by Ellery Kane
“Say no more,” she said, giving my arm a sympathetic pat. “Sit here.” She pointed to one of the nearby stools. Carrie disappeared for a moment behind another door, retrieving a broom and dustpan.
“Can I get a little help with this?” She asked the guard, as she gathered the glass with the broom.
I waited for the right moment. When both of their heads were concealed below the table, I quickly pocketed a small bottle of ether. It was a common laboratory chemical I had seen my mother use many times. She had always warned me to handle it cautiously. It was highly flammable and had the properties of a sedative.
As Carrie walked me to the door, I apologized again, turning back to examine the now-spotless floor.
With a maternal smile, Carrie’s voice reassured me, “Like it never happened.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
A BAD GOOD-BYE
A FEW MINUTES AFTER 7 p.m., just as it had the last five evenings, Resistance headquarters went dark. I heard the guard shuffling nervously outside my room, as if expecting the black out.
“I’m okay,” I told him, trying to make my voice sound steady. Inside, my nerves were pinging and pinballing, rapid-fire, through me.
A short time later, I heard him settle back in his chair, just outside the door. Cat-like, I padded across the floor, holding my breath. I knew I had to move quickly and confidently. If I hesitated, it would be over—and worse, Quin would be that much farther from me, almost unreachable.
In my mind, I began a slow count down. On one, I opened the door with my foot, reaching my hand around to the guard’s face. He cried out in surprise, grasping for my hand, but only for a moment. The ether was already taking its effect. I held the cloth against his mouth for at least thirty seconds to be sure, though it seemed as if a brief eternity passed. Finally, I released him. He slumped limp and unmoving.
Calling softly to Artos, I left the room, backpack in hand. I heard Artos’ nails clicking behind me as he followed. It was pitch black, but I couldn’t risk using my flashlight. I went by feel, rounding the corner to Elana’s room where I slipped a cryptic note under the door.
From there, I headed down the tunnel with Artos. We were both running now. With each step, I thought only of Quin.
For him, leaving here was probably just one of many bad goodbyes. I imagined that he had grown accustomed to disappointment, recognizing it like an old friend. In fact, he probably expected it, outsmarted it by pushing everyone away first. But for some reason, Quin had let me in, and I realized now, from the inside, that his walls weren’t really as they appeared. Their substance was paper-thin parchment that could be blown down by a mere breath.
Quin was somewhere, could have been anywhere, in this abandoned city, but I knew exactly where to find him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
COIT TOWER, REVISITED
I BOUNDED UP THE SPIRALING stairs two at a time, Artos following closely behind me. When I reached the entrance to the observation deck, I took a breath, my heart suspended in a brief limbo before slowly opening the door. Please, I asked silently to no one in particular.
Quin sat directly opposite with his gun pointed at the door. His eyes looked frightened, but hopeful. On his face, near his temple, I could see a cut and a yellowing bruise. He lowered his weapon. Before either of us could speak, Artos bounded through the door toward Quin, licking his face uncontrollably.
“I missed you too, Artos,” Quin said, chuckling and fending off Artos’ tongue.
Quin stood, turning his eyes to mine. Relief washed over me in waves. I thought I might cry, but I didn’t. I looked only at Quin. His pull was like a magnet. Before my mind had even decided to walk toward him, my feet began moving. I felt his arms around me. He lowered his face, burying it in my shoulder. His warm breath tickled my neck. In a word, Quin felt like home.
“Lex.” He pronounced my name deliberately as if saying it for the first time. He pulled away slightly, but kept his eyes on mine. “You found me.”
“And Artos,” I added proudly, omitting the fact that Artos had done most of the finding. “Did you think that I wouldn’t?”
Quin didn’t respond. He dropped to one knee, and Artos eagerly ran over to him. From under Artos’ collar, Quin removed a small object. He held it up for me. It was my mother’s flash drive. I gasped in surprise.
“You have a lot of explaining to do, Mr. McAllister.” I narrowed my eyes at him in pretend anger.
Quin grinned. “I know,” he said. “I guess I should start by saying that you were right.”
“That’s always a good place to start,” I teased.
Quin laughed, and I noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, making his face seem boyish, mischievous. When he laughed, I could see five-year-old Quin looking back at me.
“Augustus lied to me about a lot of things. He’s been lying to everyone. After I left you that night, I went to see him. I wanted to talk to him about you.”
“About me?” I said, taken aback.
“I wanted to tell him that I was done … avoiding you.” Inside, my heart fluttered as if about to take flight. I was thinking of our kiss. Quin’s lips turned up at the corners in a shy smile, hinting that his thoughts were the same.
“When I got to his office, I heard him talking to someone on a cell phone, the emergency one that no one is supposed to use without his permission. He was talking about this.” Quin held up the flash drive. “He was going to sell it.”
“Sell it?” I had suspected that Augustus was manipulative—a con artist, an opportunist—but I was shocked by his willingness to betray everyone who trusted him. I knew his disloyalty must have been a bitter shock to Quin.
“To who?” I wondered aloud.
Quin’s face darkened. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think he was talking to General Ryker.”
Quin paused, allowing the alarm to settle from my face.
“Do you know what’s on it?” I asked.
“No,” Quin replied, “but it must be something really important if the Guardians want it so badly.” I hid my surprise. I had been sure that Quin knew the contents of the flash drive.
Quin continued, “I confronted Augustus. At first, he tried to deny it—to turn it around on me. He said I wasn’t myself because of you. He even told me he thought I was using Emovere or something. When I threatened to discuss it with the Council, he hit me.” Quin touched the bruise on his temple. It was dark purple in the center, bordered by an ugly yellow. Shaking his head, he added, “I never thought he would deliberately hurt me. I guess that must sound stupid to you.”
“Quin, you’re not stupid.” I reached up and brushed the side of his face gently with my hand. He turned toward my touch. “You looked up to him. He abused your trust.”
Quin sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, the story of my life,” he muttered. I imagined that he was thinking of his father.
“So how did you get the flash drive?”
“Well … I hit him back.” Quin and I shared a satisfied smiled. It gave me more than a small bit of pleasure to imagine Quin’s fist connecting with its target.
“Augustus fell and dropped the flash drive. I hit him again, but he kept coming at me. He wasn’t going to let me leave that room, Lex.” Quin’s voice was somber but distant, as if he was reliving a nightmare, scene by scene. For a moment, I tried to imagine the white, hot terror of realizing that someone you trusted was trying to kill you.
“Then Artos got him by the leg and wouldn’t let go.” Artos pranced at Quin’s feet as if celebrating his victory. “So Augustus reached for the lamp on his desk. He knocked it over and cut us with some of the broken glass.” Quin looked down to examine the cut on Artos’ nose. His wound now completely forgotten, Artos wagged his tail, carefree.
“After that, I ran into the tunnels. I could hear Augustus behind me. I slipped this into Artos’ collar—there’s a hole, where the fabric is worn from him chewing on it—and I told him to find you. I didn’t think I
would get away.”
We sat in silence, Quin’s words sinking into my mind like heavy stones. I shook off a shiver, imagining Quin, bleeding and afraid, sending Artos away from him. I knew then that Quin was brave, the kind of bravery that is only born in a dark place.
Quin spoke first. “I didn’t know if you would … I mean, I hoped that you would …” Quin’s voice trailed off, but his eyes finished the sentence for him. He looked down, shuffling his feet nervously.
I looked back at him, disbelieving. After everything that had happened, Quin thought I wouldn’t try to find him, that what I knew about him would somehow change the way I felt.
“I care about you, Quin. That hasn’t changed—no matter what it says in that stupid file.”
He stepped back from me. “Why?” he demanded. “Why do you care about me?”
I smiled. “Isn’t that supposed to be my question?”
“I’m beginning to like it,” Quin countered. “So?”
I couldn’t answer. I might have said I felt safe with him, but that wasn’t entirely true. When Quin touched me, it was like heat buzzing in my brain, a cold razor’s edge pressed to my skin. It was the kind of feeling I feared, but wanted all at the same time. And how could I explain that to someone, most of all to Quin?
“Why do you like me?” I asked. I knew it wasn’t fair, but surprisingly, Quin didn’t protest my question. He turned away from me, leaning out against the observation deck, and answered.
“When I’m with you, everything feels different. Not like the past didn’t happen, which is something I wanted for a long time. But like it happened, and it’s okay that it did.”
It was a perfect answer.
“Quin, it is okay. That file is not what you said it was. It’s not everything, and it’s certainly not the Book of Quin. It’s just a few chapters in the story.”
“Important chapters,” he said, unconvinced.
“Fine … important ones,” I conceded.
I walked over to the railing and stood next to him, both of us looking out into the blackness of the city. “But there are a lot of chapters missing. That file is not Artos or your mother’s book of poetry or Max and Elana or …” I wanted to say me, but I stopped myself.
Quin didn’t reply. His silence felt like disagreement. Frustrated, I sighed and began to walk away, but Quin stopped me, placing a firm hand on my forearm.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked softly.
Before I could answer, his lips were on mine.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
PRACTICE
KISSING QUIN WAS LIKE STANDING on the edge of a soaring precipice, watching pebbles roll and plummet to their death below, only blue sky between me and the ground. Falling felt inevitable, a welcome but fatal exhilaration.
I was most aware of his hands. One was tangled in my hair, holding my head tightly. The other travelled urgently around my waist and up my spine. Quin’s hands seemed to have their own life, and it was one of pressing need, eliminating any separation between our bodies. For the first time in my life, I wondered if it was possible to die of bliss. I could understand why Max’s mother had become addicted to Euphoractamine. If I could have bottled this, whatever this feeling was, I would have ached for it in its absence.
Quin brushed his lips against my cheek and buried his face in my hair.
“Practice,” he teased.
I laughed, and I could feel his smile against my neck. Quin released me, his face suddenly shy. My body felt instantly cold in the space between us.
“So what now, Ms. Knightley?” Quin’s voice was light and playful.
“Well, you’re not the only one with a story to tell,” I replied. “Your leaving caused quite a stir.”
“I would imagine,” he said, grinning.
I told Quin about everything that had happened since I had awakened to find him gone—Augustus’ early morning meeting and lies to the Resistance, my encounter with the Council, and my escape. I conveniently omitted my panic attack. In part, because I knew Quin would shoulder the blame, and I didn’t want him to have anything else to hold over himself. The other part was me. I didn’t want to admit I had lost control, that my fear had temporarily taken my body as a helpless hostage.
“There’s one more thing,” I added. “Max and Elana are coming too. They’re meeting us at the Golden Gate Bridge at sunrise.”
Quin didn’t seem surprised, his thoughts focused elsewhere. “And where exactly are we going?” He looked at me, uncertainly.
“There’s only one place left to go.” I felt a tug of longing, before I even said it. “Home.”
Quin didn’t respond, but I watched his face change. He was slowly rebuilding his walls.
“My mother will know what to do,” I said, lending my voice more confidence than I felt.
Quin sat down, leaning up against the wall. He patted Artos’ head absentmindedly. “Okay,” he said, but I knew that it wasn’t.
I sat down next to him. “What’s wrong?” I asked, touching his shoulder.
He shrugged off my hand and looked straight ahead, avoiding my eyes. His face was as impenetrable as steel.
“What happened to my mom was my fault.” He said it evenly as if it was a fact he had learned in school—one not open for debate. “Your mom knows that. How can I even look at her?”
“Quin, your father murdered your mother. You were only six. How can that possibly be your fault?”
“I knew what my dad was like,” Quin began. “I had seen him hit her before, throw her around like a rag doll. That day, she told me to watch Colton and play on the floor close to her. I didn’t listen. I never listened. And now, the things I’ve done … I’m just like him.” Quin’s voice cracked. He lowered his head, resting it between his knees. I put my hand on his back, rubbing it gently.
“Don’t try to make me feel better, Lex,” his voice the pained growl of a wounded animal.
I took my hand away and said nothing for a long time. Artos settled in the space between us, laying his head on my lap. I watched Quin’s shoulders move up and down. Though he made no sound and I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was crying. Words from his Guardian file ran through my head: The minors were unharmed. What happened to Quin didn’t leave a visible scar. It burned from the inside.
I spoke softly, fingering the locket around my neck, “Sometimes, I think it was my fault that my dad left.” I had never said it aloud before, but I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t thought it. “He just disappeared, like my mom and I never existed. It’s hard to believe he ever really loved me.”
After I finished, Quin took a breath and looked up. His face was wet, his eyes red. “How could he not?” he asked.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A TEST
THE SUN WAS NEWLY BORN, just beginning its slow ascent over the horizon. It was a clear day, the Golden Gate’s burnt-red cables cutting through the pinkish blue of morning. Gulls screamed at us from overhead, and I shivered, though the air was warm. Their cries sounded like a warning. Quin stood outside the tollbooth, out of view of a nearby camera, pacing nervously, while Artos chased mice in and out of the booths.
“Where are they?” he asked, a discernible edge in his voice. “We don’t have long before there’s another helicopter patrol.”
As Quin spoke, I heard the rumble of an engine and saw two oversized military vehicles approaching the bridge from San Francisco. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a sound, Quin pulled me inside the tollbooth and down to the ground. Artos bounded inside after us, his teeth clamped on the tail of a portly rat. Quin tapped Artos’ head, and he dropped his catch. I watched as it scuttled across the floor and out of the door.
“Quiet,” Quin instructed calmly. I was comforted by his arms around me. They were familiar to me now. I had spent the night like this memorizing the crook of his elbow, the three freckles on his forearm, the inked edges of his Guardian tattoo. I could feel his breathing, slow and controlled.
From the floor of the booth, we could see nothing. But after a minute or so, the engine noise roared past us and stopped abruptly. Doors slammed, and I heard the sound of boots marching. Then a shrill voice cut the air like the blade of an axe.
“Guardian Recruits, take your assigned positions.”
There was more marching, followed by the click-clacking of metal against metal. Minutes passed as I watched the second hand on Quin’s wristwatch make several rounds.
Quin whispered, “It’s a test.”
I had to look. I couldn’t help it. I loosened myself from Quin’s grasp and raised my head slightly. He didn’t protest, but pulled me back to him when I gasped.
I had seen at least ten recruits arranged in a line atop the bridge’s outer railing. They wore harnesses around their ankles attached to bungee cords. Their hands were bound with thick rope behind their backs. On the bridge, overseeing them was a small but ferocious man, balding with a thick beard.
“Guardian Recruit Legacy 152, jump!”
“Guardian Recruit Greenhorn 341, jump!”
“Guardian Recruit Greenhorn 533, jump!”
One by one, I imagined the recruits jumping without a sound from the bridge, yo-yoing above the ocean some two hundred feet below.
“Guardian Recruit, Greenhorn 558, jump!”
Ten seconds later, the voice spoke again, “Greenhorn 558, do you have a problem following instructions?”
“No, sir,” a man’s voice replied with a surprising, subtle crackling of fear. I had assumed the Guardian recruits were given Emovere prior to this test, which would explain their post-jump silence.
“Good. Then you have exactly five seconds to jump. Count it down for me, Greenhorn.”
Quin mouthed a name against my ear. “Ryker.”
“Five.” The jumper’s voice feigned confidence. Perhaps he was thinking he could muster the courage after all.
“Four.” There was a hint of doubt. I wondered if he was looking down into the frigid water below.