The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Are you? After all that running, how were you able to hold your breath?”

  He was breathing much heavier than normal now.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Instinctively?”

  “I can’t believe they didn’t see us.”

  “They might’ve not seen us, but maybe that guy had a hunch. He didn’t seem to mind locking up the dumpster.”

  I pushed the garbage covering my body aside and tried to break myself free, though it seemed more like quicksand than anything; the more I tried to free myself from it, the deeper I sank.

  “Just hold still for a second,” he said. I could hear him struggling to get his feet deep into the muck, then the garbage around him moving aside as he found a way to sit up. “Okay,” he said. “Come on. Take my hands.”

  I reached up in the darkness and gripped him hard as he pulled me up to a sitting position.

  “Thanks. Aside from the smell, that’s a lot better.”

  “Yeah, you know how to pick ‘em.”

  I suspected that he might be smiling.

  “You were the one who chose this one to open,” I whispered back. “And keep your voice down.”

  “So, what do we do now?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Do you think you can break it open from inside?”

  He pushed on the lid, which was plastic, but very thick. I’d seen the other dumpsters were held shut by metal bars that rested on top of the plastic. But those bars were locked.

  “Maybe we could shoot our way out,” I offered.

  He sighed.

  “I know, I know,” I said. The noise would be like a beacon to those looking for us.

  “Last resort,” he said. “For now, it’s not the worst thing in the world for us to hide. But—still—ugh!” He let the lid go with a loud thunk against the steel base.

  “Well, if you keep making that kind of noise, we’ll be let out of here even sooner.”

  “Do you have any better ideas?” His voice was irritated.

  “Sorry,” I said. “No good ones.”

  He didn’t answer, and instead tried again with the plastic. But again and again he couldn’t break through it. I wondered what sort of garbage was in here that needed to be locked up every night.

  “Why do you think they’re locked at all?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe something poisonous in here. Try not to touch it, I guess.”

  “Well, it smells just like the last dumpster I was in, not like chemicals.”

  “Still, keep your hands away from your face.”

  Immediately, I needed to scratch an itch on my cheek. I resisted.

  “I wonder when trash day is,” I said. The idea of being tossed into a garbage truck with a compactor was even more alarming than the idea of being chased by the Guard, or whoever it was that was chasing us at the moment.

  Everybody wanted a piece. A piece of power, of us, of me. We were a riddle to them. They knew, perhaps, what we were trying to do. Or maybe they only knew that we wanted to bring down the lens system, which was enough to label us terrorists. It was possible that the Service hadn’t yet caught wind of our plans to blow the buildings.

  None of it mattered, though, if we weren’t able to get to the server buildings soon. The Champions would be there soon enough. I wondered whom they’d chosen to detonate the fictitious nuke. It would be a suicide mission for that person, or those people. Or, at least, that was what they must’ve thought. I wondered what sort of commitment it would take for a Champion to give up his life for the cause. Because, in the end, wasn’t I willing to do the same?

  There had been a time when real terrorists had blown themselves up for causes they believed in, deadly conflicts that they’d had with the people in power. Now, it seemed like anyone with different ideas about how they wanted to live their lives was considered a terrorist as well.

  “Do you think we would survive a trash truck?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve seen them around before. We might be able to climb up out of the way of the compactor before it smashes the garbage.”

  “Or maybe we should just wait. Don’t you think someone will be around later on who needs to throw something away?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” he said, but he sounded unconvinced.

  “Well, we’ll just need to wait and see.”

  I could hear him pushing up on the plastic again.

  “Don’t wanna wait,” he said, his voice strained with the effort.

  His attempts went on for some time, but then I had an idea.

  “I’ve got it,” I said. “I know how we can get out.”

  “What? How?”

  “We need something to barter with. The folks who work here probably aren’t too different from the people at the Burn. Chances are they don’t like their jobs here. And we already know that nobody gets paid enough. Everyone is poor, mostly.”

  “Okay, but we don’t have anything to barter with,” he said.

  “But we do.”

  I reached around and pulled the pistol from the back of my pants. In my pocket I had a second one I’d taken at Melanie’s insistence. They had both gotten wet in the river, but they would still fire. I placed the gun in Alex’s outstretched hand.

  “What, a gun? You want to give a potential enemy a gun?”

  “Think about it. A gun is worth a lot of money. Normal citizens aren’t allowed to own them, so it’ll go for a huge amount of credits on the black market.”

  “What black market?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, waving my hand and his question away. “There’s got to be one somewhere. All those people in the alleyways didn’t rip their chips out on their own. At least some of them must’ve known someone who knew someone, and on and on. There has to be a way for some worker here to unload the gun for a hefty price somewhere.”

  “So … what do we do, then?”

  “We wait. When the first worker comes to open this dumpster, the first thing we do is hand him the gun, tell him it’s his, and then hit the road without another word.”

  “He’ll report us. You know he will.”

  “Maybe. But maybe not. Beats being squashed to death in a garbage compactor. And you’re fast. We might have a chance.”

  He sighed heavily, but I could tell he was giving in. We were trapped, and there was nothing we could do about it but hope that whoever it was that opened this bucket of debris next would be quiet about it.

  Hope that they would see the immense value of a gun, a free gun.

  And hope that that person would look the other way as we fled.

  Chapter Ten

  But hope wasn’t enough to get us out of the mess we were in. I could see through the hole in the dumpster that the sun had risen. We’d slept in the garbage, which did serve one purpose: we were secure and left alone for the rest of the night. And, disgustingly, the trash was quite warm. There was only an occasional crawling bug I needed to swat away from my face. Not deadly, but they made me shiver each time I felt one. I could only be grateful that I always slept with my mouth closed.

  Alex, on the other hand, sat snoring. It must’ve been the sound that had awakened me, and I gave him a hearty shove.

  “What?” he asked no one in particular, his voice sleepy.

  “You’re snoring,” I whispered. “And it’s daylight. We need to get up. Or, well, wake up.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  I heard him rustling around in the garbage.

  “Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of here.”

  “Sure you don’t want to try to shoot our way out?” I said “I think there’s still time. No silencer, though.”

  “No. Last night’s plan was a good one. Let’s stick to it.”

  Now the waiting was becoming unbearable. The mild heat of the day was enough to heat the dumpster even further, making it all the more unbearable to sit in.

  “Someone’s got to come soon.”


  We started to hear the sounds of people walking into work. Factory doors clanged open. Car doors slammed shut.

  “We’re going to have to call out to someone, or we’re going to roast to death in here.”

  “I think you’re right,” I said. “But not too loud. Let’s wait for someone to come this way. Someone on their own.”

  Still, nobody came.

  For hours we sat there, all but motionless. I could feel the sweat dripping down my neck, down my back. I pulled a water bottle from the backpack and took a few sparing sips, then offered it to Alex.

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Come on,” I said. “Don’t be all chivalrous. We both need to drink.”

  He sighed.

  “Fine.”

  He took the bottle from my hand, and I could tell it was all he could do to not drain the thing in one gulp. When he handed it back, it was noticeably lighter than it had been before.

  Careful with the water.

  But, of course, without it we would be putting ourselves in even more danger. Besides, there had to be a place where we could fill it up again. At least that was what I told myself as I took a couple more tentative sips.

  And then we heard it. Footsteps.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be back in a minute,” a man’s voice said. And we heard the unlocking of a dumpster.

  Not our dumpster.

  Still, this was our chance, and it might be the only one we got all day.

  “Hey!” I called out as loudly as I dared. “Hey! We’re stuck in here! Can you help us get the lid open?”

  “What?” the man said. “Stuck in where?”

  “In one of the dumpsters!” I rattled the lid, then heard the man’s footsteps approach our hiding spot.

  “What are you doing in there?” he asked. “Hey, are you the ones on the lenses? The fugitives? There’s folks looking for you.”

  I quickly flipped the gun around so that I would be pointing it at him. I’d had it the other way around, ready to hand it over. Not now.

  “No,” I lied. “That’s not us. Someone kidnapped us last night and beat us up. Then, when they weren’t looking, we broke free and hid in here. Now we’re stuck. Please let us out.”

  The man didn’t hesitate, and maybe he wouldn’t have even if he had realized it was us that he’d seen on his lens. I couldn’t ever remember having seen a wanted bulletin on my lens. Suddenly, I realized the immense danger we were really in.

  People knew who we were. And, free gun or no, he would probably turn us in. There had to be a cash reward. Otherwise, who would bother?

  Slowly, the lid opened, and I held my arm over my face to block out the stinging daylight.

  But with my other hand, I held up the gun.

  In an instant, the man slammed down the lid, but before he could lock it, before he could call out, Alex stood up, pushing the lid all the way up and over the back side of the dumpster.

  The look on the man’s face as he took in Alex’s hulking form was instantly one of total surrender. As my vision adjusted to the light, I stood up, too, pointing the gun directly at his heart.

  “It doesn’t need to be this way,” I whispered. “You can have this gun if you’ll just let us go. It’s worth more than whatever prize you’ll get for turning us in.”

  “I don’t get it,” he said, taking a few steps back.

  I cocked the gun, and he stopped.

  “I don’t want to have to fire this gun to get out of here, so you have a choice to make.”

  “What the hell would I do with a gun?” he asked, but I could tell from the look on his face that he was thinking about it. His eyes flitted the other way, back toward the door of the building.

  “Eyes on me,” I said quietly, “if you want to survive this day.”

  I looked around and saw now that there were cameras everywhere.

  Tough luck.

  He stared up at Alex, and he appeared to be trying hard not to back up any further. Then he let his eyes drift and fall onto my face. Then, finally, hungrily, the gun.

  Maybe the government wanted us dead or alive. I couldn’t know. But I flipped the gun around and held it out for him to take. Alex climbed out of the dumpster first, walked two paces to the man and grabbed him by the shirt.

  “If we do get caught, be on notice. You may earn friends in high places, but we have friends, too. Got it?”

  “I—I understand,” he stuttered.

  “Good.” He gradually released the man’s shirt and took the gun from my hand. Then he pressed it into the man’s chest. “You didn’t see anyone. This thing is worth a fortune if you can find the right buyer. Good luck.”

  The man tentatively took hold of the gun, and a smile flashed across his face.

  “Thanks,” he said. Then, he turned around and walked back to the warehouse door, and I noticed that, instead of hiding it in his jacket, he did something quite different.

  He held it out, ready to fire.

  “We need to get out of here, now.” I said.

  Alex looked at me for a moment, perplexed by the sight of me scrambling to get out of the dumpster. Then he looked up toward the man, and the reality of the situation registered on his face.

  He put his arms around me and hauled me out of the dumpster, then knelt for a moment while I climbed on. It was broad daylight, but we couldn’t have asked for a more valuable gift than the one that man was about to give us, because a few moments later, shots ricocheting against warehouse walls rang out into the morning.

  We ran. The sirens blared as Guard cruisers flew across the bridge above. Toward us, but not for us.

  The sun told me that it was almost noon, almost lunchtime. Soon, factory workers would be pouring out of these buildings to eat their paltry rations, taking a break from their backbreaking jobs within.

  And they would see us. And they would know.

  But we didn’t stop, Alex didn’t stop, and I just held on for dear life.

  I only saw a scattering of people in the parking lots of the warehouses as we passed by, but Alex was so fast, I wasn’t sure if they’d seen us at all. Maybe it wouldn’t register in their minds that we were the ones, the fugitives. We couldn’t take any chances.

  “We have to hide again,” I said into his ear.

  He didn’t respond; he needed all of his breath as he pushed faster, faster. But the message had gotten across. He took a sharp right turn and took us down a dark path that ran between the buildings. No one was back here, but it wouldn’t be safe to stay. The Guard would put it together soon; they would know that we were the ones who’d given that man the gun. I wondered if he’d taken his own life, too, or if he was on the run now like us.

  After several blocks of running between the buildings, we burst out into the open again. Ahead was a dead plot of land, covered with weeds three feet high.

  “Should we risk it?” I asked.

  “No,” he panted.

  Our situation was more and more precarious with each step we took away from that dumpster. Maybe it would’ve been better to simply stay there and wait for the garbage truck. Or at least wait for dark.

  But we were out in broad daylight now, wholly visible besides our lack of designations.

  “We have to stop,” I said.

  “Where?” he asked. He didn’t slow.

  “I don’t know.”

  Would it be stupid to hide in one of the dumpsters again? If that man had survived the shooting and didn’t take his own life in the process, he would tell the Guard all about where he’d gotten the gun, how he’d let us out. He would say these things under duress, under the use and threat of torture. And then they would kill him for good measure.

  The sirens had quieted in the distance, but it was only a matter of time.

  “There!” I said, pointing to the right, to the backside of the warehouses. I wasn’t sure what awaited us there, but we were dead if we stayed out in the open.

  He turned and headed for it. There was no one around the
backs of these warehouses but for a few big rig shipping trucks.

  When we reached them, he put me down, and we both snuck around the trucks. Then, jackpot; one of them had an open cab.

  Alex opened the driver’s side door.

  “Get in.”

  He picked me up and shoved me unceremoniously into the seat above, then climbed in, himself. There was a gap between the two front seats, and I saw that there was a small living space behind a thick, black curtain. A hotplate, a bag of food, and on the cot, a sleeping man.

  I cursed under my breath, but then I remembered that I didn’t know how to drive a truck like this anyway, and I doubted Alex had learned as well.

  We needed this man.

  So, I pointed my pistol at his head and gave him a poke.

  He swatted at the feeling, still in his sleep.

  “Hey,” I said, keeping my voice low. “You need to get up.”

  I poked him again.

  “What?” he said sleepily. Then, his eyes became wide and round, and he put up his two hands. “Don’t shoot me. I’m just a truck driver. I don’t know about anything. I—”

  “I’m not going to shoot you,” I said. “Not as long as you cooperate. It’s time for you to start up this truck and be on your way. Our way.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said. His eyes flitted back and forth between the barrel of the gun and Alex’s giant form. “You’re them, aren’t you. The ones on the lens.”

  “That’s none of your business,” I said.

  “Maybe not,” he said. “But you don’t need to worry about me. I won’t tell a soul. You’re not alone out there, you know. There’s a lot of people who are gonna want to help you. And I’m one of ‘em.”

  I frowned, stepping into the tight living quarters of the truck. Alex barely fit in the whole front section of the cab.

  “Why would you help us?”

  “Because they broadcasted it. ‘They can’t keep feeding us this garbage!’ You said to that crowd at the Burn. I don’t know if they meant us all to see that or not. It came in all blurry right after their broadcast about how you two were fugitives. It got people thinking, that’s for sure.”

  They can’t keep feeding us this garbage!