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

thestreet but stopped, his bare feet planted as he looked back at her. "TheBlackshirts will have been notified by now."

He was right. She turned to join him. As they left the alley, shepulled the hood and veil back into place, hiding her features again. Cadetucked his hands into his sleeves, across his middle, as they made their wayalong the sidewalk. To any casual observer, they were two followers ofthe Way: a holy man and a mourning woman. Both with the telltale scars behindtheir left ears. The kind that would never heal completely. But that was partof their beliefs. A Wayist wanted the lost tosee the scar and know it was possible to live without the Link. It was possibleto live as the humans of old.

Few of the ghouls they passed paid them any attention. Most ofthese youth were flying high on narcotics, running wild in packs, hoodsshrouding pale faces painted black around the eyes and mouth, rubber-soledshoes slapping across the pavement as they charged, frenzied, straight for ThePit. It was that time of night, when the loneliness of reality set in and thehunger for companionship grew in equal measure. Even if they spent the nightplugged-in, they would do it among other warm bodies, flesh and blood, and theywould find comfort in that. They weren't zombies—not yet. For now, they were stillin control of when and where they Linked up.

Cade and the woman in black kept their eyes to themselves, headsdowncast as they took a side street into HellTown's tenement district, blockafter block of towering concrete buildings with square windows black under themoonlight. Here and there, a square of white looked out of place. It meant thehumans inside were awake, eating a meal, conversing, perhaps even making love.Human activities. Maybe they were followers ofthe Way.

Tenement 3166 rose up before them, and Cade stepped forward tohold the broken door open for his companion. She nodded to him as she enteredand made her way to the stairwell. She mounted the flights, one after another, in theflickering fluorescent light. Cade followed, seeming to glide upward, his barefeet hardly making contact. Without a wordspoken between them, they reached the eighthfloor and stepped out into the vacant hallway, quietly making their way to unit806.

The woman glanced up the hall; Cade looked back over his shoulder.No one had followed them. She palmed the sensor grate, and it glowed betweenher long, slender fingers. The door jerked in place, then slid to the side witha halting willingness to comply.

"Lamp on," she said, and an overhead tube glowed tolife, growing in its jittery intensity.

The only source of light in the flat, it illuminated a room withspare comforts. A torn black faux-leather couch. A chipped table with anoutdated computer console. A single stool. The bare minimum.

The door slid shut and locked automatically behind Cade. He tookhis seat on the floor just inside, folding his legs beneath the robe, sittingerect without the use of the door to support his back. With a quiet reverence,he withdrew the blade from his sleeve and laid it flat on the floor before him.Then he closed his eyes and began a subdued breathing exercise.

The woman did not seem to notice him. She entered the kitchen assoon as there was enough light to see by. She kicked off her black heeled shoesand removed her hood and veil. She went to the sink and leaned heavily on thecountertop.

"They will come here, Irena," Cade said.

Her shoulders sank. "I know."

Cade sat still, breathing in through his nose, out through hispale lips, slightly parted. When he spoke, his voice was calm, thick with aEurasian accent. He spoke only the truth.

"We should not remain here long."

She nodded, staring down into the sink. It was dry, empty. Likeher. There were no tears left, despite the sorrow that shook through her, lostsomewhere deep inside.

"I'll get what we need," she said.

She collected herself, inhaling a quick breath. Then she moved with purpose. Not rushed, despite Cade's words.The hall closet held the satchel she would need for the computer. A laptopit had been called in the years before the Link. As if anyone would wantsomething so heavy sitting on their lap. The bag would also hold the clothingshe'd pack away, in case she needed it later.

Cade already carried all that he owned: his robe, his blade. Hewas a man of perfect simplicity.

Where will we go?

Fellow believers might be willing to take them in—but it would bewrong to put them in danger. Things had suddenly become too complicated. Itwould be more than any mere follower of the Way could handle, and too much toask.

Instead, she and Cade would have to go into hiding, deeper thanthis HellTown tenement could provide.

Cloaked in a long coat that hid her figure, and with the satchelslung onto her back, she stepped toward the door and stopped. Her gaze restedon the steel blade in front of her companion. Would she need a weapon wherethey were going?

Sensing her proximity, Cade opened his eyes and looked back at herwithout expression.

"I'm ready." She adjusted the strap of the satchel andclung to it.

He nodded once. "They have arrived."

She wasn't surprised, but her abdomen tightened and her pulsequickened, even as she forced herself to remain calm. Cade sprang to his feetand slipped his weapon back into his sleeve. He tucked his hands into his robeas he stepped away from the door, hisface a stoic mask. She passed him and tapped thevidscreen on the wall.

Five of them stood outside. A police sergeant inuniform and four young, well-armed Blackshirts, shades of grey in the eye ofthe camera lens mounted above the doorframe.

"You know him," Cade said.

"Armstrong." She stared at the lone cop on the screen.Was this a good thing? Why had he brought four of them with him if hedidn't mean any harm?

"The one your husband trusted."

She dropped her gaze. "People change," she whispered.

God knows I have.

The knock on the door was forceful, authoritative. She ducked outfrom under the satchel strap, unbuttoned the coat and pulled it off.

"What are you doing?" Cade watched her.

"It shouldn't look like we're running." She wrapped