Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [51]
Grey Brother is more direct. In one lightning flash, I see him fell a blue-suited man with a fist to the groin. Upon regaining his feet, Midline moves to join his friend.
The way to the upper port is clear and I lead most of the Pack members that way. Some break off to help Grey Brother and Midline. I anchor the rope that snakes to the platform, listening for either Dr. Haas or the person I had sensed on high-guard earlier. I find the high-guard first.
She is working her way hand over hand through some of the ropes remaining in the Reaches. During a bright flash, I see that her eyes are tight shut, that she is guiding herself by touch alone.
This gives me an idea.
I scramble upward until I am in the lines most nearly parallel to her, where a rough swing remains. Tossing a stray length of rope weighted by a buckle from my belt, I loop a line over hers, bringing the stray end back to me so that her guideline is within the V of my rope. Next, I gently tug the taut line from which she hangs, testing the tension. This established, I begin to shake her line.
Some of the Free People love this game—called it spaghetti snakes—but all but the best played it with a safety net or at least a catcher below. She has neither.
When she opens her eyes. I ease up on all but the lightest vibration. I see her spot me, check her situation. Realize. If she doesn’t retreat, I can shake her down. There is no way she can touch me, crouched as I am out of reach, our only connection the tension in the line I control.
She moves forward, testing. I start shaking the snag-rope. She stops. So do I. The lights go out, but I can feel her motion and start pulling again. She stops.
I wait, expecting her to retreat, but when the lights come on again, the erratic flashes reveal that she has somehow gotten to her gun and is aiming at me. Even as the Law warns me against killing, my hands pull again on the snag-rope. Hard. The motion sets me swinging and my next jerk is harder.
Her shot goes wild.
I haul again, roughly, violently. She falls. The lights go out, but not before I see her hit in a staccato splatter of bright blood.
Looking up, I see most of the erstwhile prisoners have left the Jungle. All that remains is for me to follow. I make my way to the ladder and scramble upward, my sneaker toes bouncing against the metal wall in my haste.
From below, I hear a shout. The voice is commanding, female, familiar.
“Forget these! The one we want is getting away!”
I climb faster and hear a pair of dearer, closer voices.
“Hey, Sarah! You’re shaking us loose!” yells Betwixt.
“My claws are slipping!” screams Between.
I stop and leaning precariously from the ladder, jam the rubber dragon deeper into my pack.
“Ouch! Not so hard!” Betwixt grunts, his protest muffled by the nylon bag.
I grin and keep climbing, but the pause has enabled my closest pursuers to catch up with me. There are two: a man and a woman in the same blue jumpsuit uniform as the woman I killed. The man’s left eye is swollen shut; the woman’s sleeve is ripped. Both look grimly angry. Dr. Haas follows a distant third.
Ducking through the no longer concealed doorway into the abandoned building, I concentrate on remembering the steps into the maze I must run. Some light shines through the broken windows and gaping roof and as I set my foot to the trail it begins to call out to me.
I run as quickly as the uneven surface will permit, rejoicing that my Pack members have escaped and that in a few moments I, too, will be free.
The maze’s song guides me until suddenly it is broken by the dissonant wheeze of a dart gun firing.
On reflex, I flatten myself against a post and then resume running, unable to dodge much beyond the erratic demands of the maze.
“Cut her off!” the man’s voice yells.
His answer is the dusty Sheetrock giving way beneath his feet and his partner’s cry as she also begins to fall.
“Shit! The floor’s bad,” the woman calls.
Glancing back, I see her pulling herself up.
“No shit!” her partner