by David Estes
In front of the mirror, he practices swallowing and talking with it in his mouth, until he can’t tell it’s there at all.
~~~
Check is waiting anxiously for things to get started when Rod shows up.
“Hola,” he says.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry, amigo.”
Check shakes his head. “Don’t be. I know Gonz was like a brother to you.”
“He was my brother, in every way that counted.”
Check has to swallow thickly to fight off the emotion in his throat. “Mine too. Both of you.”
“I’m coming,” Rod says.
Check grins. “Cause some trouble like the old days?”
“Bots yeah.”
They clasp hands and man-hug and then listen as the mission leader reminds them of each of their roles. They’re the cleanup crew, responsible for maintaining order around the strike zone and convincing the city that Pop Con has brought this on them. They’ve gone old school, printing thousands of pamphlets with the headline The Truth! along with anti-population control messages.
Check’s heard it all before, and his mind wanders. He scans the room, wondering how long these people have been following Jarrod, trusting his judgment. Don’t trust Jarrod. Benson’s warning cuts through him. He wonders what his friend knows, and hopes he’ll soon be able to ask him. He hopes they can close the distance that seems to separate them, a span more emotional than physical these days.
While lost in his thoughts, his eyes spot movement toward the back of the mission control room. A door opens and Jarrod himself strides inside, glancing quickly at the group before cutting along the edge and through another door. Behind him trails a large procession of men and women, dressed casually in clothes that seem far too bulky for their sizes, even in the cold weather.
Are they some other part of the plan? he wonders. Something clicks inside him—a memory. The Grunk that Benson and he Picked before everything went down the toilet. The Lifer that eventually blew up U-Bank. His clothes had also been bulky, a too-big suit jacket to hide the fact that he was strapped with massive amounts of explosives.
He starts counting the Lifers following Jarrod. Ten, twelve, fifteen, twenty…they keep coming. Their faces are blank and stalwart, their shoulders back and heads held high. They look like people on a mission. Or people trying to hide their fear. Maybe a bit of both.
Between their shoulders and backs he catches a glimpse of another face, lower to the ground than the rest. It’s a kid, and it looks just like Geoffrey. But then Check blinks and he’s gone, and Check laughs at himself for his paranoia. He left Geoffrey in bed playing a holo-game with the promise that he’d be back soon and he’d tell Geoffrey all about the mission. Geoffrey had looked giddy with glee at the prospect.
His mind is playing tricks on him, that’s all. “Yo. You ready?” Rod says, snapping him back to reality as the last of Jarrod’s group exits through the other door. He realizes the briefing has ended, and everyone’s filing from the room.
“Yeah. Of course. Yeah. Let’s do this,” Check says.
But even as he’s handed a weapon and a handshake from the mission leader, a sinking feeling settles into the back of his mind.
There were way more suicide bombers than he’d expect for a single attack. With the firepower beneath their bulky getups, they’d be able to destroy almost all of Saint Louis.
~~~
Beneath his clothes, the weight of the vest tugs at Geoffrey’s shoulders, but he doesn’t try to adjust it. It’s his burden to bear. For Luce. For Gonz. For his friends still alive—for Benson. He’s doing this for all of them.
Although he doesn’t feel brave, his knees trembling like stalks of dry grass in the wind, he pretends to be. If he shows any weakness or uncertainty, Jarrod might pull him off the mission and replace him with someone more experienced, more reliable. He can’t let that happen. He can’t take the thought of being left behind yet again.
When they reach the safe house exit, which leads directly into the Tunnels, Jarrod waits for the others to leave before turning to Geoffrey. “You remember everything you have to do?”
Geoffrey nods as firmly as he can, stiffening his knees to hide their shaking. He doesn’t speak for fear that his voice will crack.
“Good. I have my own part to play tonight. This is where we part ways. I hope you find your sister tonight.”
Geoffrey swallows, forces the words out, his voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “I will, sir.”
Jarrod ruffles his hair and hugs him with one arm. “You honor us all with your sacrifice.”
And then the Lifer leader is gone, and Geoffrey knows he’ll never see him or any of his friends again.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The concert is just getting started when they arrive, the electric shriek of metal bursting through the gates and into the cold air. The streets are full of concertgoers with inordinate amounts of pent up energy from the recently ended citywide lockdown. The crowds are as good a disguise for them as any, and not once does Benson feel exposed. He wonders if this is how holo-actors feel, always playing a role, never being themselves. Invisible.
They separate: Minda with Benson, Harrison with Destiny, and Simon with Janice. Although it’s hard for Benson to watch his mother slip away through the mob in the big Canadian’s wake, he agreed this was the safest way. And he trusts Simon with his mother’s life. Plus, if all goes according to plan, they’ll be back together soon enough.
He watches as Harrison and Destiny drift slowly toward the back of the crowd, letting the others enter the gates first. Simon and Janice are through so quickly Benson barely sees them disappear inside. Minda casually drapes her arm around his neck as they approach the security guard. “Baby, you remembered the tickets, right?” she says loudly over the cannon-like thump of a drumbeat.
The guard’s eyes are all over Minda, roaming up and down her lean, curvy form, a dumb smile on his oversized face. If he only knew how many ways she could kill him with her bare hands, he might not look so happy.
“Right here,” Benson says, surprised when his voice comes out at all. He hands over the holo-tickets, which the guard scans, drawing the process out longer than necessary so he can continue to sneak looks at Minda.
“Your retinas,” he says, holding up a handheld scanner. The red beam passes over their eyes, and then flashes green. “Have fun.”
They step through the weapons scanner, which also flashes green, and the gate opens. “I’m sure we will, darling,” Minda calls back, winking. Benson’s amazed at how easily his partner settles into her role. The moment they’re inside, however, her demeanor changes completely. He can see the way her fists knot at her sides. “What I wouldn’t give to go back and kick him where it hurts the most,” she says.
“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Benson says.
“Oh, you’ll never have to worry about that, baby,” she coos, slipping back into her façade in an instant.
It’s a relief for Benson to laugh, although it comes out shaky. “You’re crazy,” he says.
“We all must be to come here,” she says. “I’d say your mother is the sanest of us all at this particular moment.”
Benson can’t disagree.
They continue on, and he notices Minda checking her watch. He remembers to do the same. Ten minutes until Harrison and Destiny join them inside. Their entrance will be far more interesting than the others. And far more dangerous.
For a while they just let the flow carry them into the enormous concert hall, which is throbbing with a combination of electronic beats, shredding electric guitar riffs, and intense drum solos. They’re so far back Benson can’t even see the performers from Sonic Boom, but no one seems to care, content to watch the hundred-foot-tall holo images of the band members projected into the crowd. The holo of the lead singer is wailing into a huge microphone, singing a song about riding the lightning that was a huge hit three years ago.
All ar
ound him, the bodies writhe, and Benson finds Minda doing the same, sweat beading on her forehead as she dances. If not for the intensely focused look in her dark eyes, he’d almost believe she was just out having a good time. He tries to follow her lead, jumping up and down with his hands up, but feels awkward and stiff, his legs out of sync with the rest of his body. He finds himself checking his watch every thirty seconds, the minutes ticking off far too slowly. He feels hot nervous energy running through his veins.
Three minutes left.
Minda grabs his hand and spins under his arm, running a hand down his chest. Her eyes are dancing as much as her body, flicking around the crowd, reconnoitering the area around them.
Two minutes.
She pulls him close and grinds against him, her lips tickling his ear. “Get ready. Simon and your mom are in position.” It’s barely begun, and already this is the weirdest experience of Benson’s life, but he nods, following her gaze to where it smashes into Simon, who’s easily the largest human in his vicinity. He’s dancing with Janice, both of them smiling what appear to be very real smiles. They’re actually having fun, it seems. It doesn’t really surprise him.
One minute.
The commotion comes thirty seconds early, and starts with shouts from behind them, where they entered the gates. A hush falls over the back part of the crowd, even as the rest of the crowd continues to scream and cheer and sing along to the next song, another hit called Crush Me, Honey.
Harrison bursts from the tunnel, his hoverboard skimming the crowd, his pants changing colors. Destiny is barely a step behind him, the metal of her hoverskates flashing in the strobe lights.
Most of the dancers stop dead in their tracks, shocked, but then an uproarious cheer greets them and the mob starts dancing faster and harder. Either the revelers think the hover-athletes are part of the show or they’re merely applauding the unprecedented and rebellious nature of their entrance.
Just as Harrison’s eyes lock on Benson’s, a trio of black-garbed hoverboarders speed into the hall.
Hunters.
~~~
Harrison knew he wouldn’t have much time, but even he’s surprised by how quickly the Hunters appear. Almost as if they expected trouble.
But he doesn’t have the luxury of thinking or worrying about that. Not with three guns tucked into his waistband. He cuts hard to the right just as Destiny veers left. Although he’d originally planned to be the entire distraction for tonight’s mission, she’s the perfect other half, her skating ability every bit as advanced as his boarding skills.
He doesn’t have to look back to know the Hunters are close behind. He can feel it in his bones. In the midst of a crowd this big, they won’t risk shooting him with real bullets. They won’t want to hit anyone by accident. Plus they probably don’t know who he is just yet, his disguise giving every indication that he’s just a crazed fan looking for a thrill on this night of nights.
But they might try to tranq him, or stun him, or use some other form of nonlethal force. At the very least, he needs to deliver the package. As he closes in, Benson’s eyes are enormous, like huge white orbs in their sockets. Harrison grabs two of the guns from his waistband, the ones stuffed inside a nonthreatening brown bag, and punches it into Benson’s gut as he passes him, knocking his brother over in the process. The original plan was to toss or hand the package to him, but he knows sometimes you’ve got to improvise. He needs it to look like an accident, an unfortunate collision as he attempts to flee the authorities.
With the package delivered, he digs in with his toes and rockets away toward the stage, getting as far away from his brother as possible. Destiny cuts in beside him, her mouth a tight line of determination. They’re the perfect team, a well-suited match.
As, side by side, they careen over the audience, he hopes this won’t be their last ride together.
~~~
There are so many colors, so many lights, so many people. For a moment Janice had almost forgotten why they were here. And then Harrison flew past and Destiny handed Simon a brown bag and reality pressed in on all sides like a closing trash compactor.
The key, she remembers, reciting it in her head as Simon drags her through the melee, which seems to part for him. He’s like a bulldozer, she thinks, her thoughts rolling over top of the numbers and letters streaming like a flowing river. For a moment they get screwed up, out of place, as if her mind’s river hits a turbulent patch of rapids, but then they straighten out again, her husband’s voice speaking them one at a time, in perfect order.
Lost in her own world, she watches distantly as he steers her through an atrium away from the main hall and into a bathroom marked Unisex. A young girl is doing her makeup in the mirror while a guy does his business into a urinal. “Out,” Simon says.
The girl gives him one look and scuttles away like a crab, her high heels clacking the tiles. The guy takes a second longer, but then hurriedly finishes and bolts through the door without washing his hands. “Gross,” Janice says.
Simon raises an eyebrow and locks the door. A moment later he unlocks it when there’s a triple knock, two hard bangs sandwiching a single softer tap. Janice remembers the signal from their planning meeting today. A smile lights up her face as Simon opens the door.
Benson and Minda spill inside. Janice’s face falls when she sees her son gasping for breath, dropping to the dirty floor. “What happened?” Simon asks, relocking the door. Janice slides to the ground and cradles Benson’s head in her lap. He’s cringing.
“Harrison happened,” Minda says.
“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Simon says.
“It’s okay,” Minda says. “It was probably the right move. It covered up the whole exchange and gave me a good excuse to help him away from the crowd. The wind’s just knocked out of him. He’ll be fine in a minute.”
“We don’t really have a minute,” Simon says.
“Then we’ll make one. Guard the door.”
Benson breathes in Janice’s lap and she strokes his hair. “You’ll be okay, honey,” she says. “Your breath just needs to rest.”
He nods, still unable to speak, and she watches as Minda clambers onto one of the sinks and uses a small tool to pry at a large air vent in the ceiling. It takes her a long minute to get it loose, and by then Benson is able to sit up. “I’m okay,” he gasps.
Janice already knows he is—it’s Harrison who’s not. It’s Harrison who’s in the most danger at this exact moment. She tries not to think about that, but the more she thinks about Benson, the more she thinks about Harrison, until their faces are one and the same—the same person. She can’t lose either of them. Not again. Not ever.
“Okay. Janice first,” Minda says. Benson and Janice help each other to their feet, and Minda pulls Janice onto the counter next to the sink. “Step in my hands.” She knits her fingers together and makes a step.
Trying not to think about how weird it is to step onto someone’s hands, Janice places her foot down and Minda pushes upward, the dark square hole growing bigger and bigger until she’s looking inside. She grabs the edges and pulls herself inside, the space tight but not so much that she can’t wriggle her arms and legs like a salamander, propelling her forward.
The darkness growing thicker, she remembers her flashlight, switching it on to illuminate the long metal tunnel stretching out before her. She knows there’s a lock somewhere ahead of her. A lock that only the key can turn.
And that’s her.
~~~
The damn BotDog, despite being told to “Stay,” and despite Michael having closed the door behind him, somehow managed to escape the bounds of the house and catch up to him. Something is clearly wrong with its programming, and yet he can’t help but to smile when he sees Lola scamper up beside him.
His smile fades quickly though, and not only because he knows he needs to focus. Because he remembers when Harrison, a nine-year-old ball of confidence, demanded a BotDog for his birthday. Michael had wanted desperately to gi
ve him the pet, especially so soon after Janice’s breakdown and departure. But he couldn’t. If he gave his son what he wanted, he might start loving his dad again. And he couldn’t let that happen. Every day could be the day Michael would be discovered, and if that day were to come, he’d need Harrison to hate his guts with every single part of his being. He’d need Harrison to live a normal life, a happy life, far away from his plans and the truths of the horrible world they lived in. And if he loved his daddy, that might not happen. He might ask questions. He might seek revenge.
So he told Harrison he wasn’t old enough for a pet and that the discussion was closed.
He and his little boy grew farther apart with each passing day, and Michael hated himself for it. Yet, in the end it didn’t make a difference; Harrison is in his business every bit as deep as he is.
He bends down and lets Lola lick his hand. “Okay. You can come. But you have to be quiet when I ask you to.” Although technically the bot should obey him, her programming has already acted up once. He’s hoping it doesn’t happen again.
As he continues his walk toward the ritzy side of the city, the houses begin to thin out on either side, growing larger and more luxurious as the property sizes increase. They’re lit by huge spotlights that must cost a fortune to keep on all night. He recognizes one of them as the mayor’s house; another is Corrigan Mars’s old place. His acquaintances used to poke fun at him for never having moved into this neighborhood, although he attended many a party here.
