Sneak (27 page)

“I can’t agree to this, Dane.”

“You don’t have to. You and Hailey . . . you have a good thing going, and it’s calling you to Beacon. Let me help you in the best way that I can.

“This was the Hayeses’ vision. We owe it to them to see that

vision through. I can do more good here than I can as a third

wheel to you and Hailey.” He frowned now, looking down at his

feet. “Just . . . make sure to take care of her, will ya?”

Logan laughed. “She doesn’t need taking care of, and you

know it. She needs less taking care of than any of us.”

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Dane smiled. “You’re probably right. In that case, I guess . . .

make sure she takes care of you.”

Hailey was waiting in the front of the canoe. “Where’s Dane?” she asked.

Logan hopped into the back, picking up a paddle. “He’s not

coming.”

“What do you mean, ‘he’s not coming’?”

Logan pushed off, paddling hard into the current, sad, frus-

trated, but resolved.

“I’ll explain on the way. Come on,” he said. “Lily’s waiting.”

12

Eddie saw the cellar door just outside, locked shut. There was banging from inside.

It took the biggest rock he could find to smash the lock, but

the moment he did, the Dust came pouring out.

“Eddie!” Tyler yelled. “It’s not safe here!”

“Yeah—I gathered that!” Eddie said, and he led them over to

the Rathbones’ car.

“Okay,” Eddie said as the rest of them piled into the back and into the passenger seat. “Everyone just stay calm. I know all about how to use these things.”

“Is that right?” Peck said.

“Well. Yeah, for the most part,” Eddie said nervously. In the

rearview mirror, he could see Mr. and Mrs. Rathbone pushing

through the front door past their son.

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Evan Angler

Eddie turned the key in the ignition, and he checked the gas

gauge, just like Winston had taught him to do.

Eddie smiled. It was nearly full.

13

Two nights and two days on the Potomac was a quiet ride without Dane. But they had made it. The Potomac let out straight into the Atlantic (Chesapeake Bay had long since been lost to the rising tide), and Logan and Erin sat now, bobbing on the ocean’s waves, staring into the distance at Beacon City.

They could not arrive by boat. They knew that much. They

could not risk such a high-profile entrance.

So instead they sat, and they braced themselves.

“You ready?” Logan asked.

“I’m ready.”

And the two of them stood up, leaning hard to the left. The

canoe tilted dangerously beneath them, the lip of it just kissing the ocean’s surface. And then that surface broke. Water rushed into the boat, flowing over the edge, filling the bottom and submerg-ing Logan’s and Hailey’s feet. They leaned harder now, until one whole side of the boat was hidden under the cover of ocean. And soon the front tip disappeared. And then the back.

The canoe sank beneath them. One last pocket of air bubbled

to the surface, and it was gone.

“Well,” Logan said, treading water and already shivering. “No

time to lose.”

And he and Hailey swam toward the horizon.

Toward Beacon. The capital. The city on the hill.

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Eight

City On the Hill

1

The first thing Erin noticed when she

arrived at her old Beacon apartment was the smell of home.

The pictures were all the same. The furniture hadn’t moved.

The white rug felt just as it always had against her feet.

But her father stepped in behind her and there was no “Honey,

I’m home!”

Her mom appeared on the threshold of the kitchen and there

was no “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

Instead, there was the
thud
of suitcases hitting the floor and the gurgle of water boiling in the kitchen. That was all. And in that way, Erin’s old apartment was
very
different from how she remembered it.

“You’re late. Dinner’s ready,” Erin’s mom said, sounding

almost bored by their return, as if this were any other day. But she did come forward to hug and kiss her daughter, and then she turned and looked at her husband, nodding once. He nodded back.

And Dr. Arbitor returned to the kitchen.

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For months, Erin had imagined this moment—her first meal at

home among a family reunited. She’d imagined the laughter, the storytelling, the warmth and smiles.

She’d imagined her father saying, “I’m sorry, so sorry, for taking that awful job in Spokie; I’m sorry for pulling our family apart; a mistake, entirely; a lapse in judgment; thank Cylis we’re back together and it’ll never happen again.”

She’d imagined her mother saying, “It’s my fault, dear; it’s my fault too. Too many late nights, too many trips overseas, too many hours spent away from what’s really important: from my wonderful family.”

She’d imagined both of them turning to Erin and saying,

“Thank you, Erin. Thank you for bringing us back together.”

Instead, the food on the table was lukewarm and undercooked.

The macaroni was crunchy. The cheese sauce was cold, chunky,

pulled from the refrigerator and not reheated. The drink was

tomato juice, watered down.

“I haven’t been eating at home,” Dr. Arbitor said, explaining

such a plain dinner but hardly apologizing for it. “We’re really not set up here for the three of us right now. You can go shopping tomorrow, can’t you, Charles?”

Mr. Arbitor laid his fork down and smiled an empty smile. “Of

course,” he said. “I won’t have anything else to do, what with my demotion and all. Come to think of it, they probably don’t need me over there at the office at all anymore, do they?”

Dr. Arbitor shrugged. “I didn’t say that,” she said. But that was all she said.

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“Erin, would you like me to throw your plate in the micro-

wave?” Mr. Arbitor asked. He looked at his wife out of the corner of his eye. “Mine’s already cold.”

“I’m fine,” Erin said.

“She has school tomorrow at 8:15. I’ll need to be at work; can you get her up?” Dr. Arbitor asked.

“I can get myself up,” Erin said.

“She’s going to be behind in her classes as it is, given the sub-par education she’s been getting in Spokie,” her mother continued, as if Erin weren’t in the room. “So the least you can do is make sure she arrives on time.”

“I’ll see to it, dear,” Mr. Arbitor said. He stood up to heat his own dinner in the microwave.

Dr. Arbitor rolled her eyes.

And Erin pretended to sneeze, so that neither of them would

think twice about it when she began sniffling, or when she went to wipe her eyes on her napkin.

She pretended to sneeze a second time.

No one said, “
Gesundheit
.”

2

After dinner, Erin sat on her bed with the door closed, dazed and still hungry. Her room was bare and she kept the light off, and nothing about the space was as she remembered it. With so many of her things still packed in boxes, Erin hardly even recognized the room as her own. Its size looked different. Its walls were blank. Its dresser was empty . . .

She recognized that view, though.

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The apartment was seventy-eight stories high; about halfway

up the building. Out the window, two stories above, was the

third layer of Beacon’s multitiered road-and-sidewalk grid, and taxis and electrobuses whizzed by like the pumping of the city’s blood.

Erin observed the swath of apartments opposite hers, some

with their lights on and their blinds open. Erin could see one girl in a distant window five stories below, studying at her desk. Erin recognized that girl. She’d watched her study every night for years and years.