The Drowned Cities (Ship Breaker #2)(67)

Mouse went over to the window. From high up, the fighting down below looked like little ants, dancing around without any purpose.

The radio squawked. “Where you want the next one?”

Mouse looked down on the fighting in the streets. He should run. This was his chance. He could run.

But he was deep inside the Drowned Cities—war lines on top of war lines, in every direction. And he was already branded UPF. If he tried to run, UPF would grab him; if he went into Army of God territory, or ran up against Freedom Militia, they’d shoot him on sight. He wasn’t just another war maggot, now. He was a soldier boy. Branded, named, and reborn.

“Where you want the next one?” the radio asked again.

He stared down at the fighting. Ocho was down there.

You want to know a secret? You’re already dead. Stop worrying about it.

Ghost picked up the radio and clicked it on. “Move it back a hundred yards.”

“What?”

“Go back a hundred yards. You’re way off.”

The 999 boomed.

Army of God soldiers started running like ants as a shell dropped behind their lines.

Ghost watched the war maggots run and scatter, and felt a rush of excitement as he walked the 999 down the street, chasing them.

It didn’t last long, but it was enough. Pretty soon, Ghost saw the godboys coming back and he knew it was time to go. It was like pranking his brother, back when he was still around. You could poke at him for a little while, but then he’d get pissed and it was time to get out of the way. When a squad of AOG started swimming the canal, it was time to go.

Ghost scanned the room. They’d been set up for a while. Must have been planning the ambush for days and days. He grabbed his dead opponent’s gun. Ammo…

He couldn’t carry it all. He fumbled through the ammo, trying to match the guns to the ammo. Whole hodgepodge. He pulled a belt of bullets off one boy, and a couple of cartridges off another, scooped them into his shirt. Time to go.

The temptation to stay there, to try to get the rest… In a sudden inspiration, Ghost grabbed the rest of the rifles and flung them out the window, then the ammo he couldn’t carry, and the radio, too, all of it sailing out the window and down, tumbling, into the canal below.

Only then did he run. He went down two flights and this time the raccoons saved him, because they came up ahead with the godboys behind, and Ghost had enough time to slide out of sight. He stealthed down refuse-strewn hallways with mice and rats and raccoons, slipping through the building, keeping the map of the place in his mind, moving and dropping down another stairwell, and then down and down and down again, until he was in the water and swimming back to Dog Squad.

The old boy, Mouse, he would have just swum right out, but Ghost stopped short of the canal, peered out at the water and the canal and the shattered boardwalks.

Boys with guns were all around, but he had a gun, too, now, and the hunt was different. He’d hunted frogs and snakes and crawdads, and if the godboys weren’t snakes, he didn’t know what was, and so he scanned the canal and the buildings up above, peeking out, looking for glints of snipers, for signs of movement, and then he saw Dog Squad running, leapfrogging as they backed themselves out of the skirmish zone, and Van caught sight of him and then Ghost was out in the water, swimming, knowing his warboys had his back and that he had covering fire.

He came out of the water, dripping, trophy rifle held high, his pockets full of bullets and who the hell knew whether they’d shoot, but one thing for sure was that Army of God didn’t have those bullets.

The 999 opened up again, but Dog Squad was out of the kill zone.

Ocho looked at him. “Where’s Pook?”

Ghost pointed up at the building.

“Dead?”

“Yeah. Got it in the face.”

“You’re with TamTam and Stork, then.” Ocho waved to the other warboys. “Hey, Stork! Pook’s gone. You got Ghost.”

Two boys he hadn’t worked with. One of them a little licebiter with castoff eyes and a smashed-up nose: TamTam. The other, black-skinned, tall, and gawky, and older. Ghost liked that. If Stork was older, he might not be stupid. Might not get him killed.

Stork eyed him. “Nice job with the 999.” He paused, looking at the rifle Ghost had brought back with predatory interest. “Nice gun.”

Ghost gripped it warily, knowing what was coming.

“TamTam don’t have a gun,” Stork said.

“So?”

“He outranks you.”

Ghost just stared him down. He didn’t let himself blink or show fear. He just looked back at Stork. “If he wants one, I guess he better find one,” he said.

Stork almost looked like he was going to be pissed, but then he just smiled and shook his head.

“Yeah. Guess he better.”

31

DAWN BROKE STILL and hot and wet on Moss Landing. Rain came down and soaked everything, turning everything to mud.

The place looked almost as bad as Banyan Town had looked after the UPF burned it. If the people hadn’t been puking and lying facedown but breathing, they could have been dead. Some of them were so exhausted from debauchery that they weren’t even conscious.

Mahlia stepped over the bodies. In the gray flat light of the rainy morning, Moss Landing seemed less threatening. No one wanted to be outside making trouble. No one wanted to be awake. She heard someone shouting, but they were far away. Someone else was singing an old licebiter nursery rhyme about being a soldier boy and winding up dead.