by Jamie Canosa
After an hour and a half of talking over one another, we’ve finally produced something that vaguely resembles a plan. We’re going to use the train to take a few volunteers to some of the other work camps with word of the rebellion and a decent supply of weapons. Connor and I have already proven that getting inside the camps isn’t all that difficult and once inside, if everything goes according to plan, they should be able to walk right back out the front gate along with hundreds of new recruits. I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea, or the million and one things that could go wrong with it, but I agree on the condition that they drop me off near colony D on the way. Not much of a concession since the planned route travels right past there anyway.
“You’re going home?” Peter held me back after the meeting wrapped up and the others moved outside.
“Sort of.”
“What are you thinking now, Leigh?” He squints at me like he’s got some kind of x-ray vision that will allow him to see the inner workings of my mind. Personally, I’d be terrified to see what it looks like in there.
“I’m thinking that if you guys want to fight for our freedom, I can’t stop you. But what about the people here who need more than just freedom? Some of them may not have time to wait for this plan to work. I’m thinking if we can’t bring the patients to the medical supplies, maybe we can at least bring the medical supplies to the patients.”
“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”
“I’m gonna steal them.”
“Steal them? From colony D?”
“Why not? I’ve already gotten in there once without any trouble, and I’m familiar with the layout of the colony, and the hospital . . .”
“Oh, I remember your many visits. You were seriously the least coordinated kid ever.”
“Yeah, well, the sprained ankles and broken arm are all about to pay off.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? That’s it? You’re not gonna try and talk me out of it?”
“Have I ever been able to talk you out of anything?”
“No.”
“Well, lesson learned. Besides, why would I want to stop you when I’m going with you?”
“You’re going with her?” I hadn’t realized Connor was still standing in the doorway, and by the look on Peter’s face, he hadn’t either.
“Peter, you should stay here and help Connor.”
“Leigh,” he chides in his ‘this is not open for debate’ tone.
“But, what if . . .”
“Connor has things under control here. Don’t you?” He looks to Connor, who gives a reluctant nod. “I told you I wasn’t letting you out of my sight again, Leigh.”
Connor looks even more annoyed with Peter than I am. I can literally feel the tension building in the room. The two of them are locked in some sort of stare down, and there’s a definite challenge there, but I can’t understand it. Rather than try and decode stupid male posturing, I excuse myself.
Just as I’m squeezing past Connor, he stops me with a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Hey, just be careful, all right, Girlie?”
“You too.”
“You’d better keep her safe.” He turns back to Peter, and that is most definitely my cue to clear out before I say something I’ll regret.
***
The hospital is bustling. Incompetence must be at an all-time high today. Either that, or the black plague has made a come-back. There are people absolutely everywhere, overflowing the waiting rooms, parked on gurneys lining the hallways, blocking traffic in front of the elevators. It all works to our advantage, though. Even in our absurdly matching outfits, Peter and I go largely unnoticed as we move through the building, hiding in plain sight.
The train dropped us off about a mile outside the colony, with a reminder that they’d be back for us in two days and if we weren’t there, they wouldn’t be waiting for us. I seriously doubt it would matter. If we’re not out of here in two days, then we’ll have bigger problems than a missed train.
Confidence. It’s all about confidence. If you act like you belong somewhere, everyone will just believe you do. At least, that’s the philosophy I’m operating under as I stroll right down the main hallway, past the emergency department and toward a supply closet I happen to know is located just outside of x-ray, without giving anyone a second glance. So far, so good. No one’s given us a second glance either.
We don’t even need to utilize our nonexistent lock picking skills when we reach the closet because it’s already standing open. I hate to even think it, but this all just seems too easy. Peter slides a shelf behind the door so we don’t have any unwanted visitors, and we proceed to fill our packs with everything from bandages to bottles of aspirin. The more serious medicines are locked up tight somewhere, I’m sure, so we’ll just have to make do with what we can actually get our hands on. In less than a minute, both bags are stuffed full.
We slip back out into the hall, and . . . Why, why, why do I do this to myself? Why do I think such stupid things? Better yet, why the hell don’t I listen to myself when I think them? Of course it was too easy. Because we hadn’t gotten to the part where we come back out of the supply closet to find three guards just standing there, waiting for us. How many different ways are there to say stupid? Any one of them would describe exactly how I’m feeling at the moment.
Kevin Jackson, the Head of Security himself, steps forward—I wonder if he remembers me—and grabs my arm in a bone-crushing grip. Yeah, he definitely remembers me. A pathetic whimper slips out as the sudden pain causes me to drop my pack, spilling its contents across the floor.
“Let her go!” Peter moves to help me, but the other two guards intercept him. “You’re hurting her!”
“What do we have here?” Jackson’s hand wraps around my ponytail and pulls it to the side, craning my neck in the process.
“Leave her alone!” Peter’s struggling against his captors, but his efforts are as useless as his words.
“Camp codes. You’re some of those dissident workers, aren’t you?”
One of the others brushes Peter’s long locks out of the way, revealing his code as well.
“I lost some good friends in those riots.” He gives me a hard shake, and it feels like my brain is rattling around my skull.
“Hey!” Peter’s protests are still going largely ignored.
“If you haven’t already figured it out, you’re under arrest.”
We’re hauled out of the hospital in cuffs, and deposited into the back of a large SUV under the disgruntled stares of dozens of citizens. I scan their faces for a single spec of recognition, but there’s none. Guess that’s what happens when you’re about as social as an angry bear for most of your life. Peter’s shoved in next to me, and immediately scoots over until he’s pressed against my side, as though being closer somehow keeps us safer.
The windows are blacked out, so it’s impossible to see where we’re going once the doors are shut. Wherever it is, it doesn’t take long to get there. I hear Jackson throw the vehicle into park and get out, but before they let us out, the guard sitting in front of me lowers the privacy glass between the front and rear seats. He has blindfolds for each of us, and as it slips snugly over my eyes, I’m desperately hoping that his ugly face isn’t the last thing I’ll ever see.
“No. No!” I can feel Peter struggling beside me, but the darkness is so dense I can’t see a thing.
What’s happening? What are they doing to him?
“Peter!”
Before he can answer, I’m pulled from the car and rough hands steady me on my feet before urging me forward.
“Leigh? Leigh?”
“I’m here, Peter.”
“It’s okay. It’s gonna be all right, Leigh. Okay?”
“Shut up, the two of you, and move.”
Someone grabs hold of my already bruised arm and directs me forward. I shuffle my feet the entire way, not certain they aren’t planning to walk me right off the edge of a cliff somewhere, but when we com
e to a stop, I’m still standing on solid ground.
“Peter?”
“Right here.” His voice comes from directly beside me as the blindfold is ripped from my face.
The space is lit only by the moonlight coming through a barred window, but it’s enough to make out that we’re in some kind of holding cell. Roughly, a ten-foot by ten-foot room with nothing but four cement walls, the one window, and a solid metal door with a no-nonsense looking lock on it.
Peter’s gaze latches onto mine the moment his blindfold is removed and holds it while we’re both un-cuffed.
“If I didn’t have orders, you’d both be corpses by now.” Jackson’s still standing right behind me, and he leans in so close that I can feel his hot breath on the back of my neck. “My orders never said anything about what condition you had to be in, though.”
“You stay the hell away from her!” Peter’s eyes flare the moment before he lunges.
He lands one solid blow to Jackson’s jaw before the others can stop him. Jackson recovers quickly, however, and slams Peter in the stomach so hard that he doubles over.
“Peter!”
Jackson moves toward him again, but I grab his arm to hold him back. He shakes me off easily enough, and I end up a heap on the floor. My self-defense skills are astounding.
“Move out.” The guards follow their boss out of the room, and the door clangs shut behind them with a finality that echoes in my bones.
“Leigh.” Peter’s kneeling on the floor beside me. “Are you okay?”
“You mean, besides being locked in a room with a man who wants to see us six feet under holding the key to our freedom? Yeah, I’m great. How about you?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about him. It’s going to be all right.”
Sure it is, but if he needs to believe that, then I’ll let him. I watch incredulously as Peter fights with the door for at least fifteen minutes before finally throwing in the towel. I’m not sure what the point of all of that was, but I guess it beats sitting around doing nothing. When he’s finished trying to prove he’s stronger than two solid inches of steel, he joins me on the floor with a frustrated huff. For a while we just sit there, tracking the moon as it slowly makes its way across our tiny window.
“It’s late.” Peter breaks the silence. I have no idea what time it is, but ‘late’ seems adequate. “Let’s get some rest.”
“What’s gonna happen, Peter? What are they going to do with us? What do you think his orders are?” Despite my determination not to let them scare me, my voice wavers.
Peter heaves a deep sigh, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s feeling defeated or exhausted. Probably both. I know I am.
“I don’t know, Leigh, but we’ll figure it out. For now, let’s just get some sleep while we can. Don’t worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
The floor is hard and cold, but Peter’s exuding warmth like an oven. How is it that boys are always warm no matter what? How is that fair? He stretches out beside me, but, despite what Peter says, worry is all I can do. I lay there for I don’t know how long, curled into his side, before I’m finally able to quiet my mind long enough to sleep.
***
I wake at first light. That may have something to do with the fact that it’s pouring into the room like a freaking mini nova. Peter, of course, is still sound asleep, even with the sun shining directly in his face. How does he do that? His dark hair is starting to get long and tangled from lack of grooming. It spills over his forehead, partially covering his deeply tanned face. Our strict worker diet has made him even leaner than before, but all of the manual labor has really developed his muscles. His biceps and pecs bulge slightly under his tee shirt, and even his facial muscles look more well defined. Maybe it’s just the way his cheeks seem to have hollowed out slightly, but his jaw looks stronger, more . . . mature. I’m sure if I got my hands on a mirror right about now, ‘worker chic’ would not look nearly as good on me.
My gaze continues its casual perusal of his facial features until it lands on his eyes. Beyond those absurdly dark lashes, his eyelids are fluttering rapidly. A garbled cry escapes his lips just before his arms start flailing. It’s a night terror. He used to have them all the time, but I thought he’d outgrown those years ago.
“Peter!”
He continues to flop around like a fish out of water, so I move closer and try again. I know better than to touch him. Learned that lesson the hard way.
“Peter!”
He pops up like the freaking living dead and surprises me so badly that I fall over backward onto my butt.
“Leigh?” he gasps.
I back away a bit, knowing he needs some space, and sit in front of him where I’m sure he’ll be able to see me easily.
“I’m right here.”
“You’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” He’s still breathing like he just ran a marathon. “Peter, look at me. I’m right here. I’m fine.”
“All right.” He takes a deep breath and holds it a moment before releasing it slowly. “Okay.”
“You all right?”
“I’m good.”
I draw my knees up, hugging them close to my chest and drop my chin on them. “You want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“The weather,” I deadpan. “Your dream, dummy.”
“Oh . . . I don’t remember it.”
Somehow I doubt that. He always used to tell me about them when we were younger. He said it was the only way he could get them out of his head. They usually revolved around his irrational fear of clowns, which inevitably led to endless jokes and one truly epic costume that I used to scare the pants off him when we were about ten. His spastic reaction to that actually led to one of my many hospital visits.
“It didn’t have to do with your old friend Bozo, did it?”
“Leigh.” He gives me a look that quickly reminds me we have bigger problems at the moment than bad dreams.
Being locked in a small space with me is never a good thing for the other person. Peter does his best to try and ignore my hours of relentless pacing. I’ve been wracking my brain, trying to come up with some kind of solution to our current situation, but I’m drawing a blank. Maybe it’s the lack of fuel. Evidently, they don’t believe in feeding people around here.
Peter’s been quiet most of the day, a rare thing for him, and I know he’s just as frustrated as I am. My stomach is grumbling, my head is pounding, and I’m getting absolutely nowhere. Aggravation finally wins out, and I slam my fist into the wall. The cement wall. Genius. Now I can add a busted hand to my list of troubles.
“Leigh.” Peter carefully unfolds my fist, and examines my bloody knuckles. “What are you doing? I told you not to worry, didn’t I?”
“I know, Peter, but . . .”
“No buts, I’ll get you out of here. I promise.”
“Us.”
“What?”
“You’ll get us out of here.”
“Right. So, don’t worry about it.”
“Do we have a plan I don’t know about? Because I’m running on empty here.”
“I’m working on it. Just promise me something.”
“What?” People always say that right before they say something really stupid.
“If you see a chance to run, you’ll take it. And you won’t look back.” Point proven.
“Peter . . .”
“Leigh, I mean it, if I . . .”
Whatever completely idiotic plan is brewing in that head of his is interrupted when a pair of irate voices reaches us from just outside the door.
Chapter 22
“I said I want to speak with them, and I meant now!”
“But, Sir, if you could just wait for . . .”
“If your boss has a problem with this, you can have him come and talk to me, but I’m taking the prisoners to my office for interrogation immediately.”
“But, Sir . . .”
“Now! Open the door
.”
We’re both on our feet before we even hear the jangle of keys, and in walks the mayor, accompanied by one of the guards from yesterday. Huh. I must admit, I didn’t see that one coming.
“You two are coming with me.” Mayor Hixon directs the lone guard toward the pair of us.
“Why?” Peter’s weaseled his way in front of me, like that’s going to stop them . . . or me.
“I just want a chance to talk to you both. If you don’t give us any trouble, then we won’t have a reason to give you any.”
Peter glances back at me, and I just shrug. It’s not like we’ve got a whole lot going for us right now, and anything that gets us the hell out of this room sounds good to me.
“Okay.” Peter agrees, and Hixon nods to the guard, who produces two sets of cuffs. “You don’t need those. We agreed not to give you any trouble.”
“Neither of you is so much as looking out that door without these,” the guard seethes.
“It’s procedure.” Hixon’s explanation is slightly more amiable, but essentially means the same thing. We’re going to be rocking some silver jewelry again.
I don’t bother struggling when he pulls my arms behind my back and squeezes the cuffs just a bit tighter than necessary around my wrists. What does it say that I’m almost used to the feel of them there?
The guard pulls out the blindfolds next, and Peter immediately bristles.
“Those won’t be necessary.” Hixon steps closer, shooing the guard away.
“But, Sir, procedure . . .”
“You have an awful lot of procedures around here, and I’ve already told you, this one is unnecessary. Now, let’s go. I’m a very busy man.”
Peter nudges me forward, and I hear what he’s not saying, loud and clear. ‘Let’s get out of here before they change their minds’. I don’t know what they were trying to hide with the blindfolds. Outside, the grand view is of a vacant parking lot set between several tall brick buildings. Obviously, we’re somewhere in the business district, but I’ve lived here my entire life and never seen this spot before.