Don't Look Now

by Michelle Gagnon

  Daisy swore. They’d reached the back of the building. Tearing around the corner, the truck tilted crazily again, only righting after she struggled mightily with the wheel. As they approached the next corner, Teo closed his eyes and started praying. . . .

  “All of you, get on the ground!” one of the guards yelled. Noa recognized him as the one who had been walking the perimeter earlier. The guy at his shoulder glared at them menacingly.

  The kids looked at the guards, then back at her. Like they were expecting her to save them. Like there was still some way out of this, for all of them.

  “No,” Noa said, surprising herself.

  “What?” The lead guard took a step forward. “I know you,” he said, peering at her through the gloom. “They’re looking for you.”

  Noa didn’t say anything. She could feel a chill night breeze on her neck. The door was still rising behind her, and she was only a few feet away. She could drop, roll beneath it, and run. Maybe there weren’t any guards left outside.

  Zeke caught her eye. She could tell he was thinking the same thing. The two of them could make it. They had a pretty good sense of the surrounding landscape, enough to get away on foot. But it would mean leaving the others.

  The guard stopped next to Janiqua and placed the barrel of his gun to her skull. The girl’s whole body went rigid. The unconscious girl she was holding slumped to the floor. “Don’t make me shoot her,” he warned. “Just climb back up here, nice and easy.”

  Noa chewed her lip. If she capitulated, it would be over for all of them.

  A tear slid down Janiqua’s cheek. Noa sighed. Slowly, feeling like each foot weighed a thousand pounds, she walked back to the platform and placed both palms flat on it, braced to lift herself up.

  As her heels pushed off the ground, there was a tremendous crash behind her and the shriek of brakes. Whirling, Noa saw the front of the taco truck jutting onto the loading dock. Its roof had collided with the gate, which ground to a halt. Daisy and Teo stared slack-jawed at her through a shattered windshield.

  Everything seemed to slow down. The guards had been thrown off balance by the crash. Remo took advantage—he threw himself at the one who’d threatened to shoot Janiqua. Danny and the new girl thronged the other one. Zeke charged forward to help them, while shouting something that took a moment for her to discern.

  “Throw the flashbang!”

  Her brain finally processed what he was saying. Noa fumbled in her jacket pocket and drew out the grenade. She tore out the pin and hurled it; the flashbang bounced in between the nearest guard’s legs before settling into a slow spin like a top. “Cover your ears and get to the truck!” she yelled.

  The world around her exploded in noise and light. Even though she’d anticipated the blast, Noa’s whole head throbbed from the concussion. Dizzily, she stumbled forward and grabbed the unconscious girl under the shoulders.

  “Help me!” she shouted, dragging her toward the truck.

  The pressure on her shoulder eased—Zeke was there, helping her carry the girl. Remo’s feet were disappearing through the truck’s windshield—he’d dived in headfirst. Janiqua and Danny pushed past, following him.

  Struggling with the weight, she and Zeke managed to get the girl off the ledge. Teo threw open the passenger door and helped muscle her inside. Noa spun to check on everyone. The guards were still down on the floor looking stunned—the grenade had gone off between them. Chances were they still couldn’t see or hear very well. One was tearing at his eyes; the other clutched his head.

  The young boy they’d found inside was standing right in front of them, looking dazed.

  “Come on!” Noa shouted, waving for him to join them.

  He hesitated.

  “Hurry, we got company coming!” Teo yelled.

  Looking terrified, the boy didn’t move. Noa raced back across the room, grabbed the kid by his shoulders, and propelled him toward the truck.

  “We gotta go!” Zeke shouted.

  Noa pushed the boy toward the open door—someone hauled him inside. She dove into the truck cab after him, bumping her knee hard against the shift. Daisy threw the truck in reverse, briefly pinning her to the dashboard.

  The back of the truck looked like a cafeteria after a food fight; a half inch of beer sloshed along the floor, sweeping taco flotsam along with it. The rear door was open, providing a window into the enormous parking lot that surrounded the building.

  Two more guards were less than fifteen feet away. They were approaching slowly, guns raised, as the truck screeched toward them.

  And she was fresh out of flashbang grenades.

  “Get down!” Noa shouted.

  The truck jerked to a halt six feet from the men. Noa pressed herself to the floor, although she couldn’t tear her eyes from the guns.

  The truck lurched forward again, momentarily throwing off their aim; but the guards were too close, and the truck wasn’t picking up speed fast enough. All they had to do was start firing, and they’d hit at least a few of them.

  Suddenly an explosion went off right beside her. Noa yelped, her hands automatically leaping up to cover her ears. Another blast followed, even louder.

  Zeke was braced between the driver and passenger seats. He was holding a gun and firing off rounds at the guards.

  Immediately, they dropped to the ground. Shots kept coming, but they flew wild. Zeke clicked on an empty magazine. Without meeting her eyes, he let the gun drop by his side as he slid into a crouch.

  Noa was speechless. No guns, that was her rule. She’d insisted on it. Even Turk had treated it as the single edict that couldn’t be broken.

  But Zeke had brought a gun.

  The van finally picked up speed, veering out of the lot and bouncing onto the road that led back to the highway.

  “Everyone okay?” she asked, scanning the other faces.

  They all looked shell-shocked. A few murmured that they were fine. The rest just nodded.

  “Good,” Noa said. “Radio Crystal and tell her to park the van and wait for us. We’ll ditch this truck by the highway.”

  “Then what?” Remo asked.

  “Back to the safe house, but we need to clear out tonight and get on the road again.”

  Grumbles at that. Noa couldn’t blame them. She was utterly spent. After everything that had happened, even she could probably clock eight hours of sleep. But they needed to put as much pavement between themselves and Phoenix as possible. Of course, looking the way they did right now, they wouldn’t have a prayer of maintaining a low profile. They all needed to shower and change clothes; she’d allow time for that. Then they’d leave town.

  Noa braced herself by planting the bottoms of her feet against a cabinet. Her jeans were soaked through. She was covered in soot and ash and felt sore, bruised, and exhausted.

  And angry. Very, very angry.

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Noa handed over the pile of clothes that she’d collected from the other kids. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” The girl took them from her hands. She was standing outside the bathroom, waiting for the young boy they’d rescued along with her to finish showering.

  “We didn’t really have anything small enough for him,” Noa said apologetically. “But if he rolls up the sleeves and belts the pants, they should fit all right. We’ll stop at a Walmart to get you both something better.”

  “They’ll be fine,” the girl said. “By the way, my name is Taylor.”

  “Noa.” She held out a hand, and they shook awkwardly. Taylor balanced the stack of clothes under her opposite arm. “Do you know the others’ names?”

  “The kid is Matt.” A dark look flitted across Taylor’s face as she continued, “And the girl was out cold when I found her. How is she?”

  Noa shrugged. “We made her comfortable. She might turn out to be fine. We’ll take her to some people who can help her.”

  “Good,” Taylor said. “Maybe she’s just drugged.”

  “Ye
ah, about that.” Noa shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t usually the one who debriefed rescued kids; Zeke had a gift for setting people at ease. But he was off sulking somewhere. She’d already tried to talk to him about the gun, but when she confronted him, he stormed off.

  The rest of the group was avoiding her, too. Noa wasn’t sure if that was because they sided with her on the gun issue, or if they were just shell-shocked and taking time to process it. Either way, now she was stuck doing what Zeke jokingly referred to as their “intake interviews.”

  Usually she’d allow Taylor and Matt time to clean up and eat something, maybe even sleep, but they were against the wire.

  “You want to know what they did to us,” Taylor stated bluntly.

  “Yes,” Noa said. “It’s pretty standard. I mean, I know it can be hard to talk about, but—”

  “Did they take you?”

  The question was so direct, it took her by surprise. Taylor was examining her closely, as if expecting her to lie. “Yes,” she finally answered. “They did.”

  “And what did they do?”

  Noa shifted uncomfortably. She was supposed to be asking the questions. And the truth was, she didn’t remember much. All she knew for certain was that they’d operated on her, inserting an extra thymus gland into her chest that was wreaking havoc with her system.

  She didn’t feel like sharing any of that with Taylor, though. Noa knew that the kids followed her blindly because they practically considered her to be superhuman. She’d never explained why, and none had dared ask.

  Until now. “They did . . . Well, I’m not exactly sure,” she hedged. “What about you?”

  Taylor shrugged noncommittally. “I’m not sure, either.”

  “But are you cut anywhere?” Noa pressed.

  “Cut?” Taylor’s brow wrinkled. “Like, did they torture me?”

  “No, like . . . any operating scars?”

  Taylor looked interested. “Is that what they did to you?”

  “This isn’t about me!” Noa snapped. God, what would it take to get a straight answer out of this girl? And why did she seem so determined to find out what had happened to Noa? She forced her clenched fists to relax, took a deep breath, and said, “Sorry. It’s been a long night. I’m just tired.”

  “Yeah, we all are,” Taylor said coldly. The door to the bathroom opened. Matt was wrapped in a threadbare towel, his straw-blond hair glistening from the shower. “Here,” Taylor said, thrusting the clothes from the top of the pile into his hands. “Get dressed. I’ll see you when I get out of the shower.”

  She pushed past, leaving him standing in the hall blinking up at Noa. They considered each other for a minute. Noa knew that she should get some answers from him, too. But before she could ask anything, Matt’s mouth gaped open in a cavernous yawn, making him look even younger. “C’mon,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder to lead him down the hall. “You can change down here, then I’ll find you something to eat.”

  Peter stifled a yawn as he slumped down in the booth of the diner where he was meeting Amanda for lunch. He’d been up until nearly five a.m. The third time he’d checked The Quad, there had finally been a message from Noa that read, Weather’s here, wish u were gr8. That code signified that everything had gone well with the operation.

  Although clearly it hadn’t, at least not based on what he’d seen. He was dying for a full rundown, but there was no way to get one. He’d posted something different from his usual reply, though, writing, Awesome. I’d kill 4 a vacay. Based on that, Noa would know that he wanted to talk when she got the chance. But even though he’d risked logging back in after he woke up at ten, there was no answer.

  Noa was probably sleeping, he rationalized. And when she slept, she practically slipped into a coma. Either way, hopefully she’d call today. And until then, he had plenty to keep him occupied.

  Amanda hadn’t arrived yet, which was weird. She had a real thing about being punctual; if he dared show up even a minute late, she’d lecture about how it “conveyed the message that he thought his time was more important than hers.” He’d gotten that dressing down more times than he could count.

  Peter checked his phone again: no messages. He’d gotten here right on time, thirty minutes ago. He unlocked his phone and sent a quick text, asking, Hey, u ok?

  But as he hit send, Amanda came through the front door. Relieved, he waved. She smiled faintly at him, tugging off her scarf as she approached.

  Peter’s smile faded as he took in her appearance. Amanda looked even gaunter than she had just a few days ago. Her clavicle pushed sharply against the outline of her V-neck sweater, and her wrists looked painfully bony. The circles under her eyes were pronounced. Even her hair looked like hell, sagging against her scalp.

  Peter tried to sound normal as he said, “Hey, you made it.”

  Her brow furrowed. “We said twelve thirty, didn’t we?”

  “Nope.” Peter held up his phone, showing her the text from this morning. “Noon.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She seemed distracted. Even though he was sorely tempted to throw the punctuality lecture back at her, he held his tongue.

  “So,” he asked cautiously. “Everything cool?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. You look . . . tired.”

  A flash of irritation. “You, too?”

  “What?” he asked defensively.

  Angrily, Amanda dumped her purse on the table and started riffling through it, finally digging out a ChapStick and running it over her cracked lips. “Diem won’t leave me alone, she keeps threatening to drag me to the health center.”

  “Really? Why?” Secretly, Peter was relieved that someone else had noticed her condition. Better still, someone who saw her nearly every day, and could keep better track of her than he could. Maybe he should try to talk to Diem about it, even though Amanda would flip if she found out.

  “She thinks there’s something wrong with me.”

  “Oh.” Peter played with his napkin, tearing it into small pieces and stacking them on the Formica tabletop. “Well . . .” He hesitated, then said, “Honestly, I’m kind of worried too.”

  Amanda focused a baleful glare at him and said cuttingly, “I’m fine.”

  “Maybe, but you’ve lost a lot of weight. And you seem kinda . . . off.”

  “Off?” She half rose.

  “Just chill, okay?” He raised his hands placatingly. This was exactly why he’d put off talking to her about it—he’d known she wouldn’t react well. “I just meant, it can’t hurt to get checked out, right?”

  Amanda glowered at him, but sat back down. Leaning in, she said, “I gave Mouse a few more files.”

  “Yeah? Great.” He tried to come up with a way to steer the conversation back toward her health. Maybe he could suggest walking her over to the medical center after lunch?

  “So did they do the raid?” she asked, lowering her voice even further.

  Before he could respond, they were interrupted by a harried-looking waitress who shoved sticky menus in their hands. Peter waited until she’d left, then said, “Yeah. Last night.”

  “How did it go?”

  He shrugged, not sure how much to share. After all, it wasn’t like he had any concrete details. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Good.” Seeming satisfied, Amanda sat back to peruse the menu. Peter watched her with a flicker of amusement, knowing it was all for show. She’d order the same thing as always: a veggie burger with a side salad. And today, as a nod to her strong sentiments against eating any animal products, he’d do the same.

  Peter sipped his coffee. He’d already had a full cup, and didn’t want to overdo it. But God, he was tired. He eyed her over the rim. Whatever closeness they’d managed to rebuild recently had dissipated. She seemed more distant than ever.

  “You don’t look so hot yourself, you know,” Amanda said without raising her eyes from the menu.

  “Thanks,” he said wryly.
“I was up all night monitoring the raid.”

  She made an indeterminate noise, closed the menu, and set it next to her purse. “So what’s next?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Is Noa just going to keep doing this?”

  “Probably. Why?”

  Amanda pursed her lips. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but apparently decided against it.

  The waitress took their order, then stomped off. Peter felt distracted and edgy—this wasn’t going the way he’d hoped at all. He wondered if there was usually a long wait at the health center; would they even be able to see Amanda today, or would she have to make an appointment? He should spend the rest of the day with her either way, but that meant shelving everything else. He had yet to finish tweaking the sniffer’s software program. He’d risked a lot planting it; there had to be something there. He also had to go through the sound recordings from Mason’s penthouse, and God only knew how long that would take.

  And on top of everything else, he had homework to finish this weekend.

  “Are you in love with her?” Amanda asked, interrupting his ruminations.

  Startled, it took Peter a minute to process what she’d said. “With who?”

  “Noa. I mean, I know you two got pretty close. . . .” As her voice trailed off, Amanda avoided his eyes.

  Peter didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were glistening, like she was holding back tears. On an impulse, he reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “Amanda—”

  “I mean, it’s okay if you are. I didn’t treat you very well.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “I just—I wish we could go back, you know? To the way things were between us.”

  Seeing her like this, he wanted more than anything to tell her that they could, and everything would be just the same. But it would be a lie. Because even as he watched her cry, all he felt was a pang of regret. The other night, when she’d showed up unexpectedly at his house . . . a lot of things had happened. It had been comforting, and familiar, yet the whole time he couldn’t suppress the sense that it just felt . . . wrong. He’d meant what he said. He hadn’t stopped loving her. But the form that love took had changed. He felt protective of her, and concerned for her. But that wasn’t really love, at least not the kind they used to share. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.