Chapter 29

Despite the rain, the smell of vomit and blood was still strong as Sam's voice made me jump.

“What kind of idiot leaves bio-trace right where a body is?!”

I'd been too busy dry heaving to observe how close she and Rob had gotten as they finished half dragging, half carrying Tim's limp form down the slope. She glowered at me as they set Tim down with a muted splash. “If they ever get the Internal Investigation Branch out here to figure out who killed their Goons—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Rob said dismissively. They were both only a few feet from where I stood, over Paul's body. His corpse. Rob lifted the considerable mass as if it weighed nothing—if I hadn't seen his mods, I would've questioned how he'd managed it in a single heft.

He moved the body away from the slope’s base, pointedly avoiding the remains of my "oh, so sadly" ruined late-night meal. The solid parts bobbed in the crimson muck like marshmallows in hot cocoa. "If we do this right, we'll be long gone before anyone reports these two knuckleheads as missing," he said.

Sam, still standing by Tim's body, didn't seem fazed by Rob's sudden and unassuming physical prowess. By her lack of reaction, I had to surmise she already knew.

“Hey, new guy!” She hissed at me. “You going to stand there all night or actually be useful, unlike earlier?" I stared at her blankly, still in a daze. The world felt washed out. My movements felt sluggish and desynchronized. The familiar signs of being in a state of shock. Sam had grabbed both of Tim's arms as she started the arduous process to follow in Rob's wake. Like miniature trenches, Tim's boots had furrowed two parallel tracks. My eyes were naturally drawn upward, where I took in Tim's pale face and slack jaw. There was a bleeding wound on his temple, and I still hadn’t seen him groan or move a single muscle since they'd dropped him, still as a statue, at the base of the slope. Muddy brown swirled within the red-tinged puddle water as the tracks backfilled. I fought another series of wracking dry heaves as Sam's shoulders drooped under the weight of Tim's upper body.

She glowered in my direction.

“Look." She said sternly. "I'm sure security will label you as just a witness once they find your vomit in a puddle of 'Smiley’s' blood and absolutely won’t just immediately beat you to a bloody pulp." She readjusted her grip. "Maybe...just maybe you might wanna get a move on if you want to see morning, okay, idiot? Grab his legs."

I looked up, my stomach still churning. Her tone and face shifted as she lost what little patience she had left.

"Now!”

It was a bark. A straight order that triggered something in my brain. It wasn't control or manipulation, just raw commanding presence or, uh...something. My hands moved of their own volition as I grabbed both of Tim’s awkwardly angled legs and lifted them to knee height. A grumble exited Sam's mouth. She looked over her shoulder and guided us to where Rob kneeled over Paul's body. He busily searched the pockets of Paul's uniform along the side of the canal edge as we slowly made our way down the berm behind him.

We're closer to the canal than I thought. Huh.

The air grew colder the closer we got toward the canal’s edge, just beyond the cover of the treeline. The squelching shuffle of our feet on the muddy ground was barely audible due to the roaring of the waters. The smell of moisture was strong in the air.

A little side note: Don’t let anyone ever tell you moving dead weight is easy. It’s all dangling limbs and weird weight distribution. I wasn't managing it very well, but Sam seemed to be a pro at it. Something I didn't want to think too hard about as we labored. Secondly, it was fast becoming obvious I might have done more damage than I realized with that stick. Tim felt more like actual DEAD dead weight. I was too overloaded to absorb the situation very well, but a small part of my brain still possessed a funny feeling about it as we set him down.

Though it was nearly impossible to live in the Stacks and never glimpse at least a small part of the extended network of concrete chutes and metal gates which made up the Canals, before today, most of my views of the Canal had been to and from the Port at a distance. Standing here, at its edge, was likely the closest I’d ever gotten to a direct look into the waterway. It was deep. Even in their currently elevated state, there was a good fifteen-foot drop to the water’s edge. I deepened the amplification on my optics.

If I were to fall in, that would make for a hell of a swim.

I glanced down, my brain struggling to make sense of the inky blackness of the waters below. A river of shadows met my gaze and made me dizzy. Unbalanced, I stumbled forward unintentionally as a wave of vertigo overcame me. Just as I tilted forward past the point of no return, Sam jerked us backwards and scolded me harshly. “You idiot! Don’t look straight down in low light; you want to fall in or something?!”

“Lay off him,” Rob said immediately. He'd taken a step toward me before I'd been yanked back. There was a small pile of objects on top of Paul’s motionless chest, serving as an impromptu table, which had scattered as he'd risen. “Owen’s had a rough night, and you’re only making it worse talking to him like that.”

I grunted as I lost my grip on Tim’s muddy boots, fighting not to stumble over the edge. Tim flipped over, going face first into a deep puddle. Sam had let go of his shoulders suddenly. Mud dribbled from her fingers as she held her arms out to her sides, face screwed up in anger.

“HE has?!” she spat out. She was absolutely not happy. Rob and Sam took no heed of Tim’s precarious situation. No bubbles. No signs of breathing, and—I mean, his limbs had certainly seemed oddly lanky and lifeless when I’d grabbed them. I felt the sinking feeling again as my gorge rose.

Sam pointed an accusing finger in my direction. “Need I remind you this idiot just admitted to me he’s the reason I--”

Rob cut her off.

“Yes.” He'd said it in a tone I’d only heard when he had his gun out.

“Firstly?” Rob said, moving on to frisk Tim’s body, his unmoving body. “It’s NOT a contest. I’m well aware of how difficult a night you’ve had.”

Man I hope I don’t dry heave again; dry heaves are the worst.

In the nose, out the mouth.

“And,” Rob continued, as he pulled more items out of pockets, “need I remind you we knew this was the kind of thing we signed on for? Nobody can claim we were blind to the chances of getting chased or caught, but him.” He turned, waving an arm to gesture toward me. “He didn’t sign up for anything. Not until he was thrown into it.”

I stood stock-still. I’d managed to stop gagging, barely, but the queasiness kept up.

“And just what would a corpo rat even need to sign up for, huh?” Sam had an expression of disgust plainly written across her face. “He isn’t one of us. It’s obvious!”

“He’s lost his job. His home.” Rob jabbed a finger toward me to enunciate each point as he listed them, “They even froze his personal accounts and claimed his life savings—”

In the nose, out the mouth.

Sam crossed her arms, still scowling, “Savings? Awwwww, that’s just too bad.” Her voice took on a taunting tone. “What do I care if a little Corpo is having a bad time? Is Baby Corpo not able to live in his penthouse anymore? Not able to afford next week’s hobby? A Gliz chip?”

I felt irritation at not just her words but her tone. A Gliz chip was one of those things I avoided on principle. The stories I'd heard of users getting lost in the fake euphoria were something I didn't need in my life. It's hard enough.

This time when Rob opened his mouth to counter, I beat him to the punch.

I felt oddly calm. “Pod, actually,” I said.

“What?” She snorted. Her eyes snapped onto mine.

“Pod. I didn’t live in the Spire; I lived in a Pod. Stack D, to be exact. I’d appreciate it if you’d stop acting like I’m some rich-kid Corpo Gliz biter.” I stared back at her. “My partner also left when—”

Her eyes narrowed as she began to stalk toward me. I shakily stood my ground and warily eyed her hands. A blade had flashed out from between a knuckle on her right hand, talon-like and wicked in the early morning low light.

So it was Sam who gave Paul his last smile...Rob's stance changed as Sam continued to rant.

“Okay, so you weren’t just some penthouse playboy and instead slummed it in the Stacks with your ‘partner,’” she said. Two of her fingers sassily curled and uncurled. Punched quotations in the air with one hand. “So who cares?! Doesn’t explain why you’re playing dress-up and ruining my run!” She was leaning forward. Within striking distance.

Rob appeared. He had an arm out to block her approach. “Hold up,” he said. Sam was pressed into his bicep, annoyed but held fast as she tried to push harder. He was a stone wall.

She scowled.

“Why do you even care about this piece of gliz-fragged gutter trash?!” she blurted out. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she stared at the side of his, now, impassive face. Her blade-hand hovered dangerously despite Rob's lack of concern.

“McCreed.” Rob said. He turned his head to look into her eyes.

Sam frowned angrily. “What’s that Corpo got to do with anything?!”

Rob calmly stared her down. “McCreed’s Exchanger threw himself under a heavy loader earlier tonight,” he said. “He’s making a move sooner than we’d anticipated."

She glared at him but didn't interrupt.

Rob continued, "Worse, McCreed provided Owen here with a card. A noose for Ruby to pull on. There's a lot to pack in, and little time to explain it all. The end result is we've got not only a bit of a mystery on our hands, but Owen here is now classified as a deviation. He's Aggie's son. I need to get him out. He had zero choice in any of this OR the fact he's one of the few reasons left I decided to stay and put up with this horrid place."

Besides the sound of rain and river, it was quiet in the clearing. Sam had frozen as if slapped, no longer fighting against Rob’s arm as it blocked her. The knuckle talon retracted with a soft snick.

“That,” she said as she took a slow step back. “Does change things.”