by Ellery Kane
Cason scoffs. “It’s about time. Are you sure she knows what she’s doing?”
“If it’s what she says it is, then it’s worth the wait,” Dr. Bell replies. “Besides, it’s only been a few months.”
Ignoring Dr. Bell, Cason turns to Augustus. “Can we trust her?”
“I believe we can, but rest assured, I have not revealed our location or my identity. She’s on a need-to-know basis.” Like me apparently.
“What is she working on?” I breathe deep before I say it. I don’t want to sound too curious.
Vera’s cheeks plump into a dimpled, feeling-sorry-for-me smile. “Have you heard of Dr. Knightley, Quin?”
Augustus is staring at me. I feel like it’s a test. “Sure,” I say. “She developed Emovere, right?”
All heads nod, but Augustus keeps staring. I half-expect him to announce it to the room. Quin’s father was a murderer. Instead, “We’re fortunate Dr. Knightley has adopted our cause as her own. If she’s successful, she’s agreed to travel here and supply us with information that can right all her wrongs.” He seems to say that word with purpose. Like that’s all I’m going to get. “With her help, we can finally take action against the Guardian Force. Isn’t that generous of her?”
He means for me to answer. I just shrug. What I know about Victoria Knightley is next to nothing, but the list reads more like me than I care to admit—and it doesn’t include the word generous:
She’s hot and cold. Wishy-washy. First, she masterminds this demented anti-fear drug and markets it until her face is plastered everywhere. Then, snap! She flip-flops and becomes the poster child of the Resistance. Literally. I saw the fliers scattered down Market Street.
She’s reckless. If she thought my dad was so dangerous, then how did he end up back in our living room—pumped full of Crim-X?
And here’s what else I know about me and Victoria Knightley. I need to meet her. Desperately. It’s like my life depends on it. Like she has the answer to a riddle I have to solve. But there’s something more. The twisted part. She knows what happened to my mom was my fault. My fault. Hers too, but mostly mine.
Augustus clears his throat. He still has his eyes on me. “I’ll be checking in with her in a few months, but we keep this within the Council for now. Understood?” He stands before anyone agrees. It’s a given. What Augustus says, goes. “Meeting adjourned.”
“C’mon, Artos.” I’m halfway out the door, Artos trotting behind, when I feel his hand on my shoulder.
“A word, Mr. McAllister.” He points me back to a chair. “Sit.” Artos and I both comply. “I understand you have a special interest in Victoria Knightley because of your shared … history. But I do hope you won’t let her involvement with the Resistance divert you from our mission.”
It doesn’t seem like the right time to tell him it already has, that I’ve been sneaking Carrie’s research articles when she’s not looking. Turns out she’s just as much of a Dr. Knightley fanatic as I am. “Of course not.”
“I didn’t think so.” He gives Artos a cursory tap-tap-tap on the head. Artos responds with a perfunctory growl. “And, Quin, despite my reservations, I’ve decided to approve your job request. You may join Max and Elana on the surveillance team. Just remember, no sneaking out again without my approval.”
“Yes, sir.” Augustus doesn’t lie, but I do.
I find Elana and Max in the control booth—surveilling. Top-secret code for a game of Scrabble.
Max raises a lone eyebrow. “Good news?”
“How’d you know?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way … but you’re actually smiling.” He leans toward me, squints his eyes, and examines my face. “I think that’s a smile.”
“Whatever.” I punch his arm, teasing. “Looks like you two are stuck with me and Artos for a while.”
“Well, at least one of you will be an asset to the team. Won’t ya, boy?” Artos gives Max a canine grin that’s probably more convincing than mine. “Hey!” Max protests as Elana closes the tablet. “I was winning.”
She doesn’t even laugh before she turns to me. She knows what today is, I think to myself, dread creeping in. She’s about to ask why I didn’t tell them. I start to rank order my excuses. My favorite: It’s just another day. Certainly nothing to celebrate.
“We already knew about your assignment. Cason told us this morning.” She hands me a walkie-talkie and ushers Max and me out of the control booth. “Welcome to your orientation.”
This orientation is trial by fire. I’m burning up inside. Every time I open my mouth to speak—to try to fake normal—I expect ash. Not words, but soot. Smoke, not breath. And Max and Elana don’t even know it. I still haven’t told them everything.
We’re heading up Market Street, toward Powell, ducking the cameras Max is pointing out as we go. I’m supposed to be concentrating. I have to memorize their locations, but I can’t focus. Any second now, we’ll be able to see it.
“Check it out,” Max says, pointing. And there it is. I let myself look. The cable car. It’s lying on its side like a beached whale, plastered with Resistance graffiti. I haven’t seen it since that day. I purposefully avoided it. Now I’m on a collision course with that gravestone and the unnamed ghost I left behind. My fault.
Elana touches my arm. “Are you okay?” Damn. How can she tell?
I snap back at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Good job, McAllister. Now she knows you’re coming unglued.
“Because your hands are shaking.” As soon as she tells me, I feel it. A tremor of tiny earthquakes in my fingers. That’s never happened before, not when I was an iceman. I hide them in my pockets.
“It’s nothing. I’m just cold.” They give each other this look—an exchange of pity—that makes me cringe.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Elana asks. I don’t answer. I won’t answer. “We knew it.”
I stare at the cable car until it blurs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Max shakes his head at me. “C’mon, Q. We heard rumors about that rally. The one just before the evacuation. Everybody knows it was a Guardian who shot that guy.”
“Well, you can’t believe everything you hear.” I start to walk back down Market, not even bothering with the cameras.
“Quin!” I hear Elana’s voice behind me. “What’re you doing? They’ll see you.”
“I hope they do see me.” There’s a growl in my voice, but I can’t cage it. I feel for the gun at my waist. I’ve never wanted to use it more. And suddenly, I have to. I’m an inferno. “Come and get me!” I face the camera and unleash. “Come on, you cowards! I’ve got something for you!” I aim and fire into its eye, blinding it. “Do you like that? Do you like that, Ryker?” Two more bullets, and it explodes. But I’m not done. “Is this who you wanted me to be?” The camera’s a goner now. And there’s nothing left of me but cinders and char.
Max and Elana flank me. Exhausted, I drop the gun. One arm for each of them, they hold me steady. I don’t speak, and neither do they. Not until we slip back inside the boarded entrance to the tunnels.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Elana presses her finger into the keypad, and we wait for the door to open. “As far as I see it, there’s one less camera to worry about.”
I’d like to think Augustus wouldn’t mind, but I know better. He’d be furious with me. More furious if he knew about my outburst today on Market Street. He doesn’t understand. No one does. Not even Max or Elana, but they promised they wouldn’t tell. Sometimes, I just have to get out of there. Those tunnels close in, and the weight of the world presses on my chest. Up here, far above it all, I can breathe again. I can pretend that cable car, that rally, that foster home, that little yellow truck—all of it, my whole life—was just one long, awful dream.
I flip to the page I dog-eared in my mom’s book of poetry. I don’t know which one was her favorite. But this is mine. I read it out loud to Artos. “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood … �
� He cocks his head to one side, then the other. And I know what he’s saying. Happy birthday, Quin. Happy birthday.
CHAPTER EIGHT
October 20, 2040
When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don’t stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven’t hoed,
And shout from where I am, “What is it?”
—Robert Frost, A Time to Talk
“Have you tried to contact your family yet?” I ask Max as we follow the circuitous path up Market Street, making our weekly rounds. I know it’s a sore subject, but if I had a family—even a lousy one—I’d be there right now.
He shakes his head. “I don’t think they’ve even noticed I’m gone. Last I heard, my stepdad converted my room into a gym.”
“Figures.” There’s a short but distinguished list of people I’d like to pummel, and Max’s stepdad is one of them. Him and the punk that hurt Elana. I wouldn’t mind introducing my knuckles to his nose. A few times. “He’s a real piece of work. Too bad your mom can’t see that.” It stings a little when I say it. My mom was the blindest of them all.
“Yeah, she’s in love, I guess.” He snickers, but it seems forced.
“If that’s love, then I’ll pass.” We cross the street by the cable car. I force myself to look at it. I’m surprised it gets easier every time. Today, I don’t even have the itch to shoot anything.
“Hey, Q?” Max stops walking, and I wait for him to tease me like always. Let’s have a moment of silence for Guardian Force Camera 87. May it rest in peace. Instead, “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s about my stepdad.” He pauses, twisting his mouth, like he’s having second thoughts. “Actually, it’s also about me.”
I’ve never seen Max this serious for this long. He hasn’t laughed, hasn’t smiled, hasn’t tried to muss my hair, in a full sixty seconds. “Alright then, lay it on me.”
“Remember how I told you that my stepdad hit me sometimes? That he didn’t really want a stepson?”
“Of course. I hate that guy.” Finally, a half-hearted grin, but it fades fast. “I lied. He didn’t want a gay son. The Guardian Force didn’t want a gay soldier. And … well … I’m … gay.”
“Max, I already know. I mean, it sucks about your stepdad. It makes me hate that buffoon even more. But I knew you were gay.”
“You did? I thought you were clueless about that kind of thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Not that clueless. Does Elana know?”
“I didn’t tell her about my stepdad. She already looks at me like I’m a lost puppy.”
I laugh. “Join the club.”
“So you don’t care?”
“That you’re gay? Why would I?”
His cheeks turn the color of cotton candy. “Don’t make me say it, Quin.”
I groan, then put him in a pretend headlock. “Does someone have a little crush?” I tease as he pounds my shoulder with his fist. He slips out from under my arm and gives me a shove.
“You wish, buddy. You wish.”
It still unnerves me how many of those tattoos there are here, smack dab in the middle of Resistance headquarters. Ryker was telling the truth about that. At these meetings, I let my eyes wander through the rows, counting them. Sometimes I expect to turn and see Ryker standing at the podium, telling me to snap out of my daydreams. But, no. It’s always Augustus.
“Members of the Resistance, it has been brought to my attention that many of you are perplexed by our lack of direct action against the Guardian Force. I am here today to address your concerns.” Augustus gestures to me, and my stomach flip-flops. This can’t be good. “As you all know, a few months ago, the Council appointed Quin McAllister as our official expert on all matters pertaining to the Guardian Force. Stand up, Quin.” I do as I’m told, but I keep my eyes on Elana and Max in the front row. “Quin was an esteemed soldier who rose quickly through the ranks, after so many others—like some of you—were rejected. As such, he acquired considerable knowledge of their inner workings.” Elana and Max. Elana and Max. “He agrees whole-heartedly with my strategic approach to managing General Jamison Ryker.” Max and Elana. Max and Elana. “Don’t you Quin?”
Next to me, Cason mutters under his breath. I can’t hear him, but I imagine he’s telling me exactly what a pretender I am. And I don’t disagree. But Augustus needs my help, so I manage a nod. After all he’s done for me, it’s the least I can do.
“I also want to confirm some of the rumors I’ve been hearing. We do, indeed, have a prestigious ally who has agreed to assist us with our cause.” The whispers snake their way through the room front to back, while I try to make my face like stone. “The surveillance team—headed up by Mr. McAllister, Mr. Powers, and Ms. Hamilton—will be responsible for ensuring our ally arrives here safely. When the time is right, of course.”
I’m pretty sure Augustus keeps talking. His lips are moving. In my head, it sounds like Victoria Knightley, Victoria Knightley, Victoria Knightley. When he finally closes his mouth, I pretend I’m still an iceman. I stand up, stare straight ahead, and head for the door without looking back.
CHAPTER NINE
January 19, 2041
It would be easy to be clever
And tell the stones: Men hate to die
And have stopped dying now forever.
I think they would believe the lie.
—Robert Frost, In a Disused Graveyard
When the first body washed up along the Embarcadero, I knew it was a message from Ryker addressed to me. It was an answer to the note I left him, an answer to the lead I pumped into his camera. Finally, an answer. And true to form, it was written in blood.
“It was right up here,” Markus says, pointing to the edge of the water, where the rocks were thick with sea foam. “At first, I thought it … he … was a sea lion.” I walk closer, half-expecting to see a waterlogged corpse still floating on the waves. But the body was already at headquarters. I’d seen a glimpse of him this morning through the small window—what was left of him. His body was on the examination table, being poked and prodded by Dr. Bell. Official cause of death: a bullet to the head. Unofficial cause: termination from employment with the Guardian Force.
“What do you think, McAllister?” Markus frowns at me like he doesn’t trust me. I’m pretty sure he thinks Elana and I are an item. Not that his misconception stops him—or anyone else—from hitting on her. “Is this Ryker’s handiwork?”
“Probably.” If I hadn’t left when I did, it would’ve been mine too.
“It’s barbaric,” Elana says. “I never thought he would go this far.”
I look out toward Alcatraz. Ten months since I stepped into that boat, and I still hate the sight of my former prison. Everything on it, everyone on it, is dead inside. “There will probably be more,” I tell them.
Markus steps onto the rocks and peers out with binoculars, scanning the water. I take note of his milky white forearms. I wish they belonged to me. He’s the only one of us who’s not marked. “Nothing out there now.” I hear myself exhale in relief. “Did you ever … ?” He’s trying to ask me something he knows I don’t want to answer. “ … have orders to do something like this?”
In the quiet, I can hear the sea lions barking. I’m glad I left Artos behind. He’d be going out of his mind. “No.”
“Of course not,” Elana adds. She knows I’m lying. “Why would you even ask him that?”
Markus puts up his hands in surrender. Those forearms again. “Sorry,” he says to me. But I think it’s for Elana. “I just figured maybe that’s why you wanted out. Nobody’s really told us exactly why you left.”
“Why does it matter?” Max asks, defending me.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. And then I say it out loud to Markus, the third person I’ve told. It’s not the whole truth, but it’s close enough. “Ryker killed the last friend I had. That’s why.”<
br />
“Who else knows about this?” Cason demands, glowering at me from his usual spot across the table.
I resist the urge to laugh. “I don’t think there’s been a formal announcement. But I’m pretty sure the cadaver in the lab gave it away.” The sarcasm feels good. It’s the closest I can get to punching him in the face.
Cason shakes his head, dismissing me. “You don’t have a clue what’s at stake here, kid. Those people out there—the ones who had to leave this city—are trusting us to defeat this wacko. Our next move is critical. And you’re making jokes.”
“I’m not a kid.”
Augustus leans back in his chair, watching us go at it. “Easy, gentlemen. The Council won’t solve anything by going to war with each other. Hiro, was there anything useful on the camera feeds you analyzed?”
“Nothing. The pier where the body was discovered lies just outside the surveillance boundaries. It seems awfully convenient. But who knows? It may have just washed ashore there. There’s no way to prove that Ryker did this.”
“Quin’s right about one thing,” Vera adds. “Everybody’s talking about it. They’re looking to us for an answer.”
Augustus levels me with his eyes. “Mr. McAllister, you’re our expert here.” He continues over Cason’s snide rumbling. “What do you think? Is General Ryker responsible for this?”
There’s no way Augustus could know about my promotion to Second Lieutenant. No way he could know Ryker wanted me to lead the Death Squad. Because no one does. No one but Max and Elana. But there’s something in his voice that makes me nervous. Like half of me spilled my guts to him when the other half wasn’t looking. “I can’t say for sure, but I—”
The room goes dark for the second time this week. Artos whines at my feet until I comfort him with a quick rub. To me, the invisibility is a momentary comfort, a temporary reprieve, a chance to rehearse my answer. Keep it simple. Yes, Ryker is responsible. Then, Augustus clicks his flashlight, and my hiding place is gone. He turns it toward me like a spotlight and gives me a nod. “Continue, please.”