The City on the Edge
Ten

More movement caught Ronnie's gaze. All down the narrow street, curious heads were poking out of broken and empty windows. Infected bodies ambled from doorways with stiff limbs and vacant, hopeless expressions. They stared at her with dim yellow eyes. Suddenly, Ronnie was acutely aware of how Lorna had felt looking at Fence’s sister in the shop.

She was looking at an unavoidable future of pain and suffering if she stayed.

Ronnie grabbed Lorna’s hand so tightly that she was certain she’d heard the bones creak in protest over her sharp inhale. Lorna didn’t pull away, coming to the same conclusion that Ronnie had- they needed to leave immediately.

“Don’t touch anything,” Lorna whispered. “Keep your mouth closed.”

Ronnie slapped a hand over her mouth and wished she’d worn a jacket. The extra layer of protection would certainly be nice right about now. She’d managed to avoid the virus all her life. The last eighteen years were spent clean and far away from any carriers, save for Liam, who wasn’t showing any physical symptoms yet. Ronnie dreaded the day that the sores would begin to appear.

The infected lurched towards her, mumbling and moaning incoherently. The old man rose to his feet on thin, boney legs that threatened to collapse underneath him. His leveled his sunken gaze at Ronnie and pointed past her. “Leave. We are all dead here.”

She was moving before her mind realized it. She staggered behind Lorna’s dashing pace. Witches weren’t a physically strong race, but Lorna was doing her best to prove that wrong. Her eyes were still on the old man and his words had nestled in her ears, feeding her fear. If she stared long enough, she could almost see herself in the crowd of limping bodies as they poured out from the ramshackle scrap huts.

“Come on!” Lorna heaved, pulling her around a corner.

The sour stench of desperate panic wafting off of Lorna somehow overpowered the rot of Poor Street that hung in the air around them. It was enough to snap Ronnie out of it. Lorna was afraid for her and that was something she never ignored. She forced her legs to move and in a few long strides she was ahead of Lorna, their fingers still entwined together, a link of safe familiarity in such a dangerous environment.

Ronnie traced their path away from the infected, back to the narrow opening they’d come through. She’d rather take her chances on the streets with a horde of guardsmen looking for her than on Poor Street with the Blue Sickness crawling over every surface.

Voices met her ears as she reached the gap between the buildings. She peered through and was greeted by the sight of a dozen white uniforms patrolling the area. Ronnie leaned back against the wall as she realized what it meant.

“They know we’re back here,” she said grimly.

“Well,” Lorna trailed off for a moment, biting her lip. “If we follow this all the way down,” she pointed past Ronnie to the gap to the end of the alley, “we should come out somewhere near Basso’s shop.”

“That’s the opposite direction of home.”

“We can’t go home right now anyway. You know the rule: don’t bring the White Guard to the front door. Malik would throw a fit if we showed up with them on our tail.”

“Basso isn’t going to hide us. It’s too much of a risk. Especially if Sloan is prowling for us too. You saw what he did to Valerie.”

Lorna dropped her hand with a scowl. “You don’t have to remind me that Sloan is a horrible person. Do you have another plan, since mine apparently isn’t any good?”

She didn’t, not really, and Lorna knew it. Ronnie’s pride didn’t want to surrender to the witch but she couldn’t come up with a better course of action. She was sure Basso wouldn’t hide them and she really didn’t want to bring trouble to his door after everything he’d done for them so far.

They certainly couldn’t stay here.

Ronnie heaved a sigh and turned her head to find Lorna watching her with a considering stare. A slim red brow arched up high. “Fine,” she conceded. “We’ll do it your way.”

Lorna smiled, but before she could speak, there was a great clatter of metal on stone. Ronnie whirled around to face the commotion. There were guardsmen at the end of the alley, swords drawn and rifles trained on them. Ronnie straightened up, pushing away from the wall and shielding Lorna with her body.

The muscles in Ronnie’s legs flexed, preparing to sprint away, whichever way, from the guardsmen. “Get ready to run,” Ronnie whispered at Lorna over her shoulder.

One of them stepped forward. The gold cuffs of his white coat were different than the others around him and a sash of fine looking braided silk looped around one shoulder. The man lifted his sword, long and thin, and pointed it at them. The hilt glittered in his hand and Ronnie saw that only four fingers were wrapped around it.

“By order of the White Guard, you are both to remain in place or we will use deadly force,” His voice was strong and commanding, bolstering the guardsmen around him with its authority and confidence.

Before he could make good on his threat, however, the guards parted and shuffled to the side, keeping an unwavering hold on their drawn weapons. Another man came forward, imposing and towering over them. He stood next to the guard who still had his sword pointed at Ronnie and Lorna. Ronnie’s lip curled over a sharp fang as she took him in, from his smooth platinum hair to his shiny boots.

“Well done, lieutenant. You’ve caught a couple of strays.” Sloan’s expression was a mix of disinterest and disgust as he reached out and wiped a gloved finger across the wall nearest him. He rubbed his fingers together, assessing the dirt on the white fabric, before flicking them at her and tucking his hands behind his back.

“I should have guessed I’d find you back here in this squalor. A fitting place for such an animal,” his cold voice cut through all other noise, demanding the attention of every available ear.

He stared at Ronnie through narrow eyes of cut ice as if he expected a response of some kind but she refused to answer. It was dangerous to engage this man. It was dangerous to even be in his presence. He had the ability to turn every word, innocent or not, against the speaker. Ronnie had seen too many supernaturals fall victim to this terrible talent.

Sloan clicked his tongue at her, as if disappointed by her silence. “I have a duty, you see, to protect the sanctity of my people and my home from everything outside of its marble walls.” He let the words and their meaning linger in the alley before continuing. “I will not hesitate to remove every obstacle with extreme prejudice when it refuses to comply.” He tilted his head slightly forward, regarding her with his piercing gaze. “Do you understand?”

Ronnie’s focus was split between Sloan’s commanding presence in front of her and Lorna’s quiet, panicked breaths behind her. Sloan, as if sensing her wavering attention, took a step forward.

“I will only offer this mercy once. Sebastian isn’t here to interfere this time.”

Ronnie had no intention of giving Sloan whatever it was that he wanted. She was certain to suffer in his hands. She slid her foot back an inch, her body leaning with it. The nearly imperceptible movement didn’t go unnoticed by Sloan’s sharp eyes. His lips twisted down at the corners just so.

“Very well.”

He raised a hand and the guardsmen moved in their positions, as if he held them on strings. Ronnie could feel Lorna tense behind her, the witch’s weight shifting and rebalancing, preparing for the chase she knew was coming. Ronnie twisted her body, muscles coiling and pushing, just as Sloan dropped his hand.

Rifles exploded with cracks like sharp thunder. The stone walls cracked. Little clouds of dust and chipped brick burst as the bullets struck. Sheets of metal clanged loudly as they were hit. Stray bullets ricocheted wildly through the air.

Ronnie shoved Lorna forward, away from the guards that were dashing forward with long swords clutched in their hands.

“Run!”

Lorna glanced back at Ronnie as she ran. “We can’t go this way!”

“We don’t have a choice!”

Keeping her arms close to her sides, Ronnie followed Lorna back onto Poor Street. The infected hadn’t retreated into their homes yet, and were startled by Ronnie’s hurried return. She weaved around them, careful not to touch anyone or anything. She caught sight of the old man, still seated in his doorway, still gazing at her sadly as she approached in a rush.

“Get inside!” She yelled at him. “All of you!”

The people here were already dead but a part of her still didn’t want them to know suffering at Sloan’s hand if they got in the way. She turned to look over her shoulder- the guardsmen hadn’t given up pursuit, pushing through the weakened bodies without hesitation.

Of course not. Humans created the Blue Sickness. They couldn’t catch it. Ronnie looked ahead. Witches couldn’t catch it either and for that she was immensely grateful. At least the only threat of a painful death to Lorna was behind them.

Pieces of jagged metal jutted up from the refuse littering the street and one caught Lorna at her ankle. With a surprised cry, she tumbled forward and crashed to the ground. The tang of blood hit Ronnie’s nose before she offered Lorna her hand. She wrapped her slim fingers, now dirty and stained red, around Ronnie’s hand and pulled herself up with a pained grunt.

An angry gash had torn through her pants and into the soft flesh of her leg. Already, blood stained the fabric in a growing swell. Ronnie wanted to clean it and wrap it immediately- Lorna couldn’t catch the virus, but it didn’t mean she was immune to any other infections that crawled along Poor Street. The thundering footsteps closing in on them forced Ronnie to push those thoughts aside.

“Can you run?” she asked, hoping the desperation lacing her quivering words didn’t sound as bad as she thought it did.

Lorna forced a heavy hand around her ankle and with a quick pulse of white-hot magic that left little spots in Ronnie’s vision, she nodded. “It’ll have to do.”

Ignoring the way Lorna winced every time her foot hit the ground, Ronnie led her through the most jumbled and overrun part of Poor Street. She hoped that the White Guard, in their ridiculous uniforms, wouldn’t be able to navigate the crowded street with the same agility. For the most part, she was right. The distance between them and the guardsmen was growing. They might actually get away, Ronnie thought.

However, what the guardsmen lacked in supernatural ability, they made up for in persistence. Despite the distance, the guards never wavered in their pursuit, continuing to shout and fire stray shots in hopes of hitting them.

A low whistle, as if blown through a flute, rang through the air. It sounded deliberate and out of place and it caught Ronnie by surprise. “Did you hear that?” she yelled back to Lorna, glancing over her shoulder briefly.

“What?” came her frantic reply.

Another strange whistle. Pause. Then another, pitched high and quivering and only for her ears, she realized, when again, Lorna didn’t respond to it.

A signal.

“Follow me!”

Ronnie cut to the side suddenly, following the sound and darting through an open doorway. Lorna struggled to turn as quickly on her injury. She protested the sudden change, angrily cursing Ronnie’s name, but still followed close behind. Ronnie ducked beneath the low hanging beam of a partially collapsed roof. It shifted when she pressed her hand to it, ready to fall under the weight it was holding.

“Hurry!” Ronnie held the beam with both hands, supporting it as Lorna painfully crawled under it. She gasped when her ankle bumped the end of it, but she pulled her leg through and scrambled to her feet.

Behind her, guardsmen were squeezing through the narrow doorway, one after another. One of them, a man who looked as young as Ronnie, held his sword out in front of him. His yellow hair was stuck to his forehead in sweaty, clingy strings. For a wild moment, Ronnie contemplated how hot it must be under the folds of his white coat with its shiny buttons, and if the reflective gold trim ever weighed him down.

“By order… of Captain Sloan,” he panted, “you are under-“

Ronnie didn’t let him finish. She kicked at the beam hard, sending it flying forward toward the brazen kid. It hit him with an audible whump and knocked him to the ground. The ceiling groaned above them and sunk low, before tearing open like stones through wet paper. The roof and its contents crashed down between them in a clatter of metal and wood and a thick cloud of dust.

Quick on her feet, Ronnie rushed away from the damage. Lorna was waiting for her with an impressed look on her otherwise pinched expression. The scent of blood still hung around her. Ronnie imagined that she’d probably exacerbated the tear on her ankle. Whatever magic she’d used to get her through the chase had worn off.

“Let’s put some distance between us and them and go home.”

Relief passed over Lorna’s face, like smoothing the wrinkles from fine fabric. “Yes, please.”

She held out an arm and Ronnie ducked under it, crouching low to the ground. When she felt Lorna’s weight settle on her back and her thin arms wound around her neck, she stood. Ronnie reached back and hooked her arms under Lorna’s legs. It was moments like this that she was grateful that Lorna was such a tiny thing.

Now that they weren’t being pursued so closely, it would be easier to find their way out. Cutting through a torn down wall, they exited the hazardous building to an empty street.

A low whistle sang on the breeze, a phantom song calling out. “You can’t hear that?” Ronnie asked again.

She could feel Lorna shifting around to look, her braid smacking her cheek. “Hear what?” When she didn’t answer, “Ronnie? What is it?”

Ronnie cocked her head just so, angling it for the best sound. Her feet seemed to move on their own as she followed the sound with Lorna tightening her hold, anxious about another unknown threat. It was as if the whistle, a single, long note, had some kind of hold on her. A weight of curiosity bubbled in her gut.

“Ronnie? Are you sure this is a good idea?” Uncertainty was heavy in Lorna’s voice.

“I don’t know,” she answered slowly, “but this sound saved us back there. I thought it was coming from that old house but…” she trailed off.

Ronnie shuffled down the empty street, keeping a firm grip on Lorna’s legs, securing her in place in the event of another quick escape. Ronnie understood why Lorna was nervous- the street was barren and dark, no posters of the missing and wanted and no signs of life anywhere, save for the whistle that ghosted through the air.

As the two of them neared the end of the street, another sound, a more familiar, rhythmic sound, filtered through the mysterious tune and cracked its hold on Ronnie’s mind. Muffled thumps and beats, several of them, clustered together.

Heartbeats, Ronnie recognized. Someone was waiting for them.

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