"I'm glad then." Ukiah finished the second chili dog and the last of the root beer. "I wish I could have been there for him when he was growing up. Being alone nearly destroyed him."
Ru gazed at him for several minutes, as if searching for some truth in his eyes. If he loved Ru because of Atticus's memories, what did Ru feel, with Ukiah having Atticus's face? "What about the future?" Ru broke his silence. "Are you going to be there for him from now on?"
"You said yourself, he doesn't want anything to do with me." Ukiah stood. It was nearly ten. He held out his left arm to Ru as a reminder. "He made himself fairly clear on that point."
"He was scared, and that made him angry." Ru clasped Ukiah's hand. "I could talk to him—make it right between the two of you."
Possibilities unfolded for Ukiah. He could be the brother that Atticus always wanted. He could share with him Magic Boy's memories. They could go to Pendleton together, and meet their many nieces and nephews, giving Atticus all the family he always wanted, had desperately needed as a child. "You could?"
"You'd have to work with me." Ru tightened his hold on Ukiah's hand. "Tell me what you're planning. Keeping us out is not going to build trust, and I think that's all that's needed here. Honesty and trust."
What Ru said felt right; Ukiah couldn't argue that.
"We've set up a trap," he said reluctantly. "For Ice—he's the leader of the Temple of New Reason. I'm the bait."
"Are you insane? After what they've done to you?"
"They want me to translate some . . ." Ukiah paused as he felt a distant jolt of fear and surprise. He turned to gaze across the river, reaching for Atticus and finding a tight knot of Ontongard Gets.
"What is it?"
Distant gunshots thundered and a flash of pain came from Atticus.
"Atticus!" Ukiah cried, and started running.
" Cub! Cub, no!" Rennie's will pushed against him, trying to get him to stop. " Stay; we'll deal with it. We can't risk you falling to Hex too."
Ukiah paused, recognizing the wisdom of what Rennie said, but he could sense Atticus pitching a running fight, heading away from him. Already Atticus was at the edge of what he could sense, and he was the one most connected to Atticus. His brother lacked the bonds Ukiah had with the Pack, from Rennie's blood mouse to months of close acquaintance; the Dogs were reacting to Ukiah, not Atticus. Wait—Ru might know where Atticus was. Ukiah turned back, surprised to see he'd covered a city block and stood at the foot of the bridge. The park bench was empty and the Explorer was gone from its parking space.
"Shit." Ukiah ran a hand through his hair, looking back across the bridge to the sprawling city where Atticus was. He could sense the Pack already across the bridge, racing toward Atticus. His brother was a more experienced fighter than he was, he reminded himself. Still, he started across the bridge at a sprint, dodging pedestrians.
Suddenly one of the joggers slammed into him, jabbing a hypodermic needle into him. Ukiah jerked back, surprised and then panicked as he felt some drug surge through his system, carrying numbness.
Oh, this is bad.
Other joggers veered toward him, and he realized he'd been seeing them for over a half hour, circling him on the paths around the park. The cult had laid their own trap and he was neatly in it.
As his legs folded, the cultists caught hold of him, pressed him up against the railing, and then flipped him over.
The Charles River expanded to fill his vision, and he hit hard, a flash of stunning pain. Then he was flailing in the icy water.
Oh, God, this is so bad.
There was someone in the water with him, snagging something onto his jacket. As he was dragged upward, he considered slipping free of his coat, and then realized that in his current condition, if he did, he'd drown. Moments later they broke the water's surface, and he coughed and sputtered for air.
The boat loomed up beside him, a wall of white, and hands were tugging him upward.
"Well, look what we landed," Ice drawled as Ukiah was dragged aboard. "An angel fish."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Cambridge, Massachusetts
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Atticus ran like a fox before the hounds. The chase went through the quiet treed lawns and stately old brick buildings of MIT's campus, and out onto its busy main street. He was used to dashing through cars and crowds—although usually running aftersomeone rather than from—but the principle was the same. The trick was making eye contact with drivers and other pedestrians and convincing them with a hard stare to keep the hell out of your way.
He'd just made the opposite side of the street when a bullet struck him high in the left shoulder. He stumbled and fell, the window above him shattering as a second bullet missed him. He hit the sidewalk in an explosion of pain that threatened to black him out. A bullet kissed the sidewalk beside his cheek and ricocheted off in a whine. Another tugged at him as it plowed through the leather of his jacket. He rolled and fumbled out his pistol. He hated to use a gun in an urban situation, but he had no choice.
He scrambled to his knees, braced himself, and aimed down on the shooter, who was nearly on top of him. His first bullet took the shooter square in the chest, sprawling the man backward onto the sidewalk with a meaty, lifeless thump. Recoil sent a shock of fresh pain through Atticus. Gritting his teeth, he aimed at the second man. His pistol kicked pain through him as he fired, the first bullet only grazing the man's shoulder. Unlike a normal human, the man—no, creature—didn't even flinch, coming straight at him as if pain and death didn't matter. Atticus squeezed off two more shots, nailing his attacker this time.
His SIG Sauer had a magazine of twelve bullets plus one in the chamber. As he lined up the axe man, he counted the bullets down. Nine. Eight. Seven.
Six bullets left, he thought as he lurched to his feet, ears ringing. Three down, but would they stay down? There were rats forming in the pooling blood from the first, and he sensed the body knitting together heart muscle at stunning speed.
The other two—Parity and the woman—were closing. He could wait and shoot them, but then what? He'd be out of bullets and the first man would be healed. He needed breathing room and more of a plan.
He ran east, along the busy street. Behind him he sensed the first dead man come to life and start after him.
A human Atticus could outrun, even if he was hurt. Wounded, against these creatures so like himself, he could sense the gap between them quickly closing. There was the Jag, though, parked close by; if he could get to it, he'd be home free.
Bullets whined past him, striking storefront windows, marking his trail with fractured flowers of destruction in the safety glass.
He was running past a red-trimmed building when a bullet caught him in the leg. He stumbled out of his full run, and the female Ontongard tackled him through a window. They dropped down a stairwell beyond. Atticus hit worn tile a story and a half below, the female on top of him, a smothering blanket of hate in human form.
They were on a subway station platform, and the handful of people waiting were startled by their sudden, violent appearance. An outbound train had just pulled in, its doors clattering open. From the dark tunnel of the inbound line came the ominous roar of an incoming train.