by J. V. Kade
We’re out of milk, so maybe I should tell him to pick some up. Course, it’s not like I drink that much milk. But if I want a bowl of cereal later or something . . .
“Fine,” I mutter, and pick up the call.
Po’s face comes on the screen. He’s at an odd angle, like he’s holding the phone in his lap.
“What do you want?” I say.
“RUN!” he says, not looking at me.
“What?”
“Get out of the house!” he screams, shoving something away from him.
“Po? What the—”
There’s a crunching sound somewhere out of range of the camera. A table topples over. Po throws a punch.
“Po!”
I clutch the phone harder, pull the screen closer to my face as if it’ll help me see the whole picture, see who’s attacking my brother.
An arm comes into view of the camera. A watch glints in the light. My brother ducks away, swings upward with a fist. He’s slammed back against a wall and the phone clatters to the floor.
The picture cuts out.
My Link goes blank.
Run, Po said.
So I run.
FOURTEEN
I SNEAK OUT THE back door and poke my head around the corner, surveying the street. Reporters run to the curb, their cameramen their shadows. A sleek black car with no official markings hovers in the middle of the street.
Patrolmen, maybe?
Fear does a nosedive down my spine. I press against the house, and the siding digs into my shoulders. Now what? Are they looking for me? Or are they here to shoo away the reporters?
I dare another look. Uniformed men make a path through the remaining crowd and hurry to the front door. I don’t have time to think about why this is happening, or if Po is okay.
I break away from the house and run to the shed. Inside, I dig through some boxes as fast as I can. I find one of Po’s old hats, a ratty fedora that molds to my head the second I put it on. I slide into a smelly jacket that’s too big for me, but it hides how skinny I am, so I figure that’s good.
If the police are looking for me, they’re looking for a short, scrawny kid with short brown hair.
With my disguise on, I scramble out the tiny window in the back of the shed and leap over the fence into the neighbor’s backyard, hitting the ground with an umph. Pain weasels into my knees.
I stumble to my feet and dodge a picnic table, then a kid’s sandbox. I run along the side of the house and a dog leaps at a window, barking and scratching at the glass. My guts nearly jump outta my throat, and I slam into the fence behind me.
I get myself together and keep going. Staying on the street is dangerous, I think. Even though I have no idea what I’m running from or running to, I have a feeling I need to stay hidden, so I cut through yards and alleys. When I hit The Glitz, the clouds part and the sun blazes down on a two-story house to my right, hitting the shards of recycled glass. I tug on the brim of my fedora, using it to shield my eyes from the blinding light. I look for a yard to slink through, but the fences here are tall privacy fences, and I feel weird using someone’s gate.
As I reach the end of the street, I hear the familiar sound of a car on the rails, a soft whirring noise behind me.
I move faster.
A little kid rounds the corner up ahead on a hoverboard.
The car closes in. Static fills the space around me like inflata foam, and it takes me too many seconds to realize it’s the sound of a loudspeaker crackling as it’s put to use.
“Identify yourself,” a voice says through the speaker.
The little kid hops off his board. “Is he talking to you?”
My heart is beating so loud, I can barely hear the kid. I squeeze my eyes shut as a drop of sweat rolls down my face. I’m caught. And I don’t even know why I’m being chased in the first place.
“Turn around slowly,” the patrolman says. “Identify yourself.”
My fingers shake. The big jacket feels like a wet towel weighing me down.
I start to turn when I hear Po’s warning in my head again. Run. Run!
I push off the sidewalk like a sprint runner, my shoes digging into the pavement. The kid goes wide-eyed as he sees me barreling toward him. I snatch the hoverboard from his grasp and throw it down in the street so that it hovers on the rails.
The loudspeaker crackles again. “Young man! Identify yourself!”
I hop on the board and it sinks before it adjusts to my weight. I’ve only been on a board once. It belonged to Nade Rybber and I nearly wrecked it when I crashed into a vending food truck. He wouldn’t let me near it after that.
But I know enough about the boards to know how to use one.
I shuffle my feet into position and shift my weight forward, which commands the board to move. The board lifts in the back and shoots straight ahead. The kid yells behind me. The patrol car hums to life. I lean to the right to cruise around the corner, but I lean too far and the board wobbles like a plate of gelatin, like it wants to throw me off.
When it evens out, I lean forward more. Faster. Faster! I shoot through the streets like a laser beam. The wind rips the fedora from my head. I chance a glance over my shoulder in time to see the hat hit the ground and tumble over itself. But I also see the patrol car blasting around the corner.
I don’t know how far you can lean forward before the board loses connection with the rails, but I push it farther, then veer to the left down a side street. My toes curl in my shoes, my knees lock in place. I like the feel of soaring through the air like a hawk.
The patrolman’s voice crackles behind me. “Pull over immediately!”
It’s only a matter of time before they catch me or cut the power to the rails. I’m so deep in trouble. Po’s threat of groundation seems like a party compared to this.
What was I thinking, running away? I could turn myself in, say I was scared or something and that’s why I ran. I mean, how bad can this be? We’re not in trouble. Po and I haven’t done anything wrong.
But Po wouldn’t have told me to run unless it was for a good reason. And I think maybe there’s more going on here than I know about. Maybe it’s all somehow connected. Dad’s thread mysteriously coming back online and the police showing up a day later.
You have to keep going.
I double back to The Glitz, an idea striking like divine inspiration. That’s what Dad used to say. I turn onto the street with the biggest houses and look up at the sky. Clouds cover the sun, and the houses barely shine.
The patrol car catches up to me. “You leave us no choice, young man,” the voice says through the speaker.
I look up at the clouds and will them to part. Please. Please. Please! If the sun falls just right on the houses, reflecting off the shards of glass, it might be enough to blind everyone on the street and give me a chance to escape.
I’m nearly to the end of the block when a second patrol car wheels around the corner, trapping me. My heart beats so hard, it feels like it’ll hammer right outta my chest.
Just when I think I’m done for, the clouds finally thin and the sun hits the houses, turning thousands of shards of glass into mirrors, reflecting the light back. I throw my arm up, squinting against the glare.
The patrol car slows behind me. I tip back on the board just enough to slow it down and hop off. I snatch the board up, tuck it beneath my arm, and run, pushing through a gate, through a second one. Dodge left. Another gate. My lungs burn. My breath comes out fast and wheezy. I disappear inside another backyard and swing left once I’ve cleared the house.
Up ahead, I see an old church made of red brick with a big bell tower in the front. If I can just make it there . . .
Sirens wail from the next street over. Patrolmen call out orders. I blaze down the sidewalk and reach the chur
ch in a blink. I toss the hoverboard in the Dumpster and slam into the tower wall. The brick is old and pitted and I think I can make quick work of it if I can find a few good handholds.
There’s a crumbling brick just above my head, and I stick my left hand there. The old cut from my climb up the fountain opens. It burns all the way down my arm. I clench my teeth and find another hole to my right. It’s a stretch, and I feel like a bug splattered against the wall as I push up. The rubber soles of my shoes are good for gripping, and finding holes for my feet isn’t as important as it is for my hands.
Sweat rolls down my forehead and into my eye, burning like pepper juice. I ignore it, and focus, zeroing in on the few crumbling brick holes left above me. The sirens get closer. I only have another two or three feet before the top.
“Over here,” someone yells—a patrolman, I think—and I quicken my pace. The top is turreted and I scramble through one of the open notches, collapsing on the roof in a heap. I roll over onto my back and stare up at the blue sky, breathing in deep.
I made it. At least I think I made it.
Voices carry on from the ground. I lie there for what feels like forever, hoping and praying that the police don’t find me. I pat my shirt, feeling the hard outline of the scrambler at my chest. I say a silent thank you to Po for it, and then feel a familiar twist in my gut when I think about my brother, about him being trapped and beat up and . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut. If anyone can get away from the police, it’s Po, right? Po is smart and strong. Except, he isn’t fast, not with his prosthetic leg, so if it came down to a footrace, he’d definitely lose.
The day fades to night. I want to leave the roof when the street goes quiet, because my body is sore and my stomach is empty, but as I plot my escape, a sickening realization takes over me: I have nowhere to go and no one to go to.
I don’t have any family besides Po. At least not anyone close enough. And Lox is still on vacation.
Tellie.
I used to think she was a bolt-head, but now, well, now she’s my friend.
But would she help me? I picture my face plastered all over the Net and the evening news.
What have I gotten myself into?
My stomach growls again and every tiny movement makes my bladder shriek like a baby.
I have to get down and I need somewhere to go.
Tellie is my only option.
FIFTEEN
I STICK CLOSE to the bushes that line the sidewalk when I reach Tellie’s street. I didn’t see a single patrol car on the way over here, but I don’t want to risk being seen out in the open.
When Tellie’s house comes into view, I have to wrestle with the urge to run straight there and bang on the bell. There are no cars in sight, so I hurry across the street stealth-style, crouched low to the ground.
Tellie’s house is lit up like a birthday cake. There’s a light on in almost every window. The porch light blasts across the front lawn. Neon blue solar lights dot the yard like stars. At the front door, I press the bell and the house’s security system announces my arrival.
“House guest has arrived. Goldfish,” the voice says.
I cringe. Tellie must have programmed me into the house’s system. At least she didn’t use my real name, or Trout, which I’m sure is blasted all over the news feed right now.
It says a lot about how much things have changed between us. If I’m programmed in, then that must mean she expects me to come over more often than never. But what does that mean? That she likes hanging out with me?
“Who’s Goldfish?” a man says from inside.
“I got it!” Tellie yells, and whips the door open. When she sees me standing there on the front porch, she goes still.
“Hey,” I mumble.
Tellie grabs my arm and wrenches me across the threshold. “It’s just my friend!” She drags me toward the stairs.
Just then, a man comes around the corner wearing one of those slick black suits you only see movie stars and businessmen wearing. The kind that costs more than Po makes in a month. There’s a short glass in his left hand with swirly designs etched into the base, and it’s filled with brown liquid. He eyes me as I hit the stairs right behind Tellie.
“Nice to meet you . . . Goldfish,” he says as we run past in a blur.
“Goldfish?” Mrs. Rix says as she clicks into the room on her high heels, her Link held in front of her. Her blond hair is twisted back in a fancy hairdo, and yellow lipstick makes her lips look radioactive. Someone is rattling off a to-do list on the other end of her Link, but pauses to say, “Candu! Are you listening to me?”
“We’ll be in my room!” Tellie says.
So that’s Mr. and Mrs. Rix. I’ve never met Mr. Rix, and he’s rarely on TV like some of the other congressmen. Mrs. Rix looks scarier in person.
In Tellie’s bedroom, she shuts the door behind us and whirls around. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to get you in trouble, but I didn’t know where else to go!”
“The whole United Districts is looking for you! What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
“Well, you can’t stay here.” She huffs and stomps into her massive closet. She returns with a purple bag and a wig to match.
“What’s that for?”
She passes me the bag first. “There’s some extra clothes in there, some food too. Just candy and some energy packs, but it might last you a few days. There’s a disposable cred tag in the front pocket with at least five hundred creds on it. It’s still loaded with my profile, so if you need to get in somewhere temporarily, you have my permission to use it.”
“Thanks.” I heave the bag over my shoulder. “But I meant what is the wig for?”
“A disguise. Duh.” She moves to arrange the hair on my head but I dodge her.
“You’re not putting that thing on me!” It’s long and curly and . . . well, purple. “I’ll look stupid.”
Tellie cocks her head to the side. “Like you aren’t ugly on your own?”
I screw up my mouth and narrow my eyes. “Very funny.”
She lets out a heavy sigh. “I don’t think you have any idea how much trouble you’re in.”
Hearing someone else talk about it churns my gut like cake batter. I start to explain why I’m in trouble, when a scrape sounds from the windowsill. We look over.
The window is open and a bot is standing beside Tellie’s bed.
A BOT. IN TELLIE’S BEDROOM.
Tellie lets out a high-pitched squeal and clings to me. I stumble back and ram into the desk.
The bot spreads out his arms. “I mean you no harm. Please, do not be afraid.” His voice is quiet and measured, like the lines on a holo ruler.
My heart instantly kangaroos to my head. My knees feel empty, like I’m in zero gravity. And before I know it, I’m shaking all over.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a bot up close, so I’m totally geared out and super-curious. My nanny, Cleo, was short and boxy, but this bot is tall and skinny, and more human-shaped than any of the old bots I can remember. A few operating lights blink in his neck—blue, then red, then blue again. His head is made of metal, but his eyes look human.
I think instantly of Old New York, of a factory somewhere churning out newer, better bots. Bots that want to be human. This one is even dressed in a real man’s clothes: a pair of jeans, a thin jacket, tennis shoes, a baseball cap.
He shifts toward us. “Trout, we need to move quickly.”
“Move?” Tellie shrieks.
“He knows my name? He knows my name!”
“Please,” he says, “we do not have much time. Patrolmen are here for you.”
The intercom crackles behind us and Mr. Rix says, “Tellie? Could you come down here, please? And br
ing your friend.”
Tellie and I look at each other, then at the bot. Patrolmen? Do they know a bot is in the house? Are they here for the bot and me?
But how did they know I was here? I have the scrambler—
I look down. “No,” I mutter when I don’t see the outline of the scrambler through my shirt. I pull out the collar and peer inside. It’s gone. Even the chain is gone. Which means the ID chip in my heart is sending out its signal right this second.
I am totally notched. I have nowhere to hide! And no way can I outrun the patrolmen now.
My chest goes inferno hot, like the chip is burning through me like a beacon.
And why is there a robot here? To kill us?
The bot inches closer. Tellie and I mash ourselves against the wall, as if we mean to disappear inside it.
“W-why are you here?” Tellie says.
“For Trout.” He inclines his head toward me. “He is in danger. Po has already been compromised—”
I straighten. “You know my brother?”
“He is being held at City Hall. I am not certain we will be able to retrieve him at this time.”
I recall our last fight. Po telling me to stay quiet and not draw attention. I just thought he was being lame. And now look. For some reason, searching for Dad has caused a lot of trouble.
“Why?” I say to the bot. “Po didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No,” the bot says, his lips moving just like a human’s, “but the UD government believes your father has. Through Po, they will find your father. They mean to use you both against him.”
“Tellie!” Mr. Rix calls again.
My head is spinning like a gyro. The bot knows me, knows Po, knows Dad. How does he know Dad?
“Bots are evil, crazy machines,” Tellie whispers to me as she reaches for the doorknob.
“Wait.” I grab her wrist. I’m running out of options. I can’t go downstairs or the patrolmen will catch me. I can’t go out the window because the bot is blocking it.
Footsteps pound up the stairs.
“Please tell me you are not thinking about leaving with that thing.” Tellie jabs a finger toward the bot. I look at him out of the corner of my eye.