Contagion (Toxic City) Read Free Page B

Lungs would burn, and anyone in the area would die in suffocating agony.
    There were pressure pads on the staircases. She probed further, and found the explosives they were linked to. Small charges—they didn't want to bring the building down—but enough to blow the legs off their intended victims, and perhaps gut them.
    There were movement sensors everywhere, and even Nomad grew nervous, trying to lessen her movements as she breathed in the old air and tried to weather the pain. Each spread of sensors initiated different responses—she could smell poisons and gases, feel the slick coolness of guns against her palms, hear the echoes of explosions that would occur if she placed one foot wrong.
    Her heart felt heavy and cumbersome, her blood slow and thick. I'm not meant to die like this! she thought, but she could not deny the sickness that using her talents made worse. She had seen it in others more and more recently, and now she had it herself. She supposed that was fair.
    “Even if I get past everything…” she whispered, then held her breath in case she had missed microphones. Nothing exploded, nothing shot at her. The balance persisted, and she dwelled only briefly on the greater problem.
    The bomb was locked inside a tank. She could sense its heat, and its terrible potential.
    Even if I reach the bomb, how do I stop it? Sixteen hours, only sixteen, and whatever I do could trigger it. There will be safeguards, triggers, to avoid interference. If I look at it wrong, it might explode. If I breathe on it, touch it, attempt to move it…
    Nomad was at a loss. London was hers, even now. But this building was no longer part of London. This was the fate that awaited her city, and to avoid it she had to think beyond the physical.
    Filled with doubt, Nomad retraced her steps and left the building. And despite the pain and blood, and the confusion in her ever-more diseased mind, she was careful to seal the entrance doors once again.
    “So, what's the plan?” Sparky asked. They'd retreated to the rear of the shop and now sat in the chair circle. It felt unaccountably safe, as if the empty chairs were actually occupied by guardian angels.
    Jack looked around at his friends, old and new. It was strange how he felt he'd known Sparky and Jenna a lifetime, instead of just the two years since Doomsday, when being left on their own had drawn them together. But he supposed between then and now was a lifetime.
    Sparky, with his spiky blond hair, broad shoulders, gruff attitude and caring heart. He'd lost his brother, but he was weathering the grief well. Jack liked to think their relationship helped. Jenna mourned her father, not dead, but taken from her because of his interest in London's fate. He was half the man he'd used to be. Andnow Rhali, thinner than she should be, bearing the weight of whatever tortures they had seen fit to subject her to, and yet still beautiful. Every time Jack looked at her his heart skipped a little. It was a feeling he'd never had with Lucy-Anne, and for now he tried not to analyse it too much. There were more urgent matters to deal with.
    “Plan?” Jenna asked. “As if.”
    “Do what we have to,” Jack said. “Spread the word about the bomb, find Lucy-Anne, get the hell out of London.”
    “Easy,” Sparky said. “Piece of cake.” He glanced at Rhali.
    “We're assuming Miller wasn't lying about the bomb,” Jenna said.
    “We have to,” Jack replied. “Big Bindy, he called it. And Breezer seemed pretty sure he was telling the truth.”
    “Breezer being completely trustworthy, of course,” Sparky said.
    “I heard them talking about Big Bindy,” Rhali said. “I never figured out who or what it could be. But the Choppers I heard were scared of her. Or it.”
    “Makes sense,” Jack said. “Miller and his cronies didn't really know all they were dealing with, even after all this time. They did their best to keep London contained, and that seemed to be working. But if they ever found