Page 2 of Ghosts of the Dead

Caspian shifts too close to the edge, and loose gravel cascades over the ledge. The sniper flinches.

“Shit,” Mars breathes out.

“Shit,” I echo.

The sniper’s rifle cracks. The bullet whips past Autumn’s shoulder and shatters a streetlamp behind her. She stumbles and spins around with wide eyes, but she doesn’t see the shooter.

Another shot. Another miss.

Mars fires a beat later, but the sniper ducks out of view. “Tell me that bastard missed her.”

“He missed, but barely. The bullet got close and spooked her. He’s a crap shot, though. Amateur at best.” I shove the binoculars into my pack and rise to my feet, refusing to wait for a third attempt on her life. Mars’s response is lost to me when I move toward the fire escape. “I’m going down. Keep eyes on her.”

“You think she’ll run?” Caspian asks.

“She already is.” I hit the fire escape hard. My boots clang against metal steps two at a time. The noise will draw rotters, but that’s a risk I’m going to take. There’s no time for stealth now. A rotter’s moan rises from the distance. Two more join the chorus. I draw my knife and keep moving.

I land in the alley right as the sniper bursts through a side door. He’s quick, but I’m quicker. I slam him against the brick wall. He yelps, and I tear off his mask.

He’s barely more than a kid, not much younger than me. Maybe twenty. Pale skin and hands that won’t stop shaking. Either strung out or starving. Probably both. His eyes jitter too much to focus.

“Who sent you?” I demand.

He laughs, a hollow, desperate sound. “No one sends anyone anymore. We’re all just rats chasing scraps.”

Wrong answer. I slam him harder against the wall. “Try again.”

He spits blood onto the cracked pavement, narrowly missing my boots. “She’s not who you think. She’s worse than the rotters. I don’t know what she did, but she pissed off someone enough to set a pretty nice bounty for her head.”

I tighten my grip, ready to extract more answers, when groans echo from multiple directions. The alley mouth, above me, behind me. The crack of bones as something drags itself closer.

Rotters.

“Of course.” I shove him away. “You assholes always attract trouble.”

He stumbles backward and panic floods his features. “She’s with you?”

Three rotters stagger into view. One drags a mangled leg. Another’s head hangs sideways, barely attached and flopping around while sniffing the air.

The sniper turns to bolt. He trips over a garbage can and crashes to the ground screaming, but I don’t pause to help. I’m not here to save him. He tried to put a bullet in Autumn. Twice. I came for answers, and that means I need her alive. The fate of scavengers who interfere is me making the world a little better with their absence.

The sniper’s screams cut off. I keep moving, scanning every street and shattered doorway, searching for that distinctive streak of purple hair.

Who the hell even has purple hair in a world like this?

2

AUTUMN

The bullet misses me by inches.

It slams into the lamp post behind me with a crack that explodes through my skull like a physical blow. I drop low on instinct, my body reacting before my mind catches up. My chest locks tight, my lungs freeze in place, and my heartbeat punches through my ribs. No time to find the shooter. I run.

My hip clips the trunk of a rusted car when I whip around the corner. Pain blooms sharp and hot, but it’s nothing compared to what a bullet would do. I don’t slow down.

This part of the city is a labyrinth with narrow alleys, broken buildings, and shattered concrete creating a maze of decay, but I know how to move through the chaos. I know how to vanish. I’ve been slipping through the shadows since the day they took her from me. All I need to do is keep moving, keep running, and I won’t have to stop and fight. I can outlast whatever’s hunting me.

Another shot rings out behind me, wide again. They’re either sloppy or inexperienced. Doesn’t matter which. Onelucky hit is all it takes. Still, the persistence tells me something important: I’m getting closer to finding her.

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