Flip (The Slip Trilogy Book 3)

by Estes, David

  The city has been locked down. No one is going to work. No one is out shopping. Everyone is holed up and waiting. For what?

  Just when the day begins to darken and her eyes start to burn with exhaustion and boredom, a man passes her Dumpster on foot. She immediately recognizes him—the man who left through the manhole cover earlier. He’s carrying two heavy-looking bags, one in each arm. His eyes dart to and fro suspiciously as he paces swiftly to the entrance to the Destroyer’s lair.

  Although he’s reluctant to do so, he’s forced to place the bags on the ground in order to gain entrance to the underground prison. Once the cover is removed, Destiny hears a voice echo up from the depths, and the guy drops the bags into the hole. He follows after them, replacing the manhole cover behind him.

  Destiny is more puzzled than ever. Are they just homeless people who stumbled upon a relatively warm and protected space to squat in? That, of course, would mean that the Destroyer, after making the video of him defiling Corrigan Mars’s body, moved on, leaving his lair. However, based on the two guys’ clothing, she wouldn’t peg them as homeless, or even poor.

  Another possibility hits her, zinging excited energy through her cold, aching bones. The Destroyer is injured, maybe badly. The more and more she considers the facts, the more it makes sense. Although he seemed battered in the holo-news video, he didn’t seem terribly injured. He even had the strength to saw through flesh, muscle, and bone to decapitate his old boss. But maybe he was just acting tough for the sake of his video, not wanting to look weak.

  Maybe he’s actually far worse off from the injuries inflicted by her and Harrison. If so, the two guys could be trying to patch him back together. The bags the guy was carrying could be medical supplies. Even if the two guys didn’t have the look of criminals, that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t be willing to help out a psychopath in order to add a few thousand bucks to their LifeCards.

  If that’s the case, now is the time for her to act, before the Destroyer is back on his feet. But if she’s wrong…

  She doesn’t think about the alternative, or she knows she’ll walk away. And she can’t walk away because then she’ll have no purpose left, and the darkness will pour in and surround her, taking her breath and squeezing her heart and…

  The smoke is in her mouth, choking her. The sightless eyes stare at her from their lifeless corpses. The coppery tang of blood is nauseating. She did this, she did this, her fault her fault her—

  Destiny gulps at the air, trying to breathe even though it feels as if a heavy weight is pressing down on her chest. She blinks furiously, willing the images away, pushing the horrible memories back into an impenetrable safe, which she locks with a key and a numerical code and a retinal scanner.

  Her jaw locked, she fights off the tears that threaten to drown her, and she stands up, letting the brittle cardboard fall away around her feet. She ignores her stiff joints and her pounding heart and the blood rushing in her head.

  And she focuses on her target: the manhole cover, her eyes lasering into it with every ounce of intensity she can muster. She walks straight for it, drawing her knife from her waistband with trembling fingers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The new “safe” house is the polar opposite of the last one. Benson sits on a dusty old couch in a dusty old room in a dusty old residential neighborhood.

  Somewhere above him, Simon stomps around letting loose a string of imaginative curses. Of course, with each stomp, dust cascades from cracks in the ceiling, making Benson cough.

  The news Minda told them when they arrived at the hideout has cast an awful pallor on Harrison’s heroic actions leading to their stunning victory and escape.

  “The other cars didn’t make it to their destinations,” she’d told them, and at first the words didn’t make sense. Until they did, in an awful moment of realization and horror. They were dead. They were all dead.

  Simon took it the hardest—is still taking it the hardest—because some of those people were the very ones who had saved his life, bringing him back from the brink and miraculously healing his grievous injuries.

  Benson doesn’t feel much better about the whole thing. As he closes his eyes against the dust onslaught, he wonders how many more will have to die in order for them to carry out their mission. “How much sacrifice is too much to make a cause not worth the trouble?” he asks aloud, tasting dry dust on his lips.

  Harrison looks up from where his stare was previously locked on the floor. His arm is still around Janice, comforting her. She liked everyone in the Lab, and had quickly become a favorite amongst the rebels. She’s been crying for a while now, although it seems she may have fallen asleep, for which Benson is glad. “Are you really asking?” Harrison says.

  Benson shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to say it aloud.”

  “Do you want an answer?”

  “I already know the answer.”

  “Good, because I don’t.”

  Benson knows his brother is either lying or in denial, because more than anyone, Harrison seems to realize the value of sacrifice. So he doesn’t tell him what he already knows: There is NO sacrifice too great when you’re fighting for equality and human rights.

  Finally, thankfully, Simon’s stomping ceases, and Benson can just make out a hushed conversation between him and Minda. She’s a good leader, smart enough to know that Simon will be crucial to their mission. If she can help him get his head straight, it could mean the difference between success and failure.

  Janice jerks awake with a small cry. “They killed him, they killed my boy!” she shouts, her eyes wide and white.

  Harrison squeezes her tighter and says, “Shhh. It’s okay. It was just a dream.” He’s so calm considering what they’ve been through, and Benson can’t help but admire him for it. Benson, on the other hand, feels wired awake, like he might never sleep again, like he could run a hundred laps around the block and not feel tired.

  Janice says, “My son,” her eyes drifting closed. But then they flash open again, her gaze skirting the room until they find Benson. “I thought my dream was real and you were my dream.”

  “It wasn’t,” Benson says. “I’m not.”

  “Then you promise you won’t leave me again?”

  “Mom, I won’t,” Benson says.

  “You always were a good boy. Both of you.”

  Harrison seems uncomfortable by the compliment, his toe tapping rapidly on the wooden floorboards.

  Janice turns to Harrison and says, “You know, what that Simon fellow said isn’t true. You know that right?”

  Although Benson isn’t sure what she means, Harrison seems to get it immediately, letting out a throaty chuckle. “Are you sure about that, Mom?”

  She nods vehemently. “You’re not insane, Son. You’re as normal as they come.” With that, she rests her head back on his shoulder and closes her eyes. Barely a few seconds later she’s breathing deeply, fast asleep.

  Benson and Harrison look at each other, a thousand feelings passing between them in that single glance. “She’s right,” Benson says. “Although you do seem to analyze risks versus rewards a little differently than I do.”

  “I don’t know,” Harrison says, offering a sly smile. “When a crazy person calls you normal, perhaps it’s time to start questioning your sanity.”

  “Deep,” Benson says, chuckling. “But I thought no one was allowed to call Mom crazy.”

  “No one but us.”

  “Why are we different?”

  “Because Mom is ours. Because we don’t mean it.”

  “We don’t? You wouldn’t say she’s got a few marbles missing?”

  Harrison grins. “Missing, but not lost,” he says.

  Benson laughs, although as he does, something seems to break inside him. He can’t be laughing. Not when, not when…

  Thankfully, Minda chooses that moment to return, gracefully descending the stairs and silencing Benson’s mind.

  “Is the big guy going to be okay?” Harr
ison asks.

  Minda nods. “He’ll be fine, although I worry for a few of the walls up there.” The flat, sad expression on her face doesn’t match the humor of her words. “What about you guys? I know it’s been a rough day.”

  “The roughest on a sandpaper life,” Benson agrees.

  “Poetic,” Harrison comments.

  “And it’s exactly why we can’t give up now,” Minda says. There’s a strain in her voice he’s never heard before, reaching her eyes, forming creases in her forehead. She almost sounds desperate. “No one else can do what we can. We’re all that’s left, we have to stay strong, we have to push forward and do everything possible to—”

  “Whoa, whoa, hold up there,” Harrison says. “Do you think we’re going to back out now?”

  Her eyebrows go up and her eyes flick between the two brothers. “Aren’t you?”

  “Uhh, no,” Harrison says. Benson shakes his head.

  “Oh. I guess I’m used to rebellion being a hard message to sell.”

  “Not with us,” Harrison says. “Not anymore. Right, bro?”

  Benson’s eyes meet Harrison’s and he’s somewhat surprised at how comfortable it feels. Before, he could barely look at his brother’s face, much less look him in the eyes. “Right,” he says, feeling more confident in the affirmation than he expected to.

  “Okay,” Minda says. “Good. We’ll lay low for a few days and then continue as planned.”

  “I can’t believe there’s not even a holo-screen in this dump,” Harrison says. “What are we supposed to do for three days? I mean, we could take turns arm wrestling the ape upstairs, but even that will get old after a while.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Minda says. “In the meantime, we can share my holo to keep up to date on what’s going on.”

  She flops down onto a beanbag chair, a cloud of dust filling the air. She waves it away with a hand.

  Benson stares at a grimy window, wondering how they got to this place. Something feels off about the random inspection and the fact that every single aut-car was pursued, all of them destroyed except for theirs, which also would’ve been if not for Harrison’s actions. “Someone tipped off Pop Con,” Benson says.

  In his peripheral vision, he sees Minda’s eyes narrow. “That doesn’t make sense. The assault on the Lab was too weak.”

  “Benson was shot. We were all nearly killed. That’s your definition of weak?” Harrison says.

  “Actually, yeah,” Minda says. “If they’d truly known we were there and the defenses we had, they’d have come in with a lot more firepower.”

  Benson shakes his head. “Although that makes sense, you’re wrong. That’s exactly why someone really smart, really tactical, would come in with only a small portion of their strength. A full-on assault might have failed in the Lab. And then where would Pop Con be? They’d be weakened, unable to mount an effective follow up attack.”

  Minda’s eyes grow big as realization hits her. “They wanted to flush us out,” she says.

  “Exactly.”

  “And we drove right into their trap,” Harrison says.

  “Yeah,” Benson says. “They even knew our evacuation plan, that we’d take a number of aut-cars and scatter. They were ready for it. They had multiple units prepared to follow each and every one of us.”

  “And hunt us down like stray dogs in the street,” Harrison adds.

  “They executed the strategy perfectly,” Benson goes on. “Except for the fact that the one car they most wanted to destroy managed to get lucky and get away.”

  “Lucky?” Harrison says, smirking. “Check the video replay—there was no luck involved in what I did.”

  For some reason, his brother’s cocky attitude gives Benson comfort right when he needs it. If anyone can help Janice, it will be him.

  Minda has already moved on to the next logical question: “Who the hell tipped them off? Only the inner consortium members knew exactly how an evacuation would work.”

  Harrison gives her a hard stare. “I guess you have your answer.”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head weakly.

  “Just saying,” Harrison says.

  Her holo-screen is out in an instant. For their benefit, she unlocks the privacy setting so the holo is visible from all sides. She enters the Agriculturist’s Forum:

  Private Forum for Agriculturists, by invite only:

  Password required: **********

  Password accepted, access granted.

  ShirleyTemple: Ping.

  ShirleyTemple: Ping. Is anyone there?

  SamAdams: Sorry, it was hard to find somewhere private to talk. Pop Con is a mad house. Charles Boggs wants heads to roll for whoever made their own Hawk drones shoot each other down.

  ShirleyTemple: You have to get out. You’re compromised.

  SamAdams: I know that. I’m trying.

  ShirleyTemple: No. You don’t understand. It’s worse than that. One of us is a traitor.

  SamAdams: ? You mean one of us us?

  ShirleyTemple: Yes. It’s the only answer that makes sense.

  SamAdams: That’s a major accusation. We’ve been working together for years.

  ShirleyTemple: I know. But I can’t ignore the evidence.

  JoseCuervo: Just catching up. What the HELL are you saying, ShirleyTemple?

  ShirleyTemple: ….

  JoseCuervo: You think it’s me? I’m the one who started this!

  ShirleyTemple: I don’t know what to think. I only know that the key would’ve been destroyed if not for SamAdams, so it can’t be him.

  JoseCuervo: Well it’s not me. In fact, I don’t think it’s any of us. I have to believe it’s not.

  SamAdams: Hey, where’s BloodyMary?

  ShirleyTemple: ….

  JoseCuervo: She’s sometimes late…

  SamAdams: Not lately. And not this late.

  JoseCuervo: Oh no.

  “What is BloodyMary’s role?” Benson asks, squinting to try to remember everything Minda’s told him about the inner consortium leadership.

  Minda’s eyes are glued to JoseCuervo’s last post, her face ashen. Her response comes out in monotone, almost like a computer, with no human emotion attached to it. “She holds a mid-range government position, gaining her access to both the Saint Louis Mayor and the president’s offices.”

  “Do you trust her?” The question comes from Harrison.

  “Yes, of course. I mean, why wouldn’t I? She’s been with us from the beginning. We wouldn’t have made it this far without the top-secret information she’s been able to provide. She could’ve shut us down any time along the way. If it was her, why would she betray us now?”

  “Maybe she had a change of heart, or got cold feet?” Harrison suggests. Benson’s mind is sifting through the information, trying to make sense of it. Minda’s right that the facts don’t add up to the conclusion they seem to be reaching. His attention goes back to the holo as more words fill the air:

  JoseCuervo: I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt. I’m not saying it wasn’t her, but we don’t know the circumstances. They could have tortured it out of her.

  SamAdams: Regardless, we have to abandon this forum. We don’t know who might be watching it now.

  JoseCuervo: YOU have to get out NOW.

  SamAdams: I know. I’ll try.

  JoseCuervo: Good luck.

  SamAdams: Thanks. Hope to see you on the other side.

  JoseCuervo: Wait. Before we sign off, I have an update on the JD video situation.

  SamAdams: You know why it still hasn’t gone out?

  ShirleyTemple has logged off.

  “Why’d you do that?” Harrison demands. Janice stirs under his arm, and he manages to pull himself free of her to stand up.

  “It’s too risky to stay in that forum any longer. If someone’s watching, they might be able to determine our location.” Although her reasoning is hard to argue with, Benson agrees that it’s strange that she’d log off without even telling th
e other two why she was doing it. And the acronym used—JD—seems so familiar.

  “What were they talking about when you left?” Benson asks. “What’s the JD video?”

  “Nothing to concern yourself with,” Minda says quickly.

  Which, of course, only concerns Benson more. “You don’t trust us? I know you feel betrayed by someone, maybe this BloodyMary woman, but we’re on the Most Wanted List. I’d think you’d trust us enough not to keep any secrets.”

  “I do trust you,” Minda says. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  Benson’s brain manages to grab hold of a memory. Of another time he got to watch the Agriculturist’s Forum meet. When he found out his father was once the fifth member. He remembers his screen name. “JackDaniels,” he breathes.

  “I agree,” Harrison says. “Now’s the perfect time for a drink.”

  But he ignores his brother, his stare boring into Minda, who won’t look at him, studying her hands. “JD is JackDaniels, isn’t he?” Minda shakes her head, but he knows it’s not a rebuttal.

  “Oh crap,” Harrison says, remembering the connection now too. “Why are you talking about our father? What does he have to do with anything anymore?”

  “Minda,” Benson says sharply, and her eyes finally shoot up to meet his. “What video?”

  And then she tells him. She tells him and he goes upstairs to join Simon.

  ~~~

  Are you an ambitious teenager with dreams of serving your country?

  For the first time, the minimum age for service applications

  into the RUSA military has been lowered to 15 years old.

  The government trusts our teenagers with the defense of our great country,

  and WE WANT YOU!

  Speak ‘Join the fight’ into your holo-screen today.