Lifel1k3 (Lifelike #1)(71)

“I’m your friend, Nic. Your family is my family. Never forget that.”

He’d deceived her.

But truth was, he’d loved her, too.

Why else would he have protected her? Kept her hidden all these years?

“We have to go get him,” she realized.

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. “You mean Silas?”

She shook her head. Looked north, across the wastes.

Toward Babel.

Toward home.

“I mean my grandpa.”

“Entering Babel will be no easy task,” Hope warned. “Lifelikes aside, the radiation levels are still too high for anyone to plunder the city. But Daedalus Technologies has no wish for anyone to steal Gnosis secrets, either. They have a garrison posted there. No infantry because of the radiation. All machina. Juggernauts. Titans. Siege-class.”

“Well, I’ve scrapped w—”

Ana heard a thin yapping bark rising over the city’s song. She turned from the horizon, peered over the railing to the foredeck. Amid the milling crowd, the stalls and shacks, she saw a fluffy white dog. It was no bigger than her boot, cute as buttons. But it was looking right at her. Snuffling the air and barking.

A figure in a new black coat was standing beside it. Staring at her with eyes of shocking blue. And with a red right hand, he slowly tipped the brim of a dusty cowboy hat.

“Oh, shit … ,” Ana whispered.





1.23


BLEED

“Cricket!”

Ana kicked open the hatchway, barreled back into the ministry.

“Lemon!”

The redhead looked up from her hand of cards, surrounded by grubby opponents.

“Wassup?”

Ana dashed to the workshop to grab her satchel. Tools. Excalibur. Thermex grenade. “Get your gear, we gotta go!”

“What, right now?” Lem demanded. “I’m sitting on four kings over here.”

“I fold,” said the greasy sprog opposite her.

“Fold,” said the skinny girl beside her.

“Fold,” said every other player at the table.

“Goddammit,” Lemon growled.

Two thunderous booms echoed in the room, the ministry’s double doors shuddering as their hinges were blasted away. The doors toppled inward with a crash. Silhouetted against the sunlight was a tall figure in a long black coat and cowboy hat.

“Oh,” Lemon said. “I see.”

Kaiser stood up from his nap at Lemon’s feet. His eyes flooded red, and a long, low growl spilled from his vox unit. Ana sprinted out the workshop door, satchel in one hand, Cricket slung on her shoulders and shouting, “Whatwhatwhat?”

“Kaiser! Lemon! Come on!” Ana roared.

Lemon was on her feet, bolting for the stairwell. The girls and the blitzhund scuttled up the steps to the upper deck, squeezing past Hope and Ezekiel. The two lifelikes stepped into the ministry, children running in all directions, screaming at the sight of this stranger and his guns. His little dog stepped inside, muzzle peeled back in a tiny, razored snarl.

The Preacher scoped the room. He hauled out a pistol and fired half a dozen times into the ceiling, roaring over the gaggle of panicking children.

“All right, quitcher hollerin’!”

The room fell still. The Preacher’s eyes were on Ezekiel. Glancing at the lifelike beside him, taking her measure.

“I am hereby notifying all residents of this domicile that I’m here on official Daedalus Technologies business. Any y’all who find the concept of becoming innocent bystanders unsettling”—he waved to the smoking hole behind him—“go on and git.”

“Go on, children,” Hope said. “Get out of here. Daniella, keep them safe.”

The old woman nodded to Hope, wordlessly shepherded the sprogs toward the exit. Some wailed for the lifelike, calling her name as they were dragged away.

“Nooooo, I don’wanna leave!”

“I wanna stay with Hope!”

“It’s all right, my lovelies,” the lifelike smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow. You go with Dani now. Be good. Remember your prayers.”

The Preacher stood motionless as the orphans and urchins were herded out, sniffling, crying, big ’uns carrying the smaller kids, Daniella pushing and prodding. The Preacher tipped his hat at the old woman when she hobbled past.

Hope spoke softly as the children scattered, her eyes never leaving the bounty hunter.

“Ezekiel,” she said. “You should go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he replied.

“Your place is with Ana.”

“There’s two of us,” Ezekiel replied. “We can take him.”

“Ana doesn’t know, does she? About what you did?”

Ezekiel flinched, jaw tightening. “No.”

Hope looked at him then. Eyes soft. Voice hard.

“You lost her once, little brother. Most of us never get a chance to redeem ourselves with those we wrong.” She nodded back up the stairs. “You can steal a vehicle in the Wheelhouse. One that will get you to Babel. Go. Quickly. Don’t fail her again.”

The room was empty now. Hope’s orphans had all vanished; people had scattered from the decks outside at the first sound of gunfire. Rust blew in through the open doorway on an acrid wind, the Preacher’s coat billowing about him like smoke. He sucked hard on his cheek, spat a long, sticky stream of brown onto the ministry floor. Looked Hope up and down.