‘I know one thing,’ says another guy closer to me. He wears glasses with a big crack on one lens. ‘Whether it was the angels or gangs or demons from hell who put the bounty on that girl, it ain’t gonna be me who turns her in.’ He shakes his head.
‘Me neither,’ says another man nearby. ‘I heard it was Penryn who saved us from that nightmare on Alcatraz.’
‘Obadiah West saved us,’ says the woman. ‘And so did those funny twins. What were their names?’
‘Tweedledee and Tweedledum.’
‘That can’t be right.’
‘I kid you not.’
‘Yeah, but it was the girl Penryn who told them to do it. She’s the one who got them to rescue us.’
‘I heard she threatened to sic her monster sister on them if they didn’t.’
‘Penryn—’
‘She’s a friend of mine,’ says one woman I’ve never seen before. ‘We’re like sisters.’
I lower my head, hoping no one recognizes me. Luckily, no one even notices us. As I make my way toward the door, I see a flyer taped to it. The only thing I catch as I pass are the words ‘Talent Show.’
I have visions of amateur tuba players and tap dancers. A talent show is an odd thing to have during the apocalypse. But then again, it’s an odd thing to have at any time.
Raffe pushes through the door, and we head back into the night.
16
Outside, the air is fresh and quiet compared with the stuffiness and noise inside. We skulk in the shadows until we reach the adobe mission-style building that Obi uses as his headquarters. This door has the same flyer. I pause to read it.
TALENT SHOW
Don’t miss the biggest thing since the last Oscars!
Bigger than the Great Attack! Bigger than Obi’s ego! Bigger than Boden’s BO!
Come one, come all
To the greatest show of all!
Win a custom-made, bulletproof, luxury RV!
Filled with every survival supply imaginable.
Yup. Even that.
Next Wed. at noon at the Stanford Theater on University Ave.
Amaze your friends. Befuddle your enemies. Show off your talents.
Auditions every evening
Ladies welcome
The usual betting rules apply on the contestants.
Brought to you by You Know Who
This flyer has comments scrawled all over it in different handwriting:
‘Nothing could be bigger than Obi’s ego.’
‘Is that what the ladies are calling it? Hey, Obi – leave some women for the rest of us, would ya?’
‘Obadiah West is a great man. A hero. Even I’m thinking about giving him a kiss.’
‘It’s the talentless show!’
‘Be nice or I’ll crack open your skull and drink the sludge inside.’
‘Will the contestants be wearing clothes?’
‘I sure hope so. Have you seen the men here? Hairy, dude. Seriously hairy.’
I’m guessing these guys miss the Internet.
Raffe pulls open the door, and we step into a dimly lit hallway. The main building is busy with people but far less crowded than the first building. The people here walk with confidence, whereas the group in the other building looked lost and unsure.
These are probably old-timers compared with the Alcatraz refugees in the other building. I even recognize a few faces here and there. I duck my head, hoping my hair will hide my face.
There’s the woman I did laundry with when I was first captured by the Resistance. She’s holding a clipboard and checking off items. She’s the one who adored her dog. I’m almost surprised to see she’s still with the Resistance. I heard they let all the barking dogs go when they found out the angels had superhearing.
There’s the clerk from the first aerie hotel. He’s smiling tiredly as he talks with a woman. He looks much more relaxed than he ever did at the aerie, even though they’re each carrying a bag full of guns. I wonder if he was a Resistance spy.
And there’s the cook from the original camp in the woods. He was nice to me and gave me an extra scoop of stew when he found out I was new. He rolls a cart with packages of crackers and Fruit Roll-Ups down the hall.
Everyone looks exhausted. And everyone is armed to the teeth – handguns, rifles, knives, tire irons, and anything that might cut, smash, or rip. Everyone here carries at least two weapons.
Raffe pulls his cap lower onto his face. I can tell he’s tense. He’s in enemy territory. Now that I think about it, he’s always in enemy territory no matter whose turf it is. Without his feathered wings, the angels won’t accept him. And regardless of what kind of wings he has, humans won’t accept him either.
Uriel or someone in his crew once said that angels were made to be part of a pack, but no matter where Raffe goes, he always seems to be the outsider.
Luckily, no one seems to be paying attention to him here. In this building, the name that I hear the most is Obi’s.
‘Obi wants us to—’
‘But I thought Obi’s plan was—’
‘Yeah, that’s what Obi said.’
‘Need Obi’s permission for—’
‘Authorized by Obi.’
‘Obi will deal with them.’