Dactyl Hill Squad Page 4
“I think I’m in love,” Two Step said.
Magdalys rolled her eyes. “She’s out of your league, bro.” She squinted into the shadows. “Everyone climb on! We gotta get back to the Asylum.”
Mapper dashed out into the open, followed by Amaya and Little Sabeen. Finally Halsey Crunk stumbled out too, his tears tracking tiny rivers through the soot on his face, and then Marietta Gilbert Smack, the hem of her long elegant skirts coated in the grime of the Raptor Claw.
“Which way?” Magdalys asked.
Once everyone had piled on, the brachy had stomped out of the plaza and into the darkened streets of Manhattan. The yells of fighting and sharp crackle of smashing glass blended with dinosaur growls and occasional musket shots in a rising tide of terror that seemed to seep from the streets all around them.
Now they stood by the black waters of the Hudson River, gazing out at the few scattered lights of New Jersey.
“North,” Mapper reported from behind Magdalys.
“Duh,” Magdalys snapped back. “Which way is north?”
“Right!” Cymbeline and Mapper said at the same time.
“Got it.” Magdalys put her face against the brachy’s big warm neck and thought about the route along the river up to Forty-Second Street, then Fifth Avenue where the orphanage was. Safety, or the closest thing to it anyway. The brachy swung right and lumbered forward.
The Colored Orphan Asylum had never really felt like home to Magdalys. Those long cold hallways echoed with footsteps and sobs; the matrons, their faces usually tight, mouths full of reprimands and clunkily adjusted names. The only friendly face besides the other kids’ was old Mr. Calloway’s. He’d slip Magdalys and the others candies sometimes, and they heard him humming to himself to the swish of his broom and squeak of his well-shined boots as they fell asleep.
A shot rang out, not far away. Everyone huddled close and the brachy picked up his pace a little. Cymbeline loaded a few more shells into her shotgun and drew a long breath. Magdalys scanned the dimly lit shacks on the far side of the street. Nothing stirred.
In the distance, a few sauropods loomed over the rooftops of those huge dinofeed storehouses, long, graceful silhouettes against the cloudy night. Surely the National Guard would be deployed, with riots this bad. But most of them were probably down in Pennsylvania, where the Confederates were said to be making a desperate stab into Union territory, marauding through the farmlands and capturing free blacks to send south to slavery.
And somewhere down there, Montez lay in a hospital bed, or maybe on some dirty floor, unconscious and wounded. Magdalys shuddered. Who would care for him? Who would keep him safe? Certainly not the same army that had already hurled him into harm’s way. Rumors swirled about Union generals sending the colored units out to be massacred with inefficient gear and less pay than the white soldiers. Magdalys had to find out if he was okay. Except she’d never know for sure, not really. Montez was the only family she had left in this country, and he needed her. Or, if she was being honest, she needed him. Maybe, somehow, she could …
CRACK!!
The gunshot was much closer this time, only a block away. Another one rang out, even closer, and then the shriek of a raptor. Magdalys could just glimpse figures moving through the darkness. Were they coming toward where the brachy strode along beside the river? She couldn’t tell.
A small, roundish shape scattered along the ground nearby. Then another. Magdalys squinted through the darkness. A herd of tiny microceratopses scuttled past, squealing and grunting. The little guys were like baby, hornless trikes. They served no discernible purpose in society, Dr. Barlow Sloan insisted somewhat caustically in the Dinoguide, except to get in the way and occasionally be household pets. The brachiosaurus paused to watch them hurry off and hooted sympathetically.
“Uh, Mag-D?” Two Step whispered. “Since you seem to be able to wrangle this brachy pretty well, could you tell her to, like … hurry?”
“He.”
“What?”
“The brachy’s a he, not a she. And … yes.”
Magdalys didn’t even close her eyes or concentrate too hard this time. She just thought Go! and then they were blasting along beside the Hudson at a breakneck gallop, and the wild night wind rushed through her hair and for a few flickering seconds she felt like everything might somehow be alright.
THE SMELL OF charred wood and smoke met them as they turned away from the river, and Magdalys’s heart sank. She’d seen the dark plume rising into the sky as they’d gotten close, had held out hope it was some other building, maybe … maybe …
She guided the huge dinosaur up Fifth Avenue toward the still-smoldering wreckage of the Colored Orphan Asylum. Groups of revelers or rioters, or whatever they were, wandered in the opposite direction, looking for more trouble to get into. They seemed to be having a lovely time. Did no one care that someone’s home was up in flames?
“No,” Magdalys whispered as they entered the open area where the orphanage once stood. “No!” It came out as a scratchy yell. Behind her, she heard the gasps and moans of her friends. Where were the rest of the orphans? Had they … had they died?
“What have they done?” Marietta screamed.
One by one, they slid off the brachy and stumbled forward through the debris-filled street. The orphanage was the last bit of twine tethering her to New York City, and now it was gone. A tiny gear turned in Magdalys’s heart, the only ray of light she could find in this terrible night: She would head south as soon as she could, find Montez. She would find Montez, in New Orleans maybe, or wherever he was along the way, and stay by his side until he woke up. She’d learn to be a nurse if that’s what it took to stay with him. The U.S. Army needed nurses, she was sure of it. Now all she needed was to find some way to get down there. And survive this night …
“No!” Two Step yelled, running ahead.
Magdalys took off after him. “Wait!” That boy was always in a hurry to get into the worst possible situation, she thought. Then she stopped dead in her tracks. Two Step had stopped too. They both stared up at the dark shape dangling from a lamppost in front of them.
Mr. Calloway.
She knew him from his shoes. Those old Union Army boots he wore; said his son had sent them from the front lines to make sure his ol’ man had something sturdy on his feet. Magdalys could tell Mr. Calloway shined them every day. Even though they were beat-up and had probably been discarded by some soldier, Mr. Calloway managed to keep them looking spiffy somehow.
And now they were all that was left to be recognized of him.
A sorrow deeper than any Magdalys had ever felt before welled up inside her. It felt like the ocean was rising from her tummy, shoving its way through her chest, and trying to explode out of her face.
“How … could they …” Two Step stammered. “Mr. Calloway was …” He just shook his head. Magdalys understood. No words made any sense.
Behind them, Cymbeline shrieked and Little Sabeen burst into tears. Magdalys heard Amaya comfort her and then say, “Mapper, watch her. I’ll be right back.”
Be right back? Magdalys thought. Where —
And then Amaya strode past her, past Mr. Calloway, and directly into the smoldering ruins of the orphanage.
Sparkling ash and black flakes of debris spun through the air around Magdalys as she jumped over burnt logs and ducked through the half-collapsed entranceway after Amaya.
Mr. Calloway’s body still dangled in the front of her mind; it felt like someone had put the image on a hot iron and branded it across her forehead. She would never forget. But right now she had to stay alive; that was the most important thing. Later, she would mourn, let it all come flowing out, sob and sob and sob, but not yet. Otherwise …
Something cracked above them. “Amaya!” Magdalys screamed as a flaming chunk of plaster plummeted from the rafters. Amaya looked up and leapt out of the way, landing with an impressive forward roll and springing back up. “How did you … ?” Magdalys stuttered. In all the yea
rs she’d known Amaya, she’d never seen her move like that. Amaya just smirked sourly and turned back to the hallway she’d been heading toward.
Magdalys hurried after. “Amaya! Where are you going? At least let me … let me help you?” She finally caught up and fastwalked alongside her through the dark corridor.
The flames hadn’t done nearly as much damage to the back half of the Colored Orphan Asylum. The whole area was coated in black soot and it looked like a pack of feral ceratopses had barged through, but at least the walls were still standing.
“The files,” Amaya said in a quiet voice clenched with rage. “Our files.”
“Amaya, we could all die, like, at any moment! Don’t you get that? Even if we make it out of here alive, the mob that did this could come back and —”
Amaya stopped, turned her sad face to Magdalys. “Our stories are our lives, Mag. Even if they’re incomplete and written by strangers. They’re all we’ve got of who we are, where we come from.” She turned and briskly walked around a corner.
Magdalys followed, found Amaya standing before a shattered doorway. The records room. The orphans weren’t even allowed near this place, as signs all around the hallway insisted in red, menacing letters. “You with me?” Amaya asked.
Magdalys nodded once and then kicked away the battered remnants of the door. They strode in side by side.
THE HEFTY LEDGER books waited on a huge wooden bookshelf that took up the far wall of the dim room. How many broken lives and secrets did that monster hold in its bowels, Magdalys wondered as they stepped up to it. “Okay, look,” Amaya said. “It’s sorted in alphabetical order, not year, so …”
“We have to find —”
“Each of our files.”
“You get yours, plus Two Step and Sabeen’s. I’ll find mine and Mapper’s.”
They got to work. Outside, the city still convulsed with rioting and looting. She hoped the others were safe, but she had to put all that out of her head and concentrate on the scribbled names flying beneath her fingers. So many children … There’d been no sign of anyone around, which probably meant they all got away before the fire got them. Mr. Calloway had probably been giving them time to escape, fending off the attackers when …
She tried to shake away the thought, refocus on the names. Raymond, June. Richmond, Alfred. Roaner, Mary. All these names, each belonging to a young person, a young person who might be lying dead somewhere right now, or worse … “Aha!” Magdalys yelled when she saw her own name. She tore the pages right out of the book, along with those of Montez, Julissa, and Celia. Amaya gave her a quick nod of approval and went back to leafing through the ledger she’d pulled. A sound came from the corridor, then another. Footsteps. Magdalys and Amaya both leapt to their feet at the same time.
“Girls!” Cymbeline yelled, rounding the corner, shotgun at the ready. Marietta was behind her, looking up and down the hallway, wielding a charred table leg in both hands like a bat. “What on earth are you doing?”
Amaya lowered a metal paperweight she’d had poised to hurl. Magdalys exhaled, realizing just how trapped and exposed they had been. And distracted to boot. Aaand in the burnt remains of a torched orphanage.
“We’re getting our files,” Amaya said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world. “You can either help us or you can leave.”
“But —” Marietta started, her eyes wide.
“Fast then,” Cymbeline said, cutting her off. “Which ones do you already have?”
“Magdalys has hers and I’m getting mine. She’s got Two Step, so Cymbeline, take Sabeen’s — her last name’s Clark — and Marietta, find Mapper — his real name’s Kyle. Last name’s —”
“Tannery,” Marietta said, crossing the room. “I know.”
Cymbeline was already pulling open a ledger. For a few minutes, they searched in silence. Then, one by one, they each let out little yelps of victory and ripped pages free. “Come on,” Cymbeline said. “We left the rest with Halsey and … he’s not well.” They hurried back through the ruins, made it back out into the thick night air, files in hand, and started across the lawn.
“Come on,” Two Step yelled. “They’re coming back!”
Magdalys’s tummy lurched as she saw Mr. Calloway’s body still dangling from the lamppost. Beyond that, Mapper was scrambling back onto the brachy while Halsey Crunk pointed an old flintlock pistol at something Magdalys couldn’t see. Two Step ran up to them as they passed beneath Mr. Calloway’s boots. “Another dinogang showed up,” Two Step explained. “Mr. Crunk took some shots at ’em and they ran off but we seen ’em scurrying around the shadows again just over there!”
“Back!” Halsey yelled. He cocked the pistol with a loud click as Two Step, then Marietta clamored up the side of the brachy. Halsey let the hammer fall; a fizzzz sounded, and with a smoky blast, the pistol fired. Magdalys flinched at the bang, then grabbed hold of the stirrup and scrabbled up. The brachy took an uneasy step forward. Easy, Magdalys whispered in her mind. Eeeasy.
“Go,” Cymbeline ordered, patting her brother on the shoulder. “Everyone get on.” She popped some more shells in the chamber of her shotgun. Halsey climbed halfway up; Magdalys and Two Step reached down and grabbed his sweaty hands, pulled him the rest of the way. Amaya was still catching up behind him.
“Which way?” Magdalys asked Mapper.
“Depends. Where we going?”
Magdalys glanced out into the street, where a few scattered figures seemed to dance amidst the shadows. A handful of blocks north lay the huge wilderness that an early black settlement had been cleared out of to make room for the Dumping Grounds. Stegosaurs would haul massive carts full of collected dinopoop up there at the end of each day: you could catch whiffs of it all the way downtown. There were rumored to be vicious feral raptorpacks lurking amidst the stink piles, and possibly even a wild tyrannosaurus or two. So that was out.
On the other side, smoke still rose in thick plumes over the rooftops as the riots raged on. The Dinofeed Warehouse District might’ve offered them somewhere to hide, but they’d already passed it, and clearly the rioters were running around there too. And the Raptor Claw seemed to be the very heart of so much of the rioting. The Stinkpit, a rugged sprawl of collapsing tenement buildings adjacent to the Claw, probably wasn’t any safer. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Seems like there’s nowhere safe for us.”
“Head south and east toward the river,” Cymbeline said. “I have an idea.”
The brachy took another step forward, anxious to bolt. Hold, big fella, Magdalys thought. Almost time. Then a raptor emerged a few blocks away, its shiny, bloodred body bent forward in a low stalking position, the hooded rider leaning all the way back to stay balanced. The dino began slinking along Fifth Avenue, snout close to the ground. The rider raised something to his mouth, a whistle, Magdalys realized, just as the shrill blast rang out. The brachy stumbled forward a few startled steps.
“Come on!” Magdalys yelled.
Amaya was halfway up the saddle, holding the satchel of files out for them with one hand. Two Step snatched them, passed them to Mapper, and then helped her the rest of the way up. Cymbeline jogged along beside them, steadying her shotgun, and then just shook her head and swung herself alongside the saddle.
Behind them, three, no, four ankylosaurs skittered out onto the street ahead of the raptor. Thick horns curved like an elaborate headdress around their lumpy faces and rows of short spikes ran across their sand-colored bodies. Dr. Barlow Sloan described ankylosaurs as irritable but reliable steeds, excellent for skirmishes or short-distance travel, less so for sustained battle or overnight trips. Hooded riders sat astride each of those armored backs. They brandished whips and clubs, and they were galloping straight for the brachy.
Go! Magdalys commanded. Go!
Magdalys saw a flash from somewhere behind them and a musket shot cracked across the night, dinging a lamppost they were passing. The brachy swerved wildly, nearly throwing them all over the side.
Ka-blam! Another musket shot rang out and Magdalys looked back. She caught a glint of light off the circular medallion on the rider’s robes just as he reached up and lowered his hood. Magistrate Riker’s smiling face glared back at her. The brachy let out a howl and broke into a frantic dash.
GA-GUNG! GA-GUNG! GA-GUNG! They charged down Fifth Avenue, the whole world a series of shuddering earthquakes, the dark, burning city a blur around them. Magdalys saw a stream of blood trickle from the brachy’s flank. No! The poor guy. He had already saved their lives and now he’d been wounded. Shot! She could tell he was favoring the opposite side as they thundered along.
Stay calm, big guy, Magdalys cooed in her mind. The reply was only another desperate hoot blurted out into the night.
“Know how to shoot an old flintlock?” Cymbeline asked, sliding up alongside Magdalys at the back of the saddle.
“Uh-uh,” Magdalys said. She glanced back. The raptor had stayed at a slow stalk, presumably so Riker could get off a good shot, but the ankys scrambled forward at an unsettling speed. She saw one of the riders swing his whip over his head — and then fly backward when a metal bucket came tumbling through the sky and cracked him across the face.
“Got ’im!” Mapper yelled. Beside him, Two Step foraged through the saddlebags for more fire equipment they could use as projectiles.
“Here,” Cymbeline said, handing Magdalys the flintlock pistol and a powder case. “Sorry my brother’s so old-fashioned. I’ve been trying to get him to upgrade to a caplock for months. You’re gonna have to learn fast. Hurled buckets aren’t gonna stop ol’ Rich Riker, I’m afraid.”