by J B Cantwell
I wondered if they might’ve made an exception, though. If they had turned them back on again, searching for me.
Little me.
We approached the exit to the station, and I suddenly realized something. Before meeting the Fighters in Canada, or the Volunteers in New York City, I had never in my life seen someone without a designation. I wondered what my response might’ve been if I had. If I were still an innocent Green, what would I have done?
I might’ve shaken my head, trying to jog my chip back into working mode, thinking it was a glitch. Before meeting the Volunteers, I didn’t even know a chip could be deactivated. I would have been curious, yes, but only to a point. I probably would’ve just shrugged it off, thinking it was a problem on my end, not on theirs.
I stayed behind the crowd as we descended the steps to the street, stopping behind a pillar, pretending to tie my bootlace, waiting for the crowd to disperse. Then, when they had finally all gone their separate ways, I got moving.
I wanted to run, and maybe I should have, but there was nowhere to hide here. No quiet street next to the wall where I wouldn’t be seen. On the outskirts of town, there was only water. No wall. And people filled the buildings.
I felt like I could feel their eyes boring into me as I walked down the street. Eyes I couldn’t see. Surely they were up there looking down.
Weren’t they?
As I approached my apartment building, I suddenly became nervous, more nervous than before.
What if someone had been tailing me? Alex had been after Amanda, but he had mentioned that I was being hunted, too.
By Hannah.
Hannah was no idiot. If she was here, she was hiding, waiting. Would she be armed? Would she have assistance? Another, larger soldier, maybe?
I looked around. She could be anywhere, but I wagered that she was somewhere up high, watching the front of the building I had once called home. Perhaps she wouldn’t be surprised by my lack of designation. My chip had been taken underground, invisible through the thick concrete that made up the structure of the old subway stations. She might’ve been waiting there, hiding at the point where my signal had disappeared, waiting for me to emerge again.
Or she might be here.
I felt grateful in that moment that Brooklyn was so poor. The advertising voices attached to the retail stores were mostly silenced and in disrepair. I didn’t know what would happen if I were to walk in front of an active one. Would the system know that something was amiss? There would be no chip to connect to, no information to use to entice me to buy their wares.
I ducked my head and trotted past one, but no sound came.
There, right up ahead was our apartment building. I quickened my pace, trying to walk fast, but not too fast.
Then I saw her.
I ducked into a doorway, suddenly not able to catch my breath.
Hannah was waiting outside of our building. Waiting for me.
The world around me whirled, and I nearly fell down.
This was it. She would see me. Recognize me. And then she would turn me in. My lack of designation would label me a traitor.
I had gotten away with it once before. Back in the woods in Canada, the Volunteers had unceremoniously ripped the chip out of my head. Later, when I needed to return to base, I was able to get through with the story I told. I hadn’t been arrested, and barely reprimanded. My story had held, just enough.
But this was going to be too much to get away with. You didn’t lose your designation twice in the same year. You just didn’t.
I forced my breathing to slow and peeked around the corner of the brick wall I was hiding behind.
I zipped back behind it. Too close. She was walking my direction.
Walking, or pacing?
I turned and tried the door behind me, but it was locked tight, an old candy shop closed long ago, not even bothered by the owners to cover the windows with paper. Graffiti lined the doorway entry. No one had been here in years.
I could break it. I could try. Would there be an alarm?
Sweat broke out across my skin, and I dared another peek, hoping desperately that Hannah was walking the other way now.
And she was. Pacing.
I only had a moment.
I dashed out from my hiding spot and ran in the other direction. It felt like it took me ages, like my feet were mired in thick mud, but moments later I turned left, covered now by the entire building. This time, I didn’t dare stop. A plan was formulating in my head as I ran to the next corner.
The apartment building was just one block away, and it was deserted back here, where the ocean would sometimes overflow into the streets.
There was no wall for us.
I crept over to the corner of the building. A quick dash would get me there, to the backside of our apartment building where the fire escapes were.
I looked around the corner. Hannah had her back to me as she walked the other way, and I made a break for it. In seconds I was across the street, hidden once more behind the thick wall of brick. As long as she didn’t start making laps around the building, she wouldn’t see me.
One fire escape ladder was already down at street level, dragged down, surely, to rob someone’s apartment.
What idiots, I thought. As if there’s anything to steal around here.
But this was the wrong ladder to get to our tiny apartment. We were two ladders over. I looked up, trying to see if there was a way to move across the building from above, if somehow I could make it over to my mother without the racket that pulling down another, closer, ladder would make.
The ladder in front of me went to the very top, to the roof of the building. I looked around at the other, closer, ladders. But I knew this one was the only way to get there unheard.
I started to climb, desperate to move quickly, but careful to be as silent as possible. People on the street might find it odd that I had no designation, but then they would likely go along their way and not think much of it.
The people in this building, however, knew who I was. Any of them would be surprised to see me, knowing that I had left on my journey as a Green. They might understand that if they turned me in, there could be something in it for them. A prize, maybe, for handing the Service the girl with no designation.
I tried to slow my breathing as I climbed. Tried to take each step as lightly as I could.
On the second floor, a television was on, and the window was open wide. The air outside was sticky hot, and a fan whirred through the open window. I ducked, trying to see who was inside.
Had they seen me?
The laughter of a crowd met my ears, and it became clear to me that the resident wasn’t disturbed by my passing across their part of the fire escape.
I climbed on, up and up, until I finally reached the roof.
I didn’t stay long. I couldn’t afford to waste a minute, not even to catch my breath. I moved three apartments over and started down the fire escape that bordered our apartment. As I hopped down onto the landing, I peered inside the small living room.
It was empty. All the lights were off.
I tried to open the window, but it was stuck shut. She must have locked it on her way out the door.
I would have to wait.
Suddenly, I felt trapped. If anybody walked on this side of the building, I would be seen for sure.
What time would she be home? And why was she out at all? It wasn’t like my mom to hold a job, or go grocery shopping, or even leave the house.
But things were different now. At least that was what she’d said.
I didn’t have many options. I could shimmy back down the fire escape or stay here. Or, stay on the roof, maybe, and wait. No one would be able to see me from the street, and unless Hannah was inclined to break into the other buildings around us, I should be in the clear. I just hoped no one from any of the taller buildings around our apartment complex would be looking out their windows.
But it was my best shot.
I started t
o climb. The two floors of apartments I moved past were empty and dark. I would have to just hope that nobody would arrive home before Mom did.
I made it to the top without incident, carefully placing my boot onto the flat roof, trying to stay as silent as possible. I had intended to lie on my stomach, trying to keep track of what was going on downstairs. But I found a large, strange box situated in the middle of the roof. An electronic system? Air conditioning? No, it couldn’t be that. It had been years since anyone around here had had something as extravagant as air conditioning.
I ducked down to my knees and began to crawl. When I got to the box, I let myself sit up.
I was out of breath and hot, too hot. I unbuttoned the over-shirt of my fatigues and pulled it off. I wished I’d brought some water with me, and only now did I realize how thirsty I was after my flight that had lasted all day.
I tilted my head back and looked toward the sky. The sun was setting somewhere above the polluted haze, turning the sky pink and orange as it fell from the sky, down to a horizon I couldn’t see.
I was surprised to find beauty in it, in something as simple as the sun setting. It was hard to find beauty anywhere else in this world anymore. My world. I remembered back to when I was in the woods with the Fighters. That forest had been beautiful. But just like this rooftop, it was tainted by the threat of attack. The threat of death. Or worse.
As the sky gradually began to darken, I wondered if Hannah was still out front. How long would she wait? The Volunteers knew who she was and what she was after. Would my contact think enough to look for a different way into the building?
I couldn’t sit there and wait forever. I decided to move. I stood up from my hiding spot, and in moments I was down to the window of the first apartment, alive now with light and the echo of a viewscreen set. Nobody was watching me; their eyes were all trained on the screen.
I moved down to the next floor. All was quiet, just as it had been when I had passed it the first time.
Then, our apartment. It was still dark, the window still locked. I was desperate, searching for another way inside, certain that my time was running out. The only other window I could see was off to the side of the fire escape. A small window to the bathroom.
Could I fit?
It didn’t matter, though. It was locked, just as the first one was.
She was coming. That’s what Jamie had said.
I balled my hand into a fist and wrapped my elbow tightly with my fatigues shirt.
Would they hear?
I jammed my elbow against the glass. On the third hit, it broke into shards that floated slowly down to the street below.
I looked skeptically at what I had done. Pieces of glass were everywhere, many of them still stuck in the window pane. I used my elbow again, trying to clear it away as best I could. The fabric of my fatigues was canvas, strong and difficult to tear. I put the shirt back on and hoisted myself up to the window.
I would fit.
I cringed as my right hand found one lone piece of glass, piercing the skin. I didn’t cry out. I couldn’t. But the pain was sharp and hot. I pulled my hand away and saw blood trickling down my palm.
I pulled my fatigue sleeves forward to protect my hands as best I could. I turned to my side, using the towel rack to support part of my weight. And I made it through, smashing my boot unceremoniously down onto the closed toilet lid, now littered with glass. I flipped on the light and saw that my fatigue sleeve was covered in blood.
Through the open door I heard a key inserted into a lock and the sound of an irritated voice. I stripped out of my bloodied fatigue shirt and darted out of the bathroom and into my old bedroom just as I heard the front door slam.
Mom.
Chapter Four
She was arguing with someone, someone whose voice I recognized.
“She’s not here,” my mom said. I could hear the crinkling of a bag as she shoved her way through the narrow entry hall. “I told you. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. She was just here yesterday, and …”
She paused, her voice quieted.
I shimmied myself underneath my old bed, surprised to find that the room was basically left untouched since the day I’d left. I was lucky I was so thin; there was barely enough room for me to fit under the mattress.
“Is something wrong?” Hannah asked.
I heard mom put down the crinkling bag, then her footsteps as she made her way down the hall.
I pushed some old clothes in front of me, trying desperately to avoid being found. I tried to slow my breathing.
Hannah.
She was so close. And her prey was closer than she knew.
I heard a small gasp of surprise, my mom.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said abruptly. “You can find your way out. I don’t have anything for you. You came to the wrong place.”
I heard the bathroom door slam shut.
Mom had to have known. Maybe they both knew. I knew Hannah suspected; otherwise she never would have followed her up here. But Mom, she was smarter than Hannah. Or at least more intuitive. She had seen the glass, felt the thin breeze that was coming in through the window. She knew something was wrong, and, somehow, she knew it had to do with me.
But Hannah didn’t leave. Her boots made the floorboards squeak as she inspected the apartment on her own. She flipped on the light in the hall and walked into my mom’s room. I tried to steady my breathing. This was good. She had chosen the wrong direction.
If it had been any other day she would have been able to see my designation, even from the other room. She would know there was a Green hiding somewhere within the building. My broadcast would be loud and clear.
But now I was invisible.
The toilet flushed, and I heard Mom emerge, closing the bathroom door behind her with a gentle click.
“Excuse me,” she said, irritated. “I thought I told you to leave.”
“Listen, lady …” Hannah began.
“Don’t you ‘listen lady’ me. This is my house. I already told you I haven’t seen her. And from what you’re telling me, it sounds like I should be good and happy that I’m finally rid of her. The last thing I need is some sort of trouble … some fugitive in my life. Now get out.”
I remembered that tone to her voice. It wasn’t unlike the way she used to talk to me.
“Fine,” Hannah spat. “If you see her, make sure you call the police. Everyone is looking for her.”
Everyone?
“Believe me,” Mom said. “I will.”
I heard a scuffling sound, and I could only guess that she was physically pushing Hannah out the door.
The door slammed. Then footsteps headed in my direction. Mom entered the room and walked across to the closet, opening the door.
“Where are you?” she whispered.
I didn’t dare breathe. Had she meant it? Would she turn me in? Maybe coming here had been crazy. Maybe it had been the biggest mistake of my life. Suddenly, I saw myself waiting at the other end of a barrel of a gun, just like Lydia.
Terrorist
Designation: Black
I had come here for help. Here, the home I had promised myself I would never return to.
They knew I was here, whoever the runner was. They would wait, maybe for Hannah to leave. And then they would come find me. Save me.
“Riley,” she whispered, her voice more urgent. “You can come out. I won’t turn you in.”
Should I believe her? I had come here for help, hadn’t I?
My palm gave a painful jab, and I realized the amount of blood pouring from the wound was increasing.
Fine.
“I’m under here,” I said, struggling to crawl my way out from under the bed.
“Oh!” she said, surprised.
I made it the rest of the way out and sat back against the small clothes dresser opposite the bed.
“Are you okay? I saw blood … in the bathroom, and—”
“I’ll be okay. Thanks for not
turning me in.”
Suddenly, she cocked her head in one direction, looking at me funny, forgetting for the moment that I was injured.
“Where is your designation? Have you hidden it somehow?”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. Then I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed a sock from the drawer and pressed it to my palm.
“I guess you could say that. My designation, well, it isn’t here right now. I guess you could say that it’s sort of … in transit.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“What have you gotten yourself into? Why are those people looking for you?”
“I’m not sure.” I moved over to the window and peeked out the side of the curtains. Hannah was nowhere to be found. Had she left?
I doubted it.
“What do you mean, you’re not sure? If she’s following you, and—”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom.”
My palm gave a painful pang, and I hissed through my teeth.
“Let me see that,” she ordered, and she walked over, holding out her hand.
I reluctantly showed her my injury. I hadn’t even had a good look at it myself yet. It was about an inch long, and there was still a small shard of glass stuck into the flesh.
Without even bothering to ask, she plucked out the piece of glass. I ripped my hand away from her.
“What the hell, Mom?”
It was bleeding now more than ever.
“You would’ve just flinched if I’d told you I was going to take it out. Now, it’s done, and you don’t need to worry about it anymore.”
She took the sock from my other hand and wrapped it around the wound.
“Hold onto it. Hard.”
I did as I was told. She was no nurse, but she seemed sure of herself, or at least she had enough pluck to rip a piece of glass from my flesh without batting an eye.
She turned and left the room, and I could hear her rummaging around in the bathroom.
For the first time since coming back to New York, I really took in the apartment. It had only been a couple days since I had been here, but nothing had changed. I hadn’t arrived to find her wasted on the couch. My leaving in anger hadn’t resulted in her going on a bender.