Stray (16 page)

We argue our way around Roxborough as I search for ATMs and slowly drain my account. Eight hundred dollars. Kitty offers to get money out too. I refuse. We argue at a sporting goods outlet where I buy Aiden a change of clothes. We argue at the Daisy Chain Motel, our raised voices bouncing off the faux wood-panelled walls as we take in the stained and pockmarked ceiling and frayed polyester comforters on the sagging twin beds. It’s the limit of my budget for a clandestine hideout post-felony and the first place I tried. The simple fact they didn’t ask for my ID makes it the right place.

Pins and needles stabbing with aggravation, I’m exhausted by the time we pull up at the station, Kitty still arguing to stay. The time on the dash reads five-fifteen – only ten minutes until the next train back to Burton. I want her home in time for dinner, to avoid suspicion and field calls from Miriam.

Kitty won’t quit.

“Enough!” I thump my hands on the steering wheel. “Can you please just stop? I’m in trouble as it is. If I let you stay – can you imagine what Jamie would say about it?”

“I don’t care what Jamie thinks! Aiden isn’t going to hurt me. I want to do something and you
need
help. You’re barely holding it together.”

“
What?
”

“You haven’t stopped shaking since we said goodbye to Aiden and you keep holding your head.”

“That’s because you won’t shut up!”

“Aiden’s right. What if you get hurt? If he’s going to be unconscious or whatever, who will look after you?”

“He’s not going to be unconscious! Fretizine–”

My cell starts up and the caller ID warns it’s Miriam. Kitty leans away like I’m holding a grenade, her lips pulled back. Suddenly woozy, I answer the call. “Hi, sorry. I was about to–”

“Where are you?” Miriam demands.

My palm gets slick, the phone slippery, my ear hot beneath the receiver. “I’m at the library with Kitty.”

“You’re grounded.”

“The French Revolution doesn’t know that. I didn’t get any homework done this weekend, as you know, and my history teacher’s on the warpath.”

“You have a laptop and internet access.”

“We have to use proper reference books; it’s part of the assignment. I was lucky to change classes this late in the semester. I don’t want to make her mad.”

“Put Kitty on the phone.”

Kitty hears Miriam’s strident voice and grimaces as she takes the phone. “Hi, Miriam. Evie filled me in about–”

“
Are
you at the library?”

Shrinking in her seat, she fixes desperate eyes on me and I mouth,
stick with the plan
. “Of course.”

“Studying the French Revolution?”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t take history.”

I squeeze the steering wheel.

“That. Is. Also. Correct,” Kitty says. “I am here for – for Economics.”

“Economics?” Miriam fills the word with suspicion. “Which you require proper reference books for.”

“Yes.”

A harrowing pause.

“Put me back on with Evangeline.”

My full name.

“Yeah?”

“I will be at Emilie’s tonight to go through the layout of …”

I don’t hear what the layout is for, my brain nearly dissolves with relief. She’s going out.
She’s going out!

“You will call me
from home
at nine-thirty.”

“Fine.” I make it surly.

“Knowing Em, it’ll be a late one for me.”

I could cry. The universe
wants
me to help Aiden. “I won’t wait up.”

“And what’s Jamie doing tonight?”

I leave a gap, just enough to let her imagine it filling with my contempt. I’m too grateful to be really mad at her lack of trust. Clearly, I’m
not
trustworthy, but I make my voice hard, “I don’t know what Jamie’s doing tonight. Maybe you should call him and ask.”

Her sigh crackles in my ear. She says she’ll leave me to it, I say something like good luck with Emilie. When the phone clicks off, Kitty and I sit there staring into the dark.

“She won’t be home then?” Kitty finally says. “Lucky.”

“You have to go.” I say it soft but certain, no pleading in my voice. “I need this time to map the route through the reserve.”

She doesn’t look at me as she says, “I never hated him. I knew that before we came. I won’t lie, I was afraid. I thought I’d fill my pants or empty my stomach right there on the floor or something. But seeing him like that, hating himself, willing to die … It makes me furious how these people have screwed with our lives. I can’t stand it.”

I manage a small nod. “You still have to go.”

Her mouth curls down, the first sign of concession. “Tell him I’m not afraid any more.”

“Okay.”

“Tell him he deserves to live – I want him to live.”

“I will.”

She grabs me to her, a hard hug, all clashing collarbones. “Promise me you’ll be careful and don’t die and please eat something.”

“I will.”

“You have to keep me posted or I’ll be freaking out.”

“Thank you for the car and for today. You’re the bravest person I know.”

She pulls away, puckered brow, tears glistening. “Love you.”

I think I say it too as she pops the door, cold air flowing in, the bustle of the station, my ears roaring with adrenaline. I put the car in reverse, watch her make her way to the kiosk and slowly accelerate away. It feels like an ending. From here it will all be different. Who I am. Who everyone believes I am.

I skid to a halt in the thick dark of the reserve, my vision fully adjusted for a moonless overcast night, and vomit at the base of a tree. Splatter steaming in the freezing air, 7-Eleven pizza and a box of chocolate milk. I’ve had too much time to think and plan, doubt and terror making it impossible to keep food down; the messages backing up on my phone, even more so.

I wipe my mouth, resettle my pack and start running again. I can’t think about Miriam now. It’s midnight. She’ll be home. Losing it. Planning my slow death. She won’t notify Affinity; I know that for sure. She won’t come out here to look for me, it would be too incriminating an act; something they could Harvest and accuse her of being a party to. Not that Miriam’s a coward. Clearly, not a coward. She just won’t want to make things worse for me with them.

It makes me shiver, the thought of it all coming out. Thankfully, the combination of running at speed and the prospect of becoming a felon keeps my adrenaline pumping, my core temperature up and the pins and needles in my spine at a low buzz.

I’m not looking forward to what I’m about to do, but it’s a relief to do
something
. I know where I’m going; I’ve run the route three times already. I know Aiden’s room is on the second floor of the north wing and they don’t lock the dorm. I know the night patrol is minimal. But that’s it. There are too many variables I can’t predict. Action is better. Clarifying. Besides which, it’s going to be a smash and grab and I’m counting on ensuing bedlam to work in our favour.

My pack bounces on my back and as the black of the forest grows lighter between the trees, I slow to a civilian jog. I stop where the trees end, taking in the sight of the minimum-security unit. Despite the distance I’m able to make out the corner of the visitors alcove where Kitty and I sat, trying to argue Aiden into agreeing with the plan.

I drop my pack and check my hair is fastened, tight and flat against my head. Raising my arms puts strain on the bindings across my chest, an attempt at desexing, in order to appear less female for the security feed and potential guards. I check the pockets of my vest. A needle in one compartment. A vial in another. A short-handled knife – not for use on people.

Jittery, I yank the balaclava from my pack and pull it down over my face and finger my way into Miriam’s black microfibre gloves. In full kit, I’m darker than the night. I don’t bother hiding my pack – there’s no one as crazy as me out in the woods. I take one deep breath before I start across the frozen field, reaching into the ether to see if I can find Aiden’s signal. Static, lots of static, but something familiar behind it. I’m still too far away for a clear reading.

No more waiting.

A sharp gulp of air, and I sprint out into the open ground, my legs pumping hard, my scattered thoughts giving way to linear purpose. With each stride, I’m shucking off an old version of myself, the reasonable, sensibly afraid, non-criminal, pre-Affinity, trusted by friends and family version. The me that would shout this plan down as the craziest jacked-up idea ever considered.

In seconds I reach the perimeter of the facility. There’s twelve feet of wire fence stretching up before me. I don’t stop to think. Swinging my arms, I launch from my back foot into the air, wind roaring in my ears, a brief weightlessness at the peak of my trajectory, barbed wire beneath me. I land with a dull thud and no clue how I’ll get back over carrying a dead weight. At least there’s no dangerous electric hum coming from the metal links.

I don’t pause – the floodlights make it bright as day and I have no idea what might be showing on security screens inside. Any second a siren might blare. The wide expanse of the north wall looms and I press myself against it, moving instinctively to the right and into the shadows where a low set of panelled windows gives a clear view of the recreational area we walked past on our way to the little visitors alcove.

I pause for one moment to find Aiden’s signal, static crackles and there he is. I reach into the bandwidth, all my focus on him.
I’m here. I’m coming. Get ready
. A telepathic nudge that the alarm will make redundant once I break in. He’ll know for sure how close I am then. Everyone will. I turn to the side and ram my foot through the reinforced glass, a clap of sound that echoes in the darkness and makes me want to cover my ears. I’ve never done this before – broken a window. At least, not in a planned, breaking with intent way. I don’t count the Gallaghers’ kitchen window – I had no control over that.

The lower panel completely caves, though the reinforcing wires still cling to their holds. I use my leg to clear the debris and bend to dive through the gap, not feeling the scrape of splintered glass on my shoulders or arms.

It’s warm in the rec hall, almost smothering compared to the icy gasp of air outside. I scramble to my feet, shake glass from my body, press the balaclava close against my face. No shrill alarm. No rush of guards. I’m shocked. Maybe minimum security really means minimum security. I don’t wait to find out.

I jog to the large double doors and peer into the corridor. It’s dimly lit with low floor lights. I’m grateful the bright fluorescents are off. I push through the doors, darting into the hall. The outrageousness of what I’m doing makes me light-headed.

When I reach the corner, I check quickly to see if it’s clear. It isn’t. A mere six feet away a guard approaches, head down, following his torchlight, probably coming to investigate the sound of breaking glass. And in those two seconds of panic I also feel relief. No waiting. No deliberating. No time. Instant strategy. A brief press of guilt – since I’m about to give the poor guy the fright of his life. He rounds the corner and I take him. From behind. Like an embrace. Simple.

My knee knocks the back of his. He buckles. My hand over his mouth to suppress his cry. Strength thrumming though me, my right arm around his head, squeezing and squeezing as he flails. I’m amazed at my control, consciousness of my body, awareness of the balance of weight, the application of pressure. God, I don’t want to snap his neck. I’m careful. He isn’t much taller than me, round through the middle, balding on top, his moustache is rough and his mouth hot under my gloved hand as he struggles. Sooner than I expect, the fight goes out of him. He relaxes in my arms and I lower him to the floor.

I prop him against the wall and leave his torch on his lap. His chest rises and falls. I hope he stays under. I spot the weapon on his hip.
He has a gun!
Fumbling, I snatch it from his holster and empty the bullets into my hand before stowing the weapon back on his hip. There’s a potted fern beside us. Shaken, I tip the bullets into the dried-out mulch, check the corridor once more then sprint. I hit the stairwell and propel myself up to the second floor so quickly I don’t feel the steps beneath me. The sign above the next double doors reads North Dormitory. I pause to check through the glass panel that the corridor is clear and push it open.

Running low and fast past the evenly spaced doors, I don’t need to count my way down to room fourteen. Aiden’s signal flashes like a locator beacon in my mind. I see the security camera in the corner of the ceiling and resist the urge to wave – I must be unhinged after getting past the first guard.

I come to a stop before Aiden’s room and peer through the small slot to see him sitting bolt upright on his bed, his pale face taut. Game time. The door’s locked.
Good boy – evidence of forced entry
. I wrench the handle and hear the satisfying crunch of metallic gears as the lock gives way. The door swings inwards and I step inside, and say, “Make it good.”

He doesn’t move.

I’m not sure he’s even breathing.

I lunge and grab him by the front of his shirt, lift him from the bed and hurl him through the door. He crashes with a yelp on the floor. At least now there’s a little anger in his expression. I come at him so fast the corridor blurs around me and I land with my knee in his chest. Air expires from his lungs. I punch him hard in the face so that he cries out.

“Come on, damn it. Fight me.” I drag him upwards. He swings himself out of my grasp. I see his move in my mind and barely manage to lift myself in time as his foot flashes, catching my ribs, forcing me several feet down the corridor.

In the neighbouring rooms dorm residents grow restless but where are the guards? The lack of security frightens me. I launch up, driving both feet into Aiden’s chest. He flies back against the wall with a sickening thud. Swearing, I run to catch him before he hits the ground. “Damn it. Sorry. Aiden, are you still with me?”

His eyes roll back and I slap his cheeks in mounting terror. He shakes himself, blinking dazedly. “Sorry,” I whisper again and smile beneath the balaclava, forgetting he can’t see my mouth. “You’re doing really well.” Then I haul him across the floor where there’s a good view for the video feed.