The First City (The Dominion Trilogy Book 3) Page 9

  The soldier beside him draws a pistol and fires a round through the back of Weller’s knee.

  The entire group staggers back as Weller screams, falling to the ground. He cradles his leg, spitting choked curses through gritted teeth as the man who shot him steps closer, aiming at his skull.

  “This man is a natural leader,” Hiraku says over Weller’s cries of pain. “I can see the respect you have for him and I admire it. If you will not help me, he will die. And then another of you, and another, until there are none left.”

  Hiraku turns and moves to the edge of the pier, gazing out across the water to where the huge ship is moored. He holds the shell out over the drop and begins to tip his hand sideways.

  Lee grits his teeth, looking at the soldier holding the gun to Weller’s head.

  The shell begins to slide from Hiraku’s palm.

  The soldier pushes the gun barrel hard into Weller’s temple, pinning his skull to the ground.

  Tears leak from the corners of Lee’s eyes and he remembers how Ray looked as he shoved him toward the door, telling him to run. He sees his father just before Reaper’s knife went through his chin and into his brain.

  The shell begins to drop from Hiraku’s palm.

  Lee moves past the men before him, muscles working of their own volition. “I can do it!” he yells, stepping free of the crowd.

  Hiraku closes his hand over the shell and turns, motioning to the soldier standing over Weller to desist. The leader approaches him and Lee feels himself wanting to shrink back into the crowd, to become another anonymous face. So what if they’re all going to die? Anything is better than having this man’s eyes on him, their darkness prodding and piercing while everyone behind him curses his name.

  “You can help me?” Hiraku says.

  “Don’t, Lee!” Weller groans. The dock foreman shakes his head, sweat running freely down his face as he grasps his wounded knee. “Don’t, son.”

  “Look at me,” Hiraku says, and Lee does. “If you help me you have my word that no one else will die.”

  Lee swallows but there is no saliva in his mouth. Several jeers and yells echoing Weller’s pleas filter through the crowd. He closes his eyes for a long moment and opens them. “I’ll help you. Just don’t hurt anyone else.”

  Lee blinks in surprise as Hiraku bows shortly to him before straightening again. “We have struck an accord. What is your name?”

  “Lee Asher.”

  “Thank you, Lee Asher.” Hiraku looks past him, raising his voice so the rest of the masses can hear. “My men have formed a barricade around a dozen blocks of the city. Everyone will be assigned to several apartment buildings within this circle. You will remain there until further notice. Food will be distributed accordingly. Anyone caught in the streets without an assignment will be executed.” To the man who shot Weller he says, “Shirou, get him medical treatment, either our own physicians or one of theirs.”

  Lee watches as the ring of soldiers begins herding the huge group of prisoners away from the pier. Thousands of eyes mark him, disdain and loathing so thick in their gazes he has to look away. But the worst is Weller. As he’s helped to his feet by a soldier, he spits on the ground at Lee’s boots.

  Lee tries to say something to him but he is already gone, lost in the mass of men treading up the closest street, dejection hanging over their number like a storm cloud. Lee begins to follow them but Hiraku grasps his shoulder.

  “No. You come with me.”

  13

  The munitions factory looms four stories above them, its full glass front doing almost nothing to break the impression of bleakness it exudes.

  The vehicle carrying them slows to a stop and Lee braces his hand on the back of the seat where Hiraku rides. The man named Shirou drives and two other armed men sit in the back with Lee, gun barrels not pointing directly at him but not pointing away either.

  They climb out and immediately Lee understands why Hiraku asked for someone with fabrication skills.

  The southwestern wall of the factory yawns wide near the roof, part of its overhang gone as well. He can only imagine what the tons of concrete have done to the machines inside.

  “Walk,” one soldier says and he feels the almost familiar prod of a gun barrel in his back. They move to the factory’s side entrance and step out of the misting day and into the shaded and warmer confines. The building smells of oil, hot brass, and scorched air. Half of the overhead lights are off, and the several that are on flicker, blinking the towering machines in and out of darkness. In one of the flashes Lee spots an enormous chunk of cement and steel beside the closest brass conveyor, which is smashed into a U shape on the floor. Beyond that, the pneumatic assembly mounted on the side of the machine is a twisted mass of pipes and rods. Air hisses steadily from a severed hose on the wall and somewhere in the rear of the building a generator or air compressor hums.

  “Well?”

  Lee is so entranced by the damage, his mind already assessing and manipulating the reconstruction on its own accord, he startles at Hiraku’s voice. The man stands only a foot to his right, gazing at the broken equipment.

  Lee sighs. “It’s a mess. The conveyor is destroyed. It’ll need all new rollers and pins, bearings, belt, chains. And the pneumatic system has to be rebuilt.”

  “So?”

  “So, so what?”

  “Can you fix it?”

  Lee glances at the other man and walks forward, stepping around pieces of wreckage, his shoes crunching glass. The thought of fleeing enters and exits his mind. They would surely catch him and maybe they wouldn’t be so forgiving this time. Besides, no matter what the other men of the city think, he has to try and please Hiraku if they’re all to survive. He sees Connor entering the bunker just before it explodes, hears the gunshots from Ray’s apartment and quickly files the memories away for later when he is alone and can break down and mourn for them. Right now he has to do what he intended.

  “Yes, but it will take time.”

  “How much?”

  Lee circles the machine slowly, taking in every shattered part, every battered panel that will need replacing. When he circumvents its bulk he sees Hiraku has removed his heavy jacket. He wears a T-shirt that stretches over his heavily muscled torso, but the sight of his crossed arms causes Lee to stare. They are covered in wide swaths of puckered flesh. The scars are upraised and have a pinkish hue in the oscillating light. It looks as if his arms have been held inside a blast furnace.

  Lee pries his gaze back to the machine. “At least two weeks.”

  Hiraku walks forward and touches a curved length of broken pipe. “Ten days.”

  “I can’t do it in ten days.”

  “You will have all the equipment and manpower you require.”

  “Even so it will take longer. I’ll have to machine half of the pieces from scratch. Then the whole assembly will have to be calibrated, which I don’t know how to do.”

  “But you can fix it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Lee’s eyes stray to the scars again and he weighs his words before uttering them. “You’re low on ammo.”

  Hiraku doesn’t look at him. Instead he motions to Shirou and the other soldiers. “Do an inventory of lead and powder.” The men obey without question; only Shirou hesitates causing Hiraku to nod before he moves away into the immense space of the building.

  When Lee can no longer hear their footfalls Hiraku says, “You’re correct. We are low on ammunition, but don’t believe that you could rally the men here and try to overcome us. We have plenty of bullets for each of you.”

  “Then why do you need me to fix this?”

  Hiraku pauses, finally turning to face him and holds up an arm. “Keloid scarring. Caused by gamma radiation. Nuclear meltdown to be exact. They itch sometimes, even after twenty-seven years.” He drops his arm, touching a particularly fibrous scar. “I worked at a nuclear plant as a young man in China after moving there from my homeland of Japan. The
re was an accident, an explosion, and one of the reactors melted down. I was tasked with clearing wreckage from a hallway that wasn’t supposed to be highly contaminated. While a coworker and I were lifting a shelf that had fallen over, part of the ceiling gave way. My friend was killed instantly and the shelving pinned me to the floor. In the effort to free myself my protective suit tore, exposing my arms. Needless to say there was more radiation in the area than we were told initially.”

  Hiraku falls silent, lost in thought, and Lee waits nearly a minute before saying, “I apologize, but I don’t see the connection to the ammo.”

  The other man smiles sadly. “The radiation made me sick, of course. But it also had an unanticipated effect, specifically on my Y chromosomes. The doctor explained to me that this mutation had been recorded before in X-ray technicians and others who were exposed to certain levels of radiation. These men had a higher percentage of female children due to the damage the radiation caused to the Y chromosomes. He told me in my case the chance was close to ninety percent.”

  Lee frowns. “So you think you can father female children?”

  “It was explained to me this way before the Dearth.”

  “I was told the scientists who were working on a solution had experimented on men’s chromosomes.”

  “Yes?”

  “Obviously it didn’t work. Why do you think—”

  “Because this happened for a reason!” Hiraku yells, holding out his arms.

  The loudness of his voice startles Lee and he takes an involuntary step back. Anger ripples across the other man’s face before gradually receding.

  “Okay,” Lee says after a moment. “But why are you here? Why come all this way?”

  Hiraku seems to compose himself, lowering his arms to his sides. “In my own country the government was very efficient when they realized what was happening. They ordered every woman and female child to be housed in an enormous facility along the East China Sea. From what I understand, the United States attempted something similar but the rebellion was more pronounced here. In China we already had a problem with too few women, but the general public obeyed mostly without question.” Hiraku grimaces, bending the pipe before him into a gentle curve. “The tsunami came with little warning. It was the strongest earthquake China had ever seen and the resulting wave was over one hundred fifty feet high when it hit land.”

  “God,” Lee whispers in spite of himself.

  “God wasn’t there that day. Nor any day since. The facility was destroyed. Every soul inside perished.”

  The air hose continues to hiss quietly and somewhere deep in the building there is a quiet thumping that lasts a moment before fading away.

  “So you came here looking for women,” Lee says finally.

  “Yes.”

  “I can tell you that you’ll be disappointed. There are very, very few left.”

  Hiraku smiles and there is genuine warmth behind it. If Lee hadn’t watched this man give the order to maim Gibson, he might have felt an inclination to like him. “Unless you know where to look.”

  Some of the air leaves Lee’s lungs and for a long second he’s unable to speak. “What do you mean?”

  “Nearly a year ago we met a man during our searching, an American who was dying. We took him in, and though the sickness he had was too far along to save him, he was grateful for the comfort we provided. He told me of a place where there were still women left. This is why the men follow me. Hope, Lee Asher. They hope for a future for their sons, of which we have nearly fifty on board who are younger than you. They are aware of my chromosomal defect, which is now a blessing. With my seed, females may be born again, and future generations may thrive. But I know the women will not be won without a fight. Thus the ammunition.”

  Lee feels as if he’s falling. The floor is no longer beneath his feet. His head swims and he has to bite down on the inside of his mouth to bring the room back to focus. Hiraku stares at him in the strange way he has, calculating but not unkind.

  “What is it?” Hiraku asks.

  “I . . .” Lee’s tongue feels swollen, alien against his teeth. The choice before him rises like a mountain he’s hurtling toward. “I know where you’re talking about. The women are all gone.”

  Hiraku’s face darkens. “What do you mean, gone?”

  “They escaped more than eight months ago with the help of some outsiders.”

  “Impossible. It’s too well defended.”

  “That’s what everyone thought, but it’s true. They’re gone.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I . . . I grew up there. My father was a guard for one of the women.”

  Hiraku’s eyes narrow and his jaw works as if he’s chewing on something. “I do not believe you.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  “Enough.”

  “I’m telling you—”

  “Enough!” The word reverberates throughout the building and comes back to them in a ghostly echo. Hiraku’s hands are clenched into fists and the muscles in his scarred arms bulge. The older man closes eyes that are aflame with emotion and draws in a deep breath before releasing it. “I will believe what you say when I see it for myself. We have come too far and killed too many to give up now simply on the word of a stranger. It is my responsibility to see this through, and it is yours to fix this machine.”

  Footsteps approach and Shirou appears from behind a tall stack of wooden crates, the other soldiers following several seconds later.

  “Are you okay?” Shirou asks, and Hiraku nods.

  “Finishing up. Franklin, you will stay with Lee. He will give you a list of equipment and supplies he needs. At the end of the day, escort him to the home of his choice within the secured area.” Hiraku gives Lee one last look before spinning on his heel and exiting with the other two men. Franklin is a bear of a man wearing a graying beard that reaches down to his navel. He motions to Lee who turns to the ruined machine and begins to evaluate it once again. But his concentration continues to slip away, his thoughts returning to the hint of emotion in Hiraku’s eyes just before he left the building.

  If Lee hadn’t known better, he would have mistaken it for fear.

  14

  Zoey holds her arm out the window of the rusted car, scooping the air that rushes past and letting it slide through her fingers.

  The sun sits directly overhead, changing every shrub, stand of grass, and sage from dead brown to bronze. She gazes out over the prairie to her left, looking past the unending plains to a series of rolling hills so far away they’re only low stains against the horizon. On the opposite side of the car a canyon disappears and reemerges again and again as the road winds through the occasional stand of pines. She breathes in their smell whenever they pass. The air is cool enough to numb her fingers but for now she can’t get herself to roll up the window. After nearly three days of walking and sleeping on the ground beneath rock overhangs or in animal burrows, the tattered seat she sits in is heavenly, and the air rushing past reminds her of the wind in the trees outside Ian’s home.

  Her home.

  Zoey’s brow furrows and she finally brings her arm inside. Her efforts to not think about the group have failed over and over since she left. She’s sure that the longest she’s gone without one of their faces, especially Eli’s, appearing in her mind is no more than several minutes. She wonders if Sherell will be able to help Newton escape the prison of silence he’s been locked inside ever since she’s known him. She hopes Rita and Nell will cherish their reunion for many years to come. She imagines what Chelsea and Merrill’s child will look like and what wonderful parents they’ll be. She recalls every kind word, every sacrifice they made, every laugh they shared.

  A deep-seated ache blooms in her chest, as if the tethers to her heart are slowly breaking the farther she travels from them.

  She squeezes the steering wheel that’s covered in some kind of faded fabric, a design she can’t make out bleached by the sun. Maybe that’s how her memories will bec
ome, pale and discolored by time until they’re gone completely.

  The road curves again, the drop on the right yawning and traveling away as she steers the vehicle, having to strain against the wheel whenever turning to the left. There’s something wrong with the tires, she thinks. She can only guess, but the short grinding and squeal that comes from the driver’s side whenever she turns the wheel doesn’t sound normal.

  “Just hold together a little longer and I’ll let you rest,” she says under her breath.

  She’d found the car at the edge of a town the night before, the house it sat by closest to the main road and therefore the fastest getaway. Peering carefully into the home she’d spied no one in any of the rooms and was about to open the car’s door when she realized she wasn’t alone.

  A man had walked out from the trees near the road and begun passing her by. He was whistling between taking bites out of an apple and she’d frozen, knowing if she moved he would see her. Just when she’d thought he was going to walk past, he stopped, staring at her with wide eyes. There was still enough light to see by and she knew simply by the way he was looking at her that he hadn’t mistaken her for another man. Slowly she’d reached back and placed a hand on her weapon, ready to draw it the moment he tried anything. But he’d continued to chew, gazing at her, finally reaching into the pocket of his jacket. She’d pulled her gun then, already aiming at him as his hand reappeared.

  With a quick toss he’d underhanded something at her and she’d caught it out of instinct.

  It was another apple.

  She’d gazed dumbstruck at the fruit, and when she looked up, the man had tipped his hat toward her, continuing on his way down the road without a glance back, the sound of his whistling trailing after him.

  She’d stood there for longer than she should have, moving the apple around in her hand as if she’d never seen one in her life, before climbing into the car. She had expected silence when turning the key but the vehicle had roared into life, startling her and for several agonizing seconds she fumbled with the levers, trying to get the car into gear, sure that a bullet would blast through the window at any moment, splattering her stupid brain across the seats. But no gunshots came, and she managed to guide the car up and onto the highway and away from the town without seeing another person. It took her nearly five miles before she was able to find the control for the headlights. After driving for an hour or more she pulled onto a side road, driving the car behind a dilapidated shed that barely hid the vehicle from sight. She’d gazed at the apple for a long time then, feeling a smile beginning to pull at her lips that she couldn’t stop before biting into the fruit. It was sweet and juicy, perfectly ripe, and after she’d eaten it her thoughts returned to the whistling stranger, his small kindness warming her more than if she’d been sitting before a roaring fire.