We reach the bottom of Mason’s street and I lean slightly, anticipating a turn. I’m caught off-balance as he keeps riding a few metres past the beginning of the road.
‘Playing it safe,’ Mason mumbles, his chest pressed against my shoulder as I recover my wobble.
At the end of a back alley, we stop. Together, we climb off and begin along the laneway with Mason pushing the bike. We’re quiet now, but acting as casual as possible. Don’t want to give the neighbours anything to report in case the authorities come asking.
A couple of houses away from Mason’s, he stops and checks both ways. Then he lifts the bike over a neighbour’s back fence. I can’t help but notice the muscles in his arms, sleek and defined. A bush rustles from the other side as it catches the bike.
I’m first over the fence. There’s a mass of weeds back here, all tangled in each other so it’s hard to get around. Great hiding spot for the bike, though.
Once Mason makes it over I follow him, shuffling sideways along the fence line, leaving the bike behind in its bushy hiding place. We reach the fence bordering Mason’s house and I climb over, jumping down behind a brown fir tree. Mason is part way over as I step out from behind the tree and check out his bedroom window on the second storey, remembering. And also trying to see how much has changed.
The blinds are drawn, the sill maybe a lighter shade of grey than I remember. I squint; it looks like some sort of security sensor has been set up on the corner of the window, a thick fibre like a flexible pencil. It bends in a small curve as something triggers the system, its movement catching my eye.
A bird. All my senses immediately go on high alert. As I watch, the sensor curls like a worm lifting its head, tracking a pigeon hopping along the ground. This is a movement sensor, not like the ones triggered by a chip. It’s the sort they use to detect stray dogs. And illegals.
With a sharp inhale, I grab Mason by the forearm. ‘Don’t move,’ I hiss.
CHAPTER FIVE
MASON’S BODY STILLS beside me; he doesn’t need further explanation. I keep watch on the sensor above us as his hands press on my shoulders. Again the sensor shifts, still tracking the bird, so I push back ever so slightly: a sign that it’s okay to sneak away.
Slowly Mason guides me towards the safety of the fir tree, working in tandem so that we’re checking in front and behind at the same time. As soon as we’re out of sight, the pressure eases and we pull out our compads.
The history I find makes me feel like throwing up. A few hours after I returned, three motion sensors were set up around Mason’s house. I tag the workers who installed the sensors and trace their day’s work: around the room I shared with Mum, Karoly High School and a local cafe.
There’s even one at Kessa’s house, but I must have been there before they came. I didn’t have much reason to visit the cave while I was chipped, so I’m lucky they didn’t pick that as a location I might visit.
‘This way.’ Mason grabs my hand.
We climb back over the fence into the neighbouring yard, and sneak along the side fence until Mason stops and checks his compad. While I was checking for the other motion sensors, he must have been mapping out a path that we could take to his house without being caught by the sensors.
With a sharp rock, Mason scratches a cross at this spot on the fence: an indicator for next time. We climb over in silence, cautious now as we track a diagonal line to the side wall of the house, then shuffle sideways until we reach the door of a utility room and slip inside.
In silence we head up the stairs, relief growing with each step we take. In here, we’re safe.
We reach the main part of the house, and Mason lets his head drop back, clearly relieved.
‘I knew they’d be watching, I just didn’t realise …’ I drift off, frustration still burning, because I’m not the only one they’re trying to find. Mason’s chance of being caught has just shot through the roof because I’m back.
‘Not your fault,’ he says.
‘How long until your folks are able to do a long jump?’
He turns away and starts stashing the water bottles in a cold cupboard. ‘They’re ready now. Pretty sure. Mum’s last day at school is this Friday. Dad’s already halfway though handing over at work. He’s told them he’s been transferred.’
‘Okay … okay.’ I’m nodding as a kind of reassurance. ‘You’ll be able to leave soon.’
Mason turns to consider me, a bottle in one hand. He doesn’t answer for a while. Then he turns back to the cupboard. ‘Not without you.’
‘But, now that they’re watching even closer …’
‘It’s not me I’m worried about,’ Mason mutters into the cold cupboard. He closes the door and turns to face me again. ‘At least I have citizen status. If they do catch me, at least I’ll have rights.’
I try to swallow my next thought away. ‘But … why do you think they’re trying so hard to catch us?’ I’m pretty sure I already know the answer, but I want to hear Mason’s take on this. ‘I mean, it looks like they have their hands full already. And I’m illegal with no access to rations. There’s not much I can –’
‘They have proof that you stole a chip, so they can use that as grounds to lock you away. And you can time skip. If they catch you, they’ll have no restrictions on the tests they can do …’
‘So you think this is happening because I can time skip?’ It’s not a question, really. I’ve started to suspect this ever since I came back.
‘And me. We’ve had more legal advice since I’ve been back. People who are witness to an accidental death like Amon aren’t normally targeted as closely as I’ve been.’
‘So they want to test you, too. Even though you’re a citizen?’
‘Don’t know. But probably. They know we can time skip, but they don’t understand how. I bet they’re dying to know what’s going on.’ He takes a breath and crosses his arms. ‘Imagine if more illegals learnt to skip. Or even citizens. They’d be harder to catch. Harder to control.’
‘Yeah.’ The longer I’ve been back, the more I’ve begun to wonder whether I could teach more people to skip, at least show them what’s possible.
‘So …’ Mason lifts his eyebrows, as if trying to lighten the mood. ‘Just don’t get caught, yeah? Easy.’
‘Sure,’ I mumble. Fine. No problem.
He turns towards the boiler and flicks it on. ‘Let’s eat something before we head back.’
‘Thanks, but I’m okay. I ate at the cave.’
He acts as if he didn’t hear, just pulls out a couple of mugs and a jar of syrup. ‘C’mon.’
I can tell he’s not going to give up. I cut a path past the dining chairs to find a spot on a stool at the bench. Mason places a mug in front of me and turns back to the cold cupboard, pulling out a storage container and scooping some sort of porridge into a pan.
Warmth from the tea spreads through me as I enclose the mug in both hands and sip. It’s almost too hot but just enough below burning to swallow. This is good.
I sip quietly until Mason places a bowl in front of me. He perches on a stool and hooks one foot on the rung, leaning against the bench as he scoops up mouthfuls with a teaspoon.
I put down the mug, not sure what to do. It used to be rude to accept rations, but things are different now. Different in 2089, but also between Mason and me. And the truth is, I need to eat.
He stops chewing and pushes my bowl towards me, one last gesture of reassurance, so I accept and give it a stir. The porridge is made with oats and some other grains I don’t recognise. I take a small bite and chew, sort of testing. There’s something else in there, beans maybe, or small chunks of meat. I pick up another spoonful and examine it surreptitiously on the way to my mouth, not wanting to seem rude.
‘They’re grubs,’ says Mason, grinning. ‘But don’t think of them like that. Just think of them as lab meat or something.’
I look back at the spoon. They’re curled up head to tail, like the shrimp I tasted once on Alistair�
��s birthday. I push them around the bowl, then take another mouthful. They taste a bit nutty and fleshy. Not bad, really.
I take one more bite, chewing slowly, savouring the warmth. Then I let go of the spoon and push the bowl towards Mason. ‘Here, you finish it. I’ve had enough.’
‘Just think of them as chunks of meat. You need to eat.’
He thinks I’ve stopped because of the bugs, but that’s not the reason. It’s what the bugs mean that made me push the bowl away. This is the food that people eat when they don’t have enough, the diet of the desperate. I know enough about living on low rations to understand the decisions behind this meal, the cost versus nutrition ratio, the agony over portion sizes.
And besides, I already know what it’s like to owe that sort of debt. I’m not going there again.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m okay. I’ll find food some other way.’
A pause, before he breathes in. ‘Scout, you were the one who thought up the blocking script that is keeping me safe now. You told us about the underground spring. Do you think I owe you because of that?’
I frown. ‘Of course not.’
‘So …’ He lifts his eyebrows, like I’m a kid being taught a lesson. ‘Keep eating.’
I roll my eyes, but I start scooping and chewing again.
After another mouthful, Mason says, ‘You know, this time I’ve had living without rations …’ He pauses. ‘I just don’t know how you did it your whole life.’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. When you’ve never known anything else, you get used to it, I guess.’ But I get what Mason’s trying to say. Right now, he’s living a life that I know only too well. No access to any of the rations that people all around you take for granted, depending on the help of others to survive.
Mason drains the rest of the porridge and leaves the bowl on the bench. ‘All my life, I always had food and water, anything really, with a single swipe.’ Again, he stops to look at me. ‘I didn’t really know how to handle it when I went off-grid. But you … being illegal has made you smart, resourceful.’
By now I’m shaking my head, the spoon left in my empty bowl. It’s not being smart that helped me get by; it’s simply that I had no choice.
Mason turns his head as if suddenly unsure. ‘I think …’ His eyes stay on the bench. ‘I get now why you never told me you were illegal.’
Neither of us speaks for a moment. I’m not sure what to say. Even now, it’s hard facing up to the secret that came between us, the truth that I hid.
Mason lifts his head to me. ‘I never would have turned you in, so I couldn’t understand why you didn’t trust me.’
‘I know … I did trust you. It was just …’ I guess I didn’t know how to trust him.
‘But I get it now. I mean … now that I’ve had these past eight months with the chance of being caught constantly hanging over me. My whole focus has been on keeping out of trouble.’ He jerks a shoulder. ‘And I guess I did start to rethink the stuff you said …’
My eyes lift to his. ‘I should have told you, Mason.’ Wish I had.
We both go quiet, the weight of our past still hanging in the air. But something about the silence seems solid, as if our past is locking into place. Our history might be messed up, but it’s brought us to this point, this moment of understanding.
‘So … what happened with your plan to jump ten years?’ I ask finally. Sort of changing the subject. And sort of not. ‘Did you come back early on purpose?’
‘Yeah … I mean, no. I don’t know. It was like being pulled –’
‘– out?’
He pauses for a moment, watching me. ‘You too?’
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, remembering the sludge of the tunnel, the emptiness of losing my place in time. Almost forgetting who I was. The only reason I made it as far as I did is because I was trying to catch up with Mason, ten years into the future. It was like I latched onto the thought of him to anchor myself. But once I started having trouble making it that far, the only way I found my way out was the idea of seeing Mum again.
‘I think I was pulled back early because I left Mum behind,’ I say slowly. Already Mason’s nodding. ‘Like … I couldn’t travel too far away from her.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’
Because of … who? I’m dying to ask. He thought I was staying behind when he jumped, but his parents stayed behind too. So who was it that pulled him out early?
‘It makes me wonder,’ Mason continues, ‘whether there’s something going on with that. The way our relationships impact on when we return. Our sense of who we are and where we belong …’ He glances my way and blinks. ‘Sorry. Just thinking aloud.’
‘It’s okay.’ I’ve missed hearing him talk about stuff like this, the nature of time. My whole way of looking at the world changed because of Mason.
He’s watching me again when I look up, but then glances at his compad. ‘We should get going. Unless you want to say hi to my folks?’
I’m not sure how to answer. How awkward will it be if they come home to find me eating their tiny rations? ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Don’t worry.’ Mason winks. He gets it.
There’s a folded whitesheet under the bench, with a marker and cloth ready to go. I get the feeling they’ve been leaving notes this way the whole time Mason’s been back: easy to wipe clean and impossible to trace.
The backpack gets jammed full again, with light blankets and ration bars. At least we don’t need to lug water all the way back. Then we head out the way we came, sticking to a safe path out of sight of the motion sensors.
One night together, before I find Mum.
CHAPTER SIX
WE DON’T TALK much once we’re outside, careful not to say anything that might give us away, watching for the thin arms of motion sensors at the tops of poles and in doorways just in case. The park’s still open when we make it there so we sneak into the cave when no-one is watching. Safe, for now.
Mason finds a space deep inside the cave and pulls out his compad. So I do the same, checking the grid for federal officers that might be around and getting a second wave of relief that I didn’t spend time here while I had the chip in my wrist. Without even discussing it, I know we’ll lie low until the park closes. Then we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.
I shift a little and rest a shoulder against the dirt wall, grateful for time to research. When the Feds came for me that night they knew I had stolen a chip. But how did they work it out?
The original records are all four years old, so I have to hack into the back end of the federal network for the details I need. That would have taken me ages once upon a time, but after watching Mason in action the night Amon died, I use a few of his tricks and soon I’m opening the report that led to me being caught.
The page opens on my screen and I push my lips together, wary of what I’ll find.
I’ve been thinking that maybe the Feds had been studying my history map because of Amon’s death and worked out that some things didn’t add up, or maybe someone realised that my school reports were fake, so I’m not ready for the simplicity of the note at the start of the file: Anonymous citizen report.
I take a sharp breath. Someone turned me in?
Mason’s head lifts from reading his compad. ‘Okay?’
‘Yeah.’ I turn back to the screen, not quite ready to share what I’ve learnt.
I can’t find any record of the person’s name, not even a swipe of their chip, so try tracking the message back to its source. The identifier is easy to find, but it’s just a number with no more details. The location is blocked, as well as the registration, so I patch in to see if the content on the screen of the compad that sent the anonymous message will give me any clues.
There’s nothing there, at least nothing in the past few days. I track back to last weekend. Still nothing. Back again over the past months.
The compad isn’t being used. I lean back, biting the inside of my cheek. A citizen not using th
eir compad is like someone not using their left arm.
Unless the person’s not around to use it. My eyes track across to the vacuum-sealed bags in the corner of the cave. Unless the person has disappeared on a ten-year skip.
Ever since Boc worked out I was illegal, I always had the sense that he was trying to catch me out, like he was using any mistakes I made as proof that I didn’t deserve access to rations. Or something like that. But he wouldn’t take it so far as turning me in, would he?
With the compad ID still visible from where the citizen report was sent, I rest Echo’s screen to one side and pull out one of the two remaining, tapping my finger against the tip of my thumb as it fires up. As soon as the compad comes to life, I bring up the ID.
My mouth goes dry. They match.
Just to be sure I check the content and messages, but it’s here right in front of me. This is Boc’s compad; he’s the one who turned me in.
My hands drop as my brain goes into overdrive. I’d expected to have been caught out because of some mistake I made, or a clue that related to time skipping, but this is so much worse it just makes me feel sick.
‘Everything okay?’ Mason asks.
‘Yep.’ It comes out as wonky, overacted.
Mason nods and taps at something on his screen while I go back to wanting to throw up on mine.
How could Boc do that when he knew I’d end up in jail? But I already know the answer. I was using resources that were meant for someone else. In his mind he was returning the rations to where they belonged. Putting the illegal back in her place.
I lift my head again, ready to blurt out the double-cross to Mason. But something stops me. For a start, I’m not sure what I’d say. How do you tell someone that his best friend is a double-crossing piece of slime?
For a while I just sit here, staring at the blinking cursor, thinking back to the day after Amon died, and being chased by the Feds. The only way out was up a rock-climbing wall and through the roof. I can still remember the hugeness of the space beneath me, the gravity sucking me away from the wall. And Boc’s hiss from beside me: You’re putting us all in danger.
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