While You Were Gone (6 page)

Dad checks twice before pulling wide into traffic. The truck engine groans under the heavy load. Once we're in the lane, we both look out the cab window to make sure the boat made it, too.

He woke me super early. Knocked on the door and said, “It's time.” Kinda scared me. Time for what? I stumbled out of bed, groggy and sore from yesterday. Threw on some clothes and found my way to the kitchen. He was standing at the counter with a coffee mug in his hand. Took one look at me and said, “You're wearing that?”

I looked down at what I'd put on. Camo shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt with the neck ripped out.

“It's cold out on the water.”

That's when I remembered the ocean, and the boat parked next to the garage. This wasn't scary. It was awesome. I ran back down the hall, changed into jeans and pulled a flannel over the shirt. Grabbed shoes and socks from the closet and raced back to the kitchen, but he wasn't there. I finally found him out front, checking the hitch on the trailer. “That's more like it,” he said. “Climb in.”

I can count the number of times I've seen the ocean on one finger. Now I'm going out on an actual boat. That sound? That'd be my mind blowing. I look at him, the stubble on his chin, the way he rests his wrist on top of the steering wheel, and a feeling of peace floods over me. I'm sitting next to my
dad.
This is how it should be. This is how my life was supposed to be.

“Danny,” he says, shifting into third. He doesn't take his eyes off the road. Old-time rockabilly hovers just above the engine noise. I try to identify the songs, struggling to latch onto words and guitar licks, but the volume is too low. “I'm sorry for coming down so hard on you yesterday. But you can't just leave us hanging. You need to tell us what's going on.”

And like that, the good feeling's gone. For a second I think,
Tell him.
Tell him you're not their son. Tell him you're a different Danny from a different world. I even open my mouth to speak but can't get myself to say it. He'll think I'm crazy. How do I tell him that, in my Phoenix, he and Mom are dead? Besides, I don't want to ruin this. Even if I don't understand what's going on or how I got here, sitting in this truck talking to him makes all the crap I've been through worth it.

“This lack of communication,” he says, shaking his head, “it's not okay.” He shifts into fourth and returns his hand to the wheel. “Your mom and I deserve better than that, don't you think?”

All I can do is nod.

“Listen, I know things have been pretty intense lately. I haven't been around as much because of work and…well, all kinds of stuff. But that doesn't give me an excuse to take it out on you. I'm sorry.”

Whoa. He thinks that was being hard on me? He has no idea. As I watch him driving, I realize how much I don't know—but
want
to know—about him. “What's going on at work?” I don't even know what he does for a living.

“Oh, you know, the usual. They want everything done last week but there's more work than the team can—” He stops midsentence and reaches for the stereo knob. “Hang on.”

A man's voice has replaced the music. Dad turns it up a notch and his hands go tight again around the wheel.

“…a tracking and detection technology known as Skylar. Both efficient and effective, Skylar will provide a blanket of security for our city and take us one step closer to being able to sleep soundly at night, knowing there is an ever-watching eye—”

“Who is that?” I ask.

“Governor.”

“Soon we will provide you—first the citizens of Phoenix, then all the communities of Arizona—with the opportunity to be part of the solution as well.”

Dad's face sours. “Son of a—” He jabs the stereo power button, leaving only the sound of the truck engine around us.

“What did he mean, ‘be part of the solution'?”

“It means we don't have much time.”

“Until what?”

“Until they've got us all completely clamped down.” He glares at the radio. “You hear that? Did you hear what I said?!”

He's like a crazy person.

“Listen to me, son,” he says, holding up a finger. “No more taking risks. Keep your head down. Don't give them any reason to suspect you. Promise?”

I remember what Germ said about that anarchist group we're involved with, and the job we did with them.

“Promise.”

“Good.” He says it a few more times under his breath, like he's trying to convince himself.

We drive on in silence. I can tell he's chewing on what the governor said. I wish I knew what it all meant.

Dad looks in his side mirror and across into mine. “What now?” He brakes and pulls over to the curb. “Stay quiet.” I can't see around the boat, but that kind of talk can only mean one thing.

A cop knocks on the glass. Dad rolls down the window and hands over his license.

“Heading for the harbor?” The cop taps a device on his wrist, then scans Dad's ID.

“Nice day,” Dad says. “Thought we'd take the boat out.”

“Aren't you aware the harbor is restricted at this time?”

Dad sighs. “No, sir. I wasn't aware—”

“Do you pay attention to the security broadcast announcements?”

“Yes.”

“Then you'd know the harbor is closed, Mr….” He checks the screen on his wrist. “Ogden.”

“I must have missed it.”

The cop looks across the cab at me. “Are you Daniel?”

“Yes.”

The cop looks back at Dad, holds his gaze for a long time and says, “Mind if I look at your rig?”

“No, sir. Do I need to get out?”

“Stay in the vehicle, please.”

I watch the cop check out the truck and boat. Dad claps his hand on my knee. “Relax. It's okay.”

The cop walks by my window, kicks the tire and continues around the front to Dad's side. “Tires look a bit worn. Best have them looked at.”

“Will do.”

“No point going to the harbor. They'll turn you back around.”

“Understood.”

The cop reads and taps his wrist screen again. Finally, he nods. “Pay attention to the security bulletins.”

“Yes, sir.” Dad waits for him to drive off before starting up the truck and moving back into traffic. “Looks like we'll have to try another day.” He shifts gears and says, “Sorry,” like it's his fault.

I can't help but wonder if it's mine.

Forty minutes later, Jonas exits the freeway and we drive past outlet malls and subdivisions to the foothills of the McDowell Mountains. I've only been to DART one other time, when Dad cut the ribbon to open a new research wing years ago. I don't remember it looking like this. At the main parking area, Jonas swings a left, passing a large metal sign dominated by a fingerprint logo. The lot is packed with media vehicles. Trees and bushes grow thick along the road, blocking the low-lying building from view. Finally, we wind around a circular drive, where reporters and camera crews wait, ready with questions for the governor. Richard approaches the car wearing his usual anxious expression. Jonas opens the door, letting Dad out first.

Mom hesitates and turns back toward me. “Despite what you think, I am sorry about your paintings,” she says in a low voice. Then she gets out of the car and I follow.

As soon as Dad steps onto the curb, the reporters start in. Richard holds up his hands. “Governor Solomon will read a statement before taking questions.” He sees Dad to the podium. Mom and I stand a little off to his side. I check my reflection in the building's glass front. My eyes are puffy. I quickly straighten my skirt.

Richard leans in and whispers something to Dad. He nods and pulls a paper from his coat pocket.

“Thank you for being here on this solemn occasion. Will you please join me in a moment of silence out of respect for those affected by Friday's events?”

The crowd shifts and quiets. I fold my hands and lower my head. Feet shuffle on the concrete. A breeze blows through the entryway. A man clears his throat.

“Thank you,” Dad finally says, and the microphones move back around him. He holds the podium with both hands. “On Friday, Phoenix suffered a terrible attack on the Patriot Day parade, an attack perpetrated by the cowards known as Red December. We meet here today at the Department of Advanced Research Technologies not only to discuss safety measures currently in place to protect our citizens but to unveil a new solution in detecting and preventing the growing threats against our society.

“It is with pride and humility,” he says, smoothing a hand down his tie, “that I announce Phoenix has been chosen for the beta testing of a tracking and detection technology known as Skylar. Both efficient and effective, Skylar will provide a blanket of security for our city and take us one step closer to being able to sleep soundly at night, knowing there is an ever-watching eye looking over us. With your participation, we can make this happen.

“After this press conference, my family”—he looks at us, and all the reporters do, too. Mom nudges me in the back to stand straighter—“and I will voluntarily register with Skylar and will therefore officially be part of the solution. Soon we will provide you—first the citizens of Phoenix, then all the communities of Arizona—with the opportunity to be part of the solution as well. It is easy. It is painless. And it will mean the difference between vulnerability and security.” He holds one hand up to emphasize the big finish. “Only by working together do we ensure the promise of our future. As always, my thoughts and the thoughts of my wife and daughter are with the families of the victims. Thank you.”

Flawless execution.

The press jumps in again with questions.

“Is it true you've called a special legislative session?”

Surprise flashes across Dad's face. “Yes.”

“Can you elaborate on how Skylar works?”

“Preapproved members of the media will follow us into the DART facility, where the system will be explained. Photos and video will be released to the public.”

“Was there any warning before the attack?”

“No.”

“How long will the rolling blackouts continue?”

“I'm assured the system will stabilize soon.”

“How do you respond to critics who say Friday's attack is just another sign of the failure of your administration?”

“I'd say those critics should spend less time whining and more time working toward the betterment of society.” Dad holds up his hands. “That's all for now. Thank you.”

Dad guides Mom and me toward the door Richard holds open for us. As we pass, Dad mutters, “Find out who at the legislature is talking, and end it. And next time only allow in reporters who adhere to approved questions.”

“Yes, sir.” Richard leaves us in the lobby.

Mom brushes the shoulder of Dad's suit jacket. “Nicely done.”

He winks at her, but his face remains stern until Richard returns, followed by a reporter and a photographer. Dad smiles and extends his hand to welcome them.

“Smile,” Mom says under her breath.

“I don't feel like smiling.”

“That doesn't matter,” she whispers with her jaw clenched. “Smile anyway.”

I stretch my mouth into a grimace.

“You can do better than that. Think of something happy.”

Happy? Nothing could make me happy right now.

We move from the lobby's polished concrete floors to a large conference room. Several DART employees in lab coats stand along the far wall. A few more sit with their backs to us, facing laptops. The screens in the room display spooling lines of code and what look like GPS coordinates. The main screen at the front shows the framework of a building with yellow dots meandering inside. Now and again a pop-up window displays the name and coordinates of a particular dot.

A woman with dark hair welcomes us as the press photographer snaps pictures. “Please remember,” she says, “for security reasons, you may not photograph any of the information displayed on the screens.” Turning to us again, she says, “Good afternoon, Governor. Mrs. Solomon. Miss Solomon. I'm Dr. Anna Owens, director of research. These are the members of the Skylar engineering team, led by Dr. Marcus McAllister.”

A tall man with a beard and glasses steps forward to shake our hands. “Welcome to DART,” he says. “Or as we like to call it, the central nervous system.” Dad chuckles and a couple of onlookers join in. Dr. McAllister motions to the screens. “What you're looking at is Skylar, a comprehensive framework that will provide unprecedented monitoring capabilities and protection for the citizens of large metropolitan areas. This is a graphic representation of the DART facility. The yellow dots represent every individual in the building.” He places a hand on the shoulder of an employee seated in front of a laptop. When the guy turns, I realize it's Warren, my study partner. I knew he interned at DART, but I didn't realize he worked on stuff like
this.
I give him a small wave, but he doesn't notice.

“Warren,” Dr. McAllister says, “will you go close on 132, please?”

Warren's fingers race over the keyboard, and the screen zooms in on a room containing yellow dots and red
X
s. Dr. McAllister walks out the door, and one of the dots leaves the room. When the dot returns, so does the doctor.

“So that's a representation of this room?” Dad asks.

“Very good, Governor.” Dr. McAllister shuts the door.

“And the red
X
s?”

Dr. McAllister nods at Warren and the view zeroes in. “The red
X
s are Unknowns, individual signals located by but unidentifiable in the Skylar system.” He waves another assistant over, a woman with dark hair and cat-eye glasses who's not much older than me. She rolls a small machine toward us and detaches a handheld unit. Stitched on her lab coat is the name
NINA
.

“Hold still, please.” She presses a button on the unit and moves the pen-shaped wand over Dad's head, starting at his left shoulder, moving to his right, and back again to the left. The photographer snaps photos. Another press of the button and Dad's red
X
blips to a yellow dot.

“Abracadabra,” Dr. McAllister says at the same time Dad says, “Fascinating.”

Nina follows the same procedure with Mom, who smiles extra wide for the camera.

Nina turns toward me and I step back. She frowns.

“Eve,” Mom warns, her voice saccharine.

“What does it do?” I ask, pointing at the screen. “How did it do that?”

Nina looks at Dr. McAllister like she needs his permission to speak. He nods. “It reads your EMF signature,” she says.

“My what?”

Nina withdraws her arm and gives me a patient smile. Dr. Owens moves in. “Every human emits an electromagnetic field. Our research found that each EMF carries a signature unique to the body emitting it. The system logs the reading of the EMF, linking it to a sister database of the Spectrum system already in place. Our building houses a grid network that utilizes scalar waves to track EMFs, isolating positions and movements according to GPS coordinates. It's quite simple, really.”

“It doesn't hurt.” Dad holds up a hand to stop the photographer from taking pictures.

“Honey.” Mom's voice is losing its sweetness. “Don't make them wait.”

“Will people have a choice whether or not to be in the system?” I ask. Warren turns in his seat to look at me. The reporter scribbles notes. “I mean, people won't be forced into this, will they?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Owens says with a laugh. “It's completely voluntary, just like Spectrum. Once people see the benefits—no more missing children, no more dementia patients walking away from facilities and getting lost, not to mention overall increased security—they'll ask to be added.”

“Who doesn't want increased security, right?” Dad says. “Especially after Friday.”

“Exactly,” Dr. McAllister says. “Criminals, of course, are a different matter. They'll be automatically scanned upon apprehension.”

“What do you say, Miss Solomon?” Dr. Owens steps toward me. “Let's change that Unknown to a Known.”

I eye the wand in Nina's hand. “Okay.”

“Hold still, please.” Nina moves the wand over my head. I don't feel anything. She presses a button and another red
X
blips to a yellow dot. I'm no longer Unknown, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about it.