“Here’s hoping!” The high-pitched giggle that follows is Bree’s.
“I don’t think they should have allowed her to stay this long. She’s a bad influence on morale.” Kirsty again. “And I think she brought us bad luck.”
“If you ask me, I don’t think we can trust her. I mean, like, not at all,” Kate chips in. “I think she could still be working for ASTA. She’s probably spying on us right now. And if she is collecting information on us, then when Zonia boots her out, she’ll just go running back to them to spill the beans.”
“And if she isn’t working for them, then we’re in even worse danger.”
“How do you figure that?”
“Because,” says Kate, “then they really will be on an all-out hunt for her. To take her in or to take her down. It’s a threat to all of us just having her here.”
“She’s not wanted, she should just go.” Kirsty.
“I feel sorry for her.” Candace?
“Say what?”
“Sorry for her? Why?”
“She’s not a bad person. She did an amazing job taking care of Nicky.” Yes, that’s Candace. She, at least, has come to my defense.
“Yeah, until she, like, shot her!”
“Oh, get real — Nicky was dying already. Jinx just ended it a bit sooner, is all. It took courage.” Yeah, it did. You tell ‘em, Candace. “But,” she continues, “I agree that it’s a bad idea to have her here with the rest of us. Darius told me that she’s wanted across all three sectors now, that there’s a massive search on for her. That’s got to make it more likely that they’ll find us.”
So even Candace thinks I’m just a danger to the group.
“She jeopardizes all of us, even Quinn!” Evyan again. “If she loves him so much, then why is she risking his life? Just tell me that! Why is she tearing his family apart? Connor hates her — she tried to kill him. He’ll never let Quinn stay with her.”
I’m so tired of fighting, of trying to do the right thing, of failing to convince people that I’m a good person. Is there anything I could say to this group that would change their minds about me? It’s hopeless. What’s worse, they’re dead right about me being a danger to them and to Quinn. And though it almost kills me to acknowledge it, Evyan’s right that I’m tearing him in two.
I’m about to slip away when the door is yanked open from inside. Kirsty, Kate and Bree stare back at me, silently condemning. Evyan takes a step towards me and says belligerently, “Can we help you with something?”
I shake my head, turn around and walk away. They can’t help me with what I need. And I can’t, or rather won’t, help the rebels with what they want most from me.
I take a long, meandering route through the woods back to camp, snagging my solar-cell flashlight from my pocket and shining the thin beam at the dripping trees and wet undergrowth, trying to sort out my thoughts and fears. The moon is rising in the sky, between pockets of cloud, casting a silver light on the glistening leaves and rocks. I feel as trapped here, in the wilderness, as I ever did at home or at ASTA.
I don’t belong, I don’t fit, and it’s intolerable that I’m causing pain to Quinn. And danger to Robin.
Chapter 45
Lesser of two evils
By the time I’m back in camp, I know I need to confront Connor.
I need to apologize and ask for his forgiveness. He doesn’t have to like or approve of me — hell, I know he never will — but if he can agree to put the past behind us, then it will be so much easier for Quinn. But I need to get him alone, and he stays glued to Quinn’s side until midnight when Neil shambles over to take over guard duty. Quinn notices me sitting by the almost-dead embers of the fire and comes over to give me a tight hug and a kiss on the top of my head.
“Ah, you smell good,” he sighs, burying his nose into my hair.
“Yeah, I washed my hair.”
“Yeah, I remember,” he says with a wicked grin, and just like that, I’m blushing again. No one can set me off as quickly as he can. “So why are you still up? Can’t sleep?”
I nod. “Too much to think about. You know, tomorrow morning and all.”
“I’ve spoken with Connor tonight. And I think I got through to him.”
“Really?” My heart lifts with hope.
“Yeah, he said he’d think about it. Just let him sleep on it and tomorrow he’ll think differently, I’m sure of it.”
He dips his head to give me a long kiss.
“Faith, but I’m exhausted. I need to sleep. But we’ll spend the whole of tomorrow together, yeah?”
“I’d like that.”
“Goodnight, wench. Love you.”
“Goodnight, pirate. Love you, too. I got in last.”
He stumbles through the darkness to his tent, emerges to brush his teeth, and then disappears again. I look into the dark trees and spy Connor sitting near the pile of bags and backpacks, searching his duffel bag for something. This is probably the best opportunity I’ll get.
A twig snaps under my foot as I approach, and Connor startles at the sound.
“Oh, it’s you,” he says flatly and goes back to digging in his bag.
“Yeah, just me.”
He ignores me for a long time then finally stops what he’s doing and looks up at me with those dark eyes, that expressionless face.
“If you have something to say, spit it out.”
“Connor, I — Can I sit down?”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs.
“I want to apologize. I’m so very sorry about darting you, and about what happened to you afterwards because I did. I didn’t want to do it, but I didn’t really have a choice.”
He tilts his head a fraction of an inch, but says nothing. I hurry on to explain, to defend myself.
“I wanted nothing more to do with them — I’d already handed in my resignation. But they insisted on me doing one last mission. I had no freaking idea it was going to be you, I swear. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world — you’re Quinn’s brother.”
“Then why did you?”
“They had a backup sniper, posted a block behind you. He was armed with a real rifle and live ammo. And when I hesitated, he said that if I didn’t dart you, he’d shoot. And I believed him.”
“So you darted me to save yourself?”
“No! No. It wasn’t me he was threatening to shoot. It was you. I did it to save you and Quinn. I chose what I thought was the lesser of two evils. To keep you both alive. I still don’t see what else I could’ve done, but I’m so, so sorry. I know I have no right to expect your forgiveness —”
“Aye, you’re right there,” he says.
I bite my lip to stop myself from saying anything more, and there’s another long silence while he studies me impassively. His left hand rubs at his right, massaging the twisted fingers. Do they ache?
At last, he speaks. “And if you’d had live ammo, Jinx, would you have shot me then?”
I stare down wretchedly at my own hands, remembering the scene — Quinn pleading with me, Bruce shouting threats, my confusion rising. Would I have? I force myself to meet his gaze. His dark eyes are nothing like Quinn’s gray ones, but there’s a similarity in their faces, around the mouth. It makes it harder to say the next words.
“I don’t know. I hope not,” I say miserably. “But, honestly, if it meant saving Quinn? … Maybe.”
He nods slowly a few times. “I appreciate your honesty. Let me be honest with you in return.”
“Yes, okay. That’s good.” We’re getting somewhere now.
“I will never forget what happened, and I will never forgive. And if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll open my brother’s eyes so that he sees the real you. And cuts you loose. I’ll be with you both on that mountain tomorrow, but I’ll be protecting him. You will take down Hawke — and please believe me when I say I’ll make sure you do it — and then I’ll get my brother to safety and have nothing further to do with you. Except to make it my life’s mission to keep him a
way from you.” He stands up. “And now I need to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.”
He strides off, leaving me sitting, stunned, bent over my pain, beside the heap of bags.
What am I doing here? Between Zonia and Connor and the rebels, it’s never going to work. I’m not wanted, and unless I agree to kill Hawke, I’m not needed. I’m worse than useless — I’m a danger to them all, especially Quinn. I should just go.
I could.
No one is around, no one is watching me. I could just grab my bag and walk out of here. Thwart their plans to use me. Zonia would be furious — a win — and the rest would be relieved. Except Quinn.
I’d be hurting him badly. But I’d be hurting him if I stayed, too. If I leave, he’ll be heartbroken for a while, but he’ll be safer. And he can honor his mother’s plea and help Connor, and maybe one day when this is over, he can return safely to his family. But only if I leave, before tomorrow.
So I do.
I grab a long duffel bag from under the pine and tip out its contents, then I snatch up my backpack and fit it over my shoulders, take out my flashlight and strike off into the woods, passing the guard duty tree on my way. Neil is sprawled against the tree, fast asleep already. I lift the rifle out of his loose grip, stow it in the duffel bag, and keep walking — through the trees, to the path that leads to the van and the dirt road beyond. My feet move faster and faster, until I’m running at full speed down the shadow-rippled road, my backpack thumping against my hips.
Less than a year ago, I was a little girl playing a computer game. Now I’m a wanted suspect hunted by the government, rejected by the people I wanted to help, leaving the man I love too deeply to stay with, and unable to go home for fear of endangering my family.
I trip over something in the road and sprawl into the dirt, grazing my hands and banging my elbow. I push myself up and start again. I keep running, though my lungs burn in the cool night air. There’s a raw, bloody taste in my mouth, and tears cool my cheeks.
But I’ll keep running — like a wraith in the moonlight, down the back road, left at the fork, through and out of the forest, and all the way to the railway siding. I’ll climb onto one of those railway cars headed southwest and lie low until I’m far away. Then I’ll jump off and find a disposable phone somewhere. I’ll call Robin to warn him, tell him to erase his tracks and clean his PC.
And then I’ll run and run until I disappear.
Part Four
Chapter 46
Running away
Gross. A hair twists through the bread dough I’m kneading, and I can tell it’s one of mine — brown with ruby-red dip-dyed ends and just the faintest trace of blond regrowth at the root.
I try to extract it from the dough without snapping it and leaving half behind.
“You’re killing me, kid,” Tallulah says, looking at my efforts in amused disgust.
I flinch at the word. Last week she called me a bread-killer because I’d destroyed the yeast by adding water that was too hot. It was my second batch of the day — I’d ruined the first by adding a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon of salt.
Rattled by the word “killer”, I’ve watched her carefully to see if she knows or suspects anything, but I’m pretty sure she has no clue who, or what, I am. No one here at the Inner City Teen Shelter does.
“Jared. Jared!” Tallulah raises her voice to get the attention of the sixteen-year-old lanky boy who is sitting on a stool at the workbench, peeling carrots, moving in time to the music playing through his headphones. “Please take out the trash; that bin is overflowing.”
She points to the trashcan, then jerks a thumb in the direction of the alley beyond the back door of the kitchen, where the garbage dumpsters lie. I’m glad she asks him and not me. I try not to set a foot outside, not even into the service alley. I feel safer inside, away from surveillance cameras and police patrols and the watchful eyes of good citizens.
I’ve been here two weeks, licking my wounds and trying to lay low while I figure out what the heck to do with my life. In a twist of irony, the goods train that I stowed away on, that was supposed to take me far away, just brought me straight back into the heart of the Metropole. I’m less than twenty miles from home and very tempted to go back and check on Mom and Robin. But I know they’ll still be under surveillance. I need to stay the hell away if I want to keep them safe.
When I jumped off the train, the morning was gray with clouds and drizzle and doubts. I wondered what would be happening back at the state park. Zonia would be furious. Would she try to get Hawke some other way? Evyan and most of the other rebels would be thrilled at my departure. Connor would be smugly satisfied, no doubt consoling Quinn, reassuring him that he was better off without me.
Ah, Quinn. He would be confused, angry, hurt. Every time I thought of him, my chest tightened, my eyes leaked and my brain blurred with images of his face, his hands, his smile. I couldn’t allow myself to go there. It would reduce me to a helpless puddle of misery, and there were things I had to do.
With my hair stuffed up into a beanie and my collar turned up high to hide some of my face, I made my way through City Central station. Very few people travelled by train anymore, but the station was still a place where people came to buy from the Smart Vendor machines which took both credit and prepaid cash cards. I examined the contents of the machines.
On offer were the usual products for desperate appetites — porn magazines, cigarettes, booze, weed, junk food and headache tablets. For those wanting divine assistance, there were medallions of St Agricola of Avignon to ward off the plague, collect-a-set prayer cards of the Fourteen Holy Helpers, and — presumably to hedge your bets — Wiccan Sticks (“herbal incense to defeat the miasma of the plague”). Those who put their faith in science could purchase Second Skin respirator and latex glove packs, sanitizer gel and wipes, and bottles of ImmunyChews (“boost your immune system with super-strength vitamin C, zinc, ginger and echinacea”). But I was more interested in the facility for buying items from the Smart Vendor online site.
Using a false name and one of my cash cards, I placed an order. Ninety minutes later, a drone delivered my package to the address I’d supplied — an intersection a couple of blocks away, rather than to the station itself, because I didn’t want any intel agent to be able to connect the order to what I was about to do.
I walked back to the station and headed for the ladies’ restroom. I opened the package, removed the scissors and, gritting my teeth, hacked away at my long hair. I liked my hair, I really did. I hadn’t cut it for years, but it was probably the most distinctive thing about me and it needed to go. When I was finished, I had a head of short, raggedly cut blond hair. It was nothing like the cute pixie-cut I’d been aiming for, but it would have to do.
“WTF, man!” said a rail-thin girl who came in to use the toilet while I was cutting. “If I had hair like that, I’d keep it.”
“Yeah, well, I’m tired of the way I look. I need a change, you know?”
“I do, man, I do,” she said, staring glumly into a mirror.
She looked like a junkie — hollow cheeks, sores pocking her face and a tremor in her hands. Pulling down her mask and lighting up a joint, she apologized, “I’d offer you, man, but, like, the rat germs and stuff. And I’ve got nothing better.”
“No problem.”
I gathered up the blond hair from the basin, the hair that Quinn had loved to run his fingers through, and flushed it down the toilet, then followed the instructions in the box of hair dye to turn my blond hair golden-chestnut brown with sexy cherry-red ends.
“S’gonna look good, kid,” the girl said, leaning up against the basin while she smoked the joint and stared at me.
A thought occurred to me. “Hey, do you know of a place nearby where I could hang out for a while? Like a homeless shelter, or something?”
She picked a piece of tobacco off her tongue and stared at it for a moment, then ate it. “Yeah, I guess. You could go to Tallulah’s. Though it’s not t
hat nearby.”
“Tallulah’s?”
“Yeah, it’s officially called Teen City Shelter or something. But everyone knows it as Tallulah’s. Over on the corner of North and Long. But she won’t let you stay unless you’re clean, man.” Another drag on the joint. “Won’t even allow booze on the property.”
“I’m clean.”
“Your loss,” she grunted and meandered out of the restroom.
My eyebrows looked too light for my hair, so I retrieved a black eyeliner from my backpack and darkened them with a few feathery strokes, and then circled my eyes with thick, black rings for good measure. What the hell, I might as well go all in. I outlined and colored in my lips with the black eyeliner and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked surly, tough, wild. Nothing like myself. A black leather rocker’s jacket would have completed the disguise nicely, but my gray hoodie would have to do.
I hung the new face mask around my neck then peeled the backing off the temporary henna tattoos I’d chosen and applied them to the backs of my hands. A dove of peace for the left hand, and a circular yin-yang symbol for the right. They would last for a couple of months, and they looked like the real deal — an identifying feature that surely any alert for Jinx E. James would mention, if she had them.
Then I locked myself in a toilet stall and removed the remaining item from the package. I fired up the cheap phone, searched for the address the junkie had given me on Google Maps, and memorized the route.
My final task was to warn Robin. It had to be the last thing I did before leaving, because they would still be monitoring his and Mom’s lines. As soon as I contacted him, I’d ping on some surveillance system somewhere, and I’d need to bug out of here fast before they could trace the call and send an extract team to capture me.
I keyed in Robin’s number, then hesitated, debating whether to call or text. I decided on the latter. I’d have to be super quick, and I didn’t think, once I got him on the line, that I’d be able to keep it brief. Once I heard Robin’s voice, I’d want to hear all his news, and it might take precious betraying seconds to explain. Also, the sound of him might set me off crying again, as I did all last night and most of this morning.
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