by Lee Strauss
I needed to find Zoe. I hadn’t tried to contact her for fear her transmissions were being monitored. She was probably worried sick, or angry that I hadn’t tried. Or weeping, thinking I was dead.
None of these scenarios was acceptable. I needed a plan.
Sweat dripped down my brow, and I paused to reach for my can of cola. I grimaced. It had warmed and flattened in the sun.
An idea came to me a couple days ago. My mind reviewed it over and over. It was risky. I might not find her.
I might get caught.
I bit the inside of my cheek, uncertain. Should I or shouldn’t I? I poised myself at the line and lined up my shot. The dart floated through the air.
Bull’s-eye.
I should.
32
Traffic moved smoothly on the grids once more, but the workers were still sweeping up broken glass and removing fallen palm trees from the storm. My pulse jumped as I entered my neighborhood. I drove past my house and around the block a few times, scouting for suspicious vehicles or anyone who didn’t belong there. I was glad that the helmet concealed my face.
Once I was certain things were clear, I drove down the back alley and parked the scooter in our garage. The lawn had burned completely white, and all but the hardiest of plants were wilted over in a slow death. Davis’s little bicycle lay on the sidewalk. I picked it up and leaned it against the house. I swallowed hard as I entered the small kitchen through the back door. Please let my mother be okay.
The screech of the rusty hinges on the door broke through the quiet stillness in the house.
“Hello?” An unfamiliar voice. “Who’s there?” A short, squat woman in nurses’ scrubs entered the kitchen.
“I’m Noah.”
“Oh, Saundra’s oldest son, I presume. I’m Nancy, the nurse.”
I had hoped Skye would be here, but of course she couldn’t work twenty-four seven.
“How’s my mother?”
“She’s fine. Sleeping. You should come back later.” Nancy casually folded her arms, stepping in front of me. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyebrows arched slightly. She took her job caring for my mother seriously. She had no intention of letting me near Mom, sleeping or not.
“Can you tell her I’m okay and not to worry? I promise to be back soon.”
Nancy nodded stiffly. “Sure. I’ll do that.”
She watched as I backed out the door and closed it behind me, then I heard the soft click of the lock.
I shrugged on my backpack, feeling the weight of the object tucked in the bottom. I slowed as I made my way back to the garage. I was sure I’d closed the door, but now it stood open a crack. I carefully removed my pack, digging deep until my fingers found the gun.
I pushed on the door, concealing myself.
“Who’s there?” I said.
No answer. Maybe my imagination was getting away on me. I dropped my backpack on the ground and held the gun in both hands, finger on the trigger. I wasn’t taking any chances.
Like the police shows on TV, I jumped into the open space, hands braced, gun pointed. “Don’t move.”
My eyes narrowed in the sudden darkness, the only light filtering in was from a small, high-set window.
“Nice gun.”
Grant sat calmly on my scooter in the middle of the room.
I cocked the trigger, my aim sure and steady. There’d been a reason I practiced throwing darts. I imagined the dartboard on Grant’s chest.
“Get off my bike.”
“Easy, Noah.” He swung his leg off, and lifted his hands half way in the air.
“Why shouldn’t I shoot you now?” I said. “It’s you or me, isn’t it? You won’t stop until I’m dead.”
Grant’s eyes settled on the gun.
“I’m a reasonable man. We can negotiate.”
“Fine. Stay away from my family.”
“I’ve got no beef with your family. All you have to do is stay away from the Vanderveen girl. Stay low, off the grid like you’ve been doing, and I can tell the old man you’re dead.”
“I can’t promise that.”
“You might change your mind.”
“Or, I could just shoot you and get it over with.”
“I’m not Vanderveen’s only man. Are you going to shoot us all? Besides, you might be brave, Noah Brody, but you’re not a murderer.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that.”
“I’m not a betting man.”
Would Grant call my bluff? My heart beat steadily, but my arms remained strong and sure. A fly buzzed around his head, and he swatted it.
“Don’t move,” I said not convinced the man didn’t have his own weapon hidden somewhere on his body.
“Are we at a stalemate then?” Grant’s lip pulled up on one side. “I stand here with my hands in the air, while you point a gun. How’s it going to end?”
“Get against the wall.”
He hesitated.
“Now!”
He moved slowly to the dark side of the garage and leaned against the wall with his hands. I patted him down. Just as I thought–a gun in a side holster and a knife strapped against his leg.
“This must be humiliating,” I said, stripping the man of his weapons. “Getting one upped by a kid.”
“I admit, not my best moment.”
I dropped his weapons into my backpack.
“Here’s the deal.” I kept the gun pressed against the back of Grant’s head. “I watch you walk east down the alley. We agree this never happened. Vanderveen never knows about your incompetence or my whereabouts. I just disappeared into thin air. Deal?”
Grant grunted. “Deal.”
I prodded him to leave the garage and start walking. “And remember, my gun is aimed at your back. Don’t do anything stupid.”
33
The warm glow of dusk stroked the city. I rode my scooter to the beach nearest the Sol City northern gate and I parked at the surf shop, locking my helmet in place. I found the changing rooms and changed into a muscle shirt and surf shorts. I had to look the part.
The guy renting surfboards stared at me oddly when I asked to pay in cash, but money was money. He took it and stuffed the bills into his pocket. I walked down the beach with the board tucked awkwardly under my right arm, and when another customer distracted the rental guy, I left the beach, board in tow.
I’d never surfed a day in my life, but the board was large enough there to conceal my face from security. I approached the Sol City gates, waiting across the street until I spotted a group of other guys, college kids, approaching. I stepped up behind them, as they got into the pedestrian line, hoping it looked like we were together.
The guys ahead of me waved their palms through the scanner. I didn’t have Liam’s chip anymore, besides I was sure his code had been erased by now.
What I had was a copy of Zoe’s chip from when she wanted me to break into her locked medical files. I kept my face down, hiding behind the heavy board.
My heart stuttered as I waited. I felt a flare of red creep up my neck. Would this copy clear me?
I held my breath as I waved the concealed chip replicate under the scanner. No sirens or alarms. I followed the crowd as it dispersed, breathing deeply.
Sol City was up and running like the storm hadn’t even happened. This didn’t surprise me. Sol City always got the first and the best. I took a westward path near the transit station and headed for the beach.
Near a park with a playground and public washrooms was a row of lockers. I put my pack in one, paying with Zoe’s chip to lock it. I skipped through hot sand to the water’s edge, dropped the board and slid on.
My arms burned as I paddled along the shoreline. Zoe lived farther south than I’d thought, but I recognized the beachfront of Zoe’s house when I reached it–the odd cube design, colorless lines and the west-facing glass wall. The terraced yard prevented me from being seen from the house windows, at least from the first floor anyway. My hope was if I waited long enough, Zoe would come out.
I was bargaining on her love of the ocean to bring her here at some point in the day. I’d just wait for her. If her heart missed me as much as mine missed her, maybe the ocean would be a respite as she waited for answers.
I didn’t have to wait long before I noticed movement on the terrace. A blond head.
When I saw it was Zoe, my chest almost burst. I’d dreamed of this moment–Zoe catching sight of me and running into my arms.
She paused when she spotted me. Her face didn’t break into her gorgeous smile, and she didn’t dash my way. Instead she waved and said a timid hello.
Maybe the surfer shorts and muscle shirt threw her off. She’d never seen me in anything but jeans and a T-shirt before.
“Zoe, it’s me.”
She tossed her flip-flops off and crossed the sand. She had on a pair of beach shorts and a white button-down, short-sleeved shirt. She put a hand over her eyes and stared.
“Who?”
With that word, my heart sank. A heavy knowing of what Dr. Vanderveen had meant when he said he would fix her.
She didn’t remember me.
She didn’t remember me.
I stepped a little closer but worried about stepping into the sight-line of the house.
“It’s me, Noah.”
“Do I know you?”
I collapsed to the sand. What had that psychopath done? A memory inhibitor? The man had no conscience.
“Yes, you know me.”
“I don’t remember.” She sat on the sand a safe distance away. “My brother died, and well, I don’t really remember much since then. My father says I’ve been in shock.”
Paul Vanderveen was covering for his father. I wondered how much he knew.
Zoe gathered her flyaway hair and twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck. “Were you a friend of my brother’s?”
“No. I’m your friend.”
She tilted her head as she studied me. “Funny, I don’t remember you. Are you a GAP? You don’t look like one?”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. How had they done it? Brain drugs? Nanobot injection? But the biggest question was whether it would last. Was there something I could do to bring her back?
Instead of answering her question, I said, “My mother used to be your housekeeper.”
“Saundra?”
“Yes,” I said, excited that she remembered her.
“She was sick, wasn’t she?”
“She’s still pretty sick. You’ve been to my house. Do you remember? It’s on the outside.”
She scuttled a little farther away from me. “I don’t go to the outside. My grandfather says the naturals can’t be trusted, and he’s Senator William Vanderveen, you know. He’s going to be president. He said it’s safer for me to stay inside the gates.”
I sighed hard. It was worse than I’d thought. Zoe’d had her memories wiped and she’d been brainwashed. It was suddenly hard to breathe, hard to swallow. I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing down the pain.
“Are you okay?” she said. “Did you get something in your eye?”
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“I should go.”
“No, wait. Please. Just sit here with me. We don’t have to talk.”
She hesitated then wrapped her arms around her knees. She seemed at peace, childlike, so unlike the Zoe I’d known, the girl on a determined quest for truth. I wondered if Alison and Paul Vanderveen were happier with this version of their daughter.
I wanted to keep asking questions, wanted to shake her memories awake, but I was afraid she’d take off like a frightened bird if I said anything more. I watched her profile and my heart broke.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” she said.
Because I love you. “No reason.”
The waves crashed to shore. The tide crept up as the waterline moved closer to our feet. Small crabs sidestepped along the darkened sand; seagulls squawked overhead.
“Are you not going to surf?” she said, pointing at my board.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Oh.”
Every single moment of the crazy weeks I’d spent with Zoe rolled through my mind. She’d worked so hard to get to the truth about what really happened to Liam, to get the truth about her own identity. The truth about how she felt about me.
Now she was worse off than before. Every memory of our time together was gone.
“I’ve missed you, Zoe” I didn’t realize the words had come out of my mouth until it was too late.
She stood. “I really have to go. My mother will worry. Maybe we’ll meet up again someday.”
“I hope so.”
“Goodbye, Noah.”
I didn’t want to say it. She waited, then waved. I whispered after her. “Goodbye, Zoe.”
I watched until she disappeared to the upper terrace and into the house. A hard lump formed in my throat as I tried to make sense of it all.
I had a choice to make. Leave Zoe alone and let her live a make-believe but peaceful, contented and safe life.
Or somehow fight for her memories to return and give her back the truth she’d fought so hard to find.
I lay my stomach flat on the surfboard and pushed away from the shore. I paddled hard against the waves, throwing all my anger and frustration into every stroke.
34
Ma died on Monday. I’d gone home after seeing Zoe and I knew there was trouble when I saw Skye’s face.
I knelt by my mother’s bed.
“Ma? It’s me.”
Her words were low and labored. “Noah, my son. Keep the faith.”
Those were her last words. I held her icy hand as her heart stopped. Skye reached over and gently closed her eyes.
Davis bawled and Skye carried him out of the room, whispering soothing words into his ears. Jonathon stood stiffly on the other side of the bed, his eyes and nose leaking down his face. Though he was almost as tall as me and filling out, in the shaded room he looked fragile and vulnerable.
“It’s going to be all right,” I said to him.
“How? How’s it going to be all right? We’re orphans now.”
I crossed the room and wrapped my arms around my little brother. He sobbed into my shoulder and I swallowed hard, unable to keep my own tears at bay.
After the funeral, Skye moved into our house with the boys. Ma had enough insurance to pay off the house and provide a small monthly allowance so Skye didn’t have to work when the boys were home from school.
I moved out to the cabin. I told them I’d be back, that I just needed some time alone.
Now I stood at the oche line. I aimed and threw.
Bull’s-eye. Only this time it wasn’t a dart I’d thrown. It was Grant’s knife. I stepped up to the board, worked the knife out of the corky surface and returned to the line to throw again.
I could kidnap Zoe and help her get her memory back.
Kidnap was the wrong word. Too strong. Rescue Zoe. I could go back to Sol City to rescue her from her lying, thieving family.
The knife whipped through the air hitting the bull’s-eye with a whack.
At least, when I looked at it that way, I could justify all the laws I’d have to break to pull it off.
Including some lying and thievery.
I slapped away a fly and pushed my hair off my sweating brow. It had grown in the last month and a half. Usually I’d get Skye to buzz it off for me. I was starting to look like a surfer-dude, which, it turned out, would come in handy.
With the knife positioned between my thumb and forefinger, I held it up to eye level and stood at the oche line once again.
Even though I hated to, I had to consider the alternative.
Leaving Zoe alone. She was a GAP girl, through and through. And as much as it tore my heart to shreds, she looked happy, at least a little bit. She belonged in Sol City, lies and all.
The knife handle vibrated like a fish’s tail when it hit the board. Wide this time.
Should I save her? Should I let her go? My heart prayed for a sign.
The heat bearing down on my dark head prompted me to find relief indoors, and the crooked wooden step creaked as I went in.
The cabin had been shut up for two years and had the dust build up and stale air to show for it. I’d found cleaning supplies under the sink and a broom in the closet by the door and I’d spent most of the first day sweeping, wiping and cleaning until the small abode smelled disinfected and appeared orderly.
I hand-washed the bedding that had been left on the bottom bunk in one of the two small rooms and hung the sheets out to dry in the sun.
A bowl, glass and spoon were washed and drying in a dish rack by the single sink. Indirect sunlight brightened the room. An over-sized chair and a couch with a hand-knitted Afghan draped over its back faced a wood stove built into the corner. A stack of wood beside it remained untouched.
I shoved the kitchen table against the outside wall and propped up my computer pen. The virtual keyboard appeared on the table; the virtual monitor waved slightly against the crooked wall.
I didn’t know what to do about Zoe, but I’d decided one thing. I opened my blog page, a site I hadn’t visited for weeks. I set it up with an encrypted address and counted on that to keep Grant from tracking me to this spot.
I breathed deeply, and started typing.
I thought the secluded quiet of the cabin would’ve been conducive to prayer. I’d even found one of my father’s old Bibles, which I opened and laid on the kitchen table. Even after I’d put my hands together, closed my eyes and bowed my head, I couldn’t get any further than Dear Lord.
The words just wouldn’t come.
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my helmet and hopped onto my scooter.
Now I sat on the pew in the church facing the altar, staring at the color-tinted dust particles floating in the stream of sunshine from the stain glass windows. Here I could pray.
But still, I had no answers. Like Ma used to say, no answer was probably the answer no. My chest grew heavy when I thought of her, but she got what she wanted how she wanted it. I couldn’t judge her for that.