Surrender (8 page)

I clutched my side as the air pressed down around me. Surely that Thinker wouldn’t just let us run away. Would he?
I ran my finger along my wrist bone, and the tiny knot of the tag jutted out like a boulder.

“Are we going to the Badlands?” I asked, coming up beside him as we ran.

“Yeah,” he answered. “We can gather some supplies and head to Seaside.”

“Seaside?”

“Yeah. Seaside offers political asylum to those . . . like us.”

“And the Badlands doesn’t?”

“The Badlands aren’t completely free,” Jag said. “We’re loosely monitored by your government.”

“Not free.” The words felt foreign in my mouth, as if I’d never said them before.

“We’ll be safe in Seaside, granted we get asylum.”

I wondered how far away Seaside was. But safety—and gaining political asylum—sounded more than great. “We should head for the Fire Region. The heat will mask our body heat.”

“Copy that.”

I didn’t mention the heat would also obscure the signature of the tag, which seemed to throb with the omission. “So who was that guy? He took my memory. But I know him. I swear I know him.”

“That’s Thane Myers.”

“And who exactly is that?”

“I don’t know,” Jag said. It was the worst lie I’d ever heard.

“Yeah, right. You know the guy’s name, but you don’t know who he is?” I rubbed my forehead, wishing I could cling to the pieces of memory wafting in there. “I’ve heard that name.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” I argued.

Jag turned toward me, frowning. “I am not. I’m a really good liar.” His words rang with truth, with power. Jag Barque was more than a really good liar—he was an
incredible
liar.

“You’ll have to teach me a trick or two,” I said, in complete awe of his lying talent.

For some reason, his face fell. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”

A guard station and a fifteen-foot fence with sharp teeth along the top separated us from the fields of the Centrals, and only Jag had the stolen ID card from the prison guard. We dodged from building to building, and Jag kept holding me back with his arm. I swatted his hand away.

“Do you have a death wish?” he hissed.

“Do you? Stop pushing me or I’ll kill you.”

“Vi.” He turned toward me. “You’re impossible.”

My irritation flared. “Thanks.” I peeked around the corner and prayed we’d be able to make it through the guard station. He joined me, chuckling.

“Stop laughing at me,” I said. “It’s annoying.”

That only made him laugh harder, and though he was quiet, his whole body shook next to mine. Our shoulders touched, and after a minute he put his arm around my waist.

If we weren’t on the run for our lives, if I wasn’t tagged and worried about how we were going to get to the Badlands and then all the way to Seaside, I might have been terrified at the thought of kissing him. Slowly, I placed one hand on his chest.

“Freeze!” a woman yelled.

Jag and I jumped apart like we’d been caught making out by my mother.

Two Greenies approached, their hands empty. The Hawk and Baldie.

“Perfect,” Jag whispered. “You take the woman.”

Instead of taking on anyone, I sprinted toward the guard station, with Jag right behind me. I found the lack of personnel odd, but maybe this area wasn’t manned so early in the morning. Or maybe those two Greenies made sure there wouldn’t be any witnesses to our deaths. I ran faster.

Jag passed me and swiped his stolen card across the gate reader. We squished through before it opened fully, and Jag tried to jam it while I sprinted toward the terraced crops in the Centrals. Curses and clangs caused me to glance over my
shoulder. My hopes of losing anyone were dashed by the sight of Baldie running a few yards behind me and Jag still wrestling with the gate.

I made a sharp turn to my right, heading toward the imminent drop-off. I jumped at the last second, which made my landing that much harder. Rolling, rolling, I finally came to rest in a plot of bean plants. I didn’t have time to feel the pain throbbing in my spine.

From the bottom of the terrace, I saw Baldie—still at the top—swipe a large stick at Jag’s legs. I sprinted up the nonmoving stairs, both desperate and disgusted that I had to save him.

By the time I reached the top, Jag was kneeling with his hands laced behind his head. I sparked the taser, wondering if I had the guts to use it. The blue electricity caught Baldie’s attention, and Jag dove at him. I dashed forward as they wrestled. Jag threw Baldie off just before I discharged the taser into Baldie’s shoulder.

He screamed as he fell. Silence. A twitch, then he lay still. I stared at him, my stomach lurching. I may break rules, but I’m not violent. My chest tightened. The air around me evaporated.

“Vi, let’s go.” Jag pulled on my arm. I turned and ran. Very far to the west, across the rolling wheat and beans and
golden-tipped corn, the flames in the Fire Region created an orange horizon.

I started down the staircase first, only to hear a strangled grunt behind me. Then Jag smashed into me.

I’d never felt such pain, not even when the surgery skin had melted away my flesh. My head hit on the sharp corners of the steps, my back crunched against itself. Blood flooded my mouth and I gagged. Jag swore with every collision, and I would’ve joined him if my jaw didn’t feel splintered.

Above it all, the Hawk laughed. I finally stopped at the bottom of the staircase. Silver and black flashes swam in my vision. My head felt heavy and soft at the same time. I wanted to move, but couldn’t. Time slowed into breathing and pain.

“The taser.” The Hawk leaned over me. I managed to lift my head. Blood ran down my face, but at least I didn’t have to inhale the hot, coppery scent anymore.

Jag moaned but didn’t move. Blood covered most of his face, and his left sleeve was completely stained red.

“The taser,” the Hawk repeated, her hand outstretched. She towered over me, one step up on the staircase. Her silver hair shone in the moonlight.

Give her the taser,
the voice commanded.
You don’t need it.
My injuries made my attitude dormant, and I couldn’t
muster the energy to tell the Thinker that he had no right to tell me what I did and didn’t need.

But if I gave up the taser, Jag and I would end up like Baldie. Unconscious. Who knew where we’d wake up—if we woke at all. But I couldn’t use the taser again. Baldie’s scream still echoed in my ears. His vacant eyes . . .

Give her the taser,
the voice ordered again.

“Jag,” I pleaded. “Get off me.”

Using the sturdy metal stairs for support, he stood and wiped his bloody hands on his prison uniform. He watched me slowly extend the weapon toward the Hawk, understanding spreading through his eyes.

“No!” he yelled, hitting my arm. The taser flew in a magnificent arc into the terrace behind us. The Hawk swore and kicked Jag in the chest. He landed with a soft
thump
and didn’t attempt to get up again.

Anger surged through my desperation and pain. I shook Jag’s shoulder as the Hawk leaned over to inspect him.

“Vi, leave the bad boy. You’re a good girl. Your father would’ve wanted you to be free.” Her words sounded rehearsed, but she’d just given me the label I craved: free. But if being free meant leaving Jag, I couldn’t do it.

Choices, choices.
The voice mocked me now. In my mind, I saw the Thinker, with those dark lenses hiding his eyes. A
cruel smile graced his features. He clearly controlled the situation. The Goodgrounds. The Hawk. Everyone and everything.

But not me. And not Jag.

Jag rolled over, with the tiniest curve in his lips. I ground my teeth and thrust my elbow back, right into the Hawk’s beak.

She staggered backward. I grabbed Jag’s arm and hauled him to his feet. I half-dragged him through the fields between the two terraces and up the steps on the other side. I didn’t turn back until we made it to the top. The silver Hawk was on her feet, searching for the taser.

Like I was going to wait and see if she found it.

I ran. More like stumbled. In my delirious I’ve-lost-too-much-blood state, I didn’t know Jag had stopped until he called my name.

I turned too fast and fell down. As far as I was concerned, it would be fine to stay there for the rest of my life. Something cold touched my head and probed in my hair. I faded out as Jag dabbed at the blood with a cloth. Then he said my name in his soothing voice. It sounded so restful, so calm.

“Don’t,” I slurred. “I’ll fall asleep.”

He stopped talking. When I opened my eyes, I wished I’d kept them closed.

“You look awful,” I said. Blood oozed down his face and dripped off his jaw. He wiped it with the piece of cloth—one of his sleeves he’d ripped off.

Even though his face was smeared with blood—probably mine and his—it caused my stupid heart to pump a little faster.

“Come on,” he said. “We can’t stop here.”

We clung to each other as we made our way toward the Fire Region. I thought it odd that hovercopters weren’t circling but didn’t say anything. Maybe They would just let us go. After all, I was tagged. They could find me easily if They wanted to. At least until we made it to the Fire Region and the heat obscured the signature in the tag.

The sun had crested the mountains when we came upon a lonely farmhouse in the middle of a rolling wheat field. I collapsed against the bricks, my breath burning on the way in and out. Jag unrolled a hose and sprayed himself down, yelping and dancing around in the cold water.

I wanted to laugh because he looked like such an idiot, but the thought of it made my insides hurt. When he turned the hose on me, the burning in my lungs wasn’t my biggest problem.

“Hey!” The water ran red, sickening me. After my “shower,” Jag traced his finger along my hairline.

“Not my hair,” I said dryly.

He chuckled in his soft, sexy way. “Of course it’s ruined, but it’s this gash that concerns me.”

“You don’t look so great yourself.” A long cut ran behind his left ear.

He nodded toward the back door. “You up for some rule-breaking?”

“Always,” I said. “I’ll get food and first aid. You get clothes, okay?”

Jag moved up the stairs and paused next to the door, peeking inside to assess the situation. He reminded me so much of Zenn, the way he took the lead, the way he seemed to have a plan for everything.

“All clear. I think this guy must already be working in the fields.” Jag cracked the door and slipped into the house. Unlike Zenn, he didn’t wait for me to follow, and I entered the kitchen to find it empty. I couldn’t even hear Jag’s footsteps—the guy had broken into houses before.

I collected the first aid kit from its regulated place under the kitchen sink. After checking it to make sure it was fully stocked, I grabbed two handfuls of protein packets and shoved them in the foil bag with the medical supplies.

The farmer didn’t have any dehydrated food, so I took two bottles of water and retreated to the back porch to wait
for Jag. He emerged seconds later with a backpack, and I loaded my stolen goods into it.

My head ached, and I had to wipe a trickle of blood away every so often. I leaned on Jag more than I wanted to, but he seemed to be relying on me just as much.

I thought about the night Zenn and I spent in the Abandoned Area last summer, and the way we kept each other awake by making up stories about what life would be like if we were in charge. How I missed him, but at least thinking of him helped me to keep going.

Finally I stood on the edge of a wheat field. If I took a single step, I’d be on cement. In front of us, small huts dotted the landscape, made completely of stone. No grass, no vegetation. Besides the blazing heat needed to manufacture tech, the Fire Region consisted only of concrete and technology. A buzz started behind my eyes, pulsing along the cut in painful zings. Waves of heat shimmered in the air.

Jag scouted ahead and found a small shelter next to an inactive Burning Element. We scooted inside just as the street swarmed with fire workers wearing shiny, yellow jumpsuits.

Littered with broken equipment and garbage, the shack didn’t have much room for anything else. Jag kicked debris around, clearing a small space in the middle.

He knelt down and opened the backpack. Then he let
out a soft moan of satisfaction. “I’m changing right now.” He pulled out an off-white shirt with long sleeves. Then he pulled out a pair of dark jeans and smiled his Jag-winner. “Be right back.” He left, and I wondered where he would change.

I rummaged to the bottom of the bag, and pulled out another shirt. I cast a quick glance at the door, then pulled off the prison top and slipped into the much thicker shirt that covered my arms down to my wrists. Even with the sweltering heat, it felt like freedom. I threw my bloodstained prison pants in the corner with a pile of garbage. The shirt was cleaner, thanks to Jag’s hose-down, and I tucked it back in the pack. After pulling on the slightly too-big jeans, I felt like a normal good girl. Except I was bad now. But whatever.

Jag came through the doorway and he looked fine. Really, really
fine
. His jeans looked like they’d been made especially for him and settled down around his hips. His shirt was untucked, making his waist seem much lower than it really was. His arms were bronze and muscled—and bare, because he’d pushed the sleeves up above his elbows. His skin looked warm and smooth.

He wore a necklace. Jewelry is against the rules in the Goodgrounds. Yeah, I broke that rule too, after Zenn gave me a watch for my birthday. I wished I would’ve worn it the day I went to see him. It would’ve shown him that I loved him.

But I’d never seen a boy wearing jewelry. The necklace didn’t hang down onto Jag’s chest, but barely encircled his throat. It looked like it choked him—almost. The white rocks were shaped like cylinders with different colored jewels alternating between them. Red, blue, purple, and orange. The gems sparkled even without a light source. Almost like an internal glow radiated from within.

He caught me gaping at the necklace. “You like?”

“It’s nice, I guess,” I said, struggling to remain nonchalant. “Where’d you get it?”