She reached out and plucked at a hole in my jeans. "More like a coyote. But even coyotes keep together, eh?"
"Okay. I'll go howl at the moon. Maybe go through the trash cans."
Sam tapped his plastic fork against the Styrofoam container. "This didn't come from any trash can. Where did it come from?"
"Huh? Oh, Cafe Naz in the East End." At his blank look I added, "
London
."
"Ah." He mouth worked for a moment but nothing came out. Finally he said, "Not bad. Not bad at all." He poked a finger toward my upper torso. "You look healthy. Whatcha doing for exercise?"
"Karate. A dojo in – well, maybe I shouldn't say where."
"Right. Not if you go there regular. And income? You got enough money?"
I looked away. "No worries. Don't have to worry about the rent. I'm saying my prayers and washing behind my ears and brushing my teeth, Papa." Teeth. I didn't want any more X–rays compared if I could help it. "I'm even doing my lessons. I'm up to Second Form, uh, tenth grade in the science and I'm starting precalculus."
"What is that, four grade levels ahead?"
I shrugged. "Whatever." I tried to be indifferent but it was nice to have someone make a fuss. Quite nice.
It made me afraid for them.
I waited thirty minutes after they left, watching the dust trail of the pickup all the way to the highway before I jumped away to the Hole.
Jumped to Embankment Station at the curvy underground part, not the aboveground platform, in a nook, behind a crowd of tourists, and someone started screaming.
Someone was shouting, "MOVE! MOVE YOUR BLOODY ASS!" The two women tourists in front of me were holding their hands above their head, cameras dangling, and one of them was screaming. Over their shoulder I saw someone running up the platform holding a big, oddly shaped gun– one I'd seen before.
He fired and something smacked into the wall on both sides of my nook and suddenly the two women tourists were thrown into me. I heard the breath leave their lungs and they stopped screaming, but they were spasming and I smelled ozone. I wasn't pinned–though the women were jammed across the opening of the nook there was still room behind me–and I jumped.
"Wait!" I yelled. I don't know why or to whom, but the sound echoed in the wash of the
Empty Quarter
. I jumped immediately to Charing Cross platform and stepped onto the northern train heading back toward the
Thames
and Embankment Station.
Nobody screamed and nobody shot at me but my eyes were wide open.
It took maybe three minutes for the train to reach the other station, but he was gone. There were transport police on the platform. They'd gotten the women out of the nook and seated on a bench. The cable was still there, taut between two areas of broken blue tile, so I guess they wiggled back into the nook and ducked under it. I didn't get off the train and as it left, we passed more transport police in the tunnel itself, flashlights waving as they searched.
I got off at
Waterloo
and took the Jubilee line back to
Green
Park
, then took the Piccadilly line over to Knights–bridge. I wasn't even late for class, though it seemed as if I should be.
The next one was closer.
Elephant and Castle Tube stop and he was more careful than the last guy. He followed me and didn't attack until we were in the twisty stair up to street level. He was firing up the stairs and I heard something mechanical click right before he shot, so I was bending forward and looking back. The cable tore overhead and tangled in the handrail above me and I was standing in desert sand before the next one arrived.
Right, then.
The first one was clearly not just coincidence. They were watching the Tube stations.
I jumped back into
London
, on the other side of the
Thames
, to South Kensington Station. It was only one stop away from Knightsbridge but I didn't get on the train. I wandered between platforms–there are three different lines at that station–keeping my eye on everyone else. It was busy but when I stayed on the
"Okay. I'll go howl at the moon. Maybe go through the trash cans."
Sam tapped his plastic fork against the Styrofoam container. "This didn't come from any trash can. Where did it come from?"
"Huh? Oh, Cafe Naz in the East End." At his blank look I added, "
London
."
"Ah." He mouth worked for a moment but nothing came out. Finally he said, "Not bad. Not bad at all." He poked a finger toward my upper torso. "You look healthy. Whatcha doing for exercise?"
"Karate. A dojo in – well, maybe I shouldn't say where."
"Right. Not if you go there regular. And income? You got enough money?"
I looked away. "No worries. Don't have to worry about the rent. I'm saying my prayers and washing behind my ears and brushing my teeth, Papa." Teeth. I didn't want any more X–rays compared if I could help it. "I'm even doing my lessons. I'm up to Second Form, uh, tenth grade in the science and I'm starting precalculus."
"What is that, four grade levels ahead?"
I shrugged. "Whatever." I tried to be indifferent but it was nice to have someone make a fuss. Quite nice.
It made me afraid for them.
I waited thirty minutes after they left, watching the dust trail of the pickup all the way to the highway before I jumped away to the Hole.
Jumped to Embankment Station at the curvy underground part, not the aboveground platform, in a nook, behind a crowd of tourists, and someone started screaming.
Someone was shouting, "MOVE! MOVE YOUR BLOODY ASS!" The two women tourists in front of me were holding their hands above their head, cameras dangling, and one of them was screaming. Over their shoulder I saw someone running up the platform holding a big, oddly shaped gun– one I'd seen before.
He fired and something smacked into the wall on both sides of my nook and suddenly the two women tourists were thrown into me. I heard the breath leave their lungs and they stopped screaming, but they were spasming and I smelled ozone. I wasn't pinned–though the women were jammed across the opening of the nook there was still room behind me–and I jumped.
"Wait!" I yelled. I don't know why or to whom, but the sound echoed in the wash of the
Empty Quarter
. I jumped immediately to Charing Cross platform and stepped onto the northern train heading back toward the
Thames
and Embankment Station.
Nobody screamed and nobody shot at me but my eyes were wide open.
It took maybe three minutes for the train to reach the other station, but he was gone. There were transport police on the platform. They'd gotten the women out of the nook and seated on a bench. The cable was still there, taut between two areas of broken blue tile, so I guess they wiggled back into the nook and ducked under it. I didn't get off the train and as it left, we passed more transport police in the tunnel itself, flashlights waving as they searched.
I got off at
Waterloo
and took the Jubilee line back to
Green
Park
, then took the Piccadilly line over to Knights–bridge. I wasn't even late for class, though it seemed as if I should be.
The next one was closer.
Elephant and Castle Tube stop and he was more careful than the last guy. He followed me and didn't attack until we were in the twisty stair up to street level. He was firing up the stairs and I heard something mechanical click right before he shot, so I was bending forward and looking back. The cable tore overhead and tangled in the handrail above me and I was standing in desert sand before the next one arrived.
Right, then.
The first one was clearly not just coincidence. They were watching the Tube stations.
I jumped back into
London
, on the other side of the
Thames
, to South Kensington Station. It was only one stop away from Knightsbridge but I didn't get on the train. I wandered between platforms–there are three different lines at that station–keeping my eye on everyone else. It was busy but when I stayed on the
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