Seven people. Three male, four females, one of whom was young. A child, long-haired. That would be Bonesaw.

  “There?” I pointed at the location. It was barely visible from where we stood; two ships had been slammed against one another, nose to nose, and they formed a precarious arch over the ship in question.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve found them, I think. I think Siberian’s there. There’s a lot of people, anyways. Seven.”

  “How much damage do you think you can do?”

  “Not enough.”

  We paused.

  “Cherish should be alerting them,” Tattletale spoke. “I’m surprised they aren’t mounting a counterattack.”

  “Maybe they can’t? If they split up, Siberian won’t be able to protect everyone,” I said.

  “Well, getting closer is a pretty bad idea.”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “We hang back, we follow them, we strike if we spot an opportunity. Between Bentley and Atlas, we can keep at a distance.”

  I shook my head. “Bentley’s tired, and I don’t know how long Atlas is going to be able to keep flying.”

  “They’ll manage.”

  “You sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  Pretty sure. So she wasn’t positive.

  “There’s another possibility,” she ventured.

  “Do tell.”

  “Cherish might not be saying anything because she wants us to attack the others.”

  “Or,” I pointed out, “The Nine are giving us that impression because they want us to think that so they can turn the tables.”

  “That line of thinking leads to madness.”

  “Call me crazy, but I’d rather not gamble.”

  “So? What’s the plan?”

  “We wait? At least a little while.”

  “Sure.” She gave the bulldog a pat on the head. “Give Bentley a chance to rest. You can feed Atlas.”

  “Pretty narrow window of time,” I added. “Bitch’s effects on the dogs don’t last that long. Figure twenty minutes, and we took at least fifteen to get here…”

  “But she gave them more juice than usual. I’d say roughly ten minutes before he’s too small to carry me,” Tattletale said.

  “Ten minutes.”

  We settled into a position behind cover, and I began drawing bugs to me to feed Atlas. I wasn’t positive about his diet, and Grue had said that he’d given Atlas a more human digestive system, which left me uncertain. That said, Atlas was made of bugs, I figured he required the nutrients they provided on a sheer logical level, like how humans would generally get most of the nutrients they needed by eating other humans, if they had to. That, and I’d pointed out to the rest of the group how bugs were something we could eat as humans, so his digestive tract could probably manage them.

  It was also the easiest thing to provide.

  “You have eyes on them?”

  “Minimal. My interpretation via the swarm’s eyes and ears is still garbage, as always. And I didn’t want to have so many around them that they get suspicious.”

  “Can’t make out what they’re saying?”

  I shook my head. Still, I could tell that they were talking.

  Seven of them. One of the men was garbed in smooth body armor that covered everything. Mannequin. There was another man who could have been Siberian’s real self or Hookwolf. Long haired, shirtless. My bugs traced the edges of knives at one man’s belt: he was the quietest, and was pacing without cease, sitting down, then pacing again. Jack.

  Three women, none of whom were Siberian if I accounted for the presence of clothing and the texture of their skin. Rounding out the group was a little girl with long hair. One of the women was doing most of the talking. Would that be Shatterbird or Cherish? Who was the third? Had the Nine gotten their hands on Noelle?

  It unsettled me that Jack wasn’t taking more of a lead in the conversation. Maybe Cherish was just dishing out the dirt?

  “The dynamic seems wrong,” I said. “Something’s off. Not sure if Siberian’s present or not, Bonesaw’s quiet and Jack is mute.”

  “Maybe Cherish took control?” Tattletale ventured.

  It was a scary thought. The Nine were strong, and one of the only reasons they weren’t a bigger problem was that they were their own worst enemies. Most of our victories to date had been because we exploited their character weaknesses. Under a leader…

  “No. Bonesaw took measures.”

  “Maybe Cherish found a way around it?”

  I didn’t have a response for that. Minutes passed, and the Nine lapsed into silence. Some were resting. Or pretending to rest.

  “They’re napping or something,” I said.

  “Could be baiting you.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “And Bentley’s getting too small to help me make an exit.”

  “Atlas can manage with just me,” I told her.

  “Going alone? No. Grue would kill me. It’s senseless. I can call Coil, so we can get a squad of soldiers in place to try and take someone out. Or maybe we get the Director to bomb the area.”

  “Because that’s worked so well this far.”

  Tattletale smiled a little. “What would you rather do? Going in is suicide. You’d be opening yourself up to Cherish’s power.”

  “She’s resting.”

  “You think.”

  “Not sure which person she is, but her breathing is really regular, has been for a while.”

  “And she could be faking it, a hundred percent aware that you’re thinking what you’re thinking.”

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “Why are you so fixated on this? On going in?”

  “I want to end this.”

  “That’s not your real reason.”

  “And I feel like something’s wrong. The details don’t jibe.”

  “That’s a less than stellar reason to put yourself at that kind of risk.”

  “There’s a chance Siberian isn’t here, or isn’t in a state to defend her allies. But… I can’t bring myself to attack.”

  “This is a shitty time to have an attack of conscience.”

  “You sound like Jack. He tried to push me to kill while I thought he was Grue.”

  “You’ll have to explain how all that happened at a later date. Jack’s good at fucking with people’s heads. It could still be a trap.”

  “It could.”

  “But?”

  “I’ve got this feeling in my gut, like I had when I was around Jack and Bonesaw, and I wish I’d trusted it then. I don’t want to doubt it now.”

  “A gut feeling?”

  I nodded, once.

  She sighed. “What can I do?”

  “Get out of here. I don’t want to hurt you if I fall under Cherish’s control, which is supposed to be pretty short-lived. In case she plans to make it more long-term, maybe call the PRT director and arrange a firebomb if I don’t report back?”

  Tattletale made a face. “This is dumb.”

  “I’ve done dumb things. I somehow don’t feel like this is one of them.”

  “Go, then. Call me as soon as it’s safe.”

  I nodded.

  She headed out of the graveyard with Bentley. I waited a few minutes, until she was out of my power’s range.

  Atlas and I crossed the gap to the ship. I waited for the hit of Cherish’s power, but it didn’t come.

  My bugs sensed more of Bonesaw’s traps—areas heavy with fog, or where vials had been thrown, placed or dropped. I was glad there wasn’t any of the extermination smoke. I set foot on the tilted deck and began slowly making my way into the ship. My soft soled costumed feet were quiet, barely audible to myself.

  I drew my gun, readying myself to fire the second I was in range. If Cherish was setting up the Nine for me, I was pretty sure I could hit one and get away before trouble arose. It was a feeble thought—even Jack, one of their most vulnerable members, hadn’t fallen to gunfire. Still, it was reassuring.

  More traps forced me to make slower progress through the labyrinthine ship’s interior. It was a while before I could stop at the outside of the door at the lowest point of the ship.

  I heard sobbing.

  I stepped through the doorway and took in the room’s interior.

  The floor sloped one way. Half of the room was metal flooring covered in sand, the lowest half was submerged.

  Three men, three women and a girl. The man with knives in his belt stood, then began the ritual pacing once again. His feet were raw where the rusted metal deck had cut at them. The others sat and stood in various points around the hull.

  I withdrew my phone and called Tattletale.

  “That was fast.”

  “It’s not the Nine. Decoys.”

  I stared at them. The disguises had been rushed but thorough. Jack and Bonesaw had clearly changed clothes with the people in question, and Bonesaw had whipped up something approximating Mannequin’s armor for one of the men.

  “Call Coil, get medics here. It’s Bonesaw’s work, so he might need to call on some expert surgeons to undo whatever she did. I’ll use my bugs to mark out the traps that Bonesaw set up inside.”

  “On it.” She hung up.

  Paralysis, compulsive movements. Puppets. Decoys. Had this been Jack’s attempt to make me betray my morals? Setting up decoys with the idea that I’d attack first and check later? If I’d gone with my first impulse and tried to kill them, I’d have seven civilian deaths on my hands.

  “Help is on the way, guys. I’m sorry about this.”

  “Thank you,” the twenty-something woman I’d guessed to be Cherish spoke. The others were mute.

  I saw drag marks in the sand, leading to the water. Who had that been?

  The knife was the last thing I spotted. It had been slammed into the metal hull of the boat. I stepped over the chain and collar that had probably been attached to Cherish. I pulled the knife free of the wall and used my bugs to catch the note before it fluttered to the floor.

  We concede our loss to you, Brockton Bay. As per my agreement with Miss Amelia, we’ll be leaving your fascinating city. It was fun.

  Don’t worry about Cherish. She’s sleeping somewhere at the bottom of the bay. Bonesaw was kind enough to crank up her receptive range toward negative emotions and remove her filters. The girl will personally experience every awful feeling Brockton Bay’s inhabitants do—and with the benefit of Alan’s tech, she’ll get to do it for a very, very, very long time.

  A departure marked not with a bang, but a whimper. I’m sure you understand.

  Yours truly,

  Jack.

  Interlude 14

  “Lift!” Sierra grunted.

  The tightness in her back was reminder enough to use her legs to rise to a standing position. Her hands were blistered and every knuckle was scraped or bruised. They were carrying a door, torn from its hinges; the peeling paint, the worn wood, and the weight of their burden made it less than comfortable to hold.

  She held one end of the door. Jay was at the opposite end, his back to the man who was draped over it. She wanted to ask Jay to hold the other end; she doubted looking down at the figure as he carried the makeshift stretcher would even bother him.

  But she didn’t ask. She couldn’t spare the breath. They’d been working so long already, it was easier to forge ahead than to stop for any reason.

  Still, her silence meant she was faced with the corpse of the man who had once lived here. Once upon a time, he’d had parents, had a first day at school, had made friends, even had a crush on someone. He had probably worked. He’d had things he loved about life, no doubt, and if he was living here, he probably had more than enough things about life that he’d hated. Whoever he’d been, he was another one of Mannequin’s victims now. Not quite so disturbing as the ones killed by Burnscar. He didn’t have a wallet on him, so he was a John Doe for now.

  When they’d started working yesterday, that sort of thinking had made her want to cry. Now she felt numb. She could have thought about something else, but a part of her wanted to pay John Doe his due respect. If nothing else, he deserved to be looked at as a human being rather than another body.

  She bent down to set the door on the ground. Jay took hold of the man by the shoulders, she lifted by the pants legs, and they moved him three feet to the right. John Doe was set down on the concrete floor. He joined twenty-nine other bodies, now arranged in two rows of fifteen people. Too many were fellow John and Jane Does.

  A blister had popped on her hand as she’d carried the door. It smarted, but her focus was on the man. Forty or so, but the yellow of his skin pointed to liver problems. He could be as young as thirty, prematurely aged by alcoholism; it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen enough drunks around the city to be blind to the signs.

  She felt like she should say something, but the words didn’t come to her. Had he been a mean-spirited lecher of a drunk? Someone who’d worked hard at whatever job he could find to support his family, then drank his worries away with his buddies after a shift? A lonely man without anyone to care for him?

  She considered a simple ‘sorry’, not necessarily because she felt guilty. She was speaking more for the fact that she couldn’t do more for him, and apologizing on behalf of the random, senseless events that had taken his life.

  “Next?” Jay asked.

  She looked at him. He was tired, but she didn’t see any signs of the same emotional drain she was experiencing herself. He’d been a gang member in the ABB, had preyed on others, maybe even killing. This job didn’t faze him in the slightest. Behind his shaggy hair, his narrow eyes were cold, uncaring. He could have been carrying groceries for all he seemed to care.

  It creeped her out.

  “No,” she said. “I’ve hit my limit. Can you find someone else to move the last two bodies from the factory to here?”

  “Okay.”

  She stared at the bodies. Hopefully they could arrange something early in the morning. Maybe if she put together a group and sent them downtown to verbally request help? It was only one of a growing number of issues she was having to solve. She sighed. “I’m going to go see how things are inside.”

  “Okay.”

  She watched as he left to rejoin Yan and Sugita, the other two ex-ABB members. He must have said something to them, because Yan turned to look at Sierra. The look was intense. It wasn’t jealousy from the Chinese-American girl. It was something else. As creepy as Jay was, his girlfriend’s stare scared Sierra more.

  Exhausted and unnerved, Sierra headed back to Skitter’s headquarters. She double-checked that nobody was following before entering the storm drain. It was pitch black inside. Humid. She walked with fingertips tracing the right-hand wall. When that wall ended, she kept walking. It was disorienting, uncomfortable, walking without a guide in darkness so absolute she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  She felt the wall again, and she kept her hand on it as she rounded the next corner. There was a wet patch where some small amounts of water were trickling down from the street above… two more paces, then a left hand turn. She fumbled around briefly to find the opening.

  That was the hardest part. The rest was easy—finding the doorway, entering the cellar, then heading upstairs to the main floor. She was glad to see light, to let go of that fear that she’d miss the gap and find herself wandering the storm drains and getting lost, unable to find a way back to the surface or the beach. She wondered if Skitter had felt the same way.

  She nearly tripped over a small child as she made her way into the kitchen. Charlotte was there, and she was busy emptying the cupboards. Everything edible was on the counter or on the floor, neatly arranged. Sierra estimated roughly twenty children were on the ground floor.

  “There’s more than there used to be.”

  “O’Daly clan.”

  Sierra frowned. “They need to take care of their own kids.”

  “They’re kind of preoccupied. They were hit harder than anyone else by the attack. I think only six of the twenty who were with us are left.”

  “I know. But they still need to take care of their kids.”

  “Give them one more day to mourn?” Charlotte asked.

  “It’s your call. You’re the one babysitting in the meantime.”

  “I’m trying,” Charlotte said. “But they’re switching between playing and being pretty normal kids to crying because their parents are… you know.”

  Dead.

  “Yeah,” Sierra confirmed.

  Charlotte had taken off her mask and was using it to tie her hair back. She straightened it and tied it over her forehead again. “Isn’t the city supposed to handle this? There should be something like foster care, or a special evacuation plan for orphaned kids.”

  “I don’t think the city knows. It’s not just the kids. We’ve got thirty dead bodies and it’s not exactly cool out, and there aren’t any ambulances or anything showing up to handle it. We just spent the entire afternoon moving them to a new spot with Jay and two locals.

  We were talking about burning them in a mass grave, but I’m worried that’s against the law. And since half of them don’t have ID, we might ruin any chance of their families identifying them.”

  “Not easy.”

  “No,” Sierra admitted. “How’s the rationing?”

  “It’s less like she went shopping and more like she wanted to stock this place like it was a miniature grocery store. A little bit of everything. I’m trying to organize it by expiry date so we can prioritize eating and serving the food that’s going bad now, in case she never comes back and the food starts to get low.”

  “I know it’s a bit late, but there’s a lot of us who’ve been working hard, cleaning up the mess from the attacks…” Sierra hedged.

  “You want dinner?”

  Sierra pressed her hands together in a pleading gesture.

  “Maybe soup? I figure we need to eat these vegetables, there’s stock, and if we water it down so we can split it up more…” Charlotte trailed off. “I never really cooked at home. I helped my parents cook, but that’s not the same thing.”

  “It works. Prepare some rice from the supplies, since we have more than enough of that. Bulk it out. We have a lot of mouths to feed.”