Forgotten

by Kristin Smith

  Never again.

  I place the book on the table and walk out the door without looking back.

  ***

  The first thing I do is buy a burner Lynk from a man off the street. I’m only a few blocks from the motel, and the area hasn’t changed much—it’s still as sketchy as the place we’ve been staying. There are more people here, though, and litter clutters the streets. The constant smell of sewer permeates the air, not to mention the dark-haired women who sit on the curb with crying babies in their laps, and tanks full of eels, fish, and crabs on display on the sidewalk.

  Moving out of the way of the people on the streets, I try Zane’s Lynk. Disappointment fills me when I only get his voice message. I try not to think about all the bad things that could have happened to him, but it’s hard not to.

  The next person I call is Chaz. I explain to him all that’s happened since I arrived in Rubex. He listens patiently, his expression serious, his eyes widening at certain parts. When I finish, the first words out of his mouth are, “What can I do?”

  “You’re not gonna like this, but I need to know where Radcliffe lives.”

  Chaz closes his eyes for a second. “Christ, Sienna, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No, I’m trying to get Zane back.” When he remains quiet, I say, “Do I need to ask someone else? You know, you’re not the only hacker the Fringe uses.” Of course I’m lying.

  “Fine, I’ll help you. But you have to promise me that you’ll be careful.”

  “Aren’t I always?” I say lightly.

  Chaz gives me a disapproving look and moves to his computer. “What’s this guy’s name?”

  “Colonel George Radcliffe. I believe his permanent residence is somewhere in Rubex.” I hear the clack of computer keys as Chaz begins his search.

  “Got it,” he says after only a minute.

  “That was fast,” I say, not sure if I should believe him.

  “Yeah, well, it’s a lot easier to pull up someone’s home address than it is to hack into a complex security system.”

  “Makes sense. What’s his address?”

  “Hang on. I’m sending it to your Lynk now.”

  “Wait. Send it to this one. This is my burner. Only use this number from now on. Got it?”

  “Okay, sending the address now.” He pauses and looks at his computer screen. “And based on where you are now, I’d say he lives about five miles away.”

  Damn. I could really use my Harley right about now.

  I thank Chaz and hang up. Glancing around, I notice a weathered man sweeping the sidewalk outside a shop that sells martial arts equipment.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  He stops and looks up, his eyes squinting beneath wired frames.

  “Are there any air taxis around here? Any that might take me to Ridgepoint?” Ridgepoint is the area of Rubex where wealthy Citizens live, those who aren’t in condos by the ocean, that is.

  “You rent bike?” he asks in broken English.

  “Um, sure. I could rent a bike instead.”

  “I got bike,” he says. Pausing in his sweeping, he leans into his shop and calls out a name. A teenage boy with olive skin comes out of the shop.

  “Ren, girl needs bike. Help her.” The man turns away and resumes his sweeping.

  The boy named Ren gives me a once over. “Let me just grab the key,” he mutters before disappearing in the shop.

  When he emerges with a key dangling from his hand, he motions for me to follow him around the side of the building, into the alley. I hesitate, because these streets are so different from the other parts of Rubex. The alley is dark and doesn’t look like a place I’d like to go. Plus, I stick out here with my fair skin and freckles.

  I decide to follow him anyway.

  “Your hair is very… red,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as we walk.

  “And yours is very black,” I reply.

  The boy chuckles, stopping beside half a dozen rusted bikes, chained together.

  “I only meant—” He exhales, and my eyes are drawn to his high cheekbones and the way they stand out when he breathes deeply. “You don’t see that color much.”

  I shrug. “I get it from my mom. She’s a redhead.”

  I watch as this boy, Ren, unlocks the bikes and rolls out a blue one that doesn’t look quite as old as the rest.

  “Sorry, this is all we have,” he says.

  “No, it’s okay—” I start to reassure him, but I’m interrupted by the blare of an air horn. The boy’s eyes go wide.

  “Hide,” he hisses.

  He shoves the bike in my hand and takes off running down the alley in the opposite direction of the shop.

  “Hey! Where are you going?” I call after him.

  When he reaches the end, he collides with two Enforcers who are entering the alley. They grab him and twist his arms behind his back, his screams rolling through the alley. Heart racing, I crouch down behind the row of bikes, praying they don’t come down here.

  “This looks like a good one,” the Enforcer with shoulders the size of a tank says.

  “Let’s put him with the others,” his companion agrees.

  The boy kicks and screams in protest as the Enforcers drag him away. Once they are out of sight, I shoulder my backpack, hop on the blue bike, and pedal out of the alley. When I get to the street, I pause. The street is crawling with Enforcers. Men and women are running down the middle of the road, dragging their children between them. Others are crying and begging the Enforcers to leave their families alone.

  “Please, don’t! He’s only fourteen! He’s still a child,” one woman cries, tears streaming down her cheeks. The Enforcer has a well-built boy in his grasp and pushes the mother out of the way. She falls to the ground, sobbing.

  As they throw the boy into the covered back of a military truck, I catch a glimpse of several other boys, even girls, who can’t be much younger than I am.

  I want to stay and help the woman, but I can’t afford to be caught. I pedal hard, weaving past the surging crowd of brave people who are shouting and throwing things at the Enforcers, trying to fight back. There’s gunfire, and I glance over my shoulder in time to see a few of the rioters fall to the ground. An Enforcer at the edge of the crowd with his gun raised sees me pedaling away.

  “Hey! Stop! Enforcers,” he shouts.

  Ignoring him, I turn down a side road to get away. I pedal faster, my calf muscles flaming, my heart hammering an uncontrollable rhythm.

  What happened back there? Why were the Enforcers capturing those boys and girls?

  My head is spinning as quickly as the spokes of the wheel.

  I ride past shopkeepers with their colorful silks and knock-off purses, past men selling comscreens from makeshift tables, and stray dogs that stop and pee on things like light poles and fire hydrants. After a mile, the smell of sewer and urine dissipates, and once again, I’m staring at a sea of tall skyscrapers and mirrored condos. I slow down and pull my Lynk from my pocket, consulting the data map. As I near the city, it has me turn and head away from the ocean.

  I try to put aside the image of the boy being captured by the Enforcers and the fear in his eyes when he heard the air horn—almost like he knew what that meant. He expected the Enforcers to come with force.

  Hide, he’d said to me.

  He knew they were coming for him. For the others.

  Where did they take him?

  It’s slow moving on a bike, especially compared to my Harley with its roaring motor and neck-breaking speeds. Right now, I miss her more than I ever have before.

  A couple of times, I hear the whine of Enforcers’ vehicles in the distance. The sound makes my heart pound harder than normal, but it also makes me pedal faster. The address Chaz gave me leads to a wealthy community called The Gates. I’m not sure why it’s called that considering there isn’t a gate at the entrance.

  Radcliffe lives a few streets into this affluent community. As I ride the bike slowly past his
house and stop on the opposite side of the street a few houses up—doing recon surveillance—it feels kind of surreal that a man like Radcliffe would live in a neighborhood. A neighborhood that looks so normal.

  His house sprawls across an immaculate green lawn with flowerbeds and a sprinkler system currently watering his yard. The stucco tiles on the roof of his home are similar to those you might find in Legas. And as I stare at his house, I think how it could be anyone’s house. It could be the home of a doctor or lawyer who kisses his family before going to work, but instead, it belongs to one of the cruelest, most ruthless men I’ve ever known.

  A shadow moves behind the window, forcing me to duck behind the bushes. Is he here? Or is that the help?

  I picture Radcliffe’s leering face, his cold tone as his goons water tortured me in the basement of the SGF. I remember my mother, bound, gagged, and stuffed in the back of Radcliffe’s SUV like an animal. Then, I picture the SGF and Radcliffe’s contemptuous declaration that he’s the one who killed my father. I can still feel the gun in my hand as I pulled the trigger. Twice. And shot out his kneecaps. I should have killed him that day.

  That’s okay, because tonight, I will remedy that.

  ***

  When the sun is but a distant memory in the sky and the moon is now white and full, I arrive back at Radcliffe’s house. I’ve spent the day riding around town, always moving, never staying in one spot for too long. My legs are tired from pedaling, and I have no idea where I’ll sleep tonight—it’s probably not safe to return to the motel—but I’m not too worried about it. Right now, I’m focused. Right now, I have a job to do. And I won’t leave until it’s done.

  I already have Chaz on the line to help me with whatever security system I might face when I get inside. I park the bike behind some bushes several homes up, and crouching low, creep to the back of Radcliffe’s house where I find an enclosed porch made completely of glass. From here, I can see the keypad on the other side of the glass, beside the door. Pulling out my Lynk, I show Chaz. “What do you think?” I ask him.

  “Hang on. I’m taking a picture now.” There’s a click, and then he says, “Now I’m superimposing it on my computer, so I can see it better.” After a minute, he says, “I think he has a TREXUS.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A high-tech security system that detects any abnormal movement and will immediately alert the Enforcers as well as his own Lynk.”

  “Is there any way to get around it?”

  “Let me think for a sec.”

  I stay quiet, staring at the blinking red light on the other side of the glass.

  “Okay, I think I got it. If you cut the power source, then the TREXUS will go temporarily offline, which should give you enough time to get in.”

  “And what about getting out?”

  “Well, that’s when you run. The moment TREXUS comes back online, the Enforcers will be alerted.”

  Crap. “Okay, how do I cut the power source?”

  “We have to fake a blackout. Because if you cut power only to Radcliffe’s home, then TREXUS will know and alert the authorities.”

  “Where’s the main power source?”

  “Underground.” His keyboard keys click out a rhythm. “I’m looking up the electrical grid now.” After a few seconds, he says, “You’re in luck. There’s a main transistor above ground on the street corner, only a few houses up.”

  I take off running in that direction. There’s also a streetlamp on the corner, humming, with dozens of insects flitting around the flickering light like moths drawn to a flame. The transistor is a metal box with a padlock.

  “It’s locked,” I huff.

  “Well, break it open,” Chaz says.

  “Okay.” I search the ground for a large rock. When I find one, I grasp it in my hand and strike the dangling padlock. The clashing noise is so loud I fear it may wake every person in the neighborhood. I crouch low, glancing up and down the street, waiting for lights to appear in bedroom windows. But the street remains still and quiet.

  I try again, striking the padlock with such force that it causes my fingers to bleed and the lock to spring open. I wipe the blood on my pants and hurry to lift open the lid of the metal container. Once inside, I see wires that criss-cross every which way. Holding up the Lynk, I show Chaz. “Now what?”

  Chaz is quiet as he studies the complex system. “Okay, I need you to clip the three blue wires and the one red wire, but don’t touch the two yellow, three green, or one black. Got it?”

  I nod, but then remember he can’t see me. “Got it.”

  Pulling the wire cutters from my bag, and glad I thought to bring them, I carefully cut the three blue wires. The lamppost above me goes dark, the only sound the hiss of insects getting electrocuted as the light dies out. Using my Lynk as a light source, I search for the one red wire. When I see it, I grasp it with the wire cutters and slice through. Immediately, the entire street goes dark. There are no entryway lights, no streetlights, nor the soft glow of light from a comscreen in a living room. There are only the outdoor solar lights that still highlight the landscaping or particular architectural feature of a house.

  “You have two minutes before TREXUS is back online. Now go!” Chaz says, his voice urgent.

  I run harder than I’ve ever run before, cutting across lawns and hurdling over bushes. When I reach Radcliffe’s glass-enclosed porch, I don’t hesitate. I wrap a towel around my arm and break through the glass of the sun porch. Reaching through, I unlock the door and open it from the inside. There’s no alarm, only the beautiful, sweet sound of silence.

  Once I’m inside, my steps make no noise as I wind my way through his home that smells of fresh baked cookies and household cleaner. It smells so oddly familiar that I hesitate at the base of the stairs. What if I have the wrong house? What if Chaz made a mistake?

  I shake off the feeling and start up the stairs, pausing to listen when I make it to the top of the landing. I hear heavy footsteps and move toward the sound. It’s coming from a bathroom inside an oversized bedroom with draping curtains and a king-sized bed. The room is completely dark, of course. Only a faint glow comes from beneath the closed bathroom door. I imagine Radcliffe with his own Lynk light. I flip my light on and shine it around the room. One side of the bed has been turned down, like only one person is about to sleep in it. A military uniform is perfectly pressed and laid out across a chair. I recognize the uniform as the same one Radcliffe wore when I met him in the SGF under the pretense that he would release my mother in exchange for Zane’s Re0Gene serum. Another one of Radcliffe’s lies.

  A toilet flushes, so I know it will only be a few moments before I come face to face with the man who has caused me too much grief. I move over to the window where there’s another armchair hidden in the shadows. I remove the gun from the back of my pants and take a seat on the edge of the chair, placing the weapon in my lap but leaving the backpack on.

  My hands are shaking, but my insides are ice. I am hard, I am cold, I am a murderer, and I don’t have to convince myself this time. I just am.

  I could do it now, catch him completely off guard, in his most vulnerable state, but no, I decide to wait. Besides, I’d like to have a little chat with him before I put a bullet in his brain.

  The sound of a faucet turning on is what I hear next, and then the sound of someone spitting. Is he brushing his teeth? Well, at least he has good hygiene. And he’ll have clean teeth when he dies.

  The door to the bedroom opens. My eyes are now adjusted to the dark, so I see him clearly, but I know he can’t see me. Dressed in a bathrobe, he fumbles around for a moment, his Lynk light illuminating the hardwood floor in front of him. I can see the glint of steel from his prosthetic limbs as he walks.

  “Damn power,” he mutters, feeling his way to the bed. Once he’s there, he clicks off his Lynk light and sinks down onto his bed, his bathrobe flapping open. Disgusted, I look away, but when I look back, I realize that, thankfully, he’s wearing boxers and a
T-shirt beneath. I watch as he twists one leg off and then another before placing them on the floor beside him. He removes the brace that keeps his titanium legs in place and drops that on the floor too. As he’s struggling to push himself back on the bed, his legs mere stumps, I feel a pang of sympathy for him. He wriggles and moves, grunting from the effort. I hear him curse before he’s properly positioned, his back resting against the headboard, his breath coming in spurts.

  And all I can think is I did this to him. This is my fault.

  Before I can feel enough sympathy to make me change my mind, I rise from the chair and raise the gun. “Hello, Radcliffe.”

  27

  SIENNA

  “Just do it,” he says, like he isn’t the least bit surprised to see me. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back and finish me.” He gives a harsh laugh. “It’s the least you can do after making me a cripple.”

  “Oh, I’ll definitely put you out of your misery,” I say. “But I want some answers first.” I inch closer, keeping the gun trained on him. But I don’t know why I bother. This man is helpless. He’s a shell of the man I knew in Legas.

  Radcliffe heaves a heavy sigh. “What do you want to know?”

  “First of all, where’s Zane Ryder?”

  “How should I know?” Radcliffe holds up a finger. “Wait, don’t tell me—the saga of Sienna Preston continues and you lost another boyfriend. What’s the matter, Sienna, can’t keep your boy toys on a leash?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me,” I threaten. “Last night, Zane and I went to the gala at the Marmet. We were ambushed. He didn’t make it out.” I move a step closer. “I want to know where he is.”

  “It’s out of my hands. He’s not my problem anymore. You’re not my problem anymore.” Radcliffe’s face turns harsh. “Don’t you get it, Sienna? I’m no good to them. I’m a cripple. I’m only bait.”