It wasn’t until Nate had passed the guards to follow Shrimp and the others through the door that he noticed the two transparent shields that had been cemented into the pavement and covered the guards from head to toe. There were several openings in the shields—like arrow slits in a castle—and Nate wondered how these guys got hold of military supplies. Bulletproof glass and machine guns were not easily accessible to civilians, even on the black market.
Unlike Kurt’s building, this one had a working elevator, which was a good thing, Nate thought to himself when they all packed themselves in and Shrimp hit the button for eighteen. That would have been a lot of stairs to climb.
“I’m on nineteen,” Shrimp said as the elevator began to climb. “I’m putting y’all in a vacant unit we’ve got on eighteen. You need anything, you come right on up.”
The elevator dinged, and they piled out into a hallway that theoretically should have looked exactly the same as the ones in Kurt’s building. It didn’t. The walls were painted a muted beige with not a stain or scuff mark to be seen. Instead of peeling linoleum flooring, there was plush wall-to-wall carpeting, and light was provided by decorative wall sconces instead of overhead fluorescents. If Nate had been transported here without seeing the neighborhood, he might have thought the building was meant to house mid- to high-level Employees, not Basement-dwellers. He wondered if any of the other buildings in the area were as nicely appointed, but quickly answered his own question. This building was in such good shape because it housed VIPs, and Nate would eat his wig if the rank-and-file Red Death members lived as well.
Shrimp led them to a door at the end of the hall and let them into a pleasant little apartment that again looked nothing like Kurt’s. The layout was the same, but it was furnished and clean, with updated fixtures and an aura of homeyness.
“There’s two bedrooms,” Shrimp said, laying the key on the kitchen counter, “but only one bed in each. I’m guessing if I take the girls upstairs to my place, you boys can work out the sleeping arrangements.” He waggled his brows at Kurt.
Shrimp seemed friendly enough, and Kurt seemed to trust him, but Nate didn’t like the idea of being separated from the girls. He must have been wearing his doubts on his face, because Kurt gave him a pat on the back.
“They’ll be safe with Shrimp,” he said. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to share a bed with Captain Studly, which is what we’ll have to do if the girls stay here.”
“I’m beginning to hate you almost as much as I hate him,” Dante said, jerking his thumb toward Nate.
The lights suddenly went out. Nate thought at first it was only in the apartment, but the curtains over the living room window were open, and when he looked out, he saw nothing but a sea of darkness.
The lights went back on before anyone had a chance to react. There was a moment of tense silence as they all waited for the power to die a second time, but it didn’t.
“Weird,” Shrimp commented. “Not like it’s stormy out or nothing.”
Nate and Nadia shared a look, and he suspected they were wondering the same thing: Had that blackout been some kind of technical glitch? Or was it the power drain of Thea creating a new Replica?
Probably paranoia to think the latter. But that didn’t stop him from thinking it.
“Think we’ll take the stairs to my place,” Shrimp said. “Just in case.” He looked back and forth between Nate and Dante. “Swear to God they’ll be safe with me.”
“And will the boys be safe down here without you?” Nadia asked. Nate knew her well enough to see how she was bristling over the whole idea of needing special protection, but she managed to keep it out of her voice, and Shrimp probably had no idea how irritated she was.
“Maiden’s not into boys,” Shrimp responded. “They’ll be fine down here, and you’ll be fine with me ’cause he wouldn’t mess with you in front of me.”
This Maiden guy was obviously a real prince.
“Rest up while you can,” Shrimp continued. “Maiden’ll want to meet you tomorrow. Probably for dinner. I’ll come get you when it’s time. Just to be safe, don’t leave the apartment before then, unless it’s to come to my place, ’kay?”
Fantastic. This Maiden was some sadistic gang lord who couldn’t be trusted around Nadia and Agnes, and it was beginning to look like they were going to become prisoners here. Which was better than dead, but it was hardly an auspicious position from which to start building their new resistance movement.
Maybe the whole resistance thing was a pipe dream, and the best they could hope for was survival.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The apartment the boys were staying in was nice and comfortable, but Shrimp’s was a cut or two above. The furniture was good quality, if not particularly special, but Nadia imagined the wall of electronics that took up one whole side of the living room cost in the tens of thousands of dollars. Laid on the floor, the video screen would be big enough to serve as a bed, and with the number of speakers Shrimp had, he could probably play music loud enough to cause an earthquake. The kitchen was fitted with state-of-the-art appliances, and when Shrimp opened the fridge to offer Nadia and Agnes something to drink, she saw that it was well stocked with food and drink that most definitely did not come from a soup kitchen. No powdered soup or soy “ham” for him.
The guest bedroom had an air of neglect to it—Nadia figured there wasn’t much occasion for guests in Red Death territory—but it was clean, and there was an inviting queen-sized bed. Nadia looked forward to sleeping on something other than a sofa cushion. Sheets and pillows had become a luxury, and sleep pulled at her the moment she stepped through the door.
“Bathroom’s across the hall,” Shrimp said, pointing. “I can give you some old clothes to wear to bed if you want to change into something more comfortable. And feel free to use the shower. We got a tankless water heater so you don’t have to do one of those rush jobs.”
The expression on Agnes’s face turned to something almost like lust, and Nadia suspected her own expression was similar. The hot water in Bishop’s place lasted for all of about three minutes, and there was no way all five of them could have hot showers one after the other. Nadia hadn’t had a good, hot shower since she’d fled the Preston Sanctuary.
Shrimp grinned knowingly. “My favorite pickup line is ‘Hey, baby, wanna hot shower?’ Works every time.”
Somehow, Nadia didn’t think Shrimp needed any lines to pick up women. He wasn’t classically handsome, especially with the orange hair and gold tooth, but his face had character, and he had more than enough charm to make up for his unspectacular appearance. Not to mention his status as brother of one of the most powerful people in all of the Basement.
“Why do they call you Shrimp?” Nadia asked, hoping the question wasn’t a violation of what passed for etiquette here.
He rolled his eyes hugely. “’Cause back when I was like fourteen, we found out the hard way I was allergic to shellfish. I puffed up like a balloon. I didn’t die, so everyone decided it was funny and started calling me Shrimp. I tried to fight it, ’cause, you know, it’s not that cool. But like I said, names stick to you here.” He gave Agnes a solemn look. “You might want to come up with a name before someone does it for you. Can’t guarantee it’ll stick if you give it to yourself, but at least it’ll have a shot. Otherwise, you’ll probably end up being Princess ’cause you’re the daughter of a Chairman.”
Agnes wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Are you sure you can’t just call me Agnes?”
Shrimp shook his head. “Calling you by your birth name would be an insult. It says you’re a little kid. You don’t want people using your birth name.”
“We’ll think of something,” Nadia said. “After we’ve had our showers.”
* * *
With the Basement lifestyle being largely nocturnal, Nadia was trying to get used to sleeping during the day, but she wasn’t quite there yet and hadn’t slept for more than a couple of hours at a time since arriving. However, i
t turned out Shrimp’s guest room had blackout drapes over the windows. There was still a little light leaking in around the edges, but the room itself was blessedly dark, and Nadia groaned with relief as she slid between the covers. The bed was comfortably soft, the sheets smelled fresh, and Nadia was finally clean after a long scrub in the shower. For once, Agnes wasn’t the only one who dropped off into an instant slumber.
When Nadia next awoke, the light around the curtains had a reddish-orange hue that spoke of sunset. She had to blink a few times before she could remember where she was and what was going on. Agnes was sitting up in bed beside her, arms wrapped around her knees.
“Oh good,” Agnes said, “you’re awake.” She reached over and snapped on the bedside lamp.
Nadia winced in the sudden light, then sat up and squinted as she waited for her eyes to adjust. “How long have you been up?”
“Not long,” Agnes replied. “I thought I heard voices outside. Then I realized it was the TV.”
That’s a surprise, Nadia thought as she rubbed her eyes. As far as she knew, phone service and net access used the same signal, so if one was down, both should be. Was it possible yesterday’s phone outage really was an accident and not a deliberate plot by Dorothy to cut off contact with the Basement?
“We still don’t have a phone signal,” Agnes said, and for the first time Nadia noticed she was holding her phone in her hand. She held it up so Nadia could see the NO SIGNAL message.
Nadia listened to the faint sound of voices coming through the walls, and knew Agnes was right: it was the TV. She couldn’t make out any words, but the cadence was all wrong for it to be a bunch of Basement-dwellers gathered in the apartment.
“Apparently Shrimp has some way of getting a net signal even when the phones are out,” Nadia said.
“Seems that way.”
Neither Nadia nor Agnes had any interest in putting on their dirty Basement disguises, so by mutual agreement, they padded out into the living room together wearing the oversized T-shirts and cutoff sweatpants Shrimp had given them. The pair of them had to look pretty ridiculous, barefoot and swimming in men’s clothes. The gel Agnes used on her hair for her Basement disguise was supposed to wash out completely, but it didn’t, leaving her hair tinted baby blue. Shrimp didn’t keep conditioner in his bathroom, so Nadia’s long blond hair was dry and frizzy, but at least it wasn’t blue.
Shrimp was reclining on his leather sofa, bare feet propped on the coffee table, a steaming mug in his hand. On the wall, the huge video screen showed an image of Dorothy standing before a podium of microphones at what was obviously a press conference. Thea’s puppet had flaunted her youthful beauty in the past, but now she seemed to have adopted a more subdued look. Her gray suit was perfectly fitted, but nondescript, and though she was no doubt wearing plenty of makeup, the shades were all so natural you couldn’t even tell. Perhaps she worried people wouldn’t take her seriously if she looked too young and beautiful.
Shrimp muted the sound before Nadia had a chance to hear more than a couple of words. She couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, but the crease between his brows didn’t bode well. Or maybe he just wasn’t a “morning” person.
Shrimp put his mug down and jumped to his feet. He was wearing a plain black T-shirt and ordinary-looking blue jeans. If it weren’t for the orange hair, he could have passed for a respectable Employee on his day off. Apparently, Basement-dwellers only dressed in their colorful regalia when they went out. Nadia couldn’t blame them, considering how many of the outfits she’d seen looked torturously uncomfortable.
“Morning, ladies,” he said. “Want some coffee? I got good stuff.”
“I’d love some coffee,” Agnes said, her eyes practically glowing.
Nadia wasn’t ordinarily a big coffee drinker, but considering the quantity and quality of the food and drink she’d had since entering the Basement, it suddenly sounded like heaven. If only that giant image of Dorothy weren’t looming there, speaking into the microphones with a combination of sternness and concern on her phony face.
“How come you get a TV signal when the phone lines are down?” Nadia asked Shrimp as he went to the kitchen and poured two mugs of coffee.
“Used to be most TV signals came through cables,” he answered. “They tore down all the aboveground stuff when they built the Basement, but there are still old underground cables left in places. Maiden’s got a contact on the outside who splices the signal into the cable. Doesn’t help with the phone sitch, but at least we’re not completely cut off when the lines are down.”
“Can we use these cables to make phone calls?” Agnes asked with barely repressed excitement in her voice. Nadia supposed she still had visions of her father smuggling the five of them out of Paxco and into Synchrony, back into a life that was safe and familiar.
Shrimp gave Agnes a wary look as he handed her a mug of tar-black coffee. Agnes took it with reverence, but Nadia looked around for the cream and sugar.
“It’s possible,” Shrimp said. “But you’d have to get Maiden’s okay, and he ain’t gonna give it.”
“Why not?” Agnes asked.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Who you gonna call?”
Agnes pressed her lips together, as if somehow not answering the question out loud might make it so Shrimp didn’t know the answer.
“You think no one’s gonna notice if a call comes in to your dad over a landline in Debasement?” He shook his head. “You call out, they can trace it like this.” He snapped his fingers. “We signed up to hide you, not protect you.” The look on his face was as apologetic as it was implacable.
Agnes nodded grimly and took a sip of her coffee. She sighed with contentment at the first taste, as if the coffee had washed away her every care. But Nadia was sure her agile mind was still mulling over the problem, trying to find a way to reach out to her father without betraying their location to Dorothy.
Nadia filled her mug to the rim with milk, but that only managed to make the coffee a couple of shades lighter. She added in three teaspoons of sugar, but even then the stuff was too strong for her taste. She couldn’t imagine how Agnes was drinking it—and enjoying it—black. Still, despite everything that had happened, Nadia refused to abandon her manners, so she sipped at the toxic brew and made sure her face betrayed none of her distaste.
“What is Dorothy going on about?” she asked, jerking her chin toward the TV. Dorothy’s press conference was still in progress—or more likely at this hour, was being played over and over again.
Shrimp shrugged and frowned. “Some shit about stock prices. Nothing important.”
Shrimp might not think stock prices were important—and usually they weren’t, to Basement-dwellers—but Paxco’s stock had dipped over rumors that the Replica program was defunct, and Nadia knew the assassination of Chairman Hayes had halted any recovery those stocks might have been making. The fact that Dorothy had taken over as Chairman rather than creating a Replica of the late Chairman Hayes must have made the public even more convinced that the official story—that the Replica program was not defunct and was merely in a hiatus due to technical difficulties—was a fabrication. Dorothy wouldn’t be giving a press conference about it if things were going well, and if stocks dropped low enough and there was belt-tightening to be done, you could be sure it wasn’t the Executives whose belts would be affected.
“Mind if I give a listen anyway?” Nadia asked.
“Suit yourself,” Shrimp said, making a sweeping gesture toward the living room.
Nadia expected Agnes to follow her out of the kitchen, but she stayed behind to refill her coffee cup instead. Shrimp, leaning against the kitchen counter, said something that Nadia didn’t catch, and Agnes laughed. Nadia practically tripped over her feet in surprise. Agnes, in that kitchen, talking to a gang lord’s younger brother in the heart of the Basement, looked almost … relaxed. Nadia wondered if that was because of Shrimp’s easygoing personality, or whether it was just because
she was outside the view of Executive society and didn’t have to worry that her every word and gesture would be scrutinized. There was a certain sense of freedom to leaving all of that behind.
Forcing herself to take another sip of coffee, Nadia sat on the couch and turned the sound on. Dorothy’s voice instantly filled the room, and Nadia found her gut muscles clenching at the sound of it. Images of Dorothy shooting Nate’s father filled her head.
Her Pavlovian reaction to Dorothy’s voice kept Nadia from immediately absorbing what she was hearing, but she shook herself out of it and forced herself to listen to the words, rather than the voice. What she heard was far from comforting.
“This is a difficult time for all the Employees and Executives of Paxco,” Dorothy said, and she knew how to mimic earnestness to perfection. “The economic downturn resulting from the brutal murder of our late Chairman is an undeniable source of alarm, and I cannot blame investors for being wary of us in this time of unrest.”
Nadia snorted and shook her head. Of course investors were wary. Just a few weeks ago, no one had ever heard of Dorothy, had never had any indication that Chairman Hayes had an illegitimate daughter. Surely there were people who found it suspicious that she had come out of nowhere and then succeeded to the Chairmanship so quickly.
“Rest assured that I and your board of directors and the Paxco security department are working tirelessly to repair the damage done to our state by the Replica of Nathaniel Hayes. He will not remain at large for long, and when he is captured, our scientists will be able to examine him closely to determine what went wrong with the Replication process.”
Nadia gaped at the TV. She should have known Dorothy would pull something like this. Even before Dorothy had made an appearance, the press had been spreading rumors that Nate’s Replica was somehow flawed, that it had violent tendencies the original Nate hadn’t had. All this based on one brief loss of temper when Nate had shoved a reporter out of the way with more force than necessary. It made sense that Dorothy would take advantage of the ridiculous rumor to continue degrading Nate’s image.