The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  “You think I was born yesterday?” The commissioner shook his head. “I’ve seen kids like you before: spoiled rotten. Think you run the world. Please, spare me your entitlements. You’ll wear the handcuffs until we’ve confirmed your identity, and that’s final.” He wandered around the table and kneeled in front of Phoenix. “But the sunglasses, well, those have got to come off now.” He gingerly lifted Phoenix’s glasses, his eyes bright with the knowledge that he was holding something truly expensive.

  Phoenix butted him hard in the head, and the commissioner fell to the ground. Mila quickly squatted by his side and fished a ring of keys from his pocket. “See any black ones?” she asked. “Maybe one with an edge like a jigsaw?”

  There were at least twenty keys dangling from his keyring. I scanned the bunch as best as I could. “Uh, lemme see… Could you maybe twist them around?” She turned them in the air. “There,” I said, “that's better.” I turned and tapped a black key with my finger. She grabbed it from the bunch and twisted it toward her handcuffs with surprising dexterity. In seconds, the cuffs fell from her wrists with a clank.

  “Who’s next?” she asked. Phoenix raised his arms behind his back, and she undid his, followed by mine. I wondered how she knew the keys so well. How had she known that the black ones alone would unlock the cuffs?

  Phoenix stared at the commissioner and rubbed his forehead. “God, he’s got a thick skull.”

  Mila rolled her eyes. “Kinda like the guy who hit him.” Phoenix grinned. She tossed him the keyring. The keys looked small in his hands, like they weren’t real keys at all. I stared at my own hands. They couldn’t have been much bigger than Mila’s…

  “Those things,” I pointed to Phoenix’s keys, “they look like nuggets in your hands… You know… Because they’re small…”

  “Dear god,” said Mila.

  I could’ve slapped myself upside the head. There was something magnetic about Phoenix. Like, in a weird way, he was a superhero, and even though I knew he was going to try to kill me, a part of me wanted to just shrug it off and say, “Well, that’s just how he is.”

  Phoenix smirked. For a second he didn’t look so wise or grown-up. He just looked like a regular nineteen-year-old kid. “You know what they say about big hands…”

  “No correlation,” I said quickly, and Mila chuckled.

  Phoenix turned a key in the door, and it opened with a click. Down the hall, an alarm sounded, and the lights flashed. It was starting to seem like all lights ever did anymore was flash.

  I tossed my glasses to the floor—I needed my vision clear if I was going to run—and followed Phoenix’s pounding feet. The thump of his shoes against the cold, white tile was drowned out by a familiar voice. “This is an emergency,” a woman’s voice announced. My chest shivered—I was back in the Tube. The megalodons were circling. Charlie was floating by…

  “There has been a security breach. The building is now on lockdown. Please head to your designated area immediately. This is an emergency…”

  Men in yellow suits scrambled down the hall looking like giant French fries. We raced down the corridor in the opposite direction, hurtling past scrambling T&C agents. One tripped on another’s yellow suit, falling to the ground and throwing his hands toward his colleagues, imploring them to save him.

  “LEAVE HIM! LEAVE HIM!” another shouted.

  There was a window at the end of the hall, and sunlight poured in with little regard for the flashing lights. It was morning—we’d driven straight through the night. A metal gate lowered from the ceiling as the building prepared for lockdown.

  “Shit,” muttered Mila. “They’re really locking us in.”

  Phoenix didn’t stop running. He tore through the building like it was on fire. “Where’s the commissioner’s office, Meels?”

  She shrugged and feigned indifference.

  “I know you know where it is. Now please, just tell me.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pointed.

  “Does he have a window view?”

  “I don’t remember,” said Mila. “But I think he grew flowers in his office.”

  Phoenix nodded. “He’s got a window then.”

  We sprinted down the hall. How did Mila know the commissioner? Maybe this was why she’d kept her head down. Maybe she’d been caught before.

  The commissioner’s office was stuck in the hall’s corner, and as soon as we were inside, Mila slammed its door shut behind us. She moved to lock it, but Phoenix shook his head. “We don’t have time. I need the keys.” She tossed him the set.

  The commissioner’s office was painted orange like sherbet. Pictures of his dog—a basset hound—lined the walls. On the desk were stacks of books, pens, and paper clips. A large window glowed to the desk’s left, and light shined brightly on a pot of pink petunias sitting on its ledge. Even as we stared, bars began to lower themselves across the window.

  Phoenix jammed the keys between the lowering bars and the windowsill. They groaned, then stopped altogether. With a shaking fist, Phoenix then shoved the bars back up. They wailed as their circuits burned and died. Phoenix then stuck the keys between his fingers and punched through the glass, his knuckles getting sliced as it broke into shards. He climbed through the window and motioned for me to throw him a hand.

  Just then the door slammed open, and the commissioner stood panting in the doorway, his face red with blood and sweat.

  “What do we do?” I asked Phoenix. He pointed to a paper clip lying separate from the rest, and then to the commissioner. I grabbed it and held it high in the air. I’d underestimated the power of Bertha’s special paper clips before, but not now.

  “TAKE THIS!” I yelled. I tossed the clip with a flick of my wrist and braced myself for the eruption of smoke that would follow.

  The paper clip bounced harmlessly off the commissioner’s chest and fell to the ground. He scratched his head. “What the hell?”

  Phoenix grabbed my hand and pulled me through the window.

  “It was just a normal paper clip?” I said.

  Phoenix nodded. “But it distracted him, didn’t it?”

  I pretended not to be disappointed, but silently I added paper clips to the list of things I couldn’t trust: puddles in public restrooms, door handles, the Lost Boys, and, now, paper clips. I had a feeling the list would grow indefinitely.

  Mila crawled through the window after us. As she slipped out, a hand shot out from the office and wrapped itself around her ankle. The commissioner’s bloodshot eyes appeared in the window, staring angrily at her as he fought hard to catch his breath. Mila’s hood fell back around her neck, and a flash in the commissioner’s eyes told me recognized her curls.

  “Mila Vachowski,” he said, his eyes foggy—distant like those of the denizens of Skelewick. “I knew that wasn’t your face on the news.”

  Mila turned and, for the first time since I’d met her, I saw real fear in her green eyes. She tried to pull her leg away, but the commissioner held on even more tightly. “I remember your father,” he said. “He was a good man. One of the best we had in the Ministry. We don’t get ones like him often.”

  Mila nodded slightly, her eyes drooped, and her mouth went slack in a breathless gape. The commissioner released her leg. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.” Mila yanked her leg away, and we ran.

  The commissioner had known her father—he’d worked for the Ministry of Transpiration & Commerce. That was how she’d known about the keys and the layout of the border station—because she’d been there before many times. We ran over a hill that backed up against the side of the station and fled into the city. Mila wiped tears from her eyes.

  I wondered, again, who were the Lost Boys, and what were they really doing? And, perhaps most importantly: what did they want with me?

  Chapter 30

  We stole a white minivan from a Bixby & Barnnigan’s parking lot in Maui. Phoenix figured it belonged to a soccer mom and that she’d be in the store for a while, givin
g us time to run before she reported its theft to the cops.

  Next we drove to a local Drive-n-Thrive burger shop, and demanded that they give us a set of their uniforms (ridiculous green baseball caps) and pairs of sunglasses. I tried to edge in a request for a cheeseburger by showing them my socks, but they hadn’t fired the grills up yet and it’d be thirty minutes if we wanted to wait.

  Phoenix hadn’t wanted to wait.

  In Maui, we drove along the ocean highways (mostly because there were fewer police officers there) instead of taking the Tubes. The ocean broke along the cliffs and shoreline, its water dull and gray, complemented by the angry clouds above.

  Mila slept in the front seat. She’d said her head still hurt from the airbag earlier. That, and she didn’t want to talk about the conversation with the commissioner. She didn’t want to acknowledge her past at all. I asked Phoenix what happened exactly, but he shook his head and said, “She’ll tell you in time, kid.”

  I sort of resented the fact he called me kid. I was fifteen years old, for god’s sake—an adult for all Federal intents and purposes. Had I been vaccinated, I could’ve voted in the fall elections. Instead, I sat there with brown eyes like a child, praying the Indigo pills Phoenix had given me those first few days were still working.

  When at last we reached the end of the highway, we had no choice but to merge onto the Atlantic Northwestern Tube. It was much quieter than the Pacific Southwestern, with only three lanes for cars and one track for the subway. Phoenix told me the Tubes that went to the Suburban Islands were really only busy during rush hour, when commuters used them, and that, unlike Maui, border patrol was essentially nonexistent. Sure enough, the man at the station waved us through with a smile. He didn’t even stop us to check out our registration.

  “Strange that security’s so lax here,” I said.

  Phoenix shrugged. “I guess they figure they’ve got nothing worth attacking. Better to put the troops near the big cities.”

  “Did you hear what the commissioner said? About Mila being on the news?”

  “Yeah, I remember him saying something along those lines. It can’t be helped, I’m afraid. The girl they caught was probably a criminal anyway. I hope they execute her—for her sake. Torture would be far worse.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was saying. How nonchalantly he spoke. I felt sick to my stomach, and a lump formed in my throat. “Torture?” I croaked.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “If the Feds catch us, we’d better pray for death. It may seem like a fair trial on TV, but off-screen… you can be sure they’ll pull us apart piece by piece, the way a megalodon maims its meals before it eats them. They’d marinate us in our own suffering like a steak in vinegar.”

  I thought of Charlie’s bald head and sunken eyes. I imagined the Feds pulling her apart—using the chopsticks from her bun to cut her into pieces until all that was left were her bright blue eyes. The girl was probably a criminal anyway. Phoenix didn’t have an ounce of compassion for human life. Death rolled off his shoulders like rain.

  “We’re here,” he said. We sat outside a small two-story house with blue shuttered windows. It was identical to the other houses in its row, a clone, right down to its manicured lawn and rosebush to the right of the driveway. Phoenix tapped Mila’s arm to wake her.

  “But Sarah,” she mumbled, wiping sleep from her eyes.

  “Who’s Sarah?” I asked, but they’d already climbed out of the car.

  Phoenix rapped his knuckles against the white wooden door. “Let yourself in,” called a woman’s husky voice. It was familiar. I’d heard it before. In my past life—where I hadn’t been an enemy of the people, a Lost Boy.

  Mila turned the knob, and the three of us entered a living room. A woman sat on a green leather couch, fanning herself with a red paper fan in one hand as she eyed the cuticles on the other. “You can shut it behind you,” she said, without looking up.

  Phoenix slammed the door. “Neevlor’s dead.”

  The fan fell from the woman’s wrist. I saw a burning bird flash across its side as it dropped.

  It was the woman from the Tube—the one I’d spoken to the day it cracked. The one who’d told me not to get vaccinated. She laid her head down on her knees. “This is wrong,” she muttered. “This is all so wrong.”

  Phoenix sat next to her on the couch. “Nice to you see you too, Gwendolyn.”

  “Who’s the kid?” she said without lifting her head.

  “This is Kai.”

  I offered her my hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  She ignored it. “Pleasure’s all mine.” She ran her hands through her graying hair.

  “Don’t doubt it,” said Mila, through gritted teeth.

  Gwendolyn looked at her, and her eyes watered below her graying hair. Mila moved to the opposite end of the room. I picked up the fan and handed it back to Gwendolyn.

  “Thanks,” she said. Her eyes met mine for the first time. A look of recognition flashed across her face. “I—I know you,” she said. “You were on the Pacific Northwestern Tube the day it cracked. I thought it was your face they showed on the wanted posters. I saw your friend’s face, too. She’s been on the news. Her head’s shaved and her chopsticks are gone, but she’s still quite pretty. They got it wrong, didn’t they?”

  I shrugged. “Sorta,” I said. “For me at least, I guess the crimes listed on the posters are starting to be accurate.”

  Gwendolyn shook her head. “They’re not accurate at all. You haven’t done anything wrong—”

  “He’s done a few things,” said Phoenix.

  Gwendolyn ignored him. “And the girl,” she continued. “She didn’t do anything. The press isn’t even using her real name. They’re saying she’s Mila.” She turned to Mila. “They’re saying she’s you.”

  Mila crossed her arms. “How’s that my problem?” Her words stung, and my blood boiled.

  Phoenix stepped toward me. “You knew the girl they showed on TV? And you didn’t tell me? You acted like she was a stranger!”

  “I’m sure there’s more than a few things you haven’t told me,” I said.

  He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re saying, kid. You don’t have any idea what and who you’re dealing with.”

  “Really?” I said. “Because I think I’m starting to see things pretty clearly.”

  Gwendolyn moved between us. “My appointment is tomorrow afternoon,” she said. She smoothed the wrinkles in her cream-colored dress. “Dr. Howey confirmed it this morning.”

  Phoenix backed away, but he kept his stare focused on me. “Excellent,” he said. “Everything’s in order then.”

  Gwendolyn nodded. “Car’s in the garage. You can keep the keys when we’re done. Everything else is going to the state. They’ll liquidate half the assets and give the rest to charity.”

  “Ah,” said Mila, “the conscience clocks in right at the end.”

  Gwendolyn pursed her lips and headed toward the kitchen. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” she said, wiping dust from the kitchen table, “but I’m doing my best to make amends.”

  Mila’s eyes were hard. “It’s not enough. It will never be enough.”

  “Stop it, Meels,” said Phoenix, grabbing her arm. “She’s doing the best she can.”

  “Not all of us can be as brave as Harper,” Gwendolyn called from the kitchen. She sliced onions at the sink and stared out the back window.

  Phoenix joined her. “You’ve been brave enough, Gwendolyn.”

  I followed them into the kitchen, and saw that the table was already set for lunch. Three floral placemats were laid out in perfect symmetry.

  Gwendolyn sniffed back tears. I wondered if it was the onions or Dr. Neevlor’s death. Probably a bit of both.

  “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said to me. “I didn’t know a third person was coming. Placemats are in the cabinet to the left, top shelf.”

  We ate lunch in silence.

  “Good carrots,” I finally mutte
red.

  Gwendolyn smiled faintly. “They’re from my garden.”

  I twisted the veggies on my fork. “You don’t say?”

  The main course was chili. Mila needled her bowl with a spoon, never lifting her gaze from its depths. I don’t think she could look at Gwendolyn without getting mad. I wondered what had happened between the two, what Gwendolyn had done to evoke Mila’s wrath. I sipped another spoonful of the stew. It was the same shade as Neevlor’s blood. I was trying hard not to think about it.

  “Spicy,” I said.

  “It’s the onions.” Gwendolyn’s eyes watered again as she stared at Mila. “Gives it that extra kick.”

  Mila pushed out her chair and stood. “Well, this is bullshit.”

  “The onions?” I asked.

  She waved at the table. “This whole thing—this lunch. Everything. This whole stupid plan.”

  “Meels,” hissed Phoenix. He pushed her back into her seat. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She stood again and ran from the kitchen. “I’m going to lie down. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

  I glanced at a clock on the wall. It was two p.m.

  “Well,” said Phoenix. It was followed by silence.

  I pushed the stew around with my spoon. “What’s for dessert?” I asked finally.

  “Peach cobbler,” said Gwendolyn. I pictured Kindred feeling a silent stab in her chest and dropping a bowl of blueberries on the floor. Peach could’ve killed her.

  “Wonderful,” said Phoenix, his eyes wandering to where Mila had stood. “That sounds really nice.”

  “Yes.” Gwendolyn nodded. “Did you see I still have my fan?”

  Phoenix smiled. “I’m surprised it made it out of the Tube with you. I thought it’d be lost in the commotion. The bombs threw us for a loop.”

  Her eyes were glassy with nostalgia. “We had our fair share of commotion at the Ministry, too. You don’t get to be Director of the Lottery without a hearty dose of catastrophe.”

  “And a hearty dose of Indigo,” muttered Phoenix. I wondered if he was thinking about the Indigo Report—the virus they’d managed to manufacture in the samples.