The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  I knew that Mom would be happy to see me again so soon. But I really needed to be left alone somewhere that I wouldn’t get caught. As I climbed up the fire escape to her apartment and slid the window open, it occurred to me that maybe I should listen to Kiyah’s advice. When would I ever have the opportunity to see Alex alive again?

  Maybe if I went to meet him, everything would all fall down around us. We could break out and live our last days on the run, away from these “gods” and their games.

  I crept across the floor, holes worn into the carpet from decades of use. I was just turning the corner to the hallway when a light flipped on and my mother, wielding a baseball bat, took a swing.

  “No!” I said, ducking out of the way just in time. “Mom! It’s me!”

  I’d wanted to keep my voice down, but the imminent threat of getting knocked upside the head with a bat had broken my silence.

  “Riley? Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I thought you were an intruder!”

  “Shh! Keep your voice down,” I said, quiet again.

  “What are you doing here? Do you need more rations? It’s going to take a while for the liquor to mature.”

  “No, Mom, I’m not here for rations. I just need a place where I can crash for tonight. I can’t go back to … to where I’ve been staying.”

  “You still won’t tell me.” Her tone was disappointed.

  “No, I won’t. Can I stay?”

  She softened. “Yes, of course. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be okay, yeah.”

  But that wasn’t true.

  As I made my way to my old bedroom, it occurred to me that I might’ve been tracked here, only now it could be from one of three possible factions. The Volunteers, the Champions, or the Service. That was fine, though. Everyone seemed to think I was some great leader, that I would be directing a veritable army, not a tiny group of Burn escapees. They wanted to catch me in the act. Not because they needed an excuse to arrest me, but because they needed me to lead to the next person up the chain. To Chambers. Or to one of the Champions.

  The whole thing was exhausting. I closed my bedroom door and slumped onto my bed face down, ready to block out the world.

  But I soon found it wasn’t to be blocked.

  Alex. Prisoner. Jonathan. Traitor. Kiyah. Both sides. And Chambers. Volunteer.

  Volunteer? Was he really?

  My brain felt like it would split open. Whom to choose? Whom to trust?

  Kiyah was smart. She had no one to answer to but herself.

  I had to answer to everyone.

  I leaned over to unlace my boots, but then I thought better. If someone came knocking for me, I needed to be ready to run in an instant.

  I remembered what life had been like when I’d lived here. One time in one of her drunken rages, Mom had smacked me across the face, cutting my skin with the ring she wore on her right hand; it looked ordinary, but it had a spike on the inner side of the metal.

  Would it still have been the same if I’d never joined the Service? Would she have sobered up on her own?

  No, nothing would have changed if I’d stayed. She had cleaned herself up for me. In my absence, because of my absence, she had changed.

  My thoughts drifted to Alex, caught by the enemy. A new enemy. And as I thought about him and the danger he was in because of me, because of our plans, I realized that I really only had one choice to make.

  I had to meet him. All I needed to give Kiyah was a time and place. I wouldn’t tell my group about it. In fact, I would stay here until tomorrow night. I would have to walk to The Bronx on foot. It would take most of the night.

  But tonight and tomorrow during the day, I would sleep. Who knew when I would have a chance for something as luxurious as sleep again?

  So I kept my boots on and drifted away, ready for flight if the bad guys came knocking.

  Chapter Eight

  “Riley,” someone whispered. Then a hand on my shoulder, shaking me.

  I immediately sat straight up in bed, ready for a fight. If I could just get a couple good punches in, I’d have time to reach for my gun.

  “Riley, it’s me,” she said.

  I looked up and saw my mother staring down at me. Light was streaming in through the thin curtains covering the window.

  “Geez,” I said. “You scared me.”

  “Me? What about you? You looked like you were ready to kill me.”

  “I was. Besides, who are you to talk? You’re the one with the baseball bat.”

  “Fair. Anyway, I think you should get up.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there are guards out in front of the building going door to door. I think they might be looking for you.”

  Suddenly, I felt like I might be sick. I jumped to my feet.

  “Where can I go?” I whispered, desperate.

  “You mean, they are after you?”

  “Probably, yes. Is there anywhere I can hide?”

  I looked around the room, searching for ideas. They would never stop with just poking their heads inside. They knew she was my mother. They would check more thoroughly than any other apartment in the block.

  “Um, I don’t know,” she said. “Not really. There’s the closet.”

  I stopped, thinking hard. There was no way I could leave by the fire escape. They would be there waiting for me no matter which exit I took.

  “What about your boyfriend. What’s his name again?”

  “Jim.”

  “Does he live above or below?”

  “Above.”

  “How far away are the guards? Are they on our floor yet?”

  “No. It looks like they’re still on the first floor.”

  “Get me out of here, Mom. They’re here to arrest me. If you want to see me again, get me out.”

  Her breathing was shallow, alarmed.

  “Okay. I’ll send a text to Jim.”

  “No! Don’t do that. Don’t do anything with your lens. Just take me to him. Come on.” I grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the front door.

  “Okay,” she said. “Let me just get my shoes.” She pulled away.

  “No, Mom! We have to go now!”

  “Okay, okay.”

  This time she took me by the hand and led me into the hall. Together we ran for the staircase.

  “How many flights?” I asked.

  “Two.”

  Two. Would it be enough?

  It would have to be.

  Moments later, she was turning a key into a lock at apartment 609. She opened the door and pulled me inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

  “What are you doing here, baby?” a man asked, groggily wiping his eyes. “What? Who’s this?”

  “We don’t have time, Jim. She needs to hide.”

  “Is this … Riley?”

  “Yes,” I said. “And the Guard is after me. Can I hide here?”

  “Of course you can,” Mom said, which I thought was a little bit presumptuous, considering this wasn’t her apartment. Still, she’d had a key.

  “I—I guess,” he said.

  “Where?” Mom asked. “Is there a bed she can hide under? Or maybe in the bathroom closet.”

  His apartment was an exact replica of Mom’s. I found myself looking around in the kitchen, trying to find a place no one would ever think to look.

  “No, not a closet,” I said. “Put me in there.” I pointed to the cabinets under the sink.

  “But you’ll never fit in there,” Jim said. “It’s full of cleaning chemicals and who knows how many mice.”

  I shivered at the thought of the mice, but cleaning chemicals I could deal with.

  “Quick, get a bag,” Mom said. Jim stood there, dumbstruck. “Jim, get a bag!”

  Suddenly, he was on his game. He bolted into the bedroom and came back with a sheet.

  “I don’t have a bag. We can load the chemicals up in here and put them in the hall closet.”

  I knelt down, opened the cabinets and started gr
abbing plastic bottles full of cleaning chemicals. Old sponges. Dish soap. All of it went into the sheet.

  I climbed inside, relieved that my body fit into the tiny space. I had to lean my head up against the inner side of a drawer, but I would make it. I might have to stay like this for hours. But I could do it. I had to do it.

  “Mom, go back downstairs. Quick. They could be at your door any time. Pretend you were asleep.”

  She paused, looking dumbstruck.

  “Mom, go!”

  She shook herself out of her trance. Then made for the door.

  “I’ll come get you when they’re gone,” she said. I’ll keep watch.”

  I didn’t answer her. I didn’t move a muscle. Instead, I tried to make myself as comfortable as I could. Jim gently closed the cabinet doors, and my world fell into darkness.

  “What did you do?” he whispered.

  I don’t know. I don’t know. There were so many things to choose from. Broken laws. Conspiring to take down the government. Removal of my chip. Mutiny. The list went on.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ve sort of done a lot.”

  “Yeah, that’s what she tells me. Well, are you hungry?”

  What?

  “Um, not really.”

  “I’ll make something anyway. Maybe you’ll want to eat later before you go.”

  No wonder they got along. This guy was crazy. He had a criminal hiding behind his cabinet doors, and he was asking if I wanted breakfast. Maybe he didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, that he would be arrested, maybe imprisoned and tortured, if his secret was revealed.

  I had to stay as quiet as possible.

  Outside the cabinets, I could hear him banging around in the kitchen. That was good. Too much silence in an apartment might look suspicious. But the regular, boring sounds of one man’s daily life wouldn’t register on a guard’s radar as unusual. I was grateful that he didn’t question me again.

  An hour passed, and my neck was on fire from where it was tilted up against the drawer.

  Just get here. Get it over with.

  Finally, a knock came at the door.

  “Open up,” a brusque voice said on the other side. “This is the Guard.”

  “Here we go,” he whispered. In an instant, my pain went away. My heart started pounding as I heard him answer the door.

  “Hello,” he said. “Is there some sort of problem?”

  “Yes, Sir,” a guard said. “We are searching for a wanted criminal. What information do you have of Riley Taylor?”

  “Oh, well, all I know about Riley is that she’s my girlfriend’s daughter. She hasn’t come around for ages, though. She joined the Service and then—”

  But they didn’t let him finish. Instead, I heard the heavy footfalls of army boots on a squeaky floor.

  “Fan out,” the same voice said.

  Noises came from every direction as the group of men started to search the apartment.

  “Is this really necessary?” Jim said. “I don’t think you need to be in here. Do you have a warrant?”

  “Don’t need one,” a voice said. “Stay right here, Sir.”

  “Well, there’s no need to draw your gun on me.”

  “Good,” the same voice said. “Please stay where you are.”

  Jim didn’t speak again, clearly alarmed by the threat of a bullet to the face.

  “Clear in the bedroom, boss,” someone said from the back hall.

  “Over here, too.”

  “Checked the bathroom. The window doesn’t open far enough for her to get out that way.”

  “Second bedroom clear.”

  “You’re in luck,” the man, the leader, said to Jim. “We haven’t found her. Yet. I’m sending you my I.D. number. Don’t hesitate to call us if you should see her. If you don’t, you’ll be held as a terrorist and treated as such.”

  “A terrorist?” he asked. “What on Earth did she do?”

  “It’s more a question of what didn’t she do. Men! Head out.”

  Several footsteps, then the slamming of a door. He didn’t speak. Just walked back into the kitchen and turned on the tap, starting the dishes.

  Another knock came.

  Jim went to open the door.

  “I forgot something,” a man said.

  Footsteps, this time toward the bathroom. What, did he expect to find me halfway out the window?

  He came out again empty handed.

  “It’s not in there,” he said to Jim. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  This time when Jim shut the door, he came right to the cabinets.

  “You need to get out. Go get under one of the beds. I’m sure they’ll be back.”

  “But you know they’ll check under the beds,” I whispered.

  “No, they won’t. They’ve already been in there twice now. But soon they’ll realize they haven’t checked the kitchen. Now move!”

  He was right, and I scrambled out of the cabinet as quickly and quietly as I could.

  “Go into the master,” he whispered. He made for the hall cabinet and grabbed a few cleaning products, presumably to put back under the sink.

  I could barely walk, and my neck was killing me. Somehow, I made it into the bedroom, and I was just crawling under the bed when a third knock sounded.

  Jim opened the door.

  “What is it?” he said, sounding irritated.

  “Sorry to disturb you again, Sir. Just one more thing.”

  I heard a weapon being drawn and cocked and tried not to gasp. Then, the slamming of a cabinet door.

  “Gotcha!” the man said. Then, sounding embarrassed, “I’m sorry, Sir. We won’t bother you again.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he said.

  “Yes, Sir. But I’ll remind you … as part of the Guard, we have full jurisdiction to search any premises at any time. Riley Taylor is a wanted terrorist. Aiding and abetting a terrorist results in the greatest of punishments. Do you understand, Sir?”

  “Yep. You’ve made that part pretty clear.”

  “Good.”

  His boots clomped across the tile entry, and the door slammed shut.

  Jim entered the bedroom and bent down.

  “Stay where you are for a while,” he advised. “They could be back.”

  “Fine by me.”

  It was such a relief to be stretched out again after being so confined that I didn’t much care that I was being sought after. Part of me, the weaker part, wanted to give up entirely. Since my meetings with Chambers and Kiyah, I’d felt lost in a maze of danger. No matter which path I took, it seemed I would lose.

  But the door didn’t open again, and not much time later, I heard a sizzling sound coming from the kitchen. A few minutes later, Jim’s feet came into view from beneath the bed. He bent over and slid a plate with a fried sandwich on it toward me.

  “I’ll come get you once they leave the building. It’s going to be a trick for you to get out, though.”

  He was right. I wanted to say thank you, but he walked away before I could.

  I looked at the plate. Where did he get the money for such luxuries? I wondered. Though, I supposed, if my mom hadn’t spent every penny on liquor, we might’ve had fried sandwiches sometimes, too.

  I took a big bite of it and found that melted cheese was dripping from the middle. It was one of the best things I’d ever tasted. No wonder Mom was in love with him.

  I stayed under the bed for several hours. Finally, as night started to fall, I heard the front door open.

  “Is she safe?” I heard Mom say.

  “She’s in the bedroom.”

  “Riley?” she whispered as she came into the room. “Where are you?”

  “Under here,” I said, reaching out from under the bed with my arm.

  “Oh, good. So they didn’t get to you. Listen, I think you can come out now. They’ve stopped searching the building. Now they’re just patrolling outside.”

  I crawled out from under the bed and sat up. I was m
ore exhausted now than I’d been the night before.

  Now, how to get out?

  Mom reached down and helped me up.

  “How many guards are there?” I asked.

  “A few, maybe four.”

  “Are they patrolling the back of the building?”

  “I didn’t see anyone. It’s still flooded back there. Though they might have someone stationed nearby.”

  Suddenly, I had an idea.

  I had learned to swim when I was back at the silo in Indiana. And while I wasn’t the strongest, I still remembered the basics.

  “Can you get me to the bottom floor?”

  “Sure,” Jim said. “There’s nobody living down there these days. The water is getting too close. People are nervous about their possessions.”

  “Great. That’s just what I need.”

  “How are you going to get out?” Mom asked.

  “I’m going to swim out.”

  “What? What are you talking about? I never taught you how to swim. I don’t even know how.”

  “I trained for it. I can do it. It’s the only way.”

  I went to the back window.

  Good. The lights back there were out. Nobody living in the waterlogged building, so it would be a waste to burn streetlights.

  “What building is that behind us? I’ve never been in there. Is it all apartments?”

  “Yeah, it was,” Jim said. “But since the water started creeping in, most people left. It’s just squatters now, I think. I’d be surprised if you found anyone in there, though.”

  I leaned over and started untying my boots.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asked.

  “They’ll weigh me down in the water. I can put them on again when I’m out of range.” I pulled off the boots and tied them together with the laces, then slung them over my shoulders. “Okay. Take me down there.”

  “I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Mom said. “You could drown out there.”

  “Yes, I could,” I said. “Or I could be captured and tortured, followed by a bullet in my brain. I think I’d rather take my chances in the water.”

  She sighed and crossed her arms.

  “Come on,” Jim said. “Let’s get her out of here safe. I think it’s pretty clear she can take care of herself.”

  Something about this comment hurt my mother in some way. Her brow furrowed, and she lowered her eyes.