Fugitive X (16 page)

Marco lowered his rifle, and Nick let out a breath of relief and took a step toward Marco. Marco quickly raised his rifle again, and Nick stopped in his tracks. “Don’t move!” said Marco. He tapped the comm bracelet on his left wrist, then whispered into it, too softly for Nick to hear. He kept his eyes and his rifle trained on the group.

“We could just turn around and leave,” whispered Lexi, who had stepped forward to stand close to him.

“And go where?” Nick whispered back. “And find Kevin how?”

They waited, staring at Marco, Marco staring at them, nobody speaking. After a few minutes two rebels, whom Nick recognized but had never spoken to, arrived with a backpack and the chip scanner. One carried a burst rifle, the other a lase pistol, which they aimed at the group while Marco walked up to Cass, holding up the scanner.

Cass backed away, looking panicked. “What is that?” she said. “Stay away!”

“It’s a chip scan,” Marco said. “Make sure you don’t have any bot implants tracking you.”

“Stay away from me,” Cass repeated, her eyes still looking wild.

“She’s fine, Marco,” said Farryn. “There’s no chip in her.”

“She’s not coming into camp until she’s been scanned. And you better hope she doesn’t have any trackers in her.”

“I don’t want to come into your damned camp!” Cass said. “I just want to go back to the City!”

Marco turned to Nick in surprise. “What the hell?” he said. “We’ve got a true believer here?”

“There was nowhere else to go,” Nick explained.

Marco shook his head, frowning. “Ro’s going to be thrilled.” He ran the scanner slowly over Cass, who still looked apprehensive, but held still.

“She’s clean, at least,” Marco said. He stepped away, tapped his bracelet, and spoke quietly. He was silent a moment—must have been listening to an earbud, Nick realized—then he nodded. “Copy that,” he said. He nodded at the other two rebels, who fanned out to the left and right of the group, their weapons still aimed. Marco reached into the pack and pulled out five gray metal collars. He held them up, almost apologetically. “Stun collars,” he said. “Ro’s orders. Don’t worry, I won’t activate them unless I have to.”

“Rust that!” said Erica. “I’m not wearing a damned stun collar!”

“You’ll wear it, or we’ll shoot you right here, right now,” said Marco. He shrugged. “Your choice. Anyway, they’re just for now, probably. Ro wants to make sure you’re still safe.”

Nick looked at the collars dangling in Marco’s hand, then at the burst rifle and lase pistol aimed at him. At Lexi. At his sister. “Put it on, then,” he said.

Marco snapped a collar around Nick’s neck. The metal was cold on his skin. “Don’t try to take it off,” Marco said. “Best you’ll do is trigger the autoburst, which’ll kill you.”

Nick felt a wave of revulsion and anger. Erica had tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened—he had walked himself, and his friends, and his sister, right into this. And now they were all collared like dogs.

THE COLLAR WAS COLD ON CASS’S NECK. SHE WANTED TO TUG IT OFF
, but she didn’t want to risk the “autoburst” that the freeman had talked about. She held her bound hands at her waist to fight the urge to touch the collar. “I’m sorry,” her foster brother, Nick, whispered to her. He seemed sincerely upset; she didn’t think he had been expecting the hostile reaction that they had received. But she just ignored him. She wasn’t about to accept any apologies from him. This was his fault.

Cass tested the cord that Marco had tied around her wrists, but it was bound tightly and wouldn’t let her move her hands at all. When she tried to twist and pull, the plastic cord bit painfully into her skin.

Marco led the collared group through the forest for fifteen minutes, with the armed rebels behind them. Cass thought about making a run for it. It would be so stupid, she knew, with the collar on her and the weapons aimed at her back and her hands bound—but if she went into the rebel camp, she didn’t know if she’d ever come out. She snuck a glance behind her, gauging the distance between her and the guards, then began, very slowly, to edge farther to the left as she walked.

The boy named Farryn leaned toward her. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “You won’t make it. The collar range is too wide.”

Cass looked at him, ready with a sarcastic reply, but it died on her lips. He looked so sincere, so worried. Who was this boy, who seemed to care about her? He suddenly did seem so familiar—she believed that she had known him, before her education. She studied his face, unconsciously reached a hand out toward his cheek, searching for that elusive thread of recognition, trying to remember . . .

Farryn smiled and rested his forehead against hers. She suddenly snapped out of her reverie and stepped back and slapped him.

Farryn let out a surprised yell and grabbed his cheek. Nick came over and pushed himself between Farryn and Cass. “What’s going on?” he said.

One of the guards, the one with the pistol, pushed
Nick on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “All of you. Keep moving.”

Farryn shot one last look at Cass, his hand still on his face. She ignored him. She could feel her cheeks burning, from embarrassment and anger and adrenaline.

Marco led the group around a large rock, then down a narrow path that Cass could see opened into a large clearing, where there were tents, and cookfires, and other people. She felt a rise of panic—this was her last chance to run—but then Marco walked briskly back to her and took her forearm, holding it firmly, almost painfully so.

A man in camouflage gear waited for them at the edge of the camp. He had brown hair, cut short in a buzz, with a white streak running over his left ear, even though he seemed young.

“Ro,” said Nick, walking toward the man. “I found my sister! I got her out!”

“Shut it, Nick,” said Ro. “Not another word until I tell you to talk, or I’ll trigger your stun collar and won’t turn it off.”

Nick folded his arms over his chest and clenched his jaw, but he kept his mouth shut.

Ro stepped up close to Nick. “You sneak out without permission, go back to the City, endangering all of us with your stupidity, and then you top it all off by bringing a true believer into my camp?”

“She’s my sister!” said Nick.

“I didn’t tell you you could speak,” said Ro.

“Then stun me! I don’t care! I couldn’t leave my sister with the bots!”

Ro grabbed hold of Nick’s shirt. “And how exactly did you get her out? You just walked right into the City and asked the bots for your sister?”

“She wasn’t in the City,” Nick said. “We found her outside.”

“Convenient,” said Ro.

“It’s the truth,” said Nick.

Ro turned to Marco. “You say you scanned her thoroughly?”

Marco nodded. “Head to toe,” he said. “Clean.”

Ro shook his head. “Why come back here?” he said to Nick.

“I still want to fight the bots,” said Nick. “I want to raid the City with you. And I need to find my brother, and you keep track of refugee reports.”

Ro didn’t say anything for a moment, then let go of Nick’s shirt. “Well, you won’t be fighting any bots with me for a while, that’s for sure.” He turned to Marco. “Bring them in. Take the collars and ropes off, except for the new girl.”

“She doesn’t need the collar—” Nick began.

Ro grabbed Nick’s shirt again and pulled him toward him. “If your sister runs, we’ll hunt her down and kill her,” he said. “And her blood will be on your hands, not mine.”

“She just needs time to remember,” Nick said. “She’s my sister.”

Ro let go of Nick with a look that Cass thought combined disgust and pity.

“I don’t need time,” she said. She had had enough of being talked about like she wasn’t there. “I just need to go home. Back to the City.”

“She’ll be fine,” said Farryn, stepping between Ro and Cass. “Her memory will come back. I’m sure of it.”

“You willing to bet your life on that?” said Ro. “Because you might be doing just that.”

“Yes,” said Farryn.

“So be it,” said Ro. “We will be leaving tomorrow on a sortie.” He looked at Nick and Erica. “You will not be joining us, which is a shame, because I could use every man and woman I can get. But I also won’t go into battle with people I don’t trust.”

“I’m no traitor,” Nick said angrily.

“Probably not, but you do seem to have trouble taking orders,” said Ro.

Nick didn’t reply.

That evening, Cass lay on her bedroll, trying in vain to sleep. The stun collar was still tight on her neck, cold in the evening chill. She thought about her family, envisioning their reunion—Penny would be so happy, and her mother would hug her so hard she wouldn’t be able to breathe. But would that ever happen? Not only was she trapped here, in this rebel camp, but the bots had kicked her out of the City like they were throwing away trash.

She thought about her foster brother, Nick, trying to
remember. There were a few murky memories—pigeons, poison ivy?—but trying to reach for the past just made her dizzy and nauseous. She turned her thoughts to Farryn. He cared for her, that was obvious. She couldn’t quite remember him, but she did feel . . . comfortable with him. He had risked a great deal, vouching for her with Ro. She felt a strong pang of guilt at the thought that if she escaped, Ro might punish Farryn. Still, she hadn’t asked to be kidnapped, to be dragged out into the woods.

Cass stood and stretched, giving up on the idea of sleep. The guard watching her tensed for a moment, then went back to leaning against a tree.

Farryn walked up and spoke quietly to the guard for a few moments. The guard nodded, and Farryn walked up to Cass. She felt nervous, which annoyed her. She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping she looked sufficiently bored.

“Hello, Cass,” Farryn said.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Fine,” she said. “Tied up and wearing a stun collar, but fine.”

“I’m really sorry about that,” Farryn said. He did seem angry.

“It’s not your fault,” said Cass, surprising herself.

Farryn nodded, then took a step closer. “It’s not Nick’s fault either, Cass. I know you don’t understand it right now, and I
don’t blame you, the way you’re being treated—but you don’t belong in the City.”

Cass threw up her hands in frustration. “Where do I belong? Here?”

Farryn said nothing, then whispered, “I’d untie you if I could, Cass. Believe me.”

She stared at him, and she did believe him. She looked away.

“I want to show you something,” Farryn said. She turned back to him. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, unfolded it carefully, then handed it to Cass. The paper was smudged around the edges with dirt and beginning to fall apart.
How long has he been carrying this?
she thought. It was a sketch of herself, done quickly, it seemed, but definitely with skill. Who was this boy, who walked around with hand-drawn pictures of her in his pocket? She felt herself starting to blush. Had he been her boyfriend? “You’re a good artist,” she said.

“I can’t draw a stick figure.” Farryn shook his head. “It’s a self-portrait. You drew it for me.”

Cass stared at the page and struggled to remember. She was an artist? Nick had said something about that too, she remembered. . . . And she cared enough about this boy to give him this picture? She began to sense something, a memory . . . a paintbrush gliding on birch-bark canvas . . . Suddenly her head began to throb brutally, and she had to close her eyes and press her hands against her temples.

“Are you okay?” Farryn said, touching her arm.

“Leave me alone,” she said, her head feeling like it was going to explode. “Go, please.” She handed the self-portrait back to Farryn.

Farryn hesitated, and then he turned and walked away.

THE MEDIC DECLARED THE BURN MINOR, QUICKLY SLAPPED ON A SALVE
she called “synth-skin,” wrapped Kevin’s hand in gauze, and warned him not wake her again in the middle of the night unless he was lased in the head or missing a limb. Without warning him, she gave him a quick jab with an auto-injecter. “For the pain,” she said.

Kevin stood, and it felt as if his head was floating above his body. He stumbled and barely caught himself on the edge of a table.

“He’s going to be loopy from the painkiller and sedative,” the medic said to 23. “He’ll need help getting back to his bunk.”

“Why . . . why sedative?” said Kevin, slurring, fighting hard to get the words out at all.

The medic crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think you need any more wandering around tonight,” she said. She glanced back at 23. “Night repairs, you said?”

“Correct,” said 23.

The medic stared at 23, frowning, then shrugged. “Well, no more repairs tonight. Get him back to his bed before he passes out.”

Kevin didn’t remember getting back to the dorm. He woke in the morning Otter calling his name. His head hurt and his hand throbbed. “What happened to you?” Otter said, pointing at Kevin’s bandaged hand.

“Bot took me out last night for training, and I burned it,” said Kevin.

“What the hell was the clown doing working you in the middle of the night?”

Kevin just shrugged, hoping that would end it. Thankfully, Otter shook his head once more, then walked away. Kevin sat up with a groan. He flexed his hand. It hurt, but it wasn’t stiff. Still, he didn’t know how he was going to be able to work today, either at the Wall or on repairs. Or how he was going to climb the cliff to escape. As much as he hated to delay any longer, he might have to wait a day or two for his hand to fully heal. And that would give him a chance to think about the perimeter alarm problem. Cort walked up to Kevin’s bunk, silently as always, and nodded at him. “Still here?” he said.

“Still here,” said Kevin. “Not for long.”

“What happened?” Cort said.

Pil walked up next to Cort, yawning and scratching his arm. “Yeah,” he said. “Why were you working at night?”

Kevin shrugged. “Ask 23,” he said.

“23?” said Pil.

“The bot,” said Kevin. “The clown, as Otter would say.”

Pil shrugged, suddenly disinterested, and shuffled away to the showers. Cort said quietly, “Do what you’ve gotta do, but don’t drag us into your trouble.” Then he walked away too.