Novel - The Supernaturalist Read Free Page B

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    Ziplock grabbed a couple of duck pancakes from a stunned diner’s plate. The no-sponsors had heard of freshly prepared food, but never actually tasted any before.
    Ziplock stuffed one into his own mouth, offering the other to his cuff partner. Cosmo was not stupid enough to refuse food, no matter what the circumstances. Who knew when they would get to eat again, if indeed they ever did? This could be the condemned boys’ last meal.
    He bit into the pancake, and the tangy sauce saturated his tongue. For a boy raised on prepackaged developmental food, it was an almost religious experience. But he could not pause to enjoy it. Sirens were already cutting through the engine hiss.
    Cosmo ran toward the rear of the restaurant, dragging Ziplock behind him. A waiter blocked their path. He wore a striped jumpsuit, and his hair was exceptionally shiny even by product-tester standards. “Hey,” he said vaguely, not sure if he wanted to get involved. The boys skipped around the man before he could make up his mind.
    A back door led to a narrow stairway, winding out of sight. Possibly to freedom, possibly to a single-room dead end.
    There was no time for conscious decision. Redwood would be coming soon, if he was not already on his way. They took the stairs, squeezed together shoulder to shoulder.
    “We’re never going to make it,” panted Ziplock, plum sauce dribbling down his chin. “I hope he doesn’t get us before I finish this pancake.”
    Cosmo increased the pace, the cuff digging into his wrist. “We will make it. We will.”
    The boys rounded a corner straight into a luxurious studio apartment. A man’s face peered out from beneath a large double bed.
    “The earthquake,” the man squeaked. “Is it over?”
    “Not yet,” replied Ziplock. “The big shock is on the way.”
    “Heaven help us all,” said the man, retreating behind the fringe of a chintz bedcover.
    Ziplock giggled. “Let’s go before he realizes that his reporters are runaway no-sponsors.”
    The apartment was decorated with ancient Chinese artifacts. Suits of battle armor stood in each corner, and jade dragons lined the shelves. The main room had several windows, but most were decorative plasma; only one led to Satellite City. Cosmo popped the clip, pulling open the triple-glazed react-to-light pane.
    Ziplock stuck his face into the outside air. “Excellent,” he said. “A fire escape. A way down.”
    Cosmo stepped through, onto a metal grille. “Down is what Redwood will expect. We go up.”
    Ziplock held back. “Up?”
    Cosmo pulled him through. “Don’t tell me the boy who irritates marshals for fun is afraid of heights?”
    “No,” replied Ziplock, pallor washing his gaunt face. “I’m afraid of the ground.”
    Marshal Redwood did not pass out. He wasn’t that lucky. Instead, a block of pain battered him like a malignant glacier. He combated the agony using a trick from his army days. Locate the white center of the pain and concentrate on it . Redwood found to his surprise that the root of his pain was not his nose, but in the center of his forehead. He focused on the spot, sucking the pain in and containing it. He trapped it there long enough to pop a pain tab from its plastic bubble in his medi-kit. Barely a minute later the pain receded to a dull throb behind one ear. Under control. For now.
    Back to business. Those no-sponsors had thrown his authority back in his face. Those two were getting shrinkwrapped for sure. Still, best to pretend to follow the rules. He unclipped a communicator from his belt. “Redwood to base.”
    “That you, Redwood? We thought you were dead.”
    Redwood scowled. Fred Allescanti was on duty back at base. That man made goldfish look smart. “Yeah, well, I’m alive. But I’ve got a couple of runners. I’m leaving now in pursuit.”
    “I don’t know, Marshal Redwood. You’re supposed to stay with the vehicle. Regulations. They’re sending a truck for you. Five minutes, tops.”
    Redwood