by Stacey Nash
My expression must be as blank as my understanding. I have no idea what he said, but an image of me slipping right out of existence and ending up lost, floating in nothing, sits in my mind’s eye. My breath comes shallow and fast, and I’m not sure I want to port. He motions me inside again. Grimacing, I walk into the farmhouse. “Sounds painful.”
“Surprisingly, it’s not.”
“But how? Do we have to jump in a fire, enter a chamber, say a magic word?”
“You watch too many movies.” He laughs softly. “You’ll see.”
I follow down the small staircase opposite the kitchen. I’ve noticed the entrance to the stairs, but it has an ‘out of bounds’ feel so I never ventured down. “You mentioned a scanner. What’s that? How does it work?”
“You’re full of questions tonight.”
“I discovered everything I believed to be fiction is real, of course I’m inquisitive.” The air dampens the lower we go, raising goose bumps on my skin. I wrap my arms around myself against the cold.
He shoots me a crooked smile. Like he wouldn’t be inquisitive too. “Tech gives off vibrations when it’s in use. The detector picks up on those and transfers the signal to the scanner, which sets off an alarm.”
“But, don’t they have tech too? How do you know if it’s someone needing help?”
“We don’t until we get there. If it turns out not to be a rescue mission, we use the opportunity to steal tech or gather intel.”
“So you’re like beat cops?”
“Like what?” he says.
“You know, patrol officers who just walk through the neighborhood and keep the peace.”
“Kind of.”
The base of the stairs opens into a room the same size of Will’s small bedroom. It’s damp and musty and holds only four things: a circular mat with a series of black and white circles and a red center like a bull’s-eye, a reclining chair, a side table holding a large machine which looks like some type of radio, and a modern computer. Lilly’s in the chair, an opened book in her hand, her chin resting on her chest, and her dark hair brushing her lap. Eyes closed. We must be going to sneak out without waking her.
A series of cables and wires connect the computer, machine, and mat. Small green lights on the machine flash like little signals. “Looks complicated,” I whisper.
“Yeah, the scanner pinpoints the use of the tech to an exact location, which it transmits to the Port-all that transports to that location.” He points at each thing as he names them. “The computer has a mapping device which shows the location on the screen.”
“Wow.” I clamp my hand across my mouth. Oops, too loud.
Lilly jumps in her chair, and her wide sleepy eyes spring open. “Jax.” She stretches her arms out above her. “About time you got here to relieve me from the longest, most boring shift ever. I’m starving. If I don’t get something to eat right now, I’ll pass out.”
“Lilly, you were passed out, and you shouldn’t be sleeping on the job.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Besides, I’m not here to—”
She doesn’t hear him; she’s already rushing up the stairs and out of the room.
Jax turns to me, a smile lighting up his whole face in an unusual, friendly glow. “The rest will be easy,” he says. “We’ll have around four hours before anyone comes down here.”
He passes me a black drawstring bag from under the counter. “Put one around each wrist, and make sure the node touches your skin.”
I open the bag to find a mass of skin-colored bands in a tangled mess. They’re like sweatbands. I pull one out and turn it over in my hand. A square of metal as big as my thumbnail is sewn into the underside. It looks kind of like a computer chip with tiny flashing lights like the ones on the scanner. Sliding it over my wrist, I grab a second one, leaving the bag empty.
Jax punches at the keyboard, setting up an address. His wrists, unlike mine, are noticeably bare. My brow tightens.
“Where are yours?”
“Don’t need them. So long as you’re touching me, we’ll both port.”
“You wear them, then.” I pull them off.
“No, it’s cool.”
“We can take one each.” I hold the bands out to him, but he’s focused on the computer and doesn’t see.
“Doesn’t work that way. You need to wear both.” He slams his finger into the Enter button and finally turns around. “We’re porting into Central Park.”
I frown. It makes more sense if he has it. He knows what he’s doing, and I’ve got no idea. So why doesn’t he want to wear the porting tech? Is it dangerous?
He bends down, retying the laces on his boots, and ignoring the offered bands. “When it’s time to port back you need to tap either of the bands directly above the nodes like this.” He straightens up, takes my hand in his, palm to palm. Prickles run up my arm, making the tiny hairs rise. The meeting of our skin is like fire and ice. My gaze is drawn to his, but I can’t tell if he feels it too. His brows are drawn in concentration.
With two fingers he drums the back of my hand in a short, four tap sequence. Waits a moment, and taps the same sequence again. “Got it?” His hand still rests in mine, and heat radiates from my palm. Searing heat, but I don’t pull away. Somehow it feels good.
“Uh huh.” I turn our hands over so his is on top, and rap the sequence onto the back of his hand.
“Perfect.” He smiles, another one of the rare ones that warms his eyes. His hand slides off mine, breaking the contact with a hollow snap. He points to the red circle marking the middle of the mat. “Stand in the center.”
I pull the bands over my wrists. He said it doesn’t hurt, but my hands tremble anyway. The idea of slipping through some plane to a different space is more than a little unnerving, but I smack on the bravest face I can muster and step forward onto the mat.
Jax comes to my side and holds his hand out. The strength of his fingers closing around mine makes the heat return with a pleasant, burning intensity. “Ready?”
I give a quick nod.
Once, twice, thrice, four times he taps the band on my wrist.
I close my eyes, and I’m falling, floating like a feather, ever downward. Jax’s hand squeezes mine, and I grip it even tighter. I don’t dare open my eyes to check if I can see him. It’s strange, like there’s nothing underneath us. I can feel his hand in mine, anchoring me to him, the only sure thing in a floating sea. Suddenly it stops, and we sink. My body drops and leaves my stomach in my throat, a loose fluttering streak left in its wake. A scream builds inside me, but I keep my mouth clamped and squeeze his hand even tighter. It all stops, and even with my eyes screwed closed I know my feet are on firm ground. Porting wasn’t so bad. I ease my eyes open, not sure what I’ll see.
Dark shadows, some tall, some stumpy, like trees and shrubs surround us in the dark grey light of dawn. Soft noises plop like water splashing. A fountain? I slide my clammy hand out of his and wipe it on my pants. Central Park is eerie and silent. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it this quiet. But then, it’s been years since I’ve spent any more than two minutes here. The place holds too many memories. Mom used to bring me here as a kid. We’d come by one of the street vendors, and she’d buy herself a coffee. White with one. I’d get a hot chocolate with milky froth on the top, then we’d walk into the park and sit under the shade of a tree.
Jax moves into the shadows of a bush and crouches, rocking back on his haunches, looking right at home.
I crouch beside him without speaking. We must be waiting for Garrett. “What time’s he coming?” I ask.
“A bit after sunrise.”
“Then why are we here so darn early?”
“We had to come when we could, shift change is when it’s easiest, and no one will check in on the basement in the middle of the night.”
It feels like he’s talking down to me, but I swallow my retort. He’s helping me. My tummy grumbles at the smell of baking bread wafting on the crisp morning air.
“
Hungry?” Jax asks.
“No.”
“Your stomach just growled louder than Ace does, and by the way you’re swallowing, I’d say that’s a lie.”
He pushes himself up and inclines his head toward the delicious smell.
As we emerge out of the park, the city street is pretty quiet. There are more people than I’d expect at this time of the day. They mill around the outside of a building across the road which sits at the corner of two streets. Massive windows reach from the ground all the way to its roof. A newsstand occupies the space beside it on one street and a baker beckons my empty stomach from the other. The doors of both stand open, ready for early morning customers. The smell of baking bread wafts through the street again, and my stomach makes a loud, embarrassing noise.
We walk across the road, toward the bakery. Looks like Jax is buying my breakfast for the second time since we met. If it weren’t for my hunger, I’d feel a little guilty.
My gaze locks on the building—a studio—with two hosts sitting inside, their backs to the window, their hair impeccably styled. Camera crews point their equipment toward the glass walls, catching the street in their shot. The morning show. A thought niggles at the edge of my mind, but I can’t quite pull it together.
My fingers feel near frozen, so I wriggle my hands into the pockets of my jeans. It’s a tight fit, but it’s warm. My fingertips brush the brooch.
“Mae.”
I flinch at the sound of Jax’s voice. He holds a brown paper bag out to me. Not being able to provide for myself rekindles a desire for my own things. My camera, my clothes, my purse. If I only had access to my normal stuff. Relying on other people for essentials is beyond humiliating. It’s been almost a year since I’ve had to ask someone for money—a plus of my after school job at the diner. I take a deep breath and suck the misery up. No point in moping.
“Oh, thanks.” Gosh, how long was I standing on the sidewalk staring at the rolling cameras? It’s not like I haven’t seen the morning show’s live filming before.
Without another word, I turn around and disappear back into the park with Jax.
We wait.
The sky morphs from dark grey to the soft light of dawn. Staring at the sunrise makes me reach for the place at my neck where my camera always hangs. It takes a few moments of groping for it before I remember where I am, what I’m doing, why I’m here, and why I don’t have it.
I shiver all over. Why is it suddenly so cold? This has to work. Garrett must know something.
Jax shuffles from one foot to the other beside me, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. Is he anxious, or just cold? Cold, he has to be cold.
“Here he is,” Jax says, walking toward the large fountain.
A man, built solidly like Sam, only shorter, sits on the ledge that rings the small pool. His cargos, similar to Jax’s, are snugly fitted to his thick toned thighs. Water sprays up from the top of the ornate urnlike fountain and gushes down the sides, splashing in the pool below. Garrett looks up. His appearance—dark eyes, short-cropped almost-black hair, and olive skin—is ruggedly handsome. He’s younger than I expected at maybe twenty. He springs to his feet, a wide smile spreading across his face.
Jax extends a hand and Garrett shakes it, then pulls him in for a one-armed, back-clapping hug.
“Good to see you, mate.” Garrett’s voice takes me by surprise, the hint of an accent licking at his words.
Jax shoves his fists in his pockets. Orange streaks line the sky behind him, lighting the clouds from below. The soft light bathes his face in a warm glow, making him look soft and warm and inviting. I shake the thought off. I really need to focus on the moment.
“Thanks for coming.” Jax steps back to my side. “This is Mae.”
Garrett holds his hand out again, and his grip is so firm it squishes my knuckles together. “Hi.”
“Mae’s our latest recruit.”
“Not recruit. I… ahh….” Why am I suddenly nervous? “I need to be wiped off the Collective radar. They… agents….”
“What she’s trying to say,” Jax speaks over me, “is that she used tech, and drew Collective attention. We stepped in, but it didn’t quiet smooth things over. Al brought her to the farm.” He glances toward me and sighs. “They’re not content to assimilate into resistance life—”
Garret’s smile slowly falters. “And you want me to….”
“I want you to tell me how I can wipe myself off Collective radar,” I finish. “They’ve done something to my Dad too. He thinks I’m dead when clearly I’m not.”
Garrett glances at Jax. “I don’t know what Jax told you.” His head moves so slightly it may be a shake. “But I’m sorry, I can’t help.”
“Man, surely there’s something. What about….” Jax’s voice is laced with irritation. He fists his hands into his pockets and almost kicks the ground as he shuffles his weight. “I don’t know. You’re the expert. If she doesn’t use her tech—”
“Why didn’t you take this to Beau?” Garrett’s expression is so expressionless I wonder if that’s where Jax learned it.
“Forget it.” I spin on my heel. There’s no point. This guy either doesn’t want to, or can’t, help us. I guess I’ll just have to assimilate.
“Garrett.” Jax’s tone is tight now, but I don’t stop to listen. With tears pressing into the back of my eyes, I can’t get away quick enough. Down the paved path and out of the park, along the road, and I find a clear plastic bus shelter. I slump onto the cold metal bench, my chest tight. This situation is hopeless. My hands won’t still. They twist, my fingers snaking around each other until finally I thrust them into my pockets to still them.
Maybe I’ll go home, fight this stupid Collective on my own. Either that or let them have me. It’s all stupid. Just so stupid. There has to be a way.
My gaze darts around the surroundings. The shelter’s lined with ads, stuck like ugly, mismatched wallpaper. Concerts, yard sales, roommates wanted. Cigarette butts litter the ground, probably the source of the disgusting ashtray smell. My gaze flits to the glass walls of the studio, deep orange and yellow streaks of sunrise reflected in them. The crowd’s bigger now, and people wave cardboard signs. My fingers play with the rough edges of the brooch.
A sign flips as its bearer swivels. I love Tyler. Huh, that’s it, sweetheart? Jump in front of a live television broadcast with a placard and tell the nation something silly like your latest crush.
It’s one of those light bulb moments, the thought flashes into my mind, and I’m running across the street before the idea’s even fully formed.
The fluorescent yellow sign calls me. The bouncy girl holding it gives me a strange look when I tap her shoulder. I point to the sharpie protruding from her back pocket. “Can I borrow the back of your sign?”
Her face scrunches in a clear ‘you’re-insane’ twist. “Umm, no.”
“Come on,” I plead, fishing in my pocket for some coins. My fingers only catch the brooch.
“Excuse me, love.” An older woman holds out a bright orange sign. “You can have mine. I’m leaving now, anyway.”
I glance at the girl, who huffs and slides the sharpie out of her pocket. She raises an impatient brow.
“Thanks,” I say to them both, flipping the cardboard over and uncapping the lid. In thick, bold lettering I print:
FICTION is FACT. Know the Truth.
I think I hear a muffled, Mae. But when I spin I can’t see a familiar face amongst the crowd.
I hand the sharpie back to Tyler’s girl, smug smile plastered on, and I push my way to the front of the crowd.
Huge television screens hang from the ceiling facing the hosts. I can see the picture clearly from where I stand pressed up against the glass. A newsreader on the screen gives the morning report. When she’s done, the camera cuts back to the hosts, and people wave their bright signs in the background. The camera zooms in on just one host until there are only a few messages still on screen, but the audience behind him is cle
ar. The two people on the screen appear large enough that I can read the signs and make out their excited expressions.
Perfect.
This will work.
The hosts chat while the camera angle bounces back and forward between them like it’s recording a tennis match. Finally, it rests on the handsome male host with the people behind him on the other side of the window in focus. It’s the same on our side, people pushing up against me vying for the best position. Everyone wants to wave hello to their mother on national television.
The shot cuts again, this time to the gorgeous female host, and my face is on the screen. I hold up my sign and wave it around.
The camera angle shifts back to the man. I lower the sign. People point at me through the glass windows, and they wave their hands around as they talk to each other with animated expressions. Some shrug their shoulders, and one lady scratches her head. This is perfect.
It’s working.
“Mae! What the frig are you doing?”
I flinch, drawn by the sound of Jax’s voice.
The boom of my heart reverberates in my chest all the way through me. This is it.
Jax grabs my shoulder, but I shrug him off.
The camera angle switches, and again I hold my sign up, shaking it crazily above my head. I need to get as much attention as possible.
It works.
The camera moves away. When I lower the sign there are even more people on our side of the building, drawn around by curiosity. The angle switches back. I hold the sign up for a quick second and shout, “It’s real.” In quick succession I press the yellow centers on the brooch and the pendant, flashing out of sight.
Gasps and yells erupt around me.
I’m invisible for thirty seconds.
I flash back in.
People point, and a loud murmur runs through the crowd like wildfire.
“Shit, Mae,” Jax curses, peering into the crowd like a wolf on the hunt, alert, searching.
Once more I flash out and back in, this time much faster. When I look around, they’re racing through the crowd. Men dressed all in black, the same as the agents at my house. My heart contracts like someone tied a knot around it, aching with each pounding beat. I grab for Jax to port right out but my hand catches only air.
