Zeroes

by Scott Westerfeld

  Ethan glared at her a moment, then deflated, like a puffer fish giving up.

  “From this guy, Craig something. He works at some club. It was the night’s take, from whatever extra they sell there.”

  “You mean this is drug money?” Nate took a step back from the duffel bag. “And you brought it into my house?”

  “I didn’t want to bring it here!” Scam cried. “I wasn’t even trying to steal it! I just wanted a ride home.”

  Nate swore. He wiped the metal zipper pull with his shirt tail to erase any fingerprints. A criminal record did not go with his long-term plans.

  The focus had gone out of the room now, the sense of connection, of team. Scam was an expert at disconnecting people, even when he wasn’t trying to be an ass. Maybe because his power was so different from the others’. It was focused on individuals, not groups. It was narrow and selfish, a broken version of what the rest of them had.

  “People are going to be looking for this bag,” Nate said, sinking back into his chair. “Bad people.”

  “Maybe” came an unfamiliar voice. “But the money’s not our biggest problem.”

  Nate looked up—sitting in the back row was a dark-haired boy. It took a long moment to recognize him, and then real effort for Nate to keep his gaze from sliding away. He wondered how long the boy had been sitting up there.

  Then he remembered the trick: Nate had to keep everyone else looking at the boy, so he could use the glittering strands of attention in the room to keep himself focused.

  “Ah, you made it,” he said. “Everyone, perhaps you remember Anonymous?”

  CHAPTER 22

  FLICKER

  NOW THAT ANONYMOUS WAS SITTING right in front of them, Flicker did remember.

  She remembered his eyes, blue and intense. The dark hair in bangs that almost covered them. The long pale fingers, steepling together as he leaned back in the leather chair. His lean face, with that expression of intelligence and reserve, like someone content with watching everything from a corner of the room.

  It was always startling, how handsome Anonymous was. Even pretty, if that was the right word for someone who looked so haunted.

  Or maybe he was just shy, not used to anyone staring at him the way Glorious Leader was now, intent and purposeful, as if trying to catalog everything about . . .

  “Thibault,” she said. That was his name. It was French, as tricky to spell as the boy himself was to remember.

  His blue eyes shied away from Nate, looking at the others.

  Was he looking at her? Flicker tried to cast her vision into his, then remembered the other thing that she always forgot . . .

  She couldn’t put herself in his eyes. She’d never been able to. He was a blank spot in the room.

  Now that was really weird.

  She went to Chizara’s vision, trying to triangulate. Yes, the pretty boy was definitely looking at Flicker. Suddenly self-conscious, she ran her fingers through her frazzled hair. She’d been running around downtown all morning, and probably looked like she’d ridden a bike here.

  “What do you mean, Thibault?” Nate asked. “What problem?”

  “There was a breakout,” the boy said. His voice sounded a little husky, like he was getting a cold. Or maybe he didn’t get much practice talking to people. “During the crash, some of the prisoners in the CCPD managed to get away.”

  Flicker was still in Chizara’s eyes as they swung to Nate, widening a little. Of course. Nate had forgotten to warn Anon not to mention the escape to Chizara.

  “Oh my God.” Chizara’s hands grasped at each other. “I saw those cell locks. I was trying to keep them online!”

  Nate looked straight at her. “We don’t know what happened, not really.”

  “We know exactly what happened, Nate. I broke the whole damn building!”

  Everyone’s eyes were on Chizara, and Flicker wanted to say something reassuring. But she could also feel her awareness of Anonymous slipping away, now that she couldn’t see him.

  An unwelcome but familiar wish overtook her: that she had her own eyes to control, to focus where she wanted.

  “Thibault,” she said, his name coming back to her just in time. “Did anyone get hurt?”

  It worked. They all looked at him again.

  He cleared his throat—he was shy. “Not sure what happened in the station, but I tracked a gang of them for a minute or two. They weren’t on a rampage or anything, just trying to get away. They split up after a few blocks, melted into the crowd.”

  “Doesn’t sound too bad,” Nate said. “So what’s the problem?”

  “One of them had a limp,” Anon said. “He was the bank robber, the one they showed on the news. He’s free.”

  “Jerry,” Ethan said softly, and all eyes went to him. “The voice talked to him in the bank. Made his robbery go sideways! So now I got the Craig and his drug buddies, and the cops, and a crazy-ass bank robber after me!”

  Flicker put herself in Nate’s eyes—he was scanning the room. Chizara’s post-crash euphoria had vanished, now that she knew she’d let loose a bunch of prisoners. She was sitting up straight, staring at her own fidgeting hands. Scam looked even more like a cornered rat than usual, and for some reason he was clutching a blue-headed wrestler doll. Thibault pushed a hand nervously through his dark hair, and the pale half-moon of an ear peeked out. He’d realized that he shouldn’t have mentioned the breakout in front of Chizara, but too late.

  “We’ll all deal with this together,” Nate said, his voice taking on its most sonorous Glorious Leader tones. “We Zeroes can protect our own.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ethan muttered. “You don’t have the whole damn city looking for you. I should just skip town. Take that money and go.”

  For a moment Flicker let herself think how much easier that would make all their lives. No more Scam creating mayhem every time he opened his mouth.

  But then Nate said, “We can help.” And Flicker knew those words were true, because the Zeroes stuck together. Always and forever.

  Yes, this was Glorious Leader wielding his power, making them all feel connected, because he’d never let any of them leave Cambria. But it was still wonderful, this feeling that she belonged here with the other Zeroes. That she had allies who shared her deepest secrets.

  Nate’s power really was glorious, if you just let it work on you.

  Of course, having Scam here made sinking into it a little weird.

  “We’ll use that bag of money to fix this,” Nate was saying. “Get it back where it belongs and smooth this over.”

  Ethan was fighting him, squirming in his chair. “Yeah, but money won’t fix things with the cops. Or with my mom! And I totally earned this money. I’m not going to just give it to you!”

  Nate was scribbling on his notepad: Say something, Flick. He trusts you.

  “That money will just get you into trouble again,” she said. “I’ll keep it safe. So it’s there when you need it.”

  Ethan was staring at her, the hopeful look on his face almost heartbreaking. Then Nate’s eyes dropped to his pad again.

  Thibault can hide him?

  The name looked strange for a moment, until Nate glanced up into the back row.

  Of course. That beautiful boy. Had she forgotten him already?

  “Anon,” she said. “You can take care of Ethan, right? Hide him somewhere until all this blows over?”

  “Good thinking,” Nate chimed in, as if it hadn’t been his idea. “Just until we can fix things. He’ll be safe with you.”

  Nate’s gaze stayed on Anonymous, who let out a slow sigh.

  “I guess I’ve got a place to park him. But it’s not like I can keep him under control. Most of the time he won’t even remember I’m there.”

  Flicker went into Scam’s eyes, wondering how he felt about all this. He wasn’t looking up at Anon. He was studying the wrestler doll with the blue head, its eyes and mouth outlined in silver.

  “As long as Ethan’s safe,�
�� Nate said, “while we figure out how to fix things.”

  “Yeah. Because we’re so awesome at fixing things,” Chizara murmured. She was staring at her own hands, her fingers rubbing at the lines on her palms, as if to wipe them away.

  “Nataniel!” came a clear, bell-like voice from the doorway.

  The others all looked up to see Nate’s little sister Gabby standing there, a blue bath towel draped over her shoulders like a cape.

  “Mamá says lunch is ready!” she said, then pirouetted once completely around and scampered off.

  Everyone’s eyes went to Nate, who smiled benevolently and said, “I’m sure you’re all starving. This has been a challenging morning.”

  No one argued with that. Now that the dregs of her adrenaline had faded, Flicker realized how hungry it had left her, looking through a thousand eyeballs.

  Sometimes it was these little gestures that made Nate glorious, even if his mother had made the food.

  The others started to file out of the room, but Nate stayed. Flicker went into his vision again. He was writing notes to himself, things Thibault had said, the details of his clothes, even the way he sat. And now that she looked closer, she saw that Nate’s notepad was balanced on a sheaf of papers. She saw more handwritten notes sticking out from the edges, and printed photographs.

  Of course—this was how Nate always managed to remember Thibault better than the rest of them did. He might forget the person, but he remembered his own notes, the stories he told himself about Anonymous.

  Which gave Flicker an idea.

  She let the others leave, watching as Nate finished up.

  Finally he slid the file beneath his chair and stood. “Shall we?”

  She nodded and took his arm, let him guide her halfway down the hall.

  But then she said, “Wait a second. The money’s back there.”

  Nate shrugged. “It’s fine.”

  Of course. Glorious Leader was the golden child of the house. No one touched his stuff without permission.

  “But I want Ethan to see that I’m taking care of it.”

  “Right. Clever girl,” Nate said. “I’ll go get it.”

  Flicker drew him to a halt. “Don’t get all helper monkey on me, Nate. Go say grace, before the rest of them scandalize your mother by eating unblessed food.”

  She unfolded her cane, staying in his eyes until he nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “Sorry to make you hold the money, Flick. But the cops have my phone number. They might visit.”

  “Of course.” She smiled at him. “Wouldn’t want your political career ending before it starts.”

  “Yeah, but sorry it has to be you. It’s just that Chizara’s too fragile right now, and Ethan is Ethan. And Thibault . . . we don’t even know where he lives.”

  Flicker smiled. That was the point in being Anonymous, she supposed.

  She gave Nate a quick hug, though without the little kiss she’d used to place on his cheek. She couldn’t do that anymore without imagining what Scam had said last year, even though she and Nate had never kissed in any other way.

  Nate turned and headed down the hall, and Flicker made her way back into the theater. The duffel bag was easy to find. It smelled like beer and Ethan’s nervous sweat.

  She felt her way across the room, listening for any footsteps from the hall. Was this the chair that Nate had been sitting in? She reached beneath it and found the sheaf of papers.

  She slipped the folder into the duffel bag, zipped it closed again, and hoisted it onto her shoulder. She wondered if Nate would be annoyed when he realized his notes were missing, or if he’d forget them completely. In any case, she was only borrowing them for a little while.

  Long enough for her sister to read them aloud to her, to describe the photos, to make Anonymous real in the way that Lily made every story real.

  Maybe her voice could finally stick that beautiful boy in Flicker’s memory for good.

  CHAPTER 23

  MOB

  DAD TOLD HER TO MEET him at the stadium.

  He liked ball games, and Kelsie always went with him because she liked crowds. But there was no game today, no one around except a guy on a riding mower, making slow arcs in the stadium grass.

  She spotted a lonely figure in the nosebleed section, two rows from the back. He wore a cap and sat hunched among the colorful plastic seats, invisible if you weren’t looking for him.

  Kelsie climbed the concrete stairs, so hot and dazzling in the afternoon sun. She really needed some sleep, and the emptiness dragged her down. Even the crowded streets outside, full of cops and anxious people, were better than the vast nothing of the stadium.

  When she got to the top, her father looked the way she felt—a thousand years older than yesterday. His stubble was gray on his sagging cheeks, and there were sweat stains on his shirt, which was black and long-sleeved, too heavy for the heat.

  Kelsie’s first words were, “Seriously, Dad.”

  He got to his feet and wrapped his arms around her.

  “What were you thinking?” she said into his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, Kels.”

  She pulled away, her anger trying to spark. But exhaustion and relief won out.

  “That’s not an answer,” she managed.

  Her father shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “I needed the money.”

  “So you robbed a bank? What did you need that much money for?”

  Dad shuffled along the row and sat down. He waited until she was sitting beside him. “I owe somebody.”

  “What?” Her mind was rolling, trying to take it all in. “Dad, you just broke out of a police station!”

  “We didn’t break out. I told you.”

  “The doors just opened, right.” She shook her head. “That’s nuts.”

  Her father spread his hands. “You think I shoulda stayed? With everybody running around in the dark? There was a cop near the cells, in an office full of TV screens. He got beat down. I couldn’t stick around. Whoever came looking for us was going to be pissed.”

  “You think they’ll be less pissed if they find you now?”

  Dad gave her the look he used whenever she brought home her school grades. Kind of hurt and disappointed all at once. “It was my only chance. You think I’m better off in prison, only seeing my little girl through a plastic screen?”

  That froze her. Dad had never really understood how crowds affected her. He just thought she was sensitive. But imagining a whole building full of desperate, violent men crammed between high walls of stone and razor wire, their rage held in check by clubs and guns and pepper spray, that was terrifying.

  She could never set foot inside a place like that. She’d never see her dad again.

  “Whose idea was this robbery, Dad? Yours?”

  “It was this guy I owe, Nic Gargarin.”

  Kelsie frowned. She knew most of Dad’s friends, at least by name. But no one called Nic.

  “Came to Cambria early this year,” Dad said. “With his uncle, a guy called Alexei Bagrov. They were looking to set up a base. They gave me a job.”

  “Then how come you owe them money?”

  “It was that kind of job. They fronted me a few grand to start my own business.”

  “Doing what?”

  He was quiet.

  “Dad?” She waited. “You’re selling drugs again. Don’t even try to deny it.”

  He’d dealt before. Coke at the clubs, recreational amounts. But he’d always been scared of the people who sold in quantity. Her father was wired for day-to-day survival, not grand ambitions.

  “How much money do you owe?” she asked.

  “Thirteen grand.”

  “Oh my God.” Her gaze fell, down to the playing field where the guy with the lawn mower was kneeling on the grass, tinkering with the engine.

  “The stuff didn’t sell. I was stuck owing the money.”

  Kelsie shook her head. This wasn’t about money. “They carried a body bag out of the bank, Dad.
What the hell happened in there?”

  Her father didn’t reply for a long time. He kept his gaze straight ahead, on the skyline beyond the home-run fence. “Hank got killed.”

  Kelsie felt exhaustion wash through her like a sudden summer downpour. She remembered Hank. A good guy. “Did you kill him?”

  “Of course not.” There were tears in Dad’s eyes. “But it was my fault. He had my back.”

  Kelsie tried to keep her breathing steady. “What went wrong?”

  “Nic told us the safe would be open, but we got locked out. We went to the backup plan—empty the tills and rob the customers. But there was this kid . . .”

  His voice trailed off.

  “A kid?” she asked softly.

  “About your age. He started saying stuff. Weird stuff.”

  Her father looked scared. Not just old and defeated, but genuinely terrified. She wished she could take his fear away, the way she could ease the worry out of a crowd. But she was never good with anything one-on-one. “Like what, Dad?”

  “He knew our names, and about Nic’s arrest. He knew everything.”

  Kelsie sat there, her hands gripped in her lap, waiting for it all to make sense.

  Then something clicked.

  “Did he have short hair? Like an army cut?”

  Her dad’s eyes widened. “Yeah.”

  “I saw him in the diner across the street. And after it was all over, two cops brought him out of the bank like he was someone special.”

  “So you know him.”

  “What?” She stared at her father. “How would I know him?”

  “Because he knew you, Kelsie. He said your name.”

  CHAPTER 24

  MOB

  “NO WAY!” KELSIE FELL BACK into the smooth plastic of the stadium seat. “What does this have to do with me?”

  Her father nodded slowly, like he was trying to work it out himself. “Only me, Hank, and Nic knew about the job, and we were wearing masks. But this kid lays there on the floor with my gun in his face, talking like he knows everything. Have you told any of your friends about me?”