The Empty Ones by Robert Brockway Read Free Book Online Page A

just in time as she sent a full-body rocketing jump kick into the guy holding me. I hope he enjoyed the time he’d spent with his ribcage, because those days were over. The few faceless passengers left didn’t look afraid, exactly, but even they seemed to acknowledge that they wouldn’t be taking us in a fistfight. Still, the driver showed no signs of slowing, and there was no way to the doors without wading through the bastards.
    â€œUp the stairs,” the girl in the striped leggings said, to the empty air.
    I’m no dope; I was halfway up them before she opened her mouth. The second I crested that last stair I was looking for an emergency exit, which I guess was stupid. Even if they installed doors on the second floor of a city bus for the more thrill-seeking passengers, what were we gonna do? Jump off the second story of a speeding bus onto another car?
    Holy shit, how cool would that be?
    The girl came booking up the steps a moment later. She wasn’t much to look at before, and now her spiked brass knuckles were dripping blood, her clothes were ripped, and I think she had somebody’s ear sticking to her shoulder. She was getting hotter by the minute.
    â€œHere, kick out this window and let’s jump off the second story of this speeding bus onto another car,” I told her. “It will be amazing.”
    Stop: I’m not a psychopath. I mean, I’m kind of an idiot, but I am aware of the limits of the human body—especially my cruddy human body—and though I frequently ignore them (because they’re bullshit), I’m not suicidal. Sometimes, when things look bad, I suggest the stupidest plan I can think of, because the people around me will always roll their eyes, call me a retard, and then suggest a better one.
    â€œSounds good,” the girl in the striped leggings said.
    It is so goddamned unfair that I’m going to die on the day I meet my second soulmate.
    She was trying to get the right footing to bash out the glass when I spotted a pair of owl’s eyes in the dark outside the bus. Two darting little lights swerving erratically and quickly toward us.
    â€œDown!” I said, though that was redundant, because I was already tackling her.
    We both hit the floor, me on top of her. I managed to get my arms and legs hastily wrapped around the benches in front of and behind us. I barely had enough time to register how her tits felt pressed against my chest (pretty good!) before the car T-boned us, and the speeding bus wobbled crazily up onto two wheels. It rocked back the other way, and I could hear shouts from below as the Unnoticeables were whipped into the walls. Then the wheels caught, and the world went sideways.
    I didn’t actually manage to hold on to both of us through the whole crash. I would love to say that I did, and that I saved us both, and that the girl took off her shirt and jumped around in pure giddy celebration at the gift of life I’d bestowed on her, before giving me a hand job with the brass knuckles still on, which is a weird thing I’m apparently into—
    I got slapped awake.
    A guy with an Elvis sneer and a hot pink T-shirt with the words LEFT IS RIGHT across the front was staring down at me. He smiled when I opened my eyes. Well, the one that worked, anyway.
    â€œGet up,” Randall said. “Time to run.”
    â€œFuck you,” I answered, more by reflex than anything else. “Do I even have legs anymore? Where’s the girl?”
    â€œMy name is Meryll, I’m right here, and I’m not bloody carrying you any farther, so get up.”
    One of her arms looked bent a bit funny, but she was apparently in good enough shape to haul me out of the wreckage of that bus. I was laid out by the side of the street, propped up against a little aluminum food cart that smelled like fish farts. I tested my limbs one by one. They weren’t happy about it, but they worked. I held out a hand for Randall to