Rise of Order

Part 6

Macey's eyelids opened just after we cleared the tunnel. She was dizzy, she said. She fell twice after Wingate put her down and insisted she walked. I didn't think she was faking.

"I can help," Nia told her. "Sling your arm around my shoulder."

Wingate looked at me, his eyes wondering if there was any danger in having the two hostages together like that. I couldn't think of Nia's angle on this one, but there was no way I was going to help Macey, or let her anywhere near my pistol. I let Nia do it. We walked the next ten minutes with Wingate leading the way, Macey and Nia joined at the hip. I kept a close watch on both of them, my hand clutching the cold handle of the Glock in my pocket. My father always said that feeling was the only good luck charm he ever believed in. A gun brought order, he said.

Wingate picked up the pace as we reached the old East Point MARTA station. Rats scurried on the tracks at the edge of our light. Water dribbled from the ceiling, and the air was laden with dust.

"I thought this place was still radioactive," Nia said.

"It is," Wingate replied, as if confirming the weather. "But we won't be staying long enough for there to be any lasting damage."

He helped Nia and Macey climb off the tracks onto the station's platform, then through the long-silent turnstiles. We kicked up dust as we walked. I covered my mouth with the inside of my elbow. Shops, still stocked with candy and packaged snacks, stood like silent prisoners, frozen in time from the moment of the explosion that had wrecked the building above this place and contaminated the station and the surrounding area.

Wingate started up the stairs. A dirty sign on the wall read Southern Tower Netcasting.

"You can't be serious," Macey said, sounding more like her old self. "This building is quarantined. The tower... It's a teetering skeleton. A strong wind might send the whole structure down. They would've torn it down except for the fear of radiation exposure."

"Yeah, even the governor's men aren't going to come in here to look for you, are they?" Wingate sounded rather pleased.

"Come on, Macey," Nia said. "Let's get this over with."

The station exit led directly into the ruins of the once-grand Southern Tower complex. The air reeked of burnt plastika. Entering the soaring space of the structure's lifeless, ten-story lobby was like walking into an abandoned stadium. Emptiness surrounded me. The quiet was disconcerting. I shivered even though it was far warmer inside the building than in the tunnel. Mangled starlight crept through the insulshield coating that covered the entire complex—supposedly protecting the surrounding area from further contamination.

"There's no damage," Nia remarked. "I thought the bomb destroyed everything."

"That made for better news feeds, didn't it?" Wingate said. "People aren't interested in subtlety. Not a good netcast story. It was just radiation, enough to make everything useless and keep people away. No immediate casualties. But no one was going to come in to take pictures, were they?"

Our footsteps echoed as Wingate led us across the vast marble floor. He maneuvered us around the dried-out remains of the fallen trees that had once decorated the space. The sight didn't make me feel better about the air I was breathing. My father had given me the same assurances about the radiation levels as Wingate had, but scientists were wrong all the time, and my father didn't have a great track record of taking care of his soldiers.

"My dad didn't do this, you know," Macey said. "I know the Southies said it was my father's men. The Abolitionists. They accused us of doing it to help Governor Bernard win the election, to silence the Southie netcasts that were transmitted from this complex. But it wasn't us. My father promised me."