The Indigo Thief (8 page)

“I know what Newla is,” I said. “But why me? Couldn’t Kindred or you go?”

“Kindred doesn’t do so well out in the field.”

Kindred nodded. “I’m far too sensitive for that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” said Bertha. “Last time she hugged a guard instead of shooting him.”

“He looked sad!” said Kindred.

Phoenix stepped between them. “We need another body,” he explained, “and I’m afraid you’re the only one who fits the uniform.”

Mila joined him in the doorway. “Same size as Bugsy,” she said.

Kindred’s eyes got watery.

“Is the equipment prepped?” said Phoenix.

Mila nodded. “And New Texas is on course. We’ll be at Federal Water borders within the hour.”

“Excellent, Meels.” Phoenix looked me up and down. “And can someone get the boy some pants?”

Bertha threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“He’s not getting pants,” said Kindred. “He’s getting a skirt, dear.”

“Skirt?” I said. “Another one?”

Bertha burst into laughter. “Damn, I wish I was going now.”

Kindred put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “but it’s not safe for you in the Federation anymore. They’ve got pictures of you now.”

“Pictures?”

Phoenix nodded. “We’ve been intercepting Federal broadcasts for twenty-four hours now. They searched your home, confiscated your possessions. You’re a wanted man, Kai Bradbury. Charged with treason and crimes against humanity. Your name’s been attached to the bombings on the Pacific Northwestern Tube. You’ve been classified as a Lost Boy—an enemy of the state. A terrorist in the eyes of the Feds. Just like us.”

The room was spinning again. The ringing returned to my ears. My lungs cramped. My knees buckled.

Bertha slapped me. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “We don’t have time for you to pass out every five minutes.”

I shook my head. Things snapped back into focus. Kindred dropped a stack of clothes at my feet. Among them was a new skirt—and a blond wig. She hadn’t been kidding.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I said. “Really sorry. It’s—it’s just a lot to take in.”

The Feds thought
I
was a Lost Boy. If they found me, they’d torture and kill me. There had to be a way out of this. A way to clear my name and turn in the real terrorists—or thieves, or whatever they were.

And then a thought struck me: if the Feds thought I was one of the Lost Boys, what had they done to Charlie? I’d tried to swim to her; they must know she was with me. Did they think she was a Lost Boy, too?

“What happened to Charlie?” I asked.

Bertha snickered. “
They’re all terrorists, Charlie!
”

“Your friend?” said Mila. I nodded. “Feds got her. Wouldn’t worry about her now. No use. She’s a goner.”

The Feds got her.
The baddies, as Kindred called them. But she was still alive, at least. There was hope. She hadn’t drowned, and the sharks hadn’t gotten to her. There was still a chance I could save her.

Friendship was a powerful thing. In an age where families weren’t forever, friendships were our only buoyancy. I had to save Charlie, no matter what the cost.

But there’d be no saving Charlie until I left New Texas, and there was no escaping New Texas without the Lost Boys’ help. Not when I was a wanted criminal. So it looked like I’d have to stick with the Lost Boys, at least temporarily.

My breath caught in my throat. What had the Feds done to Mom? She’d been at home when the accident on the Tube had happened. Had they arrested her, too? Maybe the Lost Boys knew. “And my mom?” I asked quietly.

The group fell silent. Mila stared at the ground, and Phoenix shook his head. “I’m afraid they got her too. She’s gone.”

“The Feds have her, like Charlie?”

Phoenix rubbed his jaw. “Unfortunately, no. She resisted arrest when the Feds stormed your home.”

My heart beat faster. “What happened? What’d they do to her?”

He put a hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry, Kai. She—she’s dead.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks like rain. Mila tightened her jaw.

Kindred, however, fixed me with an odd look and shook her head ever so slightly. She mouthed a silent “no”. I was the only one who saw.

Kindred was telling me that Phoenix was lying. I didn’t understand why, but at that moment I didn’t care: my mom was still alive, somewhere. The Feds hadn’t killed her. I could find her. Save her and Charlie both.

But for some reason Phoenix wanted me to think she was dead. I couldn’t let him know I knew the truth.

I buried my face in my hands. Kindred rubbed my back.

“I’m sorry, Kai,” Phoenix said again.

The liar. Two could play his game.

“I—I can’t talk about it,” I said. “I’m not ready. I have to pretend. I can’t think about it right now.”

He nodded. Probably figured denial was the first stage of grief. After a while, I picked up a skirt from the pile. “I have to wear this?”

“It’s the only way, dear,” said Kindred.

“We leave for Newla this afternoon,” said Phoenix. He stared at the skirt in my hands. “That’s your uniform. It’s essential to our mission. We can’t move forward without someone—you—wearing it.”

What kind of mission were they running? And why were they throwing me into the field so soon after I’d tried to kill them? There had to be an ulterior motive. Maybe it had to do with why he’d lied about Mom…

Well, Newla wouldn’t be so bad. And if the Feds really did have Charlie, that’s where she’d be. For now, I decided it was best to just go along with the plan, and not ask too many questions. Phoenix wouldn’t have given me honest answers anyway.

“And what if we get caught?” I said.

Phoenix’s face went grim. “Then we’ll be tortured and killed.”

I shuddered. Was that what the Feds were doing to Mom and Charlie? I felt sick to my stomach. I had to save them, and soon.

“No funny business out there,” added Phoenix. “Not like what happened out on the beach. If you try to kill us again, then we’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Or we’ll let the Feds do it, and that’d be worse. You’ll follow our commands—without question—and you’ll stay alive.”

I nodded. I’d underestimated them on the beach. They weren’t idiots. They knew what they were doing, and with or without my help, they were going to do it. It was only a question of whether I wanted to live or die. And if I was dead, I couldn’t save Mom and Charlie. I’d work with Phoenix. And I’d stay alive. For now, at least.

Phoenix turned to Kindred. “Did you get the pills?”

Kindred gave him a blank look.

“The ones we talked about earlier,” he said. “In the cupboard? Meels, you remember the pills, don’t you? The ones we talked about.”

Mila nodded, left the room, then quickly returned with two blue pills, which she placed in my hand.

Great, they intended to drug me. Drug me and take me to largest city in the world. In a skirt.

Kindred saw the pills and laughed. “
Those
,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were talking about—”

“The Indigo pills,” said Mila. “We were talking about the Indigo pills.”

“It’s in lieu of a vaccination,” explained Phoenix. “Little doses of Indigo. If you take two a month, you’ll be fine. We’re the only ones who have them. A creation courtesy of Bertha. And if you run from us in the city… well—then I’m afraid you won’t have much time. If the Feds don’t find you, the Carcinogens will. The Indigo pills work just like the real vaccines, but are only temporary. In time, perhaps we’ll consider a vaccination—but those come at an incredible cost. Each vaccine we administer is one we can’t sell, and we need the money. An island of trash doesn’t pay for itself.”

So that was why Mila’s eyes weren’t blue. She took the pills every month, too, instead of receiving the vaccine. The smaller doses taken orally must’ve prevented her eyes from turning blue. I wondered if she, too, was working to earn a vaccine. As an enemy of the state, I guessed sticking with Phoenix was really her only option to get one.

I swallowed the pills without hesitation. “Thanks,” I said. “So about the skirt—”

“It’s for Nancy Perkins,” said Kindred.

Bertha grinned. “Which is gonna be you, sweetheart.”

Kindred pushed me into a chair before I could say anything else. She spread a layer of powder across my face like icing on a cake. “Close your eyes, dear. You’re going to look lovely.”

“What about Phoenix?” I asked. “Is he wearing a skirt too?”

I heard him and Mila snicker as they left the room.

“Not possible,” said Kindred. “He’s six-foot-two and built like a god. He’d never pass as a forty-nine-year-old woman. Chin down, dear. Stop flinching.”

“A forty-nine-year-old woman?”

Kindred pulled a card from my bag and read it aloud. “Nancy Perkins, forty-nine years old. Former executive assistant to the president of Renzo Enterprises. Resident of the Maui province. Visiting Newla to celebrate the last night of her life in Club 49.” She paused. “The three of you will collect her identification cards and proceed to Club 49 this evening.”

Dove smashed the blond wig on my head and traced its edges along my scalp before adding glue. “Can’t have it flying off your head on the dance floor,” he said. “It’d blow your cover.”

When Mila and Phoenix returned, they were already dressed in full costume. Mila wore a black velvet cocktail dress with an open back, her curls hidden in a tight bun. She puckered her lips, applied a coat of red lipstick, and slid on a pair of large silver sunglasses. Phoenix was dressed in tortoiseshell spectacles, a black suit, and a thin tie. He’d covered his blond hair in brown goop and had it slicked to the side.

“Ready?” asked Mila. She slid the tube of lipstick into my hand and winked. “For you, Ms. Perkins. If it’s any consolation, you make a pretty girl.”

“It’s not,” I muttered, “but thanks anyway.”

It took me ten minutes to put on my blouse and skirt, then another five to get my bosoms on straight. Yes, they made me wear bosoms. Bertha especially enjoyed that.

Kindred applied a final layer of powder to my face before stepping back to marvel at her creation. “You look wonderful, dear!” She glanced over at Bertha. “The bosoms were a nice touch.”

In the kitchen, she briefed me on Phoenix’s and Mila’s respective covers. They were Parker Chester, a recent university grad, and Maria Lalone, a travel writer from Kauai, respectively. I wondered again how I’d gotten stuck being Nancy.

“The Wet Pockets are ready, dears,” Kindred called to the others. “Meet at the main dock in ten minutes. And don’t forget your lunches! It’s going to be a busy, busy night.”

At the dock, I learned that Wet Pockets were four-foot-long pouches made of military-grade cellophane wrap—the kind that was, ironically, used by the Feds to catch criminals. Upon seeing the Pockets in person, I realized they were just clear, thin bags sewn together by Bertha. Propellers had been strapped to their tops, and they were pumped full of air.

I’d seen sturdier sand castles.

Dove pushed us toward the contraptions. “Come on, little sardines,” he said gleefully. “Into your cans you go!”

The Wet Pocket wrapped itself around me like… a wet pocket.

Phoenix and Mila hopped into the pouches next to me. I sucked in a deep breath as Dove rolled us into the water. The Pockets sank immediately, weighed down by their heavy propellers. Water spurted behind us as the propellers fired up. Through the clear plastic casing, I saw Phoenix’s Pocket lead the way. His must’ve been armed with a tracking device—maybe even a GPS.

The Pockets dove down fifty feet. Schools of fish scurried in fear from our paths as we shot through the water. We turned sharply, and my Pocket slammed against a rock. Its jagged edge ripped my Pocket’s cellophane seam. Water immediately began to stream in, and mascara ran into my eyes.

Crap. Kindred had put on mascara.

I grabbed the Wet Pocket’s edges as they tore and fluttered apart, their seam undone. Water slammed into my face. I squeezed my eyes shut. My skirt billowed in the currents. If I’d been on land, at least it would’ve felt breezy.

My fingers slipped, and the cellophane fabric danced along the tips of my fingers. I wasn’t going to make it to Newla. Not this way, at least.

Dorsal fins hurried past my feet. A school of fish, I figured. Large ones, by the feel of it. I squinted my eyes open. Rays of sunlight broke the water.

Suddenly something stabbed my shoulder hard, plunging into the deep tissue. Had I not been holding my breath, I would have screamed. Whatever stabbed me lodged itself in my flesh and yanked me upward. The Pocket’s tattered remains flew from my hands as I was pulled toward the surface. Blood from my shoulder poured into the water.

I grabbed at my shoulder, trying to dislodge whatever had pierced the skin. My fingers probed the wound, and I felt a sharp prick as they encountered a barbed piece of metal sticking out of the skin.

A fishing hook. And I was being reeled in.

More fins brushed against my legs, this time larger ones. I swallowed hard, reminding myself to remain calm. The fins didn’t belong to fish at all.

They belonged to sharks.

The hook in my shoulder pulled me up in spurts. Each new pull yanked me farther from the swarm of frenzying sharks, while simultaneously dousing them in blood.

Blood.

There was blood in the water. The smaller sharks were here—hammers, tigers, great whites—but where were the megalodons? They should’ve been here by now. I realized I must be back in Federal waters, and for once the nets were working.

I was pulled rapidly upward. The hook’s line went slack as I surfaced. I gasped for air.

A bald, old man with the wrinkled face of a mastiff stared at me from the deck of a medium-sized fishing boat. “
The Retired Lobster
” was painted along its side in faded letters. I clambered over the side and threw myself onto the ship’s deck.

The old man shrieked and fell backward. I grabbed his fishing pole and yanked the line loose.

My vision went spotty. I was going to pass out. White patches moved everywhere I looked. I lay on my stomach to keep the blood flowing to my brain. My back was warm with blood. I wasn’t going to save Mom or Charlie.