chapter
TWENTY-FOUR

Dawn was still holding off.

The only clue that I had found the right place was a small sign near the door: New Seattle Secure Holding Area for Fridges, Coffee Tables, and Other Feral Electrical Goods.

I walked around looking for a side entrance, circling the rusted, barbed-wire walls. There was one in a side alley. “Four trees have been planted in Australia to offset the poor design aesthetic of this building,” said a small sign. The lock was old and it gave with a grouchy murmur on my third attempt to force it. Inside was gloomy and damp, and somewhere I heard a police radio. A pool of yellow light shone at the end of the corridor. The radio crackled with static and I stopped to listen, but all I heard was my own heartbeat through a thick gauze of alcohol and adrenaline.

I edged in farther, trying to soften my steps over the hard floor. Each second stretched out in my mind until it was the size of Kansas.

I came to the corner, steadied myself, and peeked around. A figure was sitting with his feet up at a desk, his cap tilted forward, and a red gun lying lazily in his hands.

The police radio crackled into life. “Drongle 34, you are cleared to deal with the suspect, but please ensure you have appropriate footwear.”

The guy was asleep.

I moved closer until I could hear the rasp of his breath as his chest slowly rose and fell, filling out a faded uniform that once, as a younger man, he had probably worn with pride.

Now it was his ticket to a retirement pension.

A huge bunch of keys were lying next to him.

“Drongle 34, if you are at all nervous about which kind of footwear to use, call for a risk assessment,” said the radio. “There’s a fifteen-minute wait on Health and Safety at the moment in your area.”

The cop shifted, then settled. When he was still again, I picked up the keys. They jangled softly and, as I moved away, the radio picked up a rogue frequency and a voice with a heavy accent began talking excitedly before fading away.

The Cold Compound was visible through a window to my left and I slipped outside. Most of the cages were empty, although in one a coffee table crashed up to the bars as I passed.

“You want to buy a hedge fund?” it chirped.

“Maybe later,” I said and moved on. For a moment, the next cage appeared empty as well, but then I saw the fridges from the motel room huddled sadly in the far corner, trying to escape the rain.

“Hey!” I whispered, as I tried to find the right key. “We’re getting out of here, okay?”

“Hey,” said one, waddling over. “It’s you! Did you come back for some processed cheese? It’s such a great snack straight from the tube.”

“No, thanks. Get ready to move.”

“Oh, boy, can we keep some beer cold for you?”

“Sure,” I said, still fiddling with the lock.

“One cold beer coming right up!”

“Sh!” I said. “Less noise.”

“Just so we’re clear, I definitely don’t have any pizza,” said the Cold Moose. “Only a carrot so bendy you could tie a knot in it.”

“That’s no problem. This way.” I got the door to the cage open.

“There is some pesto sauce, so you could have that with it. I hear they serve that at some top restaurants now.”

“Let’s move.”

“Shall I make my owl noise again if there’s danger?” said the Ice Jumper, opening its door.

“No,” I said. “No owl noises. Just be quiet.”

“Sure. We’re good at being quiet,” said the Frost Fox, and waddled out. “And we’re very good at quiet singing.”

“Right now, not even humming. This way.” I fumbled with the key to the main gate.

“Okay, but we’ve been working on some harmonies. It’s pretty special.”

“Save it,” I said, getting it open.

“Do you have a plan?” said the Frost Fox.

“I never make plans,” I said, and saw that the small motel-size fridge was still trying to hide in the corner. “This way, little fellow,” I called. “Come on.”