Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [66]
Because there were no announcements, the loudspeakers were turned off, and no sound penetrated the window. Thus she and Tahir watched both vids simultaneously, supplying their own mocking dialogue and holding each other up against paroxysms of laughter when something, and it was not Tahir’s hand working its way, as if accidentally, down from her shoulder, made her entire body tense.
“Something… behind us!” she hissed, jabbing Tahir in the ribs to get his attention. “Go, now!”
Never run when you’ve stolen something. When you’re afraid, act brazen. But when an unmarked black hovercar with sealed windows begins to slow on its way past you, run as if your life depends on it, because it does.
Scroungers knew every escape route in the rabbit warrens of the old city-every alley, cellar, tunnel, catacomb, roof access, secret entrance, and exit. But sometimes the escape routes simply weren’t there.
“The cellar!” Tahir called out behind her, but she slewed around long enough to shout “No!” before zigzagging past it. Part of a network of tunnels through the cellars of boarded-up buildings, she’d heard rumors that it served as a meeting place for a mysterious group whose name meant roughly “unification” and, while she personally thought they were insane, she would not endanger them. Her breath coming shorter, she continued to run.
They should have split up, she thought later, then realized it wouldn’t have mattered. Perhaps Tahir thought he was protecting her by following, ready to throw himself in the hovercar’s path so she could get away. She would never know. They ran until they could run no more, then stopped, exhausted, in an alley where a high crumbling wall separated an ancient burial ground from the featureless rear walls of a row of warehouses.
“A lovers’ tryst,” Tahir said with what little breath he could catch, grabbing her elbow and positioning her with her back against the wall while he stood in front of her, ready perhaps to shield her body with his own if there was to be any shooting. The alley dead-ended a few meters beyond them. They could hear the hovercar’s purr somewhere overhead as it rose above the rooftops, as only official cars were permitted, to scan the alleys, no doubt reading them on infrared. “Only reason we were running was so your lover didn’t spot us. We’re only stealing kisses now.”
Or you’re only using it as an excuse! Zetha thought with what little of her attention wasn’t fixed on the hovercar, begging it: Go on, search elsewhere. It’s not us you want; we’re nothing! There’s nothing here to see!
Tahir raised his right hand, the first two fingers together, and touched them to her lips. The proper way was to touch hand to hand first, but he wanted it to seem to their pursuers that they had been doing this for a while. Zetha touched her fingers to his lips in turn. Ironic, she thought, her mind squirreling, that after months of teasing each other, their first kiss should come on the verge of death! Fingers and lips were numb with terror; only her heart, threatening to pound its way out of her chest, and her eyes seemed to work. The latter were filled with the sight of the lone aristocratic figure flexing fingers gloved in expensive leather, casually making its way toward them.
“You!” the figure called out, just loudly enough. Behind him, on either side of the hovercar’s open hatch, two helmed figures waited with stun batons held across their chests, more deadly weapons no doubt at the ready in those heavy belts.
As if they’d rehearsed it, she and Tahir broke apart, backs to the cemetery wall, guilty lovers caught in the act. The lone figure was not impressed. He focused on Tahir, ignoring Zetha, who wondered how fast she could climb the broken stones of the cemetery wall before the stun