the thugs with the Uzis. The others gathered around Prof, joining him as he walked to the door.

  I stood behind, feeling impotent and frustrated.

  “You’re failing,” I said to them, my voice growing soft.

  For some reason this made Prof hesitate. He glanced back at me, most of the others already out the door.

  “You never go for the real targets,” I said bitterly. “You always pick the safe ones, like Fortuity. Epics you can isolate and kill. Monsters, yes, but relatively unimportant ones. Never the real monsters, the Epics who broke us and turned our nation to rubble.”

  “We do what we can,” Prof said. “Getting ourselves killed trying to take out an invincible Epic wouldn’t serve anyone.”

  “Killing men like Fortuity won’t do much either,” I said. “There are too many of them, and if you keep picking targets like him, nobody’s going to worry about you. You’re only an annoyance. You can’t change the world that way.”

  “We’re not trying to,” Prof said. “We’re just killing Epics.”

  “What would you have us do, lad?” Hardman—I mean, Cody—said, amused. “Take on Steelheart himself?”

  “Yes,” I said fervently, stepping forward. “You want to change things, you want to make them afraid? He’s the one to attack! Show them that nobody’s above our vengeance!”

  Prof shook his head. He continued on his way, black lab coat rustling. “I made this decision years ago, son. We have to fight the battles we have a chance of winning.”

  He walked out into the hallway. I was left alone in the small room, the flashlight they’d left behind giving a cold glow to the steel chamber.

  I had failed.

  7r />
  I stood in the still, quiet box of a room lit by the abandoned flashlight. It appeared to be running low on charge, but the steel walls reflected the dim light well.

  No, I thought.

  I strode from the room, heedless of the warnings. Let them shoot me.

  Their retreating figures were backlit by their mobiles, a group of dark forms in the cramped hallway.

  “Nobody else fights,” I called after them. “Nobody else even tries! You’re the only ones left. If even you’re scared of men like Steelheart, then how can anyone ever think any differently?”

  The Reckoners continued walking.

  “Your work means something!” I yelled. “But it’s not enough! So long as the most powerful of the Epics consider themselves immune, nothing will change. So long as you leave them alone, you’re essentially proving what they’ve always said! That if an Epic is strong enough, he can take what he wants, do what he wants. You’re saying they deserve to rule.”

  The group kept walking, though Prof—toward the rear—seemed to hesitate. It was only for a moment.

  I took a deep breath. There was only one thing left to try. “I’ve seen Steelheart bleed.”

  Prof stiffened.

  That made the others pause. Prof looked over his shoulder at me. “What?”

  “I’ve seen Steelheart bleed.”

  “Impossible,” Abraham said. “The man is perfectly impervious.”

  “I’ve seen it,” I said, heart thumping, face sweating. I’d never told anyone. The secret was too dangerous. If Steelheart knew that someone had survived the bank attack that day, he’d hunt me down. There would be no hiding, no running. Not if he thought I knew his weakness.

  I didn’t, not completely. But I had a clue, perhaps the only one anyone had.

  “Making up lies won’t get you on our team, son,” Prof said slowly.

  “I’m not lying,” I said, meeting his eyes. “Not about this. Give me a few minutes to tell my story. At least listen.”

  “This is foolishness,” Tia said, taking hold of Prof’s arm. “Prof, let’s go.”

  Prof didn’t respond. He studied me, eyes searching my own, as if looking for something. I felt strangely exposed before him, naked. As if he could see my every wish and sin.