Cheat the Grave

Io snorted. “Welcome to Doom Town. And Survival City…at least what remains of them.” She shot me a wry smile as she reached atop a teetering pile of scrap metal and punched blackened keys on an old fashioned cash register. “Atomic cities. Fictional, except that they were real, down to the smallest detail. They used to piggyback on the nuclear tests, building homes, military operations, shelters…all in varying distances from ground zero. Then, boom!” She made an explosion with her strong hands.

“They built entire cities just to blow them up?” I asked, running my hand along what looked like the front of a train.

“Survivability testing.”

Looking for the rest of the engine, I peered around the train’s nose before jerking back, letting out an involuntary squeak. A charred face stared back at me, the skin bubbled and blackened on one side. A single blue eye locked on my face, and Io chuckled behind me.

“I see you’ve met Marge. She was reading the paper and listening to the radio at the time of attack. The scientists wanted to see what a thermal pulse would do to a human being, depending on where the bomb was dropped.”

“So they used mannequins?”

She picked up her pace as she crossed the room, no novelty to her. “And pigs.”

I shuddered, thankful I’d run into Marge instead of the pig. “But why is all of this here?”

“Shits and giggles, mostly,” she said, placing her hand on a perfect iron door. “It was Roland’s idea to start the collection-he’s inside-but we all joined in. Let’s just say it can get monotonous on Yucca flat.”

And with that she yanked the iron door open. Carlos’s voice reached out to wrap around me even before I saw inside. “She did it?”

Io nodded once.

“Fantastic!” Carlos clapped his hands once, then held out his arms as I ducked through the doorway.

“Welcome.”

I said nothing, noting eight other pairs of eyes studying me. Tripp, hunched in an outcropping of the circular room was one of them. Fletcher and Milo sat together at a wider sandy bench, also outfitted with dark hemp pillows. The room was as sparse as the other had been cluttered. Yet five other men sat in similar alcoves. Some of the seating areas looked like they’d been blown away, while others like they’d been dug out with a spoon. All appeared positioned around an invisible round table. I met each gaze boldly, memorizing faces, trying to intuit thought, but it was useless. The men were naturals at hiding their emotions-both the physical expression and the accompanying scent. I wouldn’t be able to scent them anyway, but if I were a betting woman, I’d pin them all as Shadows.

Former Shadows, I corrected, with some effort. Grays.

Tables made of barrels and flat-topped sawhorses sat to the side of each alcove, topped off by actual china settings, mismatched but shining. I’d clearly interrupted dinner, and my stomach growled, recognizing carne, tortillas, beans and rice.

“Come. Your meal is waiting,” Carlos gestured, indicating one of the empty alcoves. “As is your place in our circle.”

The other men remained silent as I eyed the seating more closely. The benches weren’t just smoothed out, but sported glyphs and symbols as mysterious and meaningful as those I’d seen in Midheaven and on the chest at Caine’s shack. And someplace else, I thought, furrowing my brow. Why couldn’t I remember where?

“This drugged as well?” I asked sarcastically, pointing at the food as I sat.

Carlos shrugged, unapologetic. “I took the opportunity to see if you could return to Midheaven via your dreams…even without your powers. This proved you can.”

“Is that why you said gnawing on your little night crawler would open my eyes to ‘that which was previously hidden’?” I lowered my voice an octave, and put on an accent as I picked up a tortilla. Warm, fresh…delicious. Okay, so they lived somewhat better than moles, I thought, settling back, surprised to find the natural dirt alcove comfortable.

“Si, mon. I needed you to stay under long enough to determine you were still a part of that world. And you are. Entwined in its fabric, you have changed it as much as the knowledge of it has changed you. What do you expect when you gave up a portion of your soul to get there?”

Two-thirds, to be exact, I thought, chewing. Not that the remaining third was a worry. I was never going near the real entrance again. Especially after that dream. “And why would you want to see that?”

Why had he given me a tracking device that reacted to body heat and adrenaline? Why return prints to my fingertips? Why coat my organs with an armor that made them impervious to all but the most magical of weapons? What exactly, I now wondered, did Carlos want out of all this?

He didn’t pretend not to know what I was asking. Instead he smiled so broadly, teeth blinding against his honeyed skin, that I was momentarily startled. Could the leader of an underground rogue cell, with a past tailored to bitterness, really be so guileless? Even as I had the thought, he spread his arms, as if inviting me inside. “First, let me introduce you to your fellow grays.

“You know Tripp from before, and you’ve already met Milo and Fletcher.” Carlos strode to the center of the room like a lion tamer in a cage. “To their right are Alex and Oliver. On the other side we have Gareth, Roland, and Vincent.”

“Not Vinnie,” the last man said, in a voice that screamed old school Bronx. I let my gaze pass over him with disinterest before landing on Roland. The collector. He looked at me like I was the one who blew up Marge.

I looked back. “Met your girlfriend outside.”

Oliver snickered from the other side of the room, and when Roland’s gaze returned to me, it was as narrow as not-Vinnie’s had been. “Pretty, ain’t she?”

“I think you make a beautiful couple.”

Carlos cleared his throat, a too-bright smile widening his face. Well, what did he want? Pom-poms and a spirit song for waking up in a nuclear crater with a bunch of leukemia breeding trash? Not that it mattered to the non humans in the group, I thought wryly.

“There are currently four more of us,” he said, “but they’ve gone on a recruiting trip to Salt Lake.”

I nodded to indicate I’d heard, but took my time looking not-Vinnie over, then did the same with each man in turn. Alex was obviously Mexican, like Carlos, though shorter and rounder. Oliver’s genetic background was indistinguishable, probably some Americanized bastardization of British and German and Irish. Roland was as black as Io, while his tablemate was what one would expect from a not-Vinnie from the Bronx. I paused on Gareth, who was lanky, not even into adulthood, and sported spiky dishwater blond hair that reminded me of a rooster’s comb. I’d wager he was less than a handful of years past his second life cycle. Obviously used to the speculation about his age, and sensitive about it, he thrust out his chin and took a menacing step forward. I ignored the implicit challenge and studied each face again. Interesting.

Carlos anticipated my question as I turned my gaze back upon him. “There are no female rogues in the cell. The nature of a matriarchal world means women are the first and most targeted of us. When a female rogue is discovered, both Shadow and Light dispatch as many agents as it takes to destroy her. We lose them as quickly as we gain them, so you’re the only one.”

“Um, I hate to bring up the obvious-” Wasn’t joining the cell going to make me even more of a paranormal pariah than before?

“You’re already targeted,” Carlos interrupted, with less concern than I’d have liked. “You already know the history of the struggle between rogues and agents in this valley. You know the laws as laid down by the ruling troops, and the dangers we face as independents. We’ve also given you some of the tools to survive those dangers, and trust me, they’ll come to good use.”

“When?” I asked warily, not entirely sure I wanted to know.

“When we overthrow the current regime of Shadow and Light, of course,” Gareth snapped, still stinging from my earlier observation.

I’d have told him to chill, except his words stalled me cold. “Overthrow?”

Carlos cleared his throat, then ducked his head as he shot me that beautiful, and now sheepish, smile. “That is the purpose of the cell. By unifying the independent agents into a third, larger troop, we will wage our battle for the right to live aboveground. We will fight for the right to live as we choose. And this emerging troop, Joanna Archer,”