Slip (The Slip Trilogy Book 1) (34 page)

And he disappeared.

He found Refuge.

~~~

Article from the Saint Louis Times:

Hunt for Disappearing Slip Continues, Michael Kelly Rumored to be Dead

Benson Kelly, the unauthorized teenager being referred to as the Saint Louis Slip, continues to evade Pop Con Hunters, in what is being referred to by authorities on population control as “the most important Sliphunt our proud nation has ever seen.” Rumors have been flying about the events that transpired three days ago at Pop Con headquarters, but only one thing is certain: Benson Kelly is still at large.

Corrigan Mars, who was recently fired as Pop Con’s second-in-command by Michael Kelly, said, “Given the circumstances around my dismissal, I expect to be reinstated any day now. And if I am, I promise to dedicate my every waking moment to catching the Slip. Benson Kelly is still eating our food and breathing our air. Authorized citizens are suffering because of illegals like Michael Kelly’s son. Illegals who never should’ve been born and now threaten the survival of all law-abiding citizens.”

In other news, it’s rumored that Michael Kelly, who was shot trying to protect his unauthorized son, is now dead. The couple who will receive a birth authorization as a result of his death will likely be contacted shortly with the good news.

Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now.
NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

Comments:

GregSmith8: Corrigan Mars for president!

Slips4Life: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

CorriganMars: Thank you, GregSmith8. I’m honored you’d say that, but our president is doing a fine job. However, I will continue to do my duty and protect our citizens from the unauthorized illegals that threaten to destroy us.

Chapter Two

I
t’s only been three days and Benson Kelly’s already sick and tired of being holed up underground. He misses the freedom of going anywhere and doing anything, something he’s relished since the day his father gave him a fake identity and forced him to swim across the Mississippi. Like when he was confined to the indoors for the first eight years of his life, he feels safe but stuck. Not living life the way it’s meant to be lived. Not free.

He’s never been free, not really.

He and Check and the others have already explored every part of the Lifers’ facility, the place called Refuge, and now all he wants to do is go outside.

“Not possible,” a surly Lifer from Montreal had said when Benson asked if they could leave. He’s a Digger from Montreal, having entered the RUSA illegally five years earlier when he and nine others managed to burrow beneath the Border Wall along the Canadian border. His name’s Simon (pronounced See-mone) and the rumor is that the other nine were killed by Border guards, with only Simon surviving, giving him a reputation as a real badass. Apparently he joined the Lifers not long after that.

The Lifers are the radical anti-government group who’ve been blowing up various parts of the nation’s capital as a protest against Population Control. Just thinking about the aftermath of the Lifers’ handiwork—the burned and charred bodies; the destroyed buildings; the fear and panic and mobs—makes it hard for Benson to breathe.

“The air is so thick down here,” Benson comments, bouncing a ball against the metal wall next to his small, metal-framed bed. Check sits next to him, his legs crossed. He squints at the ball as Benson throws it, which makes his already narrow Asian eyes appear closed.

“Like cold pea soup,” Check agrees, grabbing the ball and chucking it at Harrison Kelly’s head.

Harrison’s hand flicks up and he snatches the ball just before it hits him in the face.

“Amazing,” Check says. “I’ve never seen anyone with hand/eye coordination like that.”

Harrison shrugs. “I was born with it,” he says. Although it sounds like a cocky comment, Benson suspects it’s not. More like a fact. His twin brother might have identical features to him—sparkling turquoise eyes and golden blond hair—but that’s where the similarities end. Harrison is confident to a fault, prone to periods of brooding, and far more outgoing than Benson. Not to mention his superior hand/eye coordination and athletic ability.

Already Benson finds himself looking up to Harrison like a big brother. A big brother who was born a mere two minutes before him. Two minutes that changed both their lives, making Harrison a legal citizen of the RUSA and Benson a wanted fugitive, even as a helpless baby.

“Have you ever even seen pea soup,
amigo
?” Gonzo asks. Gonzo is standing in front of his own bed, repeatedly trying to rest his arm on Rod’s shoulder. Rod repeatedly pushes him off. The pair are Jumpers from Mexico, having successfully crossed the Border Wall by flinging themselves from a homemade drone. And both are crazy.

Check glowers. “It’s an expression, genius.” Although it’s typical for Rod and Gonzo to argue with each other, Check usually stays out of it. After three days without sunlight, everyone’s tempers are high.

Rod pushes Gonzo. Gonzo pushes Rod.

“Do you two ever stop?” Harrison says. “What, are you in third grade?”

“Nah,
hombre
, we never even made it that far,” Rod says. “School is for spoiled douche bags with rich douche bag parents.
Comprende?
”

Harrison is off his bed in a second, throwing himself at the two Jumpers. His fist connects with Rod’s cheek, knocking him back. Gonzo throws a punch of his own, but Harrison dodges it and shoves him hard.

Benson and Check give each other a “Why me?” look and join the fray. While Benson grabs his brother from behind, Check tries to get in front of the Jumpers, who are charging forward. Rod trips on Check’s leg and goes sprawling while Gonzo runs smack into Check, who crushes him in a bear hug. While Harrison struggles to break free of Benson’s grip, Gonzo’s legs keep churning, forcing Check back and into the twin brothers. Rod regains his feet and tackles everyone around the ankles, throwing them down in a tangle of arms and legs.

Benson’s got someone’s stinky armpit in his face and at least two bodies on top of him when the door opens. He swivels his head and loses whatever breath he had left.

Luce stands in the doorway. Her hands go to her hips, but Benson barely notices, because his gaze started at her feet and is slowly travelling up her long, lean, brown legs. It’s not until he’s taken in her curves and reached her smirking lips that he remembers to take another forced breath.

“I can’t leave you animals alone for ten minutes, can I?” she says.

“Benson’s brother started it,” Rod says, unwilling to even say Harrison’s name.

“How mature,” Harrison says, pushing off Benson’s chest to regain his feet. “I don’t have the energy for you morons. I’m going to go check on my
douche bag
mother.”

When Luce doesn’t move, he pushes past her.
Douche bag?
Luce mouths to Benson, rubbing her shoulder.

He shakes his head. There’s nothing to explain really. Sometimes people from different worlds don’t mix too well.

“Benson, I’m sorry,” Rod says, gingerly touching his cheek, which is red and puffy. “I didn’t mean Janice.”

“I know,” Benson says.
He meant my dad
, he adds in his head. He knows they all hate Michael Kelly, regardless of whether he’s dead or alive. Regardless of whether he died to save Benson and Luce. Benson can’t really blame them, can he? His father was Head of Pop Con for many years. Many years during which countless unauthorized children were killed in cold blood on his father’s orders. He knows he should hate his father too, but—

He can’t.

He’s tried. The last three nights when he’s supposed to be sleeping he’s gritted his teeth and clenched his fists and whispered “I hate you I hate you I hate you,” again and again, like a prayer. But instead of seeing his father as a baby-killing monster, he always pictures him at the end, as the protector who ushered them to safety while blocking the bullets aimed their way.

“I think we all need a break from this boredom,” Check says. “Listen, I’ve been talking to some of the guys and they told me about this Lifer club that’s supposed to be insane. We could go tonight. It’ll take our minds off of—well, everything. Whaddya say, Luce? I’d save at least one dance for you.”

Benson groans inwardly. While he’s continued to delay telling his best friend about he and Luce’s budding relationship, his friend has been more aggressive than ever in pining for her affections. He feels like a complete jerk, as he knows he should.

“I’m in,” Gonzo says.

“
Sí
,” Rod agrees.

“Thanks, but I don’t know if I’m up for it,” Benson says.

“Me either,” Luce agrees quickly, trying to hide the smile she flashes Benson under her hand.

“Suit yourselves,” Check says. “But if you change your minds, the place is called Dark and it’s on level minus-ten. Now I’m going to get some grub, who’s in?”

“Me,” Rod and Gonzo say at the same time. Now that they’ve got a ready supply of food at their disposal, Benson is only just beginning to learn how much his friends can eat. He, on the other hand, hasn’t had much of an appetite lately.

“See you later,” Benson says as his friends leave. He tries to ignore the wink that Check offers Luce when he passes her.

When they’re gone, Luce flops down on the bed next to Benson, leaving a bit of empty space between them. Benson used to agonize over Luce’s every move, but now that he knows about Luce’s horrific past—her attempted rape by an orphanage headmaster—he understands it. Sometimes it’s like there’s an invisible force field holding them apart. And when they touch it’s like an electric shock that hurts so much they have to pull away. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to close the gap, to draw her close, to kiss her; rather, he’ll let her decide when and where. Even though it’s hard. Like
really
hard. Especially because they’ve kissed a few times now, and it’s all Benson can seem to think about when he’s with her.

Even now, he jerks his head when he realizes he’s staring at her pink lips. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice.

“We should tell Check about us,” Luce says.

He likes the way “us” sounds on her lips. On her tongue. “I know,” Benson says. “I will.”

“When?”

“Soon?”

Luce lets out a frustrated laugh, but drops her hand into the space between them, palm up. The signal that she’s ready to be touched by him. He doesn’t hesitate, slowly lowering his hand to rest atop hers. He feels the tremble in her fingers, hears her quick sharp breaths, can almost see the flashes of terrible memories cycling through her head as she tries to separate the nightmares of the past from Benson’s harmless touch.

She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back.

“I’ll tell him tonight,” Benson promises.
Why did I promise that?
he thinks, instantly regretting it. A bulge of anxiety fills his stomach. Now he really doesn’t feel hungry.

“Thanks,” Luce says, leaning in, her eyes already closed. Benson takes advantage of the opportunity to study her thin, arching eyebrows, her long lashes, her button nose, and her moist lips, puckered slightly. All that in a split-second, the longest he can wait before ducking his head to let his lips meet hers. The kiss sends tingles through his whole body and his hands seem to move on their own, without command from his brain. One cups her chin and then slides around to the back of her head, tangling in her silky hair. The other drops to her hip and he feels her shudder and freeze at his touch. Not long ago he would’ve taken it as a rejection, but now he knows to simply wait. Wait for her mind to catch up to reality, to chase away her demons. And she does, because her hands move, too, painting his chest and arms with delicate strokes.

When they finally pull apart they’re both laughing.

He remembers something Janice once told him growing up, before his father faked Benson’s death and she lost her mind.
Happy moments are like stars. They appear so close you think you can touch them, but really they’re fleeting and a million miles away. Enjoy them from afar and don’t come to expect them. In your life there will be more cloudy nights than clear ones.
At the time they were sitting side by side and craning their necks to gaze at the star-strewn sky, and for Benson it was one of the best moments of his short life.

There’s a star-like twinkle in Luce’s eyes now and Benson can’t help the thrill he feels knowing that he put it there, like a happy memory. “So tonight?” she says.

Benson cringes, remembering his promise. “Uh, yeah,” he says.

“Don’t sound so confident,” Luce jokes.

“I’m not,” Benson says. “Check might kill me when I tell him.”