The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(54)

“He is an ideal age. Big enough to carry a gun and use it well, young enough to train and fanaticize.”

Understanding dawned on Mahlia. “You think he’s recruited? You think he’s gone soldier boy?”

“With the proper stimuli, anyone can be turned into killer.”

“A killer like you?” Mahlia asked, but Tool didn’t seem offended; he just nodded. “Very much like me. I was bred to kill, but I was trained to do it well.”

“But Mouse isn’t a soldier boy,” she said. “He’s not like that. He’s good. He’s kind. He…”

He likes dumb jokes, and he likes to catch snakes and eggs, and he’s always up for a trip into the jungle, and he can’t read books for the life of him, and he’s scared of sleeping inside at night, and when you’re feeling like hell because you’re a castoff, he comes around and sits with you. And when the Army of God’s got you by the hair, and you got one hand already lying on the ground, he steps up and saves you.

“He’s not that kind of person.”

“Soon, though. These armies are experienced in recruiting the young. They will bind him to his comrades, and they will mold him to their needs.”

“He’s not like that!”

Tool shrugged. “Then they will kill him and find someone who is.”

The half-man spoke with infuriating detachment. Mahlia wanted to punch him in his giant doglike face. “We’ve got to save him.”

Tool just looked at her. She could almost see the smile there, the joke of her saying it, but she pressed. “We can’t just let them have him. We got to go after him.”

“You will fail.”

“Not if you help me.”

The half-man’s lips curled back, revealing teeth. “You presume too much, girl. My debt to you is more than paid.”

“So why are you still here?” she asked. “Why come back here? Why help me at all?”

Tool growled. “I balance my debts. If you wish my help in escaping from this place, that is fair. You saved my life when those others would have let me die. But those soldiers take their prisoners into the heart of the Drowned Cities. It was difficult enough for me to escape Colonel Stern last time. To do it again would be impossible. Suicide is not something I owe you or yours.”

“What if we saved Mouse before they get there?”

“You overestimate my health and abilities.”

“When you jumped me and Mouse, you were scary fast.”

“Even I cannot destroy a company of trained soldiers, not without weapons or support.”

“We could stalk them.”

“We?” Tool raised his eyebrows, looking down on her. “You think you are some fine predator? A swamp panther or coywolv?” He pretended to inspect her. “Where are your teeth and claws, girl?” He bared his teeth. “Where is your bite?”

Mahlia glared up at him, hating him. Hating how he dismissed her. She turned and stormed into the ruins, hunting. She found a burned machete, sooty and blackened, but with metal still sound. Tool watched her with a bemused expression as she returned. She held it up.

“I got teeth.”

“Do you?” Tool’s features turned predatory. “They have guns and acid and training.” He leaned close, his monstrous gaze blazing with promise of hell. “They will break you bit by bit, and then, when they have turned you into a cowering, begging animal, they will kill you. Don’t tell me you have teeth. You are a rabbit attacking coywolv.”

Part of her knew he was right. If a half-man wouldn’t face all those soldiers, what made her think she could? It was stupid. The kind of war maggot fantasy that got you killed.

“I go north now. If you are wise, you will accompany me.”

Mahlia wanted to listen to him. Hadn’t she already lost enough here? She had a way out. With the half-man to help, she could make it past all the armies and war lines. She could get away from the Drowned Cities for good.

Mahlia tried the idea out in her mind, trying to imagine a safe life in a place like Seascape Boston. Maybe she could doctor there. Maybe she could just not wake up in the middle of the night, having a nightmare that the Army of God was coming for her.

But even as she tried to imagine some better life, all she could really think of was Mouse, jumping up and hollering and throwing rocks at soldiers, like the Rust Saint rising up, blessing her with a second chance at life.

“You do what you do,” she said finally. “Mouse would come for me, and I’m not leaving him. Not again. I’m done with that. I’m done with running.”

“You will die.”

“I guess. I don’t know.” She shook her head, trying to pick through her feelings. “I used to think I was alive just because I kept getting away. If someone didn’t put a bullet in my head, I was winning. I was still breathing, right?” She looked at the blackened land around her, feeling tired and sad and alone.

“But now I’m thinking it ain’t like that. Now I’m thinking that once you got enough dead looking over your shoulder, you’re dead anyway. Don’t matter if you’re still walking and talking, they weigh you down.” She looked up at Tool, hoping against hope. “You sure you don’t want to help me?”

The half-man didn’t say anything at all.