“Don’t sweat it, In. It’s all good,” Maddy says.
The video screens are like great dancing billboards, like huge cineplex-size TV screens flashing: RED ALERT! RED ALERT! CAB #77 INDIA TOMPKINS.
I’m close enough to hear the speaker system droning in that mechanical voice. “Human Behavior Group is requesting the immediate return of India Tompkins. All Border Group personnel please be aware of a possible vehicle theft. Suspect age fourteen, five foot one, long brown hair.”
“I’m driving right into this, Maddy.”
“Just be like, I’m sorry, officer, I didn’t know.”
“Wait, that’s not true. I do know . . . just like I know you took the ring.”
“What is the big deal about that stupid ring? I was going to put it back, if everybody hadn’t totally freaked about it.”
“If you were just borrowing it, why didn’t you ask?”
“I just forgot. Man, you better be careful, you’re starting to sound like Rules, India.”
“You’re wrong about that, Maddy. I don’t sound like my mother, I sound like me,” I tell her, and then all at once I want Maddy to disappear. I can’t think with her talking to me this way.
And as surely as if I switched an off button the wrist screen fades gray, flickers green, and flashes off.
Okay, you’ve got to think this out, I tell myself. If I try to lie my way through the checkpoint, I’m toast. I’ll never make it. They’ll send me back to Passengers Waiting. I can’t let that happen. Mouse and Finn are on the other side.
I pull off the highway and drive parallel to the wall, hoping to spot a break. But the wall goes on forever. Mile after mile of shiny aluminum, rounded at the top and three or maybe four stories tall.
I make a U-turn and head back across the road to the other side, but it’s the same thing in this direction—just wall as far as I can see. Even if I could manage to climb over, they’d see me, plus, I’d be on foot. How would I ever find Finn and Mouse on foot?
Then I see a lone cart moving along the wall. It pulls behind the tram stop. The driver leans out, pulls a lever, and a small gate opens. The cart scoots through and the gate shuts behind it, but the opening is too small for the feather cab—it’s cart-size.
Here comes another cart with a young girl driving. I grab the paste-on sideburns and stick them on, jump out of the feather cab, and tear across the grass waving my arms. “Wait!” I shout.
She comes to a whiplash halt, and I jump into the passenger side.
“Hey,” I say, deepening my voice as if I’m the driver, Ed. “Hi!”
She takes me in warily, snapping her gum. The name on her badge says Pamela. “Where’s your cab—” she asks.
“I parked it already.”
“You parked it?”
Oops. Guess I’m not supposed to have done that. If I backtrack and launch into another story, that will be worse. I keep going.
“Yeah, sure. You just have to know how.” I try for a swagger.
Pamela gives me another once-over. She clearly isn’t buying this. Then her eyes light on my wrist screen.
“Wow. I’ve never seen one of those. They’re really rare. Only Headquarters people are supposed to have them. Is yours free roaming or does it have a chip?” she asks.
“A chip?”
“It allows Headquarters to alter the information.”
“Oh. I don’t know,” I say truthfully.
She wants the wrist screen as much as the people in Passengers Waiting. I can see it in her eyes. “Yeah, check it out,” I say, directing all my attention toward the screen. I know how to do this now. I can turn it on with my mind. I focus on Maddy and how much I like to talk to her. The dull gray flickers tentatively and Maddy pops up.
“In, don’t do that again. I hate when you shut me out like that.” Maddy has that peeved look on her face.
Pamela’s riveted to the screen. “Who’s that?” she asks.
I smile at Maddy. But something inside me has changed.
“My friend, when I lived in California,” I say.
“Can I see?” Pamela asks, her voice suddenly vulnerable, needy.
“Sure,” I say, “if I can, um, borrow your cart.”
Pamela’s eyes snap back to me. “You’re that girl they’re looking for.” She snatches the radio on her dashboard and pulls the curly cord toward her.
“No! Wait!” I plead.
She freezes, her finger hovering over the transfer button.
I unbuckle the half-broken strap. “You take it. Go ahead. There must be someone you want to talk to . . .”
“In! What are you doing?” Maddy’s face is pale; her hazel eyes fill the screen, but as it moves away from my skin, wavy lines disrupt the picture.
“Bye, Maddy,” I whisper as Pamela buckles the screen onto her own wrist and in place of Maddy’s ghosted image comes a new face, sharply in focus. It’s a pale boy with eyes an unnatural shade of blue, a thin face full of dark shadows, and the beginning of a beard.
“Pamela,” he says in a thick Australian accent. “I never thought I’d see you again.”
“Jack. Oh Jack,” she says, her throat full, her eyes captivated. The radio falls from her hands as she strokes the screen with the tips of her fingers.
Slowly, I move my hand to the transmission stick. Then in one fierce motion, I bump Pamela out of the driver’s seat, switch the transmission to drive, and pounce on the gas pedal. The cart lurches forward, I grab the wheel and sit down.
I’m surprised how easy this is. Pamela is so distracted, she pops right out of the seat into the grass.
“Sorry!” I call over my shoulder, but in the rearview mirror I see Pamela does not look up, so intent is she on her conversation with Jack.
The cart doesn’t go as fast as the cab and it hits the ruts with twice the force, but I push the accelerator hard, clamping down on the wheel to keep on course. When I get to the gate lever, I scoot in close, barely skimming the handle with my fingertips, and the gate opens.
“Finn, Mouse! I am so gonna be there!” I say as the road dips and the cart goes through the gate. On the other side of the thick aluminum wall, the weather turns instantly stormy, the sky strangely blue. I begin trembling so violently I can hardly hold the steering wheel. I don’t know if this is because it’s freezing cold out here or because I now know for certain I can’t go back. No one can help me now. I have nothing but me . . . me and my two-hour-and-twelve-minute life.
CHAPTER 31
PERIPHERY ROAD
Boom is like our own personal bulldozer. She digs a path for us out of the landslide and up to open ground in minutes.
Aboveground, the cold hits like we’ve walked into a deep freeze. The wind bites through me. My teeth chatter. The thunder and lightning have stopped, but the rain is misting down, melting the dirty crust of snow.
I can see the border station from where we are, and the vehicles parked there. We will need one with a heater and lots of gas. I don’t know if the airport is twenty minutes away or six hours. I look down at my own clock, which says one hour, fourteen minutes.
“Mouse, let’s go closer, but we have to sneak,” I say, eyeing Boom. How do you tell a dog to keep her mouth shut?
This side of the border isn’t manned the way the other side is. It’s much plainer over here. More like Colorado must be, with meadows partially covered in snow in some spots, brown and muddy with rain in others. But there’s certain to be some kind of electronic surveillance system.
Up ahead I see a lot filled with maybe fifty Segways parked in neat rows A whole parking lot full of vehicles—though not the kind with heaters, that’s for sure. Still, the keys to each are dangling from the handlebars like invitations. A sign posted to the fence says: SEGWAY USE FOR AIRPORT RETURN ONLY.
Looking better all the time.
We walk closer to the Segways and a recorded message starts playing with instructions. “First make a selection, then place the key in the ignition.”
It doesn’t seem t
oo difficult. Mouse could probably manage. She follows instructions well, but how will we get Boom on board?
“Finn!” Mouse whispers.
“And when you get to the airport,” the voice continues, “follow signs for the periphery road/airport return. Just remember”—the voice drops low and begins speaking quickly now like a commercial for medicine required to state the side effects—“no standing or stopping at the curb. No passenger pickup. Only one driver allowed on each vehicle and no exit from the periphery road.”
Wait . . . no exit from the periphery road? My mind flashes on the first night at the airport. What was it Chuck said about the Segway riders? They’re always here. So people just go around and around the airport waiting for planes that never arrive?
“Finn, look!” Mouse calls again, pulling on my arm. She points to an approaching girl—not much older than I am.
We dive behind a storage bin. Boom follows us. She seems to understand we are hiding and curls in a tight ball.
From here, we can watch the girl, without her seeing us. Her hair is hanging limp and wet. She’s wearing a lime green Falling Bird vest and she has a wrist screen attached haphazardly to her arm.
The way she steps, her eyes in constant motion like a surveillance camera, makes me think she’s not supposed to be here. She moves stealthily from Segway to Segway until she hops on the one she wants and turns the key. She has trouble with reverse—clearly she hasn’t driven one of these things before. She’s close to us now—very close—I can just make out the name on her shirt: Pamela.
Pamela manages reverse now, but it isn’t pretty. She stops and starts, jerking her way out of the parking lot, and then zips forward, so fast, her hat flies off.
Before I can stop her, Mouse darts out. She snatches the hat and something else that’s fallen too. A purse or fanny pack maybe? But when Mouse returns, I see it’s the wrist screen. Mouse hands it to me.
India really liked hers—she was so secretive about it, though. I have no idea how it works. I’m about to put it in my pocket—we don’t really have time to mess with this right now—when suddenly the screen lights up with a face I recognize, but don’t know very well. It’s a man about my father’s age with a short red beard, red curly hair, and kind blue eyes.
Uncle Red.
“Finn.” Uncle Red smiles as if he wants to say something important but doesn’t know how to start. “I don’t have kids. I didn’t know myself how much I wanted them till I started talking to your mother about you all moving up here. It means a lot to me to have this chance to be a part of your lives.
“I’m looking forward to you and your sisters living up here more than I’ve looked forward to anything in a good long while . . . and I’ve been trying to figure out how to make you feel welcome. Got a hoop up already. The regulation kind. Your mom let me know you were particular. Talked to the school about getting you on the team too. The coach said he might have a spot . . .”
“Finn! Finn!” Mouse shouts. “C’mon! We’ve got to go.”
When I look up, I see three Falling Bird security guys in their midnight blue uniforms running toward us.
CHAPTER 32
PROPERTY OF FB
I’ve gotten pretty far, but now I’m not sure whether to stay on the main road, which is smoother, so I can get the cart going full speed, or go on the side roads, where I’ll have to go slower because of the bumps.
I’ve just decided to play it safe and take the side road when the radio buzzes.
“Two-oh-two, come in two-oh-two.”
My eyes find the registration for the cart while still holding tight to the steering wheel. The road is full of potholes. It’s hard to keep in control bouncing over them. The registration has that girl Pamela’s picture and the vehicle number 202. Pamela was really into that Jack dude on my wrist screen. I wonder if she even called in her missing cart. I’m guessing she didn’t. Should I answer and pretend to be her?
I grab the radio, take a deep breath, and push the receiver button. “This is two-oh-two,” I say.
“Francine here. Our board is showing you’re taking the vehicle out of your designated area.”
“Oh yeah, um . . . I’m having mechanical difficulties . . . with the brakes . . . they aren’t, um, working.” Screwed to the dashboard of the cart is the same brass plate that is in the feather cabs. Property of FB, it says.
“And you didn’t call in?” Francine’s tone is suddenly suspicious.
“I’m going too fast. Can’t take my hands off the wheel.”
“Oh, of course.” Francine’s voice softens. “I’ll patch in Mechanical Group,” she says.
Wait. What did Chuck’s note say? Wasn’t he talking about that dispatcher dude? “Is Sparky there? He’s helped me with this, um, problem before,” I say.
“This isn’t Sparky’s area, Pamela. You should know that,” Francine snaps.
Oh great. I blew that. How am I going to get her to put Sparky on?
What would a Falling Bird person do, I wonder, and then all of a sudden I know. I clear my throat. “Code eight-one-seven-two, Francine. Type two mechanical problems go to Sparky,” I bluff, and then I hold my breath.
“Eight-one-seven-two. Who even reads the eight thousands?” Francine grumbles.
“Rules are important, Francine,” I tell her.
“All right, all right. I catch your drift. I’ll put him through, though there are probably three people in all of Falling Bird who have read the eight-thousand codes.”
Mom, if you could only see me now. Mouse is not your only smart daughter!
“Sparky here.” A man’s voice comes on as my cart hits a rut, jerks left, and teeters precariously, almost flipping over.
I gasp.
“Sure you don’t want me to call Mechanical Group?” Francine’s voice again. Man, does she have to stick her nose in everything?
“Sparky, the brakes don’t work. Remember how you helped me with this before?”
“I’ll give you three minutes, then I’m patching in Mechanical,” Francine says.
Her radio clicks off. I take a deep breath. “Sparky,” I whisper. “I’m India Tompkins. Chuck said you would help me.”
The line crackles with static. I hold my breath.
“Pamela, yes. Been tracking you and the others. Slip it in neutral, pull the emergency, and give the accelerator a whack from the side. Remember how we did it before?”
He’s covering for me. He’s going to help.
“I’m with you, Pamela,” he says.
“Where are the others?” I ask as I maneuver the cart around a huge pothole and over a rocky patch, the steering wheel vibrating in my hands.
“Don’t panic. Get the vehicle under control, then you can double back.”
Double back? Wait. Is this a trick? Chuck said to trust this guy, and Chuck stuck his neck out for us. But still, double back?
“For the others?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says. “It’s not far. If you can’t unjam the brake system, we’ll have someone meet you at the border crossing.”
“At the border crossing?”
The line clicks on again and Francine is back. “Status, please?” she demands.
“We got the situation under control here, Francine.”
“If you got the problem solved, why are you still on the horn? I’m patching in Mechanical.”
“On the horn, Francine? You been skipping CA again?”
“Sorry, sorry, on the line,” she answers.
“Mechanical Group.” A new voice breaks into the line. “I understand two-oh-two is having a problem with the braking system.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, “the pedal was stuck. But I think I got it now. Sparky figured it out.”
“All righty. Got you headed home on our screen too. Be sure to fill out Form one-one-five-one when you return. We’ll get that vehicle serviced ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” I say as I see the border station and a knot of people up ahead.
Ohm
ygod . . . it’s Mouse and Finn and a dog—hey, didn’t Mouse say we needed a dog?—and uh-oh, three security guys. That can’t be good.
“Help! Help! Help!” I toot the horn, jam my hand on it. “I can’t stop this thing!” I shout, heading straight for them, my foot hovering over the brake pedal.
When they see me coming they scatter. Finn, Mouse, the dog, and one security guy on one side, the other two uniforms on the other.
I turn toward Finn and Mouse, then pounce on the brakes. “GET IN!” I shout, and Mouse and Finn dive into the back, the dog leaping after them.
It takes the tall security guy a second to realize what’s happening, but I have the pedal to the metal by then.
He’s running, though, and he must be some kind of distance runner, because boy is he fast. “That’s Falling Bird property!” he shouts.
“Faster!” Mouse yells.
The cart vibrates like a coffee grinder. “I’m trying!” I shout. But with two more people and a dog on board it just won’t go as fast as it did.
I try my best to steer around the potholes. Between the extra weight and the rough road, the security guy is gaining on us. His long arm grabs the backseat, dragging our cart until it is hardly moving at all.
But the dog sees him now. Her teeth bared, her hackles up, she dives for his hand.
Surprised, the tall guard lets go and our cart shoots forward, unencumbered again.
“Way to go, India! Yay, Boom!” Finn and Mouse cheer as the radio buzzes urgently now and there’s a distant sound of choppers in the air.
“India! India!” Mouse shouts through the buzzing, whirring noise. “Don’t ever leave us again.”
CHAPTER 33
THE BLACK BOX
I NDIA! India came back and she brought Bing, just like Finn said she would. I want to hug her in the big Mommy way, but she is busy driving the mini car with no doors. She’s wearing her hair up in Chuck’s driver’s cap and she has on his jacket too, only it says Travels with Ed. Who is Ed?
She doesn’t have her driver’s license yet. She’s not old enough. That’s why those Marvins got mad. India is a good driver, though. India is good at everything. She is a perfect big sister. Except all the time she isn’t.
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