What Tomorrow May Bring

by Tony Bertauski

  I gave a short nod to Simon, indicating the newcomer truck had passed the first gate. The truck held returnees from whatever government facility was used for the Feds’ heinous experiments. The girls were both fourteen and changelings. So much like Laney, but neither was her. Their thoughts were fuzzed, even though their minds were clear of the juice. I felt the parts of their brains that had been damaged, like soft dead spots where the doctors had targeted their destruction.

  A sour taste in the back of my throat threatened to bring up my lunch of protein bars. I hoped that someday Kestrel would suffer a painful payback for what he had done.

  Simon signaled Molloy that it was time to leave, and soon we were striding past weathered barracks and wary onlookers. We moved as a pack toward the entrance gate and sported a rainbow of armbands, with me and Simon surrounded by the strongest jackers in the Allied Clans.

  No one messed with us.

  The inner gate creaked to a metallic stop, and the truck slowly backed into the camp on its autopath. In theory, we could walk straight past the open gates into the hundred-foot gap between the fences. When Molloy scrubbed the minds of several veteran inmates, searching for true memories about escaping the camp, he found out that a few desperate prisoners had tried to escape that way. None had survived. Any movement between the fences triggered a wave of gas and trapped the escapee in that no man’s land until the next drop shipment or newcomer truck.

  I shook that mental image out of my head as the truck lurched to a stop. Molloy’s crew formed a brigade at the rear end. Simon and I pulled open the dust-covered doors and climbed inside. The wide-eyed pair of changelings cowered together on the bench, holding hands. Either they were friends, or they had already made an alliance. I cringed when I told them to get out. They were in no state to deal with the camp, but at least Molloy would look out for them. And maybe they wouldn’t be there long. If we were successful.

  The door slammed closed behind them.

  I took their place on the warm metal bench, and Simon sat next to me. When the gas struck, I would have to speed up his heart to fight it off, in addition to controlling my own heart rate and reaching out to the guards. I preferred that he stayed on the other side of the truck, but it would take less effort to control his heart rate if he was nearby. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to mind being close.

  We waited for the truck to start its autopath out of the camp. Our plan was to survive the gas, ride the truck to the perimeter gate, and knock out the guards. Then we would open the camp gates and release the prisoners. That part was Simon’s job. I planned on being long gone before any jackers reached the perimeter. But Simon didn’t need to know that until the time came.

  Simon seemed like he had something to say, only he wouldn’t spit it out. There was nothing left to discuss, but the stifling heat of the truck left me with little patience.

  “What?” I asked. I would save linking into his mind until it was necessary.

  He studied his hands. “I shouldn’t have lied to you, Kira. I should have told you the truth, about the Clan. About all of it.”

  I nodded but didn’t offer any more than that. I wouldn’t be facing a truck full of gas and trying to escape the Camp of the Flies if he hadn’t lied to me almost every step of the way. I still couldn’t figure out when the lies had begun, but they probably ended at the warehouse. By that point, it was a little late for the truth.

  Simon stared at the metal riveted floor of the truck. “All of this could have been avoided. If I’d told you the truth, maybe you would have joined the Clan willingly. Maybe I could have convinced you…”

  I snorted, causing him to look up. “It would have taken a lot more than kisses from you to convince me join the Clan.”

  His face twisted into a pained smile. “Well, at least there was some fun along the way.”

  It was my turn to stare at the rivets snaking along the floor and try to order away the blush rising up my face. How could I control my own heart rate, but not keep my cheeks from lighting up every time I was embarrassed? Simon scooted closer, so that our knees brushed. Mine were exposed by the shorts I had on when I was captured. We both had on the same clothes from the last time we kissed, in his car a lifetime ago.

  “We can still make this work, Kira.” His voiced dropped to that soft, rich sound he used when he was trying to convince me of something. He ran his fingers along my hair and tucked it behind my ear. “Just the two of us. Once we’re out of here, we can run away. Forget the Clan. We’ll go somewhere no one knows us and start over. We can pass as readers, and no one will ever know the difference.”

  His soft, urgent words tugged at me. I didn’t have to link into his head to know that was what he had wanted all along. Pretend to have a normal life, live off our ill-gotten gains, lie to everyone we knew. I dreamed of a normal life once, too, complete with boyfriends and college. Only Simon’s face was never the one that filled those dreams. If we got out of this alive, Simon could make his own way in the world. I was going home and seeing if I could get my life back and put things right with Raf.

  Simon took my silence for something else and leaned in to kiss me. I turned my face at the last moment, so that his lips landed on my cheek instead. They were as searing hot as always, even in the desert heat of the truck.

  Puffs from his laugh caressed my cheek. “I guess I deserved that.”

  The truck lurched and sent me crashing into him. He righted us, holding me gently by the shoulder. I took his hand and linked into his mind. You don’t deserve this. Neither of us does. Just because Simon had lied and betrayed me didn’t mean he deserved the camp. But his thoughts made more of that statement than I intended.

  A hiss announced the beginning of the gas, so I jacked in further to step up both our heart rates before the first whiff of orange scent reached us. Adrenaline made me want to pace the tight confines of the truck, but I stayed with Simon, my hand locked with his, and kept tabs on the state of his mind. As the mist surrounded us, I pulled the neck of my t-shirt up to cover my mouth and nose, and Simon did the same. It wasn’t much use. The intensity of the gas was overwhelming.

  The truck swayed to a stop and waited for the gates behind us to close and the ones ahead to open. Metal creaked over the hiss of the gas. When the outer gate was fully open, the truck still sat in the perimeter no-man’s-land between the electrified fences. My heart was already trying to pound out of my chest or it would have raced from worry that something had gone wrong. Why isn’t the truck moving?

  I reached out and searched again for a mindware interface, but found nothing, like my first trip in the truck. Finally, the truck jerked forward and lumbered through the outer gate. I leaned off the bench and squinted at the desert glare coming through the dusty windows in front. A guard tower shimmered in the heat. A half mile seemed a reasonable estimate.

  Simon’s face shone bright red around his dirt-stained shirt. He heaved breaths through the thin fabric, and his eyelids blinked very slowly. Stay with me, Simon. I commanded him to a jittery wakefulness and struggled to keep my own eyes open as the juice seeped into my brain.

  The truck bounced and crunched on the dirt path leading away from the camp. I peeked again at the hard-packed line that was hardly a road. The desert was clear ahead of us, but impossibly, the guard tower didn’t seem any closer. The truck trundled along at a maddeningly slow speed. I reached as far as I could. There was nothing but scrub brush ahead of us. If we didn’t pick up the pace, we’d both pass out before we got close enough to knock out the guards.

  For a moment I considered letting the gas take Simon. My range was shortened by having to fight the gas for both of us. After I knocked out the guards, reviving Simon from a full juice dose would take time, maybe more time than I would have before the guards from the other perimeter stations reached the gate. Perhaps I could take them all, but it would be tough if they were jackers. I might need Simon’s help. And as much as I didn’t dream of a jacker life with him, I couldn’t leave him
behind to face whatever Molloy had in store for him.

  Simon’s sweaty hand clenched in mine. I was jacked deep in his mind to control his heart rate and couldn’t help hearing all his thoughts, even the ones he was trying not to think. Thoughts about after the escape. His longing for a normal life. With me. If only he had more time, he might be able to change my mind. Convince me.

  I refrained from wiping those thoughts out of his head and concentrated on keeping our hearts pounding fast enough to keep up with the gas. It was a losing battle. Maybe we could crack a window and let some of it out. I pulled him off the bench and we shuffled toward the front. The side windows were sealed tight. Simon climbed into the passenger seat and kicked at the flexiglass with his uninjured leg, but no luck.

  I tipped my head to the back, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Whether it was from the gas or the heart palpitations, we were running out of time. The only way to keep from passing out was to vent the gas out the back doors—or leave the truck altogether.

  The guards at the perimeter gate had guns. Big guns. Molloy had scrubbed a true memory about one jacker who had shorted out the fences and cut his way through, somehow sprinting across the gas in the no-man’s-land to saw a hole through the outer fence. He was shot. He died right at the fence line and lay there until the next drop shipment when the Feds took his body away.

  I didn’t want to mess with a gun that picked off escaping prisoners half a mile away.

  That meant staying in the truck as long as possible. But we had to reduce the intensity of the gas. If we opened the doors a crack, maybe that would vent enough of the gas to keep us awake. If not, we would have to get out. The truck was slow enough that we could follow along behind and use it as a shield. Then we’d be free of the gas, and I could reach farther and knock out the tower guards sooner.

  I pulled Simon toward the rear of the truck. He stumbled a bit on the way, but caught himself before he fell. We should open the doors, just a crack, I linked the thought to him. So the guards can’t see, in case they’re watching.

  Okay, Simon thought, but the orange mist was fuzzing his brain. Sweat made our hands slippery. I laced my fingers through his for a better grip, and he gave me a smile in return. He was willing to go along with the plan, which was good enough.

  Wrapping my fingers around the hot metal handle of the rear door, I slowly pulled it down, careful to only open it a couple of inches and holding tight in case the door went flapping wide and alerted the guards.

  A blaring horn startled me into losing my grip on the handle. The truck lurched to a stop, sending Simon and me flying toward the front and banging the door shut again. The alarm reverberated through the truck a second time.

  Oh no.

  Any element of surprise was gone; the truck was stopped dead in its tracks and screaming in distress. I scrambled to my feet and towed Simon to the back door. As I flung it open, a wave of hot desert air swept into the truck. I leaped down and brought Simon with me, still tethered by our joined hands. Our hearts continued to pound blood through our brains, and each lungful of gas-free desert air brought more relief. My head started to clear and Simon was more alert.

  What now? he asked as we crouched behind the open back of the truck. I pulled out of Simon’s mind and let the adrenaline pumping through our systems keep our hearts racing. Free of controlling our heart rates, I stretched forward to the limits of my reach, but I couldn’t sense the guards. The dusty windows of the truck obscured the hard-packed road ahead, so I peeked through the slit between the flung-open door and the truck body. The guard post floated on a shimmering layer of desert-heated air. It was tough to gauge how far it was. A thousand feet? Two? Either way, I had to get closer and the truck wasn’t going to help anymore.

  I linked back into Simon’s head. I’ll have to run. I licked away the dryness on my lips from the desert dust and the gas. I’m not close enough yet.

  He shook his head. Not without me.

  His injured leg was still wrapped with the homemade bandages I had made. Simon was in no condition to run, and he would only slow me down. I’ll come back for you once I knock the guards out. I checked the slit again. We don’t have much time. They know something’s wrong.

  Simon shook his head again, and an image of me fleeing the gate without him popped into his mind. I swiped dust out of my eyes. I’m not going to leave you. I promise.

  His thoughts switched to the danger from the guns. Of course, it was risky to leave the truck, but there wasn’t much choice. We weren’t going to escape at all if I didn’t get close enough to knock out the guards. Simon tried to push me out of his head. I didn’t understand why, but I pulled out anyway.

  “I don’t want you to get shot,” he said. “Ruins my chances for escape, you know?” He gave me a half smile, and I couldn’t help returning it.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to get shot either. If I don’t get moving, we’re never getting out of here.”

  He bit his lip and leaned over me to peek through the slit. “Okay. Run back and forth, not straight at the gate. Make it harder for them to target you. And run fast.”

  I gave him a cockeyed look.

  “Just be careful.” He gave my hand a squeeze before slipping his fingers out from mine.

  I shuffled to the end of the open door and curled my fingers around the hot metal edge. I focused my mind forward one more time, but I still couldn’t sense anything. Taking two large gulps of gas-free air, I gave Simon a nod and tore around the corner of the door.

  The heat of the sun-baked ground burned through the soles of my shoes as they pounded the dirt. I veered off to the right, then left, trying to change direction as randomly as I could. The running and surge of adrenaline pounded my heart, allowing me to focus on stretching farther and farther forward.

  Still nothing.

  It seemed as if the guard gate must not be real, an actual mirage floating above the desert. I kept reaching anyway.

  A rumbling sound rolled across the hard-baked desert floor, and I checked the clear blue sky above. It seemed demens to have thunder without clouds, but I didn’t have time to think about it. A small cloud of dirt rose from the ground to my left, making me jump, and then a second later another roll of thunder.

  I skittered to the right and another puff of dust exploded out of the ground, even closer than before, followed by another rumbling across the desert. My brain finally put it together—they were shooting at me. My legs had new energy down to the soles of my feet, ignoring the burn in my muscles and hopping me back and forth like a crazed jackrabbit. I reached even further forward, until I sensed the barest whisper of the minds of the guards. Still not close enough to jack. Another roll of thunder sounded, but there were no more clouds of dust. The sniper’s aim must be getting worse with my fancy footwork.

  I strained to see details of the guard post through the glare of the desert. Maybe if I could see the guards, I could hone in on those phantom whispers.

  Two more air-crackling peals of rifle shots split the air before I found the mind of the sniper. I made his eyes cross while I sprinted a few more yards, bringing me just close enough. His mind shut down as I knocked him out.

  The thunder booms stopped, but I kept running. I flitted across the minds of the guards, who were now in a full state of panic. Eight. I found one on the radio, calling another guard post for backup. He was a reader, along with the other two guards in the command tower, so I easily knocked them out. That left four more: one wrestling to reload the sniper’s gun, the others manning their own rifles and trying to find me with their scopes.

  None of them were jackers. I knocked them all out.

  I slowed my pace and scanned again for more guards. There were none, but the others would be on the way, and soon. I braced my hands on my knees, wheezing from the run, and reached back to the truck to tell Simon the coast was clear.

  He wasn’t there.

  My head snapped up. The truck sat abandoned on the dirt road a few hundred feet be
hind me. I scanned twice, three times. There was no one there. Had he run? I swept my mind and eyes out, searching for any sign of him. I found him lying motionless in the dirt a hundred feet away. His mind was a shadow of its normal strength.

  My legs were carrying me to him before I could think what do to. I stumbled and fell forward, skinning my knees and grinding stones into my hands. I scrambled back to my feet, praying he only tripped and fell. When I reached him, his leg was bent back and his eyes were squeezed shut.

  There were no thoughts in his mind. It was hollow like an abandoned room, and when I tried to jack him awake, my efforts only echoed uselessly against the edges. I knelt down to shake him physically as well as mentally, desperate to reach him. “Simon!”

  Then a red pool started to spread underneath him. No. My hands fluttered over him, landing where the bullet had gone in. A deep red circle spread from the dark hole. I pressed my hands to the spot and searched through his mind to find a way to fix him. Stop the bleeding! Stop! I commanded his brain, but I couldn’t make it comply. His mind was becoming less substantial with every passing second, as if it was fading away.

  Simon, please wake up! His mind was more ghostly with each failing heartbeat. It sucked me in like a vacuum, deeper and deeper into nothingness. I had to pull back or be dragged into that blackness with him.

  I was staring at him, hands pressed to his chest, when his last breath escaped him.

  A shudder rippled through my arms. I stood and stepped back from Simon’s body. Anger, red and raw, boiled inside me. My hands clenched, sweaty and wet.

  They should pay for what they had done.

  I reached toward the guard tower, seeking out the sniper, but I was too far away. My legs sprinted forward, my arms pumping and my mind stretching. When I was close enough, I found the guard who had shot Simon. Who killed Simon.

  He was still unconscious. I tunneled deep into his mind and slowed his heart. I wondered if he would die slowly like Simon, life leaking out of him, never knowing what happened. The gunman’s heart thudded, a slow gong in his chest, and his mind began to soften and grow empty, like Simon’s. Pictures of a young girl and a woman with brown, shining hair flashed through it. His daughter. His wife. He wanted to keep them safe from the dangerous jackers in the camp.