by B. C. Tweedt
“I’ll need to check in with my oldies around noon for lunch.”
“Me, too. Rugby there by noon-thirty?”
“Wow, Joey. Just wow.”
She took off a cucumber and glared at him with the free eye.
His smile was cracking the mud on his cheeks.
“You’re almost a genuine Aussie now with all that lingo.”
“Wallaby darned. Thanks.”
Suddenly Sammy’s hand was reaching into Jarryd’s tub.
“WHOA!” He sat up, dropping the cucumbers to the mud. “Watch your hand! What are you doing?”
Sammy had exited his tub. He stood and smiled wide, chewing on one of his cucumbers with his teeth protruding in all directions. “Stealing your mud.”
“Why?” He pointed to Sammy’s tub. “You have a whole tub of your own.”
He shrugged. “I farted in mine. Kinda ruined the aroma therapy.”
“Oh…my.” Avery laughed again, covering her mouth with a muddy hand.
Jarryd shook his head at her and scooped out two handfuls of mud into Sammy’s hands. “There. Plenty of my aroma for you.”
“Shank you very much!”
Sammy rubbed the mud over his chest and face and hair.
Trying to ignore him, Jarryd turned again to Avery with a plastered-on smile. “SO…what were we talking about?”
Avery shrugged. “I forget. But do you want to go to the dance club tonight? Tonight’s just for teens.”
Jarryd’s smile faded. He had been recruited for an important mission tonight. And she couldn’t know.
“I’m actually not a teen – still twelve. Sorry.”
She took off her other cucumber to better examine him. “Time passes fast’ah in Australia. You can pretend y’ah thirteen.”
He faked a laugh. “Sorry. I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Uh…”
“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me. I should hang with my oldies anyway. Or find anoth’ah date.”
He glanced at Sammy, who knew exactly what his plans were. Sammy shrugged, winked, then made his way toward the door. “I’m going to ask for more mud.”
They watched Sammy leave.
Jarryd turned back. “But, I want to go with you. I just can’t.”
“We could go whenev’ah your oth’ah thing ends. The club’s open late.”
“Um…”
“What time does your oth’ah thing end?”
“It uh…well.” He started to sweat, but the mud was constricting his skin.
“Can I watch?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so. I’ll be in someone else’s room.”
“Really? That sounds interesting.”
He’d said too much. “Nope. Nope. Not really.”
“Whose room?”
“Some guy.”
“You’re going to be in another guy’s room?”
He panicked. “No! Well, yes, but just while he’s shower – uh, just to get something.”
“Get what?” She was leaning over the edge of her tub, dripping mud from her chin. Her muddy arms were draped over the side, slender and elegant.
“Just to borrow it,” he said, putting his cucumbers back over his eyes, but peeking through the side.
Her arm reached over him and gently removed one of the cucumber slices. “Borrow what?”
His wide eye stared at her as he gulped. “The thing that tells time.” He hadn’t really told her anything.
“Oh,” she said softly taking a bite of his cucumber. “A little cat burglary?”
“Who would steal a cat? We’re just checking something out.”
“Ah. A little reconnaissance?”
“I don’t even know what that is.” He was being honest.
Her face hovered over him, her eyes feisty. She had never looked hotter. “I can help.”
“I promised Chandler it would just be us.”
“He doesn’t like me?”
“No. It’s Sydney…”
“Who’s Sydney? Like the city?”
Ah, crap. He messed up again. “Yeah. Is it warm there this time of year?”
She eyed him and then jerked away his other cucumber slice. “Is that Rachel’s real name?”
He shifted in the mud bath, making it slosh over the side. “Well…”
She smiled – a playful, devilish smile. “You’re hiding something…”
Jarryd’s heart slapped his ribs and his fingers gripped the edge of the tub. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to run or to grab her and hold her close.
“…and I like it.” She bit her lower lip and examined his face, that same playful smile drawing closer across the gap.
Jarryd gulped long and hard. “I’m hiding a lot.”
Chapter 32
“Stay in the truck, buddy. Want anything?”
Asher bit his lip, in deep thought. “A slushie! Stwawbewwy.”
“Gotcha.” Dan clicked his tongue and jogged toward the gas station, leaving Asher by the pump.
Asher immediately took out his e-reader and pulled up the book he was reading. It was a survival book his dad had told him to read. There were tons of interesting tips – like how to hunt, which berries were edible, first aid, and how to make traps. He was just reading about a trap called a deadfall when someone waved at him from the front of the car.
It was a boy with large sunglasses, wearing a red hat underneath a shabby hoodie. He looked friendly, though, with a big smile. He held a dripping squeegee in his hand.
Asher rolled down the passenger window and the boy approached cautiously.
“Hey,” the boy said. “Can I clean your windows for you?”
Asher shot a glance to the gas station. His dad was inside. But he wouldn’t mind.
“Okay. Why?”
“Just to be nice. And if your mom or dad wants to give a donation, that’s cool, too.”
Asher smiled. He didn’t get to talk to big kids much. “My name’s Ash’uh. A’w you in high school?”
“Nope. Not yet. I would be in eighth grade, but I’m not from around here.”
The boy began wiping the wet squeegee back and forth on the windshield, removing a layer of dirt and film Asher hadn’t realized had been there before.
“Wha’ah you f’wom?”
The boy hesitated. “Pretty far away.”
Asher turned his e-reader off, excited about the idea that popped into his head. His dad would be so proud. “You should come to ou’ah place tonight.”
The boy laughed. “Thanks for the offer, but I got to get going soon. I’ve still got a long way to go.”
Disappointed, Asher didn’t give up easily. “Well, my dad has a plane. He can take you anywhe’ah.”
The boy stopped suddenly and returned to the passenger window. “Really? His own plane?”
“Yeah-yeah! I bet he could take you after Fellowship tonight!”
The boy was so excited. But then he flinched. “Fellowship? Like a church thing?”
Asher laughed. “No. Chu’ch is on Sunday. They changed the name from Plu’ibus after the bomb. I like Plu’ibus bett’ah though. Wolled wight off yah tongue. Fellowship sounds bo’wing even though it’s not.”
But the boy must have thought Asher was boring. He left in a hurry, leaving the windshield half done and the squeegee lying on the cement. Asher caught sight of him as he ran to where a dog sat next to a backpack.
“Cool dog!” he yelled out the window, hoping the boy would come back. But he was gone.
Breathing a deep sigh, Asher pouted. What had he done? The boy would have been a cool friend. None of his friends at school had an eighth grader with sweet sunglasses and a police dog as their friend.
The driver’s door opened. “One strawberry slushie for…” Dan stopped mid-sentence, gawking at the half-washed windshield with streaks of blue cleaner running down to the wipers. “Did you try to clean the windshield?”
Asher shook his head. “No. Someone else.”
“A boy. Eighth gwad’ah.”
His dad’s eyes lit up. “Eighth grader? You talked to him?”
“Yeah. He was nice. Not f’om around he’ah. Says he’s going fa’w away.”
“Which way did he go?”
His dad’s voice was tense. Asher could tell he was serious. “That way. With his dog.”
Dan turned on the truck, punched it into gear, and sped in the direction Asher directed. “Don’t ever talk to strangers like that again, okay?”
Asher gulped and his lip started to quiver. The anger and panic in his dad’s voice was frightening. It hadn’t been directed toward him in years.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Did he say anything else? Did you tell him anything?”
Asher looked at his feet, trying to hold back his tears as the truck swung around the corner. “No.”
------------------
“Is that Jarryd and Avery?”
“What are they doing?”
Nick and Sydney saw them from afar, hiding behind a post and pointing toward a bald sunbather laying out on a deck chair. Jarryd and Avery were snickering together. They were up to no good it seemed.
“Hey, guys!” Sydney said loudly.
“Shhh!” Jarryd shushed, motioning for them to join him behind the post.
“What are you up to?”
“Just wait for it. Here comes the waiter.”
The waiter weaved around deck chairs with a platter on his hand, carrying several cold drinks complete with straws, little umbrellas, and lemon slices. They looked delicious.
The man took a clear liquid from the waiter and leaned on his side for a drink. Jarryd and Avery tried to contain their laughter with snorts and gasps instead.
“What?” Nick asked. “Did you spit in his drink?”
“Noooo. We collected our drips in the sauna.”
The bald man sipped at the straw and then recoiled with a blasting spit that left a mist in the air as he tumbled over the side of the chair. The drink fell to the deck but didn’t break, sloshing the drink to the ground with a loud crack.
After Jarryd and Avery had laughed hysterically for several seconds, the waiter returned, frantically helping the man up and apologizing. But the man wouldn’t have it. He was up in the waiter’s face, yelling obscenities at him.
The kids pressed themselves against the post, barely peeking out.
After a few moments, the bald man had cooled and adjusted the waiter’s collar that he had grabbed in the heat of the moment. And that’s when Sydney saw it.
“He has a watch, too! They both do.”
And she was right. Both the bald man and the waiter had the same smart watch. This was the first non-worker they had seen with the watch. Sydney’s face lit up. And then the watches did too – at the same time.
The bald man looked at his and so did the waiter. With a knowing look, they nodded to each other and went their separate ways.
When they were a safe distance away, Jarryd and Avery shared the same look of confusion. But Nick was satisfied. “That’s the third time. The watches are not a coincidence. They are being used for coordinated communication, like we thought,” he looked at Sydney. “And we have to get one.”
Sydney elbowed Nick and gave a sideways glance to Avery.
“I know already,” Avery said. “I’m in.”
“What? You know?”
Jarryd squirmed, backing away from Sydney.
“Yeah. You’re going to take one of their watches.”
“Do you know why?” Sydney asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nick said, putting his hand on Sydney’s arm as she began to lean toward Jarryd – most likely for a pummeling.
Avery arched her brow. “For fun? Why else?”
Nick gave Sydney a look and shrugged. At least she didn’t know everything. “Yeah. Why else? We might need, you, Avery. Ross has been MIA all day. Yesterday he vomited off the zip-line after eating too many shrimp.”
“He’s better now. We saw him doing Karaoke on the stage after lunch,” Jarryd said. “He was actually pretty good. Did ‘What Does the Fox Say?’ all by himself. He’s got pipes!”
Nick sighed. “He’s still unreliable. Avery can help.”
Sydney’s eyes burned a hole through Nick’s glasses, but he just gave her a tiny shrug. Avery caught the look and put up her hands as if to surrender. “Sounds like fun.”
“Whatever,” Sydney said. “But I’ve got to go follow him. We have better odds getting into a guest’s room than a worker’s.”
“I’ll go with,” Nick asserted. “You two, meet us in Central Park at seven. It’s going down tonight.”
---------------
The town of Meyer’s Crossing was quaint. Greyson guessed only a thousand or two people lived there. There was a small main street with one stoplight and several shops, and radiating from its center was avenue after avenue of homes. There weren’t many apartment buildings and only two buildings tall enough to stick out above the rest, and they had steeples. Churches. At one of them there would be a Pluribus meeting.
Greyson eyed them from his perch on the foothills east of town, where he had retreated after meeting the boy with the Plurb-pilot for a father. The run from the gas station had been filled with panic, but also exhilaration. There had been many places to hide, and his backpack was much lighter now, so escape had been easier. What had made his heart race, though, was what the boy had said.
A plane. The dad had his own plane. The thought of it still made him giddy. If he could somehow convince the man to give him a ride, he could be in the Bahamas in a matter of hours instead of weeks. Hours!
His multi-tool’s knife that he held in his hands may be the answer. He twisted it around with his fingers, examining the blade.
Nick had told him everything he knew from his week or two with Pluribus after the bomb. And he could use that knowledge to get closer to the man that could take him where he needed to go. It would be very risky – almost foolish – but not entirely. It was one of those things right on the edge of stupid, but still barely in the sane range. It walked the line between crazy and courageous.
It would be daring.
He held the knife blade against his eyebrow, guiding it with his other hand. Kit watched with concern, stopping in mid-pant to stare.
“It’s okay, boy. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Kit let out a whimper.
“I mean it. It’ll grow back.”
He turned the blade and pressed the sharp edge against his brow. He would have to get all of the hair, right down to the skin.
Kit buried his face in his paws.
Chapter 33
12 hours until Nassau
“Target’s about a three minute walk away,” Sydney reported into her walkie-talkie, judging the time based on how long it would take him to get back to his room. The ship was as busy as ever, with people finding supper, attending shows, or, like their bald target, starting their night at the bar. “Good position.”
The bald man was sitting down in a little piano lounge nearby. The balcony a floor above provided the perfect surveillance point. If there was a good time to make their move, it was now.
“Ten-four. Cleaners are still two rooms down,” Nick reported through the walkie.
Sydney nodded to herself. “Everyone else in position?”
-----------------
Nick eyed Jarryd, Avery, and Sammy next to him in the elevator lobby. They were all in position and they knew what to do. Sammy – the distraction. Jarryd – the thief. Nick – the overseer. And Avery was in charge of the elevators, making sure one would be available at just the right time.
“Yeah, we’re all ready,” he replied to Sydney.
Nick peeked down the hallway again, watching the cleaning man exchanging old towels for new, taking out trash, and doing whatever else he did in the guests’ rooms as they were
away. The next door down had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign hanging from its door knob, so he knew the cleaners would pass that one. Then, two doors further down was room 1303, the room they had followed the bald man to after his sweat-drink incident. Judging from the time the cleaners took on the last three rooms, it would be another fifteen minutes.
“Fifteen minutes,” he informed Sydney via walkie talkie.
“Roger that. Let’s hope he’s thirsty.”
“Just a quick question,” Jarryd whispered to Nick. “What if he doesn’t take a shower? What if he goes to bed while I’m in the room?”
“Find a comfortable place to hide. And take a pillow.”
Jarryd scowled.
“Don’t worry,” Avery joined in. “Sydney will make sure he wants to shower. She said she’d handle it.”
“Well, I’m still frickin’ worried. What if he doesn’t take off his watch? What if it’s water-proof?”
“Then you’ll just get out and we’ll think of something else,” she said, trying her calmest, motherly voice.
“But what if he catches me and he’s a creeper and he kills me and stuff?”
Avery grimaced. “Just stop worrying; we’ll be right outside.”
“While I’m being creepered to death?”
Impatient with all the questions, Nick stepped in. “I could go in instead.”
Jarryd was offended. “Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? I can run circles around you. Like five. Maybe seven before throwing up. But you – you’d chicken out at the first whiff of trouble. No – at the first whiff of a whiff of trouble. Not me! I don’t smell trouble. Trouble smells me and trembles. Watch me.”
Nick gave Avery a look that said, “That’s how it’s done.”
-----------------
“How do we do this, Kit?”
Kit licked at Greyson’s chin, but Greyson retreated.
“Like that, huh? Straight for it?”
Safely hidden behind a bush and anticipating the darkness coming with the setting sun, he scanned the church from across the block. Ten long stairs led to the church’s massive front doors. Stained glass windows, tall oak trees, and even the steeple seemed to stretch toward the sky in a sort of yearning.
Just as the church was dark and showed signs of abandonment, the neighborhood followed suit. While some houses were well-kept – with small gardens, clean cars, and decorated mailboxes – others were abandoned, bearing plywood signs nailed over the door that read ‘FOSTER HOME’ in spray-painted letters with a drawing of an upside-down pyramid underneath. Greyson guessed it had to do with President Foster. And while American flags hung outside most of the houses, except for the ‘Foster Homes’, there were a few that were oddly hung upside down.
