Run. Run for Dai. For Dai. Run.
It’s been so long since I’ve moved like this. To tell the truth, I’m surprised I still can. Over heaps of trash, under ladders, around corners sharper than Nuo’s embroidery needle. Shop lights blur past, puddles fly under my feet, and always, always I hear the guard breathing hard behind me, cursing with every other step.
I run, run, run until I can’t feel my feet anymore. They’re long past the pain of blisters and cuts. There’s a new strength in my limbs—pure, hot energy. I feel that if I just stretched out my arms, I could fly. Out of these tunnels and up between the stars. This must have been how Sing felt before they caught her.
I think this, and suddenly my boot slips out from under me and the world goes flat. Pain jars my bones, becomes a part of me. The ground beneath my palms shudders with the weight of the guard’s steps. There are no more wishes in my chest but hopes. I hope Jin Ling was right about those street kids. I hope I made it far enough.
A hand wraps around the heel of my boot, jerks me backward. My body slides easily through the puddle. I twist and see the guard almost on top of me. Before I really know what I’m doing, I take my free foot and slam it hard, hard, hard between his legs. He howls, releases me instantly. I scramble back just in time to see the shadows come.
The vagrants spring from every corner. Creatures of rags and knives and bone, swarming over the guard like maggots on meat. They’re small, but with eight to one, Longwai’s man doesn’t stand a chance. They take his gun, kick it away.
“Better run, girly!” one of the bigger boys shouts back at me.
He’s right. They’re going to let him go soon—Jin Ling told me the vagrants could buy me only so much time. Even with their knives and numbers, they’ll never harm a member of the Brotherhood. As soon as the guard realizes this, he’ll be after me again.
I need to run so far and fast he’ll lose me altogether.
I’m back on my feet and into the alley between the barber and the dog restaurant. Over bottles and bodies and so many other broken, unwanted things. Out and to the right. My lungs are fire and my legs feel like splintered chopsticks, but I keep going.
For Dai. For Dai. For Dai.
Straight as one of Nuo’s zither strings, all the way to the rusted cannons. I reach them with nothing but gasps left in my lungs. I know I should follow Jin Ling’s instructions—find a policeman, ask for help, stay with him—but all the energy that surged through me just moments before is gone. I lean hard against the rust, struggling for breath.
“Probably not the best night to be outside, kid. Get back inside while you can.”
I look up. My eyes struggle to focus. At first all I see is the glow of a cigarette. Then the man in the trench coat behind it. Something about him feels wrong: the way he talks, the clothes he’s wearing. He doesn’t belong in the Walled City.
And then I see the row of vans lined up on the streets behind him.
Reapers is my first thought, followed by a sick lurch in my throat. But no, Reapers don’t wear clothes like that. And they wouldn’t be lingering so obviously in the streets of City Beyond.
The man pulls the cigarette from his mouth and checks the gold watch on his wrist.
“Is your kid coming or not?” A second man steps out from one of the vans. He’s wearing a thick green vest, a navy hat with a silver badge pinned to the top. “We’re ready to move in.”
I look back at the caravan of black vans and suddenly I understand. These aren’t Reapers. This is the police raid Jin Ling told me about. These are the people who were supposed to get us out. Dai and me. Together.
“Dai’s in the brothel,” I say.
The man in the trench coat looks up—startled. “And who the hell are you?”
“Mei Yee.” My name brings no familiarity to his face, so I keep talking. “I was supposed to help Dai get the book for you.”
The man’s jaw edges out, his annoyance highlighted by the cigarette’s brash light. “Supposed to?”
“Something went wrong and Longwai caught him! He’s still in the brothel. You have to help him!”
His cigarette isn’t even half finished, but the man tosses it to the ground and flashes another look at his watch. “At this point, sweetie, the only person who can help Sun Dai Shing is himself.” He looks over at the man with the badge on his hat. “All right. The kid’s not coming. Let’s get moving!”
The van doors slide open and an army pours out. Men with body armor, searchlights, and guns longer than their arms. They jump out of their vehicles and start running. Past the old grandmother squatting on a blanket, hawking special bundles of New Year’s incense. Past the snow-haired man and his basket of bean cakes. Past the young girl hauling a cart full of clean laundry across the rutted path. The whole world goes still, watching the men and their guns vanish one by one through the Old South Gate.
The man’s words burn through me hotter than his cigarette: The only person who can help Sun Dai Shing is himself.
And because the man is wrong, I follow him back into the city of darkness.