The ceiling of the attic was low, even for me. Mom had to hunch over slightly to keep from hitting her head. Somehow the temperature seemed to take a nosedive as soon as we reached the top of the stairs. Maybe it was our shattered nerves and not the temperature, but my teeth chattered either way. Books, toys, and random kitchen stuff were scattered across the floor, like someone had dug through a dozen boxes trying to find something vitally important. Or the stuff was just banished to the attic because Natalie and Joe didn’t care for any of it or even like it anymore, kind of like me and Mom.
There were a few pillows scrunched in the corner of the room. We piled them up along with the pillow from downstairs and rested against them, huddling under the blanket Joe had given us. “You know, it’s okay, honey. I know it would be more comfortable downstairs. You can go back down.”
I shook my head. “No way, Mom. We’re a team, right?”
She kissed me on the forehead and hugged me tighter.
I was just about to shut my eyes when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I expected to see Bo peering at us when the door swung open, but it wasn’t. Cain smiled a gentle smile, the kind that wasn’t meant to be too happy-looking. “Hey. Just so you know, there’s extra blankets in that trunk over there.” He pointed to a huge black trunk that looked like a treasure chest sitting unassumingly in the corner of the room. We grabbed the soft fluffy blankets and threw them on top of our other blanket, making ourselves a nest of soft fabrics and lumpy pillows. One felt like there were golf balls bursting from it, but it was better than the hard floor. Cain sat next to us. “Tomorrow we’re heading out at—”
“Cain?” Mom interrupted him.
“Yes?”
“Why don’t you hate me? The rest of them do…”
“How do you know I don’t?”
Mom paused. “You’re up here, aren’t you?”
“Fair enough.” He picked up one of the many books on the floor, pages sprawled open and bent at the corners. He stared into the pages for a long moment, as if it might tell him something important. While he stared at the book, I stared at him. “Do you know why my name is Cain?”
Mom and I looked at each other, neither of us able to answer. Dad taught me a few things about the Bible, and I remembered that the name Cain wasn’t exactly associated with anything positive. I knew what my own name meant: courageous. Mom had told me once that she and Dad named me that to make sure I was strong. I remember telling her it must have worked.
“Because my father named me. He named me after a murderer. Cain killed his own brother, his flesh and blood. My father named me that. And my mother allowed it.” Cain pushed the book away from him and it slid across the floor, knocking into an upside-down blender. “She was too cowardly to speak up. My theory is that my father didn’t believe I was his. If I didn’t have his face, I would have thought he was right. Either way, I ended up the same.” He quickly stood and, to my surprise, removed his shirt. I threw my hands across my eyes, but like a child in the movies, I peeked at him from between my fingers. His shirt had been concealing a rippled chest and a stomach that you could grate cheese with. I was rather enjoying the view.
Then he turned around.
My air left me. His back looked as if it had been branded with something the size of a car hood. His flesh appeared to be one big scar, an endless pattern of raised bumps and skin. I got up and looked closer. I realized that what I had thought was one giant scar was actually a huge collection of several. I could barely tell where one stopped and another began as I stared at the strange patterns that stretched across his back. I gently traced one with the very tip of my finger.
I didn’t know how long I had been standing with him when he slid his shirt back on. “My father met all your criteria, Claire. Every last bullet point. He was well-educated. Had enough money to send me and ten of my closest friends to college if he wanted to. Married. Religious. Except what your spreadsheet didn’t count on was that someone could have all these things and still be a sociopath.”
Tears slid slowly down Mom’s face. She listened silently. I sat down next to her and linked my fingers with hers. “I used to watch your speeches on the television. I’d sit up at night, icing the swelling parts of my skin, and wonder when that nice lady on TV was going to come and take me away. When was it going to be my turn? I imagined what my new life would be like when I got rescued. But you never came.”
Mom hid her face in her hands. At that moment I understood what people meant when they said “sympathy pains.” Suddenly I felt sick. I’d imagined it had to be the hardest thing in the world to realize that something you worked so hard on didn’t work for someone who deserved it to so much. I held Mom’s hand tighter.
“So no, Claire, I don’t hate you. You were trying to do the right thing. You gave me hope, something that I hadn’t had before I heard you speak. You wanted to save children. No one can fault you for that. Your message just got a little lost in the details.” He came over and held her face in his hands. “It’s okay.” He kissed her forehead and tucked our blankets tighter around us. Looking at me, he said, “Your mom was my angel.” Then he descended the stairs once more, not looking back.
Shortly after Cain left, I heard footsteps on the stairs once again. This time Bo came up to join us, blanket and pillow in hand and a couple water bottles that I guessed Natalie and Joe didn’t know about. I didn’t think at this point they would be giving us anything else by choice. “You don’t mind some more company, do you?” As he came closer, he noticed my mom’s tear-stained face. “What happened? What did he say to you?” Bo’s forehead wrinkled into one thick line when he got angry, and even if the weather wasn’t hot, sweat pooled inside it and slid down his face. I’d only seen it once before our journey started. It appeared when Mom told him my dad left us. The wrinkle had been turning up quite a bit over the last couple days.
“It’s okay, Bo. I’m fine.”
Bo turned to me. “Is she lying?”
I smiled. “No, she’s okay. Cain was just telling us a sad story…a really sad story. A couple things that the reporter on TV didn’t bother to mention, like the fact that Cain’s father beat the crap out of him.”
Mom gently grabbed Bo’s arm. Her wet cheeks stretched into a smile. “He understands. He understands why I did it. Everything.” She clutched him tighter. “All of it.”
Bo softened. “Oh.” He took a breath, and I thought he would acknowledge the news about Cain a little more. He didn’t. “Mind if I crawl in there with you guys?”
“Sure. Mom, you can be in the middle.” Mom and I scooted over and Bo crawled into her side of our pillow-and-blanket mound. I slid my arm around my mom and smiled when I saw Bo had done the same. The three of us drifted off to sleep.
There were no drapes on the window in the attic, so when the sun insisted I wake up with it, I couldn’t argue. I decided to let Mom and Bo sleep as long as they could and headed downstairs, carefully closing the door behind me. I smiled when I glanced back and saw that they were still intertwined with one another from the night before.
Jordyn was sleeping soundly on the couch. Apparently Mom being banished to the attic hadn’t bothered her too much. The only sound I heard was my own feet softly tapping on the cold wood floor.
Until the banging started.
I ran past Jordyn toward the door. She had risen from the couch and grabbed her gun in one motion. Standing on my toes slightly, I peered through the peephole. They weren’t the men in gray suits. They were something much worse.
The local-level police had become the people who did the Taskforce’s dirty work, a completely separate unit. Where the Taskforce had the job of removing the children from their homes or schools, the local-level police got involved when people tried to hide their children, which was nearly all the time. One phone call from the Taskforce and the local police would be there to persuade the rule-breaking parents. And the government gave them the freedom to enforce their rules however they wanted.
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br /> I inhaled to scream, but a hand sealed my mouth. A soft “shhhhh” played in my ear. I nodded. Without speaking, Cain took my hand and led me to a linen closet. There was a small space between the last shelf and the floor that I was just small enough to squeeze into. Once I had contorted myself into my hiding spot, he mouthed, “Don’t move.” The door shut.
My muscles burned. I felt like one of those papers that origami is made out of: stiff, bent, and probably turning red. Cain had folded me into a paper swan and stuffed me in a closet.
I stayed absolutely still like Cain told me. But I listened. Natalie and Joe’s voices had now joined Jordyn’s in the living room. Though Cain’s voice was now missing. “Just let me shoot them, Dad.”
“No! If you do then even more will come.”
Footsteps.
“He’s right. We have to talk to them,” Natalie’s voice said.
“Alright, but I’m still holding onto my gun.”
The snap of latches moving filled the air and almost sounded like Jordyn’s gun, which at that moment I wished I had too. I had never fired one before, but I figured it couldn’t be too hard. There weren’t a lot of buttons on it after all, just point and fire.
Three new voices entered, though they all sounded almost identical. When the men spoke it sounded like one man was carrying on a three-way conversation with himself. “Good morning, sir, ma’am…and ma’am. That weapon won’t be necessary. Please politely lower it and we can talk like civilized people.”
“Not a chance—” A loud buzzing sound replaced Jordyn’s voice, and I felt the floor vibrate as something, or someone, fell.
Footsteps.
“What the hell did you do? She’s shaking!” Natalie’s voice.
“It’s just a projectile taser. She’ll come back in a few minutes. Now, back to the conversation at hand.” I didn’t like how formally those men talked, like they were speaking to people they thought were stupid, or they thought they were better than us, like they didn’t care if they hurt us because we weren’t important anyway. Goosebumps peaked from my skin. “We have reason to believe you are hiding a group of fugitives in this house. Two adults, one male and one female, and one minor, female.”
“There’s nobody here but us. Have a look around if you like, but you’re not going to find anything.” Joe’s voice sounded calm, like he’d lied to the police before. No big surprise there.
“Don’t lie to me now. We received this tip from a very reliable informant.” I almost cursed and blew my cover: the mercenaries. One of them must have pointed the Taskforce in our direction. “Now, I really don’t want this to be any harder than it has to be. Just tell us where they are. Don’t make me have these two take a look around.” Footsteps. On opposite sides of the room I heard shattering glass, and the floor shook as something else fell on top of it. I guessed their beautiful mantel, photos, and the rest of their living room now lay in pieces on the floor.
“I’m afraid you’re in the wrong house.” Joe’s voice was still calm.
“Okay, sir…” Footsteps.
Then Natalie screaming. “No! You can’t take her! Please!” Something was being dragged across the floor.
“You don’t honestly think we don’t know who she is, do you? Your daughter is one of the top wanted Guides in this area. Our superiors would be very pleased with us if we brought her in. A pleasant surprise, if you will. But…the three fugitives would definitely be considered more valuable. Government employees and all. Perhaps you want to trade?”
Silence.
“Your daughter for the fugitives?”
“No, please…” Natalie begged. A cluster of footsteps headed toward the door. The dragging sound continued.
Joe’s voice: “The attic. They’re in the attic.”
I could hear Cain in my head, telling me to be still and silent. But it was impossible to ignore the floating feeling in my brain and the tingling in my limbs. And the nausea as I heard my mother being dragged screaming down the stairs. The suffocating, thick smell of old sheets and hot dust choked my lungs and I fought the urge to pass out. Then I heard Mom’s voice. “No! You can’t do this! Let me GO!” The wall shook all the way through to my closet as Mom and Bo tried to free themselves.
“We can and we are. Now, where’s the girl?” the head policeman’s voice asked.
Silence.
A loud thud broke the moment of quiet. And another. Another still.
“For Christ’s sake, you’ll kill her!” Footsteps.
“The bitch SPIT on me! In my FACE!”
Go Mom.
“Here, let me show you…” a policeman said.
I didn’t know what he was doing, but it involved Mom crying. The only words I heard were, “Where is she?” Then there was screaming that cracked against my ears like a swift hand, over and over again. I heard the same question, the same response. I reached up and opened the closet door.
I leaped out into the living room. One of the policemen was holding out my mother’s arm while the other one stuck a burning cigarette onto her skin. Even from where I was standing, I could see little streams of smoke circling the red craters. Mom shouted at me to run.
I have never been a very good listener.
I barreled into the policeman so hard I knocked him to the ground, hard enough to free my mother from his grasp. She started to run, but one of the other policemen was right there to recapture her. Bo was already handcuffed by the third. Jordyn lay still on the floor, her head in her mother’s lap. Her eyelids struggled to stay open as she fought the urge to slip into unconsciousness. She mouthed to me, “I’m sorry.”
“Take them to the van,” one said. “Keep the gun on them.” The other two obeyed and pushed us in front of them, gun aimed at our backs. I glanced back once to see where the first policeman had gone and saw he was moving toward Jordyn. He knelt down to where she lay in her mother’s lap and used a handful of her hair to pull her face up to his own. Her eyes barely fluttered. He shouted at her, probably spitting all over her face, “I’ll be back for you.” He released her hair, letting her head hit the ground.
Natalie sobbed. Joe just stood in the corner, face as still as Jordyn’s. I glared at him as he stood there, safely in his living room with his family close by, watching as they dragged us away.
They pushed us hard into the back of their van. I hit my knee on the way in, and I had to bite my lip to keep the tears from coming. The van looked like it belonged to a repair company. The back was completely bare except for shelves and drawers that lined the walls, and a pile of something covered by a big black blanket sat in the corner between the back of the driver’s seat and the corner of the shelves. The scent of rotten meat and flowered room spray hung in the air, and I didn’t want to know what they were trying to cover up. Though I had hoped to remain in the dark, as soon as the van started and hit a bump in the road, a rubbery, ashen hand fell out from under the blanket in the corner. I screamed and jumped back, as far away from it as I could.
“That’s what happened to the last person in this van that didn’t do what they were told,” the policeman in the driver’s seat said.
I scooted closer to my mother.
I thought about Jordyn and her father. Though I was furious with him, I understood. My mother would trade anyone’s life for mine, and he was just doing the same. He had already lost two children and he was not about to lose Jordyn too. Suddenly, I understood what Cain had told me when we were alone after he had killed the three mercenaries. He had told me I would eventually get it.
He was right.
“Where are they taking us?” I asked Bo. He just stared out the window. “Mom, where are they taking us?”
It was then that Bo answered. “I’m sorry, Riley. I’m sorry, Claire. I failed you. I’m so sorry.”
I looked at him. “We’re going to figure this out though! We will. Right?”
Silence.
I thought about Olivia. Maybe being caught wasn’t as terrible as it seemed. Ma
ybe they would bring me to the same place where Olivia was. The people who ran her school didn’t sound very happy, but at least Olivia and I would have each other, wherever she was. But I couldn’t stand being separated from my mom. They would probably throw her in jail. And what would they do to Bo for helping us? They would probably do much worse to him. No, there had to be a way out.
Mom tried to reassure me. “It’s going to be okay, honey. We’ll get out of this somehow. They are not going to separate us. Ever.” She stared hard into my eyes. As much as I trusted my mother, I realized that she couldn’t control our circumstances as much as she believed she could. I didn’t want to believe it, but it was true. I couldn’t hold on to the delusion that my mother controlled the world for a moment longer, and neither could she.
Just then, I started to hear a faint scraping sound. I thought it was just noise from the road, but then I realized it was more distinctive, that it had a rhythm. I looked to the other side of the van. This time, a different hand had emerged from the blanket. This hand was pink with life and its index finger was scraping its nail across the floor of the van. It was the same hand that had covered my mouth after I looked through the peephole that morning. Slowly, it lifted up the blanket and Cain’s eyes looked back at me. He smiled and pressed his finger to his lips, silencing the three of us. Then the lips mouthed two simple words: Hold on.
CHAPTER SIX
The driver’s neck snapped easily under Cain’s hands. As the van swerved, Cain lunged toward the other two officers. They died before their guns left their holsters. Cain shoved two of the bodies into a pile in the farthest passenger seat and leapt into the front of the car. Grabbing the wheel, he sat in the lap of the driver, slowing us to an easy stop on the shoulder of the road. My heart started beating again.
Cain jumped off the lap of the driver and opened the door, turning back around to dig in the driver’s pockets. He found the key to our handcuffs on his first try and ripped open the door to the back of the van.
Mom sobbed. “Thank you, thank you!”
The Extraction List Page 7
