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THAT COULD’VE BEEN me.
Aubrey kept her distance as Garr dropped to one knee beside the bloody remains. She was thankful she couldn’t see the face. None of them missed the gaping hole in his back, punched through the ribcage between the victim’s shoulder blades.
Sheila stood next to her, silent but somehow supportive. Garr made a quick examination of the body, careful not to touch it.
Would physical contact make a difference? Aubrey wondered, thankful for the distracting thought. Is it still in the blood after you’re dead? Is it still—I don’t know—contagious?
Garr motioned them away from the crumbling city plaza. They moved, three abreast down the deserted street, and around the corner. Once the gore of the kill site was no longer visible, Garr broke the silence.
“Male, I’d guess mid- to late-twenties.” His voice was clinical, a monotone. “If he wasn’t dead already, he wouldn’t have survived when his Implant was ripped out. Trackers don’t have Doc’s refined touch.”
His voice trailed off as he caught sight of Aubrey’s ashen complexion.
“Any clue where he was going?” Sheila steered the topic from the forensic to the strategic. “Was he heading further into the City, or out?”
Garr slowed as they approached another intersection. There was no traffic in the largely abandoned city core, but caution dictated alertness. “Judging by his clothing, I’d guess he was from outside the City. I’d assume he was heading further west.”
Sheila persisted. “As far as the Hoarders’ territory?”
Garr seemed surprised by her question. “The Enclave? There’s no way to know. If we’d been able to trail him for a while, we might’ve guessed where he was headed. But who knows how many times he changed directions, trying to escape?”
Sheila nodded, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of the deceased Runner. “Even if we’d found him before the Tracker did, I don’t think he would’ve been much help. “He’d attack us. We’ve seen it before.”
“The Soul-less are worse.” Aubrey couldn’t contain herself. “Even if the Runner would’ve tried to kill us, the Soul-less are still the bigger threat.”
Garr and Sheila stared at her.
“We know Trackers are deadlier,” Garr said, his eyebrows knit together. “What are you getting at?”
Aubrey struggled to organize her thoughts into a logical sequence. “Well, from what you’ve told me, we’ve always assumed the Hoarders are treating us like pawns. One set of Hoarders uses the Implants on us, and another set creates the Soul-less—I mean, the Trackers—to hunt us down.”
She gestured helplessly. “But if they’re all Hoarders, what’s the point? Why use Implants at all? The Trackers are clearly more lethal. It’s a total mismatch.”
Garr and Sheila exchanged grim looks.
“That’s what worries me,” Garr said slowly, as if reluctant to share his thoughts. “What if their only objective is . . . sport?”
Aubrey fell silent, stunned. Sheila spoke up. “We’d all like to believe there’s a deeper reason—something more significant than serving as entertainment for bored Hoarders. But really, who takes all the risks? We do. We’re stuck with the Implants. Who gets killed once it’s in the blood? Again, we do. And if a Tracker catches us, we die.”
And they keep coming, no matter what. Aubrey shivered despite the warm sunlight. How many Soul-less came after me, until I was ‘lucky’ enough to electrocute myself?
Sheila yelped, snatching her hand out of her pocket as if she’d been burned. She pulled the fabric back, peering inside, and Aubrey saw the red reflection. Sheila looked up, eyes wide.
The body back in the plaza? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Aubrey realized her error. The Soul-less already took his Implant.
That means it’s another Runner. Not far from here.