The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  “Whee!” she cried as I dragged her by her feet.

  But the water was empty when we reached the flare’s source.

  “Phoenix!” I called.

  My legs shook, and my breaths came in short spurts. I was tired. Pulling Bertha hadn’t helped. I wouldn’t last much longer in open water.

  “Phoenix!” I called again.

  Something yanked my ankle, pulling me under. It was too late to scream. Phoenix hadn’t set the flare off at all—it’d been one of the Feds. The green should’ve given it away.

  The soldier pulled me deeper and deeper. His grip tightened around my ankle as we sank. I tried to kick, but he held on that much harder. My lungs screamed—they needed air, and fast. I hadn’t had time to breathe before he’d pulled me under.

  A shadow swam behind us, followed by a flurry of bubbles. Suddenly the soldier softened his grip on my leg and a cloud of bubbles shot from his mouth. His corpse fell slowly into the ocean’s blue depths. A shiver ran down my spine.

  He is not your enemy, I reminded myself. The Feds are not your enemies. It was hard not to think so when they fought so desperately to kill me.

  The shadow swam toward me. Did it have a similar plan in store?

  Before I could decide whether or not to flee, the shadow grabbed me by the hand and pulled me toward the surface—Phoenix. He’d saved me again. Air flooded my lungs when my head broke the surface at last. I squeezed my eyes shut and laughed.

  Bertha floated next to me, spinning and giggling in the water as waves passed. “I think I’d like some breakfast,” she announced.

  Phoenix was silent. He stared up at the sky above and clenched his jaw. A hundred parachutes filled the sky—armed men with weapons slung across their chests. Feds.

  “Their bullets won’t work in the water,” I said, “and moisture will ruin the guns.”

  “BANG! BANG!” Bertha pretended to fire her waterlogged weapons.

  “They don’t have bullets,” said Phoenix. “They know those won’t work underwater. They’ve got Dummy Darts—a lot of them, by the looks of it.”

  “What if,” giggled Bertha, “they weren’t Dummy Darts, but Gummy Darts? And they just fired Gummy Bears at us and we collected ’em and ate ’em and then had a picnic.”

  Phoenix turned to me. “What happened to her?”

  “Concussion.”

  “PERCUSSION!” shouted Bertha. “Somebody get me some drums!”

  A hum sounded over the crashing waves. On the horizon, a boat sped in our direction. The Feds were coming at us from all directions. They might not have been my real enemy, but they’d try to kill me nonetheless.

  Phoenix jumped in the water and waved his hands at the boat to signal to it. “Yell,” he told me, before screaming as loud as he could.

  The boat swerved in our direction.

  I yanked his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “OVER HERE,” he yelled, ignoring my question. “HEY, OVER HERE!”

  The waves broke faster as the boat sped toward us. I kicked hard to stay afloat and saw Phoenix do the same; his muscle mass made him heavy in the water. Bertha, however, floated along on her back with ease.

  The parachutes were only a few hundred feet above us now, decorating the sky like polka dots swaying in the breeze.

  As the boat came closer, a figure leaned over the boat’s deck and pulled something up from the water. I recognized the red writing printed along the boat’s starboard side: The Retired Lobster.

  It was Churchill Wingnut.

  “CHURCHILL!” I yelled. Phoenix looked confused. “He helped me when the Wet Pocket broke,” I explained. “He was the one with the hook and the blood and the shark and… yeah.”

  Phoenix nodded, as if it were the most reasonable thing he’d ever heard.

  “OWW!” Bertha cried out in pain. A thin yellow dart was protruding from her stomach. “What the—?” She looked around, startled. “How the hell did I get in the middle of the ocean?” She threw both arms back, then cried out in pain when she moved the injured one.

  “Dummy Darts,” said Phoenix.

  Waves crashed on either side of us as the Retired Lobster finally reached us and slowed to a stop. Just in time—the Feds were only twenty feet from the surface now. They began to cut their parachute cords and drop into the ocean like swollen raindrops. One Fed cut his chute directly over the boat and landed on its deck with a splat. Churchill quickly chucked the man’s limp body overboard.

  Dove stood on the deck’s other end. He raced to my side and pulled from me the water. My legs shook when they hit solid ground, unfamiliar with the feeling after having treaded water for so long.

  Dove and I then helped Bertha into the boat, and she shook her head as she yanked the Dart from her chest. “Some serious shit going on around here,” she muttered, still looking confused.

  Together, Dove, Bertha, and I pulled Phoenix from the water. Churchill continued to toss overboard any Feds who suffered the horrible misfortune of slicing their chutes directly over his ship. As if having your body crushed against the ship’s hard wooden deck wasn’t enough.

  One soldier managed to grab the railing as Churchill pushed him overboard. Churchill promptly brought “Old Jimmy” down on his hand. The man cried out in agony as the hook’s sharp edge pierced his skin. Blood swelled and rolled down his arm before he fell into the ocean’s basin of churning salt water.

  Churchill held his rusty hook high in the air and roared. “OLD JIMMY!”

  Bertha’s eyes widened. “And I thought I was intense.”

  A massive fin broke the water. Federal soldiers screamed as the incoming megalodon tore them apart with ease.

  Phoenix grabbed Churchill’s arm and shook him. “You got blood in the water!” he said. “You should’ve known better. You should’ve known the nets would be turned off.”

  He turned to Dove. “You know how to drive a boat, right?”

  Dove nodded.

  “Think you can manage this one?”

  Dove ran to the ship’s helm while Churchill stood silent.

  The soldiers in the water screamed as the megalodon shredded them into bits like paper. The water grew redder by the second. Soon the whole ocean looked like it was ablaze.

  But more blood meant more megalodons. And sure enough, in the distance, several fins broke the surface. As the megalodons swarmed, the remaining soldiers clawed at the ship’s side, crying for help.

  I felt sick to my stomach. This wasn’t right. The men in the water weren’t villains—they were just men doing their jobs. They weren’t the Lost Boys. They weren’t terrorists. They weren’t real villains. They weren’t real trouble.

  I watched Phoenix stare at the bloody water with a blank expression. And it was at that moment that I realized: I was one of them. A Lost Boy. One of the people responsible for the deaths of all these men.

  A particularly desperate moan erupted from the water. I ran to the ship’s side, and threw my hand to a man not much older than myself. His bright blue eyes burned into my soul—a lovely blue, the color of water when the sun breaks on it just right. The same color as Charlie’s eyes. Not one of the typical shades of Indigo blue, but something brighter: Charlie blue, I’d always called it. His fingers were inches from mine. I stretched my arm a little farther, knowing his hand would soon fall into mine.

  There was a kick and a splash. Salt water stung my eyes. His fingers slipped past mine and he fell back into the water.

  Bright green eyes replaced his—Mila. She’d tossed the man back into the water, and now she put her hand into mine.

  Before I could pull her on board, the ship’s engine revved, and I squeezed her hand in my own. The boat shot forward, pushing past screaming corpses. My body lurched against its railing as Mila’s was dragged through the water, my grip the only thing keeping her from becoming a megalodon snack. A massive fin shot up beside the boat. Following Mila—food.

  Phoenix sprinted to my side, and grabbed Mila’s other hand. Wa
ter poured onto the deck as the megalodon launched its face from the water, its teeth glistening in the scattered sunlight. Mila’s bright green eyes were filled to the brim with frozen fear.

  The megalodon gnashed its teeth, its jaws heading straight for Mila’s legs, still dangling limp in the water like worms.

  Chapter 19

  The megalodon’s teeth dripped blood, and a pair of black and green pants were lodged between two of its teeth—undoubtedly all that was left of a Federal soldier it had consumed only seconds before. I silently gave thanks that it was only a pair of pants. It could’ve just as easily been a bloody arm or leg.

  Despite having jaws large enough to swallow their victims whole, researchers had found that megalodons were particularly fond of tearing their prey to shreds. The scent of torn flesh seemed to satisfy their insatiable blood lust, however briefly.

  The Retired Lobster groaned as it raced forward, its rusted engine no match for the megalodon who easily kept pace. Having already left the soldiers to its mates, it wasn’t about to give up on us, its last chance at a meal. Its wide jaws were easily large enough to tear apart not only Mila, but the tiny boat itself. My heart beat hard in my chest, and my knees felt weak—if it killed Mila, the blood frenzy would sure lead it to kill and eat us, too.

  Phoenix and I fought to pull Mila up on deck, but the force of her feet dragging in the water drew her even closer to the monster’s mouth. If we pulled too hard, I worried we’d dislodge her arms from their sockets. The clash of the megalodon’s teeth, however, told me this would still be the preferred option.

  Mila didn’t scream, but gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut to avoid the salt water’s sting as it sprayed. She was tough. Tougher than most girls I’d met. Maybe even as tough as Charlie.

  Her fingers were slowly slipping from mine. My hands became more slippery by the second, and Phoenix’s grunts told me he was experiencing the same problem. If we didn’t do something, we were going to lose her, and soon.

  I yelled for help. Churchill grunted and swung his arm back. A piece of steel flew from his hand and over the deck. Its jagged edges did tilted somersaults as it sailed through the air. It spun past Mila, and toward the megalodon, burying itself in the monster’s massive snout. The beast fell back into the water, its fin trembling before it disappeared.

  The monster was gone.

  Bertha ran to our side, and with the added help of her uninjured arm, we were finally able to pull Mila from the water. Her feet collapsed beneath her, and she shook uncontrollably. We kneeled down beside her on the deck. Bertha leaned against the railing. “Hate these sharks,” she muttered. “Hate these damn mutant sharks…”

  Churchill, alone, stood in salute. “Old Jimmy’s gone,” he said mournfully. “Found his final resting place in a megalodon’s snout.”

  To us, it might have been an old, rusty hook, but to poor Churchill Wingnut it had been something more. I got up and stood by his side, joining his salute—it was the sort of thing Charlie might do.

  Mila broke the silence with a breathless laugh. She shook her head and looked at me. “I can’t believe you swam into the mouth of one of those things.”

  I wanted to tell her that, at the time, I had thought she was going to kill me, so the megalodon was really just the lesser of two evils, but I figured it was best for everyone if I didn’t mention that, so I just shrugged.

  Dove poked his head out of the captain’s cabin. “We’re out of Federal waters now,” he said. “Not that it matters much with the nets down.” He turned, apparently noticing Mila for the first time. “Whoa… what happened to you?”

  Mila stood, wincing as she stretched her shoulders. “You drove off without me, Dove.”

  “What?” He gave her a blank look. “But you’re in the boat…”

  “But she wasn’t at the time, Doveboat,” said Bertha, rolling her eyes.

  He looked confused. “But she is now? So did she, like, teleport?”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake—”

  “Where’s New Texas?” Mila interrupted. “And Kindred and Sparky?”

  “Meeting us at the Caravan,” said Phoenix. “Dove, did you put in the coordinates?”

  “There’s no GPS, boss. We’re flying blind.”

  “Don’t need any bloody GPS,” said Churchill. He scuttled into the cabin and came out holding a bronze and wooden device. “This is what I use,” he said. “Old-fashioned telegraph—Feds don’t have anything like it. The Caravans have one on their end.” He typed out a message and put on a headset. “We’ll need to go three miles south to join it. Tell New Texas to meet us there.”

  “You already got their response?” I asked. “That was fast.”

  “Well,” said Churchill, slightly embarrassed, “they haven’t actually responded yet… I just feel it in my bones, lad. So that’s where we’ll head.”

  “Er—right, then.” I nodded skeptically.

  Dove, however, had no problem accepting Churchill’s “bones” as a perfectly reasonable navigator. He moved to retreat to the captain’s cabin before Churchill stopped him with a raised hand.

  “I’ll drive,” the captain said. Then he looked around and saw Phoenix massaging Mila’s shoulders, and Bertha nursing her own arm. “And don’t worry, there’s a medical bay on the Caravan,” the captain reassured them.

  I leaned on the ship’s bow and watched as the ocean breathed fast and slow: a living entity in and of itself. In the span of a few short days, I’d traveled outside Federal waters twice, nearly died several times, lost my mother, my best friend, and my own innocence in the eyes of the state.

  I vowed I’d find the last three again.

  The Lost Boys had saved my life, over and over again—but why? What did they want from me? They’d lied to me: Mom couldn’t be dead. She was innocent. Charlie, too, with her bright blue eyes and chopsticks. They had to be alive, of that I was sure. The Federation would keep them that way, if only to get to me.

  We steal Indigo. We’re Indigo thieves. Phoenix’s words echoed in my mind, coupled with the cases of Indigo vaccines that had fallen from the sky. Mila had shrugged when I’d mentioned it. Thousands of kids wouldn’t get their vaccines because of that loss, that failed theft. They could’ve been sold for millions. Somewhere, rich venture capitalists would pay for Indigo, for life itself.

  But I knew the Lost Boys weren’t thieves. In that arena, they’d proven themselves to be incompetent at best. And yet, by attacking Club 49, they’d created fear in the city of Newla. Fear was what they were after. Fear and terror.

  It was strange to think how nice they’d been. Kindred, with her blueberries, didn’t seem like the sort of person who’d strike fear in the hearts of millions. And they’d already saved my life twice. Why me? Me of all people?

  It didn’t make sense. None of it made any sense. The Pacific Northwestern Tube exploding overhead, the water rushing in, the nets being down, the megalodons swarming, the green glowing lanterns of the Federal guards racing toward the wreckage, Mila retreating toward the surface. None of it made sense.

  The nets being down.

  The nets had been down on the day of the attack on Tube. They’d been down today, too—just in time to unleash the megalodons on the swarm of Feds. That was just too convenient to be a coincidence. Did the Lost Boys have control of the megalodons?

  Phoenix put a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped. “You okay?’ he asked. I nodded. In my mind I could still see the soldiers’ blood floating in the water. In a few years, that could’ve been me. Or Charlie.

  “We’ll arrive at the Caravan soon,” Phoenix said, leaning against the railing next to me. “I know everything’s happening really fast—probably faster than I could’ve handled at your age.”

  “Were both your parents dead when you were my age?” I asked. It was better if he thought I didn't know Mom was still alive. Otherwise he’d realize I was on to their game.

  He gritted his teeth and stared out over the railing. “They die
d when I was twelve.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t realize you’d been at H.E.A.L.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said, his face hard. “Never got on the train to go. My parents weren’t euthanized. They were murdered.”

  “Murdered?”

  He nodded. My chest tightened. I couldn’t imagine my own parents being murdered—the very thought of it made me sick. Death was always present in the Federation—on the minds of children and adults alike. The Carcinogens in the air made sure of that. Our lives revolved around death. Murder, however, was rare.

  “Yes,” he said quickly, clearly wanting to change the subject. “And I didn’t go to H.E.A.L. because I couldn’t leave my city.”

  “Newla,” I said. This was how he’d known it so well. He’d wandered the streets. Probably lived on them for a time. One of the kids who slept behind the trashcans—addicted to Neglex or worse. “You lived on the streets.”

  “No,” he said with a small smile. “I slept on the streets. I lived between the pages of books. You ever read Peter Pan? How’d you think I came up with ‘the Lost Boys’?”

  It made sense—explained how he was so smart. I wondered if his parents had been booksellers, maybe professors. My own dad hadn’t liked English so much. He used to say that when it came to novels, you only had to read the first ten pages and the last ten pages. He told me fiction was like an ice cream cone: if you looked at it too long, it’d melt. I guess there were a lot of things that melted if you looked at them too long.

  I figured it didn’t hurt to ask.

  “What—what did your parents do? Before they—yeah.”

  “Farmers,” said Phoenix.

  “What? I thought you said you lived in Newla? Isn’t the Ministry of Agriculture on Molokai, next to the Suburban Islands and not much else?”

  A worried look flashed across his face.

  “I—er—meant they were writers. They wrote books and stories. Liked English and literature.”

  “That’s the whole story?” I asked. “They were writers and they were murdered?”

  “In so many words, yes.”