“Look, I love the guy. I do. But like a mentor, not a dad,” Rafe said firmly. “I didn’t hate you.”
I remembered the mural and realized it was true: He hadn’t hated me. He’d painted the children holding hands as if they were friends or … family?
“Actually, I kinda liked hearing about you,” he admitted.
“Why didn’t my dad bring you back with him so you could live in the West?”
“I wouldn’t go. From what I hear, you don’t live in the West.”
I didn’t think dealing with ferals was better, but he did have a point.
Before leaving the prison, the four of us gathered in the kitchen and spread out a map of Chicago on the table. Director Spurling’s letter was long gone — lost with the messenger bag and my father’s machete — but I remembered the address. We found her street and the Lincoln Park Zoo on the map. Before he ran away, Cosmo had worked in the farmyard at the zoo. He had friends there who could get a message to his mother in the castle. Best-case scenario, we would get out of Chicago with Cosmo’s mother and the photo of Spurling’s daughter. All of the possible worst-case scenarios, I shoved out of my mind.
Everson drove on the median strip between the rusted cars that lined the highway. Rafe slept in the front seat while Cosmo sat in back with me and told me stories about Chicago. Stories I probably could have done without hearing. Fog was a fragile web hanging in all directions, but eerier still was the silence, which was broken only by the occasional birdcall.
After over an hour, the landscape became more urban. Well, urban in the sense that there were more buildings; however, there were also herds of deer munching lazily on the grass that now blanketed what had once been road. We wove through neighborhoods of three-flats and bungalows that had withstood eighteen years of neglect pretty well. The houses, stores, schools, and churches were still standing, though covered in creepers and ivy.
As we drew closer to downtown, Cosmo got quieter until he was saying nothing at all. We followed the Chicago River north and there it was: an obstacle even more intimidating than Moline’s crushed-car wall. It had begun to rain, but even without sunlight, the fence around the Chicago Loop glinted like a heap of giant, deadly Slinkys — countless lethal coils of razor wire went on for what seemed like miles along the riverbank, cordoning off the skyscrapers. But the stretched coils weren’t the horrifying part. That distinction belonged to the sharp wooden pikes lined along the west bank of the river. Each pole impaled a severed manimal head. Cosmo covered his face with his arms, and I pulled him closer.
“So this king of yours” — Rafe twisted in his seat to look back at us — “he sure has a thing about ferals, huh?”
“The king hates anyone who shows animal,” Cosmo mumbled.
We passed the north end of the kingdom of Chicago, and kept driving until we reached the southern tip of Lincoln Park. Everson parked among the rusting remains of other vehicles, and we got out solemnly. We followed his lead as he gathered rusted bumpers and branches and artfully camouflaged the jeep. I focused hard on the task, but when it was over, there was nothing else to do but stare at the impaled heads lining the park with their milky white eyes and bulging tongues.
Rafe steered me across the weed-choked street. “It’s easier if you don’t think of them as human.” A wince flashed over his face, and he glanced at Cosmo. “No offense.”
I supposed that was progress. At least now he felt bad about hurting a manimal’s feelings.
Now that it was time for us to split up, I felt a wild surge of fear. The fur on the back of Cosmo’s neck and across his shoulders stood up, like a dog with its hackles raised. I wanted to assure him that everything would be fine, but how could I? This was where he grew up. He knew better than any of us what dangers lay ahead.
I hoisted Cosmo into my arms and hugged him tightly. When I put him down, he went to Everson and took his hand. My eyes moved from Cosmo’s winter-blue gaze to Everson, who was scanning the abandoned buildings on this side of the street. What if I never saw either one of them again? Suddenly I wanted to put my arms around Everson too, and would have, even knowing that Rafe would smirk, but Everson seemed distant. His muscles were taut under his gray shirt and his expression impassive as he surveyed our surroundings. He was back in line-guard mode, fatigues and all, which was probably for the best given our circumstances. Still … He glanced over then and caught my worry.
“It’s okay, Lane. You’ll be safe with him.” He tipped his head toward Rafe. “I’ll see you later,” he added, and I nodded. In his voice there was a certainty I clung to.
“That’s it?” Rafe said. “I would’ve gone for the kiss.”
Everson shot him an exasperated look. “Ever consider not talking?”
“Why?” Rafe scoffed. “Hey, Cosmo, try and keep the stiff out of trouble,” he said, which got a big smile from Cosmo. “Ready?” he asked me.
No. But what choice did I have? I forced myself not to look back as we walked away.
We found Webster Avenue easily enough. It was just a block west of the park. However, locating Director Spurling’s house was another matter.
“You’re positive this was the address,” Rafe asked me a second time.
I would have given anything to have been able to say no, but I was certain this was the address Director Spurling had given in her letter. I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice.
The brick house before us had been gutted by fire so recently, the acrid smell of smoke still hung heavy in the air despite the rain.
24
We entered the brick shell of a house, which was missing much of its second floor. The rain streamed in, creating clouds of steam and smoke. Everything around us — the blackened remains of a couch, a charred desk — was one kick away from crumbling into ash. A metal picture frame lay facedown on the floor by the fireplace. I crouched, brushed away the grime, and lifted an edge, using my shirt to protect my fingers in case the metal was still hot. Under the cracked glass, colors bubbled and swirled. The photograph was so heat damaged, I couldn’t even tell if it had been of a person.
Rafe toed through the wreckage as if there was anything left to find. I lifted my face to the cold pinpricks of rain and swallowed the tight feeling in my throat.
All this way. We’d come all this way for nothing.
Rafe drew his gun. All the color had drained from his face. “If this is a coincidence, I’ll lick this place clean.”
Coincidence? What did it matter? I’d failed my dad. I had nothing to offer Spurling in exchange for his life except broken dishes and clumps of melted plastic.
“Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.” His hair was slick and darkened with rain. His soaked shirt stuck to his lean frame. “This place was torched.”
Yeah, I could see that, despite the smoke that burned my eyes and chapped my throat with every breath.
“Lane,” Rafe said as if trying to wake me. “Torched on purpose.” He pressed something cold into my hand. His knife.
My fingers curled around the handle even though I didn’t want to go where his thoughts had carried him. “You said houses in the zone burn down all the time.”
“You think this house — and only this house — just happened to catch fire last night? Even my luck doesn’t suck that bad.”
A cold snap cleared my brain. Chorda had my dad’s messenger bag. And that meant he had Spurling’s letter. I’d refused to give up my heart, so he had found another way to rip it from me — by making sure that I couldn’t save my father.
“I like being the trap setter, not the settee.” With a hand on my elbow, Rafe ushered me toward what was left of the doorway. “I guarantee cat-chow’s around here somewhere, sharpening his claws.”