“Fine. Fine,” Mom said over the walkie-talkie.
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.” I set the walkie down.
Boob was taking notes on his phone. “I’m putting together a list of materials. Most of it we can order by mail if we set up a PO box. We can buy the neodymium magnets from an electronics recycler.”
We couldn’t get any of it until we had money, though.
“There’s a ghost town twenty-eight miles from Mineral Point.” Basquiat was studying the readout on his phone. “Vintondale.”
I hopped off the back of the trailer onto broken blacktop. Waist-high weeds jutted through the cracks. We were in the parking lot of Vintondale High School, a squat, two-story redbrick building surrounded by forest on three sides and backed up to a steep hillside. Some of the building’s windows were broken, but otherwise it looked to be in decent shape, considering it had been empty for six years.
As soon as the truck’s back door was lowered, Kelsey pulled out of the parking lot, off to get supplies.
Beltane broke out the window of a classroom and, one by one, we climbed into what we hoped would become our production facility.
Desks were stacked against the inner wall. In the hallway, lockers stood open, some with chewed papers and twigs at the bottom—probably rats’ nests. The place was filthy, the walls covered in graffiti.
Mom and Beltane went out to make sure there was no one else in the vicinity, while the rest of us explored.
Tables still lined the cafeteria, and light streamed in through the tall windows.
“We should set up in here.” Rebe pointed. “We could build stations at the tables, create a half-assed assembly line.”
“Or even a full-assed one,” Basquiat said.
“Are we going to sleep here, too, or what?” Molly asked, surveying the cafeteria.
“Much as I love you guys, I think I’m ready to have my own room again,” Boob said.
“Ditto,” Basquiat said. “Let’s go pick out rooms.”
“Dibs on the teachers’ lounge!” Rebe called.
We all groaned. The teachers’ lounge was bound to be the most comfortable room in the building. It might even have a couch.
“We should probably let Beltane and Mrs. Gregorious have it,” Basquiat suggested. “Their old bones can’t handle the floor.”
“Better not let Beltane hear you say that,” Boob said.
We found a stack of wrestling mats in the gym to sleep on. I chose the chemistry classroom because it felt familiar and comforting, plus I figured I could sleep on one of the big lab tables in case those rats showed up.
“Hey, we’re neighbors.” Molly was coming out of the classroom next to mine as I stepped into the hallway.
I was feeling good, feeling hopeful. I put an arm around Molly’s shoulders as we headed back toward the cafeteria. For just a second, Molly rested her head on my shoulder, and my day was made.
In the cafeteria, everyone was huddled around Boob’s phone. Basquiat, who was standing, looked at us crossing the cafeteria. I let my arm slide off Molly’s shoulder.
“You guys need to see this.” Boob gestured at the video that was playing. “I’ll start again from the beginning.”
It was another News America video. A van pulled into a parking space on the main street of a quaint town. We piled out, the vets pointing rifles. We spread out in groups, with me and Mom heading for a hair salon. As I burst through the door, I said, “I think you forgot something.” I raised my hand, two truth app rings prominent on my fingers.
Everyone in the salon clapped their hands to their ears and doubled over, screaming.
“Actually, I think you forgot everything.” I raised a fist. “For Mother Russia!”
The scene switched to Rebe and Beltane in a grocery store, approaching dozens of trapped shoppers from opposite ends of the cereal aisle. The shoppers pleaded as Rebe raised her rings and wiped their minds.
“What happened?” a woman cried over the screams of others as Rebe and Beltane turned away. “I don’t understand.”
Eventually we set our nefarious weapons for “wide band” and drove up and down streets, wiping memories remotely. I’m not sure why we didn’t do that in the first place and skip the stores. By the video’s end, the town was in chaos. People stumbled through the streets screaming, calling for help. The final shot was a little girl standing under a traffic light clutching a teddy bear and crying.
The newscaster helpfully told viewers they could protect themselves with a special cap developed by President Vitnik. The caps were available at Walmart, Universes, Costco, and other leading retailers.
I turned to Rebe. “How do we get in touch with this distributor?”
“She’s on her way.”
“She’s coming to us?” I asked.
“I offered to sell her twenty thousand T-eleven phones, cheap, and I got some black hat friends to vouch for my authenticity.”
“Was that a good idea?” I said. At twelve hundred apiece that was over twenty million dollars’ worth.
“The T-elevens haven’t even been released yet,” Boob said.
Rebe gave us her best gremlin smile. “Yeah. Imagine how fast she’s gonna get here.”
A white van pulled into the parking lot just before sunset. Eight people piled out, seven carrying automatic rifles. The eighth was a big African American woman wearing jeans and running shoes.
“I guess that’s Mott,” I said, basing my guess on the fact that she was the only one without a gun. The five of us were standing in the doorway, in all likelihood looking less impressive than Mott’s entourage. Beltane and Mom were monitoring the situation from the roof. They had not been happy with Rebe’s strategy, although I had to admit, she’d gotten Mott here in a hurry.
Rebe raised a hand in greeting. Mott raised hers in return.
“Be back soon. I sincerely hope.” Rebe headed toward the van. The problem, of course, was to convince Mott that we were not in fact terrorists with a memory-wipe weapon before her people recognized us and started shooting, which would leave Mom and Beltane no choice but to return fire.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mott said loud enough for us to hear as Rebe got close enough to be recognized. Seven rifles were suddenly pointing at Rebe. “Stop walking. Now.”
Rebe stopped walking, raised her hands in the air, and talked really fast. “I’m unarmed. And we did not invent a damned memory-wipe device. Vitnik made that up because she wants us dead.”
“Yeah? And why does she want you dead?” Mott shot back.
“Because what we did invent will take her down.”
“What did you invent?”
“Come inside, and we’ll show you. I think you’ll like it.”
Mott put her hands on her wide hips. “You don’t have any T-elevens, do you?”
“No.”
Mott cursed, turned partway as if to leave.
“We have something way better than any damned phone. We’re going to make billions, Ms. Mott, but we need a partner.”
“You bring me out to an abandoned school in the ass-end of nowhere with a story about T-elevens, then tell me you’ve got a deal that’ll make me billions. I’ve got to tell you, this stinks right up to the penthouse.” Mott gestured to her people. “Let’s go.”
“Then why does Vitnik want us dead?” Rebe asked. “You tell me. If we had a memory-wipe weapon, we could have wiped your memories before you even recognized us, and stole the cash you brought to buy the phones.”
Mott paused. “One more chance. What did you invent?”
“A lie detector. Portable. Foolproof.”
Mott froze for a second. “I could like that. I could definitely like that. If it works.”
“Come on in and check it out.”
Three of Mott’s people stayed wit
h the van. The remaining four followed us.
Mott looked around as we led her into the cafeteria. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
Once introductions were out of the way, Mott settled into a chair. “So show me this lie detector.”
I took the seat across from her, held up my hand to show her the rings. She reached over and grasped my wrist, brought the rings closer to her face. “They’re portable, all right.” She let go of my wrist. “Show me that they work.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
Mott folded her arms. “None of your damned business.”
“Okay,” I said. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Two.”
The needle jumped. “That’s not true.”
Startled, Mott leaned forward. “None.”
“That’s true. Are both your parents still alive?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not true.”
Mott leaned forward a little more.
“Do you have a hundred thousand dollars you could front us, if we made a deal?” I figured we might as well cut to the chase.
“Not a problem.”
I looked at my friends and nodded. “True.”
“Ask me something hard,” Mott said. “Something you couldn’t find out from anyone who knows me.”
I tried to think of something that would convince her beyond a doubt. Then it came to me.
“We need a hundred thousand in start-up money and someone to distribute our product. What’s the lowest percentage you’d accept to go into business with us, if we’re on the level?”
“Fifty percent,” Mott said.
“Is that your best offer?” I asked.
“It sure is.”
The truth app said otherwise. “You have a different number in your head that’s your real bottom line. Is it forty percent?”
“No.” That was true. “Fifty percent.” False.
“Would you take thirty percent?”
“No.”
I leaned back. “So thirty percent is your bottom line.”
Mott smiled. “Damn. All right, I’m convinced.”
“Can we trust you?” I asked.
She tilted her head to one side and laughed. “If you’re straight with me, you can. If not, you better run.”
I offered her my hand.
Mott didn’t move. “Hang on. I want to know if I can trust you.”
I offered her the rings, showed her how to use them. “Ask me anything.”
“Can I trust all of you?”
“Yes.”
Mott raised her gaze toward the ceiling. “Who’s on the roof?”
The question took me by surprise. “My mom, and a vet named Beltane.”
“Are you good to your mother?”
I laughed at that one. “I try my best.”
Mott held out her hand, and we shook. She turned to Rebe. “I’m guessing you’re the person I’m talking to about the sneaky stuff.” Mott worked her phone. “If I set up a ghost account, will you know how to tap it?”
“Not a problem,” Rebe said.
The liquid skin Basquiat and Molly had molded onto Mom’s cheeks and chin made her look vaguely elf-like. They’d given Kelsey big jowls and a heavier brow.
After Mom dropped Kelsey in Philadelphia, where he would buy the neodymium magnets, she’d push on to Farmville, Virginia, where Rebe had rented a P.O. box. It would be at least another twenty-four hours before the materials were delivered to the P.O. box, but if Mom was there waiting, they’d be on the way to us the moment they arrived.
“Do what Beltane says until I get back,” Mom said through the window.
I rolled my eyes. “Mom, we don’t need a babysitter.”
“Work with me here, Sam. A year ago I was grounding you. Now I’m laying down cover fire. It’s a strange situation.”
I nodded. “You’re right.”
Mom looked off through the windshield for a moment. “After Theo died, I kind of went off the deep end for a while.”
“I noticed. You seem better now.”
“I am. But when you offered to get my legs working again, all I could think was, if I had my legs I’d be able to protect you. I didn’t think about the danger I was putting you in by fighting back against those bastards. Now I’m wondering if I made a terrible mistake that we’re all going to regret.”
“It wasn’t your mistake to make. If you hadn’t agreed, we would have gotten someone else.”
Mom pounded the steering wheel. “No, you wouldn’t have. You’re seventeen, and I’m still your mother.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m just glad you can see how important this is.”
“Do I see that? Or did I jump onto a train, and now it’s too late to hit the brakes? I’m not sure.”
“Either way, it’s the right thing. I keep thinking about this loaf of bread that Theo baked for us after we had an argument, because he loved us like we were his brothers and sisters. But if he’d passed a hungry kid on his way to Rebe’s house that morning? I think he would have handed the bread to that kid, because he cared about everyone. Not just his friends and family—everyone.”
Mom considered that for a moment. “I’m not sure this is the equivalent of giving bread to hungry kids. I’ll have to think about it.” She threw the truck into drive.
I stepped back, raised my hand as she pulled away.
We set to work clearing extra chairs and tables out of the cafeteria so we’d be ready to ramp up production as soon as Mom and Kelsey returned with the materials.
“Can someone put on some music?” Basquiat asked. He was carrying a chair in each hand.
“I got it.” Rebe paused to work her phone.
Beltane, who was carrying a table over her head, nearly bumped into her. “Watch out, sandbag.”
Rebe reacted as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her. “You want me to draw you a map so you can find your way around without running into people, dim bulb?”
“ ‘Dim bulb’?” Beltane said. “For someone who’s got nothing going for her except her mind, supposedly, that’s pathetic.”
“Oh, I’ve got plenty of better words to describe you.”
Basquiat put an arm around Rebe and turned her away. That left Beltane for me. I stepped close enough to see the pores on her nose. “Come on. We’re supposed to be backing each other up, not tearing each other down.”
Rebe pushed past Basquiat, stabbed a finger at Beltane. “What turned you into such a bitch? Was it the war? Because I wasn’t even alive then.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. The war’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Lie,” Boob said.
Beltane shoved me out of her way. It was like being shot from a cannon—I went over a table, flipped, and landed butt-first on the floor. “Get that thing out of my face,” Beltane said.
A gunshot rang out. Beltane froze, halfway to Boob.
“What is your problem?” Rebe shouted at Beltane, gun pointed at the ceiling. She’d pulled it from her pack, which was now on the floor, most of its contents spilled out.
Beltane glared at her. “Shoot that thing again, and I’ll end you.” She turned and jogged from the cafeteria.
We watched her go in stunned silence. My tailbone was throbbing.
A bang echoed somewhere in the building. Then another. Then crashing and clattering that must have been Beltane either throwing desks or smashing them.
“You really hit a nerve,” I said.
“Boob, you don’t have to announce it every time someone is lying,” Basquiat said.
“I don’t,” he said.
Rebe barked a laugh. “Oh, that’s reassuring.”
* * *
�
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As we headed to our rooms to get a few hours of sleep, I ended up beside Basquiat, who looked straight ahead, saying nothing. I was pretty sure he was angry with me. He was normally so cheerful that it was easy to tell when he was brooding. I also thought I knew what he was angry about. When Basquiat turned into his room, I paused in the doorway.
“Do we need to talk?” I asked.
“I don’t know. Do we?” Basquiat pulled off his T-shirt, dropped it beside his sleeping mat.
I threw my hands in the air. “I just put my arm around her. Nothing’s happened between us.”
Basquiat’s clenched brow relaxed a little. “All right.”
The clacking of Beltane’s blades on the linoleum came from the hall. I waited until she passed without a word and turned into her room.
It seemed ridiculous for Basquiat to be angry about me having my arm around Molly, with everything that was going on, though I had to admit, it would have bothered me if the tables were turned.
“Sometimes I get the sense you think I stole Molly from you, but you can’t call dibs on a person,” Basquiat said. “Everyone gets to choose who they want to be with.”
“You could have had any girl in school. Why would you pick the one girl I’ve liked since freshman year?”
Basquiat spun toward me. “She’s the one girl you fell for because she’s a wonderful girl.”
Truth.
Basquiat ran a hand through his hair. “She needs me. When her father left, I was about the only thing that kept her from falling apart. I’m doing my best not to be in your face with this, so you probably can’t see it, but we’re good together. Molly needs me.”
I wanted to be that person for Molly. Basquiat was right, though; if Basquiat liked Molly, and Molly liked Basquiat, that was that.
“I do get what you’re saying. I’m sorry I put my arm around her.”
“No, honestly, that’s no problem. Just, don’t resent me, you know?”
“I don’t resent you.” I caught myself looking around for Boob, half expecting to hear him shout, “Lie!” I thought I’d put that anger and resentment behind me after Theo died, but I hadn’t. Not completely, anyway. “I won’t anymore.”
The Future Will Be BS Free Page 14