Children of Evolution (The Gateway Series Book 2) Page 3

  The idea had been to clean up the free zones from the inside out, by "educating the stupid out of the troublemakers." Nikki's description, of course. So they issued adaptive cerebral education bands to every kid in a few of the free zones and made wearing the things mandatory. They even kept up monthly checks to go over the onboard logs and ensure no tampering.

  Of course, getting kids in the free zone to do anything that smacked of official was like trying to herd cockroaches, but the geniuses in charge accounted for that. They set up a reward system. Every month you showed up to the checks with your halo intact and used as directed, you got a stash of fresh food. Brilliant.

  They'd started the halo initiative not long after Nikki and Michael turned seven, and it lasted an impressive four years before the powers that be gave up on it. Turned out the system worked a little too well.

  The halos were connected to the global net to gather educational content and beam it directly into the brains of the little zoners. The brilliance of the halos, and their downfall, was their ability to adapt to the learning pace and interests of the individual. It turned out more than a few zoners were interested in learning how to hack the halos. The content they could access was filtered and restricted, of course, but not enough to keep a few hungry little minds from learning enough to start bypassing the safeguards and falsifying the logs. Those few wasted no time setting up shop to do the same for others, in exchange for goods and services, of course.

  Zoners might not get top marks for ambition and obedience, but when it came to creativity and ingenuity, they were unbeatable, in Nikki's opinion.

  By year two of the program, every kid in the pilot zones knew how to beat the system. Find your nearest hacker, stockpile their currency of choice, pay up to get past the initial lockouts, and then settle into the routine. You had to spend about half an hour a day on legit learning to give your hacker something to replicate at the end of the month, but after that, you were free to burn brain cells on whatever garbage you could find on the net, while snacking on your free rations.

  It was a sweet life while it lasted, assuming you could afford one of the decent hackers. Nikki never could. After her initial bypass, all she could access outside the legit stuff was a reality show following a group of South African poachers and a buttload of Japanese cartoons. Consequently, her Japanese wasn't half bad, as long as she stuck to Oni lore or sailor lingo, and she was pretty sure she was the world's leading expert on lions, rhinos, and bribing corrupt African border officials.

  Michael, no surprise, had refused to hack his halo, and when they decided to shut down the program, he'd been one of the first to protest, albeit for completely different reasons than the rest of the zoners. He'd gotten all the nerd genes, for sure.

  Distracted by her boredom-induced tangent, it took Nikki a second to realize the situation below had taken a turn for the worse. One of the ladies, arguably the least inebriated, had separated from the group to a chorus of ear-splitting complaints and started her slightly weaving climb up the road, while her friends started their raucous stagger downhill.

  The high-heeled loner passed right by the grubby teen's alley, not noticing him or his hungry stare, and continued up the street, singing to herself.

  Nikki stared at the teen staring after the townie, half of her begging him to make a move, the other half willing him not to. She didn't have to work to figure out which feelings were hers this time. Even so, when the teen slipped out of the alley and started following the girl, her desire to go after him was doubly strong. Michael was suddenly onboard with the hero plan, as she'd known he would be once he saw someone in trouble.

  But his sudden resolve to play hero didn't stop him from second guessing her plan, unfortunately. Even at a run, she didn't make it halfway across the roof before he started in.

  Nikki, don't do this on your own. Call for help.

  She didn't bother with a response.

  She slowed as she reached the fire escape. She could see the water on the steps and rails reflecting the moonlight, and she had no desire to do a repeat performance of her graceless dumpster drop, especially not from three stories up. She started the climb down trying to ride the line between fast and careful, erring a wee bit on the side of fast.

  Michael was wise enough not to distract her on the climb down, but as soon as her feet hit the alley pavement, he was back at it.

  Did you hear me? Call for help, Nikki. Please.

  "Don't be an idiot," she almost laughed as she jogged down the narrow side alley toward the main street. "You know what good shouting for help does."

  He did. They'd seen it happen too many times for him to miss it. In the free zones, shouting for help was a sure way to draw out the vultures and turn a two-sided scuffle into a three-, four-, or more-sided frenzy.

  Seattle isn't a free zone, Nikki.

  "Figured that one out on your own, did you?"

  You know what I mean. Besides, I didn't say shout for help. I said call. As in—

  "Shhh," she cut in as she reached the edge of the alley and peeked out up the main street. "You want to kill my element of surprise?"

  She felt incredulity pulsing through her, but she did earn silence from him for a few seconds while she leaned out to see the girl and her shadow halfway up the hill already. Nikki jogged across the street and settled into a fast walking pace to eat up the gap between her and the stalker.

  Dammit, Nikki. Nobody can hear me but you. And if you'd answer in your head instead of out loud—

  "You mean just jump over the crazy line and start having conversations in my head? No thanks." She could practically feel his frustrated-beyond-words response. She knew that sensation. She'd felt hints of it through their link nearly every time they'd argued throughout their lives. If he still had hands, he would have been rubbing his eyes in defeat.

  Up ahead, the high-heeled townie's body language changed enough for Nikki to notice, as far behind as she was. By her stiffer, more alert posture, the girl was apparently sober enough to sense looming trouble, if not enough to sense the source. She seemed to be eyeing a couple of guys talking under the streetlight at the top of the hill where this road met a busier street. Then, apparently to prove just how defective her danger sense was, the girl turned down an alley a hundred meters shy of the relative safety of the intersection.

  Her pursuer banished any doubt Nikki might have had as to his intentions by speeding up to a jog as soon as the girl stepped out of sight.

  Nikki did the same, all thoughts of stealth and surprise washed away by the adrenaline her heart was pounding through her veins.

  There's an emergency call box at the top of the hill. I'm begging you—

  "No. I can take that kid," she said to herself as much as to him. The tremor of doubt from Michael was growing stronger in her belly, making the kid seem a lot bigger than he'd looked from the roof.

  If not the cops, then Coop, at least.

  "No, I have to do this. Stop worrying about me," she growled in a whisper as she rounded the corner into the alley.

  It was empty as far ahead as she could see.

  She had time to start a frustrated curse before a scream from ahead told her the girl had turned down an even narrower gap behind the building on the right, and the perv had made his move.

  It's not you I'm worried about, Nikki, Michael said as she sprinted for the gap. What happens if this kid gets the drop on you? What if he has a weapon? If you can't stop him, what happens to the girl?

  Too late, Nikki realized what Michael meant. She'd been so caught up in her side of the plan, she'd failed to consider what failure might mean for everyone involved.

  She rounded the corner into the alley, cursing herself under her breath, and skidded to a halt.

  She'd expected to see the scrawny perv getting handsy with the spangled townie. She hadn't expected to see the two not-so-scrawny thugs backing him up.

  "Well—shit," she said far more loudly than she intended.

  Chapter 3<
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  Nikki

  Four sets of eyes swung toward her. The skeevy guy looked annoyed, his two buddies excited or amused in a stomach-twisting sort of way, and the girl looked so hopeful she made Nikki want to smack her for being a stereotype. A little fight from the townie would make the odds look a little bit better. But after the townie sized Nikki up, the look in her eyes was all disappointment and defeat.

  Damn, Nikki thought, but still unable to shake the habit she spoke aloud to Michael. “Don't even think of saying I told you so.”

  He was smart enough not to. In fact, when he spoke, his voice in her head was calm and businesslike, without a hint of the I-told-you-so Nikki would have doled out in his place. Focus, Nikki. Analyze the situation.

  That was her brother all right, always with the analyzing when things were about to get hairy. That wasn't Nikki's style, but with him in her head, she found herself doing it anyway.

  The alley was a narrow strip running behind the shops on the main street, barely wide enough for a two-seater to navigate, but the first thirty meters or so was a shared loading dock for the first couple of shops. It had easily twenty square meters of open space and was well shadowed thanks to the lack of security lights and the two- and three-story buildings blocking out most of the moonlight. A crooked stack of pallets on the right and a board-covered chain fence on the left narrowed the entrance and made for nice deep alcoves for doing whatever shenanigans needed doing. The chances of interruption back here were slim to nil.

  Focus on what you can use, Nikki.

  Right. She knew that. Nothing really jumped out though. A few empties and partials of cheap booze had been left on the waist-high concrete dock jutting out from the building on the right, but they were on the other side of Chester Molester and the girl, who were on the other side of the two goons blocking Nikki's way. Aside from the bottles, and maybe whatever was in the dark dumpster on her left, Nikki didn't see anything she could use. The metal safety rail running along half the dock might be promising, once she was charged up enough to rip it free. If she got charged up, that is.

  And the hostiles? What do you see?

  Nikki was glad Michael wasn't around all the time anymore to hear Elias and his crew talk shop. He'd picked up far too much military lingo as it was.

  Right away she saw the little things she should have noticed about Chester in the first place. His clothes fit a little too well and weren't as ratty as they should have been for a kid living on the streets. His shoes were brand new. And below one three-quarter sleeve of his tight jacket, a snake-like tattoo wrapped twice around his forearm, a tat that looked familiar.

  The other, bigger kids weren't kids at all. The one on the left was Nikki's age, maybe, but the black scars on his dark cheeks made him look older. The one on the right, the one advancing on Nikki with a bow-legged swagger, was several years older with the broad chest and curved shoulders of a fighting dog, and the cruel, squashed face to match. Despite the weather, he was wearing a tight sleeveless shirt that showed off the snake tattoos on both arms.

  Nikki cut her eyes back to the goon on the left. The same tat was peeking out from under the pushed up sleeves of his hoodie. Same design as Chester's behind them. Now that she got a good look at it, Nikki recognized the tat. It wasn't a snake. It was a stretched out map of the West Coast.

  They're Runners, Nikki, Michael said in her head, echoing her conclusion.

  Not good. The West Coast Runners gang thought they ruled the whole coast, hence the dumb name. If these guys were Runners, they were no strangers to mixing it up, and they were probably armed, as Michael had feared.

  The bile-like surge of anxiety that started crawling its way out of her belly had to be coming from Michael. Had to be. Nikki didn’t get scared before a fight. Not ever. Not even when she was outnumbered. Especially not when she was outnumbered. Not the old Nikki, at least.

  Nikki's heart dropped at this latest gut-churning sign that the old Nikki had left the building for good, but it was way too late to back out of her plan now.

  "Party's over, fellas," she said. "Glitter Barbie and I are late for…something."

  The pit bull's laugh sounded like something from a horror movie, only deeper, and dragged over broken glass. It did nothing to ease the tension Michael was kindly sharing.

  "What'd I tell you, Track?" Pit Bull said in a voice even worse than his laugh. "Initiation duty isn't all watching. Nine times out, you get a taste yourself."

  Nikki wanted to hurl—big things at Pit Bull's head, that is. But since she didn't have big things, and couldn't hurl them yet if she did, she settled for an exaggerated wink that made the twitchy guy on the left start cursing and bouncing on his toes like a tweaker, and Pit Bull grate out another nerve-shaking laugh.

  Behind them, Chester Molester was still working hard to wrestle Barbie back onto the dock, but she was squirming and struggling enough to keep him from succeeding, for now. Nikki doubted that Barbie would have enough fight in her to handle Chester on her own, but that didn't stop her from hoping. Pit Bull and Twitchy were more than she'd bargained for already. This whole plan was feeling far too much like a pile of I-told-you-so for Michael to hurl at her later, assuming she and Barbie had a later.

  Right hand, Michael said sharply, but she'd seen it already, the glint of metal on Pit Bull's knuckles that he wasn't bothering to hide as he stepped closer.

  "I got this, Track," Pit Bull grated. "Don't worry. I'll leave you a little—"

  Nikki knew a cue when she heard one. She lunged forward despite Michael's mental shout of, Nikki, don't head—and smashed her forehead into Pit Bull's face.

  At least, that was her plan. Whatever she hit felt like a brick wall. Stars replaced the dark scene in front of her, and pain made her stagger back.

  She heard Twitchy's sharp laughter and Pit Bull's low curses, but she couldn't see a thing for far too long. When her vision cleared enough to make out what was going on, it was too late. Pit Bull was right on top of her.

  Breath rushed out of her in a whoosh as Pit Bull's metal-cuffed fist slammed into her stomach, sending Nikki crashing back into the stack of pallets.

  She felt the tingling sensation of her ability sending power out to…somewhere, but nothing came back. Michael was supposed to be there to get the surge from her. Michael was supposed to send one back her way by taking a blow or two himself. That was how the world worked. That was how it used to work, anyway.

  Michael had told her weeks ago, when she'd been at her lowest, that her power might adapt, that with him gone, maybe she would finally become what Savior had intended in the first place, that injuries she suffered would feed power into her now instead of into him. She knew he regretted those words now. They had set her on this path, after all.

  But no strength tingled through her now, only pain, along with almost enough disappointment to fill the void Michael had left behind.

  Pit Bull was angrily wiping blood from his smashed nose, to the tune of Twitchy's laughter. Beyond them, Chester was having a time of it with Barbie, who had dropped onto her butt on the pavement and was giving him fits with her spiked heels. Maybe Nikki had underestimated her.

  The feel of wood splinters jabbing into her arms made Nikki take notice of the rickety pile of pallets. If they hurt this much just leaning against them, how much would they hurt when smacked against a certain Pit Bull's head?

  She grabbed the nearest likely candidate, a pointed shard of a slat sticking out near her head, and pulled hard to try to break it free. All she managed to get for her efforts was more laughter from Twitchy, a growl from Pit Bull, and a creaking, cracking pile of pallets against her back. The slat didn't budge.

  Pit Bull flung a handful of blood away from his nose and started toward her again, the look in his eyes all fury and murder.

  Nikki pulled again, giving it everything she had, and something shifted.

  She smiled and started cooking up a suitable taunt until Michael shouted, Nikki, MOVE!

  Sh
e did the opposite. She looked up at Pit Bull to see what had spooked Michael, only to see him throwing a shielding arm up in surprise.

  The slat hadn't moved after all. The whole pallet stack was coming down.

  Nikki dropped and rolled like she was on fire as heavy wood smashed to splinters all around her. She didn't stop rolling until she hit the side of the dumpster. She pushed up onto her knees to see Pit Bull unmoving under the pile of pallets. Twitchy was moving though, moving straight at her with a shout.

  Nikki grabbed the closest, biggest piece of wood she could and swung low and hard without rising. The crack of the splintery wood connecting with Twitchy's shins sent painful vibrations up both her arms, but the rush of adrenaline helped Nikki push past the pain and off the ground. Seeing her opponent rolling on the pavement clutching his legs helped a bit too.

  As Nikki stood, her rising battle lust tried to convince her to go for insult instead of injury, as it had a habit of doing, and Michael had a worse habit of hating. She wasn't hard to convince.

  When Twitchy tried to stand, Nikki swung her makeshift club in a looping uppercut right into his keister, snapping the already cracked slat and actually helping Twitchy to his feet instead of putting him back down. It did make her laugh though as she tossed the splintered wood aside and squared off with her fuming, limping opponent.

  Twitchy didn't feel sorry for himself for long, to his credit. He charged toward her with barely a pause and threw a wide roundhouse punch right toward her face.

  Nikki couldn't resist responding in kind, despite Michael's last-second protest, which was loud enough to hurt. She swung a punch of her own and met fist with fist, strength with strength. It was one of her favorite moves. Only, when she'd pulled this move in the past she'd been charged up enough to overpower anybody dumb enough to try to hit her. This time, the dumb was all hers.

  The pain was incredible for something as small as a hand. It felt like somebody had jabbed a hot needle the size of a sausage through her knuckles. She knew she'd heard a crack, but whether it was from Twitchy's hand or hers, she couldn't tell. He seemed surprised and in as much pain as she was. She also could have sworn she heard the sound of glass breaking at the same time, which made no sense. Maybe she was finally losing her mind.