I see the red creep up his neck, but he must realize there’s some truth to my words, because he doesn’t lash out at me like he has before. Instead he asks, “What was it like for you growing up?”
“Lonely. And hungry and exhausting.” I can see he’s having trouble wrapping his brain around even these few details. I must seem so alien to him. But he’s displaying genuine interest. And I really think he needs some perspective other than his own. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”
“Yeah. Tell me.”
I take a deep breath and launch into my years in the mountains. This time I spare him nothing. Not the starvation or abuse, not my many weeks on the run, not the absence of anything solid to anchor my life to nor my days with Judson Wilfert. I was adrift, friendless, hopeless, and I tell it all exactly like it happened, leaving out only the murder trial and ending with the redemption Opal offered. He hears it all. It’s different than telling Will. More clinical. More detached. Being a Lower himself, Will could identify with parts of my story. Ethan has no basis for empathy at all. I refrain from emotion and simply state the cold, hard facts.
“That’s why I trained so hard to become Military,” I finish. “I wanted the measure of control the salary would provide for myself and my family. When I failed, I was quick to take Willoughby’s offer. Not out of honor or goodness or patriotism. I’m one hundred percent mercenary.”
Dead silence descends between us. I think my tale is grimmer than he imagined. His face is closed, but his eyes regard me intently. “That’s quite a story.”
“Do you believe me?”
“I have no reason not to. And it jives with everything I know about you. You’re a fighter.”
Coming from Ethan, that is a high compliment. Perhaps the highest he has ever paid me.
“A lot of good it’s doing us now.”
This time he offers the encouragement. “We’ll crack this, Jack. You watch. We’ll crack this yet.”
***
The next morning, two Bluecoats are talking to Principal Pringle when we enter the school. Ethan turns away, his face well-known in Military circles, but I gawk with the rest of the students. I assume they are here conducting their own investigation. The principal has already been instructed not to mention Axis.
After dropping off my purse in my locker, I meet Markay in the hallway outside my first hour. She’s beaming. “Was that not the most fun you’ve had in your life ever?”
I grin. “I don’t know about ever, but the game was pretty amazing. And the guys in the club are all right.”
“They like you. They want you to come back.”
For a brief moment, I wish I were merely a student free to hang out with my friends. I would have enjoyed going to school here.
At least, as an Upper.
“Don’t you ever worry that your clan will get caught?” I looked it up. Governor Macron takes her control of the internet very seriously. And felonies at our age carry significant consequences. If not prison, then definitely a heavy fine.
She snorts. “You don’t know Pax Blakely. He’s a tech genius. Did you know he consulted on the holoware for Subterranean Epic?”
“What’s that?”
“Another game. He could probably hire on at one of the big companies, but his mom won’t let him till he finishes college. Needless to say, he’s got a full ride coming.”
“I’m impressed,” I say. “He hides his genius well. Say, what’s up with you and Emerson? I noticed he walked you home last night. Do you like him?”
Her smile turns a little sly. “I don’t know. I think maybe I do.”
“Well, he’s crazy about you. All he’s waiting for is a signal.”
“It’s just different thinking about him that way. I mean, he was in my third-grade class.”
“We all grow up, Markay. And Emerson is definitely grown-up.”
“He’s staying to watch us run tonight.”
“Tell him then. Give the poor man the go-ahead he’s waiting for.”
She just edges down the hallway with that mysterious smile. “See you later.”
I slip into first hour and survive a pop quiz in accounting, then finish a comparative analysis for professional writing. My luck takes a turn for the worse in PE where one half of the class competes against the other in volleyball. It’s one of the few games we learned in 56 because the equipment costs so little. I’m usually a fair hand at it, but a collision with the girl next to me as we go for the same dig lands us both on the floor. I cry out as my right wrist turns under me.
The girl, Pepper, is one of my cross country teammates. “You all right, Potts?” she asks as she pulls me to my feet.
I nod, but I’ve got my arm cradled against my side. “Sorry. I should have let you get it.”
The teacher walks over. “Let me see.” She peers at my wrist, flips it over. We can both see it’s starting to swell. “Go get some ice from the nurse.”
“At least it’s a wrist and not an ankle,” Pepper calls as I leave the gym.
I raise my hand in acknowledgment. I can still run this afternoon.
On the way to the nurse, I see Jewel at her locker. She looks up as I near, and I offer her a casual smile. “Hi.”
She slams her locker shut with a heavy scowl. “Will you stop following me?”
This time I haven’t even sought her out. “Look, I’m not trying to be obnoxious. I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“I’ve got enough friends in my own caste.”
My reaction is instinctive. Maybe it’s my injured wrist that prompts the idea. Maybe it’s my hypersensitivity to her comment. Or maybe this affinity I feel toward Jewel and the Lowers makes me trust her more than I should. But suddenly, I really want her to know who I am.
Against my better judgment, I grab her arm with my good hand and drag her around a corner and into the girls’ bathroom. “I want to show you something, Jewel.”
“What are you doing?” She tries to jerk away.
I hold on tighter and kick the bathroom door shut behind us. “Look.” I rip off my holoband and shine its light directly onto the tattoo on my wrist. Hidden under the band the majority of the time, it couldn’t read more clearly now: L3847925.
I’ve been tagged with an identification number used by both the CDS and the criminal justice system. It’s followed by a code that, once scanned, brings up a list of all the settlements I’ve ever lived in under CDS authority, the court documents detailing my demerits, as well as the case files for my trial, even though I was acquitted. But Jewel’s eyes lock on the very first letter—the one that denotes my caste. She gives me a long, piercing look. “You’re a Lower?”
I nod.
She glances around to make sure we’re alone. “What are you doing here?”
“I can’t say. I just want you to know I really do understand your situation. We’re not all that different. And I want to encourage you to try hard on the Examination. You never know what might open up for you.”
She just stares at me, shocked and thoughtful, as I slip back into the hallway. I hope I don’t live to regret my impetuous decision.
***
That afternoon, Coach has us running warm-ups on the athletic field soon after the other teams begin to arrive. The Greencoats turn out in force for the event, but I still see Ethan sitting on the bleachers where he can survey the entire course. Since I can’t wear my weapon when I run, I feel better with him here.
As the start time draws near, Coach gathers us in for a pep talk. “Listen up, ladies. All that summer practice, all the weeks of training…you’re prepared for this. You’ve each given me the time you’d like to turn in. It’s warm out here today, but no worse than what we’ve run in all week. Determine the pace you need to set, and keep your head on your race. What do you say, ladies? Are you ready?”
It’s our signal. The whole team crams into a circle, arms falling over each others’ shoulders, swaying back and forth as we begin to hum, soft at first but rising st
eadily. The tempo of our rocking increases with our volume until we shout out with one voice, “Go Cats!”
“Run hard,” Coach says as the huddle breaks.
We gather at the starting line where some of the girls take practice starts or work through additional stretching exercises. Ethan comes down to meet us. “Good luck, ladies.”
He meets my eye and winks as I go through the motions of warming up with the team. He and I both know I could run away with this meet. I could probably beat most of the boys, who start after the girls’ heat is finished. But we’ve agreed I’ll run in the middle of the pack.
A man in an official-looking yellow vest speaks into a holoband connected to the public address system. “Two minutes until the start of the women’s race.” His voice blares out over the crowd of students and parents who have gathered to watch us run.
All five teams gather behind the line, bouncing, stretching, and working off last-minute jitters. Markay is shaking hands with some of the girls from the team next to us when she squeals out, “My necklace!” and pulls a tiny silver locket from under her shirt. “I forgot to take it off.”
Yesterday after practice, Coach reminded us of the athletic league’s no-jewelry policy. Wearing anything but a holoband or a stopwatch means immediate disqualification. But Coach is standing halfway down the starting zone, nowhere near enough to hand it off to.
“I’ll hold it for you, Markay,” Ethan offers.
“Oh, would you?” She pulls it over her head and Ethan slips it in his shirt pocket. “Thank you!”
“No problem.”
“All right, ladies. Everyone behind the line,” the starter says. “I’ve programmed in a four-tone starting signal. The first three sounds will be low in pitch; the fourth will be an octave higher. Run on the fourth. Does anyone have any questions?”
No one does.
“Very well, then. On four.”
The tone sequence sounds and we break from the line like a herd of wild buffalo. The tight cluster of runners fans out quickly, with the fastest girls sprinting to the front and the slower ones falling behind. I stay near Markay right in the middle. It’s a 5,000-meter race, just over three miles, and I fall in for an easy run. My wrist aches just a little. The trainer wrapped it in athletic tape to hold it rigid.
The campus isn’t very large, set as it is in the middle of the city, so we’ll have to lap the fields three times. The first lap, I take note of the Greencoats spaced at even intervals throughout the school grounds. They look bored and hot, sweating beneath their layered uniforms. Most of them scan the crowds for suspicious behavior, but a few watch us as we run past, one with keen interest. I wonder briefly if whoever’s behind the kidnappings could be hiding behind a respectable organization. It’s worth mentioning to Ethan.
The second time around, Emerson is waiting for us all by himself near the back door of the school. “Go, Markay! Come on, Jack!”
We both grin, and Markay gives him a double-hand wave.
“He’s a poor lost puppy, Markay,” I say when we’re past.
She laughs. “All right. If I make the time I turned in to coach, I’ll tell him.”
“Let’s go, then.” And I increase our pace incrementally. “Keep up.”
“I’m right behind you.”
On our last lap, I can hear Ethan from the top of the bleachers all the way across the athletic fields. “Come on, Jack! Kick it in now.” And he only gets louder as we approach the finish. “That’s it! Bring it on in!”
His praise warms me all the way through, and I feel my body respond with a surge of energy even though I know it’s all an act—both this race and his cheers. But I can’t help wondering how much better I would have done during my weeks of training if I’d finished every run to encouragement. I kick it up another notch. “Come on, Markay, I’ll race you in!”
She takes off at a sprint, and we cross the line neck and neck. Our time freezes for an instant on the clock. Twenty-two minutes and seventeen seconds.
Markay shrieks. “Thirteen seconds under!”
I join her in a noisy celebration dance. Then I catch sight of Emerson waiting for us at the end of the chute and give her a shove in his direction. She uses the momentum to catch him around the waist and spin herself around. “A new personal best!”
“Great job, Markay!” He gives her a squeeze, sweat and all.
Then she surprises everyone by pulling his head down and laying a big kiss right on his mouth.
We make our way to the refreshment table behind the timekeeper’s booth, leaving Emerson in a happy daze. I smirk. “I’m not sure if your hint was clear enough.”
Markay laughs.
As the team gathers and refuels on fruit and drinks, Coach pulls up our predictions and our actual times on his holoband and displays them for us to see. Then he shows us the meet results. We’ve run well and the team has taken second place overall, a good start to the season. Finally, he sends us off on a one-mile cooldown. Once we’re finished, we’re free to leave, but most of us stay to cheer on the boys as they cross the line. At last, I’m changing my spikes for my trainers, gathering my belongings, and scanning the crowd for Ethan.
“I’m heading in,” Markay tells me, slinging her bag over one shoulder. “Emerson’s taking me home again.”
I can see the eagerness on her face. My heart cramps just a little as I think of Will, so far away. “I’m happy for you, Markay.”
“Me too.” She scrunches up her nose in a playful grin. “See you Monday.” And she jogs off in the direction of the locker rooms.
I make my way over to my partner, who’s still seated at the top of the bleachers watching the crowd, and drop down next to him. “What if it’s the Greencoats?” I blurt.
“What about the Greencoats?”
“What if they’re the ones stealing the kids? They’re everywhere, with access to schools and events. People trust them. It’s the perfect cover.”
His eyes constrict in a mixture of thoughtfulness and skepticism. “If that were true, and I highly doubt it, it could have enormous implications. What makes you say that?”
“Just an uncomfortable feeling I got when one of them was ogling me as I ran past.”
He glances over my short, tight uniform with amused appreciation. “That’s probably not enough basis to warrant an investigation.”
The sun suddenly seems to focus extra heat directly on my face. “It’s your call,” I say, tugging the strap of my gym bag a little higher on my shoulder. It doesn’t offer much coverage. “I’m going to hit the shower. Meet you back here in ten minutes?”
He nods and pulls the necklace out of his pocket. “Give this to Markay for me.”
I take it in my hand with the bandaged wrist and tramp down the bleachers. I swear I can feel his glance burning into my backside as I walk away.
As I come up on the school door leading to the locker room, I spy Markay and Emerson deep in conversation just outside it. Markay is already showered and changed, and Emerson is holding her gym bag. If they stood any closer, they’d fuse together.
“Excuse me, lovebirds,” I say as I approach, “but I need to get through here.”
They jump apart as if I’ve caught them cheating on a test. Then they laugh self-consciously. “Sorry,” Markay says.
“No, no. Carry on. But you’d experience far fewer interruptions if you weren’t standing in the doorway.”
“Right.” Markay bites down on her smile.
Emerson pulls the door open for me, and I give him a sly thumbs-up as I go inside.
I make it all the way to the locker room before I remember Markay’s necklace. I toss my bag on the bench and jog back out to the door, but she and Emerson are already gone. A quick scan shows that the crowd is beginning to disperse. Two of my teammates push past me and into the building. Others are walking down the sidewalk to catch autopods in front of the school. That’s probably where my friends have gone.
I jog through the parking lot and scan
the street. Three empty autopods are pulling up in front of the school, but there’s a line of people ten deep waiting to board. Markay and Emerson aren’t among them. I spin in place, craning my neck for any sign of them. It’s only been four or five minutes since we parted. They couldn’t have gone far.
Then I see them, far down one of the side streets. They’ve headed out to the main road to catch a pod there. I take off running. I can easily overtake them before they reach the corner.
I’m about halfway down the road when Emerson intercepts one of the vehicles on its way to the school. I watch him open the door and then pause to tenderly embrace Markay. I grin as Markay goes limp, figuring she must be exaggerating her newfound happiness. But when Emerson scoops her up and sets her in the vehicle, I know something is wrong.
I speed up. “Emerson!”
He turns in surprise.
“What happened?” I ask as I reach him, catching my breath and peering in at my friend. Markay is slumped against the far door of the autopod.
Emerson’s face is a panic. “I don’t know! She just dropped in my arms. I’m taking her to the hospital.”
“Good idea. I’m coming with you.” I’ve just opened the door to climb into the backseat when Emerson makes a sudden lunge in my direction. I react instinctively, blocking his swipe with a hard punch to his wrist. Perhaps Captain Chase’s lessons weren’t all in vain.
The blow dislodges a syringe from his hand.
Our eyes meet. His grow hard as his feigned distress evaporates. Mine bulge as I begin to suspect the truth.
I am witnessing an abduction.
THIRTEEN
Emerson can see I know the truth. I’m still in shock when he takes another swing at me, this time aiming for my bandaged wrist. I leap backward and aim a counterblow at his neck, but he uses his momentum to jump into the autopod and slam the door. I grab for the handle. It’s locked.
Recompense (Recompense, book 1) Page 15