Unbreakable (Unraveling)

by Elizabeth Norris

  “Please, I know I’m just collateral damage to you.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight, Tenner. We’re both using each other. I came to you and asked for your help. But you want help from me, too. That puts us on even ground. It means you aren’t collateral damage, because I need you, so stop making me out to be the bad guy. We’re on the same team.”

  “Fine.” He’s right. We’re on the same team, not because we like each other or because we want to be stuck together, but because everyone else is on the other team. Fighting with each other is stupid, and it’s going to get one of us killed—probably me. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Here’s the deal. I can’t talk to Elijah because I’m not on the case,” he says. “The clearance level to talk to a prisoner charged with unauthorized interverse travel, conspiracy to commit treason, and human trafficking is way above my pay grade.”

  “So how are we going to talk to him?” I say. But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, there’s a sickening feeling in my chest. Because I think I know what he’s going to say.

  “You’re going to have to talk to him,” he says, putting a hand through his hair. Something about the gesture tells me he’s not happy about what he’s about to say. “You were right. IA is looking for you. You’re important to Ben, and they know that.”

  That hits me harder than it should. The air seems to get siphoned out of the room, and I take a step backward as if I’ve been pushed.

  IA is already looking for me.

  So there’s no turning back. Even if I wanted to go home now, I can’t. I have to see this through. I have to solve this thing. Or someone from IA is going to portal into my earth and snatch me out of my bed and bring me back here to be executed.

  They’re just as bad as the traffickers. I wonder if that irony is lost on Barclay.

  “The plan is that I’m going to bring you into IA to be detained,” Barclay adds. He speaks slowly, his words come out even and soft, as if he’s expecting the worst from my reaction. “You’ll get put in the same cellblock as Elijah, the same cell if we’re lucky.”

  “And then what?” I’m not about to let him leave me to rot in some prison cell.

  “Then, with my help, you and Elijah break out.”

  04:23:05:17

  I stare at Barclay. I don’t move, not even a twitch or a change of my facial expression. It’s like I just freeze while my mind replays our conversation. We have four days to find Ben and solve this case before the IA executes people he cares about—including me. The only way to find Ben is through Elijah, who’s in a secure IA prison. Which means I have to give myself over to them and then somehow get him out.

  But I can’t.

  I’m one of the most confident people I know. Alex always used to tell me it was the thing he loved most—and the thing he loved least—about me. Because I’m confident to a fault.

  And of course, that’s what got Alex killed. My overconfidence.

  But I’m also one of the most realistic people I know. And what I’ve got right now is clear-cut logic. Four days to go into a prison, break out, search the multiverse for Ben, and take down the largest human-trafficking ring Barclay’s ever come across.

  There’s just no way. There’s not enough time. I don’t have enough of the right skills. I’m not sure what the hell is wrong with Agent Taylor Barclay, but I can’t believe he’s managed to trick me into coming here with him and thinking there was something I could do.

  We’re going to fail and I’m going to end up dead.

  Barclay sees something on my face. “Don’t overthink this just yet. Hear me out.”

  I don’t have a choice.

  After all, if I don’t do this, it’s likely IA will find me and bring me in. Cecily will be sold into slavery, Ben will be found guilty of human trafficking, and I’ll be guilty by association.

  If I don’t do this, I’m likely to be dead in four days.

  04:23:02:33

  “I have a plan,” Barclay says. “I’ve got everything under control. I’ll be able to talk you through breaking out. It’ll be almost easy.”

  “Almost?” If tone of voice could kill, I would have just cut Barclay into ribbons. And I’m glad, because he deserves it.

  “Tenner . . .”

  “No, Barclay, this is nuts,” I say. “What were you thinking? I don’t have any kind of tactical training or anything that would be remotely helpful for someone who needed to break out of a prison!”

  “I know you think I’m crazy, but—”

  The anger in my chest blossoms. “You’re out of your mind.”

  “I’m serious about this. I know exactly how you can escape once you’re inside,” he says. “Look. I’ve spent the last six weeks trying to figure out this case and all its details. Every waking minute, I’ve been devoted to this. Even when I’m asleep, I’m dreaming about it. I’ve come up with a good plan. I can get you out.

  “But more than that,” he adds, “this is the only way. There’s not a single other option that’s less dangerous and has a chance in hell of working.”

  This isn’t just about this case, and it isn’t just about Ben, or even Cecily. If we don’t solve this, the IA will be after me the rest of my life. I’ll never be safe.

  As a drop of sweat rolls down the back of my neck, I realize my skin feels flushed, and it’s suddenly too hot in this room.

  “Are you okay?” Barclay says.

  I shake my head. As much as I want to find Ben—want to see him again and feel his arms around me—we don’t have much time, and a prison break seems counterproductive when we need to be going after the traffickers. The words try to stick in my throat but I force them out. “Maybe we don’t need to find Ben.”

  “I thought about that,” Barclay says. “But Ben is missing for a reason. Whoever is in charge of the trafficking ring, they clearly want him dead. He must know something.”

  I open my mouth to talk, but I have no words. How could Ben know something about a human-trafficking ring? He should have been at home with his parents and his brother. That’s why he left. Not so he could get mixed up with traffickers and put his life at risk. I take another breath. My lungs feel like they’re on fire—like I just swam too far and too deep, like I’m drowning somehow.

  Barclay reaches for me but I flinch away. “Sit down,” he says. “I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  I move toward the window. My hands shake as I lift them to the glass. The way the sun is coming through the clouds, the sky looks purplish blue. Hundreds of skyscrapers made of crystal, like ice castles, loom in front of me, and the streets below are hidden from the smog. It’s like something out of a movie or a dream, only there are people down there in the streets I can’t see—people who want me dead.

  I’ve been in over my head before, but this is worse. Because this time I’m alone. This time I don’t have my dad or Struz, or even Alex or Ben, to lean on—to ask for help. I don’t even have Jared beside me. Right now, I’m in a strange world and the only person I can depend on is me.

  Eating canned SpaghettiOs, drinking bottled water, playing board games by candlelight, reading the same books over and over again, watching old movies, even handing out rations—I miss it all so much. The longing for my own world, even broken as it is, pierces my chest so deeply and so suddenly that I lean on the window for support.

  The glass is cool against my forehead, and it gives me perspective. This is what I have to do in order to get back home. To bring Cecily home.

  I can picture her, just the other night when we were watching It’s a Wonderful Life with all those people seated on what used to be the Chargers’ football field. Blankets were laid out and people were huddled together. There was an excited anticipation in the hushed tones everyone used to talk to one another. Not because of the movie but more because they were excited to do something. Anything was better than sitting around and thinking of what they’d lost.

  I barely watched the movie because I was more in
terested in watching Jared, who was clearly captivated by the magic of black-and-white films, his eyes watery.

  When the movie was about to end and Struz came in and winked at me, it was almost a perfect moment. I was surrounded by friends, by people I care about, and for a minute, I forgot about everything that was wrong—with the world and with me.

  Cecily did that. She gave people something to look forward to—something to remind them they were alive.

  That’s why I have to do this. To make sure the people I love are safe. It’s terrible and frightening and too much.

  But I have no choice.

  I push back from the window and look over at Barclay.

  “It’s a good plan, Tenner, I swear.”

  I look back toward the window. But instead of the unfamiliar city in front of me, I see my fingerprints on the glass, and they remind me I’ve overcome insurmountable odds before. I solved my father’s murder, I stopped Wave Function Collapse, and I lived to see my world survive through the quakes.

  I walk back to the kitchen table and sit down. “Okay,” I say, my voice sounding less steady than I want it to.

  Barclay nods like he’s thankful I’m finally going to play along. “All you have to do is listen to me and convince Elijah to come along.”

  “Why can’t Elijah just portal out?” I ask.

  Barclay sighs, like my stupidity is annoying him. “The building is portal resistant. It’s a defensive measure in the event that a world with the ability to portal chooses not to be a part of the alliance. No one can portal in and out of certain buildings here. This is one of them.”

  My turn to sigh. The building is portal resistant. Of course it is.

  “You need to get out and get at least ten feet from it before he might be able to portal you out.”

  “Might?”

  Barclay stands up and moves into the kitchen. “I don’t know how injured he is.”

  I follow him and try to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “That’s why we have to have a plan B in place.” He grabs some rolled-up papers from behind the fridge.

  Standing across from Barclay, in front of the kitchen table, I take a deep breath and pull my hair back into a ponytail. “Okay. Before we tackle plan B, how do I get Elijah out of his cell?”

  “Good, okay,” he says as he rolls out the paper in his hands. It stretches across the entire table.

  Blueprints of the prison.

  04:22:41:19

  Barclay does have a plan. And he wasn’t lying—it’s detailed. He’s clearly thought of this from every possible angle. It’s not exactly comforting, but it certainly seems like this is a prison break that could work.

  The blueprints are faded, poster-size papers that take up Barclay’s entire kitchen table. There’s one page for each level of the prison, and while there are twenty-four levels, Barclay is pretty sure we won’t need to be familiar with anything other than levels one and two.

  According to him, I won’t be housed in any of the cellblocks on the first floor with the regular prisoners. Instead I’ll be put in a cell one floor up in the solitary block. Those are the cells that are supposed to be reserved for the worst kinds of criminals, but also house the people IA doesn’t have any reason to hold—the people they want everyone else to forget about. It’s where Elijah is.

  The plan is that I need to get out of my cell, get Elijah out of his, and get us both to the infirmary one level down and in the opposite wing of the prison. There, we’ll be able to escape through a grate in the floor that leads to the sewers.

  I try not to think about how hard this will be, about how many things have to go right in order for us to escape without getting caught. I try not to think about what the consequences will be if we don’t make it. And I try not to think about the fact that I’m in this alone. Elijah won’t know the plan and he might be injured, and he’s never been my biggest fan anyway.

  No matter what Barclay says about us being on the same team, if I don’t get out, he’s got to cut his losses and leave me there. The whole never leave a man behind thing doesn’t apply here. To have any hope of solving this case, he would have to preserve his cover—or whatever you’d call it. Which means if I can’t do this, I’ll be stuck in prison, counting down the minutes until I’m executed.

  But I can’t focus on that, because I have no choice. This is the only way, and we have to make it out.

  “What’s your problem now?” Barclay asks.

  I’m about to respond with something caustic when there are two soft beeps. They could be anything—the microwave, some kind of electronics, even Barclay’s cell phone. But instantly I know they’re not.

  They’re something worse.

  Because Barclay freezes for a split second, his lips slightly parted with surprise, and then his eyes, wide with fear, flick to me.

  “What is it?” I whisper. I’m aware of my pulse in my ears, the dryness in my mouth, and the fact that I don’t know what to do with my hands. Because fear is contagious, and I can’t think of a single instance I’ve ever seen Barclay afraid.

  He doesn’t answer me. Instead, he bolts up and with one hand grabs the blueprints, with the other grabs me, and before I have a chance to understand what’s happening, he’s pulling me into his bedroom.

  “It’s an alarm. Someone is coming,” he says, shoving me into the walk-in closet.

  “Who?” I ask, my voice breathless.

  Barclay’s eyes meet mine. “IA.”

  04:21:52:30

  Maybe Barclay is paranoid. Maybe it’s a UPS guy or something.

  Or maybe that’s my own wishful thinking.

  Whatever’s been going on with him lately, clearly something made him set this up. He’s not exactly an alarmist. And if he was, he’d have a right to be. If IA is after me, it’s only a matter of time until they’re after him, too.

  Or it might not be IA. It might be worse—it could be the traffickers.

  I don’t have time to say anything anyway because Barclay presses down on two of the floorboards until there’s a click, and they pop loose. He pulls them up to reveal a hidden compartment about two feet deep.

  “Here, get in.” He steps down into the hole in his closet. The floor comes up to his knees.

  Looking at it, I’m confused. I don’t know how I’m going to fit in here. Even if I crouch down, he won’t be able to get the floorboard over my head, and he certainly won’t be able to get in there with me.

  “Hurry up, Tenner!” Barclay takes my hand and pulls me toward him.

  I step in, even though I’m not sure where I’m going to go, only once I put my foot down, I realize it extends underneath the floor. I can lie down flat and the board will be able to go over my head. My body flushes with heat as Barclay pushes me down. I stretch my body out the length of the compartment.

  As I lie down, my hands quiver against the wood. My chest is tight, my breaths shallow.

  The compartment is the size of a coffin.

  “I can’t do it,” I say, pushing against Barclay and trying to get back up. I’m not claustrophobic, but I’ve never had to fit into such a small tight space. A space that will effectively trap us here.

  “You have to,” Barclay says.

  “We should run.” My legs twitch at the thought.

  “There’s nowhere to go,” he says. “Just for once, do what I tell you.”

  He knows this apartment—and this world—better than I do. I suck in a deep breath, my lungs burning.

  I’m almost completely prone when I pause and sit back up. I brought more evidence of my existence here than just myself. “My backpack, the coats!”

  “Fuck!” Barclay says, jumping out of the hole. “Lie down and leave as much room as you can. I have to get in there with you.”

  He rushes out of the closet, and I lie down, flat on my back. I cross my hands over my chest, like a dead body, but I can’t breathe right in that position. I switch to my side, and even though I don’t know where
to put my arms, I tell myself this is better. If I press my back up against the side of the compartment, we’ll have more room for him to be in here with me, though not much.

  I hear two more beeps, and Barclay is back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him put my backpack up on the top shelf, then throw both our coats in the hamper. Then he’s climbing into the hole with me.

  He pulls a string connected to the floorboards, and they fall over us, snapping back into place. We’re lost in almost complete darkness, and Barclay lies down on his side facing me. I put my hands against his chest, and he drapes an arm over me and turns my face into his collarbone.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he whispers. “Don’t even move. If they find us here, we’re as good as dead.”

  I don’t know what I’d say to that if I had the chance, but it doesn’t matter, because at that moment, I hear the front door click open and someone says, “Hey, anybody home?” followed by a thick chuckle. Like this is some kind of game, like it’s funny.

  The door slams.

  A different voice says, “You want his neighbors to narc on us when he gets home?” It’s gruff. Annoyed, even.

  There’s an exchange of words, but they’ve lowered their voices and it’s too muffled to hear over the pounding of my heart.

  I need an escape strategy. That will calm me down. How will we get out of here if we’re caught? Maybe there’s just two of them. I hope. Maybe Barclay has his gun on him and another one nearby. If they do find us down here, we’ll have to come out swinging. So far they’re at least both male—I can come up with a strike to the balls and maybe somehow get the upper hand and get away.

  At least that’s my plan right now.

  If these guys are IA like Barclay thinks, and they find us, there’s only one place I’m going—prison, to be detained and then executed. Barclay would be going there too, and since we’re hiding with the blueprints to the prison, there’s no way we’d be able to escape.

  I remember what Barclay said about Elijah. I don’t know how injured he is. I wonder what they did to him, and what they’re likely to do to both of us, if they find us now. Maybe being executed in four days wouldn’t even be the worst of it.