Black Widow
Page 43
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I listened over my ragged breathing, but no one entered the alley, and no one had noticed my slithering into the Dumpster. Even if someone had, I didn’t have the magic or the strength left to fight off an attack or the energy to try to make a break for it.
When I slid into the Dumpster, I landed on—well, I didn’t want to even think about what I landed on. All sorts of foul things moved and squished and slopped around beneath my boots and then my body as I sank down into the muck. Trash bags rustled. Plastic cups splintered. Spoiled food slithered this way and that, shifting under my weight. And a small, sharp squeak sounded that could only have been a rat, angry that I’d plopped my ass right down into the middle of its nest.
But the worst part was the smell.
Sticky soda. Rotten banana peels. Blood and snot and vomit and all the other foul, disgusting things that come out of human bodies. And, yes, even spoiled barbecue from the Pork Pit that had baked for far too long out in the autumn sun. The stench invaded my nose and throat, choking me like the smoke had, and I had to swallow down my bile again.
Using small, quiet movements, I grabbed my duffel bag, unzipped the top, and rooted around until I found one of the tins of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment. I popped off the top and buried my nose in the sweet, vanilla-scented balm. I inhaled deep, deep lungfuls of the soft aroma, trying to get the scent of the garbage out of my nose and mouth. For added measure, I dipped my grimy fingers into the tin and smeared some of the ointment under my nose. It drowned out the worst of the stench.
I also took the time to smear the ointment over all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I could reach on my face, hands, arms, and legs, as well as across my lungs. It wasn’t as good as Jo-Jo’s healing me herself, but she’d infused plenty of her magic into the ointment, and I felt the soft pins-and-needles of her Air power prick at my skin, stitching together and smoothing out the ragged parts of me that they could.
My movements were slower and more awkward than ever before, and it took me a couple of concentrated tries before I managed to put the lid back on the empty tin of ointment, drop it down into my bag, and zip it all up again.
Then I put my duffel bag underneath my head, made myself as comfortable as possible in my bed of garbage, and drifted off to sleep.
17
For once, my slumber was peaceful and free of the dreams and memories that so often plagued me.
But the noises woke me all too soon.
Footsteps slap-slap-slapped back and forth through the alley. Shouts and yells and steady beep-beep-beeps bounced off the brick walls. The rattle-rattle and scrape-scrape-scrape of cars and heavy machinery rumbled at a steady level on the surrounding streets.
I opened my eyes and had to squint against the growing glare of the early-morning sunlight as it slipped in between the buildings and streamed down into the Dumpster, highlighting all of the filth that I was cocooned in. I didn’t know what time it was, probably a little after seven, but the fire department was getting an early start dealing with what remained of the Pork Pit, just like the fire chief had promised Madeline. Then again, I imagined that she had paid him or perhaps someone else even higher up on the food chain more than enough to kick everyone into high gear this morning.
One by one, people started trickling into the alley. The Dumpster was high enough to hide me from sight, although I did have a few tense moments when some giants walked by. They were so tall that they could easily have peered over the side of the container, but they strolled on without even looking in my direction. But I remained as quiet and motionless as possible, not wanting to attract anyone’s eyes or ears with a stray movement or an unfortunate squish of garbage.
More and more snaps, bangs, and rattle-rattles sounded. Even though I burned with curiosity to see what was going on, I didn’t dare rise up and peak over the side of the Dumpster. That was a sure way to be spotted. I’d recovered some of my strength and magic, but I had no doubt that Madeline was still lurking around somewhere, along with a large contingent of cops, all of whom would be more than happy to shoot me on sight.
Eventually, I heard enough noises and snatches of conversation to realize that the firefighters were using a metal saw and some crowbars to cut through the locks on the back door of the building. The banging got louder and louder, until a loud, violent screech sounded, and everyone let out happy cheers of relief and accomplishment.
The door was open.
After that, more and more footsteps sounded, moving back and forth and all around my position in the Dumpster. I held my breath, but once again no one bothered to look inside the container.
Finally, a shout rang out from the back of the restaurant. “We’ve got a body in here!”
“No!” The sharp, thin scream immediately rose up. “No! It can’t be!”
My heart lurched as I recognized Bria’s voice. My baby sister was here, and she thought that the body was mine.
She thought that I was dead.
Of course she was here. She’d probably been here all night, along with Finn and Owen and the rest of our friends. They’d probably watched the flames consume the Pork Pit, their hearts twisting just like mine was right now as they realized that I was trapped inside and that there was nothing they could do to help me. I’d been so focused on surviving the fire and finding a place to hide, as well as confused and exhausted from the smoke inhalation, that I hadn’t thought to let them know that I was okay.
So I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out the burner phone that I’d used to call Owen last night. But I must have been clumsier than I’d thought getting out of the Pork Pit and into the Dumpster because the screen was cracked, and the phone was dead.
Damn it! I silently cursed. My hand curled around the phone, and I wanted nothing more than to smash it against the side of the Dumpster, since it was as useless as the rest of the garbage in here. But I couldn’t do that.
“You have to let me see her!” Bria’s agonized voice rang out through the alley again. “You have to let me in there!”
The scuffle of footsteps sounded, followed by some more shouts.
“Ma’am!” a loud, booming voice called out. “Ma’am! You need to stay back. You can’t be here right now, Detective.”
My heart lurched again. Chance of discovery be damned. I had to see what was going on, and I had to try to let Bria and the others know that I was still alive.
Still keeping my head well below the edge of the container and being as quiet as possible, I crawled over to the opposite side of the Dumpster, the one that was the closest to the back door of the Pork Pit. I looked left and right and up and down until I spotted what I wanted—a small hole that had rusted into the side of the metal, close to one of the corners.
When I slid into the Dumpster, I landed on—well, I didn’t want to even think about what I landed on. All sorts of foul things moved and squished and slopped around beneath my boots and then my body as I sank down into the muck. Trash bags rustled. Plastic cups splintered. Spoiled food slithered this way and that, shifting under my weight. And a small, sharp squeak sounded that could only have been a rat, angry that I’d plopped my ass right down into the middle of its nest.
But the worst part was the smell.
Sticky soda. Rotten banana peels. Blood and snot and vomit and all the other foul, disgusting things that come out of human bodies. And, yes, even spoiled barbecue from the Pork Pit that had baked for far too long out in the autumn sun. The stench invaded my nose and throat, choking me like the smoke had, and I had to swallow down my bile again.
Using small, quiet movements, I grabbed my duffel bag, unzipped the top, and rooted around until I found one of the tins of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment. I popped off the top and buried my nose in the sweet, vanilla-scented balm. I inhaled deep, deep lungfuls of the soft aroma, trying to get the scent of the garbage out of my nose and mouth. For added measure, I dipped my grimy fingers into the tin and smeared some of the ointment under my nose. It drowned out the worst of the stench.
I also took the time to smear the ointment over all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I could reach on my face, hands, arms, and legs, as well as across my lungs. It wasn’t as good as Jo-Jo’s healing me herself, but she’d infused plenty of her magic into the ointment, and I felt the soft pins-and-needles of her Air power prick at my skin, stitching together and smoothing out the ragged parts of me that they could.
My movements were slower and more awkward than ever before, and it took me a couple of concentrated tries before I managed to put the lid back on the empty tin of ointment, drop it down into my bag, and zip it all up again.
Then I put my duffel bag underneath my head, made myself as comfortable as possible in my bed of garbage, and drifted off to sleep.
17
For once, my slumber was peaceful and free of the dreams and memories that so often plagued me.
But the noises woke me all too soon.
Footsteps slap-slap-slapped back and forth through the alley. Shouts and yells and steady beep-beep-beeps bounced off the brick walls. The rattle-rattle and scrape-scrape-scrape of cars and heavy machinery rumbled at a steady level on the surrounding streets.
I opened my eyes and had to squint against the growing glare of the early-morning sunlight as it slipped in between the buildings and streamed down into the Dumpster, highlighting all of the filth that I was cocooned in. I didn’t know what time it was, probably a little after seven, but the fire department was getting an early start dealing with what remained of the Pork Pit, just like the fire chief had promised Madeline. Then again, I imagined that she had paid him or perhaps someone else even higher up on the food chain more than enough to kick everyone into high gear this morning.
One by one, people started trickling into the alley. The Dumpster was high enough to hide me from sight, although I did have a few tense moments when some giants walked by. They were so tall that they could easily have peered over the side of the container, but they strolled on without even looking in my direction. But I remained as quiet and motionless as possible, not wanting to attract anyone’s eyes or ears with a stray movement or an unfortunate squish of garbage.
More and more snaps, bangs, and rattle-rattles sounded. Even though I burned with curiosity to see what was going on, I didn’t dare rise up and peak over the side of the Dumpster. That was a sure way to be spotted. I’d recovered some of my strength and magic, but I had no doubt that Madeline was still lurking around somewhere, along with a large contingent of cops, all of whom would be more than happy to shoot me on sight.
Eventually, I heard enough noises and snatches of conversation to realize that the firefighters were using a metal saw and some crowbars to cut through the locks on the back door of the building. The banging got louder and louder, until a loud, violent screech sounded, and everyone let out happy cheers of relief and accomplishment.
The door was open.
After that, more and more footsteps sounded, moving back and forth and all around my position in the Dumpster. I held my breath, but once again no one bothered to look inside the container.
Finally, a shout rang out from the back of the restaurant. “We’ve got a body in here!”
“No!” The sharp, thin scream immediately rose up. “No! It can’t be!”
My heart lurched as I recognized Bria’s voice. My baby sister was here, and she thought that the body was mine.
She thought that I was dead.
Of course she was here. She’d probably been here all night, along with Finn and Owen and the rest of our friends. They’d probably watched the flames consume the Pork Pit, their hearts twisting just like mine was right now as they realized that I was trapped inside and that there was nothing they could do to help me. I’d been so focused on surviving the fire and finding a place to hide, as well as confused and exhausted from the smoke inhalation, that I hadn’t thought to let them know that I was okay.
So I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out the burner phone that I’d used to call Owen last night. But I must have been clumsier than I’d thought getting out of the Pork Pit and into the Dumpster because the screen was cracked, and the phone was dead.
Damn it! I silently cursed. My hand curled around the phone, and I wanted nothing more than to smash it against the side of the Dumpster, since it was as useless as the rest of the garbage in here. But I couldn’t do that.
“You have to let me see her!” Bria’s agonized voice rang out through the alley again. “You have to let me in there!”
The scuffle of footsteps sounded, followed by some more shouts.
“Ma’am!” a loud, booming voice called out. “Ma’am! You need to stay back. You can’t be here right now, Detective.”
My heart lurched again. Chance of discovery be damned. I had to see what was going on, and I had to try to let Bria and the others know that I was still alive.
Still keeping my head well below the edge of the container and being as quiet as possible, I crawled over to the opposite side of the Dumpster, the one that was the closest to the back door of the Pork Pit. I looked left and right and up and down until I spotted what I wanted—a small hole that had rusted into the side of the metal, close to one of the corners.
