The Indigo Thief

by Budgett, Jay

  He had a point, but I still shrugged. “You could’ve tried.”

  “We tried with Bugsy.”

  “But it didn’t work.” I remembered his conversation with Vern. “So you killed him.”

  “We didn’t kill him! I can’t believe you’d even suggest that. I don’t know who you think we are, but we’d never kill one of our own. We did things differently with Bugsy than with you. We told him the truth about our world—the truth about Indigo and the Carcinogens—too soon. He became unstable. Started screwing things up on missions. Forgetting where he was in the middle of raids… To be honest, I don’t think he died by accident during the Pacific Northwestern Tube’s accident. I think he… killed himself.”

  “He wasn’t ready for the truth,” I said slowly.

  “It devoured him whole.” Phoenix’s eyes got watery. “I don’t think he could admit Indigo’s reality to himself. He wasn’t ready to look away from the light and see the darkness that was around us all along. It was easier to keep pretending things were all right. The truth—it broke something inside him.”

  The fort was burning. Chunks from the ceiling rained down around us. Phoenix knocked me to the ground to get me out of the way.

  “Why did you tell Vern you’d kill me?”

  Phoenix stared at where the ceiling patch had fallen. “You heard that? I thought someone was there… You were in the contact closet, weren’t you?”

  “Contact closet?”

  “Blue things, they look like eyes. Contact lenses. All along the shelves. The closet door was cracked open, but I thought I saw it shut quickly when Vern and I entered the hall.” I nodded, but still wondered what exactly a contact lens was.

  “The Caravites wear contacts instead of getting vaccinated,” he explained. “It used to be that when the Feds caught an unvaccinated adult, they could see immediately that he was a Caravite, which assured they received a slow, tortured death. So the Caravites started wearing blue contact lenses to avoid that outcome. As long as a person has the blue eyes, the Feds don’t know the difference, and they receive a quick death. Bullet to the head, best-case scenario. The Federation doesn’t have room for ‘vaccinated’ criminals. But brown eyes in an adult—that’s a sure sign of terrorism. And terrorists are tortured for a long, long time when caught.”

  Bertha barreled into the room, cuddling a shotgun in one arm and a rocket launcher in the other like babies. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Are you two just gonna sit here and braid each other’s hair over brunch? Or do you wanna—I don’t know—help us fight and LIVE?”

  Phoenix smiled. “Brunch sounds lovely, thanks.” Bertha nudged him with the butt of the shotgun. He pointed to the door. “Go ahead, Bertha. A merry welcoming party awaits you.” He ran a finger over the shotgun’s barrel. “Sawed off the end, did you? A woman after my own heart.”

  She grinned and ran out the door. I watched her fire into the sky. A helicopter plummeted into the ocean. She fired again at the burning rubble that floated on the water. Phoenix looked on like a proud parent. My heart still pounded in my chest.

  A projectile struck Bertha from behind and she fell. I pulled Phoenix’s arm. “They shot her! We have to get out there before they kill her!”

  He crossed his arms. “Doubtful. They’re almost certainly firing at us with Dummy Darts. We can’t stand on trial if we’re dead, and they’d like to make this whole affair look remotely democratic.” He paused. “How many of us does he think he’s getting?” he said quietly.

  He knew I’d talked to the chancellor—that I was the one who’d given him the coordinates.

  “Four,” I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead.

  “Kindred and Sparky are safe, then?”

  “I hid them in the control room.”

  “The control room’s walls are made of reinforced steel. There’s maybe a fifty-percent chance they’ll make it even with the explosions.”

  “That’s reassuring,” I said weakly. A copter landed on the beach and soldiers leapt out to wrap Bertha’s limp body in a cellophane net.

  Phoenix watched as they dragged her away. “I’m not mad at you, kid. You did what you thought you had to do.”

  “But I—I was wrong.”

  He glanced at my ankles. “You’re wearing cheeseburger socks… Not the kind of kid I would expect to make every shot he took.”

  “I thought you liked the socks?”

  He winked. “Only on you, kid.”

  God, he was cool.

  Dove and Mila hurried to join us in the hall, armed with more of Bertha’s guns. They peered out as the men dragged Bertha’s body into their copter’s cabin.

  Dove aimed his gun. “Balls,” he said, clicking off its safety.

  Phoenix pushed Dove’s barrel down and shook his head. “We’re done.”

  “WHAT?” Mila shouted. “What the hell are you talking about, Phoenix?”

  “We’re done, Meels. Put your hands up and your head down when you walk out.”

  “But—”

  “C’mon, Meels.” He pointed toward the door. “Hands up.”

  The Dummy Darts struck her and Dove almost instantly. I felt sick to my stomach. I had done this to them. I was the one responsible for their deaths.

  Phoenix put a hand on my shoulder. “Well,” he said, offering his hand, “this is it. I’m the last one left. They won’t stop bombing the fort until I’m gone.”

  I watched as another copter with black and green stripes landed. “You don’t have to go, Phoenix. We—you—could think of plan, and we could escape.”

  “Revolutions aren’t fought with elegant plans, Kai. They’re fought with instincts.”

  “Instincts?” What was he trying to tell me? What did he want me to do?

  He nodded. “Revolutions are fought with instinct, not eloquence,” he said again. “You followed your instincts, and now I’m following mine.” He gave me a small smile. “Good luck, Kai Bradbury.” He stepped toward the door. “I’m afraid you don’t have much time left to save your girl. For that, and many other things, I apologize.”

  My face went white. “How—how’d you know about her?”

  He laughed. “It was the look on your face when Gwendolyn asked about her.”

  Crap. “Was it really that obvious?”

  “Painfully so, I’m afraid. Fifteen-year-olds aren’t particularly renowned for their ability to mask their emotions.”

  The bombs stopped, and Chancellor Hackner stepped out from black and green copter. He strode past the destruction toward the fort.

  “Besides,” said Phoenix. “I’ve known for a while that you were searching for something. After the incident with the megalodon, you seemed determined to stay with us. I should’ve known from the beginning it had to do with a girl.”

  I laughed nervously. “Er—doesn’t it always?”

  The chancellor was gone from the beach. Phoenix looked me in the eyes. “I hope he keeps his word.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I hope the chancellor keeps his word and gives you the girl.”

  “How did you—?”

  Phoenix smiled. “Because that’s what you want most.” He held his left hand to his eye. “The Lost Boys’ salute,” he said. I held my hand to my eye—my thumb resting on my jaw’s corner and my index and middle fingers against my brow—in response. “It reminds us to keep our eyes, ears, and hearts open when seeking the truth.”

  “You’re not terrorists,” I told him. “Or anarchists. Or even Indigo Thieves. You’re revolutionaries.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad you think so, too.” He started toward the door. “And, kid—I know what you heard me tell Vern, but you should know I never meant it. It was just something I said to get the Caravites’ help with the raid. I was never planning to kill you. Not in a million years.”

  “Because I’m one of the Lost Boys?”

  “Because you’re one of my friends.” He glanced at my ankles. “And because nobody deserves to die whil
e wearing cheeseburger socks.”

  A Dummy Dart lodged itself in Phoenix’s neck. He crumpled to the floor and convulsed. Chancellor Hackner appeared in the kitchen’s doorway wearing his trademark twisted smile.

  “Ah, Bradbury,” he said, offering his hand. He kicked Phoenix’s body against the wall to reach me. “Truly a delight.”

  I stepped back. “Where’s Charlie?”

  He caressed his gun’s trigger and grinned. “Let’s be reasonable, Bradbury.”

  My whole body shook—he’d promised he’d bring her. “Where the hell is she?”

  Hackner licked his lips. “Come now, you didn’t really think I could let her go, did you? I mean, her mug shot’s been plastered across the Federation for nearly a week now. What would the press say? What would the people think?”

  I balled my fists. “You gave me your word. You promised.”

  “You’re a bright kid, Bradbury.” He shoved the gun against my neck and breathed in my ear. “You should’ve realized by now that a politician’s promises are worth less than dog shit.”

  Phoenix was right. He was right about everything. I was the one who’d been wrong all along. The Feds had never been on my side—they’d never been on anyone’s side. There had never been a way to save Charlie.

  Chancellor Hackner breathed in my ear again. “But I’ll make you a deal.”

  “I’m done with your deals.”

  “That’s unfortunate,” he said, “because I’m afraid you really haven’t much of a choice.”

  Three of his men darted into the kitchen and wrapped Phoenix in a net like the others, then dragged him toward the beach. When they were gone, the chancellor continued.

  “Because you’ve been so incredibly helpful, Bradbury, I’ve decided to let you go.”

  “Let me go?” It was a trap. It had to be a trap.

  “Yes,” he said slowly, “but only on the condition you promise not to come look for the others. I will allow you to run off, change your name, start a new life. We can burn your file and tell the courts you died in a megalodon’s mouth while resisting capture.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because,” he said, his lips twisting into a smile, “the thought of you spending the rest of your life alone—knowing you are single-handedly responsible for the death and slow torture of all your friends—would give me great pleasure. I don’t like arresting criminals, Bradbury—I like seeing them punished. I like to watch a man with fire in his heart smother his own flames to keep his soul from burning. So, what do you say?”

  I resisted the urge to spit in his face and tell him to go hell. He was sick. There was something wrong in his head. Maybe he had no soul. I squeezed my eyes tight. I had to slow down for a second and think. And not the way I was used to thinking—my kind of thinking was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. No, I had to think differently. I had to think like Phoenix. To Phoenix, there were always other options, other opportunities. There were two days before Charlie stood trial. Two days before the courts ordered her execution. There was still time.

  Chancellor Hackner would take the other Lost Boys to the Light House—to the same prison that held Charlie. I could rescue them all. I thought about Sparky and Kindred, both of whom still lay unconscious upstairs—they could help me. Together, we could save everyone. There was still a way.

  I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, god.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, god. Oh, god.” I pretended to wipe away tears from my face before shaking his hand. “It’s—oh, god—it’s a deal.”

  My acting was bad on a good day. In the third grade, I was cast as a peach in the school play. I had one line in the entire show—the farmer asked, How ya doing?, to which I responded, I’m just peachy—but even that was cut when I got so nervous each time that I literally wet my pants. I prayed the chancellor was too self-absorbed to notice.

  He flashed me another sparkling smile—yep, he was definitely too self-absorbed—and ran his fingers through his silky hair. “I think you’ll find,” he said, sliding his gun back into its holster, “that I’m really a generous man at heart.”

  “Too generous,” I agreed. “Far too generous.” His promises might’ve been dog shit, but so were his brains.

  The soldiers who were waiting on the beach, eager to shoot me down, stood baffled when the chancellor walked away from the fort empty-handed. They exchanged looks: he was letting a Lost Boy get away? But the chancellor merely waved them off, and I heard him mutter something about him having a larger brain—among other organs.

  I was left standing in the fort’s ruins as the copters took off from the beach. The chancellor may have left my hands empty, but he left my heart full of a yearning for vengeance.

  Phoenix’s instincts had told him this would happen. He knew the chancellor would betray me. He knew I’d want revenge. And he knew I’d come to save them—and Charlie.

  There was still time to act. There was still time for one final raid.

  Chapter 39

  Both Kindred and Sparky were surprised when I woke them—the Dummy Darts had made them forget the entire incident. Tim, however, looked moderately pissed. Apparently the solution wasn’t nearly as effective on sloths.

  When I explained what happened, neither Kindred nor Sparky were very happy—unsurprisingly. Kindred wept when she heard the others had been taken prisoner, and Sparky actually punched me in the cheek. Hard.

  “What the hell were you thinking, KB?” I let the force of his blow carry me to the ground. I’d never seen him so angry before. I guess I’d have been just as mad if he’d done the same. I shut my eyes tight and lay there for a minute. Tim crawled onto my chest and slowly slid his claw across my cheek like a slap.

  “That’s enough, Tim.” Sparky pulled him off my chest. “C’mon, get up, KB. Get up already. We don’t have much time.”

  “So you’ll go with me, then?” I asked. “To save them?

  Kindred dabbed tears from her eyes with a tissue. “It’s not like we really have a choice, dear.”

  “But it’s a suicide mission.”

  She straightened the edge of her floral dress. “They’re all suicide missions.” She had a point. “Once in a while,” she continued, “I’d like one less risky. Something simple. Like getting a stick of frickin’ butter. We’re almost out,” she added. It seemed that Sparky wasn’t the only one who’d been slightly unhinged by the news.

  Sparky typed something on the computer, then shook his head. “It looks like they’ve beefed up Light House security since the Ministry of Health raid. From what I see, it looks like they’ve got guards guarding guards. They know you’re coming. The entrances are impenetrable. There’s no way we’re getting in.”

  “I’m not planning on getting in,” I said. “I’m planning on getting under.” Sparky looked confused. “Never mind, just—do you think you could get us to Newla?”

  “Affirmative. Only trouble is getting us back.”

  “We’ll have Phoenix by then. He’ll figure it out.”

  Sparky smiled and stared at the screen. “I admire your optimism.”

  “Optimism’s all we’ve got at this point, isn’t it?”

  “Affirmative.”

  ~~~~~~

  Kindred had insisted we all wear black. “It’s the proper thing to do,” she’d said matter-of-factly. Sparky and I had come out covered in matching black tracksuits to find her in yet another floral dress, topped with a speck of black in the form of a beanie. Even Tim wore a black sweater.

  An extra set of Wet Pockets got us to Newla. This time we set them to take us to the Sewage Treatment Facility. I doubted the Feds expected to find me in the same place twice.

  It was nightfall when we arrived. The drainage pipes had been covered in scaffolding since my last visit—the fire drill floods appeared to have damaged them badly.

  We used the scaffolding to pull ourselves from the water, then ran through several of Newla’s neighborhoods. The news of our capture was
everywhere, blasted across the city’s bubbling screens: LOST BOYS DOWN—THE FEDERATION IS SAFE! The captured vigilantes’ mug shots accompanied the news. Mine, however, was conspicuously absent. The only evidence that I’d ever existed was an occasional variant on the usual headline: LOST BOYS CAPTURED—ONE DIES DURING RAID.

  To the press—to the world—Kai Bradbury was a dead man. It seemed incredible, but evidently the day the press declared someone dead was the day the world stopped looking. It had taken less than a day for the Hawaiian Federation’s entire population to learn my face, and it would take even less time than that for them to forget it. People just didn’t have time for things that weren’t of the utmost urgency. They never had time.

  We were lucky that neither the Feds nor the public had ever come to know the faces—or even the existence—of Sparky Stratcaster and Kindred Deer. It was fortunate that they had always stayed back at New Texas.

  The Skelewick district’s yellow lights welcomed us with open arms, the denizens with their familiar blank stare. It was only now that I realized the poles’ metal feet were rusted, the haunting light not the only thing betraying the neighborhood’s age. I saw the gates of the Morier Mansion looming at the end of the street, and then, on a nearby corner, I saw the man with the trench coat and the glowing watches, gazing at a street lamp from atop his barrel.

  At this point, my soul was as lost as anyone’s had ever been. I gestured toward my wrist. “You got the time?”

  Kindred pulled me toward the mansion. “I think he’s a bit busy, dear.”

  The man’s eyes turned from the lamp and stared me in the face, the yellow light catching in his blue irises. Before turning away, he tossed me a silver watch on a chain.

  Kindred eyed it suspiciously. “Uh—dear,” she hissed, “what is that for?”

  “It’s for the lost soul,” I answered.

  The man nodded from his barrel. I threw the chain around my neck and ran toward the mansion.

  Kindred panted behind me. “Care to explain what just happened?”

  “I—I think it’s a metaphor,” said Sparky.

  “Oh,” she sighed, “well—in that case—don’t bother. I haven’t the head for that sort of thing. You only have so much gray matter, you know. I’ve got to save all of mine for the recipes.”