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THE STREETS SEEMED to narrow as they hustled through the shadows between the buildings. The empty windows, row upon row, gave the appearance of watching eyes as they passed.
Aubrey tried to curb her over-active imagination, too ready to populate the windows with hidden adversaries. No-one lives in this part of the City anymore. Nobody’s watching us.
She couldn’t quell the recurring urge to glance up at the windows, always alert. Garr called for a halt at the mouth of another alley. Sheila pulled out the scanner and its attached reader for a closer inspection.
“We should’ve buried him.” Aubrey couldn’t get the image of the Runner’s bloody corpse out of her mind. “It seems, well, inhuman to just leave him lying there.”
Garr shook his head, his eyes on the scanner in Sheila’s hand. “Hidden in plain sight, remember? What’s the normal reaction to a Tracker kill? It’s not a burial detail, trust me.”
Sheila frowned at the device, angling toward the nearest wall to shield it from prying eyes. “There’s nowhere to bury a body around here anyway,” she said absently. “Everything’s concrete and steel.”
And broken windows. Aubrey held her tongue. Like empty eye sockets in a skull.
She cursed her vivid imagination, glancing over her shoulder at the windows on the opposite side of the street. Her heart leaped into her throat as she spied a telltale circle of red light—no, two red circles.
The Soul-less were zeroing in on their position.
Her mouth went dry, and she reached blindly behind her to grab Garr’s arm. She felt his muscles tense as he realized what had caught her attention.
“Now I get it—inside. The basement.” Sheila held out the scanner in triumph. She pointed at one of the nearby buildings, about twenty meters away.
“It looks like the Runner went inside, and then down a level,” she repeated, perplexed by their lack of response.
“Trackers,” Garr said, his voice low. He kept an eye on their adversaries. “More than one. Time’s up. Either we find the Runner in the next couple of minutes, or we’ll have to abort the mission.”
Sheila followed his gaze. The blood drained from her face when she spotted the ghostly red lights. She gestured at the scanner. “Trackers can scan Hoarder technology, as well as Implants.”
The windows were deserted again, revealing no secrets. The Soul-less are closing in.
Aubrey swallowed hard against the sudden lump in her throat. Sheila concealed the scanner in her jacket, gesturing with her other arm to indicate where the Runner had gone.
There was no point pretending—if they continued using the scanner, the Trackers would see through their charade. Garr led them with reckless abandon across the deserted street and into the crumbling remains of the building.
Once inside, Sheila brought the scanner out, shielding its glow with her other hand as she cast back and forth. They stood in a large foyer on the ground floor. Everything within sight was a testimony to years of neglect and wanton vandalism.
Sheila pointed vigorously toward a darkened recess in the rear corner of the building. They crossed the expansive foyer at a run, dodging over and around debris, and found the access to the lower levels.
Garr wasted no time in descending the stairs, his hasty footsteps silent on the dusty concrete. Sheila followed at the same breakneck pace, equally noiseless.
Just like Jane. Aubrey couldn’t help but be impressed. These people have skills. But I refuse to be the weak link. With a gulp, she pelted down the stairs in their wake.
They exited the stairway into the lower level, crouching together in the murky twilight. Sheila pulled out the scanner, frantic in her search for the Runner.
Crack!
Something exploded against the wall above their heads, showering them with pebbles of concrete. Instinctively, they threw themselves to the ground. A crude projectile bounced on the floor between them, coming to rest between Garr’s feet.
A rock? Aubrey stared at it, confused. Somebody’s throwing rocks at us?
She raised herself to her hands and knees, catching Garr’s eye. We’ve found the Runner!
They crept forward and to the right, seeking refuge behind a waist-high wall of debris. Garr pulled himself up, peering cautiously over the edge, while Sheila consulted the scanner.
She looked up from the device, giving a sharp nod to confirm their assailant’s identity. She shut the scanner down, stowing it in her jacket. “That should slow the Trackers down,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Garr ducked a second time, motioning for them to stay where they were. “It’s in their blood. We’ve got to prod them first.”
“If we’ve found the Runner, the Trackers can’t be far behind,” Aubrey warned in a harsh whisper, her hand straying to her weapons. “And rocks won’t stop the Soul-less.”
“Either we prod the Runner now, or we make a run for it.” Sheila brandished her prod where they could see it, activating it with her thumb. “Just so it’s been said, I’m not leaving a Runner behind.”
Garr nodded, his eyes blazing. “I’d never sacrifice a Runner to save our necks. That’s not an option.”
Another rock struck the half-wall near the spot where Garr’s head had been a split-second earlier. He ducked lower, but the throwing motion drew Aubrey’s eyes. She squinted through the dust-filled air and managed to spot the Runner.
She recoiled in disbelief, one hand covering her mouth. Beside her, she heard Sheila’s sharp intake of breath, and the hoarse cry of denial from Garr. They’d seen the Runner, too.
It was a child. A boy, no older than eight or nine.
His stance was defiant as he glared at them, eyes blank and face twisted with malice. His young fist clutched another rock, cocked and ready to throw. The aura of menace emanating from him was palpable.
It’s in his blood. Aubrey reached for her prod, wondering if this was how she’d looked when her Implant had been activated.
Her throat constricted and her nerves caught fire.
The Soul-less are right behind us.