B003J5UJ4U EBOK (15 page)

“So what’s the plan?” Martin asked when he came out of the bathroom. He’d gotten dressed in his new clothes, but was still toweling his hair dry. Then he caught sight of the meal I’d had delivered. “You talk. I’ll eat.”

“I don’t have a clue,” I said as I watched him inhale a burger in three bites. “What I want to do is run away from here. I want to go so far that they’ll never find me.”

“That’s no way to live,” Martin said. “You’d be hiding from every stranger you see. It’d be like those guys in the witness protection program.”

“I know. So I’ve got to deal with this, somehow.”

Martin pointed to the remaining stack of food. “Right after I clean my plate.”

We talked until late in the night, catching up on stuff and trying to think up a plan. We’d done so well before, at Edgeview. But there had been six of us, and we’d known exactly who our enemies were.

“This is hopeless,” I said before we went to sleep.

“Hey,” Martin said. “Yesterday, I slept in an alley on pieces of cardboard. I was starving and I stunk.” He patted the plush comforter that he’d pulled down to the foot of his bed. “Look at me now. My bed is soft, my stomach is full…” He paused to sniff the back of his hand, then said, “… and I smell like lemons. So don’t ever tell me anything or anyone is hopeless.”

“Except you,” I muttered. But the mutter masked a grin.

wherein
various forms of
travel produce various results

friday morning
peregrination #1

BOWDLER TAKES A RIDE AND FAILS TO KILL ANYONE

MAJOR BOWDLER KNEW
he was wasting his time, but he needed to keep moving so the swelling rage wouldn’t cloud his thoughts. He drove through Center City, scanning the pedestrians in hopes of finding the escapee.

He can’t get away.

There was no way a fourteen-year-old civilian could remain hidden for long against all the resources Bowdler had at his disposal. The instant the boy used his established e-mail account, he’d be located. The moment he uttered his name on the phone, the massive computers buried beneath the counter-intelligence facility would recognize it and report his location. If he passed within range of any video surveillance equipment tied to the system, he would leave a trail.

It’s just a matter of time.

Bowdler glanced ahead as the traffic light half a block away turned green. A young woman, her head bobbing to music pumped into her skull through earbuds, crossed against the light. Bowdler gauged her distance and pressed down slightly on the accelerator. His car skimmed past her, close enough so she could feel the breeze against her knees. Perfect. Maybe
that would give her enough of a scare so she’d pay attention next time. He didn’t bother to look in the mirror to see her reaction.

A block later, a dented red Chevy pickup truck ran a stop sign. Bowdler slammed his brakes, then leaned on the horn. The pickup cruised on like nothing had happened. “Idiot,” Bowdler muttered as he glared at the back of the truck. The driver seemed to be reading a map.

He drove for an hour, sticking to Center City. As he neared Franklin Circle, he spotted another jaywalker. This one, a teen who looked the same age as the escapee, was crossing in the middle of the block, obviously not paying any attention to traffic. The boy slowed his pace. Bowdler changed lanes, swerving to the left so he could brush past his target as close as possible.

At the last instant, the boy skipped back, as if he’d been more aware of his surroundings than his posture indicated.

Good for you, young man.
Feeling a bit better, Bowdler headed toward the containment facility where the subject would be taken as soon as he was recaptured. He needed to have a word with the other detainee, and decide whether it was time yet to cancel him.

friday morning
peregrination #2

LUCKY TAKES A WALK AND HEARS A NEW VOICE
IN THE FOG

ANOTHER WALK, DIFFERENT
nurse. A guy named Nick. Lucky shuffled along next to him, wondering how much time there was before his next pill.

“Lucky.”

That wasn’t supposed to happen. The medicine should muffle the voices.

“Lucky, come back.”

He walked several steps past the open doorway before he understood why the voice was so clear. It was coming from a real person. He turned back.

“Where you going, sport?” Nick asked.

“Someone called me,” Lucky said.

“I didn’t hear nobody say Dominic.”

“He called me ‘Lucky.’ That’s my nickname.”

Nick snorted out a laugh, then shook his head. “Sorry, dude. I guess it’s not that funny.”

“Lucky,” the voice called again.

“Can I see who it is?” Lucky asked.

“I suppose it’s okay to peek in and see if he’s really calling you.”

Lucky walked to the room. He didn’t recognize the bruised, swollen face.

“Lucky,” the kid said, “it’s me. Cheater.”

Next to him, he heard Nick say, “Lucky, Cheater. What next? Sleepy, Dopey, and Goofy?”

“It’s not Goofy,” the kid said. “It’s Grumpy.” He listed the seven dwarfs, then started to talk about the origin of Goofy as a character called “Dippy Dog.”

Lucky took another step into the room. He knew that voice. He recognized the way an endless stream of information flowed from that mouth. His brain slowly made sense of the unexpected images. This was Cheater. His old friend. Without his glasses. All banged up, and moaning after every couple of words. “What happened?”

“I stayed when I should have folded.”

“You okay?”

“I’ll live. Guess what? I have great news.”

“What?”

Cheater stared past him, toward Nick. “Nothing. Hey, what are you doing here?”

Lucky knew it wouldn’t be good to talk too much. He and Cheater had dangerous secrets. He stumbled over to the bed and thought about all that had happened. He swished it around in his mind and tried to keep it there as long as possible, like a big mouthful of stinging mouthwash.

A moment later, Nick tapped Lucky on the shoulder. “Come on, Unlucky. We can’t hang here too long.”

Lucky followed Nick out of the room. When he looked back, he saw that Cheater was reaching for the phone on the small table next to his bed.

friday morning
peregrination #3

TORCHIE TAKES A RIDE AND EVENTUALLY ARRIVES

“WOW, I THINK
we’ve seen the whole city,” Torchie said. He glanced to his left. Mr. Wickman was hunched over the wheel, looking all around, and then down at the map clutched in his right hand. Behind them, a horn blared. Philadelphia sure was a noisy place.

“It’s got to be somewhere,” Mr. Wickman said. “Everything is somewhere.”

“We’ll find it.” They’d been driving around for an hour, searching for the hotel. Mr. Wickman didn’t seem to be very good at following directions. And it was really distracting the way so many people were blowing their horns.

At last, Torchie spotted a small sign on a pole at the corner of a parking lot. “There,” he said. “The Hillville Luxury Motel.”

“I guess we found it.” Mr. Wickman drove into the lot. The red pickup bounced as it crossed potholes of various depths.

Torchie saw several kids walking around with accordions. Nobody had an instrument anywhere near as large as his.

“You want me to come in with you?” Mr. Wickman asked.

“No. That’s okay.” Torchie slid out and grabbed his accordion. “Thanks for the ride.”

“My pleasure.” Mr. Wickman pulled back into the street.

Torchie flinched at the blaring of another car horn, then went inside.

friday morning
peregrination #4

FLINCH TAKES A WALK AND FAILS TO DIE

“YOU’RE NOT
FUNNY.
”

“You’re not smelly. Wait—we’re both wrong.”

Lying in bed on Friday morning, half awake, Flinch grinned as he relived his favorite moments of last night. He always tried to be hard on himself and look for any flaws in his act, but he had to admit that he’d been on fire. Big time.

“Hey—you ain’t ready for the big city.”

“That’s why I’m starting in Philly.”

That one had been risky. He knew any performer took a chance when he knocked the town where he was playing. But he also knew that most cities liked to joke about themselves.

There’d been a couple spots that weren’t as smooth as he’d like, but he was pretty happy with the way the night had gone. The limo had brought him to the club. He’d hung out all evening with the other comics backstage. They’d treated him okay. Now, awake and hungry, he had one thing on his mind.

“Breakfast,” Flinch said. He knew he could get something at the hotel, but he had a craving that couldn’t be denied.
He got dressed and headed out. It wasn’t hard to follow his nose to the nearest place offering fresh, hot donuts.

Walking back to the hotel, his stomach and mind both full of warm memories, he crossed in the middle of the block. It was still early and traffic was light.