He swallowed and nodded.
It was only moments until we heard the sound of the approaching pod. I sighed when I saw there was a passenger already onboard. I knew there had been a good chance, but still, it would’ve been nice if there hadn’t been.
The door opened and the security guard stepped out, looking for whoever had called the pod. I waited until he paced a few steps towards us, and when he turned to pace in the other direction, I moved fast, coming up behind the pod, raising my hand that was already holding the tranq gun. When I was sure I had a good aim, I fired.
The dart went straight to his neck, and though he spun around and his hand flew to the dart, he was down in three seconds tops.
I blew out the breath I’d been holding and leaned back against the pod for a second, checking with relief to see the camera light had gone off. Then I got moving, waving to Quentin.
He joined me as I leaned over the security guy. ‘Help me load him in,’ I said after I pulled the dart, pocketing the evidence.
‘Is he …?’
‘He’s asleep, and hopefully won’t remember this when he wakes up.’ The propranolol mixed into a sedative caused minor amnesia, but it wasn’t guaranteed; some people took to it more than others. Either way, the guard hadn’t seen us.
‘How long will he be out?’
‘Only a few minutes, so we need to hurry.’ I started pulling at the guard’s legs and Quentin dutifully gripped under his arms. We heaved him into the pod and sat him on the bench seat. I arranged his head so he looked like he’d simply drifted off.
Quentin watched in horror as I brushed the dirt off the guard, cleaning him up. Details mattered.
‘Jump on the back. There’s a small ledge and a handhold at the top. Get a good grip. I’ll follow you.’
He blinked. ‘Aren’t we going in the pod?’
I shook my head. ‘It won’t stop where we need to go. Hurry up.’
He did as ordered. And when he was in position, I pressed the door button and jumped out and onto the back just in time.
The pod jerked forwards and sped through the junction tunnel. It would only take a minute to get where we needed to go, which was a good thing, since we only had four left.
And we still had to get back into the elevator.
When we passed Junction 16, I nudged Quentin. ‘When I nod, you jump! Don’t hesitate!’ I yelled.
He nodded nervously.
I nudged him again. ‘Jump and run, or jump and roll!’
He nodded again.
I saw the approaching junction and timed it to the second, nudging Quentin one last time and giving him a sharp nod.
He jumped immediately and I followed. I chose to jump and run, since my last jump and roll had resulted in a gravel-filled ass. I wasn’t sure what Quentin chose exactly, since he ended up on his back, but in all honesty, he’d done a lot better than I had my first go. I’d ended up in a wall.
With no time to lose, I was running and yelling at him to hurry up. We sprinted down the narrow side tunnel that led to the elevator shaft and through the door. I was so relieved to find the elevator still there, I actually let out a small giggle.
Quentin stared at me in dismay as he climbed through the hatch, which only made me laugh outright.
I followed him through the hatch, resting my feet on the railing so I could quickly put the screws back in place. It was one of those times I felt like forgetting about the damn details and just getting the hell out of there, but I’d already left a guard drugged in a pod. I couldn’t leave any other clues behind.
Each screw took a small eternity, but my hand remained steady and I got the job done. Then I grabbed my phone.
‘Tell me you’re back,’ Gus said.
I jumped down from the railing, rolling my ankle as I did. Quentin grabbed my waist to steady me. My eyes shot to his, and I flashed back to having my entire body pressed against his in the tunnel.
‘Open the doors,’ I said to Gus, stepping back from Quentin.
‘Move it, Maggie. Cameras come back up in thirty seconds. Take the mall parking exit.’
I hung up as the doors opened. I glanced at Quentin, who was watching me intently. ‘Run,’ I said.
We sprinted and made it out the pedestrian exit back onto the street. I abruptly slowed to a brisk walk, grabbing Quentin’s arm to indicate he do the same.
Panting for air, we kept moving until we saw a bus pull up across the road. I tugged on his sleeve and jogged over to it, jumping aboard.
When we sat down and the bus pulled out, we both breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Where are we going?’ Quentin asked, tugging his hat down so no one recognised him.
I watched him, this time focusing on the cuts and scrapes on his face and body. It wasn’t so much the small wounds on the outside though. It was the look in his eyes. I knew that look.
It was the one that signalled the end of the world as you knew it. The one that meant your new reality was unfamiliar and unkind.
I blew out a breath, mad at myself, both for caring and for not caring enough. ‘We’re going to get you cleaned up,’ I responded.
Mom wasn’t home. Tonight was one of those nights where we didn’t overlap with one another. I had work until nine and she started work the same time. It was why it was one of my preferred nights for breaking and entering.
There was a note and a plate of lasagne near the oven. I wasn’t hungry, but I grabbed it, and detoured by the laundry before heading to the garage.
When I walked into my room, Quentin was sitting at my desk. His shoulders were slumped, his head hanging. When he heard me, he looked around but didn’t say a word. He hadn’t spoken since we’d first got on the bus.
He turned back to my desk and I couldn’t help noticing the blood seeping thought his shirt on his shoulder blade.
I headed to my bathroom and grabbed the supplies I’d so often needed. When I came back out, he was still in the same position. I put the first-aid kit on the bed and sat on the edge, trying to suppress the urge to just throw him out. My life was not about sharing and caring. I didn’t know the first thing about how to tackle this. And I most certainly didn’t need to feed my guilt. That was something I’d have the rest of my life for. But not now.
‘They’re dead,’ he said, breaking the silence.
I swallowed audibly. ‘Not all of them, but enough,’ I responded, wondering yet again, what I had been thinking, taking him to the clean-up.
When he didn’t say anything else, I stood and moved towards him. ‘Take your shirt off and I’ll clean your wounds.’ I tried to make it an order, but it was a pathetic attempt. Whether I wanted to or not, I felt bad.
He shrugged out of his T-shirt and I was glad he wasn’t facing me when I got a good look at his exposed back. He was so defined, his olive skin making every muscle look that much more …
I felt the air hiss into my mouth.
He heard it and stiffened.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed dramatically. For the first time that night, my hands shook as I picked up the sponge and started to clean away the blood from his shoulder. Not at all noticing the few drops of water that escaped down the deep groove of his spine.
After I dried his wound and applied some antiseptic cream, I put a square bandage on it. Neither of us spoke, and all my traitorous mind could conjure were thoughts that involved my hands exploring the details of his back.
Well, shit. I closed my eyes briefly and stepped away. ‘All done. I’m sure you can clean up the small grazes on your arms,’ I said.
He turned towards me in the chair and I had to work very hard to keep my eyes focused on his.
‘Is my father a murderer?’ he asked suddenly.
I thought about the question and, strangely, what the answer would mean to him. I grabbed the fresh clothes I’d got from the laundry and handed them to him, not sure I had a response he’d be happy with. ‘They’re my brother’s.’
Seeing through my pa
thetic attempt at diversion, he snatched the clothes, his eyes flashing with disappointment, and headed towards the bathroom.
I looked at my feet, but gave him the best answer I could. ‘I don’t think he pulls the trigger, if that’s what you meant,’ I said.
Just before he closed the door, I caught his quiet response. ‘No, that’s not what I meant.’
It was a while before he reappeared. When he did, he left without another word.
Twelve
I don’t know how I’d let myself be suckered into this field trip. I had things to do, intel from last night that needed to be sifted through. But when Quentin had called me first thing in the morning, insisting we visit one of the rehabilitation farms so widely advertised on television and city billboards, I’d caved.
We were changing onto the orange line at Rosslyn Metro station, where I’d caused a delay by running above ground to grab a breakfast burrito.
‘Did you have any trouble ditching your babysitter?’ I asked.
Quentin’s brow lifted in question.
‘Your driver,’ I elaborated.
He put a hand in his pocket and leaned against the wall, looking completely at ease. ‘Security is important to my family, but my brothers and I learned a long time ago that staff all have a price.’
‘You’re paying off your driver?’
He shrugged. ‘More like, sending him on some other errands for the day.’
‘With compensation.’
He grinned. ‘With compensation.’ His eyes dropped to my hands. ‘Is that chilli?’
I took another large bite, shifting my feet apart to accommodate for the drips, and nodded. Okay, so it wasn’t technically a ‘breakfast’ burrito as much as an extremely tasty way to start the day.
‘That’s disgusting,’ he mumbled, even as he kept eyeing it.
‘Want some?’ I asked.
He shook his head.
I rolled my eyes and looked away.
‘You don’t think much of me,’ he said, breaking my study of the waffled cement ceiling. Since it wasn’t really a question, I didn’t answer. He nodded slowly, my silence apparently enough, and reached to pull a bottle of water out of his bag. As he did his arm grazed mine, his hand skimming my forearm. Goosebumps shot across my arm and down my back.
I clenched my jaw and threw the last bite of my burrito into a nearby bin.
‘You’re angry?’ Quentin said, his tone unnervingly intrigued. ‘At me?’
I was. Working to control my damn heart rate around him was becoming a constant task. It was infuriating. I kept my gaze averted. ‘It’s going to be a long day, that’s all. Why do you even want to do this?’
He pondered my question, letting go of his own for now. He was a Mercer and that meant almost everything was accessible. In his world, desires were simply there to be met by others, so the level of consideration he seemed to be giving my question was intriguing.
‘I’ve only visited the farms on official tours. You know, with media and liaisons. I want to see one of them when no one knows I’m there. I need to do this.’
He needed more proof. This, I understood.
‘Okay.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay? You’re not going to try to tell me I’m being stupid?’
I stubbed my booted toe into the subway station floor. ‘Nope. But be prepared to be disappointed.’
Seeing the truth of the rehabilitation farms would open Quentin’s eyes once and for all. In fact, it was even a good idea, as long as we could get close enough and remain undetected.
‘Right now, disappointment would be little surprise,’ he said, watching pensively as the red lights flashed along the platform edge, signalling our train’s arrival. I wondered if he was remembering what had happened last month. The image of the desperate man as he broke free of the M-Corp guards and leaped in front of that train had most certainly imprinted on my mind.
We rode the first half of the trip to Fairfax in silence. A group of girls had boarded the train after us, and it was soon obvious they’d recognised the Mercer heir. Quentin kept his attention on the floor as the group shuffled closer to us, continuing their whispers until they disembarked at East Falls.
Once we were moving again, Quentin turned to me. ‘Are you scared of the negs?’
I understood the question and why he was asking it. But the answer was not so simple. I looked out the window. ‘Some negs are frightening,’ I admitted. ‘Especially those who’ve been locked underground for a long time. You only have to study how insane coal miners get after being trapped underground to understand what it could do to someone. I can’t imagine anyone being okay with having their freedom stolen from them.’
‘You’re avoiding the question, even though I agree with you.’
I let out a deep breath. ‘What do you want me to say? Yes, they … Some of them are dangerous, the type you hope you never run into in a dark alley. But others … I don’t know, maybe they’re destined to do or become something horrible like they say, but they haven’t become that yet. They seem normal. Lost. Desperate.’ I huffed, struggling to communicate my jumbled thoughts. ‘I don’t know the answer exactly. But people should have the right to become whatever they’re going to be before they are judged and sentenced.’
After a few minutes, he simply looked back at me and said, ‘I agree.’
I blinked, surprised by his assessment of my opinion.
‘Tell me about your father,’ he tacked on, again catching me off guard.
I swallowed the fast-forming lump in my throat. Just thinking of Dad …
‘He was …’ I caught myself. ‘He is a good person.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ Quentin said softly.
When I didn’t respond, he elaborated. ‘To do what you’re doing, to risk everything the way you are. He must be an amazing man. He’s lucky to have you.’
The compliment only triggered all of my feelings of failure. All of my fruitless trips into the tunnels. I shook my head sharply. ‘I’ve done nothing to help him.’
‘But you will, won’t you?’ he said, as if he was already certain.
I blushed, but my reply was firm. ‘Whatever it takes.’
He nodded, as if he were pleased with my response. ‘I have no doubt.’
Good to hear, I suppose. Considering he was the ‘whatever’ it was going to take.
Fairfax County is vast. Once we arrived at Vienna Metro, we hailed a taxi. Though Quentin knew the location of one of the rehabilitation farms near Manassas, we asked the driver to instead take us to a prestigious golf course that neighboured the facility.
The rehabilitation farm was hidden in plain sight, like so many things M-Corp. It was almost as if Garrett Mercer took pride in laughing at the world’s blindness.
We paid the taxi driver and crossed through the back paddocks of the golf course. I was grateful we didn’t come across any roaming golfers.
‘We’ll have to cross through the forest. It’ll take about half an hour,’ Quentin instructed. I’d had a close look at the map this morning and the location of the farm was nestled within the bushlands of Hemlock Overlook Park. I’d expected we’d have to walk, but it felt odd not being the one making the decisions. Nonetheless, I nodded and let Quentin set the pace.
It was refreshing to be outdoors. I seemed to spend all of my time now entrenched in urban landscapes. Or below ground. The clean air, the sounds of rustling tree leaves and nearby birds calling, reminded me how much I missed country life. It also served as an affirmation of what I was doing. If I could get Dad back, I knew he’d make things right and get us out of the city.
We made good time. Both of us were fit and capable of taking the most direct route, even if we did have to push through some dense forest along the way. Before long we came to a large barbed-wire fence, most of it blacked out by a dark tarpaulin. We travelled the perimeter until we found a gap that we could look through. Beyond, we could see a farm site. It was a large plantation-style home, and th
ere were a number of people outside, in what looked like lines. But we were too far away to see much.
‘We could cut the wire. I brought cutters,’ Quentin suggested.
Well, wasn’t he nifty?
But I shook my head, pointing to the electrical wires. ‘Cut them and it will set off an alarm instantly.’
‘What then?’ he asked.
I smiled. It was good to be back in the driver’s seat.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out a piece of my own black tarpaulin along with two pairs of gloves.
‘Sometimes the old-fashioned way is the one they forget,’ I said slyly, unfolding the tarp.
Quentin watched me dubiously. ‘Will the tarp protect us from the barbs?’
‘Not completely, hence the gloves and …’ I looked him up and down. He was in jeans and a distractingly well-fitted navy T-shirt. ‘It will protect the important bits,’ I said with a smirk.
‘Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea,’ he mumbled while I laughed.
The tarp would do its job. It wasn’t the strongest material, but it matched what was already surrounding the perimeter. If a guard was to look up and see it flapping in the wind, he would just think it had come loose from the fence. Anything else would entice unwanted interest.
‘Put these on,’ I instructed, handing him a pair of thickly padded garden gloves. ‘Use them to hold down the barbs when you go over. And be quick. We have no idea what the security’s like here. They could have eyes on the perimeter at any time.’ It wasn’t how I liked to do things, but from everything Gus had been able to pull up this morning, it didn’t seem like there was much more than hourly sweeps by guards on foot.
Quentin shoved his hands in the gloves and reached for the fence, only to snatch his arm back.
I bit down on the inside of my lip to stop my smile. ‘Oh, by the way, there’s probably an electrical current running through the fence to keep wildlife away.’
He threw me a sharp look. I gave up trying to suppress my amusement. ‘I’m sorry,’ I laughed, holding up my hands in surrender. ‘It’s only a little current to frighten them away. It won’t do any lasting damage.’
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