Forgotten

by Kristin Smith

  When I reach the boat, my arms are like jelly and can barely latch onto the ladder. I pull myself up, my entire body shaking from fear and cold, and collapse on the floor of the vessel. My teeth chatter as I search for the bag Zane said he stashed here. To my immense relief, I find it tucked under the passenger seat. I pull out a fluffy towel that I wrap around myself and sink down into. Sitting on the floor of the boat, cocooned in the towel, I wrap my arms around my knees and rock back and forth, trying to get warm.

  My hand reaches up, searching for the locket he gave me, needing the comfort of it. But it’s not there. I glance down to confirm what I already know.

  The locket is gone.

  Probably swept away during my swim to the boat.

  A small part of me mourns the beautiful locket and lost connection to Zane. I have no idea if he made it out safely. Hopefully, he did, and at any moment, I’ll see him slicing through the water, swimming toward me.

  I focus my anger on Trey and the red-hot fury that boils up, warming my insides. He betrayed me. He told me I looked beautiful, that he remembered us together. He lured me in. I wouldn’t be here, hiding out in this boat, if it wasn’t for him. I left my mom and my sister to “rescue him” when he couldn’t care less about me. I’ve been drugged, cut open, shot at, and now almost attacked by a shark, all to save him. I’ve allowed myself to care too deeply, to become weak, incapable. Well, that ends now. Because I realize something—love makes me weak. Love makes me do stupid things.

  Never again will I allow myself to be hurt like this.

  Love is for the weak. And I, Sienna Preston, am anything but weak.

  25

  ZANE

  Once I have Dr. Phillips, Sienna’s father, in my sights, I send her a message over the receiver. She doesn’t respond, so I assume it’s because she’s busy. My part of the plan is to keep him occupied until Sienna can get here. I take a few steps forward, intent on striking up a conversation with the man, but then I see three guards making their way toward me. I turn quickly and try to duck into the crowd, but it’s not soon enough.

  Two of the guards latch onto my arms, firmly. “Come with us, please.”

  “Is there a reason—” I start to say until I feel the butt of the third’s gun resting between my shoulder blades.

  “Now,” he says, sneering.

  They lead me to a room down the hall from the main atrium. This room must be the break room for employees as it houses a few tables, chairs, and vending machines. Once they’ve forced me inside, they push me into a chair and tie my hands behind my back.

  “What is this?” I ask, irritation settling in. “Is there a reason you’re treating me like a common criminal?”

  “We have our orders,” the skinny guard with the pocked face says.

  “Release him,” an authoritative female voice demands. Heels click against the tile, and I’m shocked when Assistant President Neiman enters the room. Her bright red lips enhance the scowl on her face.

  Pressure releases from my arms as the guards untie me. I flex my tight muscles and glare at the men who held me captive.

  “Please forgive the misunderstanding, Mr. Ryder. My boys didn’t realize who was in their possession.”

  “Why was I dragged in here to begin with?” I ask, rising to my feet. My mind flits to Sienna. Is she okay? “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Madame Neiman walks a tight circle around me, like a predator stalking her prey. “You’ve only been aiding and abetting a fugitive. An attempted murderer. A member of the Fringe.” She comes full circle, standing right in front of me. “Is this correct, Mr. Ryder?”

  My shoulders stiffen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She props a hand on her hip. “Do you or do you not know a young woman by the name of Sienna Preston?”

  I clear my throat, not sure where this line of questioning is headed. “She’s a friend.”

  “And has she or has she not been staying with you in your condo in Rubex?”

  Technically, no. We’re staying in the dirtiest, scummiest motel money can buy.

  “I’ll be straight with you, Mr. Ryder,” she continues. “The government doesn’t look kindly on those who help the Fringe. You may think you’re protecting her by denying that she’s here in the Capital, but you’re only hurting yourself.” One long fingernail taps her blood-red lips. “Or more so, her family.”

  “What do you mean by that?” I demand, my blood pressure rising.

  Her pale gray eyes bore into mine, like smoke rising, choking. “You have a safe house in the mountains, don’t you, Zane?”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. “How do you know?”

  She smiles and leans close, pressing a sharp fingernail against my chin. “I know everything,” she whispers.

  “What do you want?” I say through clenched teeth.

  She straightens up and smiles. “I want your little girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Whatever you call her.”

  My fists clench, and it takes all my willpower not to deck this woman in front of me. “What makes you think I would ever give up her location?”

  Madame Neiman smiles at me, a cruel, crooked smile. Her two canine teeth are pointier than they should be. Like a predator.

  “She was here tonight, wasn’t she? My men had her in their sights but lost her on the streets of Rubex.”

  I try to remain impassive, even though I’m immensely relieved. If she followed the plan, she’s now headed to the boat where she’ll be safe until I can get there.

  “You’ll make a mistake at some point, and you’ll lead us right to her,” Madame Neiman continues. “You can’t bear to be separated from her, can you? Your little heart wants to protect her and make sure she’s safe.”

  “You know nothing about me,” I snap. “And I’ve had it with this line of questioning.” I start to move toward the door, but the guards block my way, their hands resting on the butts of their guns.

  “I know this,” Madame Neiman says cruelly. “You’re pining after a woman who will never love you, who will never see you the way you want her to.” She rests her hand on a table, leaning into it. “How does it feel to be second best?”

  Anger wells inside. “That’s enough.”

  “You were made for more, Zane Ryder. You were made to lead, to show the world what a perfect society looks like.” Her expression turns frank. “She’ll only hold you back, Zane. Hold our society back.”

  “I don’t care,” I seethe, “about this stupid society. I’ve seen what it makes people do, what it makes them become. I don’t know if I want to be a part of it.”

  Madame Neiman’s eyes turn hard and a low guttural sound escapes her throat, similar to a growl. “Watch your tongue, boy. I’d hate for you to lose it.” She spins around and walks to the door. With a flick of her hand, she says, “You know what to do, boys.”

  When the two men grab my arms, forcing them behind my back, I holler, “Hey! What is this?”

  Madame Neiman stops and turns. “A warning.” Then she strides out of the room.

  As soon as the door clicks into place, the third guard moves toward me, a sick grin on his face.

  “I’m gonna enjoy this one,” he says, cracking his knuckles.

  Instinct kicks in. I’ve never been much of a fighter—never had a reason to be—but my body knows exactly what to do. Sure, I’ve sparred a little, but it’s always been done in fun, never as a means for saving my own neck.

  I kick the knees of the men holding me and they crumble, cursing in pain. The third guard advances toward me with his meaty hands, but I’m ready for him. I duck his first punch and hit him hard with a left hook. My hand connects with skin that feels like overcooked steak.

  By now, the other guards are up, encircling me, their fists ready.

  “We have a tough guy on our hands,” one of them says, and then he laughs cruelly.

  “Yeah, a tough guy,” the other mimics.
>
  I eye the three of them, mentally calculating how much force it would take to render them unconscious.

  When the meaty guard moves behind me and wraps his arms around my body, pinning my arms to my sides, I use my own weight to propel us backward, causing the guard to lose his balance. We fall on the ground, the guard’s head hitting the floor with a sickening crack. I jump to my feet and stare down at him. He’s out cold.

  The other two guards rush me. One pulls out a gun and shoves it in my face, but I knock it from his hands before he has a chance to realize what’s happening. The other guard manages to punch me in the gut, knocking the air from me. I straighten quickly, elbowing the gun guard in the nose, and kneeing the pockmarked guard in the face.

  They’re injured, but not ready to quit. As they advance on me again, I grab one of the folding metal chairs and hold it in front of me threateningly.

  “This isn’t going to end well for either of you,” I warn. I’m still not sure what I’ll do with the chair, but they don’t need to know that.

  They both laugh. “I was about to say the same for you,” the gun guard sneers.

  They rush me at the same time, and I swing the metal chair as hard as I can. It connects with the gun guard’s skull, and the sound is enough to make my stomach churn. As he’s falling to the ground, something hits me in the jaw, snapping my head back. I hear the one remaining guard laugh. With pain shooting from my chin to my ear, I open my mouth to pop my jaw back into place. I can see Pockmark in the corner of my eye, his foot flicking out toward my ribs. In one swift movement, I drop the chair and grab his foot, twisting until he lands flat on his back in pain. I straddle him, punching him in the face until his eyes close and I know he’s out.

  When I stand, my body groans. I flex and unflex my hands a few times, stretching the tight, sore muscles. One thing is for sure—I may know how to fight, but I don’t enjoy doing it.

  With three guards littering the floor, I have to get out of here before someone sees me. I slip out the door and try to walk normally down the hallway, but my body is still pumped up on adrenaline.

  Once my car has been pulled around by my driver and I’m seated inside, my breathing finally returns to normal.

  My first thought is that I have to know if Sienna is okay. I’m about to tell Geoff, my chauffeur, to drop me off at the beach, but then I remember. They’re watching me. If I go to our emergency escape place, I could lead them right to her.

  I pull out my Lynk and dial hers instead. When she doesn’t answer, but goes straight to a message screen, I try to remain calm. I decide to leave her a message.

  “Sienna, I’m okay. I made it out of Marmet. Please call and let me know you’re safe.”

  In case they’re bugging my phone and tracing my phone calls, I leave it short and sweet, with no indication of where I’m going.

  When I hang up, I place my head against the smooth glass of the tinted windows. Something nags at me. Something Madame Neiman said…

  I sit up straight.

  The safe house. They know where it is, and they know who’s hiding there. Vivian and Emily aren’t safe. And right now, neither is Sienna with me here in Rubex. She’ll reach out to me, and when she does, they’ll find her.

  I don’t want to. Every sane thought is telling me not to. But I know what I have to do.

  I must leave Rubex.

  26

  SIENNA

  I wait for Zane until my eyelids are too heavy to keep open. The gentle rocking of the boat and the complete darkness around me doesn’t help my campaign to stay awake. Fortunately, Zane was smart enough to pack a pair of sweatpants and sweatshirt he found at some discount store, so I slip those on once I’m dry.

  The bow of the boat has a padded seat that’s perfect for curling up on. Using my damp towel as a pillow, I lay back and stare up at the stars. Millions of stars and hundreds of constellations look down on me. I can see Orion, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, and even Canis Major. And for a moment, I picture lying next to my father on a blanket in our backyard as his steady hand points out various constellations. I don’t think we could ever see them as clearly as I can tonight though.

  Thinking of my father sends a pang through my chest. Because of Trey, I never had a chance to see or talk to him tonight. The coals of my anger burn a little hotter. Just one more reason to hate Trey.

  As my eyelids grow heavy, I jerk myself awake, intent on waiting for Zane. But when hours have passed, or so it feels like, and there’s still no sign of him, I pray he’s safe and drift to sleep.

  When the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon, bathing the sky in hues of pink and red and pumpkin orange, I’m awake and starving. I rummage around in the bag Zane packed and find half a dozen granola bars. I tear into two of them.

  Now that it’s daylight, the ocean doesn’t seem quite so frightening, but since Zane never came, my imagination is running wild. Either he’s safe, or he’s locked away somewhere. I try to pretend it’s not the latter.

  Not for the first time do I wish I could call him or send him a message, but just like my locket, my Lynk is gone, carried away by the ocean currents. There’s no way to get in touch with him until I can find a burner Lynk.

  I’ve never driven a boat before, but I imagine it can’t be that hard. The keys are already in the ignition, so I give the key a good crank, and the boat roars to life. I search for a pedal or something to make the vessel move forward, but there’s nothing. Then I remember Zane saying something about a throttle. There’s a gearshift thing next to the steering wheel, and I see the word Neutral. I must be in neutral, which is why I’m not moving. I’m about to push this throttle forward when I remember the anchor. Keeping the boat on, I lean over the bow and pull up the frayed rope until the anchor lifts with it. I set the anchor on the floor and move back to the captain’s chair.

  Just a touch of the throttle and the boat surges forth. I ease back, bobbing over the waves, and then try again. It is then, as I’m struggling to maintain control, that I realize how hard and potentially dangerous this could be. Images of the boat, capsized, float into my brain.

  “Come on,” I say. I push the throttle again and the boat responds, leaving a trail of exhaust fumes in its wake. As I run the boat parallel to the shore, I’m on the lookout for any large rocks or sandbars. The wind stings my cheeks and whips through my hair, and I breathe deeply, inhaling the salty air. I follow the shoreline until I find a good place to come ashore, but now I have to go over the break, the place where the waves swell, and the very thought scares me. These are six, seven-foot waves, large enough to capsize a small vessel like this one. I’m right at the place where the waves swell, and the small boat can’t handle the constant battering of the thousands of pounds of water against its side. Think, Sienna, think.

  I picture a surfer on a surfboard, gliding on top of the water, riding the swell, taking it all the way in until the wave dumps him out and drags him down. And amazingly enough, I know what to do. I’ll turn the boat into a giant surfboard, one with a motor and half a ton of aluminum.

  I carefully maneuver the boat until I’m perpendicular with the waves, then when I see the swell forming, I push the throttle hard and ride the top of it. I can feel it break beneath me, and I’m so thrilled that I managed to make it past the breaking waves that it isn’t until I look up and see land looming ahead that I pull back on the throttle and put the boat in neutral, allowing the wave to carry me the rest of the way.

  The boat hits sand and rocks, the motor grinding into the ground. Oops. Probably not the best idea. With Zane’s bag on my back, I cut the engine, grab the rope with the anchor, and jump out of the boat, splashing through the water as I do. I set the anchor as far up on shore as I can and take off running, wincing at each step. The grainy sand cuts into the sores on my feet.

  “Hey,” someone hollers, a man out for his early morning walk on the beach. “You can’t park there!”

  “Sorry,” I call back, hobbling away. Moving on sand
is like having dumbbells attached to your legs, but I manage to make it to the boardwalk and then the street. I decide it might be best to try to blend in, so I slow down and walk at a brisk pace instead.

  Thankfully, Zane was smart enough to put a micro card in the backpack, for emergencies. And this definitely counts as an emergency.

  I hail an air taxi, a vehicle that hovers only a few inches from the ground. They are the latest craze in the Capital because they help preserve the roads with less wear and tear.

  Once inside, I direct the driver to take me to the Restful 8 Motel. He weaves into traffic, ranting about city drivers. I insert the micro card in the slot and watch as the numbers on the digital device steadily climb.

  It’s a good thing Zane has money.

  When I reach the motel, the door is unlocked. At first, fear claws its way to my throat. I picture his ransacked condo, and I’m fairly certain that when I open the door to our motel room, it will look much the same. But then I remember. Zane left it unlocked last night for this very reason. If we were to get separated, since we only had one key, he wanted to make sure I’d still be able to get into the room.

  I go inside, and everything is right where we left it. Duffle bags on the dresser, Zane’s athletic shoes next to the door, and the clothes I was wearing yesterday draped across a chair.

  Closing the door behind me, I call softly, “Zane?” I guess I’m going off a small prayer that he somehow made it out of the Marmet and returned here last night instead of going to the boat. But there’s no sign that he’s been here. Even the book he was reading yesterday while he waited for me to finish getting ready still rests on the arm of the couch.

  Where is he?

  After I take a quick shower to wash off the seawater, and then dress in clean clothes, I empty the bag Zane packed for the boat. I restock it with a couple of changes of clothes, a handful of granola bars, a few water bottles, the micro card Zane gave me, and the wire cutters I find in his duffle bag—not sure why he had them, but they might come in handy. Then, I grab one of the guns I’d hidden under the mattress. Tucking it in the back of my pants, I do a quick sweep of the motel room. One thing catches my eye. Striding to the coffee table, I pick up the poetry book, flip to the Forget Me? poem, and rip the page out. I shred it into tiny pieces and watch as they fall like confetti to the floor.