The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [140]
How did you open the locks? she wanted to ask. And why are you helping me? Instead, she said, “Where should I go?”
A smile split his cadaverous face. “A place you can hide. A place for those with nowhere else to go.”
He pressed something into her hand. She looked down and saw it was a business card. On it was printed an address in downtown Denver, as well as two lines of cheerfully bold text:
The Hope Mission
Come on in—we want to save you!
She looked back up, and her breath caught on her lips. The man in black was gone. The corridor was empty, but not for long. Shouts echoed above the alarm. Boots pounded against hard tiles. She clutched the card in her hand.
They will not see you if you move swiftly. . . .
Then Dr. Ananda Larsen fled through the doors, and the night wrapped her in safe, dark arms.
34.
The sun dipped behind the mountains, casting a blue cloak of twilight over the city, as Travis ran out of the park and past the library. This was beyond him now. He had to tell someone what he had learned—he had to warn them about what was happening. And he didn't have much time.
As he staggered down Thirteenth Avenue, he cursed his own stupidity. He had let himself believe they were a world away, that they couldn't reach him. Only they could. The servants of Mohg and the Pale King were right here. He heard again the mocking words of the young witch he had encountered in the park. The Deadies, Jessie had called them, the Brights. They'll find you. You can't win against them. That's the one thing I do know. . . .
She had been weak, her power a fraction of Grace's or Aryn's. He should never have opened the iron box and used the magic of the Great Stones against her. Only he had, and to the wraithlings it would be like a beacon in the night. The first time he had opened the box, when he tried to break the Stones, it would have alerted them he was in Denver. After that, they would have been watching, waiting. Which meant they were already closing in on the park. He had to run.
The blocky outlines of the downtown Denver police station hove into view.
No, Travis, you can't go there. Someone will recognize you, and then even Sergeant Otero won't believe what you have to say. They'll put you in jail.
Travis came to a halt on the sidewalk, staring at the door of the police station, longing to go in. But he couldn't. They wouldn't listen to him, and even if they did, what could they do? The city had signed a security contract with Duratek.
He thought about calling Davis and Mitchell Burke-Favor in Castle City. But he had put the two ranchers in grave peril the last time he had contacted them, and anyway, he didn't know what they could do. Somehow he had to tell everyone in Denver the truth about what was happening here.
All this time, secrecy had been the most potent weapon wielded by Duratek and Mohg; they did their evil work in the shadows where no one could see. However, if people knew the truth, they would rise up against them in outrage, Travis was sure of it. Only how could he tell everyone in Denver what he knew?
He turned his back to the police station and saw it glowing against the deepening purple of the sky: a billboard with four bland, smiling faces plastered across it. DENVER'S MOST WATCHED NEWS TEAM, blared the caption below.
Shock crackled through him, then understanding. Travis shoved his hands in his pockets, hurried east down Thirteenth Avenue, and turned south on Lincoln Street. On the side of an office building hung an illuminated banner with the same four stiffly smiling faces. Atop the building, satellite dishes sprouted like Brobdingnagian mushrooms.
Travis started toward the building, then hesitated. What about Marty and Jay? He had promised to meet them at sundown in Confluence Park, and it was almost full night.
Don't worry about them, Travis. They're probably warm and safe right now in the Steel Cathedral, eating a hot meal, and Jay is laughing at how stupid you are for not coming with them.
He crossed