I sucked in a breath. We were pretty far off the ground, but my knees were about level with the top of the fence, which was several feet away. Thick coils of razor wire spun across its top, adding three more feet to its height. I slung the heavy mat over the razor wire, and, stepping back for a head start, leaped onto it for all I was worth. The wires gave slightly under my weight, and I never quite caught my balance. Almost as soon as my thighs touched the mat, I was falling face-first into the ground nearly twelve feet below.
I scrambled, limbs flailing against air and rubber, and managed to shift my upper body backward, so that my feet were beneath me when I began to fall in earnest. Time swung by in a single, heart-stopping arc before I hit the ground, hard. My legs buckled, and I threw my weight to the side, absorbing the secondary impact with my hip.
I breathed in, trying to contain the pain, and consoled myself with the knowledge that, where I was going, gravity wouldn’t be my problem.
It was several seconds before I stood shakily to ascertain the damage. Something dark in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I realized with a jolt that my entire left arm was bright red with blood.
My throat made a noise like a long, low groan while I searched for the source of the blood, which turned out to be a slash along the side of my left hand. I must have grabbed the edge of the mat during my mid-air acrobatics, leaving the skin exposed to the razor wire.
The blood coated my forearm and blotted onto my prison scrubs. This, combined with the rest of my appearance, was not going to fly at the OPT facility. Assuming I made it that far. I removed a sock and tied it as hard as I could around my hand. That would have to do for now.
“You ready?” I shout-whispered at Isaiah.
“As ever,” he said back.
“You’re about ten feet from—”
“I remember.” Isaiah sent his cane sailing over the fence. He followed soon after, pausing only briefly atop the mat. He landed next to me, allowing his body to hit the ground once his legs had broken the fall.
“Okay, I’m impressed.”
Isaiah smiled.
We began to jog directly away from the prison walls, Isaiah’s cane sweeping the ground in fast-forward, but I quickly slowed our pace. I was weak from hunger, and from getting kicked in the head, so anything over a brisk walk was not on the menu. I turned back once, to say my final goodbyes to the prison that had been my home for years. As I watched, the grate popped out again.
The goodbyes didn’t take very long.
A thicket of trees spread before me, and I pulled Isaiah behind the first one we reached. I remembered from the stories that a town lay behind them, populated mostly by prison staff and their families. In ages past, an escapee sought refuge here at his peril, but I doubted there were a lot of people left in town, since all the guards had spots on an OPT. We moved from tree to tree, hiding our path until we were deep enough into the trees that no one could see us from a distance.
Then it was full speed ahead. Or as full speed as we could manage.
The second house we came to had no lights on. Perfect. Probably belonged to one of the guards, and he or she would be knocking at the gate of the OPT launch site by now. I let myself in through a back window and paused only a moment to take in my surroundings before turning to assist Isaiah. Again, he needed my help a lot less than I expected. We headed straight for the kitchen, but I stuck near a window, keeping one eye out for Kip. When I was satisfied that he hadn’t seen which house we entered, I relaxed slightly. Our best move was to stay here until he assumed we’d moved on.
I wanted a shower, but first things first. The house was old and small, with cheap linoleum on the kitchen floor that had begun to peel at the edges. I wondered how much Isaiah could ascertain about his surroundings, then noticed that the house smelled old and small, too.
The icer was stocked, though, as was the pantry, so to me, it was Buckingham Palace relocated to upstate New York. Two ham-and-jelly sandwiches for me, three ham sandwiches for Isaiah, and then we broke into the potato chips.
“So good,” I mumbled, not caring that the crumbs were sticking to my face.
Isaiah raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you to chew with your mouth closed?”
“Sorry.”
We climbed the narrow staircase, and I hopped into the rickety tub for the greatest shower of my entire life, leaving Isaiah to explore the other rooms.
I had no idea whose OPT pass I carried, but I knew they wouldn’t look like an escaped prisoner. So I ignored the fluttery, urgent feeling in my chest and took the time to blow-dry my hair. A raid of the bathroom cabinet revealed lipstick, deodorant, and moisturizer, along with a dried-out tube of eyeliner. I applied the lipstick quickly, grateful to my mom for the second time that day, since she had spent the better part of my time between stints in juvy forcing me to learn how to wear makeup. Or trying to, anyway.
I ran the eyeliner wand under the tap for a few seconds, swished it around in the tube, and swiped a thin line across my eyelids. The result was a lot more responsible-teen-headed-to-the-mall, or wherever it is normal teenagers go, and a lot less bruised-and-bloodied convict.
The cabinet under the sink produced Band-Aids, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a worn-out, empty makeup bag. Gritting my teeth, I ran the alcohol over the cut on my hand, which had opened back up in the shower, and taped it shut with a Band-Aid. I used a wad of toilet paper doused in alcohol to dab at the cut above my eye from Cassa’s shoe. Then I threw the toiletries into the makeup bag and headed for the bedroom, stark naked.
The first room was a bust. Granny panties, nightgowns, and a drawer full of bras big enough to wear as hats. No thank you.
I hit the jackpot with bedroom number two. Whoever lived here was about my size. I found vintage-looking lace underwear in the drawers. I pulled on a set and stuffed a second into the makeup bag.
The closet was even better. Crisp brown pants, flowy blouses, and smart-looking dresses hovered over a neat row of shoes for every occasion. This girl really had her act together. I had never lined up a pair of shoes in my life.
I selected a blue skirt and a heavily tailored sleeveless top made of the same material and paired them with camel-colored heels. I had no idea what one wore on an OPT, except that almost everyone there would either be super smart or super rich. My mom would probably tell me to find some pantyhose, so I returned to the underwear drawer with a sigh. I reflected that there probably weren’t seasons in space, either, so I selected an additional outfit: a black, long-sleeved cotton shirt, black boots, and a pair of black pants.
I was just about to leave when I noticed a brown leather satchel-style purse slung over one of the coat hangers. A quick search of its contents turned up a wallet and ID. Magda Notting, born 2015. She’d be nearly fifty years old, then, much older than I expected, based on what I had seen of her clothing. She’d also be ineligible for a spot on one of the Arks. I wondered where she was. Probably waiting it out at a friend’s house, or something. I hoped she wasn’t alone.
I worked the black clothing into a roll and pressed it into the top of the satchel. I never considered putting the starpass into the bag. It went under my shirt, secured to the skin just below my collarbone with a series of Band-Aids. I took a final glance in the mirror and forced myself not to think about how we’d get Isaiah onto the OPT with only one starpass. I didn’t know if I was the kind of person who’d sacrifice my life for someone else, and that scared me as much as anything else. I clopped my way out the door and down the steps, uneasy in Magda’s heels. Uneasy in general.
“Isaiah?” I called. “You up there or down here?” Maybe he’d stepped outside. I was halfway through the sitting room, and maybe five feet from the door, when a rush of ice spilled down my spine, and I stopped short.
Someone was in the room with me. Someone with a rifle pointed straight at my chest.
Four
“Hold it right there, Missy.” The gravelly voice paused long enoug
h for a wracking cough.
I raised my hands as slowly as possible. In my experience, there were two kinds of people who point guns at other people. The first kind weren’t going to shoot you unless they had to. Suckers, we called ’em. Suckers made it easy to get away. Sometimes you didn’t even have to give their stuff back, as long as you started running before they got too jumpy. The second kind were just looking for an excuse to pull the trigger. As I was sizing her up, she chambered the cartridge.
This was definitely the second kind.
I made my voice as small and feminine as possible. “Look, I didn’t mean any trouble. I thought you were gone.”
“Doesn’t give you the right to steal my stuff.”
I turned around, slowly. “Really, I thought the house was abandoned. Please don’t shoot.” The woman in the corner was elderly and heavyset and sucking hard on a nicostick, the kind the government had approved the year they banned cigarettes. I had no doubt this wasn’t the first time she’d handled a .30.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”
“I was hungry,” I whimpered. “And I needed clothes.”
“What for?”
“For the OPT.”
“I saw them clothes in the bathroom. You don’t belong on no transport.”
I breathed out for a moment, and sniffed, and realized that my tears weren’t actually fake, even though I had planned them. “I know.”
“But you’re going anyway.”
If I spoke loudly enough, maybe Isaiah would hear me. Would he try to leave, or try to help me? Would he even be able to help? “I have to. My family went, and I was in lockup, and they left me there.”
The rifle sagged to point at the ground. “Okay, alright. Don’t cry.” She continued to stare at me. “It’s my daughter’s clothes, you know.”
“M-Magda?”
“My Magda. She died thirty years ago. You look a little like her.” She jerked her head toward the wall beside me, where a series of yellowing photographs showed a happy family. The youngest, a girl, did indeed have dark hair and light eyes, but I thought the resemblance ended there. Not that I planned on pointing that out to my hostess, who still had two hands clenched around the rifle. Its butt folded into the ample flesh over her ribcage. I bet she wouldn’t even feel the kick, with padding like that.
“Had a son, too. He worked at the detention center. Kellan Notting. Maybe you know him.”
I shook my head. “He’s on the transport now?”
She mirrored my head shake while taking another drag on her nicostick before answering. “Not anymore. Now he’s on the Ark. Left a couple weeks ago. He drew the European one.” She blew out the vaporized tar and glanced back at the photographs. “They called this morning to tell me he made it.”
“I’m glad,” I said, and meant it.
“So what are you in for?”
I coughed. It was a delicate situation. If I lied to her, she might shoot. But if I told her the truth, she’d probably think I was lying. Everyone else had.
“Robbery. I didn’t do it.”
The rifle twitched, barely, then she jerked it to her shoulder. The shot came an instant later, exploding into the wall above my head, louder than I thought possible. The carpet was suddenly coarse against my hands, and I found myself struggling not to scream. The anger on her face was terrifying. This was a woman who had no games to play. Whatever she wanted, she was determined to find it, and fast.
“Do I look like a fool to you?” She must have been shouting, otherwise I’d never have heard her.
I couldn’t see why she cared what I said, but I was far too shaken to think it over. Everything came spilling out. “I mean, I did! Before. But not this time. I was out, and I had my family back, even though they still acted weird around me. Even that was getting better. So I told the gang I was leaving, but they didn’t let me. They needed me to get into the best houses.” I knew I was barely coherent, but I could not stop talking. “I broke up with my boyfriend, but he tricked me. I went out to meet him, just to talk, you know? And he drugged me and I woke up in this house, and everything was broken. The cops were already there. I never wanted any of it. I thought I did, but I missed them. My family. And then it was too late. Please. Please don’t shoot.”
I clamped my jaw shut, finally silent.
There was a long pause. Too long. But then she nodded. “Alright, get up. I’m going to help you. Needed to decide once I’d met ya.”
I nodded, shaking, as though I totally understood the thought process there.
“I’m Meghan,” she croaked.
“Char.”
“Not anymore, you’re not. You’re Magda Notting, now. Best remember it. They’re definitely going to ask. You won’t get far with an expired ID, but it’s better than nothing. They can’t afford to look too close tonight anyway.”
In my opinion, they couldn’t afford not to, but Meghan continued. “Now, where’s your friend?”
I started.
“I seen him come in with you.”
“Um. I don’t know. Shower, maybe?”
There was a slight rustle on the stairs. “I’m here,” said Isaiah.
“You-all come with me. You’re gonna need a car.”
I stared at her. She might as well have told me I’d need a parakeet. “Wait, you’re … you’re giving us a car?”
“Sweetheart, it’s eleven hours to midnight. You know they close the gates at midnight, right?” She shouldered into the door on the other side of the kitchen and stepped into the garage.
I followed, numb, stealing little glances at Isaiah, who looked equally surprised. “No.”
“Well, you do now. And you’ve got a ways to go. And you’re not the only one who’s headed that way, either.” She pressed the car sensor into my hands, pausing to activate the thumbprint scanner, and looped a state-issued grocery bag over my arm. “Was that ham and jelly?” I nodded, and she made a face. “Whatever rings your bell. I made a few more while you was changing clothes.”
I stood next to the car door and stared at her.
She coughed nervously. “I figured you was hungry, coming from that place. We hear the stories. It’s a crime, what they done with you. Now get in.” She nodded approvingly as Isaiah climbed into the passenger seat. “You know how to get to Saint John?”
I looked from the car to Meghan. “I think so. Thank you, Meghan.”
“Yeah, okay. Car, I’m authorizing this driver.”
The car blipped on, and a warm female voice acknowledged the transfer. “Authorization accepted.”
I slid into the seat and forced my hands to grip the wheel. I was still recovering, either from the gunshot or the conversation itself. I gestured toward the nicostick. “Any chance I can get one of those?”
“You know they don’t let nic addicts on the OPT.”
“How about that rifle?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now don’t you make me regret helping you, Char-whoever-you-are.”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“You best make it on that OPT, and all the way to the Ark. You best make it all the way to that new planet they’re gonna colonize. And when you do…”
Meghan paused for another cough, this one so long that she bent forward, and I looked away.
And missed the door opening behind her.
I knew it was Kip before I saw him. It was a familiar, queasy feeling, like missing a rung on a ladder when you’re way up in the air. My hands jerked tight against the wheel as though I needed to catch myself from falling. I met his eyes through the windshield unwillingly.
He kicked Meghan’s wrist, and the rifle skidded across the concrete floor of the garage. When she straightened, her head came into contact with the barrel of his gun. My gun.
A smile twisted across Kip’s face. “I knew you could do it, love. All I had to do was wait.”
Cassa appeared behind him, and my throat went tight. She held my gaze, but spoke into Kip’s ear, her lips an inch from h
is skin. “Looks like you were right. She can’t go a day on the outside without robbing a house.” Cassa turned to me. “We definitely owe you one, Char. We’d never have gotten out without you.”
I peeled my hands off the steering wheel and raised them slowly. The thought hit me that I could just leave. I could duck down and drive the car in reverse, blind. By the time we hit the street, Kip couldn’t kill me through the windshield. He probably wouldn’t even try. Probably.
It was tempting.
“It’s Kip and Cassa,” I said. “They have a gun on Meghan.”
Isaiah did not respond.
“We could leave. Make a run for it.”
“We could,” he said, his tone neutral.
Meghan stood still, arms at her side. There was a wild, helpless look in her eyes. She was afraid.
She’s going to die anyway, I thought. If I left, I’d be saving Isaiah, too.
Kip cocked the gun and pressed it into Meghan’s temple. “Get out of the car.”
I took a breath. I needed a strategy, but what popped into my mind instead was, She made us sandwiches for the road. After we’d broken into her home.
Maybe it was better to leave, because then Kip and Cassa wouldn’t make it to the OPT.
My stomach twisted. Kip wouldn’t even have the gun if I hadn’t stolen it from the guard. He spoke again, this time in a slow, schoolteacher voice, every word enunciated. “Get out now, or I. Will. Blow. Her. Brains. Out.”
I looked back to Meghan, who thought I looked like her daughter.
“Okay, okay. I’m getting out.”
Five
“Good girl.” Kip turned the gun at us. I noticed that it never quite squared with my chest. Instead, it swerved toward Isaiah, then over my head and toward Meghan. “Stand over there, all of you.”
While we huddled into the corner of the garage, Cassa swept up the rifle. “I still don’t see much of a plan here, Kip,” I said. “It’s not like we have starpasses.”
“Shut up.” Cassa chucked the rifle into the front seat and slid behind the wheel. “Car on.”
The Ark Page 3