by D. K. Dailey
I edge toward the man. When I first saw him in the light I only noticed he was old and grayed, but now his mountain of wrinkles and knotted beard stand out. “But you know what, Kade Shaw? I think this might be my last time here.”
Why does he sound sad? He likes jail. “Did you learn something new this time? Tired of being a career criminal?” I forget my troubles for a moment.
With his back to me, he turns toward his cell wall. “By the way they’ve been treating one of their own, I’m done for. I’ve seen too much.” Melancholy drains from his voice. He’s accepted the possibility that he will die soon. He laughs but then stops as abruptly as he started.
“You’re cuckoo, old man.”
“We’re one and the same.” His words and my recent conversations have me reeling. There’s a chance I’ll be executed, or maybe my parents will find a way to save me. The old man makes me wonder if, in predicting his own future, he has predicted mine, too.
Chapter Thirteen
It’s late afternoon. Voices impose on my already tainted sleep pattern. From the jail’s main room, sounds travel to our cells, ricocheting off the concrete and metal.
“They’re coming. Their leader is sly. Decided before I did.” The old man gets up from his cot. “Shucky.”
He mumbles more nonsense, but I follow his lead, reaching the bars first with swiftness he lacks. “No last meal?”
He laughs, and my question remains rhetorical. A group of cops stands at the other end of the corridor.
A new guard’s voice rings through the hall. “They want to take him now? It’s not scheduled until tonight.”
“Are you questioning the premier’s orders?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not.”
“You saw the order. We take him now.”
Guards in skintight silver uniforms and eclipse-shaped dark helmets march into view. Like matching superhero outfits, their uniforms accentuate the muscles with breastplates and silky, stretchy material. It should be illegal for prison guards to have that much sex appeal. Trying not to look at the girl in the group, I focus on the three guys.
The faces hiding behind the helmets make me antsy, as if they’re death dealers. They’re only doing their jobs, comfortable in the knowledge they will escort me to my death.
Marching in step, they halt before my cage. They stand straight with hands behind their backs as the bars disappear. A sharp buzzing warns that the electricity’s off.
I stand, prepared to face my imminent demise head-on.
“Put your hands together,” an officer orders.
My wrists touch, and he effortlessly slaps on e-chains. Then all four guards corral around me: one in front, one in back, and two on either side. We then march off together. My mind races, and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. My palms sweat, and I’m close to hyperventilating.
Suddenly, the hallway is impossibly long. The tread of boots—tap, tap, tap—on the cement floor and the swaying of my e-chains—jingle, jingle, jingle—sing an eerie death knell as my thoughts run wild.
I will be dead soon. DEAD! My mind can’t process what’s about to happen. If I don’t fight for my future, then who will? A vision of my parents, Ems, Noodle, Nell, and even the Dreg girl enters my mind. I will never see any of them again.
A radio somewhere blares, “He’s not authorized to be transported yet.”
“They cleared the security check, and you said—” the lone cop on duty argues.
“That was a mistake. Someone hacked the system.”
Wait, are these people here to rescue me? Is my father staging a breakout?
“He’s not authorized for transport. Dispatching backup now.”
Bitterness explodes inside as I stare at my feet. No, this is my death march. Mom made it clear: fate will determine my outcome.
An alert buzzes in the hallway, accompanied by blinking lights. Banging startles my captors into shouts. I flinch when a bullet whizzes past my skull and ricochets off the wall.
“Duck, Kade!” the woman guard shouts, and I follow the order instinctively. Over my head comes another shot. An officer standing about thirty feet away from us blocks the entrance.
“I knew we wouldn’t make it out this easy,” the guard to my right says.
“Step away from the prisoner! You’re not authorized to take him.”
“You’d think he’d say that first and then shoot,” the guard to my left quips.
I’m low to the ground as yet another guard pushes me against the wall into a crevice where the bathroom is. He steps in front of me as they return fire. I try to run but one of the guards knees me in the stomach.
I crumble to the ground as the lone jail officer is shot. Grabbing his neck, he slinks to the floor with me. In the background, the radio booms, “Backup approaching.” Too late for him now.
Another guard pulls me up, and we run down the hall past the fallen officer. My rescuers stay in formation—one behind, one ahead, and two flanking me—protecting me as we move. Toward the end of the hall, I slow when another officer comes out of nowhere. As the new one steps inside my guards’ range of fire, gun held in front of him, he roars, “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
Behind him a few more officers swarm into the building with their backs against the wall and guns drawn. Five stand between us and escape.
I flinch as more shots ring out and dive to the floor. It’s hard to shoot someone lying down unless you’re standing over them. That’s what I hope, anyway. One of the guys protecting me goes down yelling, and I look back at him. Blood gushes out of his torso from under his uniform, apple red against silver-metallic fabric.
The woman flattens her body over him while the other two guys lay down fire in front of us. The cops succumb to the barrage of shots. I cover my head with my hands and flatten my body onto the freezing concrete.
“Get up, Cress.” The woman’s voice is muffled under her helmet. “We’re not leaving you.”
Cress? That’s the guy’s name from outside the skate park.
“Go.” Cress lifts his hand toward the exit.
The shooting has died down and bodies lay limp, scattered in the hallway.
“Tomorrow’s a new day,” he grunts. “Go…” Grunt. “…now!”
He presses a biohealer into the palm of her hand. She scrutinizes it. “We can use it on you.”
He shakes his head. “We only have one.”
The woman’s voice cracks when she speaks again. “We don’t leave people behind.” She coddles Cress’s head in her hands and nods toward me.
After removing Cress’s helmet, she sweeps a hand through his electric-gecko-blue hair. Definitely the guy from outside the skate park. Does that make her the Dreg girl? First the skate park, then the market, and now she’s rescuing me from jail. She’s a part of a Dreg rescue team but she hates me.
“Time to go,” one of the guys calls near the exit.
“We don’t leave anyone behind!” she screams.
She knows he’s dying. The blood pouring from his torso means he’s already gone. Not even a biohealer could repair him now.
“When they’re dead, you do,” Cress murmurs before his eyes close.
“No! No!” She touches his face. “Mercy, all over again, No!”
“Time to go!” The guy by the exit yells.
I stand, picking her up with me, and she tucks the biohealer away into a pocket. A weight has left her body. She’s given up, lost the irreplaceable. She’s weak but shakes me off once she’s standing. We run to catch up to the other two.
“Who are you guys?” I ask as we trek hallway after hallway through the jail.
“People you owe a lot to.” Every word from her is razor-sharp. “And you better be worth it.”
Wasting no time, we gather into a new formation. This time, they stack my sides, and the girl stands behind me. Homemade bombs help them break through a series of secure doors and gates and, in no time, we pile onto a busy street.
The early evening sunlight is blin
ding, and I shield my eyes. The difference in air pressure from the hot prison cell staggers me, too. The air hits my face, and the coldness dries out my lungs. The large army-green jail door behind me—four times as big as any other door around and surrounded by a high wall—blends in with the city’s mismatched buildings. You would never know a jail exists behind it.
Walking quickly, we pass metal and glass buildings alike. Since my rescuers wear sleek officer’s uniforms and I’m dressed in a prisoner’s jumpsuit, the crowd makes way for us. Seeing squads on the streets is normal since they’re always out upholding order, keeping Dregs in line.
Without my parents’ help, fate has stepped in. I’m out of trouble and may not be killed today after all.
Chapter Fourteen
We duck into the first alley. Opening a switchblade, the Dreg girl stalks toward me. “Zee, Rigo, hold him down.” Her two partners in crime push me back against a wall.
I study our location. The Dregs surrounding us go about their business as if nothing is about to happen to me. No help from a stranger, that’s for positive.
I can’t move. Should I struggle or not? I wish I could see their faces or at least hers. Then maybe I’d know whether to be scared.
They did rescue me from execution, but what do they want? They broke the law to rescue me, killing Goldens in the process. I must be pretty important to them, right?
They can’t possibly want to kill me, but the switchblade suggests otherwise.
“What—what are you gonna do?”
“Ah, look at him, Saya, stuttering like a little ole baby,” one of the guys teases.
Saya. That’s her name.
“Shut up, Rigo.” She waves the blade inches from my wrist.
“Tell me what you’re doing first.” I struggle against their hold, one eye on the blade.
“We have to cut out your c-chip. The only way you go with us is if it’s out,” Zee says.
I search for Saya’s eyes through her helmet. The tint is too dark on the plastic but I think we lock glances briefly.
“Trust me.” Lifting up on her toes, she presses the blade to my wrist.
I pull back. Is she cuckoo?
“What’s that scar?” She points to the half moon on my wrist. “Have you taken it out without a biohealer to heal the wound?”
“I don’t know. Had it all my life.”
“Hurry up. Squads are everywhere,” Zee says.
I take a deep breath. Her hand trembles, yet she slices my left wrist open. I jerk back before she’s finished, but the blade scrapes across my flesh anyway. She pressed too hard, hit a vein. Or maybe I moved and caused this blood to spurt out. Nonetheless, she digs a fingernail in and scrapes out the paper-thin metal square that’s been implanted in me since birth and throws it on the ground.
Then they release me. The pungent smell of burning iron settles under my nose. And my chest feels heavy. I’m no one without my c-chip. Lightness touches my head as more blood gushes from my wrist. I try to speak but can’t. She must have cut a blood vessel. I’m dying. Blackness…All there is…is…blackness.
“Wake up, Golden boy.” Saya slaps my cheek. “You passed out, and you moved when I was cutting you. Stupid. Stupid, doink.”
The slurping biohealer dies. On my wrist, wrecked cells have healed and lost blood has been replenished. Now, my skin is restructuring. Good for one use, a biohealer costs upward of thirty thousand points or so. “How’d you guys get one of those?”
Rigo rises to his feet. “He’s the reason Cress is dead. We could’ve used it on him.”
With their helmets on, their faces remain hidden, which annoys me. Saya begins to wrap a bandage around my wrist even though it’s healed.
“Pike said he’d be difficult,” Rigo says.
“I almost died. How is that being difficult?”
Rigo walks near the edge of the alley. “We’ve got to get to the bubbles now. Don’t take your helmet off till you have to. That should help us avoid being caught and identified by the few cameras they do have.” He then turns back to us and straightens his posture. “And your doink question carries the implication that we shouldn’t have biohealers. That’s why you’re being difficult, Kade Shaw. Just cuz we’re Dreg doesn’t mean anything.”
Saya finishes the wrist wrap and stands. “Rigo, Cress passed the biohealer off to me. Told me not to use it on him. And Kade, once in a while we get our hands on meds if we raid hospitals. Pike told Cress to bring one for you.” Sighing, she presses her lips tight on the last sentence. “There, I saved you two doinks an argument.”
Rigo stalks down the alley. “Just one biohealer, Saya? That’s stupid. What if more of us were injured?”
I stand with the help of Zee, whose helmet visor is up now. His light-brown eyes burn into me. Something about him seems calmer than the other two.
“I don’t have time to deal with your shucky.” Saya says.
Rigo looks down at the ground. I can tell already that she’s the kind of girl that traps eyes, feelings, and thoughts and never lets them go.
“Follow me, you guys.” Zee fidgets with his helmet and then waves us forward.
“I don’t think that’s such a—”
“Don’t have time to vote, bro. And you don’t get a vote anyway. Let’s go.” Pushing down his visor, Zee breaks from the alley, and we slip back onto packed streets.
“Make way for the prisoner,” Rigo bellows whenever our presence isn’t noticed.
“Can’t keep this up,” Saya murmurs. “Men and their stupid ideas.”
“Bubble’s only half a mile away. You know where, eh?” Rigo whispers back.
“Yeah.” She nods.
“We’re going to have to split up soon.” Zee moves his head back and forth like he’s scanning the crowd.
“Alert. Alert,” a mechanical voice from the news system blares. Flashscreens burn images of my face into the air. Several feet long and wide, the images catch everyone’s attention in my vicinity. In the digital, I look innocent, smiling like nothing could ever bother me. “Wanted, escaped criminal Kade Shaw. Wanted, Kade Shaw,” the alert repeats before silencing.
“Run!” Saya hisses and breaks formation. “Split up now!”
Rigo shakes her around to face him. “We stick together until we can’t!”
“We split up!” she repeats.
“No. We go to the first bubble location or the backups on Polk or Lombard,” Rigo argues.
“Rigo, let’s split up,” Zee reaffirms Saya’s order.
“I’ll take him.” She rotates toward me. “Follow me.”
“Not so fast.” An officer approaches, surrounded by cop squads with guns drawn.
“Remove your helmets. Identify yourselves.” The leader points his weapon at us.
We turn. Saya, Rigo, and Zee draw their guns. I back up, hands in the air.
“Take off your helmets!” the lead cop yells.
They wasted too much time. A short taste of freedom…Is that all I’m going to get before I die?
Zee takes off his helmet first, revealing his platinum-blond buzz cut and heavily tattooed neck. Straightaway, he stands out as a Dreg. Rigo takes his helmet off next. Black hair and dark eyes make him average-looking—Italian descent maybe—with average build.
Both their faces look familiar. The guys with Cress in the skate park? Their helmets roll onto the ground, and they drop their guns.
My pulse races, and I’m sweating. The next few moments could be the difference between life and death.
Saya is about to take off her helmet, and everything slows down in this instant. Shaking her head free, she swings her wavy purple hair, cut asymmetrically into a messy bob, and it falls around her round face. She looks back at me. I gaze into her eyes. Intensity builds in them. She’s determined not to be stopped. Her jaw clenches as she breaks visual contact to look at the surrounding officers.
She’s unequivocally the girl from outside my skate park and the market. My heart ceases to beat. Air c
atches in my throat, and heat rushes to my face. I guessed it could be her. Wished it could be. But didn’t know.
The Dreg girl is one of my rescuers.
A girl rescuing a guy. Ridiculous. And embarrassing.
She’s seen me at my weakest point. Not a great impression.
I try to look at the good side of this situation. I thought I’d never see her again, and now our paths have crossed. Despite how cuckoo it is, a moment of relief intervenes, followed by a miniscule moment of happiness.
Saya counts off, “One…two…three,” and they peel new weapons from inside their belts: flat, black stars. They fling them at the cops, their speed and aim unmatched. The closest officers fall unconscious immediately.
Shots rain down on us, but they’re not coming from anyone’s guns on the ground. They’re from above. Taking advantage of the distraction as everybody protects themselves from overhead fire, we make our escape.
“This way,” Saya yells, and we’re back to running through the streets. After a few blocks, she dips into an alleyway and starts to undress.
“What are you doing?” I turn my back to her, for the sake of her modesty. But then the boys undress, too, so I turn toward her. If they can look, I can, too.
“Don’t flatter yourself, rich boy,” Saya says.
They rip off their cop jumpsuits, and I’m surprised they have second-skin outfits on underneath. When they yank on them, the outfits flare into shirts and pants. Boy, these people were prepared.
“Don’t even think about it,” Rigo echoes her sentiment. Fully clothed now, he glares at me as he stands by her side, wearing black cargo pants and a black shirt.
They seem close, like each one would die for the other. Touching, the pair share a long emotional look. But he couldn’t be her mate now.
“Take this.” She throws me a black T-shirt. I roll down the jail jumpsuit and wrap the sleeves around my waist. Hopefully, I don’t look like a prisoner on the loose anymore.
I strip to put on the shirt. Out of the corner of my eye, she’s eyeballing my eight-pack with greedy eyes. Good, I’m not the only one lusting. A smile smothers my face. She thinks I’m good-looking, at least.