The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  I lifted myself from the water and into the pipe. Immediately, my eyes stung—its entrance stank like tuna, eggs, and milk left in the car on the hottest day of summer. A brown liquid trickled through the pipe like melted manure. I crawled on all fours, and my hands were caked in the sludge within minutes. Things literally couldn’t get crappier.

  After five minutes of fetid crawling, I reached the pipe’s end. If I moved any farther, I’d fall into open air, but I had to keep moving. I heard water rushing below.

  I threw myself from the pipe’s ledge and splashed into a putrid canal. My wig was heavy, saturated with the brown sludge; I tore it off and scrubbed my face to remove the rest of the makeup.

  The canal’s current pushed me through a dark, narrow cavern. A metal sluice divided the canal into two distinct forks. Its metal door split the water between the left and right paths, diverting it with precise ease. Remembering Churchill’s advice, I aimed left.

  But the current’s force grew stronger at the sluice’s gate, and as I grew nearer, the left gate closed. I was pushed right, missing Churchill’s exit. There was no turning back. Forward was the only option.

  There would be no Reggie, no Morier Mansion, no meeting up with the other Indigo thieves. I was on my own. But at least I’d be in Newla. The city where Charlie was likely being held prisoner. I had to find her and Mom, and save them both.

  A distant rumble echoed through the sewer’s damp chambers. I stretched my arms out to the sides, and realized I could touch both sides of the canal now. It was growing narrower, and the current moved faster. The walls became sharper and steeper. Climbing out was impossible; I was at its mercy.

  The canal was no longer lit by dim bulbs, but bright fluorescent tubes. My eyes burned from the sudden change in brightness. The distant rumble became a roar as the narrow channel led into a massive cavern. Floodlights glowed overhead, and the canal snaked around a thick metal column.

  A man in a white biohazard suit and hood passed directly over my head on a suspended walkway. Along the walls, yellow hazard triangles warned: “DANGEROUS CONDITIONS—KEEP PANTS ON AT ALL TIMES.”

  Vats of green, yellow, and pink chemicals vibrated along the canal’s sides. A pit formed in my stomach. This was no normal sewage canal. It was a route to the treatment facility.

  Overhead, a sign read: “Newla Advanced Sewage Treatment Facility—NASTF.”

  They should’ve come up with a catchier acronym.

  In the fourth grade, we were shown a documentary about the Newla Advanced Sewage Treatment Facility. The NASTF reclaimed ninety-eight percent of the water that entered the Newla sewage system, through a series of fire-heated sand filters and pressurized pumps, which pounded the toxic matter into oblivion.

  If I reached the pumps, I was dead.

  I clawed at the canal’s walls, but it was no use—they were too steep. The facility’s blades churned in the cavern’s center column, roaring as fires started and stopped within its compartments.

  I pressed my thighs against the canal’s walls in an attempt to slow myself down. The metal shard I’d grabbed earlier jabbed my leg from within my skirt pocket. I’d be at the central column in seconds. Ground up in its blades like grass in a mower. I tossed the metal shard toward the churning blades, praying they’d jam.

  Miraculously, they did. The blades ground to a halt, buzzing furiously as they fought to dislodge the metal. It wouldn’t last long, though. I quickly grabbed one of the frozen blades and lifted myself from the water. The blade sliced my palms like a knife through butter, but I ignored the pain. Standing tall on the blade, I was just able to grab on to the metal walkway stretched overhead. I pulled myself up just as the blades clicked and spun once again, the jam dislodged.

  My knees quivered as I straddled the thin walkway. A white suit wandered over, probably searching for the cause of the stoppage. He spotted me and waved a furious finger in my direction. Blood from the blade’s cut had pooled in my hand. I rubbed my face with it and lowered my head. I stared at the white suit and screamed.

  He fell in terror. My cue to run.

  I ran to the cavern’s edge. A red exit sign glowed next to another row of the colored chemical vats. I dove behind them, then looked back. Other white suits had arrived, but they weren’t aware of me yet; they hurried to help their fallen comrade.

  I sprinted to the exit and found a tunnel lined with familiar dim lights and walls carved from rock. These walls, however, eventually gave way to white plaster ones oddly reminiscent of a stale office building. The dim bulbs, too, were soon exchanged for their fluorescent brethren. The sewage smell was likewise replaced by the soft scent of lemon. Wherever I was headed, my sopping, smelly clothes would not be well received.

  Farther down the tunnel—now hallway—a glass case housed a red fire extinguisher.

  Over the past two hundred years, there’d been many eras of innovation. The red fire extinguisher had avoided every single one.

  Another white suit emerged from a doorway just ahead of me. I ran for the extinguisher, elbowing him aside as I passed. He fell with a grunt.

  Wrapping my hands in my skirt’s fabric, I smashed through the extinguisher’s glass case and yanked it out. I aimed the extinguisher in the white suit’s direction, pulled the pin and prepared to spray while he pulled himself from the ground. He yanked his hood off, and snarled at me with beady eyes that burned like cigarettes. Then he lowered his head and charged.

  “HA!” laughed a voice from a room he charged past. “LOOKS LIKE TONY HAD THE CHIMICHANGAS FOR LUNCH!”

  He stopped in his tracks. “Excuse me, Lenard, but there’s actually an intruder RUNNING DOWN THE HALL AS WE SPEAK—”

  I squeezed the fire extinguisher’s handle and coated the hall with a flurry of gray haze. Tony keeled over, coughing, the debris filling his lungs. The thick smog all but hid the fluorescent lights that lined the walls. The dull shadows cast as a result made it look like a bomb had been dropped.

  “FIRE!” someone yelled, and co-workers joined the coughing Tony in the hall. More screams sounded. Boots beat against the concrete flooring. The crowd fled for the exits. Thunder echoed.

  They were stampeding in my direction.

  Chapter 11

  The extinguisher’s dull haze smoldered in the fluorescent lights overhead. White suits threw on their hoods as they ran. I squeezed the extinguisher’s handle again. Only feeble wisps of white smoke trickled out this time—empty. I hadn’t thought this through.

  I tossed it aside and ran again toward the exit signs that glowed overhead. My footsteps were lost among the others as the white suits closed in. The haze that hid my presence thinned as I ran farther.

  At the hall’s end, a concrete door was marked with a glowing escape sign with a picture of stairs. To its left was a red handle covered by two layers of glass. A thin metal rod hung beside it, and above that, text read: “IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, BREAK GLASS AND PULL.”

  I broke the glass and pulled. Sirens sounded and red lights flashed. A robotic woman’s voice echoed pleasantly over the intercom. “CODE RED. Please evacuate the facility immediately. This is not a drill. CODE RED. Please evacuate the facility immediately. This is not a drill.”

  The sound of rushing water emanated from the ceiling. Along the walls, panels slid into pockets, revealing pipes with openings the size of grapefruits. Stale water gushed from the pipes. The building was flooding itself. Trying to douse the “fire” from the inside out.

  I hurried up the stairs as water poured down the steps, rivers running to douse a fire that didn’t exist. The angry stomp of boots quieted, replaced by sloshing as the white suits trudged through the rising water.

  My lungs burned as I climbed. I’d gone up six flights and still hadn’t seen a single exit. Farther up the stairwell, I could see light splintering in from a window, breaking the twilight cast by the red lights. I climbed toward it.

  Below the window was an exit door. I pushed it open and ran out. The setting sun blinded m
e. I stepped into a patch of grass.

  I was standing atop a cliff that overlooked the ocean. Streaks of red and orange soared in the sky over the sea. A portrait of color, kindly painted by the Carcinogens that so desperately sought to kill us. I looked down, and saw ivory hoods bobbing at the ocean’s surface at the base of the cliff—suit-clad men pushed out by the rushing water.

  At least the suits were buoyant.

  I ran from the cliff toward the city’s urban sprawl, passing rows of cars that hung suspended from racks in the parking lot. The racks were common on HQ, maximizing the use of precious space—one thing that was always in short supply.

  The Feds were trying to reduce the space shortage by engineering synthetic volcanic eruptions each fortnight. Over time, these eruptions would slowly expand HQ. The Council promised that in another decade the space created from the eruptions would double HQ’s current size and answer the space scarcity question once and for all. In the short term, however, all they did was render half of the island uninhabitable.

  Newla’s bright lights loomed ahead. The city buzzed to a beat all its own. Its flashing lights made people forget the horrors that had come, and those that had yet to come. The clouds that descended after the war had made the world dark. Dad had always said that the people who moved to Newla were trying to hide from the darkness in a city of light. I always figured it was cheaper to just buy a lamp.

  The city’s towering skyscrapers welcomed me like open arms. Some towers shined clear like diamonds; others sported green vines that devoured their spines.

  A homeless girl doused in freckles begged drunkenly for money on a corner. Above her, an advertisement for pharmaceuticals bubbled on a screen. It showed a woman weeping at a child’s funeral. The ad then cut to her swallowing a handful of pills. A respectable nurse in a white turtleneck replaced her on the screen.

  “A child’s death is unbearable,” said the nurse. “So why should you have to bear it? Where there’s death, there’s Neglex—the pills that help you forget people you’ve met!”

  The weeping woman appeared again, this time laughing with a group of men. She held up a bottle that read “NEGLEX” and winked. I felt sick to my stomach. The homeless girl below the screen stared at me with dull eyes. I didn’t have any money, so I tore a piece of fabric from my skirt and offered it to her.

  “I’m really sorry,” I said, “but—maybe you could sell this. It’s all I have.” She accepted the gift.

  I wandered farther into the heart of the city. It was divided into districts, and each section had its own distinct culture. The buildings around me were taller now, more opulent. One skyscraper had an infinity pool on its highest floor that poured over the edge and down the building’s side like a waterfall.

  I peered up at another glowing white tower. A man’s smiling face erupted from its light. Bills of money rained from the sky onto the street surrounding the tower. Holograms.

  Montesano, the building flashed. The World’s Finest Investment Firm.

  My clothes dried in the heat generated by the city’s many lights. Holographic actors danced on the window ledges of the city’s many skyscrapers, flickering every so often from static charges.

  “Nothin’, nothin’, nothin’, nothin’ like Miss Marsha’s Muffins!” sang a trio of men in top hats on one ledge, their skin flickering blue.

  “YOU GOTTA GET YOURSELF SOME GOLD FIGURINES!” screamed another hologram from a different ledge. “YOU’RE GONNA LOVE ’EM BABY, OR MY NAME ISN’T MARTY VAN SCHNAUZER!”

  A blond hologram in a tight red dress beckoned to me from a building’s roof down the street. “Feeling naughty?” she asked. She traced a heart in the space between her breasts and collarbone. Her dress burst into flames. “Then go to CHURCH! ” she screamed, her holographic hands clawing the air as she fell into the building’s depths. SIXTH DAY ADVENTIST CHURCH flashed in silver letters across the space where she’d been standing.

  I stood there in the square, dumbfounded, the buildings flashing around me. Massive screens displayed news stories, and holograms advertised wares hidden in buildings. They promised goods of quality, horror, luxury, delight.

  We didn’t have anything like this in Moku Lani. The closest thing we had to luxury was Buster’s Burgers. And even that place smelled like feet.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, grateful to be free of the Lost Boys and the megalodons, if only for a second. A breeze rushed through my hair—I was also grateful to be rid of the wig.

  There were so many people here that I melted easily into the crowd. I stood with my arms spread wide and eyes closed.

  Maybe Phoenix was wrong about me being wanted. Maybe he’d lied to me about that too. Maybe I was still a free man.

  Murmurs broke the city’s deafening roar. “Call the police!” shouted someone.

  I snapped my eyes open. A crowd had formed around me in the square. The people stepped back, keeping their distance as I turned. On the screen behind me, my dumb grin smiled back.

  Red words were stamped across my face: WANTED: KAI BRADBURY. ENEMY OF THE STATE.

  Sirens wailed. The police had been called. I broke free of the crowd, my feet beating against the city’s brick sidewalks. I glanced at the buildings around me and watched as my picture followed me on their screens. The advertising holograms had all ceased hawking their wares; they now turned their damning fingers to me instead.

  “CATCH HIM!” they shouted. “CATCH HIM! CATCH HIM! CATCH HIM! FIND THE LOST BOY!”

  Chapter 12

  Sage Penderbrook wandered the cold, concrete halls of the Light House’s kitchen an hour before dawn. She made her way past the freezer’s big brass doors and braved its arctic temperatures to steal a slice of frozen sourdough bread. Carefully, she wrapped the bread in the caramel cashmere cloth she’d brought from her room.

  She expertly navigated her way through the basement to the sixth floor’s lobby. Soft snores sounded from behind the desk—Barry was working. He’d continue his nap, as usual, until the second shift came on.

  Sage reached through the desk’s glass window and pressed a red button by Barry’s hand. The doors to the back room slid open. She typed a code into the keypad, listening to its beeps as she pressed its buttons. Then she put her eye against the room’s retina scanner and whispered “Sangria Penderbrook.”

  “Identity confirmed,” announced the retina scanner. The doors to the prison slid open. Sage made her way to cell sixteen at the end of the hall. The door’s slot screeched as she pulled it open.

  “Excuse me, miss,” she said.

  “Wha—?” The girl in the cell woke with a shake. Charlie, she’d heard the chancellor call her. She guessed the starvation pangs had kept her awake most of the week.

  Sage shoved the cloth-covered bread through the slot. “I brought something for you.”

  “Somethin’?” said Charlie, still half-asleep. “For me?

  “Yes, for you, Charlie.”

  Charlie took the wrapped package from Sage’s hand, and Sage heard her peel open the cloth, corner by corner. She squealed when she found the sourdough.

  “All of this?” she said, like Sage had brought her a turkey instead of a slice of frozen bread. “For me?”

  Sage nodded. She wished she could’ve stolen fresh bread, but those loaves were monitored more carefully by Cook’s watchful eye.

  Charlie’s stomach grumbled its thanks. “I, uh—gosh, I can barely think—I wish I had something to give you. You know, in return for the bread.”

  She put her hand through the slot and pressed it to Sage’s face, rubbing her cheek with her thumb. Sage jumped, her cheek tingling where she’d been touched. “I’m so sorry,” said Charlie. “I didn’t know that would hurt you.”

  Sage shook her head. “No—I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just… uh, well—you’re the first person that’s touched me, well, in a while… Since I got here, actually.”

  “I thought you said you’d been here for four years?”

  Sage�
�s chin trembled as she nodded.

  She’d been here a long time. She remembered watching sunsets with her mom on the Kauai beaches. Running along the sand with their yellow dog, Max. Tossing him a Frisbee for most of the day. He’d been a stray when they found him, and somehow, that had made him all the more hers. Two wild hearts that found one another.

  The memories were distant and fragile now; they clung to the corners of her mind like cobwebs. She was just as much a prisoner as Charlie. The kind words Miranda offered her each month were never enough. The warmth of Charlie’s hand on her cheek made her realize the frost that had settled on her heart and the numbness that had enveloped her since her mother’s death.

  She shoved the key into the cell’s lock. The door opened with a hiss. She put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. It was bony, hard, like the porcelain sinks in the kitchen. She felt hairs tingle along her spine. Charlie was warm.

  Charlie patted her hand. “You all right?”

  Sage straightened her dress. She’d worn it every day for the past three years. “I’m sorry, miss,” she said, catching her breath. She shouldn’t have come in here. Or stolen the bread. She’d be beaten if the guards found out. “Sorry, Charlie.”

  Charlie laughed. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

  It had been so long since Sage had heard laughter.

  “What are you even sorry for?” Charlie continued. “You brought me food. I think I’ll be okay if you touch my shoulder for a minute. It’s a bit bony, though. Starvation and all that junk.”

  Sage smiled and put her hand back on Charlie’s shoulder. It was odd, but Sage didn’t mind. She’d been alone too long to be bothered by strangeness. She didn’t have any peers or any real friends.

  The closest thing she had to regular interaction was the stories she’d tell to the occasional mouse. She’d find them hiding in the kitchen’s cracks. She usually pretended they didn’t talk back because they were good listeners who really liked her stories. After being yelled at most of the day, it was nice to have someone just listen.