by Barry Lyga
She could practically hear the duct heaving as her long body slid onto it, but she moved along, left toward the main club, silently and smoothly. The walls in this place didn’t go all the way to the ceiling — there were gaps at the top to let the trendy pipes and ductwork through.
Grace had never been Cassie’s forte, but she turned herself into a lithe gymnast as she navigated, clutching the edges of the duct, keeping herself flat as she inched forward slowly, each limb, each muscle operating in tandem with the others. She had no idea where Bryce would turn up, but he knew the plan, ill-conceived as it was.
After a few moments, Cassie paused, guessing she must have been somewhere near the far edge of the dance floor. It was as good a place as any to check, so she risked peeking over the side.
“Fuck!” she exclaimed, pulling back to the cover of the ductwork, then cursing herself for speaking aloud. She’d misjudged; she was directly above the dance floor, which was still crawling with people. Half of them seemed to be ignoring the mob’s demands, and half of them seemed to be joining in. Fortunately, no one was looking up. Between the shadows of the club’s rigging and the maze of exposed pipes and ducts up here, she was shielded. She had to keep moving, find a safe exit. But first, she had to find Bryce.
She scurried faster, her knees occasionally reverberating against the corrugated duct beneath her. Anyone with remotely decent hearing could trace her movements, if they were paying attention. Cassie just had to hope they weren’t. After another twenty feet or so — she hoped — she tried again, peeking over the side …
Bingo. She was right above the bar, where the bartenders were casually sneaking sips out of bottles and elbowing each other with amusement while the mob was busy. People in one corner, guided by some hefty-looking men, were already removing their masks, proving their innocence with their faces.
They weren’t happy about it, Cassie could see. A grumble appeared to be rising and spreading. She hoped they’d hurry. If the dance crowd turned on the mob, that could be her best chance to escape.
But where was Bryce? She scanned the crowd, telling her eyes to look for the biggest, bulkiest man in the room. Meanwhile, she reached behind her, into her pocket, to get the phone she’d snagged from the club floor. If Bryce didn’t look up, she’d have to call him.
Her eyes ricocheted between the phone and the floor until, finally, she spotted him. He was skulking along the perimeter of the club, near the wall. Cassie could see his lips mouthing “Excuse me, excuse me,” to each person he passed, including to those he had to forcibly pick up and move out of his way. She was struck, suddenly, by how kind Bryce was. How unfailingly polite. How much he’d stuck his neck out for her, for Rachel, for TonyStark, for OHM.
She smiled and began dialing. He would be so surprised when he picked up his phone and Cassie told him, “Look up!”
Except he didn’t answer. Cassie watched as Bryce looked at his phone. Something passed over his face, something hard to decipher from this far up, and he put it back into his pocket. In Cassie’s ear, it still rang.
It was a random, anonymous number to him, but given the circumstances, she figured he’d answer. Disappointed, she tried again. And again. Bryce kept moving. By this point he’d traveled in nearly a full circle, his eyes roaming the room. “Bryce,” she whispered frantically, knowing no one could hear her.
Finally, he stopped. His eyes lit up. Cassie had a fleeting moment of hope, of wondering if Bryce had seen someone from OHM, someone who could help them. Her.
Instead, Bryce leaned down and patted the shoulder of someone Cassie didn’t recognize. He was wiry and short, with big eyes and a big nose and a big earring in his left ear, like his face was making up for all the space his body couldn’t occupy. He and Bryce began whispering furiously.
Cassie grabbed the phone and began pounding on it. Look up, dude, she texted.
It’s me.
LOOK UP.
Nothing. He checked the phone but just as quickly slid it back into his pocket.
Of course. He couldn’t be sure unless …
Pyrrhus, it’s Lyssa.
We have to get out of here.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?
WE HAVE TO GOOOOOO!
Cassie must have finally hit peak annoyance, because Bryce pulled out his phone again and read the messages. Cassie watched his eyes widen, dart up, scanning the ceiling. She waved just enough to catch his attention, hoping it was only his she caught.
Finally, Bryce saw her. Cassie broke into a smile, ready to see his shocked expression, his surprise at her having been so clever, so ingenious, that she’d managed to rise above the danger. That she’d managed, for once, to save him, instead of him saving her.
He didn’t seem happy, though.
His eyes still locked with hers, Bryce tapped his friend again on the shoulder. His friend looked up and followed Bryce’s line of vision. His big eyes grew even bigger.
It took only a moment, a flash, for Cassie to realize something was wrong, to realize how horrifically exposed she was. Bryce pointed just past her, and Cassie’s feeling of vulnerability revved into high gear. Why wasn’t he acknowledging her? What was he doing?
She craned her neck, but her precarious perch made it impossible to see what he was pointing at. There was nothing back there anyway, except for the DJ booth …
… with its microphone …
… and lights …
Oh, no.
As she watched, Bryce and the little guy bolted forward, running right under her.
Microphone. Lights. To get the crowd’s attention. To point her out.
She twisted, gripping the duct with her thighs like a jockey, nearly falling. Yes. They were almost there now, almost at the booth.
They were coming after her.
The realization hit Cassie like a bolt of thunder.
She’d been betrayed.
By Bryce.
It was Bryce. Pretending to help her, actually leading her astray. She was furious at herself for not trusting her gut. Or for trusting it too much. She wasn’t sure which.
He’d led the Hive to OHM. He’d led her right to @Shameless, no doubt figuring that would be the end of her. And now … now he’d led the Hive to her once again.
The phone slid from her hands. It bounced once off a ledge on the duct pipe, then tumbled down into the crowd below.
She didn’t wait to see where it landed or who looked up. She just ran.
Crawled, really. Back from where she came, hoping the bathroom would be as empty as it was when she disappeared, thinking she might somehow manage to squeeze out of its tiny window. She moved much faster on the return trip, her limbs used to the movement, her brain not caring how many people heard her. Getting out was her only goal.
The wall between the dance floor and the bathroom only stretched to within a few feet of the ceiling. She rushed toward the gap, scuttled into the bathroom, then let her legs dangle and she dropped without even checking for witnesses. Her mind racing, blind from Bryce’s betrayal, she paid no mind to the open toilet underneath her feet, so when she let gravity do its job, her right foot slipped, landing in the bowl. Water sloshed over the sides of the toilet, and she yelped in surprise.
Amazingly, the bathroom was still empty. She hobbled over to the window. It would be a tight squeeze.
But it would be done.
100102100101
I just feel like maybe moms shouldn’t be on social media at all. Am I wrong? #MomArmy #NoThanks #NoMoreMoms
Cassie McKinney’s ma is kinda hot. #MILF (Her daughter sucks tho.)
This replay of the hotel raid is SICK, it looks like a video game. #HasCassieSurfacedYet?
Guys I’m three drinks in and I lost my mask but Venecia is HAWTTTT right now, come on down. #MaskLife
I’m a mom and I’m not going anywhere. #SaveCassie #MomArmy
/> Anyone know what’s happening at Venecia? Was gonna go but my friend says something’s going down … #MaskLife
Calling all moms! Let’s mobilize to save Cassie McKinney! #NotOurDaughters #NotOurSons
Omg a friend is at Venecia and says the power just got cut. What is going on?!?! #HiveMobOrWhut
If a Hive Mob steps on my mask I’m gonna lose it, that shit is custom made. #Venecia #MaskLife
Whoa, the club just got raided. #MaskLife
HIVE ALERT. A Hive Mob is descending on Venecia after rumors Cassie McKinney is headed there. #HasCassieSurfacedYet?
Oh, my God am I gonna get a chance to get Cassie McKinney? OH, MY GOD I’m at Venecia right now and she’s totally here! #Supposedly #HasCassieSurfacedYet?
What a b, ruining a good night out at da club. Cassie ruins everything. #HasCassieSurfacedYet?
This effing rain, man. #BummerSummer
100102200101
Cassie ran as though all the demons of hell were on her back — or maybe all the lions in ancient Rome’s Colosseum. Her heart thrummed in time with her feet slapping on the wet concrete. The mob was spilling out of Venecia now, no doubt realizing that they’d missed their target. She ducked down an alley, only to find that it dead-ended in a brick wall some thirty feet high. Might as well be a million — there was no way for her to climb it.
Alleyways had been so good to her today. And now she would die in this one.
She couldn’t believe it had been Bryce all along. Bryce, who had rescued her from the Hive the first time … and why? Why had he even bothered, if he was just going to betray her and all of OHM?
Shit! Shit! Stop thinking about that and think about this!
She danced around the alley in terror, looking for something — anything — that could help her. It was only a matter of time before they got here.
Under the mask, she sweated profusely. She pulled it off and shook it out, then wiped beads of moisture from her forehead and from around her eyes. Something jostled her from behind and she slapped a hand back there.
The gun. She’d forgotten. She had no idea how many bullets were in it and didn’t even know how to check. In movies, the Tough Guy Hero always did something to make the bullet-holding part pop out, but she was afraid that if she did that, she would be unable to get it back in.
There was a door set into one wall, recessed by a good fifteen inches. She could crunch up in there … Maybe no one would see her?
Yeah, right. Not likely.
There was no doorknob out here, but the door had to open somehow, right?
In desperation, she got up super close to the door and switched on her original phone, the gray OHM special. Cranking the brightness on the phone, she ran the screen along the doorjamb, peering into the little cone of light she’d created. It only took a moment — in the crack between the door and the frame, she spied a smallish shadow that filled the crack right where a doorknob would be.
There was a doorknob on the other side, with a simple deadbolt.
Movies came in handy once again. She knew exactly what to do.
Shivering in the cold and the rain, she nonetheless stripped off her jacket and wadded it into a ball. She pressed it against the door where the lock was, then pressed the muzzle of the gun against the wad of cloth. Makeshift silencer, like mobsters whacking dudes in action movies with a pillow to muffle the gunshot.
Wincing and praying for silence, she pulled the trigger. There was a sharp crack, barely audible over the rain, and then the violence of the explosion shot up her arm to her shoulder, vibrating through pain into almost instant numbness. With a muted curse, she dropped the gun and the jacket. Steam purled up from the door.
The mouth of the alley was still empty. With a vicious shake to work some feeling back into her arm, she picked up the jacket and gun, then waved the steam away from the door.
The bullet hole wasn’t as impressive as she’d hoped, but peering into it, she could see that the horizontal metal piece that locked the door was cracked in two. She shoved the door and it stayed depressingly still.
Above the patter of the rain, she heard the stomp of feet. A herd of hatred headed her way.
“Come on,” she pleaded in a barely audible whisper. “Come on …”
She shoved the door again. Nothing. She reared back and with all her strength kicked the door with her foot right where the lock was.
With a satisfying crack, the door moved a bit. Cassie pushed it again to open it, but nothing.
Dumbass! The door opens out! You keep pushing it!
Her kick had finished the job of breaking the lock that the bullet had started, and now she hooked her finger in the bullet hole and used it to pull the door open. Success!
She scrambled inside and pulled the door shut behind her. It wouldn’t lock, but it stayed in the shut position, especially after she jammed her jacket into the hinges to keep it steady.
A dim red light glowed from overhead. When she looked up, she noticed an EXIT sign … and a security camera.
Shit! Goddamit! You idiot!
She spun around and ran down the dark hallway. Doors were to either side of her, but she didn’t want to duck into a place where she would be caught barefaced on camera. Once she was sure she was out of the camera’s range, she paused long enough to pull her mask back on. She wouldn’t be seen on camera again.
At the end of the hallway, there was a glass door. This one, fortunately, was unlocked, and she eased through into another corridor. After a few moments of wandering around, she realized she was “backstage” in a retail space shared by a bunch of different stores. Because it was after hours, everything was closed, but another door led her into a lobby staffed by a lone security guard sitting at a desk tapping a tablet.
Sometimes, her dad had once told her, the indolence of people is your best asset.
The guard didn’t even look up at her as she emerged. “Late night, huh?” he asked with a bored mien.
Just to be safe, she pretended to scratch her nose as she answered, obscuring the mask’s motionless lips. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”
And then she was out on the street. She waited until she was out of sight of the lobby before breaking into a run.
She ran with no plan. Maybe if she didn’t know where she was going, the Hive Mob wouldn’t either. And at least as long as she kept running, they couldn’t catch her.
But she couldn’t run forever. Eventually, she crashed, breathing hard, at an empty bus stop. The rain had picked up, and the shelter was welcome. Under her mask, she sweated, but she didn’t dare to reach underneath and wipe it away.
She had cash, thanks to TonyStark, but buses, like cabs, had cameras. Even with the mask, could she risk it?
Could she not risk it? She needed to do something. She couldn’t bother Sarah again — Sarah had risked enough for her already. The only other person to contact was her mom. And she knew her mom was being monitored. There was no way the cops would haul Rachel in for questioning and then let her go without keeping an eye on her.
So … what? Who could she turn to?
She thrust her hands into her pockets and realized that the answer was literally at her fingertips.
*
Hey, it’s Cassie. So if you don’t want to kill me is there a chance we could meet?
The answer came immediately: Absolutely. Where/when?
100102300101
Rachel didn’t trust an internet connection in her home. Not anymore. While it was absurd, there was a part of her that could almost feel the Wi-Fi bandwidth shooting through her and enveloping her. She hadn’t reconnected the modem and didn’t plan on doing it anytime soon. No point making it even easier for the NSA to spy.
But she still needed access. She needed to be online. To track Cassie, as much as that was possible. To keep on top of the burgeoning ranks of her resist
ance.
So she ended up spending most of her time in her office on campus, where the Wi-Fi was fast and free, and where she could convince herself that the multitude of other users somehow disguised her signal from snoopers.
Honey, you just don’t understand how this works. Harlon’s voice in her head. He said that a lot, any time she complained about something tech related. I don’t try to speak Latin; you don’t talk tech, OK?
She knew that someone out there was skimming her bandwidth, watching everything she watched, learning everything she learned. That was the price she paid, the other side of the #MomArmy coin.
But they would only learn what everyone else knew already. She had no conduit to Cassie. No special knowledge. Let the NSA choke on the information abyss.
She sighed, yawned and rubbed her eyes. She’d paired her phone to her big desktop screen and now watched as BLINQ feeds scrolled by. The #MomArmy was on the move … virtually. Someone was organizing a boycott of Facebook, on the theory that if they could disrupt one social network’s algorithms, others might follow. “It’s all interconnected!” Aiden&Jenna’sMomma explained in an excited mix of text and emojis. “With enough numbers, we can make a difference!”
Right now, the only difference Rachel cared about was the mounting rage of the Hive as Cassie apparently evaded capture yet again. Rachel wasn’t sure which side of the family ninja skills came from, but Cassie had inherited them from somewhere. If the internet was to be believed (and that was a big if, even in the best of times), Cassie had managed to escape yet another Hive Mob, this one at a dance club/bar in a part of town so seedy that Rachel felt a shiver of paranoia just looking it up on a map.
It was a sign of what her life had become that she was not in the least bit concerned about her underage daughter in a bar.
Cassie had escaped. That’s all that mattered.
She cracked her knuckles and leaned in toward her keyboard, when there was a knock at her office door.
She wondered, Would the NSA bother knocking?
“Yes?” she called.