Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2)

by David Estes

  “That’s what they call it,” Benson agrees.

  “So the Lifers created Refuge but they’re also bombing the big cities?” Destiny asks.

  “Correct,” Benson says. “Screwed up, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know,” Luce says. “Somebody had to do something about Pop Con. We can’t hide forever.”

  “We can try,” Benson says.

  “I can’t run anymore,” Destiny says. “Hiding sounds better than running.”

  Luce blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, I—Benson and I have only been running from them for a short time. You’ve been doing it your whole life.”

  “It’s okay,” Destiny says. “I’m glad to be here.”

  “We’re glad you made it,” Benson says. In reality, he’s still in a state of shock. There aren’t supposed to be other Slips his age. There aren’t supposed to be Slips at all.

  “I wouldn’t have if not for your brother and Minda,” Destiny says, scooting away from the holo-screen, as if it might try to bite her. “Those AttackDogs had me trapped.”

  “Harrison thought you were doing pretty well on your own,” Benson says. “And he doesn’t give out many compliments.”

  Destiny looks embarrassed at Benson’s comment, unable to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do now?” she asks, changing the subject.

  “I don’t know,” Benson says, the only answer he’s got. “Before we got here, all I wanted were answers. But now that I’ve got them, there’s nothing left to learn.”

  Destiny frowns, surprised. “There’s always more to learn,” she says. “The world is a big place.”

  “Not for me,” Benson says. “My world is nothing but four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. And now my world is your world.”

  “Well, that’s depressing, Bense,” Luce says. “Maybe we should’ve gone to that party, sounds like you need to get out.”

  “Sorry,” Benson says. “I don’t mean to be depressing. The world just seems a lot heavier these days.” Like a concrete block on his shoulders. Like thick chains and an iron anchor dragging him to the bottom of the Mississippi.

  “It’s been heavy for me my entire life,” Destiny says. “So I pumped it full of air and made it light. Then I did it again. Every day I have to add air to it or it’ll collapse on my head.”

  Benson likes the analogy. It reminds him of things that both Janice and his father would say when he was young. Almost like a combination of both their wisdom. “How do you do it?” Benson asks, deeply curious now. How do you go on in a world where no one wants you? he adds in his head.

  “Do what?” Destiny says, twirling a frizzy curl of hair on her finger.

  Benson sighs deeply. “Sometimes I feel like there was an epic mistake and I was dropped on the wrong planet or something. Like I should’ve been on Earth 2 in some other galaxy and I ended up here. So I guess what I’m asking is how you find meaning in a world that doesn’t fit you exactly right?”

  Destiny’s big brown eyes seem full of answers and Benson finds himself leaning in. “No one fits this world exactly right,” she says. “Some of us are just better at pretending. You love her, right?” she says.

  Benson flushes, wondering who she means. Luce or Janice?

  Destiny glances back and forth between the two. “Zoran says it’s nice to meet you,” Janice says to Destiny.

  “It’s nice to meet him, too,” Destiny says. Looking back at Benson, she says, “Well?”

  “Yes,” Benson says, and he knows his answer is for both of the other women in the room. He loves Janice. Maybe he doesn’t understand her exactly, not anymore, but he still loves the woman who raised him, who protected him, who lost her mind when she thought he was dead. And he loves Luce, from her rough edges to her soft heart, and everything in between. From her past to her present to her uncertain future. A future he hopes is with him.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Destiny asks.

  Right then, Benson knows it is and it always should’ve been. The meaning in his life is right in front of him, next to him, all around him. And he does fit. He does belong. Not necessarily in a particular place, but with particular people. They’re his people. His friends. His family. His life. He smiles a very real smile, one he thought he might never smile again. The Slip named Destiny has reminded him that all hope is not lost. Hope is never lost while there is love.

  Luce crawls over to him, sharing his space without touching, and yet making it feel as intimate as a lover’s embrace. “Thank you,” she says to Destiny. “Thank you for coming here.”

  The door bursts open, rattling as it rebounds off the concrete wall on the inside. Harrison enters first, hauling a bucket full of cans. “Yo,” he says, seeing Benson and Luce.

  Rod and Gonzo come in next, holding each other up. “What ish thish, a funeral?” Gonzo says.

  “More like a séance,” Rod says, eyeing Janice with her arms and legs spread wide on the floor.

  Check strides in last, seeming more alert than the others, his eyes finding Benson and Luce right away. If he registers their nearness, it doesn’t show on his face. In fact, he immediately scoots onto the bed, pushing in between them. He drapes an arm around both their shoulders, like an eagle spreading his wings. Benson’s throat tightens as he remembers the promise he made Luce—that he’d tell Check about them tonight. But he can’t do it with all these people around, can he?

  Harrison steps around Janice, says, “Hi, beautiful,” and dumps the bucket on the floor. His eyes roam to the other side to find Destiny. “Hi, other beautiful,” he says. He’s acting exceptionally outgoing, even for Harrison. Clearly whatever he’s been drinking is enhancing his personality.

  Destiny smiles shyly, but manages to slide over to make room. Harrison grabs two cans from the bucket and fills the space on her bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. He presses a button on the can and a straw slides upwards. “Fizzer?” he says. Seeing the suspicious look that crosses her face, he says, “I swear it’s just a fizzer. Nothing else.”

  She accepts the can and takes a cautious sip. “It’s good,” she says.

  “Good,” Janice agrees, slurping from her own straw. She dumps a small amount on Benson’s old Zoran watch.

  Rod and Gonzo pass cans all around and they settle in on a third bed.

  “Good party?” Benson asks.

  “Well, we didn’t kill each other,” Harrison says. “So that’s good.” Benson’s surprised to see his brother getting along with his friends, but he’s not about to question it.

  “What happened to your face?” Destiny asks.

  Harrison raises a hand to his forehead, as if just remembering something. “Simon and I went head to head. Literally.”

  Destiny laughs. “I meant the clown paint.”

  Harrison raises an eyebrow and then shoots a glare at Rod. “You!” he says, pointing a finger at the Jumper. “You made me look like a clown?”

  “Shorry. I thought you were a jerk before.”

  “And now?” Harrison says.

  “I shtill think you’re a jerk. But short of cool, too.”

  Harrison thinks about it for a minute, and then shrugs. Benson breathes again, thankful he isn’t going to have to break up another fight.

  “How are you two lovebirds doing?” Harrison says. Benson freezes. His eyes meet Harrison’s, who looks vacant of intelligence. Don’t, he pleads across the space between the two beds, trying to harness any special bond between twins they might have. “Oops,” Harrison says, which only draws more attention to his verbal blunder.

  “What’s he talking about?” Check says, sensing Benson’s discomfort.

  “What’s he talking about?” Benson echoes, sounding like an idiot.

  Check’s head snaps back and forth between Benson and Luce, his eyes even darker than usual. “Waitwaitwaitwaitwait,” he mutters. Benson can clearly see the wheels turning in his friend’s head. “You”—he jabs his head sharply in Benson’s direction—“and Luce?”

/>   Flames seem to lick at Benson’s face, and he almost feels as if he’s lifted off the bed, floating above the very scene he’s been avoiding for some time. “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you—”

  He’s cut off when Check drags him to his feet, tightening him into a headlock, ignoring Harrison’s howl of protest. “You and freaking Luce,” he mutters, squeezing hard enough for stars to appear before Benson’s eyes.

  “Oops,” Harrison says again, not sounding sorry at all.

  “Check, cut it out,” Luce commands.

  Benson’s best friend ignores her, leaning in close to Benson’s face. “You could’ve told me,” he spits. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “I’m sorry,” Benson chokes out, gasping for breath.

  “Not good enough,” Check says, simultaneously shoving him back the moment he releases him. Benson stumbles back a few steps, coughing once, his hands on his knees. Although he doesn’t want to, he looks at Check through his bangs. “How long?” Check demands.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Luce says.

  Check whirls on her. “It does to me.”

  Benson has never seen his friend so angry, certainly never at Luce. He’s never so much as raised his voice with her. But when he turns back to Benson, the fight seems to drain out of him, falling away like a cracked outer shell. “How long?” he asks again.

  Benson glances at Luce, who nods encouragingly. Tell the truth. “It happened so fast,” he says. Even as he says it, he knows it’s such a cliché thing to say. The worst thing to say. He starts again, feeling his mother’s and brother’s eyes on him. “Things progressed just before everything went down.” He’s about to make another excuse, but stops himself. Focuses on the truth. The truth his friend has deserved for a long time. “I had chances to tell you before we were attacked, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

  Check shakes his head and his expression is far worse than the rage-filled face he wore earlier. Disappointment is heavy in his eyes and the slack set of his jaw. “That’s not what I was asking. How long have you LIKED her? Weeks? Months? Years?”

  Oh. Of course. While Check was expressing his interest in Luce quite publicly for some time, Benson was silently keeping his own feelings close to his chest. “A long time,” he admits. “Years.”

  Check shakes his head again, his mouth pursing into a thin line of bitterness. “I told you everything,” Check says. “I expected you to do the same. Even the hard stuff. Those were the things we were supposed to tell each other. Because we were best friends.” The last two words come out like a curse pushed between clenched teeth.

  “I—I’m sorry,” Benson says again, although he knows it’s too little, too late.

  “You know the sad thing?” Check says.

  Benson can think of a lot of sad things right now, but he doesn’t know which one Check is referring to. He bobs his head from side to side.

  “I suspected there was something there. Despite my own feelings for Luce, I thought you two were better suited. I almost wanted you to show some interest in her. You’re two of my best friends—I’m not oblivious. I knew you had some kind of a connection Luce and I would never have, but I thought that if there was something more than friendship you would tell me.”

  Benson says nothing, his legs feeling heavy, as if they’re sinking into the floor. He thought that by keeping this from Check he was protecting him. In reality, every lie between friends has the destructive force of a tsunami, he realizes.

  “You should be angry at me, too,” Luce says.

  “You never led me on,” Check says.

  “But I had feelings for Benson and I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

  “Thanks for your pity,” he says. “I feel so much better now.”

  Luce curses under her breath. “You’re right,” she says. “We screwed up, both of us. We’re imbeciles. Check, we freaking care about you and sometimes that makes people do the wrong thing.”

  “All you had to do was tell me from the beginning and I would’ve been happy for you,” Check says, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. He looks tired. Exhausted.

  “Did we ruin everything?” Benson says, feeling as if all oxygen has been pumped from his lungs. He can’t lose his best friend. Not now. Not ever.

  “Gahhhh!” Check growls. “You two are impossible sometimes. But I refuse to let our friendship be ruined by your stupidity. Assuming you find a way to make it up to me, that is.”

  “We will,” Benson says quickly.

  “We’ll be open books from now on,” Luce adds.

  “Fine. You’re forgiven. It’s not like I can avoid you guys in this godforsaken compound.”

  Benson manages an awkward laugh. “And you don’t want to hit me?” he says.

  “I do, but not because you and Luce have a thing. Because for being so smart you can be a real moron. You’re just lucky I was never very good at holding a grudge.”

  Benson feels a flower of relief bloom within him. Relief at not having any secrets from his best friend. Relief that his friend is still his friend. And yet…he still feels sick. Check might’ve forgiven him quickly, but it’ll take longer for him to forgive himself.

  “Hey!” Harrison says, interrupting, pointing a finger in the air. His other hand is roaming along the bed, trying to grab Destiny’s knee. She’s pushing it away, inching toward the edge of the bed. His hand stops suddenly and he forms a gun with his fingers, aiming it at Benson. “I know how to save him.”

  “You’re drunk,” Benson says.

  “And yet still smarter than you,” Harrison says. “Listen to me, baby brother.”

  “I’m two minutes younger than you.”

  “Sometimes two minutes make all the difference.”

  Technically that’s true, but Benson doesn’t think it applies in terms of intelligence—only birth authorization. He sighs. “Okay. What?”

  “Our father, the dishonorable Michael Kelly, the esteemed ex-Head of Population Control, the arrogant celebrity and very important pers—”

  “Harrison,” Benson says. “Get on with it.”

  “Right,” Harrison says, slurping another sip of fizzer from his straw. “What was it again?”

  Luce looks at Benson and says, “Are you sure you two came from the same womb?”

  “They look identical,” Check points out.

  “Could be a weird coincidence,” Luce says hopefully.

  “No,” Harrison says, the two-letter word coming out even more clipped, like Nuh. And again: “Nuh. He’s my little bro, and I’m gonna protect him till the day I die. You mess with him, you mess with me. Got it?”

  Benson’s not sure who he’s asking, but Rod says, “Amen,” and Gonzo says, “You’re preaching to the choir.”

  Harrison raises his hands like a real preacher addressing a congregation and says, “Hear me out.” No one says anything. “Our father was prepared. Before Mom got knocked up, he applied for and received a dual Death Match, didn’t he? One of the matches died so they got one birth authorization. They got pregnant, and then found out they were having twins. Little Harry and Benny, you follow me?” Harrison keeps asking questions, but Benson figures they’re rhetorical because his brother barrels forward, not waiting for a response.

  Check, on the other hand, is less patient. “So what?” he says. “We’ve all heard this story and know exactly how it ends. The other Death Match, some old dude, turns out to be a dud. Really smart doctors figure out a way to cure whatever terminal illness he had, and the guy keeps on ticking. He lives, thus signing Benson’s death warrant.”

  “Obviously that leaves us with only one choice,” Harrison says.

  Everyone stares at him, apparently not seeing the obvious.

  “We have to kill Benson’s dud. His old Death Match has to die so he can live.”

  Gonzo laughs and Rod chuckles and Luce rolls her eyes.

  Janice says, “A Death Match is supposed to die,”
like it’s a rule that should never be broken.

  Benson just sighs, somewhat relieved that his brother is drunk and not thinking clearly.

  Check, however, strokes his chin, as if taking the proposition seriously. “The Death Match has to be expired by now,” he says. “Especially after you were born. There would’ve been no reason to renew it, not when Janice had already had one child and wasn’t pregnant with another. Legally, Benson didn’t exist in the system. Plus, that was years ago, surely the guy ended up dying of something else. Someone else would’ve received the birth authorization.”

  “You don’t know my father,” Harrison says. Benson realizes his brother sounds more lucid than he has since he returned from the club. Is he being serious? he wonders. “Think about it. He was the face of Population Control despite having a Slip for a son. Despite his many faults, Michael Kelly was a very determined man. He never gave up on Benson. And he wouldn’t have given up on the prospect of Benson becoming a legal citizen either. The whole time he would’ve been looking for loopholes. Maybe he found some. But none of them would have mattered until Benson’s Death Match was dead.”

  “This is all speculation,” Check says.

  “What if I can prove it?” Harrison says.

  “Prove it or lose it!” Janice says.

  She finishes one fizzer and starts another, but Benson barely notices, his eyes never leaving Harrison’s. “How?” he asks.

  “A friend I know can help,” Harrison says. “His name’s Wire.”

  ~~~

  Are you a teenager seeking a fulfilling career in Population Control?

  Apply for early admission to Saint Louis University, which offers majors in population control:

  -law enforcement

  -administration

  -technology

  -investigations

  Whatever skills you have, we can use them.

  Become a part of something important today.

  This advertisement paid for by the Department of Population Control and Saint Louis University. Tuition fees apply.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Chet! Open up!” Harrison bangs twice more on the door, Benson on one side, Check on the other. They left the others back at the sleeping quarters to get some rest.