The Burning World (Warm Bodies #2)(117)

I want to cough up my past and spit it far away from me, but it catches in my throat. The only way to make it gone is to digest it.

“Here we are!” Yellow Tie announces as the SUV pulls to the curb.

“Three days later,” Julie says with a roll of her eyes.

“We appreciate your enthusiasm for today’s interview,” Yellow Tie says, opening our door. “We hope this means you’ve decided to collaborate.”

“Fuck you. You smell like cherry condoms full of rancid come.”

I snort. Yellow Tie frowns. However colorful Julie’s insults get, they remain disgustingly accurate.

I step out into a stiff wind that blows the pitchmen’s stench out of my nose—only to replace it with the city’s blanket aroma of trash and human waste. Black Tie ejects Julie with a shove and she stumbles; I catch her as best I can with my wrists bound in front of me. Both of us are cuffed but otherwise unrestrained. If we made a sudden sprint, we could probably get away, but the pitchmen’s clear lack of concern reveals the futility of this idea. Where would we go? How far would we get? The city itself is the prison.

My neck pops a few times before I find the top of 432 Park Avenue. The building is a perfectly symmetrical rectangle, its square windows rising in an unbroken sequence until they’re too small to see. But what makes my head spin is not the height; it’s the familiarity. The excited gibbering behind my basement door.

I lived here.

It was glorious, the wretch sighs. But more importantly, it was necessary. The people needed to see that someone was still in charge, still looking down on them from some unfathomable perch. It’s the mystery that maintains power, the weary assumption that it’s all beyond them. God is wise to hide in Heaven.

But something isn’t right. The lobby is oddly unkempt for a seat of divine power. Its white marble floors are smudged with boot tracks, furniture overturned, everything covered in dust. No doorman, no concierge, no sign of life whatsoever. I remember this building as a luxury fortress for the world’s few surviving power brokers, but now it’s as cold and quiet as any other ruin.

“This isn’t the tallest building,” Julie says as the pitchmen lead us into the elevator. “How are you going to run this country if you don’t even know New York’s skyline?”

“Its height was exceeded by Sinopec Tower,” Yellow Tie admits.

“Exactly. Nice dick but I’ve seen bigger.”

We surge upward. Square windows rush past the elevator’s clear walls, offering us a flickering zoetrope view of the city that becomes transparent as we pick up speed.

“You’ll notice Sinopec Tower is not visible at this time,” Blue Tie says.

Julie scans the skyline, frowning.

“After losing our downtown headquarters in the tragic Eight Six quake,” Yellow Tie says, “we felt it was important for brand confidence that we occupy the tallest buildings in the city. We were able to take Freedom Tower with minimal expense, but we had ongoing conflicts with the occupants of Sinopec Tower. We opted to eliminate the building, resolving two issues at once.”

“Efficient multitasking is crucial to staying on top in today’s competitive world,” Blue Tie says.

Julie stares at the empty space where that blue glass spire used to be. I feel a similar gap in my memories. In all their leaping back and forth through time, there is a barrier they never cross, and in the shadows beyond that barrier is where these things happened. Earthquakes, floods, and falling buildings. A mad scramble to the top after being laid low.

How did he do it?

The floor numbers keep rising. Fifty. Sixty. The higher we climb, the less real the city looks. People disappear. Buildings shrink into toys. Rooks on a bewildering chessboard.

It hits me suddenly like ice water to the face.

“Where are we going?” I take an aggressive step toward Blue Tie. “What’s in this building?”

“Executive would like a word with you,” he says.

My stomach lurches. “Is he here?” My tongue recoils from the name. “Is . . . he here?”

All three well-dressed ghouls grin at me. Even Black Tie.

I ram into Blue Tie with my shoulder, knocking him away from the button panel. I frantically pound the emergency stop, but nothing happens. Black Tie’s fist hits me like a bus and I stagger back, seeing flashes and spots. Julie springs into action like we planned this. She leaps onto Black Tie’s back and loops her cuffs over his head, pulling the chain into his neck so hard it almost disappears into his flesh. But he seems unperturbed. Instead of struggling to free his windpipe, he reaches back and grabs Julie by the hair. She screams as he yanks her off his shoulders and flings her to the floor. A clump of gold remains in his fist. He sees me gaping at it, gives me a calculated smirk, and stuffs it in his pocket.

Rage replaces terror. I coil against the door, preparing to tackle him into the glass and hopefully through it, to pummel and punish him all the way down to our messy reunion with the street. But then Blue Tie jams a Taser into my neck, and I collapse.

Black Tie pulls Julie off the floor. He holds her by the shoulders while Blue Tie jabs the Taser into her chest and keeps it there.

“Stop,” I croak, staggering to my knees.

“We do need your full cooperation at this time,” Yellow Tie admonishes.

“Fuck . . . you!” Julie snarls through gritted teeth as sparks snap between her canines.