by JA Huss
Sasha picks herself up from the floor and takes her seat across from me again. “Three months.”
I make no move. I make no sound. I do not acknowledge her in any way. She wants accolades for surviving. And I’m not gonna hand them out for a few months of camping.
She holds my stare and then looks away. I wonder if Harper is wild like this? I’ve been able to control Harper, but she’s mine. I’m using sex to rein her in and make her submit.
This one is not mine. Plus she’s way too young. She doesn’t think I’ll beat her. Kill her, maybe. But beat her, no. Kids who come from loving families are dumb like that. She’s got no fear of my fists because from what I know of her father, she was well-loved before they killed him. I’m not interested in changing that. So I won’t be hitting her. And now I can’t kill her. Because Merc was not the sender of that text. She’s not lying about that. She knows who sent me and she’s not gonna tell me if she’s dead.
“I got a message too, James.”
Did I tell her my name? “What’d it say?”
She stares at me for a few seconds. I hold her stare. “GPS coordinates.”
“Yeah, and?” I wave her on with my hand.
“When I got there, there was a bunch of gear waiting. And a new phone with a text message.”
She stares at me again, waiting. And I swear to God, if this kid was a man, I’d punch his face in right now. I’d break a finger for every second he made me wait. I take a deep breath. “And the message said?”
“It said, I’ll send him soon. That’s it.”
She’s lying. She is fucking lying. I know it. But I nod at her. Because she’s not gonna tell me shit right now. She hates my guts. “Then how’d you know I’m being set up?”
“Because I got another text last night. And that one said, Tell Six she left.”
The blood rushes out of my face. I get up and walk to the cockpit. “Harrison, I’m using my phone.”
“I got a satellite phone right there,” he says, pointing to the bag of gear on the seat next to him.
“Sorry,” I tell him as I go back to the cabin. “I need a secure line.” I punch in Harper’s number.
It rings. And rings.
“Hello?”
God, my whole body fills up with relief. “Harp, baby, where are you?” Silence. “Harper? Can you hear me?” I get the disconnect beeps and lose the call. Shit. I redial and she picks up on the first ring. “Harper, where are you?”
“Why?” she growls.
Fucking girls. I change tactics, because clearly she is not happy with me. “I’m on my way back. I just want to make sure you’re OK. Safe at home.”
Silence.
“Harper. Tell me you’re at home.”
“I’m at someone’s home. But not mine.”
Fuck. I look over at Sasha and she’s smiling. Enjoying the show. “Just tell me where you are. I’ll be there soon to pick you up.”
Harper hesitates and then gives in. “I’m in the desert. In front of a green house. Is that your house? The address that was sent to your phone the other night. You know, that night you left me.”
“Calm down, soldier.” I’m the one smiling at Sasha now. Brat. “Fuck, I’m so relieved. You’re sneaky and I’m not happy that you didn’t stay put. But I’m glad you’re there because at least you’re safe.”
“I’m not there and I’m not safe,” she snaps. “I’m lying under a bush across the street, watching for people. I’m so paranoid, my heart feels like it’s beating out of my chest.” She takes a breath and I realize she’s scared. “And I went for my pills and do you know what I found?”
Fuck.
“Candy!” she screams. “You changed my pills out with candy! You asshole!”
I hold the phone away from my ear and look over at Sasha. She’s back to being the smiling one now. “Harper,” I say calmly. “No one is coming to that house, OK? It’s a safe place and I want you inside. So get up off the ground.” I wait but I don’t hear movement. “Are you getting up?”
There’s some shuffling and then she says, “I’m up.”
“OK, now walk across the street, open the gate, and go into the garage.” I give her a few minutes to walk up the long driveaway. The gate closes, then the side door to the garage squeaks as she opens it.
“OK.”
“There’s a key in the tailpipe of the car. A small silver one. Use it to go inside the house and wait for me. If you’re scared or you have trouble there’s guns in the trunk. They’re all loaded with a cartridge in the chamber. So be mindful.”
Silence.
“Harper?”
“Got the key,” she says with a trembling voice. “How soon will you be here?”
Oh, she’s so scared. I feel terrible but I do not want her getting any ideas about taking those pills again. “Soon, OK? I’m only a few hours away. So very soon. You gonna be OK?”
She sniffs. “Yes.”
“I miss you,” I say, turning away from Sasha’s sneer. “I can’t wait to see you again. And I’m glad you’re not back at the beach. You’re fine right where you are, it’s no big deal.”
She’s silent on the other end.
“You sure you’re OK?” I prod her. It’s weird to think of her as vulnerable. The Company has done nothing but talk up how dangerous she is. And yeah, if she really applied herself, she’d give me a good fight. But she doesn’t seem all that interested in fighting. I glance over at a smirking Sasha. Unlike that wild thing. She’s out looking for an excuse to brawl. “Just take a few deep breaths. Were you followed?”
“I don’t see how. There is no one out here for miles and I walked here from town. But—I’m so afraid they can see me. It’s so open out here.”
“You walked?”
“You’re breaking up, I’ll—”
And then the line cuts us off. Fucking airplanes.
I go back to the cockpit. “We’re getting off in Vegas.” Harrison grunts, so I just walk back to Sasha and take my seat.
“You owe me now, James.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
She smiles her I win smile and crosses her arms. “I could’ve let you go all the way back to California only to find her missing. But I didn’t. I helped you. And that means when I need it, you have to help me.”
I glare at her. “Who sent me?”
“I’ll give you one guess.”
I don’t need one guess, because I already know. And that means he’s been watching me this whole time. But she’s wrong about one thing. I have not been set up. I made a deal and I’m seeing it through.
“I’ve been set up too,” Sasha says like we’re in this together. “I’m not a player, I’m just a pawn.”
“Do you know for sure who sent you out there?”
“I don’t need to know who, Six. The only thing that matters is why.”
“Why then?”
“You,” she says. “I was sent out there for you. And where did you just come from?”
I wait for it.
“How likely is it that you showed up in Huntington Beach and found her waiting for you?”
Jesus, this kid knows more about my job than I do. “But you’re OK with this setup.” I watch her face, but she’s good. Or she’s psycho like the rest of us and the lies pour out second nature.
“I’m as OK with it as you are. Unless, of course, you haven’t figured it out yet and I’m telling you something you don’t know.”
“Then what’s your plan?” I ask, ignoring her dig, because I don’t know. I’m off balance a little. After my last job I was not… all there. I failed the debrief psych evaluation. I lost a little bit of time. I lost… a little bit of me, maybe.
“Wait it out and see what happens. Just like you.” She smiles and her perfect white teeth gleam in a stray beam of sunlight. She looks harmless like that. If you disregard her ratty hair and mismatched ALCO clothes.
“I know who set you up,” I say through a curled lip. “So let’s not pr
etend.” God, this girl. I’m starting to feel some serious hate for her.
“You only know what they tell you.”
“And you know more?”
“Yeah. Because I’m a kid. And you know what? All you guys have ignored me for so long, I don’t exist. I bet you don’t even remember meeting me, do you? You only saw my father’s guns that day.”
I search my memory. “I was never in Cheyenne. Sorry, Smurf.”
“No, but you were in Boise that year I turned nine. You bought four FN Five-SeveNs and two thousand rounds of cartridges. That was a nice paycheck for us. We bought that cabin. You know, the one where my father was killed?”
I just stare at her.
“I remember all the hunters, James. All of them. And you can tell yourself that Ford is just like you. But you’re wrong. He’s not.”
My whole body heats up with anger now. Fuck this kid. “He made me kill my brother. Did you know that? He cashed in a debt Merc owed him. For you, Sasha. Everything that’s happened to me this year, all that shit that made me unstable in the eyes of the Company? That’s all your fault.”
She swallows hard because I’m not James right now, I’m Tet. Number Six.
“So if I were you, I’d shut my fucking trap and become invisible. Because you don’t want this kind of attention from me.”
Chapter Seventeen - Harper
I trace my finger down the body of the vehicle. It’s not a car I’ve ever seen. It’s not open-topped, like the Jeeps everyone drives near my old beach.
My fingers catch on a logo on the side of the dusty black body. I bend down and squint my eyes in the dark. Hummer.
I’ve heard of those.
I would probably not be able to drive this thing since I have never actually driven anything bigger than a golf cart on land, but I know how to work a trunk at least. I walk around back and open the cargo area. It’s smaller than it looks from the outside, but then I notice it’s been modified with some kind of storage system. Two long shallow tubs are hidden underneath the false floor of the back. I pull one out and it’s filled with gear. First-aid kit. Basic hygiene things. Other things I can’t identify, but it looks like a bug-out kit to me. Nick had one. Hell—I laugh as I shift my pack against my side—I have one. Only this one in the back of the Hummer looks… legitimate. Mine’s filled with cut-off shorts and tank tops. An extra pair of flip flops and some hair ties.
I push the bin back in and pull out the second one.
Inside are two guns, like two dozen boxes of ammo, and extra magazines. James said the guns are loaded with a round in the chamber. I know what that means. Dangerous. We had guns on the ship. Lots of guns. But I have never so much as touched one. I am a hand-to-hand kind of fighter. Yeah, they could pick me off with a bullet. But I’ve always figured that anyone who kills the Admiral’s daughter is gonna end up dead sooner rather than later. So I’ve never worried too much about being so inept with weapons.
But now? I’m not so sure that my familial relationship is a benefit.
Still, how hard could it be? As long as I don’t accidentally shoot myself.
I take one and stuff it in the waistband of my shorts like I’ve seen the guards wear them on the ship. I don’t want to shoot this gun. I don’t even want to hold this gun. But it’s stupid not to have it on me when it’s available. James said he’ll be here soon and even though my hands are shaking from fighting the panic, the thought of him being so close is calming all by itself.
I push the bin back in but it stops before it reaches the end. Something’s in the way. I pull the gun bin all the way back out and set it on top of the cargo area.
A notebook is flattened up against the back. I peer into the darkness as I make sense of what I’m seeing.
Hello Kitty.
My heart begins to beat faster.
A pink Hello Kitty notebook. Worn and bent. Like it’s been through hell. Like it’s seen things.
My hands are shaking as I pull it out and take it over to the side door where I came in. The sunlight reaches it and the familiar cartoon hits me so hard, I almost fall over.
This is my notebook.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, open the dirty cover, and try to come to terms with what I’m seeing.
A drawing. In pink crayon. I turn the book sideways so I can see it clearly and my heart thumps out of rhythm.
A harp.
I turn the page and there is sloppy printed handwriting in pencil that’s too faded to read in the dim light. I take a moment to allow the significance to sink in.
He… James… is someone I know.
I push the bin back in the cargo area, close the back door, and exit the garage, walking quickly over to the back porch of the prefabricated house. I step lightly up the stairs, shove the house key into the lock and open the door.
The air-conditioning is on full blast and the cold air assaults me and takes my breath away for a moment. There’s a cell phone on the counter and it’s flashing an icon on the screen.
Was someone just here?
I close the door behind me. How hard can it be to shoot a loaded gun? Just pull a trigger, right? The gun and the notebook trade places in an instant. “I’ll shoot you, whoever you are!” I yell. I hold the gun with the barrel pointing up. I might not’ve ever shot a gun before, but I’ve seen how it’s done. I know how our guards carried them. I’m in the kitchen. It’s newly remodeled and open to the dining and living room, which only has a few pieces of furniture, so I know that no one is in this room with me.
I stalk along the wall towards the bedrooms, checking each one, and each closet. I check the bathrooms, the pantry, the front porch, and a small coat closet.
No one. I’m totally alone.
I go back to the phone on the counter with a little relief, and then press the home button to wake it up. Someone was in here.
The flashing icon is there and it says New Message.
I press the tab and a text message pops up. We’ll talk soon. Don’t forget why this is happening. There’s a little icon at the end of the text that looks like it might be a mushroom. And that’s it.
I grab the phone and hold it to my chest. Is this Nick? Was he here? Someone had to drop this phone off. Oh, I’m so happy! I run to the front door and throw it open. I want to scream his name. I know he’s not gonna come back to me now, not if he left me this message, but I want to scream out how much I love and miss him so he’ll know.
But I catch myself and stay silent. I need to hold it together. It’s so close—the worst year of my life is almost over. I just need to hold it together a little longer. So I lift my hand and pretend he’s walking down the driveway and I wave to my imaginary brother.
And then I go back inside, close the door, lock it, and slump down to the cool tile floor and let the tears out.
After almost a year of missing him, he was here.
I read the message over and over and over again. I read it thirty times at least. God, I’m grinning from top to bottom, that’s how happy this message makes me. And even though I want to save it so I can read it again, I erase the message and start checking the phone. There are no calls or contacts. But there’s one picture in the photo album. And that makes my heart beat fast again, but not out of happiness.
At first glance it just looks like a picture of Nick and I, playing on a beach. I know the beach, not the exact name, but I know where it was. The Caribbean. Which means it was our birthday. Because we spent every birthday in the Caribbean until we were sixteen.
But in this picture we are young. Six. I know this because there’s balloons tied to the thatched-roof cabana in the background and they all have sixes on them.
Sixes.
Which is funny, almost. I mean it could be. If that wasn’t a teenage James sitting in the sand with me, holding a Hello Kitty notebook in his hand as I bury his feet in the sand.
I get up and dart to the kitchen where I left the notebook. I can’t take my eyes off it for a few moments
because the memories come flooding in.
How in the world did I not recognize him?
“Do you like your present?”
He’s holding the pink notebook so the sand doesn’t get all over it.
I just smile and nod as I continue my task of burying him in the sand.
“What’s your name?” the man asks.
I look up at him and grin. “You have to guess. That’s the rules.”
“Jane,” he says.
I just laugh.
“Pete.”
This time I giggle uncontrollably. “Pete! That’s not a name for a girl!”
“Just tell me, no one will know.”
I shake my head at him. I know which rules can be broken and which ones can’t, and giving out my name is a no-no.
“The Admiral said we can be friends.”
My dad did say that. I heard him. But that’s not enough to break the rules. No names. That is the number one rule. Only codes. But codes are even more secret than names. I will get a whipping if I give out my code to anyone. But if no one knows my name or my code, then why bother having them?
“This is my party,” I tell the man to change the subject. He’s staring at me and his eyes are so green, I stare back. We are both being rude, but I can’t help it. It’s like a pretty fish when I’m snorkeling. The pretty ones can sting you, that’s what Nick says. I’m not supposed to touch anything pretty under the water. But that lionfish was so beautiful, I couldn’t help myself.
“I’ve been stung before,” I tell the man, as I continue with my task of covering him with sand.
He frowns at me. “By what?”
“Jellyfish mostly. On my feet. I step on them sometimes. But”—I hold up the tip of my finger and he squints at it—“the lionfish get me here.” I grin at him but he’s not smiling. “I touch them.” This man’s eyes are pretty like the lionfish.
“Why in the world would you touch—”
“I’m six today,” I tell him so he won’t think too much about the lionfish. I like to touch them. I want to feel them. And the stings don’t always hurt. I’ve been stung four times, but I’ve touched a lot of lionfish. I don’t always get stung. I know which parts to avoid now.
