The Inexplicables

The higher they went, the lighter it got, and the louder the noise of busy men grew.

Angeline led in a crouch and the boys mimicked her, staying low and keeping behind cover—going out of their way to hide behind derelict wagons, carts, and outhouses rather than venture into the open. They left the edge of the wall, but not by much. They didn’t need to: The noise came from nearby, close enough that they could still follow the lines of the barrier even though they weren’t right up against it anymore.

They heard loud voices, voices that hadn’t been asked, ordered, and reminded to stay hushed. A conversation took place that was loud enough to understand, quite clearly, at a distance—each word fired off like a gunshot in the misty, ghostly ruins.

“How much longer?”

“Hard to say.”

Two men. They stopped moving within ten yards of the princess and the boys, who immediately ducked and hid.

“The chief was right, so I guess I’ll shut up about it.”

“You’d better. We’ll be ready to get under way within a week, from what Scotty said.”

“If he can be believed.”

A pause, and then Rector heard two streams of liquid splash against the ground.

“Eh … he’s got a better idea than anybody. And it’s his money we’re burning, so if he’s wrong, it’s no skin off our noses.”

“Right. Gotta admit, I hate taking a leak out here. Goddamn gas makes my pecker itch.”

“Sure, it’s the gas what makes it itch.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Make me.”

“Can’t be bothered.”

“That’s up to you, then.”

Trousers were subsequently adjusted, and the idle conversation continued, leaving a trail of sound for Angeline and the boys to track. The two men weren’t moving fast or carefully; they obviously thought they were alone. And much to Rector’s personal relief, they weren’t going far.

“Shit, I hate that hill.”

“Learn to piss closer to where you work.”

“I wanted to stretch my legs. Tired of being cooped up in there.”

“Well, your legs are stretched now, ain’t they? Next time just go for a walk down the street like a civilized lazy man.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Anyway, we’ll have plenty of action soon enough.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“If you weren’t up for a fight, you shouldn’t have signed on.”

“I’m up for it,” he insisted, though he did not come across as fully convinced.

“You heard stories, huh? About the Chinaman from Hell?”

“I heard plenty about him, and I don’t think this’ll be as easy as the chief expects.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“I hope I’m not.”

All the way, Angeline and her companions followed half a block behind, staying close enough to keep their quarry but far enough away that they shouldn’t be noticed or caught. Rector was dying to ask where they were going, and what was going on, and did anybody know those two fellows, and where had the men been cooped up? But there was no talking, only sneaking.

Zeke stumbled and caught himself before he made too much noise. Rector hoisted him by the underarms to keep him upright.

The wall was dark and flat behind them, framing the whole world with its bulk.

Or that’s what Rector assumed, until Angeline smacked each boy’s arm quietly—directing their attention up, and away, and back. She jabbed her finger hard into the air, pointing at something difficult to see and uncertain in shape.

Rector wiped his arm across his visor, still nurturing the ridiculous notion that maybe it’d clear his vision just a little bit. But it didn’t, so he had to squint through the fog.

It took him a few seconds to understand why the princess was all riled up. The air fought him, and the fussy gray atmosphere didn’t give him much to work with. But as he stared, he realized that something about the wall itself wasn’t quite right. Its angles didn’t meet up like they ought to; its authoritative shadow didn’t spread seamlessly along Seattle’s northeastern border.

It hit him like a train: The wall was gone.

Eighteen

The wall was not a small bit broken, but badly so—missing enough of its volume that the vague afternoon sun spilled inside the U-shaped gouge, as if a great jet of water had been turned against the wall, washing away its stones like a gully cut down the side of a mountain.

Zeke put his hand over his mouth, and Rector was willing to bet that inside Houjin’s mask, his trap was hanging open, too.

The chatting men wandered off. Rector thought the plan was to follow them, but Angeline held him back. When there was enough distance between the two parties, she drew their heads close together and spoke so softly she could scarcely be heard.

“Let ’em go. We found our hole in the wall.”

Zeke objected. “But they’re getting away!”

“It doesn’t matter. We know how they got in, and we can guess what they’re up to.”

Zeke frowned. “We can?”

Rector elbowed him in the ribs. “Yeah, we can. The Chinaman from Hell—you know that’s Yaozu. They’re here to hassle him, just like he said they would … just like he, and Harry, and Bishop all said. They’re here to take the Station away from him.”

“But now what?” the Houjin pushed. “If you’re right, what do we do? Do we tell Yaozu? Tell the Doornails?”

Angeline said to Rector, “I expect you’ll go running to your boss with the news, whatever we say. Perhaps he should know, but let’s get our facts straight first. Let’s go see what they’re doing before we run off telling tales.”

Reluctantly, Houjin agreed. “Right now, all we know is that new people are inside.”

The princess corrected him. “Oh, we know more than that. We know they’re up to no good, or else they’d have come inside the same way as everybody else. They picked an out-of-the-way spot where no one’s likely to run across ’em, so they don’t want anyone knowing they’re here. And furthermore, they’re bastards.”

Huey cocked his head. “Bastards?”

“They broke the wall. If they did it on purpose, they don’t give a damn about who gets sick, or how sick they get. They’re poisoning the woods, everything in ’em, and anybody who passes through ’em. And they don’t give a damn.”

“And they let the rotters out,” Zeke noted.

“Did that on purpose, too, I expect.” Angeline rose out of her crouch and urged them to do the same, then led a careful march toward the jagged hole. As the boys followed, she added under her breath, “Probably thought it’d be easier if they only had to fight Yaozu—and not every dead thing in the city, while they’re at it.”

Rector cleared his throat. “Yaozu said we need the rotters.”

As if this was precisely the prompt he’d been waiting for, Houjin immediately blurted out, “He needs them so bad, he’s making them!”

Everyone stopped and turned to stare at him. Angeline asked, “What did you just say?”

“He’s making them,” he repeated, and it sounded like a plea for something. Understanding? Reassurance? “When we first went to the Station,” he said, thrusting a thumb at Rector, “Yaozu’s men locked some other men outside without masks. They were brand-new rotters. You saw it, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t see anybody lock anybody outside,” Rector said carefully.

“You weren’t paying attention, or you weren’t thinking about it. Those men were unarmed, unmasked, and just barely dead. They hadn’t been exposed for more than a few minutes before we got there. They’d been put out—as some kind of punishment, or Yaozu didn’t like them, or whatever reason. It was obvious.”

If Angeline was surprised, she could’ve fooled Rector. “I wouldn’t put it past him. He wants the rotters to keep him company for exactly this reason.” She flapped a hand toward the hole in the wall, and whoever had made it. “They’re guard dogs, is what they are. And when they disappear, that leaves nobody but his hired hands watching the place. A man who’s been bought and paid for can change his mind. Yaozu trusts the rotters more than his own people.”

Zeke had been silent, soaking it all in. But then he said, “I know you don’t like him, Miss Angeline, but the devil you know wouldn’t put a hole in the wall.”

Grudgingly, she replied, “You’re not wrong, but let’s not call him the cavalry yet. Let’s go get ourselves a gander at the breach. It might tell us something.”

After another ten minutes of hushed hiking and breathless silence, their masks were not clogged yet, but clogging. They wouldn’t be comfortable outside for very much longer without taking a break to adjust their filters, and everyone knew it, but this was too big to ignore. And it was urgent enough to investigate despite the creeping peril of equipment that could not keep them safe forever.

For the wall was not merely cracked, and not merely burrowed through.

It was shattered—split in an untidy slash from top to bottom, its rubble scattered in every direction. Blocks had been smashed into houses, lodged in the tops of brittle trees, and tumbled across what was left of the streets.

Zeke whistled quietly, a short note of awe. “What could do something like that?” he asked. “Did … did a ship crash into it, or something?”

Houjin shook his head. “Dynamite. I bet you anything.”

Zeke asked, “But wouldn’t we have heard it?”

They all stood in silence gaping up at the fissure when two thoughts clicked together in Rector’s head. “That storm, a couple of weeks ago. There was thunder, remember? Everybody talked about it, since we don’t ever get none, hardly.”

Angeline pondered this. “We might’ve heard dynamite, and mistook it for weather. Not bad, Red. That’s as good a guess as any.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">