Page 91 of Backpacking through Bedlam

“Not sure I could forget them after she yelled them inside my head,” said Sally sourly.

“Telepathy is useful like that,” I agreed.

Thomas squeezed my hand, then let me go.

It took everything I had not to grab for his hand. Even though I knew this was the plan, it ached a little to watch him step away from me. He’d separate from Sally a little farther on, while I took the nearest exit to the street. I watched them go, then stepped backward, heading for the exit I was supposed to take. Two flights of concrete steps took me to the street, passing through several fascinating bands of odor before I emerged. It was quieter than it had been earlier, but the occasional horn or shout echoed off the buildings, and everything smelled like a mixture of garbage, urine, hot dogs, and roasting peanuts that turned my stomach even as it made my mouth water.

New York City. There’s no place on Earth quite like it.

No time to stand around getting my bearings or gaping like a tourist. I turned a single circle, checking the street signs, then started briskly forward, walking with speed and intent to match any local. Part of it was bravado, a concerted effort to avoid attracting notice. Part of it was Sarah’s directions, which were just barely shy of an outright compulsion. I knew exactly where I needed to go, because she’d made sure of it: the route was clear and vivid in my mind, and following it was as natural as breathing.

It had been a little unnerving, the ease and power with which she’d slid that information into my thoughts. More unnerving, in its own special way, than watching her rip into the minds of the Covenant. I’d never seen her violating someone like that before: for all that I knew, what she’d done was entirely within the realm of what any cuckoo could do, if properly provoked by someone who hadn’t inherited the slight veil of protection I’d received from my mother. But planting the directions in my brain . . .

Sarah had been in and out of my thoughts since she was a kid, shaky and anxious and unsure of her welcome. It had never been this easy before. We were attuned to each other, but this was the first time she’d been able to slide in like it was nothing, like the wind whistling through a keyhole. Whatever had changed with her, it was major, and it was starting to frighten me a little.

If it scared me, when I already loved her, how was it affecting Thomas?

I stopped, as abruptly as if I had a rope tied around my waist which had just snapped taut, and my thoughts stopped with the rest of me. I was here.

The building in front of me was perfectly normal for its surroundings, and I would never have given it a second look if I hadn’t already known I needed to come here. I stepped back, giving it a more analytical look.

Based on the exterior, I was looking at six stories, with an inner and outer door at the entrance, at least two dozen windows, and two fire escapes, just on this side of the building. No telling how many there were in total, or whether there was a back entrance, or backyard or roof access to the buildings on either side. Hopefully, Thomas and Sally would be able to find out. Otherwise, if our targets got away from us in there, this could quickly turn into a ridiculous, impossible chase through Midtown.

I leaned against a wall, murmuring, “Mary, I’m in position.”

It wasn’t a surprise when my former babysitter walked around the corner and settled against the wall next to me. “So are the others,” said Mary. “You’re good to go.”

I flashed her a furtive thumbs-up, aware that anyone who saw our exchange would probably assume drug deal, then pushed away from the wall. “Let everyone know,” I said.

“On it.”

Squaring my shoulders, I started across the street, scanning for signs of anyone paying attention to my approach. I didn’t see any. As I approached the building door, I slid my hand into my pocket for my lockpicks. I didn’t need them. Even as I was reaching for them, a young man stepped out, saw me coming, and paused to hold the door open for me. Being a nonthreatening young blonde comes with advantages as well as drawbacks sometimes. This was unremarkable; he wouldn’t even remember it tomorrow, and I smiled at him as I stepped inside.

The hall was tiled in white linoleum, and the air smelled of boiled cabbage and floor cleaner. According to Sarah’s directions, I needed to be on the third floor. The elevator would have been faster but more dangerous; elevators can jam, elevators can be stopped mid-trip, and most importantly, people can hear them coming. I followed the hall until I found the stairs, and slipped inside, climbing silently upward.

I was almost there when I heard footsteps above me and looked up to see Sally coming down the stairs in my direction. She stopped when she saw me, blinking in surprise. I motioned for her to stay silent, and she nodded, even though she didn’t look particularly happy about it. Sure, I’d beaten her here, but barely, and we were both in. Call that a win.

I opened the fire door to the third-floor hallway, slipping through with one hand resting on the revolver at my hip, covered by my shirt but still easily accessible. Thomas caught the door before it could swing shut again, offering me a thin smile. It was my turn to blink.

I’d come in the front door. Sally had been coming down from a higher floor, having presumably used a rear fire escape to get there. There was only one stairway that I knew of. So how . . . ?

There would be time to worry about that later. According to Sarah, the door we wanted was only two down the hall. I pressed my back to the wall and started toward it, slow and easy, Thomas and Sally behind me. We’d agreed before leaving the slaughterhouse that I was the best suited for testing doors; if something happened to explode, my chances of missing the blast were better than anyone else’s. Or at least, that was what I was trying very firmly to tell myself.

When I reached the door, I stopped, listening intently. If there was anyone inside, I couldn’t hear them. I gestured for Sally and Thomas to stay back, then rapped my knuckles against the door, stepping back out of view almost before I was done.

Seconds ticked by, slow and heavy and almost alarmingly tense. I was on the verge of suggesting something more aggressive—nothing says “Hi, I’m here to kill you” like knocking a door off its hinges and chucking a grenade inside—when I heard the locks being undone and the door eased open a few inches. I couldn’t see the person on the other side. I could tell from the caution with which the door had opened that they were at the very least trying to be careful; they had decent reason to suspect that trouble might be coming their way.

They didn’t step into the hall or even stick their head past the threshold. That was probably good, from a personal safety standpoint; without cameras, it wasn’t great from a security standpoint. A voice behind them asked a pointed question in Italian. The person at the door answered in German. The door began to close again.

That was the moment to move. I pivoted my weight on my left foot, smoothly putting myself in front of the not-yet-closed door, and raised my right foot to kick it open. The whole thing swung open with a satisfying crash, bouncing off the wall inside, and I stepped through, guns already drawn, to find myself facing a surprised-looking blond man in the nondescript clothing of a door-to-door missionary.

“Hi,” I said blithely, as Thomas and Sally came in behind me. “I speak German.”

Not well, but well enough to have caught the gist of what he was saying: that whoever knocked had probably run when they realized the forces of virtue were behind the door, keeping this city safe. Covenant talk if I’d ever heard it.

There was a noise from the room at the end of the hall. “Thomas?” I said tightly.

“Yes, dear.” He stepped around the man, his empty hands by his sides, and started for the sound. The man tensed like he was going to reach for a weapon, and I made a soft tutting sound.