E by Kate Wrath Read Free Book Online Page A

a growing pool of blood, a woman's
body.  My eyes go wide as I gape at her.  Her own eyes are open and
staring, lightless, dead.  I want to turn and run away.  I know I
should.  If a Sentry comes now, drawn by her screams, it would kill
me.  But my feet move toward her, seizing the opportunity Fate has granted
me.  My hands tear her leather jacket unceremoniously from her dead
body.  She doesn't need it anymore, I tell myself.  It doesn't
matter.  She flops out of it, her face dropping into the blood.  I
yank off her boots, peel off her pants, stuffing it all into my bag as I
do.  Her shirt is soaked with blood, so I leave it.  I only just have
time to take these items before I hear the clank of metal on pavement-- a
Sentry's footsteps in the street beyond.
    Instinct screams at me to run.  Logic laughs that I am too
late.  If I run, the Sentry will track me by my heart rate.  If I
stay, I am as dead as the corpse I've just robbed.
    I sling my bag over my shoulder and stride away, forcing down the
urge to bolt.  My heart throws itself repeatedly against my ribcage. 
No.  No, no.
    Ninety-nine.  Ninety-eight.  Ninety-seven.  I make
the corner at the same time the Sentry makes the alley.  Did it see
me?  Ninety-five.  Ninety-four.  Sit on the curb. 
Ninety-two.  Breathe.  Ninety.  People walking by. 
Eighty-eight.  Deep breaths.  Slow heart.  Is it coming? 
Eighty six.  Movement from the alley.  Oh god, it's coming. 
Eighty-four.  Heat shimmer tickles my back.  Eighty two.  It's
behind me.  Scanning.  Taking in everything.  Eighty.  I
can't stop myself.  I look.  Seventy-eight.  Void face.  My
fingers clutching my bag.  Seventy-five.  What if there's blood on
the clothes?  Can it see through my bag the way it sees through me? 
I'm going to die.  Seventy-three.  No.  I will not allow fear to
be my killer.  No.  Seventy-one.  Slow.  Seventy. 
Heart.  Sixty-nine.  Even.  Sixty-seven.  Breaths. 
Sixty-five.  No.  I did nothing wrong.
    Sixty-three.  Sixty-two.  Sixty-one....
    It walks past me and moves away.
    Fifty-nine.  Fifty-eight.  Fifty-seven. 
Fifty-six.  Fifty-five.  Fifty-four.  Fifty-three. 
Fifty-two.  Fifty-one.
    I throw my head back and laugh.

Chapter
4: A Game of Chance
     
    Fate, it turns out, is not an entirely merciless bitch.  As I
kneel by a puddle scrubbing blood spots from the collar of the jacket, three
coins tumble from its pocket.  They are not like the ones I have earned,
but are thick, shiny silver.  I spirit them into the folds of my beggar’s
clothes, not that there's anyone around to see.  My heart races.  I
am ready.  I can do this.  Every moment I wander the streets with
these coins in my pockets is a moment that someone could take them away from
me.  I dive headlong into my scheme.
    The evening sun sinking away, I walk into the heart of the
Outpost, toward the Rustler.  My eyes search through the windows, down the
street.  They never come.  I stand in the shadows, lingering until
the darkness is far too deep, and then, hopes dashed, I scurry off.
    Disappointed and relieved, I wander toward the beggar
encampment.  Someone scuffles in the shadows of an alleyway. 
Footsteps sound on the pavement, but I cannot tell if they are following me or
just headed in the same direction.  Paranoia grips me.  I need to
find safety.  The encampment is too far away.
    A pool of light looms from an open window in an alleyway, warm and
inviting.  Around the window's base are a mass of huddled bodies, hunched
against the walls on both sides.  I hurry to join them, and sink down a
few paces from the nearest beggar.  Whoever was behind me goes on
by.  Quiet faces are touched here and there by the yellow lamplight. 
A voice from inside the building rings strong and clear into the alley through
the wide-open window.  It's a sermon.
    The Third Law of the New World Covenant states that any organized
religious or spiritual practice