BACKTRACKER by Milo Fowler (books to read in your 30s TXT) 📗

away,gazing up the street between the rows of dark tenements. Three blocks toBroadway. Five more to the Hancock Building.

"I don't like the sound of that." Concern was etchedinto every line of the old man's face as he stared at Muldoon. "You can'tget caught! How can I pound that into your head?"

Muldoon understood—as well as he could, being a stranger in thisworld. But it didn't matter to him. Keeping himself safe was the farthest thingfrom his mind right now.

"I can take care of myself."

He started toward the street, reaching into his coat mid-strideand drawing his gun from its holster. Checking the chambers. Empty. He cursed,remembering the mandroid that had chased him down and grabbed hold of thatcab's tail fender. The pulse rounds had done their job on it, blowing the headclean off. But that had taken every round he had. He should have thought topick up a few more before crossing over. But when had there been achance?

"I can't let you go, Harry. You don't realize how dangerousthis is."

Muldoon shook him off. "Go back inside if you want. I'll meetup with you here. Then we'll go to that Underworld you were talking about.Sounds like a real hoot." He flashed the old man a grin.

Horton cursed, shaking his head. "You don't—"

"I do. Believe me. I've been living off the grid foryears." He nodded, holding the old man's gaze. "I know how to beinvisible." He backed away. "Give me an hour or two."

Cyrus Horton looked miserable, like he'd shrunk two sizes inmoments. "You won't let me help you? I could, you know. Whatever insanitythis is, you know I could help you through it."

Muldoon nodded. "I'll be back."

He took off running.

Horton sniffed, watching him go until he disappeared into shadows.Frozen in the moonlight, he cursed at length, shaking his head.

"Hope you know what you're getting yourself into," hemuttered.

He drew his coat tighter against the chill. Then he set offthrough the darkness, following the former BackTracker at a distance.

Muldoon was cognizant of only one thing: how eerie HellTown lookedin this reality. He'd used the word before, but eerie had never met itsfull potential until now. Granted, this part of the city was never known forits night life—in his own world, it was home sweet home to the Link-addictedzombies and other undesirables—but at least there was some sense that lifeexisted behind the concrete walls and dark windows. Not so much here.

The eeriness didn't relax its prickly hold on the back of his neckas he approached Broadway. In the NewCityhe knew, this street never slept, and The Pearl had a lot to do with it. Buthere, the lanes were vacant, silent, slick from a recent rain. Puddles wereleft undisturbed, pristine mirrors reflecting the moon's ambient glow. No cabsfull of well-dressed party-goers splashedthrough every other second. No life at all.

It was like the Plague had returned, come and gone, leaving thisversion of NewCity in its wake, nothing more than a cemetery of asphalt,concrete, and steel.

Yet Muldoon knew he wasn't alone. The old man had warned him abouta curfew. And while there remained a single patrol car to be seen, Muldoon hadspotted surveillance cameras on the streetlamps, mounted to command the bestpossible angles at all times.

Big Brother is watching me. He almost stepped outinto the light to smile up at one. But he thought better of it.

The Pit. That's what they called The Pearl in thisworld. Insightful. From the looks of the exterior, the place had seen betterdays—a generation ago. It didn't look any different from HellTown, really. Thesame unimaginative geometric concrete, steel, and mirrored glass. It wasn'tgetting a whole lot of business, by all appearances. It's alternate, The Pearl,was busier than ever this time of night, thanks to its loyal SYN patrons,engineered to party the whole night away. Maybe SYNCorp didn't exist on thisside. That might explain it. Or, more likely, it was a result of theBlackshirts' mandatory curfew.

Governor Reeves sounded like a real killjoy. Not at all like theman Muldoon had seen at The Pearl, downing glasses of wine and playingpeacemaker between Gavin Lennox and the unholy brothers, Kuan and Yeng.

The kid...

Muldoon's pace slowed. What had become of the boy? Would Muldoonever know? Not if he remained here, in this weird mirror image of NewCity.

Then it struck him: He knew that boy, knew who he was, somehow—

He shook his head and forged ahead, keeping to the shadows andlooking out for surveillance lenses. He had one purpose now, and it was hissingular focus: finding Irena. Nothing else mattered, in this world or any other.

The Hancock Building looked pretty much the same as its alternate.Rising high above its peers and completely dark, except for the lobby. Was itillegal here to work late at the office? He remembered the last night he'dallowed his work to keep him too long, and he'd returned home to find Irenaalready asleep on the couch. The last time he'd ever seen her.

Muldoon crossed the empty street with both hands thrust into hiscoat pockets, the brim of his hat pulled low against the moonlight. The neareststreetlamp stood half a block away, and the bulb was out. He glanced over hisshoulder. Not a cruiser in sight. Maybe the Blackshirts hit the sack aftermidnight and left their cameras to do all the dirty work for them.

He trotted up the front steps toward the glass doors of theHancock Building's lobby, knowing as soon as he stepped into the light thathe'd probably tripped a silent alarm of some sort. But he had no choice. Thiswas the only way.

He couldn't involve Horton. He had to do this alone. But notentirely. One other person could help him—if she was still here, after all theyears that had passed.

And she was no person at all.

Muldoon tried the door. Locked. But it got the attention of theplacid security guard. Muldoon smiled pleasantly. The guard was a synthetic,identical to the security models in his own reality. So they did have SYNshere.

The guard strode away from his desk, hand dropping to rest on thegun holstered at his side. Crisp grey uniform clinging to solid,well-engineered muscle underneath. Eyes