The Fox Inheritance

by Mary E. Pearson

  "Right," I say. "And then we head to my house." Kara glances at me but says nothing. I know my house wasn't first on her list of places to visit, but as far as I can tell, my street would be the closest to where we are right now. She'll concede on this. Last night was a good night between us. It gave me hope that maybe she was right. We'll make a life together, somehow, someway, but right now we're going into the heart of Boston in the light of day, and I'm nervous enough to keep hope on hold. What will we see? Who will we see? Other than land pirates and the shadowy figures in the basement who mostly ignored us, we haven't seen anyone in this new world.

  At the end of the alley, Dot turns and takes us down another narrow street. Tall, decaying buildings rise up on either side, and they all appear empty. Windows are boarded up or broken. As we get farther down the street, we see signs of people. Sidewalks are swept, windows have shades, an orange cat eats from a bowl set on a doorstep, and finally, there are a few people out in cars or walking. At the end of the street is a large cart filled with baked goods and baskets of fruit. Dot stops and whistles to the woman tending the cart. "Hey, Lucia! Got a couple of tourists here. Lost their money. Can you spare a muffin or two?"

  "Ah, you and your tourists," the woman says, shaking her head. She grabs a bag and begins filling it with muffins, fruit, and boxes of juice. "Always with the tourists. You'd think you were the Statue of Liberty." She walks over with the filled bag and hands it to Dot through the window. "You need a new line, Miss Liberty." She leans down so she can get a better glimpse of us and then grunts at Dot. "Maybe these two really are tourists. They don't look like your usual free breakfasts."

  "Nothing usual about them at all," Dot says. "They're--"

  "Dot!" I lean forward. Dot may be enamored with our Escapee status, but I don't know how Lucia will feel about it or how loose her tongue might be. "We're from out of town," I say to Lucia. "Lost our money. How stupid is that? But we really appreciate your kindness."

  She frowns and nods at me.

  "What trouble have you gotten into now, Dot?" She waves her hand and walks away. "Don't tell me! I don't want to know!"

  "You're a gem among gems, Lucia," Dot calls after her.

  "I know, I know...."

  Kara is already biting into a muffin.

  "Did you see that?" I ask. "Just like the old neighborhood." Kara doesn't answer, but I'm feeling better already. "Now on to Francis Street."

  "Francis Street?" Dot says. "Let me check." She pauses, her eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. "No, I was right. No Francis Street in Boston."

  Chapter 22

  I thought maybe the street had been renamed or that Dot was simply wrong. So I gave her directions and told her to look for certain landmarks, and now I stand where my whole neighborhood once stood. It is not just Francis Street that's gone, but the street over from it, and the next one, and the next.

  All gone. Massive transgrid pilings drill into the earth where there used to be a house. My house. Or my neighbor's. It's hard to know exactly where I'm standing with everything gone. My only point of reference is the river across the way from it all, and even that has changed. High walls border it now. Dot told us that ocean levels have risen so much, most of Boston is below sea level now and has to be protected by a levee system.

  "Come back in the car," Kara calls. "Let's go!"

  I remember my iScroll and as a last resort turn it on, hoping there's a search app I don't know about. Maybe there's some mistake. Maybe I'm just not remembering right. It's been so long.

  "Jenkins. Francis Street."

  There is no response. The only thing my iScroll is programmed for are the shallow games that Dr. Gatsbro used to keep a gullible boy distracted. I picture his bloody head on the floor of the study again and feel none of the remorse of yesterday.

  I stare, unable to leave. I know looking at ramps and pilings won't make my old life appear or bring back my family, but I search for anything, maybe just something in the air that still holds traces of my life. I don't believe in ghosts, but I can almost hear my mom calling me in for dinner. Locke! Dinnertime. Your turn to set the table. I can almost laugh at how naive I was. Miesha's right, I am just a boy. I half believed that my distant nieces or nephews would be right here, strolling the same streets. That I'd spot one who looked just like my brother or sister. They would spot me. We would recognize something familiar in each other. I'd go home and have dinner with them. That--

  That there would be something.

  "Locke! We're going to leave without you if you don't get back in the car right now."

  Kara's right. We need to go. We need to find something to help us survive, and there's nothing here.

  The trip across town is fast. Dot is able to use the commercial lanes that dump us right into the heart of the old city. The immediate waterfront has been spared the ugly levee walls. Instead, they are situated farther out in the harbor. The streets are still packed with tourists, and the street names are still the same. This bodes well for Kara.

  "Turn here," Kara says. She leans forward, stretching, taking in every detail, like she is searching for a niece or nephew too. Or maybe something else.

  Dot stops the car.

  "What are you doing?" Kara demands.

  "The street is closed ahead. Pedestrian traffic only. Fewer flattened Eaters and Breathers that way. But I can--"

  "What are you talking about?" But Kara doesn't wait for an answer. She is already throwing her door open.

  "We'll be back," I tell Dot. I hurry after Kara and call over my shoulder to Dot, "Meet you back here, okay?" I don't wait to see if Dot nods. I am rushing to catch up with Kara. I fall into step beside her like I know where we're going. The clothing and hairstyles of those passing us have changed, but people still look like people, and the streets are still crowded. "I think we almost fit in."

  Kara stares straight ahead, ignoring the people around us. "We do fit in. We have every right to be here. Just you wait." Her voice is distant, like she is talking to someone else. Like she is someone I don't even know. This is the Kara that frightens me.

  I grab her hand. "Kara, your house was over that way--"

  She stops and faces me, tilting her head to the side. "You think I don't know where I live, Locke? It's morning. My mom would be at work. The firm is over this--"

  "Kara. Your mom--" But I can't finish. Her eyes are cutting through me. Your mom won't be at work. She knows that. She has to. I squeeze her hand and nod. "Sorry. You lead the way."

  A half block away, the truth is revealed, so I don't have to say anything. There is no sign. No firm. No help. The historic building is still there, but Brown, Kirk, and Manning is gone. Kara inquires inside.

  "Who?" the receptionist Bot asks. "Can you repeat that, please?"

  Kara shakes her head and runs out without answering.

  On the sidewalk her breaths come in gulps. "Stupid Bot! Everyone knew Brown, Kirk, and Manning. The freaking Queen of England knew who they were."

  Watching her is worse than looking at the landscape of pilings where my house once stood. There is nothing I can do to change this for her. I didn't cry at my loss, but I want to cry for hers. The pain claws at my throat, but I swallow it away. "It's been a long time, Kara," I whisper.

  "My house! My parents would never sell the house. It's been in the family forever." She is already walking down the street in another direction, and I follow. If I could think of anything to stop her, I would.

  Her pace is brisk. She bumps shoulders with others on the sidewalk without apology. I hurry beside her to keep up, trying to dodge the shoulders, elbows, and feet that she ignores. Within minutes we are turning down the priciest streets in Boston. We arrive at her house on Beacon Hill--at least what's left of it. The front wall is rubble, and a rotten door frame stands at the top of the stairs like a ghostly portal. The houses on either side are in the same state of decay. They are all fenced off with a sign posted in front of each one. The sign in front of Kara's says


  BOSTON RESTORATION PROJECT PENDING FUNDS

  FORMER HOME OF

  SENATOR JOHN FARRELL, 2091-2186

  She stares at the rubble without speaking.

  "Kara, we knew that things would--"

  "I don't even know who Senator Farrell is. It was our house long before he--" She takes off, running down the street.

  I chase after her. "Kara! Wait!" I know where she's going. There's only one place left to go. She zigzags down streets. Geraniums, cobblestones, and black shutters race past our vision. Heads turn, watching us. We can't afford to attract attention. I strain to overtake her, but it's like she's on fire. She makes the last turn, and the crowds thicken. We weave in and out, and I lose sight of her several times, but we arrive at our destination at the same time. We stand in front of a perfectly restored brownstone of massive proportions. Bright red geraniums overflow from every window box, and a sign overhead declares its present use:

  CLAYTON BENDER ART GALLERY & MUSEUM

  In a street-level window is a small, dark green plaque with gold lettering.

  HISTORIC HOME OF JENNA ANGELINE FOX

  FOR WHOM THE JENNA STANDARD IS NAMED

  Kara runs up the wide stairway, throws open the door, and enters. "Where is she?"

  The woman sitting behind a desk is startled, but she smiles. "Are you looking for a particular artist?"

  "Jenna Fox! Where is she?"

  "On the next floor there's a fabulous gallery dedicated to artifacts from her childhood and historic period. Would you like to--"

  "No! I mean the person. The real Jenna Fox. Where is she?"

  The woman laughs. "Oh, her. She hasn't lived here in centuries. She's given a free long-term lease on this mansion to the Boston Art Guild to promote local artists. She's a great patron of--"

  "Where is she now?"

  The woman's smile fades. Her brow wrinkles, and she pushes her chair back a few inches. "Why, everyone knows. She's lived in California for years. Oak Creek. A small town just north of San Diego. I don't think--"

  The woman stops talking. I watch the fear spreading across her face as she looks at Kara.

  "Thank you," I say. "We appreciate your help." I pull Kara out of the gallery before the woman calls for help or security or whatever frightened people do now.

  I hurry Kara along by the elbow, and when I look back, I see the woman has come out to the steps of the gallery and is watching us. I turn down the first side street and then down a narrow alley.

  Kara still hasn't said a word. Halfway down the alley, I stop and take her face in both of my hands. "Kara," I whisper. "Kara."

  She looks at me, her eyes dead. "California."

  I lower my mouth to hers, wanting to take the deadness away from her eyes, wanting to be more important than Jenna, wanting to change something when I've never been able to change anything. I know immediately I have made the wrong choice. Her lips are hard and unresponsive. I pull her close to me instead.

  "It doesn't matter," I say. "We'll be okay. We have each other. Dot will help us. Kara, I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  "Locke," she whispers into my ear. "Oh, no. No. Locke." I think she is finally reaching out to me, and I feel a surge inside, but then she pushes me away. She shakes her head, her eyes focused somewhere behind me. An icy chill tingles across the back of my neck, and I slowly turn around.

  Chapter 23

  "Hello, Locke. And my lovely Kara."

  Dr. Gatsbro stands at the end of the alley, flanked by Hari on one side and two goons I don't recognize on the other. A large bandage covers one side of his forehead. I turn to tell Kara to run, but behind us are two more goons, Miesha, and a long black limo blocking the other end of the alley.

  "That's right, Locke. There's nowhere to go, except back to the estate. Did you really think I would just let you leave? You're far too valuable for me to let you go."

  "We're not going with you," Kara says.

  Dr. Gatsbro laughs. "Of course you are." He steps closer. "And you don't want to make this difficult, trust me. Remember, this is my world, not yours." The pupils of his eyes are enraged pinpoints, while the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. "I knew it was just a matter of time before you turned on your iScroll. Once we locked onto the signal, we didn't let go. We knew you would head to Boston, but you told us precisely where to find you. Thank you."

  I look at my palm, at the iScroll, thin as a tattoo and just as hard to remove. It was my fault. I led him to us.

  I drop my hand to my side. "You heard her. We're not going with you."

  Dr. Gatsbro raises his eyebrows like he is mildly amused and then nods. In almost the same instant, heavy hands are on my shoulders, pushing and slamming me up against the brick wall. My head explodes with pain and the edge of a brick slices into my lip. My arms are pinned behind my back, and I am swung around. Something else slams into my stomach. I double over but am jerked back upright, my arms still wrenched behind my back. I can't breathe, can't see, but I hear yelling. Miesha and Kara screaming. I try to get my bearings, then feel another blow across my jaw. My legs dangle somewhere beneath me, and I try to straighten them so I can stand, but I can't seem to find level ground. I hear taunts--not very bright, slow to catch on. Anger overtakes the pain, and I find the strength in my legs to stand. I breathe in sharply, forcing air into my lungs. I look up and see Dr. Gatsbro standing directly in front of me. Miesha stands a few feet behind him, wringing her hands and shaking her head. Kara is held in the grip of a goon just behind them both, his hand clasped over her mouth and a red welt forming across the side of her face. I jerk against the arms holding me so I can get to her, but the arms squeeze tighter.

  "We can do this all day, Locke," Gatsbro says. "I can always repair any significant damage back at the labs. But we don't want it to come to that, do we?"

  I glare at Gatsbro. "That's all we are, isn't it? Merchandise. Floor models. That's why you changed me. Made me taller. Changed my eyes. Made my--"

  "Come now, Locke. I don't see you complaining about all of the changes." He motions with his hand at my body. "Some were probably an improvement, don't you think?" His knee thrusts forward. Pain shoots like lightning to my lungs, eyes, back, and legs all at once and I collapse.

  "I think we're done here. Go ahead and load him in the car. The girl too."

  "Dr. Gatsbro, he's going to need medical attention."

  "What do you think I am, Miesha? Besides, it's just superficial. My men are well trained."

  "But, Dr. Gats--"

  "Shut up, Miesha! Get in the car! I only brought you along to tend to the girl."

  They drag me down the alley. I don't struggle. I'll only have one chance, and I wait for it. I hang limp in the arms that hold me, using that time to gather whatever strength I have, trying to block out the pain, keeping my eyelids nearly closed but carefully watching the ground below me. Focus. Fire rages through me, but I remain limp. It takes every bit of my will. Get ready, Kara. I watch the bottom of a car door swing open and the feet below me maneuver to throw us in. Get ready. I see the legs of the goon who holds Kara. I spring forward with all my strength, breaking free of the grip on my arms, and smash the door into his pelvis. I hear the crack of bone and his scream.

  "Run, Kara!"

  They are already grabbing at my arms again, but before they can stop me, I swing my leg out and catch another one in the back, sending him flying into a wall. Percel's lessons paid off after all. They tackle me to the ground, but not before I see Kara running down the alley, the remaining two goons in pursuit. If she can make it to the crowds, she'll have a chance. Another blow finds my ribs, and I hear the crack of my own bones, or whatever it is I have now, and then a boot finds my stomach.

  Dr. Gatsbro is shouting orders. "Go! Help them! Get her! She can't get away!" The goons throw me in the car and slam the door. I writhe on the floor. I feel 100 percent human--150 percent. Too human. Every bloody inch of me. But even through all the pain, I smile, at least somewhere inside. She got away.


  Run, Kara. Find Dot. Run....

  I hear the click of the door locks and a voice.

  "Hold on." The car lurches forward. I hear the crashing of fenders or trash cans. Metal.

  "I'm a dead woman."

  I look up at the driver. It is Miesha.

  Chapter 24

  Dr. Gatsbro tries to follow, banging on the windows. "Open this! Open up now! I'm warning you--"

  Miesha accelerates.

  "Dead. So dead." She swerves around a corner. I try to drag myself up to the seat but fall back to the floor when the car bumps over something. A curb I hope, and not a person.

  "Dead."

  I drag myself up again, gasping as each stabbing pain takes my breath away. I lean against the door for support and try to see what's going on. "What are you doing, Miesha?"

  "Saving your skinny ass."

  "It's not so--" I freeze my breaths as pain grips my chest. I taste something warm and salty in my mouth. Blood. "Skinny."

  "Quiet!" she says. "I can barely drive this thing, much less listen to you!"

  "Kilby and State," I gasp. "Go. There. Cab waiting. That's where--" I draw in a shallow breath. All I want to do is shut up and pass out, but I can't. At least not yet. "That's where Kara will go."

  I hear the scrape of metal as the car hits bottom on a dip and feel the jolt in my ribs. It shoots through my body like lightning. "Slow down!" I yell, not just for the sake of my ribs--if she keeps driving like a maniac, we're sure to be stopped, or to crash. The car slows.

  "Kilby and State. Kilby and State. Where the hell..."

  I lay my head back and close my eyes. "A block from Faneuil Hall. South."

  She doesn't respond. She just keeps mumbling words that spell our doom.

  I try to time my breaths, forcing them in slowly and letting them out the same way. Focus, Locke. Run, Kara. We're coming. "Hurry," I tell Miesha.