The woman on the couch raised her head, and Park caught just a glimpse of her skeletal profile as he eased away from the door.
He heard voices then, back the way he’d come. He hurried in the other direction. He slipped through a door and onto a balcony. At its far end was another door.
The wall to his left was crenellated, and as he hurried along he could see down into the yard below, where a few dead men wandered, moaning, “The south wall…” Apparently they were attempting to join the battle but were too witless to find their way there.
A voice at his side said, “Oh. Hey.”
Park leapt back, almost stumbling.
A decapitated human head was impaled on an iron spike between two battlements. The head was that of a young man, blond, who even in this grisly state retained a look of gentle innocence. “Sorry,” said the head. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” Park said, turning away.
“Wait,” the head called. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before. I’m Jack.”
Damn it. Park said, “Look, I really have to—”
The head narrowed its eyes. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”
Shit. Park eyed the head. It could report him to the others. Should he destroy it?
“Don’t,” the head warned, anticipating him. “He’ll know something’s up. Listen, you can trust me. I’m not on his side. I mean, he’s the one who put me here.”
Park was at a loss.
“I can help you,” the head added. “I know things. What are you doing here?”
Park hesitated. Did he dare trust it? But what choice did he have? He said, “I’m looking for my sister. She was captured. I don’t—”
“How old is she?” said the head.
“Twenty.”
“Good.” The head gave him an encouraging look. “Then she was probably kept alive to breed. The prisoners are in the south wing, down in the basement. But you’ll need keys to the cells. Dustin’s got a set, and Greavey’s got the other.”
“Dustin?” said Park.
“The Commander,” the head explained. It added, “I knew him before all this. We were friends.”
Park whispered, “Why did he do this to you?”
The head gave a sad, wry smile. “I tried to free the prisoners,” it said.
Park slipped from the east wing without being noticed. Hours later one of the trucks returned. Park lurked in the corridor and watched as the Commander and Greavey strode back into the palace. The two men conferred, then the Commander headed off in the direction of his suite. Park tailed Greavey down a hallway.
After a minute, Greavey turned. “Oh, it’s you.”
Park sidled up. “What’s the situation?”
Greavey was grim. “The living are inside the walls. They’ll be here by nightfall. Tough bastards. Militia types, called the Sons of Perdition.”
Park knew of them. They had a ghastly reputation.
Greavey said, “The Commander’s gone to issue new orders. Where the hell have you been?”
Park nodded at some metal piping that ran up the wall from floor to ceiling, and said, “Over there.” Greavey turned to look.
Park grabbed the man and ran him into the pipes. Greavey’s skull-face rebounded with a crack, and he went down. Park straddled him, seized the man’s left wrist and cuffed it, then slipped the cuffs around the pipes and bound Greavey’s right wrist too.
Park dug through the man’s pockets. A keyring. Park hoped the head on the wall—Jack—had been telling the truth.
As Park made his way to the south wing, the Commander’s voice came over the loudspeakers: “Fall back to the palace. Defend the palace at all costs. I repeat, defend the palace.”
Park spent maddening minutes navigating the unfamiliar corridors. Finally he clambered down a set of metal steps and emerged into a dim, grimy hallway lined with cells. He donned his mask and goggles, then moved from door to door. “Mei?” he called out. “Mei? Are you here?” Vague figures huddled in the darkness.
Then, from a cell he’d just passed, a weak voice: “Hello?”
She was there, her tiny fingers wrapped around the bars. He ran to her. “I’m getting you out,” he said, as he tried a key in the lock. It didn’t fit.
“Park?” she said, unbelieving. “I thought—”
She stiffened then, as she watched him. In a near-whisper she said, “Take off your mask.”
He tried another key.
“Park,” she said, insistent.
He stopped. For a moment he just stood there. Then he carefully removed his mask and goggles, revealing his terrible skull-face for all to see.
Mei recoiled. “But… you’re one of them, one of his—”
“It was the only way,” Park said. He tried another key.
Beside her in the cell, a skinny white man with curly black hair said, “I know you. You’re the one who captured me, who brought me here.”
Mei said, “Is that… true?”
“Yes,” Park said. He couldn’t meet her gaze. He tried another key, which turned with a click, and he slid the door open.
The skinny man tried to rush out, but Park stiff-armed him back and said, “Only her.”
“No,” Mei said. “We can’t—”