The Indigo Thief (33 page)

Sweat collected on Sparky’s forehead and he nodded. He showed me how to work a few buttons. This one blocked the Feds’ transmitters. That one hid our signals on the network. This one could broadcast a message to any receiver in the Federation.

He glanced nervously at the gun I still aimed at his neck. “It’s kinda—uh—nice showing someone around up here. Dove and Bertha are the only two even remotely interested in learning. Bertha usually just slams the controls and starts pressing buttons. And, well, Dove—bless his heart—he’s a little
slow
, if you haven’t noticed. Nice guy—loyal to a fault—but doesn’t take the time to ask questions. He leaves those to Phoenix. Probably why they get along so well. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure he even knows how to tie his own shoes. I think Kindred does it—”

I fired a Dart into Sparky’s neck and tightened my jaw. I didn’t have time to listen to him babble. I needed to get out of here, to save Charlie while I still had the chance. I remembered the news report I’d seen in the mansion. Two days had passed since then. There wasn’t much time left before she was sentenced and executed.

I rolled Sparky under the table and wrapped Tim’s unconscious body around his neck. The door flew open. Kindred ran in, her eyes a flurry of tears. Her outstretched arms offered me sheets of muffins. “OH MY GOD, DEAR,” she sobbed. “I AM SO SORRY ABOUT YOUR MOTHER. I DON’T EVEN KNOW—”

I squeezed my eyes shot and fired a Dart into her neck—the Dart guns were easier to fire than their bulleted counterparts. She stared blankly at me, set the muffins on the table, and fell to the ground. I felt awful. I knew she wasn’t in on Phoenix’s plan—she was too nice—but I couldn’t let her get in the way. I rolled her under the table next to Sparky, praying that even if the Feds got the others, they wouldn’t find these two.

I cleared my throat and pressed the button Sparky showed me earlier. I typed in “
Chancellor’s chambers
,” and the computer connected me to the appropriate radio network. “This is Kai Bradbury,” I said into the microphone, “declared enemy of the state and alleged Lost Boy. I’m tired of running. These people are not my allies or my friends. I want to surrender the coordinates of New Texas.” I paused. “Over.”

The radio went fuzzy as the chancellor’s voice came in. “This is Chancellor Hackner.” I could almost hear his twisting smile. “You have my full attention, Bradbury. You remember the conditions of our deal, I trust?”

I nodded. “You’ve got Charlie there?”

“Yes,” he said. “She’s with me right now. Go ahead and say something to your friend, Miss Minos.”

My heart pounded in my chest. My ears felt hot and my hands got sweaty.

“Hey there, Kai-Guy. I guess it’s probably not the best time to tell you I got a hell of a haircut.”

For a brief moment the numbness that had nestled in my heart vanished. I knew it would come back later, but when I heard Charlie’s voice, a flame replaced the dull burn in my heart.

I think it was love.

Crap.

The Lost Boys didn’t matter. They had never mattered. It was just Charlie and me. Soon, the nightmare with the Lost Boys would be over.

I took a deep breath and read Chancellor Hackner the coordinates.

I shoved chairs in front of the table where Kindred and Sparky lay. If I was lucky, they wouldn’t wake until after the raid was done, and by then we’d all be gone, and they’d think it was still morning. They’d still be waiting for us to get home from the Ministry. Hopefully they’d stay safe and hidden. They were both vaccinated. Maybe one day they could join the general population and start new lives as honest citizens.

I imagined Sparky working at a computer store, and Kindred opening her own bakery. It’d be less exciting than the world they were used to, but it might be enough. They’d be alive and safe, and that was all that really mattered.

I shut and locked the door to the control room and wandered down to the kitchen. Mila stood slumped over the sink, refusing to make eye contact. I guessed it was better this way. Better not to look in her in the eyes again before the Feds took her.

“Sorry,” she said finally. She turned to face me.

I ignored the weight that sat on my chest. “It doesn’t matter.”

Her bright green eyes were different than any others I’d ever seen. Like me, she hadn’t been vaccinated. I thought of Bertha’s big brown eyes peering out of the windshield and realized she wasn’t either. Were their deaths a part of Phoenix’s plans, too?

Mila took a deep breath. “No,” she said, “it
does
matter. It probably matters more than anything. We never should have told you she was dead.”

I clenched my jaw. “But you did.”

“I think,” she said, slowly, “I think—what we all thought, what we all knew from the beginning… was that she was already dead.”

“But she wasn’t.”
I could have saved her
, I thought.

“No, fortunately—or rather unfortunately—she wasn’t dead, and she probably suffered for a long time because of it.”

I felt sick again. I couldn’t look at her. I reminded myself that the chancellor and his men would be here soon. To take her away. To take all the Lost Boys away. The real monsters had never been in the water. They’d never been the megalodons. They’d always been the Lost Boys.

Mila ran her fingers along the sink’s porcelain edge. “We try not to take in kids who’ve still got reasons to be alive. Kids who have their families. Kids who have their friends. We know what happens to these people when they join our crew—they’re tortured and killed.

“But what were we supposed to do with you, Kai? You grabbed my leg. It was all over then, even if I managed to kick you off. To the Feds, you were already one of us. Was I supposed to leave you in the water to die? From the moment we learned you weren’t an orphan, we knew they had your mom. The second you grabbed my ankle, she was already gone.” Mila sounded detached. I guess she was trying to distance herself from what the Caravites and the Lost Boys had done.

“Right before you regained consciousness,” she went on, “we all made the choice to tell you that your mother was dead. We decided that as a group—and even Kindred agreed.” I thought about Kindred shaking her head ever so slightly—looking out for my best interest from the start. “We didn’t want you to feel guilty about not looking for her—or worse, do something dumb to get her back.

“It wasn’t an easy decision, but we all knew it was right. We’ve all watched our parents die, and we all live with those deaths every single day… There’s a reason we call ourselves the ‘Lost’ Boys, Kai.”

I nodded, but I knew she couldn’t understand. Wasn’t capable of understanding. The way she talked—it sounded like she was reading off a flash card.

But soon the Feds would take her away forever, and I still hadn’t got the truth. I decided it was worth a shot—to be honest, asking
anything
at this point was worth a shot. She might not want to tell me who she really was, but it was the last chance I’d get to ask.

“How’d the Commissioner know your father, Mila? Why do you still mumble about your sister, Sarah, in your sleep? Why are you
really
stealing Indigo?”

It was the second question that appeared to catch her off guard. “Sarah,” she muttered, her eyes watery. The way most kids our age acted when they thought about the last day of summer.

“Sarah died when she was eight years old. The year she died, Gwendolyn Cherry was the director of the Longevity Observation Termination Telesis Operative—the ‘Lotto.’ Sarah was in the thirty-three percent of kids who don’t make it to fifteen to receive their vaccination—the group that falls victim to the Carcinogens’ effects. The group the government tell us would be saved if there wasn’t an Indigo shortage.”

“So now you steal it,” I said. “You collect the thing that could’ve saved your sister.”

“Indigo couldn’t have saved Sarah,” Mila said, shaking her head. “She was doomed from the beginning. She had weak lungs—you heard Gwendolyn.

“Every year at Sarah’s Federal physical, they told us the odds weren’t good she’d make it. They told us that, but we never believed them. We didn’t think it would really happen. I don’t think you can ever believe that sort of thing. Mom used to say the rational heart refuses to accept bad news… I guess it’s true.”

“So how—how’d it happen?” My head was spinning. I didn’t understand what was going on. The more I learned, the more questions I had.

“It happened in class.” Mila swallowed hard. “Sarah went to write something on the board—she was a good student like that, better than I ever was—and she had these big glasses. Probably two sizes too big for her head. I think my mom bought them that way on purpose. Thought she might grow into them. That if we bought something as dumb as big glasses she would have no choice but to live long enough to grow into them…

“They shattered when she hit the floor. The doctors told us her lungs closed up, and then her heart just sort of stopped. It had all been painless, they assured us. They said she was lucky to have avoided the seizures most of the other children had when it happened. I didn’t think she was all that lucky.

“Mom took it the hardest. I’d come home from school, and she’d just be sitting there in her rocking chair, frantically gluing together the shards from Sarah’s broken glasses. She’d glue them together, and then pull them apart to try again. I think she thought if she glued the pieces perfectly, Sarah would come back to get them. Like Death itself would be reasonable and allow Sarah to go back for her glasses, and Mom could see her one more time. Grief makes people believe crazy things like that.”

My legs were shaking. I leaned against the kitchen counter to hold my weight. Why was Mila telling me this now? Why hadn’t she told me anything before?

“Once Mom lost it, Dad did too. You know he worked for the Ministry of Transportation & Commerce—the commissioner in Maui gave that away. Dad probably could have had his job if he hadn’t had Sarah and me. But he did, and you only have so much time—the clock’s always ticking off your fifty years.

“So one day, about a month after Sarah’s death, I came home from school, and they told me they were going for a drive. They were all dressed up. Mom wore her pearl earrings—the kind all moms wear on special occasions—and Dad had on a red tie. I asked if I could come with them, but they said no, they’d be back soon. And Mom took Sarah’s glasses with her. That’s when I knew something was wrong.”

I thought of Phoenix’s parents, of how he told me they were attacked at home. I’d thought he’d made the story up. But when I saw the tears in Mila’s eyes, I knew her story was true. She wasn’t the mushy sort. I wanted to give her a hug, and tell her it’d be okay. I guess I wanted someone to do the same for me.

“My parents never came back. They never came home. They drove themselves off a cliff.” I felt my knees buckle. I was going to be sick again. “The detectives guessed they died on impact, but they said we’d never know for sure. The sharks got to their bodies before anyone else could.” She stopped, and looked me right in the eyes.

I just shook my head. “I—I dunno what to say.”

She snorted. “Now you know how I’ve felt all day.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your mom, Kai.”

“Then why’d you do it?” I asked quietly. “Why’d you kill her?”

“WHAT?” She stepped back. “What the hell are you talking about? Who put that idea in your head?”

I stood silent, and she shook her head. A moment of realization flashed across her eyes.

“You talked to the chancellor. On the roof, after the raid… That’s why you took so long to fall. You were hanging there, talking to him.”

“I saw books lying around in the Caravan,” I said. “You were studying all her research—trying to figure out all the information you could squeeze from her—”

“Kai—”

“I saw the Caravites holding her down before she died. One of them fired the gun that killed her.” I stepped away from Mila, trying not to think about her sister, or what she’d been through, and just focus on what was at hand. “I know who and
what
you people are. I know what you’re trying to do here. I figured it out a long time ago—and it makes me sick. I’m sick of all these lies and all this
bullshit
.”

I pushed a tin of muffins to the floor. Mila grabbed my arm. “You don’t know anything,” she said. “You think you know, but you have
no idea
what’s really going on here. We didn’t kill your mom, Kai! We never had her. Neither did the Caravites, and I mean, really? Those idiots can barely keep their own damn boats together. I think hiding your own mother from you is a bit of a stretch.”

She squeezed my arm hard. “And what made you so certain they were Caravites? Because of their clothes? You think Feds always wear uniforms? That the bad guys always announce themselves with gunshots or explosions or—I don’t know—mariachi music? You think the Caravites would kill your mother right in front of you—for what? To deliberately turn you against them? Does that make ANY sense?

“Open your eyes, Kai—the Feds killed my sister. They ran some bullshit diagnostic tests, and then Gwendolyn Cherry—on behalf of the Federation—decided she was in the weakest thirty-three percent and pulled her name from the system.

“They
poisoned
her, Kai.
They
did. Not the ‘Carcinogens,’ but the Federal government. And then they pretended it was an accident. And you know
how
they do it? They manufacture viruses. Custom viruses, tailored to target only specific individuals’ DNA. They put them in our water supply, and the viruses find their way to their victims.

“There ARE no Carcinogens, Kai. There’s nothing in the air. The only thing killing kids around here is
people
. And our enemies aren’t Girl Scouts—they don’t have to wear stinking uniforms.”

The room was spinning. I remembered Mila’s conversation with Gwendolyn, and Gwendolyn saying something about seeing the names behind the statistics, the children behind the names. The initials S.V. The legacy of regret she was leaving behind.

I remembered what Dr. Howey had said after she died: that the Indigo Report went to her head.