The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(64)

Mahlia dropped the skull, wiping her hand on her hip, trying to make it feel clean, knowing it wouldn’t work.

“It’s why I chose this vantage,” Tool said. “The soldiers down there will avoid their killing ground. They will detour around the history they have made in this place.”

“You smelled it?”

“Of course.”

It made sense, but still, Mahlia felt nauseated, knowing she was lying atop piles of bodies. Her skin crawled with a superstitious need to get away, but she forced it down. She’d seen plenty of bodies. This was just a few more. And a good reminder of what the Army of God was capable of.

As if she didn’t know already.

“We got to find another way,” she said.

Tool looked at her. “Afraid?”

“Damn straight. Army of God…” She shook her head. “You can’t argue with fanatics. They’ll just cut us down.”

“How is this different from the UPF?” Tool asked. “Your plan was sound. Go to the banks. Seek a guide.”

But now Mahlia saw how risky her plan had been. Even with UPF around, it had always been Mahfouz who had gone down into Moss Landing and come back alive.

She watched the people standing around bonfires. Girls laughing in that way that made you know they were trying to keep soldiers happy but that they were scared.

A man wandered to the edge of the jungle and pulled down his shorts. Urinated. A grown-up. How many actual adults had she seen since the war started up again? The ones in Banyan Town, sure, but out of the Drowned Cities? Just the big names. The ones who ran things. Lieutenant Sayle. The face of Colonel Glenn Stern, head of the UPF. And yet here was a man. Full-grown.

Behind him, a couple of his troops stood waiting. War maggots. Didn’t even have hair on their upper lips. Mean-ass licebiters with guns, probably high on red rippers, probably crazy. One had a shotgun, the other a hunting rifle, not just machetes or acid, which meant they were probably bloodthirsty, especially if they were standing bodyguard on the grown-up. Boys with guns scared her. Guns gave them swagger, and swagger made them vicious.

Somewhere inside the town, someone was sobbing, begging and in pain. She couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. It didn’t even sound like person, hardly. Mahlia realized she was shaking. She knew that sound. She’d made exactly that sound once, when they got hold of her hand.

“I ain’t going down there. We got to find a different way.”

Tool’s huge head turned to regard her. “There is no other way, and you are the one who must go.” He nodded toward the town. “Augments like me are blood enemies to soldiers like that. They will shoot me on sight. I am their greatest nightmare. They fight my kind in the North, where the war lines bottle them up. If they see me here, they will assume I am a scout or an attacker, and they will shoot.”

“What if you were just passing through?”

“Half-men do not simply ‘pass through.’ I learned that to my cost the last time I tried,” Tool said. “Those soldiers believe that we always have masters, and we always work to our master’s purpose. My kind would have no business here, other than war with them.”

He nodded at the town. “You must go down to the waterfront, and you must find us a smuggler.”

“What do I do if someone comes at me?”

“We need a skiff and we need a person who knows how to move into the Drowned Cities. Without an alliance, we have nothing.”

“We don’t got anything to pay them.”

“Bring them to me.” Tool bared his teeth. “I will arrange the payment.”

Mahlia shook her head. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Be strong, wargirl. It will only get worse.”

Mahlia stared out at the town, hating what she had to do. “In the morning,” she decided. “I’ll go when they’re all hungover and sleepy and stupid. Not while they’re all sliding and crazy and looking for someone to hurt.”

Tool smiled. “A decision worthy of Sun Tzu.”

30

THE PROBLEM DIDN’T develop right away.

Mouse’s squad was deep inside UPF territory, so they should have been safe. The only things to keep an eye on were chain gangs and farmers. Mouse and all the other soldiers were standing around joking and watching as big old barges eased through K Canal, and they had no idea what was coming.

The barges were massive things, ironclad and rusty. A whole long line of them clogged the canal, with a webwork of ropes leading to the boardwalks on the sides, where people were harnessed to the ropes in long lines, leaning forward, dragging.

A few people had mules that they urged forward, but mostly, it was stringy people with dirty matted hair and torn skin, white and brown and black and tan and all of it whipped and torn by labor.

The braying and complaining of the mules and the groaning of the prisoners filled the canal and echoed off the buildings. The stink of them as they passed was almost overwhelming. Mouse stepped back as the haulers leaned against the weight of the filled barges.

The first barge just had a bunch of green logos and a Lawson & Carlson stamp. The second one, though…

“Is that Chinese?” Mouse asked.

The side of the barge had a big old logo with writing on the side, just like on the packs of medicines that Doctor Mahfouz used to dole out.