“Spinners aren’t paranoid.” I recite the words like a talisman. “That’s what Norms say. It’s propaganda to make them hate us. Just like saying we’re violent.”
“You haven’t felt flashes of rage since your skills changed?” Miguel asks. I shift uncomfortably, thinking of the times I lashed out at Shannon. KJ meets my eyes across the table. He doesn’t have to say anything. Images of Jack standing over Victor’s broken body hang in the air between us. I look away.
“It’s not the freezing,” I say. It can’t be the freezing. If it is, then the Norms are right about us. “It’s just that we’re scared. I’ve actually been a lot less suspicious the last couple days.”
“You were back in the Center recently, right?” Miguel touches my hand, the gesture almost apologetic. “Did they give you Aclisote?”
I clutch the mug even more firmly. “One dose. It wasn’t enough to change my skills back.”
“No,” Miguel agrees, “but it was probably enough to ease your symptoms.”
“I don’t have symptoms.” I pull my hand away from his. “I’m not sick.”
“We know Aclisote kills us,” KJ says. “When Shannon stopped giving it to me, I got better. Same with Alex.”
Miguel sighs. “It’s not that simple. Working with time is incredibly stressful for the body, and the brain reacts in ways that aren’t always healthy. Paranoia is the most common reaction, followed by intense anger. Violence isn’t unusual. The more you freeze time, the more intense the symptoms get, and those symptoms will only get reduced through chemical intervention. Some of history’s most notorious criminals really were spinners, just like the Norms say—Jack the Ripper, Billy the Kid.”
“But…” I say. Miguel holds up a hand.
“Let me finish. Like most medicines, Aclisote is derived from a natural plant, in this case Rubiaceae. It’s a tropical plant, in the same family as quinine and coffee beans.” He gestures to the cup locked between my palms. “That’s why caffeine helps your headaches. Early spinners in South America and the West Indies discovered centuries ago that if they consumed these particular plants regularly, they could control their symptoms and still manipulate time—not every day, but enough to maintain their positions as shamans and wisewomen. Since Rubiaceae is a tropical plant, spinners in northern countries suffered much more than their southern cousins. They were a genuine threat to the rest of society.
“Then in the 1500s, the Europeans ‘discovered’ the tropics and the local medicines. They brought the plants north and started experimenting. Eventually, they figured out how to increase the plant’s natural potency, bringing the concentrations up high enough to render spinners’ skills ineffective.”
Across the table, KJ starts twirling a spoon between two fingers. Light glints off the metal in regular bursts that hurt my eyes.
“They don’t render our skills ineffective,” I say. “They kill us.”
“Sure,” Miguel says. “But even aspirin can kill you if you overdose. Used sparingly, Aclisote is extremely useful. I take a version of it every day.”
KJ’s spoon hits the table with a bang. “You do?”
“In much lower doses than the Center was giving you, of course. And I modify it based on need. Right now, I’m on a higher dose so that my freezes don’t stick. It makes it easier to have conversations like this.” He gestures around the stalled diner. “When I melt, everything goes back to how it was before. We don’t have to worry about how much we move during the freeze. Plus, if anything goes wrong—if you run away while we’re talking, or you try to hurt me—I can always get back to the beginning.”
I tip my coffee cup to my lips without drinking any. My mind holds too much information to process it coherently. KJ picks up his fallen spoon and sets it down in perfect alignment with his butter knife.
“How did you find us?” he asks.
“Whew.” Miguel grins to himself, as if remembering a particularly exciting adventure. “You sure didn’t make it easy.”
KJ doesn’t return Miguel’s smile. “Tell.”
“We heard about your escape as soon as Charlie got off shift. He goes to the same pub every night after work for a beer. The bartender is one of ours, and he always pumps Charlie for any news.”
“There’s a spinner bartending a few blocks from the Center?” I ask.
“He’s not a spinner,” Miguel says. “Just a sympathizer. Anyway, when Charlie told him Alex had disappeared in the middle of the lobby, and that three other kids were unaccounted for, the bartender called me right away. I got into Portland Thursday night.
“At first I was afraid you’d left town, but then Sonya reported seeing you at the farmers market. I tracked you as far as the bus, but unfortunately, you ran off before I could talk to you.”
Rabbit Lady! My mind reels back to that day, remembering my blind terror, my desperate fear of the motorcyclist boarding the bus. What if I’d asked Sonya a few more questions and ended up talking to Miguel then? He would have found us before KJ woke up, before I got trapped in the Center, before Jack beat up Victor. Before Shannon fled.
“The rest,” Miguel continues, “was pure detective work. I told you that’s my day job. I’ve been cruising around the city, asking at all the places that help homeless kids. A couple times I thought I saw you, but I never managed to connect. I also left your picture at the front desks of motels I knew were unlikely to check ID, telling everyone you were runaways and I’d been hired by your parents to find you. The manager of the Pegasus has a soft spot for troubled kids, so he called me as soon as he heard that three rather bedraggled-looking young people had checked into a room yesterday. That was at six this morning. I came over immediately. The curtain of your room was open just enough I could see the place was empty. Luckily, there aren’t many restaurants nearby.” Miguel motions around the crowded diner. “This is the first spot I tried.”
I realize I’m staring at Miguel with my mouth slightly open. KJ scratches his cheek. “Wow,” he says to Miguel. “You’re good.”
“Thanks.” Miguel ducks his head. “So, I’ve been meaning to ask, where are Jack and Shannon?”
KJ starts fiddling with the spoon again.
“Jack is staying somewhere else,” I say. “We think downtown. Shannon…” I swallow. “Left this morning.” KJ lets the spoon droop between his fingers.
“An excellent safety precaution,” Miguel says. “It’s a good idea to separate. Less likely you’ll all get caught.”
I shake my head. “We think Shannon went back to the Center. She never believed they meant to hurt us.”
“Oh.” The cheer on Miguel’s face fades. “I’m so sorry. It’s not that unusual, though. Reality is too much for some kids to accept. What about Jack? Do you know where he is? We can pick him up before we head to the refuge.”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Of course.” Miguel slides out of the booth, smoothing the creases out of his pants. “I’m not the only one out here showing folks your picture. The Pegasus guy may like kids, but he also likes money, and the wipers offer generous rewards for lost spinners.” He shakes his head. “Wipers are very committed to making sure no free spinners survive.”
Outside the window, the truck that had startled us earlier is still visible, red taillights barely a block away. Miguel seems legit, but can we trust him not to lead us into another trap? I clench my fist and feel my own pulse throbbing in my veins. My eyes seek KJ’s.
He isn’t looking at me.
“We need to get Shannon out,” he says to Miguel.
Something heavy shifts in my stomach. Shannon is probably locked in the room I left only the day before, though I doubt they’ll grant her even the limited freedom they gave me. She’ll be sedated, leashed, and probably guarded by a buzzing zapper. The still sunlight around us seems to fade. How long before her time skills “normalize” and Barnard can whisk
her away?
“Oh. Well. Shannon.” Miguel places his hands together, palms touching. “I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”
KJ frowns. “Why not?”
“It’s our policy. We never interfere directly with the Center.”
“But you rescue spinners.”
“Only the ones that are already out.” Miguel claps his hands together without making any sound. “Right now, we fly pretty far under the radar. If we started breaking people out, they’d be on us faster than metal to a magnet.”
KJ’s jaw twitches. “We can’t leave Shannon there. She’ll die.”
“Which is heartbreaking,” Miguel agrees. “And I’m sorry, but we can’t save everyone. We’re doing what we can.”
KJ crosses his arms over his chest. His mouth is set in that stubborn line he gets when he thinks people are being unreasonable.
“What if we don’t go with you?” KJ asks.
Miguel sighs.
“I won’t force you, but please think through your decision carefully. Your chances of surviving out here alone are extremely slim. Your fear and paranoia will grow every time you use your skills, until eventually you’ll do something that will make it easy for the wipers to track you. It always happens.” He shakes his head. “All the free spinners I know have access to Aclisote. No escapee from the Center has ever survived unless we’ve gotten to them first.”
“I’m not leaving Shannon there,” KJ says. “It’s my fault she went back.”
“It’s a miracle you managed to break out of the Center twice,” Miguel says. “There is no way you can do it a third time.”
KJ’s expression doesn’t change. Miguel turns to me. “What about you?”
For one shining second, I picture standing up and walking out of the diner with him, but even as the image flashes in my head, the picture dims. Miguel is offering the kind of support I never imagined was out here, but how can I accept it when there’s even a slim chance we can rescue the others? My dream of leaving the Center has never been about creating some new life for myself. It’s about setting every single one of us free.
“No,” I say. “I’m staying too.”
Miguel’s face wilts.
“It’s your choice.” He picks up his hat, lying all this time on the edge of the table.
“Wait,” I say. “What if we want to find you?”
“I can give you my cell number.” Miguel recites a number and makes us repeat it back three times to make sure we’ve memorized it. “But you should know I’m leaving town in the morning, heading out to Idaho Falls. I can try and come back to check on you next week, but…”
I pick at a chip on the rim of my coffee cup. I know how his unfinished sentence ends. Miguel doesn’t believe we have a week. If we don’t go with him now, he thinks we won’t make it.
“You better not stay here much longer,” Miguel says, gesturing around the diner. “If I found you, the wipers may come here, too.” He gives us both a final, searching look and sighs. “When time starts again, it will be safer for me if you act like we don’t know each other. I don’t want anyone to link us together, in case someone comes asking questions.”
KJ and I both nod.
“OK, then,” Miguel says. “You ready?”
The room spins. My body shifts, and the silverware on our table blurs, as everything returns to its prefreeze position. The reel of life picks up where it left off. Noise erupts around us. Forks make their way into mouths, coffee splashes into cups. Miguel lifts his hand from on top of our re-clasped fingers.
“Sorry,” he says in the neutral tone of someone talking to strangers, “must have tripped.” He straightens up. “Well, if it’s not your hat.” He picks up the cap and plops it on his head, then saunters toward the register, taking with him the brief mirage of his promised refuge.
KJ clears his throat. “You don’t have to stay just because I am.”
“I know.”
KJ unclasps his fingers from mine. “There’s no need for both of us to risk our necks in an impossible scheme.”
“No.” I put both my hands over his, trapping them on the tabletop. “We agreed when we decided to break out—we’re in this together.”
From behind me, a bell jangles as the diner’s door closes on Miguel. I don’t turn my head. Instead, I close my fingers around KJ’s and hold on very tightly.
“You two ready for your check?”
Tammi waves her order pad at us.
“Yeah,” I say.
Tammi rips out the bill and drops it beside KJ. “You pay up front when you’re ready.”
“You think Miguel’s telling us the truth?” I ask KJ, once Tammi threads her way back to the kitchen. “That this mythic refuge exists?”
“If he was working for Barnard, he would have agreed to help us get Shannon. It would have been an easy way to get us to go back. Plus, he was right when he said he could have just slapped us with a leash.”
I let go of KJ and dig my cell out of my pocket. “We should call Jack. Tell him about Miguel’s offer.” I thumb the phone on. The message light blinks with another text from Jack. Which motel?
“There’s got to be a way to get Shannon out.” KJ drums his fingers on the table.
I scroll down to press Jack’s number. The phone buzzes before I’ve placed the call.
“Jack! I was just calling you.”
“Alex?”
It isn’t Jack. The voice is wobbly, whispery, and female.
“Shannon?”
KJ’s head snaps in my direction. I press my fingers against my other ear to drown out the hubbub in the diner. “Where are you?”
“It’s not Shannon,” the voice whispers, “it’s Yolly. Shannon…” Yolly’s voice breaks. “Shannon’s gone.”
“Gone?” I repeat. KJ leans forward. I shake my head, trying to focus. “You mean she’s not with you?”
“She was.” Yolly sniffs. “She came in this morning. I was so happy. She wasn’t sick or anything.” Yolly is crying now, her words a teary jumble that makes them hard to understand. “Then Dr. Barnard came in, and, oh, Alex, they took her.”
“Who took her? Where?”
Yolly only sobs. KJ mouths What? Took who?
It’s Yolly, I mouth back. KJ’s body stills.
“Please,” I say into the phone. “Tell me what happened. Where is Shannon?”
“Barnard said…” Yolly sniffs again. “He said they were taking her to the Central Office.”
22
I CAN’T BREATHE. THE BLOOD SEEPS AWAY FROM MY FEET again, turning my toes into blocks of ice.
“When?” I ask.
“Just a few minutes ago,” Yolly says. “Barnard called some kind of Central Office security agents, and they drove her away. But Shannon was fine; she was perfectly healthy.”
“I know,” I say.
“And you were right.” Yolly makes the odd gulping sound of someone holding back tears. “About the files. I checked them like you asked. The dosages do get higher before people die, and everyone’s chronotin levels are really, really low at the end. And Shannon—I checked her blood when she first came in, before Barnard got here. Her chronotin reading was 308. But she wasn’t sick.”
“I know,” I say again.
“Nothing makes any sense. Everything is crazy here. The kids are crying, there are boxes everywhere. And they won’t let me go with them, even though I volunteered.”
“Go with them?” I interrupt. “Go where?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Yolly draws in a shaky breath. “The Center. They moved up the closing date. They’re taking everyone to the Central Office first thing tomorrow morning.”
The chill in my feet spreads higher. Goose bumps dot my legs.
“Tomorrow?”
“What’s she saying?” KJ asks, out loud thi
s time.
I smash the phone harder against my ear, straining to hear Yolly over the diner’s clatter. “I thought it wasn’t closing until the end of the month?”
“Dr. Barnard said something about a research project,” Yolly wails. “None of this makes any sense.”
It makes perfect sense to me. The research project may be legit, but it’s also an excuse—the Center’s higher-ups are not going to keep a facility open if its spinners are escaping.
“What’s going on?” KJ raises his voice. I glance around the diner. A couple at a table near ours turns to watch us. I hold up a finger in KJ’s direction. One minute.
“Yolly,” I say. “We’ll help—I promise—but I need to think. Can I call you back at this number?” Yolly mumbles something like agreement. “OK,” I say. “In the meantime, don’t talk about this to anyone. Anyone. Not the kids, not the staff, not your best friend. And don’t ask Barnard any questions when he comes back. He can’t think you’re suspicious. OK? Promise? I’ll call you back soon.”
I hang up. KJ is leaning across the table, his arms stretched even closer as if their proximity might help him hear better.
“What’s going on?” he asks again.
The couple at the other table are still casting surreptitious glances in our direction. The woman wears a small frown. I give her my best reassuring smile.
“Let’s get out of here,” I mutter to KJ.
Five minutes later, alone on the empty sidewalk, I tell him Shannon is gone.
“We have to save her.” KJ strides down the street so fast I start trotting in order to keep level with him.
“How?” I ask. “She’s in a car with a wiper right now.”
“We’ll follow them.”
“We don’t know where the Central Office is.”
“We can ask Yolly. Or break into the Center and search Barnard’s office.”
“It’s not just Shannon.” Greasy breakfast and bad news swell my insides. If KJ doesn’t slow down soon, I’m going to puke. “Barnard moved the date up. He’s closing the Center tomorrow and sending everyone to the Central Office.”
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