PART ONE | URBAN DECAY-1
PART ONE | URBAN DECAY
Each of us, I think, had to understand it on our own terms, the totality of the desolation, the speed at which the old world had fallen away. Each of us, I think, had something of an epiphany looking down at it.
For me, it was seeing the helicopter’s shadow slink wraith-like over the hulk-jammed freeways and overgrown downtown intersections, realizing that shadow was the only thing—the only human thing—moving in any direction. For Sam it may have been the aircraft carrier—the USS Nimitz, Roman had said—run aground between Pike Street Market and the big Ferris wheel (and presumably straight into the State Route 99 tunnel). Leastwise that’s what she was looking at as she gasped audibly and the helicopter swung north by north-east, over what would have been Belltown, toward the Space Needle.
“You gotta see this,” said Roman, his voice sounding generic, condensed, tinny over the headsets. “Anyone here ever seen an eagle’s nest? In the wild, I mean?”
Lazaro hmphed. “I’ve scaled a 200-foot Douglas fir and touched one. Does that count?”
Nigel sneered—you could actually hear it, even from the front. “Ya, mon. But only in your dreams.”
Roman nodded at Lazaro. “Yeah? Was it big?” He sounded jocular, condescending. “How big was it, you think?”
“I don’t know. About four feet,” said Lazaro. He seemed annoyed—even hurt. “What’s it matter?”
“I was just wondering how it compared to, say, that, at five o’clock.”
We all saw it at once as the helicopter leaned and I was pressed against Sam: a nest the size of one of those above-ground pools—the kind someone like Lazaro might have had before the Flashback—built up around the Needle’s radio tower and comprised of what appeared to be mud and fallen timber.
“Jesus, it’s everywhere,” whispered Sam, her face and chesnut-brown hair—which smelled of honeysuckle and gunpowder—reflected in the glass. “They—they’re blue, teal. Like robins’ eggs.” She shook her head pensively, meditatively. “I wouldn’t have thought that.”
“Where’s momma bird?” said Lazaro.
“That’s a good question,” muttered Roman. He made a complete circuit of the Needle before leaving its orbit completely and heading back in the direction we’d come. “Nor are we sticking around to find out.” He voice became suddenly focused. “Okay. I’m going to fly low between the buildings—because you can bet we’re being watched. So, don’t freak out. The idea is to shield our location from prying eyes for as long as possible—or at least until the chopper’s up and everyone is clear. Got it?”
Check. Downtown Seattle was not a safe place, especially in the business district, and not just because there were pterodactyls roosting in the skyscrapers. For one, it bordered on territory controlled by the Skidders, a ruthless gang which operated out of Doc Maynard’s Public House and Underground Tour in Pioneer Square. It also shared a border with New Beijing and a group called the Gang of Four. Neither, Roman had assured us, were to be trifled with, and both were known to make frequent excursions into the no-man’s land of the business district. Throw in roving packs of velociraptors, which were also territorial, or the occasional tyrannosaurid, or even an herbivore with the Flashback in its eyes, and you had a situation which needed to be gotten into and gotten out of quickly.
And quietly.
“Just stay in range,” I said, checking the switch of my walkie-talkie, making certain it was on. “Or it’ll be a shitshow all over again.”
It was a cheap remark—no one had been closer to Chives than Roman—and one I regretted immediately. “No,” he said, and crossed himself. “It won’t. Trust me. Anything bigger than an alley cat—you’re going to know it. We’ll get you inside, I promise.”
“It’s not getting inside I’m worried about. It’s getting out with what we came for.”
He looked at me with those damned earnest eyes—something I would have preferred he didn’t do, especially while thundering between skyscrapers—and smiled. “We’ll do that, too. Now lock and load, Jamie. All of you. We’re almost there.”
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