Zeroes

by Scott Westerfeld

  Yup. That was the damn truth again.

  Craig smiled, satisfied. “A girl in the artillery? That’s badass. Those shells are heavy.”

  Ethan agreed. It was true: His sister was hard-core. Even if she was a Humvee mechanic and never went near any ordnance.

  Jess had shipped out a month ago, leaving him alone with Mom. His mother worked pretty much all the time. Which was great during the summer. It meant he could stay out as late as he wanted. Still, Ethan would’ve preferred to have Jess around.

  “Hey, that’s . . .” Ethan almost raised a hand to point at the end of his street, but stopped himself just in time. The last thing he wanted was a guy like Craig knowing where he lived. He figured he could walk back from wherever Craig was taking him.

  “That’s what?”

  Ethan shook his head. “Thought I saw somebody I knew at the turnoff back there.”

  “You must have good eyes, kid.” Craig frowned at the rearview mirror.

  Ethan stayed quiet.

  The Craig went back to drumming on the wheel, humming some formless tune. They were leaving Cambria now. On one side of the car was a row of suburban houses, spaced far apart. On the other side it was just trees. They hadn’t gotten on the highway, though, so at least they were headed someplace local.

  But the walk home was getting longer with every mile.

  Ethan opened his mouth again, hoping the voice had something up its sleeve, some perfect story that would get Craig to stop the car and let him out.

  Nothing. No sound came out. The voice was on mute again, which meant there were no words to get him what he wanted. Ethan had learned to hate the quiet.

  Five minutes later the car began to slow.

  They pulled onto a dirt road that led into the trees. Craig turned off the headlights, taking the winding turns carefully.

  “You don’t want the lights on for this?” Ethan asked.

  “Don’t want to spook anyone. They see the lights, they might think it’s cops and start shooting.” In the darkness the Craig’s voice was grim.

  Ethan’s stomach knotted tighter. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

  Gravel popped and crunched beneath the tires. The blackness was broken only by flickers of moonlight filtering through the trees.

  “What’s your name, anyway, kid?”

  Ethan was too freaked out to think. He let the voice choose. “Axel.”

  “Cool name. Your parents Guns N’ Roses fans?”

  Ethan wondered what guns and roses were. “You bet.”

  This answer seemed to please the Craig. “I’ll tell Taylor you did good. You had my back the whole way.”

  “Thanks, Craig.” The voice sounded calm, but Ethan was half paralyzed with fear. If Taylor himself was at the end of this gravel road, there was no way the voice could convince him he’d sent some strange kid to help move a bag full of money. The voice would remain silent while Ethan was beaten to death.

  The Ford slid to a halt. Through the darkness Ethan made out an old cottage among the trees. It was run-down and ancient, like something from a slasher movie. A black Jeep sat next to it, a gun rack against its back window.

  None of this made Ethan feel any better about his chances of getting out of here alive.

  Craig saw him staring. “You never been to Taylor’s before?”

  “Sure I have. Just never at night.” The voice sounded calm, but inside, Ethan was screaming. This was it. Time to act. Sometimes if he improvised, Ethan could force the voice to do something.

  Craig switched off the engine, but before he could pull the keys from the ignition, Ethan grabbed his arm.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” The Craig froze. His gaze swiveled out toward the darkness. His hand dropped into his jacket pocket again.

  “Uh, I saw something.” Ethan pointed out the front window, wanting with all his heart for Craig to be as terrified as he was. “In those trees.”

  “What did you see?”

  “A cigarette flare.” The voice had taken over now, spurred by Ethan’s desire. “Guy had a goatee, maybe? That mean anything to you?”

  “Are you serious?” Craig pulled his hand out of his pocket. He was holding a big gleaming cannon of a gun.

  “You don’t think it’s Alvarez, do you?” the voice asked.

  “Damn! Stay down!”

  Oh, yeah. Ethan was staying down.

  Craig opened his door and slipped out, crouching low behind the front end of the car. Ethan scooted over to the driver’s seat and pulled the door closed. The car keys were right in front of him, dangling from the steering column.

  Okay, time to go. The voice could do no more.

  Ethan reached for the keys, but he needed a noise. Something to divert Craig from the sound of the car’s ignition. He leaned onto the horn as hard as he could. At the blare of noise, Craig hit the ground. He might’ve even screamed.

  Lights popped on in the scary little cottage.

  Ethan twisted the keys and turned over the engine. Then he slammed the Ford into reverse, shoving the accelerator down as far as it would go. The tires roared as the car swerved backward through the darkness, sending up a shower of gravel.

  He wished the voice would take over his whole body, turn him into some secret agent who could drive as well as he could lie. But it was just Ethan now, clinging to the wheel and hoping he wasn’t about to crash into a tree.

  The car headlights were still off, but big security floods mounted on the cottage roof suddenly burst to life, spilling through the night.

  Ethan whispered a short prayer as the car catapulted backward into the dark. He waited for a shot to ring out, for the windshield to become a spiderweb of glass under a storm of bullets. But Craig, facedown in the driveway in front of the cottage, was still pointing his gun into the trees. Probably he thought Ethan was just some panicky wannabe thug, not an impostor.

  Sometimes being a mousy seventeen-year-old could really pay off. Not often, but in those rare moments while stealing a car from a bunch of drug-dealing hoods and not wanting to get shot? Then yeah, definite payoff.

  The car reached an opening along the trees and Ethan spun the steering wheel hard, sending the tires skidding until the car pointed back the way he’d come. He switched the headlights on and accelerated.

  A moment later he was headed toward the public road, the Ford spitting gravel in its wake.

  Finally the wheels hit asphalt. Ethan turned hard left, back toward home. That was when he remembered the duffel bag full of cash in the backseat.

  In a way, it only seemed fair. He’d practically earned it after everything he’d been through that night. But he had to put the bag someplace safe. Then he’d dump the car a long way from home so no one could trace it back to his house.

  Which meant that, after all this, Ethan still needed a ride home.

  He drove hard, the night air whipping through the open windows. Craig and Taylor would be following in that black Jeep soon enough, and there’d be no talking them down. Trouble was, if Ethan kept speeding like this, a cop would pull him over and inevitably check the bag in the backseat.

  He nearly missed the turnoff home, he was thinking so hard. But at the last minute he spun the wheel and took the corner wide, fishtailing until the back tire bounced off the curb.

  He was about to pull up at the front of his house when he saw lights on in the living room. Damn, his mom was actually up.

  Ethan kept the car moving.

  Okay. There was no way to dump the bag without her noticing. She’d ask what was in it, and Ethan would be dead meat. He’d been scamming for as long as he’d been able to speak, but by now Mom could tell when it was the voice doing the talking. She’d slap him before he got two words out.

  He could try hiding it in the garage, but she was always snooping through his stuff, and—bonus—she worked for the district attorney’s office.

  “Okay, stupid voice. What do we do now?”

  The voice didn’t answer,
of course. It never spoke directly to Ethan. He could never get it to just tell him what to do. But it loved to talk to other people.

  He hit the accelerator. That was the key: other people. People could be charmed, reasoned with, and convinced to do what you wanted.

  The voice might be deranged sometimes, but in the presence of a listener, it always knew what to say.

  He headed back to town. Maybe he could get the voice to tell someone else what he should do next.

  CHAPTER 6

  MOB

  AFTER AN HOUR AND THEN some of wandering the quiet streets of Cambria, the six of them headed to an all-night diner in the middle of town. An unlikely group, all from different scenes, but connected by the leftover energy of dancing.

  The unwind, Mikey called it. The part that came after the clubbing-for-hours. They were tired, but no one was ready for the party to end. Not even Ling, who looked like she might actually be asleep, slumped against the red leather of the booth. Kelsie could feel Ling’s connection to the group, the sizzle of the coffee she’d drunk before nodding off.

  Kelsie sat with her back against the window, letting the rising sun warm her. Her shadow across the table hardened as the dawn drew on. She’d start every day this way if she could. If only the Cambria clubs always stayed open late like they did in summer.

  Mikey gave her a smile. “Did you have a good night, little sister?”

  Kelsie nodded. “Yeah. You?”

  “Sure. When I see you coming, I know it’s going to be a good night. You always know how to pick the right club.”

  “Or maybe I make it the right club.”

  Mikey laughed. “Is that why they always let you in?”

  Kelsie felt herself blush. She doubted anyone else could spot it under her makeup. She always wore makeup to go clubbing. Without it, she looked too young. Of course, by now the bouncers all had standing orders to let her in. Most nights she even got a few free drinks.

  They might not understand how, but the owners and managers knew she brought a good time.

  As the sun rose, though, the faces around her grew sleepier. Coming-down, coming-out-of-it faces. Remmy was playing with a saltshaker and staring at the girls across the table. Kelsie had thought they were sisters when she’d met them, but in the dawn light they just looked like two girls who dressed the same. And who were, right now, ignoring Remmy while he tried to find a way into their conversation.

  One of the girls said, “The DJ was awesome tonight.”

  “Totally,” Remmy said.

  Both girls pretended not to hear. One turned to Kelsie. “The guy on the door told me Driver’s playing tonight. You like Driver?”

  Kelsie nodded. She liked any music that got the crowd psyched, got them bonded, ready to dance and dance.

  Remmy said, “I like them.”

  Flat, blank stares from the girls.

  Kelsie realized it was coming on fast, the moment when the group would begin to fracture and fall apart. No longer united by a common goal—to dance, to move—their thoughts were beginning to turn in other directions. To real-life jobs and how can I get that girl to talk to me and, ultimately, getting home.

  It felt as though her heart were shrinking.

  A waitress approached, both arms loaded with plates that steamed in the sunlight. “Slim super stack?”

  Food got them energized again. The flash of anticipation, the buzz of hunger around the table, made Kelsie smile.

  Mikey pointed at the empty space in front of him. “Right here.”

  He had to push the dozing Ling off his arm to eat his pancakes. Ling sat up and rubbed her eyes, making black tears of her mascara. Her long hair was a messy tangle, strands of it still clinging to Mikey’s sleeve. Ling couldn’t help but be beautiful.

  The waitress put another steaming plate in front of Kelsie, who claimed the syrup bottle and let it run until square pools formed in the crisscrosses of her waffles. After a long night of dancing, she needed sugar and carbs. She poured syrup until she had to eat her waffles with a spoon.

  One of the two new girls sniggered. At Kelsie or her waffles or both. Kelsie didn’t care. Remmy always went for the wrong kind of girls. Which was a shame, because he was a decent guy when you got to know him. Right now he was pushing his fork sideways through his stack of pancakes and dropping butter into the holes. He seemed to have forgotten about everything else.

  Kelsie let her gaze slide over his shoulder, hoping there was some other group of leftovers from the clubs. Maybe someone she knew, a table she could hop to when this one fell apart.

  Half a dozen tables were occupied in the diner, but most of the customers were office workers getting breakfast, or truckers in the middle of a long haul. The only clubbers were couples. Couples were no fun.

  There was one guy at the back who looked like he’d been awake all night. He had a buzz cut and was dressed in a nice pin-striped shirt, like he’d been on a date. The shirt was crumpled now, though, and he was alone.

  He sat with a hand clamped around his coffee cup, his eyes fixed on the window. As Kelsie watched, he downed the contents of his cup in a convulsive swallow, then tried to get the waitress’s attention. The waitress was ignoring him, like he was an ex-boyfriend or something. He half stood, holding up his coffee cup like a white flag. He must really need a caffeine kick. Most people didn’t go for seconds of the coffee in this place.

  The waitress finally relented and brought the coffeepot over. The kid slid back into his booth. There was a green duffel bag in the booth beside him, which probably meant he was a hitchhiker.

  Kelsie wondered who would pick up a guy who managed to look hunted, edgy, and exhausted all at the same time. The buzz cut didn’t help. He was too young to be any kind of off-duty soldier, so maybe he was some kind of military wannabe.

  She shuddered, feeling how alone he was.

  “What is it?” Mikey asked.

  Kelsie slid her gaze over to meet his. “Nothing.”

  As soon as their pancakes were done, the two girls Remmy had brought along went home. They left barely enough money to cover their food, with no tip or tax. Everyone gave their pile of crumpled bills dirty looks, but no one said anything to Remmy. They all felt sorry for him.

  “Great night, huh?” Remmy said.

  Kelsie nodded. An ache began to settle into her body. Not the sweet muscle ache of having danced all night, but the dull pain of isolation.

  She glanced over at Mikey. He was chewing on a bent-up straw and staring at nothing, lost in his own thoughts. Ling had started in on Mikey’s pancakes, leaning against him, her long black hair rolling down his shoulder like a scarf. Remmy was restless, changing seats every few minutes.

  The two girls might have been annoying, but with them gone, the group was over.

  No point delaying the inevitable, Kelsie figured. She dug into her pocket and pulled out her last twenty-dollar bill. She dropped it on the table and flattened it out with the palm of her hand. Mikey leaned over and slid it back toward her.

  “I got this,” he told her.

  Kelsie grinned. She’d learned a long time ago that there was no arguing with Mikey. “Thanks.”

  “Weird.” Ling gestured at the window behind Kelsie with a forkful of stolen pancake.

  Kelsie craned her neck. All she saw was the empty street, the dawn light beginning to paint the pavement in a soft glow. Cambria Central Bank squatted on the opposite corner, the park beside it in shadow from the wide trees. There wasn’t a shred of traffic anywhere. For a moment it looked like the whole town had been abandoned.

  Then a blue car went past, driving slow.

  “There it is again,” Ling said.

  “There’s what again?” Mikey asked.

  “I swear that same car’s gone past three times.”

  The car turned in front of the bank, heading away down Central.

  “Meth heads,” Mikey said. “Driving in circles till they crash.”

  “Which kind of crash?” Remmy asked.
“Drug or automotive?”

  Mikey laughed, but Kelsie watched the car disappear in the distance. “Wouldn’t tweakers get bored driving in circles?”

  “What would you know about tweakers?” Mikey asked with an older-brother frown.

  Kelsie smiled up at him, trying to look innocent. Mikey didn’t know her family history. Her father had never done meth, but a couple of his girlfriends had, back when Kelsie was a kid. One had lost a tooth in the kitchen sink one day. It had fallen like a ripe fruit from a tree. Tink. Kelsie had asked if the tooth fairy would come that night, and how much she’d leave.

  The girlfriend had just shrugged and washed her tooth down the sink.

  “They’re probably lost,” Ling said. She was pulling paper napkins from the metal dispenser on the table, wiping the syrup from her fingers.

  They all watched the street, a silent vigil to see if the strange blue car returned.

  It didn’t.

  “Anyone going to the Jones tonight?” Remmy asked.

  “Sure.” Kelsie turned back to the table. She had no idea who was playing, but she knew she’d be on Ivy Street again until the clubs closed.

  Sometimes she wished summer would last forever so she never had to go to bed before dawn again. It was late June already, only a week till Cambria’s big Fourth of July bash, which meant summer was a third gone. But at least there were two months left. The thought of dancing filled the empty space left by the end of the night.

  “Okay, there it is again,” Ling said quietly.

  Kelsie turned to the windows. The sun was warm on her face, bright in her eyes. But she could see the blue car gliding down the street, this time from the direction of the highway.

  “You think we should call the police?” Ling asked.

  Mikey laughed. “And tell them what? That we’ve been out clubbing all night, completely free of the effects of alcohol, drugs, and sleep deprivation, and would like to report some suspicious personages?”

  No one answered. The car rolled past the diner. Its windows were up, but Kelsie could make out three people inside. She squinted, trying to see their faces. Just then the guy in the backseat turned to glance at the diner, and Kelsie drew back with a start.