I paused. “I don’t know. We’ll see. But if you can agree with me, then hopefully everyone else will, too.”
There was a knock on the door—a pounding fist—and everyone flinched.
Curtis pointed at the wall of tools. “Grab something, guys. But don’t start anything. Let’s see if we can keep it calm.” He moved to the large toolbox and shoved it over to the door, almost blocking it completely.
He touched the doorknob and then looked at me. “You need to get outside, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He motioned for the V’s to move to the other side of the room, away from the door. Most of them were armed now, some with hammers, others with wrenches. I’d taken a crowbar from the wall.
Curtis turned the knob just enough that it unlatched, and the door immediately slammed into the toolbox. The box was holding, but three of the guys put their weight against it, just in case. The door was only open about three inches.
“What the hell are you doing?”
It was Oakland.
I looked at my watch. 5:40 a.m.
Curtis was helping hold the box, and standing out of the way of the door so no one could hit him through the opening. “Oakland? It’s Curtis.”
“We had a truce,” Oakland said. Behind him, the rest of Havoc screamed and swore.
“I know we had a truce,” Curtis said. “Give us a minute to figure out what happened.”
“Is he in there with you?”
“Who?”
I looked at Curtis and shook my head. “I’m here.”
Oakland let out a string of profanity and pounded on the door. “That’s our contract, Fisher. You stole it.”
“We’re going to sort this out,” Curtis said. “But you have to give us some time.”
“There’s nothing to sort out,” Oakland yelled. “You broke the truce. You’re going to pay.”
“Give us an hour.”
“What’s going to change in an hour? The V’s are the smallest gang. You’ve pissed off the Society, too.”
“Let’s meet,” Curtis said. “You, me, Isaiah.”
There was a sudden surge against the door, and the toolbox slipped an inch. Five more V’s jumped to brace it. The others stood poised, nervously holding their weapons and hoping Havoc didn’t break through.
“Hold on,” Curtis shouted. “Is Isaiah out there? Get him over here.”
A chunk of something flew through the crack in the door, smacking into the peg board with a crack. A handsaw and T square crashed to the floor.
“Curtis,” another voice said.
“Isaiah.” Curtis’s voice was still even, but he had a look of desperation in his eyes. “Let’s meet. You, me, and Oakland.”
“And me,” said a girl angrily. Mouse.
“Yes, of course. Let’s talk and figure this out.”
Isaiah’s face was close to the crack, probably so he could speak without shouting. “What is there to talk about? You broke the truce.”
“So that’s it, Isaiah? What about the no-fighting rules? Don’t you care about those, or do you only care about the truce?”
“The truce is what keeps order around here. Do you want to go back to the way things used to be?”
“I know,” Curtis said. He motioned for me to take his place holding the toolbox. As I did, he cautiously moved over so he could see out the door. “I want to keep the truce, and I want to keep the order. Let’s talk about this and see what we can do.”
The shouting didn’t stop on the other side, but Isaiah, Oakland, and Mouse didn’t answer for a minute. I watched the door. I didn’t want to look at anyone; I didn’t want anyone looking at me. I hadn’t expected this to be so bad.
“You come out,” Oakland finally said.
Curtis looked back at the V’s. “Okay. But here’s the deal. You guys back away from the door. The V’s are safe until we’re done talking. Got it?”
The noise died down as the other gangs talked. “Fine, but here’s our deal. Carrie comes, too.”
“No.” Curtis was staring at her now, horrified. Tears spilled down her face.
“Yes,” Oakland said. “I don’t know what crap you’re trying to pull, but I don’t want you playing the martyr while everyone tries to run. Carrie comes with us, too, and if your gang tries anything stupid . . .” He didn’t finish, but he didn’t have to. Curtis was glaring at me now, and I wondered whether he was just going to throw me out into the hall. Finally, Carrie stepped forward.
“I’ll go.”
Curtis grabbed the front of my shirt. His voice was a low, animal-like growl. “I am not going to let anything happen to her, got that?”
I nodded.
He stared at me, his eyes boring down into mine, and his teeth clenched. Carrie reached over and took his hand.
“Okay,” Curtis called over his shoulder, his gaze still on me. “We’re coming.” Finally, he turned toward the V’s, his eyes going from face to face. “Hector, you’re in charge. Keep ’em safe.”
Hector nodded solemnly. His fingers were tight around the claw hammer in his hands. He looked just as ready to attack me with it as defend me.
Curtis stepped to the door. “We’re all coming out. All the V’s. Gangs’ll stay away from each other, and we meet in the foyer. That work?”
There was a pause. “That works.”
“Okay. Everybody back away.”
All of us were tense, watching Curtis and Carrie as they waited at the door. This could all be a trick—they could attack as soon as we came out—and all of us knew it. Curtis’s and Carrie’s hands were tight together, their knuckles white.
Curtis motioned to us, and we pushed the toolbox away from the door. Hector moved up right behind our unarmed leaders, and the rest of us followed as they slowly opened the door. The hall in front was clear. They stepped out.
I glanced down the back hall. I could see the outside doors. No one was blocking them.
“We’re coming,” Curtis said. “You have Carrie and me as collateral. The V’s are going to wait outside.” He motioned to Hector, who immediately began hurrying us down the hall toward the doors.
Shouting swelled behind us, and I heard Curtis yell over the noise. “They’re not escaping. They’re just going where you can’t get them while we talk.”
We ran to the doors. I checked my watch. 5:51 a.m.
Mason was the first to reach them, a pipe wrench hanging in his hand. There was a buzz and click, and he pushed the door open.
Chapter Twenty-three
Hector waited as the rest of the V’s ran outside. I was at the back of the group, and when I reached him I paused.
“Well?” he said, scowling. “Whatever you’re doing, you’d better hurry.”
“Yeah.” I hefted the crowbar in my hand and then sprinted for the incinerator and the door. I hadn’t been back to it since everything had happened—I hadn’t wanted to touch it, or relive it. I’d been replaying the whole thing in my mind enough as it was.
I stopped in front of it, the incinerator to my right. The door didn’t look like anything special. It was metal, painted a warm brown to match the building’s brick. The knob was silver, round and smooth, and one of the unlocking sensors was fastened to the brick above the jamb.