Breathless City

  Breathless City

  Renée des Lauriers

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thank you for reading!

  Free Book

  About the Author

  Also by Renée des Lauriers

  For Maya

  1

  Stella took her pill and felt it activate—sliding down her trachea like a rough gasp of air and working its way into her lungs. There, for the next ten hours, the little pill would coordinate oxygen exchange. The pressure in her nose and mouth numbed, shutting down, cutting off her need to breathe completely. Protecting her from the toxins in the air. Stella always took pills when others were watching—especially here, underground in the tunnels.

  She was breathless.

  Her contact was late, which was odd. For weeks, he’d left signal flags outside the city entrance requesting a meeting. Now there was less than three full hours of daylight left. She’d spent too much time underground already.

  Her fingers trembled, and she clenched her hands into fists to stop the shaking. Don't show these people any weakness.

  She’d wait fifteen minutes more. If she rushed and didn’t run into trouble, it would be enough time.

  A maintenance crew worker stopped short at the sight of Stella. Or, rather, at the sight of the interlocking blades tattooed on her pale skin. The ink design on her upper arm marked her as an outsider. Her albino coloring exposed her as the Ghost of Metzger’s gang. The worker turned and rushed back the way he came.

  The tunnels of the underground city were constructed from a hasty mismatch of available metals. The walls were painted in the nicer areas of the city. Here, they were not. Portions of the wall were marred with gashes in the five-line pattern of human fingernails. There were more scratches and stains close to the stairs leading to the outside world—close to where they kept the dialysis machines.

  The squelch of sneakers against linoleum announced the nurse. He swept a hand across his forehead, wiping away sweat, and gave Stella a jerky nod, gesturing for her to follow.

  Even in the private transfusion room, shut off from prying eyes, the nurse spoke in low tones, as if afraid someone would overhear their conversation via the narrow door gap. He was paranoid as always. It wasn’t as if people could hear them through concrete and steel walls.

  “I pulled together what I could,” the nurse muttered. “We had an outbreak. Medical supplies are under new restrictions.”

  Laid out on the table were a drawstring pouch and a factory issued bottle. Starting with the pouch, Stella removed a handful of pills, inspecting them. Close up, the mechanisms on the outer shell resembled spinning clock gears. Real pills were far heavier than their small size suggested. Stella checked the number stamp. These were tens and twenty-fours. Which was all right. She’d prefer to see some forty-eights or more, but she hadn’t come for oxygen pills.

  She picked up the bottle and heard the clink of the sole antibiotic tablet rattle around inside.

  Stella closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. “Don’t bother to signal me if you’re just going to waste my time.”

  Medical supplies were sometimes available in abandoned stores and the odd overlooked cabinet—but they were getting rarer. There was no guarantee she’d find antibiotics. At any rate, she wouldn’t have much time to search until tomorrow. If Natalia could last that long.

  Returning the pills, Stella shook her head. She’d loop around to the partially flooded CVS on her way back. That one still had products boxed away in the back. If it was unoccupied. Or if she could create enough of a distraction to get in.

  “You haven’t been around in a month. It’s not like I can keep this on hand for you,” the nurse hissed. “That antibiotic isn’t scavenge quality. It came straight from the factory. One of them will make a difference. I can get more in a few days.”

  One antibiotic tablet, even straight from the factory, wasn’t enough. Stella headed back out the door.

  “Wait, where are you going?” the nurse asked.

  Stella ignored him. She was halfway to the first turn in the tunnel when the nurse caught up.

  “I can offer you more,” he said in a low voice.

  “Medical supplies?”

  “Better.” He held up a plain brass key.

  “What’s that?” Stella snapped.

  “The only key that matters.”

  The key to shipments?

  Supplies weren’t accessible to just anyone. The path was locked at multiple stop points. With that key, she’d have direct access to the food, medicine and pills. Straight from the factory.

  Problem was, the locks were also heavily guarded, deep in the center of the city. Much farther than was safe for her. Did he think she was stupid enough to go into the heart of the underground?

  Was it even real? Advance guards and administrators had sets. It would be difficult for the nurse to get his hands on one, but not impossible. The only clue to authenticity was his tight grip on the metal.

  “That doesn’t help me now.” She was wasting time talking to him.

  “I can pull in favors. I’ll have more tomorrow.”

  One capsule of antibiotics. It wasn’t enough. But it was all she could guarantee for Natalia. For now.

  “Fine.” Stella returned to the transfusion room to make the trade.

  She pulled up her sleeve. The crook of her elbow was riddled with tiny marks and scars surrounding raised and darkened veins.

  The nurse eased a cannula needle into the soft skin of her arm. Her blood flowed through a tube, dripping steadily into an IV bag.

  Nausea pooled in the pit of her stomach. Her heart thudded loud enough for her to hear it in her ear. Stella dug her fingernails into the table to keep herself grounded as the room spun. It was less than ten percent of her blood volume, well within the acceptable range of blood loss. Her body should have been able to handle it.

  Within her, the oxygen pill ticked faster, picking up the strain. I can’t keep doing this.

  Needle withdrawn, Stella lowered her sleeve. Trade complete.

  Stella followed the trail of light streaks reflected from overhead bulbs. She was surrounded by the machines. The medical tunnels were impossible to avoid, as most of them were stationed near the exit of the city. Each was filled with patients on dialysis machines.

  Bloodlines carried brown-tinged and blackened blood from the veins of strapped down patients. Pulsing mechanically, blood was pulled into machines that filtered out the toxins. The persistent beeping was too much like a robotic heartbeat.

  Stella avoided eye contact with the patients. Some were just weakened, while others had skin necrosis or amputations. Rows of patients filled both sides of the tunnel. All of that sickness and disease seemed to close in on her. Time seemed to stretch out in front of her as she counted out the steps that would take her home.

  Be invisible.

  Most people recognized the tattoo of Xander Metzger’s gang and avoided her. Even here, in the hospital wing, the medical staff scuttling about would step out of her way. But Stella heard whispers of the Ghost.

  People who messed with her tended to disappear.

  The underground wasn’t safe for anyone. Even healthy people couldn’t be trusted. Shielded by rumors, Stella was left alone.

  But these patient
s worried her—people with nothing to lose. She could feel the weight of their stares, oily with sickness. These people who breathed too much of the open air. Most likely, they would die. There was a one in seven chance that dialysis would improve their condition. Some would even make a full recovery.

  But some neither recovered nor died. The worst happened to the ones who survived.

  Stella walked until she was clear of those stares, through the maze of doors and intersecting tunnels. All the pathways in the city merged into the tunnel where Stella stood now. When the first survivors of the lethal airborne toxins sealed themselves off from the open air, this was where they began to dig. To build. Stella climbed the long spiral staircase of bent iron that led out of the underground city.

  At the roof of the staircase, Stella unfastened the dirt-blackened hatch and pulled herself up into the dead world.

  She stepped into sand, catching the metal lid before it slammed behind her. Covering her mouth with her hand, Stella sagged against the lid in relief. She exhaled quietly, feeling tension drain out of her.

  Why did she feel that the underground was dangerous? She was out in the open—where the monsters lived. What was more, it was getting late. She was running out of time.

  The sun was dull orange and low on the dunes, which were barren except for the patches of black weeds. Stella assessed the landscape and found it empty. She was in luck, for now. She bent to pick up the dark hooded jacket she’d stashed by the entrance. It shielded her from the worst of the heat.

  Stella set out, following the sound of the low roar and crash of ocean waves. After a quick walk over a high dune, she would arrive at the shoreline. Following the ocean would guide her to her gang’s current resting place. She was sweating already. It was significantly cooler down in the tunnels.

  It was only when she reached the top of the sandy crest that she noticed the body laid spread-eagle on the shoreline. Stella approached it. She could tell from a distance that its clothes were not yet pillaged. Often, she saw bodies down in the corridors before someone got to carting them away, or even partly submerged here or there in the sand. But a body washed up might be a body that had been tossed into the underground’s supply channel—a body that someone wanted to hide. Might still have pills or valuables on it.

  Walking closer, Stella realized it had been a man, a tall man. He was built like an ox, with thick muscles coiled under weather-beaten skin. By habit, Stella peered at the man’s face, her eyes tracing the stubble on his sturdy jaw. She told herself that she was cautious, that she wasn’t looking at his face in particular. One hand inched toward her dagger as she stepped forward and knelt onto the sand. He was handsome. Fascinated by his features, she almost missed the slight flutter under his eyelid.

  She hesitated. While there was always the chance that he was infected, there was an equal chance that he was another victim of the city. By his size, she could see him as part of the guards, though he wore a jumpsuit and not a military uniform. He wouldn’t be the first guard to end up exiled. Blamed for an outbreak, or for failing to keep their employer alive. The man was covered in sand and alone under the sun’s glare. If she left him, he would be helpless. Certainly dead in two and a half hours.

  Keeping her dagger at the ready, Stella reached out and tapped the man on his arm. She kept her gaze trained on his eyes, which might burst open, all yellow and frenzied with contamination.

  His eyes, when they blinked open, were gray and intelligent. He stared at Stella, his focus sharpening. His cheeks flushed red, which Stella found intriguing. Getting redder, the man tilted his face away.

  With one fingernail, Stella guided his chin back to her. Smiling at his shy expression, she asked him, “Why are you here?”

  “Sorry. I thought I was dead.”

  “I thought the same.”

  He was half-drenched and half-buried. Tanned dark—a color that she would never be able to acquire even if she hadn’t coated herself in sunscreen.

  “But it appears,” the man continued, “that I am alive. I wonder why that is.”

  “How did you end up here?”

  “I’m not entirely sure.” He eased himself upright and cupped the back of his head in one large hand. “I think I was attacked. The last thing I remember was…” But the man’s voice broke off and he frowned.

  Something about him was different. Stella couldn’t put her finger on exactly what, just that it was a good difference.

  “Sounds like you could use some help,” she said. “Would you like to come with me?”

  The man dipped his head, averting his eyes, with a trace of a smile set on his lips.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “Though, I do need to get back.”

  “We can sort that out once you’re safe,” Stella reassured him. He was probably confused. There was no going back to the underground city for him. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Gavin. Gavin Owings. And you?”

  “I’m Stella Ballare. Can you walk? It’s getting late.”

  Stella grasped his hand, helping him up. His hand was warm, and deeply calloused—though guards did not typically do hard labor. Gavin got to his feet, staggering and clutching at his temple. If he had a head injury, that explained why he seemed a bit disoriented. When he straightened, his full height was striking. She’d seen few others so tall—it revealed a privileged childhood with steady access to nutrition. Not even Xander was this tall.

  Gavin trailed Stella across the sand until it gave way to dusty earth. Save for a handful of abandoned buildings, they could see all the way to the ruins of Manhattan. Some spires and towers of the old city still stood tall. Others had fallen against one another. Left unattended for years, the frameworks had rotted away and collapsed.

  Gavin kept looking up, gazing at the sun through the haze of clouds and toxins hanging in the air. They all seemed to do that. Some of the escapees from the underground city were still entranced by the open air for weeks or even months after getting out. Not that Stella blamed them. Fluorescent light was a pale imitation of the brightness and heat of the sun.

  He wasn’t cowering though. Some city dwellers were used to the tight security of hallways. It was a good thing he wasn’t. When people hunched over, afraid of all the open space, it slowed things down. There wasn’t time for that. Instead, Gavin gazed at the ruined houses and gutted buildings, unafraid. He seemed curious.

  “I’ve actually never been out in open air before. I had imagined it rather differently.” He scanned the horizon. “Where are all the people?”

  For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but desolation, from the rundown cars, swallowed by sand, to the tilted electrical lines.

  “Scattered about. Scavenging. Everyone else is underground in the city.” As she spoke, Stella noticed how loud their words sounded. Apart from Gavin’s voice, she could hear nothing but the light rustle of wind pushing sand over sand. Not the scurry of rats or faint bird calls. Something was wrong.

  “Why don’t you live in the city?” he asked.

  Stella grabbed Gavin’s wrist, halting the conversation. She pulled him behind a dusty Nissan Sentra and he crouched awkwardly, mimicking her. Stella peered across the landscape, looking for the source of whatever it was that was making things too quiet.

  “Who is that?” Gavin asked her.

  Following his line of sight, she spotted it. She tensed, doubling her grip on Gavin’s arm. Just twenty feet away, the creature was turned away from them. Half-naked with tell-tale bulging veins. There was still time. If they backed away quietly, it might not notice them.

  “Is he all right?” Gavin murmured, propping himself up with one hand against the car frame, straining the rusted metal.

  A series of whistles blasted out. Headlights flashed as the Sentra’s alarms went off. Gavin jumped back, but it was too late. He just had to lean against a working solar-powered model.

  Stella gritted her teeth as the matted blonde head of the creature turned in their direction. It
s nostrils flared, breathing in the toxins of the open air—breathing in their scent. Eyes that were solid yellow, from the cornea across the pupils, locked on to her.

  Stella knew what Xander would say. Lose the new guy and hide. He’s going to get you killed.

  No. She didn’t want to find what was left of him on her next trading trip. She couldn’t keep standing aside and watching people die. Not when she could do something about it.

  “Run,” Stella ordered, pointing Gavin toward the shore.

  Gavin raced from the car, but he stopped short when he saw that Stella wasn’t following. He hesitated, bracing himself as if he was about to rush back and try to help. Stella stopped him with one fierce glance.

  She eased away from the car as the creature leaped on the hood, crushing out the alarm mechanism with a last flat chirp. Stella took a step back, angling herself away, as the brute growled from deep in the back of its throat.

  For one second, there was no movement as the creature smiled wide, revealing its rotting teeth. Then it bellowed, a sound that was all too human and all too close.

  Stella tensed, watching with the intensity of a snake charmer. She focused, anticipating its movements, grasping her dagger in a hammer grip.

  Then it leaped. With limbs stretched out, Stella could see all the scars running down its body—scars from encounters with its own kind, and from the strain of the airborne contagions. Snakelike, Stella tossed her dagger.

  The blade struck neatly into the junction of the neck and shoulder. An incapacitating blow for any normal living thing. Too bad the creature couldn’t process pain. Dark blood oozed around the wound, unheeded. The damaged, zombie-like brain registered little besides hunger. The creature landed a few feet away, not slowed down at all.