The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(48)

Mahlia glared up at the half-man, hating him. “I’m not a half-man,” she said.

“And I am not your dog.”

Mahlia looked back at the village. The soldiers had dragged Mouse close to the torched buildings and forced him to his knees. A figure emerged from the sooty wreckage…

Sayle.

He had a pistol in his hands. Mahlia watched the man stalk around the boy, then step close. She squinted, trying to see, not wanting to, afraid, but unable to look away. Sayle put his pistol in Mouse’s mouth.

Tool’s ears pricked up, cupping the wind.

“He wants to know where we are,” the half-man said. “They’re threatening him. It won’t be long until they know, and then they will pursue.”

The half-man’s hand fell on Mahlia’s shoulder, heavy and solid, even as the monster’s deep voice became soft. “Come,” he said. “It is best not to watch these things.”

Mahlia shook off his hand, still watching. Unable to pull away. She heard the half-man give a low growl of frustration. She was surprised he didn’t just grab her and drag her. Instead, he waited.

“They’re going to kill him,” she said, feeling sick.

When she had needed help, Mouse had stepped up for her. He’d thrown rocks, of all things. He’d done the brave and stupid thing, and saved her. And here she crouched amongst kudzu vines, unable to make her limbs move, terrified and a coward.

“They’re going to kill him,” she whispered again.

“It is their nature,” Tool said. “Come away. This will only make your nightmares worse.”

22

SAYLE JAMMED HIS PISTOL into the prisoner’s mouth. “You’re dead, licebiter.” The kid tried to speak, but he couldn’t get words out around Sayle’s 9mm. Little pale runt, all crying and begging.

Ocho stood by, watching the jungle, waiting for the bullet.

The kid kept on with his whimpering and begging, and Ocho tried not to listen. He’d learned long ago that if you treated maggots like people, it just ripped you up. Gutted you and made you weak when you needed to be strong.

The kid went on whining, though, pissing his pants.

Just get it over with, Ocho thought.

But Sayle liked the maggots squirming.

It was another thing Ocho didn’t like about the LT. The man was crazy. One of those bastards who’d grown up and found out that war was where he lived best. Sayle enjoyed suffering.

Sayle kept on, questioning the prisoner, making him think he had a chance. Like baiting a dog with meat and then pulling it out of reach again and again. Making the pathetic little licebiter stand up and bounce around on his hind legs, tongue hanging out.

Sayle offered freedom. He coaxed people to rat their relatives, to rat their food stores. He was good at it, the dangling. But it made Ocho ill, and he tried to be away from it when he could. Couldn’t pull it off every time, though. If the LT thought you were a weak link, bad things happened. So sometimes you just had to stand by while some war maggot begged.

“She ran! She went away. Her and the half-man. They headed out. She was going to leave. Go north.”

It made sense to Ocho. The doctor girl had seemed like the kind who had a plan. For sure, she’d ripped the hell out of the platoon.

“You’re covering for her,” Sayle said.

“No! I swear it! She told me not to come back here. Told me not to do it. She said the doctor was stupid. Said I was.” He spat blood and the despair in his voice made Ocho look over. Little war maggot looked like he’d lost her, all right. No hope there.

Sayle caught Ocho’s gaze. “What do you think?”

Ocho leaned against a flame-blackened wall, trying not to show how much his ribs hurt. Wishing that Hoopie hadn’t shot the doctor. It would have been good to recruit a real pill pusher into the company. Now Ocho’s survival was pretty much up to the Fates; if he picked up an infection, he was done.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” Ocho said. “Doctor was crazy, for sure. I can see him coming back alone. Humanitarian, right? All kinds of do-gooder.”

“This one, too? And ditch the girl?” Sayle looked down at their prisoner.

Ocho shrugged. “Doctor was surprised when the coywolv came in. The girl’s pure Drowned Cities. Don’t matter if she’s a castoff or not. She’s got the war instinct.”

“Maggot was smart, all right.”

“Yeah. But the doctor?” Ocho shrugged.

The body in the field said it all. The old man had no survival instinct. Marching into a combat zone like he had a big old red cross on his back and a company of Chinese peacekeepers behind him. Stupid. They weren’t fighting that kind of war. Ocho wondered if maybe the doctor had just gone crazy. Sometimes it happened. Civvies went out of their head and did stupid stuff. Got themselves killed, even when they could’ve gotten away clean.

But not the castoff. That girl knew what was what. He’d seen it in her eyes, right when she brought the coywolv down on them. Killer instinct.

Ocho scanned the torched village again. A dog was picking through the smoke, circling in on a body. Ocho wondered if it was coming back to its owner, or if it was looking for dinner.

“Got to figure the castoff headed north with the half-man.” He spat. “I would’ve.”

“Yeah.” The lieutenant stared down at their prisoner. “That how it went? She just left you to die, huh? Headed north and ditched your maggot ass?”