VOLITION (Perception Trilogy, book 2) (13 page)

Noah’s eyes formed a steely glare. “And we’ll never quit
running.” He grabbed my hand and tugged. “Keep your head down.”

I was the one wearing a pink wig, but I was more worried about
Noah getting recognized. His hair was longer than in the picture now, a shaggy,
dark mess that reached his cheekbones and his face had a scruffy beard, but his
eyes were the same.

There was no shortage of cheap, sleazy motels, and we walked
into the first one we came to. It was a tall, narrow, brick building with metal
fire escapes that looked suspiciously like they’d collapse if anyone ever needed
them. The lobby was in desperate need of a makeover, new paint, carpets,
everything. The place smelled stale and sweaty. I had the feeling they used to
rent these rooms by the hour. Maybe they still did with some of them, if you
could go by the shifty looking clientele who walked past. It was much like our
last motel in Reno. Small, smelly and suspect when it came to cleanliness. It
was to be our home for an unknown number of days.

We found a rhythm after a while, dancing around our emotional
estrangement, musing over bad TV and swearing at my grandfather’s face that was
continuing to dominate the news channels and ad campaigns. Because we wanted to
avoid being spotted, we slept in until noon. We ate all our meals in our room,
thanks to stores that were open 24/7. Noah did most of the shopping because he
worried store workers might spot me. He also did two coffee runs, at breakfast
and one in the afternoon. Though he’d let me out of the cage our room had
become, he insisted I stay inside until dusk. Even with my hair cut and colored,
he didn’t want to risk us getting recognized, and it was more likely if we were
seen together.

When the sun set, he’d take me out and show me around. St Louis
couldn’t be more different than Sol City. It was in far worse shape than
LA—more trash tucked away along cracked sidewalks and chain fences, dim
street-lighting more useful to bugs than humans, poorly dressed people of every
ethnicity shuffling with swooped shoulders. Stray cats chased rodents behind
overflowing garbage bins, and sirens seemed to scream endlessly in the
distance.

Noah got antsy about being discovered after our first week, and
we started switching motels every five to ten days, gradually working our way
farther from the city center. We had nothing but time on our hands, nothing to
do but watch the leaves fall and frost form, to see the calendar switch from
October to November.

We moved into our fifth motel, this one in the north end near
the industrial section. Actually, the whole city looked like the industrial
section to me. Blocks of abandoned buildings, some with archaic smokestacks;
closed-down bridges spreading over the Mississippi to Illinois like huge metal
traps; homeless people huddled over garbage can fires in back alleys smoking
cigarettes with fingerless gloves.

This motel was a two-story strip of stacked cubical rooms with
exterior doors facing directly outside. It hadn’t seen paint in a long time

Noah always waited for me to fall asleep before crawling into
bed, and I started faking sleep to get him to climb in sooner. I found I
couldn’t truly fall asleep until he was with me, even if he didn’t pull me
against him anymore.

Lately Noah had been taking longer and longer to return with
our afternoon coffees. I fell into a vegetative state, ignoring the growing
boredom and despair that battled in my brain. The TV was on but the volume off.
The wind whistled through the thin glass and I put my coat back on. I listened
to the beat of my heart throbbing in my temples as I waited for Noah.

“Are you hiking to Columbia?” I snapped as he walked in the
door.

He handed me a paper cup. I blew on the steam.

“I met someone,” he said.

My pulse stopped.

“You met someone? As in a girl?” I couldn’t keep the surprise
out of my voice.

“Yes, a girl.” He blinked. “But not like that. Someone who can
help us.”

How could a mere girl help us? “How do you know we can trust
her?”

“She’s like us.”

“Like
us
?”

“Well, like me.”

My knees weakened and I slid back into my chair. I rested the
coffee on my lap, holding onto it tightly with both hands like it was a
lifeline. “What do you mean by that?” I said through tight lips.

Noah slid into the chair opposite me. “She’s never had a chip.
She’s a fan of my blog.”

“You told her who you
are?”

“I told her my name is Jude. We got to talking and I could tell
she was a rebel. She says we can move in with her.

My heart rushed to keep up to what he was saying. Noah had met
a girl, one like him, and we’re supposed to move in with her.

“Zoe.” He touched my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I just don’t know why we should involve ourselves with
anyone else.”

“We’re going to run out of money.”

“And this girl has money?”

“Her name is Mary. She lives in an abandoned factory.”

“She’s a
squatter
?”

Noah looked away and sipped his coffee. “I told her we’d come
tomorrow, after we check out.”

“You know what? I’m getting sick of you making major decisions
without even discussing them with me.”

Noah’s lips tightened in a straight line and I could see the
muscles in his jaw work as he beat back his anger.

I let out my own fiery breath. “Where did you meet her?”

“I saw her sitting on the steps of St. Pius’s church a couple
days ago. We got to talking.”

“Really? You just saw her on the church steps and decided to
talk to her?”

“Yes.”

“Great. Another religious fanatic.”

“She’s not a religious fanatic.”

I sneered. “Oh, right. She’s like you.”

He got up abruptly and went to the bathroom. I felt small and
stupid, like a jealous hag. Flares of rage shot up through my chest, squishing
my heart.

If Noah could traipse about the city alone whenever he wanted
to, so could I. In fact, if I got caught, it would free him. He could go live
with
Mary
, or whomever he wanted. He wouldn’t have to deal with the ball
and chain I’d become.

I worked the door open without making a sound and slipped
outside. When I got to the road I ran, pumping my arms, breathing in shards of
cold air, pain ripping the membrane of my soul.

I stopped by a ball field and bent over at the waist. My hands
pressed against my knees, as I heaved like an old dog. When I finally got my
breath back, I straightened and took in my surroundings.

Young teen girls on squeaky swings were giggling. A woman cut
through the field with a mesh bag in her arms, groceries maybe.

Random people with places to go, things to do.

Unlike me.

What the hell was I doing with my life? Hiding out like a
common criminal? My life completely at the command of Noah Brody, a person I’d
only known for a few measly months?

I knew enough to keep my head down and not make eye contact. I
walked until the anger drained away, replace by something more benign, like
resignation.

I ran my sleeve under my nose and turned back. Then I stopped.
I didn’t recognize the buildings around me. In the midst of my emotional muck,
I’d failed to pay proper attention.

I turned down one block and then the next. Oh, that store. I
remembered now, but no, it wasn’t the right one. All the convenience stores,
pizza places, coffee shops looked the same. I made another turn and another,
like a mouse in a maze. My heart sped ahead and pushed back at nausea.

The street light flickered on, startling me.

Soon it would be dark. Panic weaved a mat in my chest.

Then a growly voice. “Look what we have here.”

My arm flung to my back, searching for my gun. It wasn’t there.
I’d left the room in such a huff, I’d forgotten to take it. I stepped back. A
figure appeared out of the shadows.

“Stay away from me!” I scouted for a witness, another passerby.
My heart sunk as I realized I’d happened across a back alley with nothing but
big garbage bins and more abandoned buildings on either side. A dead end.

I turned and ran, but the man was faster. He gripped my arm and
jerked. I screamed and a greasy hand cupped my mouth.

My world spun and my back hit the ground, knocking the wind out
of me. He ripped my coat open and pinned my arms to the ground with his knees.
I felt like I was having an out of body experience—this was happening to
someone else. I wrestled beneath him, but he was at least twice my body weight.
The stench of his breath was enough to knock me out and I wished it would.

His rough hand gripped the bare skin of my stomach and I
squealed out my fear through the dirty fingers over my mouth. I squirmed to get
free.

A hard slap to the face.

Pain exploded along my cheek and up behind my eyeballs.

His hand was on my zipper and he worked to get my jeans off.
This was it. I was going to be raped. It happened to women all the time, but to
other people. Not to me.

My heart stopped. A million thoughts raced through my mind at
once. I should’ve listened to Noah. I should’ve been more careful. I didn’t
want to die.

I heard a muffled shout, like it came from far away, through a
tunnel. “Zoe!”

“Noah!” I yelled. The man’s hand pressed down hard on my face.

“Zoe!” Noah’s voice grew clearer.

Then I heard the cocking of a gun.

“I’m going to shoot your brains out on the count of three,” Noah
said. “One, two…”

The guy jumped off me and disappeared down the narrow space
between two buildings.

Next thing I knew, Noah was cradling me in his arms. I
should’ve known he’d be frantically looking for me.

I shuddered and cried into his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so
stupid!”

“Shh,” he said. “I’ve got you now.”

He helped me get my jeans back up. Though he’d seen me in my
underwear before, I was embarrassed. My nakedness had become a sign of my
stupidity once again. My hands shook violently and I couldn’t get the zipper
and button done up. Noah bent down and did it for me, gently, like he was
helping a child.

I leaned heavily into him as he led me back to the motel room.
That night he pulled me close and held me tight.

Chapter
18

Noah was gone when I awoke. I pushed back at my growing
trepidation, swiveling my arms around to loosen the belt of anxiety that cinched
around my chest. It wasn’t unusual for him to slip away. Living this life, being
with
me
day in and day out, wasn’t easy.

Then I remembered he was probably with
her
, and the belt
tightened even more.

I used the facilities and stared at my face in the mirror, at
the bluish hue on my cheek where my attacker had slapped me. It was tender to
the touch, but the pain went far deeper than my skin. I shuddered and pushed
back at the memories. I was vulnerable. A victim. I felt so disempowered.

I hated being alone, especially right now, and turned on the TV
on for company. It was always crap playing but it helped to mask the loneliness
and fear that threatened to consume me.

The door handle moved, and I stiffened, my eyes darting to the
drawer by my bed where my gun was stored.

“It’s me,” Noah called softly. “Oh good, you’re awake,” he
said. His eyes moved from my face to my form, and I remembered I was only
wearing a T-shirt and underwear. He shifted his gaze sharply to the bag in his
hand. “Here’s breakfast.” He placed a coffee and bagel on the table. “And
this…” His eyes caught mine, straying to my bare legs for only a second as he
held up a box of dye.” I noticed your roots are growing out.”

I turned to the mirror in the room and ran a hand through my
hair. Blond roots had sprouted over the last few weeks.

Noah wanted to leave for the new girl’s place by dusk. I owed
my life to him
once again
and any self-righteous fight I had in me the
day before had been thoroughly stamped out. If Noah said we were leaving, I
would follow. Even if it meant we were moving in with another girl.

I didn’t own Noah, and I had no right to dictate who he could
be friends with. Or more than friends with. It still made me feel sick to think
I’d lost him.

Literally sick. My forehead grew damp and I felt light-headed.
It was a strange feeling for me. Outside of the headaches, I’d never been
physically unwell before. Must be nerves. GAPS weren’t machines. We could get
worn out by stress and exertion, too.

I picked at my bagel, hoping that would calm my nerves, then
went to the bathroom to dye my hair.

After I finished showering, I dressed and packed. Noah had all
his things gathered already and was watching TV. Grandpa V made an appearance
again, this time with a woman beside him, his new bride. Her name was Amelia
Cartwright, and she was from a wealthy political family. GAP of course, and at
least twenty-years younger than Grandpa, though being a GAP it was hard to
guess her age accurately.

“Do you think he’ll win?” I said. “Will people really believe
his rhetoric?”

Noah frowned. “It doesn’t matter if his platform policies are
thinner than wafers. Whoever has the most money will win.”

We both knew that Grandpa V was one of the richest Americans
out there. I hoped for everybody’s sake, especially mine, that Noah was wrong.

“I wish there was something we could do to stop him,” I said.

Noah shook his head. “Both times I blogged about him, they
found us. I can’t take that chance again.”

“Still, there must be something.”

Noah sighed. “Let me know if you think of anything.”

Grandpa’s opponent, President Walker, had his own campaign
strategy. He’d attacked Senator Vanderveen for being heartlessly ambitious. His
granddaughter was
missing
. Shouldn’t he be trying to find her rather
than spending his time and money slinging mud at his cabinet?