I curl up into a ball in the center of the bed. My head aches from the buzzing of the leash. Or maybe it’s the Aclisote. Maybe even that small dose is enough to bring back the sickness. Hot tears burn my eyes, then drip down my face as my breaths turn into sobs. Aclisote is back in my veins, and this time, the poison is here to stay.
18
IT’S DARK WHEN I WAKE UP. THERE’D BEEN A NOISE, some sound that pulled me into consciousness, but now that I’m awake, I can’t hear it. I open one eye and peer out into the room. The dim light only accentuates its bleakness, sparse furniture colored by the mustard glare of a streetlight coming through the windows. I bury my face in my pillow, seeking the escape of sleep.
“Alex!”
The hiss shoots me into full consciousness. I bolt upright. The blind that covers one of the windows hangs crookedly, the top edge barely clinging to its frame. On the floor in front of it, jagged pieces of glass litter the linoleum. I rub my eyes, afraid what I am seeing is part of a dream. Through the smashed pane, KJ’s face beams at me like a giddy jack-o-lantern.
“KJ?” I stammer. “What…?”
“No time.” He rips away the dangling blind and thrusts a hand through two of the window’s four vertical security bars.
“Quick,” he orders, holding out a long skinny orange thing that, for a confused second, I think is a snake. “Take this and plug it in.”
I leap from the bed and grab the heavy-duty extension cord, stretching it across the room until I find a socket. As soon as the plug hits home, a screaming whine fills the room, coupled with the smell of burning metal. Sparks cascade like Fourth-of-July sparklers. KJ is cutting through the first of the four window bars with a handheld electric saw.
I scramble for my shoes and cram them onto my feet. KJ, perched on the upper rungs of what must be a very tall ladder, reaches up to press the saw against the top edge of the now partially detached bar. As I watch, the metal falls away, dropping to the ground below.
“How’d you get here?” I shout, but my question is drowned out by the whine of the saw. I race over to the room’s other window. The broken glass will have triggered the Center’s silent alarm system. I peer down the street, searching for a flash of red and blue lights.
KJ’s saw bites into the top of the second bar, and another chunk of metal falls away. KJ starts on the third bar. Four more cuts to go. I lean my forehead against the cold glass. Slanting out from the Center’s stone walls, KJ’s ladder gleams pale silver in the midnight dark. At its foot, I can make out Shannon, craning her head to watch KJ work. Splotches of white splatter the ladder’s rungs; they must have borrowed it from the painters down the street.
The outer door to the main room of the clinic bangs. Someone is coming. KJ pulls the saw free and slams the spinning blade against the third bar’s upper edge. There is no way he’ll be done before they get inside.
“Hurry!” I yell at KJ. He must read my lips because he nods.
I whirl around and survey my limited options—bed, dresser, chair. I dash for the bed. Shoving as hard as I can, I heave it toward the door. It slides about a foot and stops. Voices invade the clinic, coupled with the patter of running feet. Sweat makes my palms slip against the bed’s frame. I wipe them on my pants and hurl myself against the metal edge. It slides forward, and this time I plunge after it, keeping the momentum going until the bed smashes against the door. I glance back at the window. Three bars are now gone; a blast of sparks shows KJ working on the fourth. I pick up the room’s lone chair and heave it on top of the bed.
The voices are right outside the door. I recognize Barnard’s angry growl, Charlie’s confused patter, and Yolly’s anxious squeak. Keys rattle in the lock. I lean against the bed, adding my own weight to the meager blockade. The door thumps.
“She’s blocked it!” Charlie shouts.
“Together.” Barnard this time. “On three.”
I brace myself against the bed, but the impact of their combined weight shudders my pile of obstacles. A second heave and my feet skid out from under me, knocking me to the floor.
“Again,” Barnard orders.
I scramble upright. The door is open about a foot, still partially blocked by the bed. Through the gap I can see my hunters. Barnard’s face is red with effort, his glasses slipping down the ridge of his thin nose. Charlie looks excited by the commotion. Yolly hovers behind the two men, her mouth puckered with anxiety. Barnard and Charlie both take a step back in preparation for their next attack.
“Alex!” KJ calls over the saw’s whine.
The two men lunge. I leap for the window, barely outrunning the bed as it skids away from the door. KJ shoves one hand through the gap, the other still holding the moving blade against metal.
“Grab her!” Barnard yells.
Outside, a siren wails. Yolly screams. Glass crunches under my shoes as KJ’s hand closes around mine. The saw bites deep into the final bar.
Time stops.
Silence. KJ and I stand, hands clasped, a foot apart, both panting. Behind him, police lights tint the unmoving air lurid blue. I turn my head. Barnard was running so fast the freeze caught him floating in midair. His teeth are clenched, his unbroken arm stretched out, fingers inches from my shoulder.
“That was close.” KJ wriggles his own fingers, still clamped inside mine. “You’re kinda hurting my hand, though.”
The tendons on the back of my hand are standing out like wires.
“Sorry.” I relax my grip. “Your freeze. Has it…?”
“Changed?” KJ says. “Yeah. This will stick.”
I look around the trampled room—the smashed chair and frantic people, the metal dust and snaking cord.
“That was…” I try to think of an adjective big enough to capture my stunned relief.
“Amazing?” KJ offers. “Impressive? Heroic?”
“Yeah.” I smile at him. “All those things.”
KJ smiles back. Something warm spreads through my insides, mixing with the reprieve I am only beginning to accept. I put a hand against the window frame.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
KJ wriggles the saw, pulling it out of the nearly severed bar. Together, we force the bar back and forth, until we can bend it far enough to unblock the window. KJ starts down the ladder. I make to follow, when an idea stops me. Turning back, I weave my way past the frozen people and scattered furniture, out into the main clinic. In the desk, I find a pencil and scrap of paper.
Yolly, I write, now you have to believe I was telling you the truth when I said my skills have changed. Barnard has been lying to you about a lot of things. Aclisote is poison. Please, believe me. I add my cell phone number. Barnard took my phone, but Earnest Guy at the store said I could reprogram the number into a new one. I fold the paper into a square and slip it into Yolly’s pocket before climbing out the open window. I know it’s a long shot, but if she believes me, there’s a chance she will help the other spinners.
KJ is waiting on the sidewalk, next to frozen Shannon. In the amber light from the streetlamp, KJ’s face shines like gold. I drink in the familiar lines of his cheek, admiring the proud arch of his nose and the full lips I kissed so briefly.
KJ wraps me up in a tight hug. “When Jack told us they’d caught you…”
He buries his face in my hair. I squeeze my eyes shut so I can’t see Shannon. KJ smells like fresh air, and he’s so warm and solid I never want to let him go.
“What happened?” KJ murmurs. His breath lifts the strands of my hair so they tickle the back of my neck. “Jack said your freeze broke as soon as you stepped inside.”
“It was a chromo…” The word tangles my tongue. “A zapper.”
KJ pulls back, enough to see my face, but not enough to let me go. “A what?”
“A zapper. Barnard has one.” I describe it the way Barnard did, though I’m not sure I’m
making much sense. I’ve been this close to KJ a million times— squashed up with three others on a sofa watching a movie, crashing into him while playing basketball in the gym, leaning over his shoulder as he coached me on how to use a computer. But now his closeness is as noticeable as a third person standing between us. I can’t concentrate on my words because I’m distracted by KJ’s arm wrapped around my waist, and the heat of our bodies where they press together. We are so close that when I breathe in, I take in the warmth of his exhale. It tastes sweet, tinged with an intimate scent that turns my knees to jelly.
KJ’s brow wrinkles. He pulls one of his hands free and presses it against his temple. When he leans back, Shannon’s worried face zooms into view again. I slide out of his embrace.
“Are you OK?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He grimaces. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold this freeze, though. Do you think you could take over after we get that leash off?”
“I’m not sure. They gave me Aclisote in there. I don’t know if it was enough to block my skills again, but I wouldn’t want to risk finding out here.”
“I was afraid of that.”
I gesture toward Shannon’s still form. “What about her?”
“As of this afternoon, she still couldn’t change anything.”
I think of all the things I want to tell him, quickly followed by all the reasons why this is not a good time.
“We should go,” I say.
KJ picks up a backpack that’s lying on the ground behind the ladder. After rummaging a minute, he pulls out a pair of bolt cutters. I hold out my arm. One snip and the leash falls away, taking with it the low buzz rattling my brain.
“Thanks,” I say, rubbing my wrist.
KJ puts the cutters away so he can take both my hand and Shannon’s before he melts and refreezes time. A brief blast of external sound, and then it’s just the three of us.
“You’re here!” Shannon starts to cry. “I thought the ladder was going to tip over and…” The rest of her sentence is lost in sobs.
“It’s OK.” KJ pats her shoulder, but his eyes are on me. “What happened to your neck?”
“My neck?” My hand touches the memento Sikes left behind. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. Let’s just say you were right that going to Tom’s Bar was a bad idea.”
“Sikes did this to you?” KJ touches my chin, raising my head so he can better see whatever the bruises look like. “What happened?”
“It’s a long story.” I shake my head. “I’ll tell you later.”
KJ runs two fingers across the place where Sikes tried to choke me. My breath catches. Shannon sniffs.
“We told you not to go there,” she says.
“I know.” I step back and KJ’s hand falls away. “And rescuing me put both of you at risk. I’m sorry.”
Shannon looks up at the broken window with a wistful expression.
“At least you got to see everybody,” she says.
Barnard’s confessed intentions leap into my mouth, but I swallow them. The furious anger she’s triggered in me over the last few days feels distant right now. She’s suffered too, and convincing her of the truth can wait. A moment of awkward silence settles between us, which KJ breaks by digging into his backpack again.
“Here.” He pulls out a light-blue rain jacket decorated with small yellow ducks and holds it out to me. “I brought you this.”
“Um, it’s cute?” I say.
KJ tosses it at me with a grin. “It’s to keep anyone from following us too easily. I can’t keep time frozen all the way back to the squat. If we’re wearing different clothes, they’re less likely to spot us.”
He hands Shannon a second jacket, then unzips his black sweatshirt to reveal a colorful rugby-style shirt underneath. From his back pocket, he pulls a stretchy hat, and slides it over his hair.
“Clever,” I say, with genuine admiration.
“Thanks.” KJ rubs his temple again. “But it won’t count for much if we’re not far away from here when time starts.”
“I’ll help.” I take hold of his hand. Shannon immediately grabs the other. Some of the tension in KJ’s face eases as both our skills sync with his.
The three of us head east toward the river. Cool night air fills my lungs as I swallow deep gulps of freedom. City streets welcome my footsteps, lights twinkle with celebratory glitter, even the icy blue from a pair of cop cars feels festive. I want to dance my way along the sidewalk. I’m alive. I’m free. I’ve been given another chance. This time, I won’t blow it. KJ’s hand is warm and solid where it’s cradled inside my own.
We walk long enough to cross the river before KJ says he can’t hold time anymore, then keep walking for another hour, since we’re all too nervous to wait for a bus this late at night. By the time we make it back to the squat, it’s somewhere after two a.m. KJ is so exhausted, Shannon and I half-push him up the ladder. Shannon leads him off to bed, and KJ, stumbling with fatigue, follows her without protest. I watch their retreat into the darkened interior with only the smallest pang of jealousy. The two of them just saved my life; anything but gratitude seems inexcusably petty.
* * *
I wake feeling tired, but calmer than I have in weeks. Voices drift toward me from the direction of the kitchen—Victor, judging from the collected mumbles, talking to Faith and Jack. I stare up at the brightening windows, appreciating the warmth of my sleeping bag and even the grungy familiarity of the squat. The clarity that came to me at the clinic still holds my former fears at bay. The four of us need to leave town, secure a home base, and come up with a strategy to get the other spinners out of the Center. Challenging, but we have ten days before the Center closes, and these are not insurmountable obstacles. Not for us. Not if we all work together.
The volume from the kitchen inches higher, intruding on my tranquil musings. I sit up. This is not a friendly conversation. Someone is very angry. Rolling out of bed, I rummage through the clothes piled on my floor, pulling on my rather dusty jeans and a moderately clean sweater. The argument, now even louder, is starting to make sense.
“One more day! You promised another day!”
Victor’s voice is ugly with threat. I don’t waste time finding shoes and jog, barefoot, in the direction of the yelling.
“So?” Jack’s undisguised disgust makes it clear his infatuation with Victor is over. “We’ve got more important things to do now.”
“We had a deal, man.”
I turn the corner toward the kitchen, and the peaceful feeling I woke up with dissolves. Victor and Jack stand in identical poses—shoulders back, chests arched. Victor’s face burns with an angry flush. I can see only the back of Jack’s head, but from the rigid set of his neck and shoulders, I imagine their expressions match too.
“Guys,” I say.
Faith, squashed in the corner between the crooked dresser and the wall, is the only one who seems to hear me. She’s holding a bag of coffee grounds in one hand while the other pulls on the strands of her lank hair. When she sees me, her eyes grow wide.
“The deal,” Jack leans his face a few millimeters closer to Victor’s, “was that I help you steal recording equipment, and you let us stay. Well, we don’t need to stay in this nasty hole anymore, so now the deal is off.”
“The squat’s not a nasty hole,” Faith whispers. Jack flicks his closed fist in her general direction, and Faith cringes back into her corner, hugging the coffee against her chest like it might protect her.
“You touch her and you die,” Victor hisses.
Jack laughs. “I would never touch your pathetic druggie of a sister.”
The flush on Victor’s face deepens into a shade closer to purple. He swings an arm toward Jack, who disappears, instantly reappearing on a stack of boxes three feet away. A grim smile stretches his lips. Victor stumbles, the momentum from his foiled punch nearly knocking
him to his knees.
“Jerk,” Victor pants. Blotchy, red patches darken his neck and cheeks. He lunges for Jack, and the next moment, he’s lying on the floor and Jack is sitting on a different box. Blood trickles from Victor’s nose, and a horrible sound slides from his lips, somewhere between a gag and a moan.
Shock holds me in place. Faith screams. She jumps up, hovering a foot from Victor’s prone body, clearly torn between a desire to protect him and terror at the thought of getting in Jack’s way. Victor’s body shifts. Now his arms are splayed out, head tipped back, a red spot blossoming beneath one eye. Jack has regained his perch. The exposed underside of Victor’s chin shines in the dull kitchen light, pale and vulnerable.
“Jack!” I yell. “Stop it!”
Jack’s head whips in my direction. For an instant, I hardly know him. The careless amusement that usually stamps his features is gone, replaced by a boiling rage that makes me instinctively back away. His eyes, unfocused holes of fury, stare blankly at me. It’s as if he’s been transformed into some lethal beast, a charging rhino or threatened tiger. Then Jack shakes his head, and his eyes slide back into focus. His face blanches as pale as Faith’s.
“Alex.” Jack slides down off his box throne. “You’re back! How did you get out?”
He comes toward me, reaching out a hand stained by Victor’s blood. I back further away.
“KJ and Shannon rescued me.”
“They did?” Jack massages his knuckles with the other hand. “I thought you were gone for good.” He looks down at his fingers and seems startled to see they’re bloody.
KJ bursts into the kitchen, wearing nothing but boxer shorts. Even in the midst of the disaster around me, my pulse leaps at the sight of his barely dressed body: dark skin stretched smoothly over muscles and ribs, the valleys lightly sprinkled with curling black hair.
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