Disrupted (11 page)

For which I got a tinny kick in the shin. I winced beneath my smile.

“I wouldn’t ask,” said Chris, drawing Clarrie’s perky chin away from me, “but we’re kind of desperate.”

“Trouble from The Others, huh?”

“The Others?” said Chris cautiously.

“You know, the ‘Parents’” explained Clarrie with a laugh. “Crike, what planet are you from?”

“Same planet,” muttered Chris, “different time zone.”

“You’re not from the farms–” Something in his expression must have been telling, because she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh cruds, of course you are. Well, nothing wrong with that, is there?”

The farms?

“Um, no?” said Chris.

“I know a lot of people think the farms are totally backward,” prattled Clarrie, “but I don’t believe it. It’s not really like living in a different time zone, is it? I mean, you do have neutron-power and galactic channels and virtual shopping, don’t you?”

My head came out of that verbal spin on ‘galactic shopping power’ (whatever that was, I wanted some) to hear Chris deny it all. The essential luxuries, that is, not the bit about farming. But then I suppose Biggs Hill was as close to ‘the farms’ as one could get, a little like owning the cow without having to milk it every morning.

“Crike, and you live like that? It sounds so quaint.” Clarrie’s enthusiastic outpouring turned confidential and quiet. “I’ve never met anyone from the farms before now.”

“Well, you should... come visit... sometime.”

“Oh, Chris. You know it’s not as simple as that.”

But she looked at him as if she wished it were, and Chris looked at her as if he did too. I wondered what Clarrie’s look would wish if she knew Chris’s farm was a hundred years away.

“So,” said Clarrie, “you need a ride, and I’ve got a bird. What do you say?”

Chris grinned. He touched her arm briefly, just long enough for that grin to settle in his eyes. “Thanks.”

I gulped back a stray sour worm that had come out to witness the cosy exchange.

This wasn’t going to be easy, this not being Caroline Mewlin thing. Not if they insisted on having moments like that. I almost preferred the kissing saga.

Chapter 12

T
he inside of Clarrie’s budgie was even smaller and sleeker than it appeared from the outside. The kind of small that put Gale on my lap with my arms around her, and me propped on the very tip of the seat between Chris’s legs. There were only two seats, one crammed behind the other.

My head scrunched forward over the top of Clarrie’s seat, I had nowhere to look but at the flight control dashboard (I use the term ‘dashboard’ loosely, as it was actually two buttons and a tiny numerical keypad). The budgie didn’t even have a visor strip to see out. We were completely hooded and in semi-darkness.

“Don’t you ever want to look out while you’re cruising?”

“Cruising? Now there’s a dream,” sighed Clarrie. “No, my bird’s totally bottom of the range, no frills and no cruising. Strictly A to B mode. Anyway, I usually go topless.”

Chris made a choking sound from behind. I stabbed back with an elbow, and whatever I hit turned the choke into a spluttered cough.

“We have to keep the hood on now,” continued Clarrie, “or we’ll be busted for overloading.”

“There are sky traffic cops?”

“You really are from the farms, aren’t you?” Clarrie turned to me, or at least she tried to and gave up after smacking my cheek with her lips. “Satellite patrolling, Willow. Welcome to the 22
nd
century.”

If only she knew.

Clarrie tried to turn again, smacked my cheek, and gave up again. “Right, so were are we going?”

“56 and 12,” said Gale.

“I need the sector.”

“203.”

Clarrie punched in the numbers. “You might want to hold on,” she called out and jabbed the green button.

The budgie shot up so fast, I felt my tummy drop out my bottom. Then it angled sharply to the left and I instinctively reached out, only my arms were pinned between Gale and the front seat. I was tightly wedged, wasn’t going anywhere, but Chris seemed to think otherwise.

His arms came around my waist. Sort of. Actually, they bypassed me at the sides and came around Gale’s waist, his hands resting just slightly below mine. “I’ve got you.”

Um...his words brushed hot across my ear. It felt so good, too good, I allowed my hands to slip a little, until the edges of our palms touched.

“Thank you,” whinnied Gale.

My hands jerked high again. What in the name of Caroline Mewlin was I doing? I edged forward, needing every millimetre I could get.

“So,” I said, determined to ignore the fuzzy warmth tickling my neck, “that’s really all it takes? Green button for go and red for stop?”

“Told you so,” chirped Gale from under my chin.

“I know,” said Clarrie. “It’s mad that you can’t get licensed until seventeen.”

Wait just a freaking minute. Had Chris just snogged an older woman? “You’re seventeen?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got my licence. Two weeks and three days. The Others bought me this sweetie bird for my birthday. Hold on again, we’re coming down.”

Chris had never let go. One sharp dip and bump later, we were on the ground. At the press of a red button, the interior lights shut off and the hood retracted. Finally, I could un-cramp my neck and lift my head.

Chris’s arms started to fall away, then froze on a curse.

I followed his gaze to the wall ringing the rooftop, to a horribly familiar bald head and pair of outsized sunglasses.

The Razok straddled the wall carelessly, oblivious to the three hundred or so floors he must be looking down on. Only, he wasn’t looking down, was he? Damn those sunglasses, but I just knew he was looking straight at us. “Gale, I thought you said the other one was pounding the streets.”

“What’s happening?” Clarrie started to rise.

Gale nudged up between my arms. “What other—Razok?” she yelped, an instant fireball of orange. “But how—what is he—”

The leg on our side of the wall stopped swinging, then the Razok brought his other leg over and jumped down.

Clarrie’s head snapped our way. “What do you mean, Razok?”

He’d seen us. Of course he’d seen us. With the hood down, our heads were clearly visible over the sides of the budgie.

“We have to go, Christian Wood. Go, go, go.”

Now he was coming at us, not hurried, just long and steady strides that ate up the thirty or so yards.

Clarrie twisted all the way around in her half-standing position to face us, arms folded, chin high. “No one’s going anywhere until—”

“Sit,” hissed Chris, so fiercely she un-twisted and dropped into her seat with a gasp. “I’m sorry, Clarrie, but we have to go. Now!”

Her shoulders jerked at the command. She hit the green button, but not without a loud grumble. As darkness slid over us, I ducked my head forward over the front seat again to avoid decapitation, and then the dim lights flickered on.

“Go, go, go,” sang Gale.

“Go where?” demanded Clarrie.

“Anywhere,” I said. “Just get us out of here.”

“Go, go, go.”

“I can’t just go anywhere, Willow. I need a sector.”

“Back to your place then.”

“No, wait.” Chris leaned in. His arms tightened around Gale and me, and somehow his hands were now clasped over mine. I drew on the comfort more than I’d ever admit out loud. “Clarrie’s building is barely a hop away. Would he be able to see where we land, Gale?”

“Yes, no, I don’t know.”

“We can’t risk it,” Chris decided.

I cowered low, fully expecting the hood to be torn from our cover any second. How strong were Razoks? “Give us a sector, Gale.”

“How should I—”

“Think, Gale. Any safe place.”

“But I don’t—”

“Anywhere!”

“4020.”

Clarrie glanced over her shoulder. Or tried to, removed her lips from my cheek with a sniff, then slammed her palm against the dashboard instead of punching in the numbers.

“4020,” I repeated harshly.

“But that’s outside—”

“Clarrie!” shouted Chris.

“Okay!” shouted back Clarrie.

Another second and we were off. I was suddenly very glad the budgie didn’t have windows. Silly, I know, but what I couldn’t see couldn’t hurt me.

“You’re trembling,” whispered Chris into my hair.

I was? Except I wasn’t. “It’s Gale. She’s vibrating.”

“You okay, Gale?”

No response.

My chin was hooked over the top of Clarrie’s seat, and there was no room to peer down or slide Gale out. “She’s getting warm. Her circuits can’t overheat, can they?”

“Of course they can,” said Clarrie. “She needs to power down before she melts.”

Just what I needed to improve my day. A lime green puddle burning my lap. Oh, God, it was already happening, glob spreading and hardening just below my ribs like hot-cold metal fingers- Wait, those were actual fingers, attached to hands. “What are you doing?” I demanded of Chris.

“Nothing,” muttered Clarrie, because I couldn’t help but speak to her even when I wasn’t, what with our cheeks wedged side by side.

“I’m trying to find a hidden panel or something,” answered Chris. “There must be a switch somewhere.”

“Well, you won’t find it on my midriff, so stick to the lime tubing, okay?”

“If you came back a little,” suggested Chris stiffly, “maybe I’d have a choice.”

“If you haven’t noticed, there’s nowhere to come back to.”

“There.” His legs shifted, as if he’d edged slightly forward in the seat, and then his hands were on my waist, tugging. “Stretch back over me.”

“I’m not going to lie on top of you, Chris.”

“Trade?” suggested Clarrie softly.

Hilarious. Only there was no hint of humour in her tone.

“Get over yourself, Willow. I just need to reach Gale.”

Great. I wasn’t on myself. Had no illusions that Chris couldn’t keep his hands off me. It was my own reaction I was worried about, and I certainly wasn’t going to admit that. So, at the insistent tugging, I let Chris draw me back, down over his chest. Until the back of my head rested on his shoulder.

Was that his heart (or mine) thumping through my shoulder blades? His hands left my waist to reach for Gale. As he pulled her up, chest muscles bunched beneath me. I wish I could say, ‘taking my breath away.’ The fact was, my breath was coming in quick and short bursts that had to be telling.

Go away, Caroline Mewlin. I do not fancy Chris.

I mean, when I looked at him, I did not go sludgy at the knees. Like I did with Jack. No, this thing only happened on close contact. And it had sort of grown, from nothing, absolutely nothing, building like a tornado. Oh yes, and his snog session with Clarrie had been the eye of the storm. I was so confusing possessive disorder with passion, I was totally Caroline Mewlin.

Chris lifted Gale as much as the space allowed so we could get a good look at her. Her eyeballs hung limp on their extensions and her colour was, well, colourless. A glassy void that was kind of transparent but milky.

“Is she dead?” I croaked.

“No, I think she might have powered herself down. Most machines have a cut out point during malfunction.”

Machine. Malfunction. “Oh, good.”

I knew Gale was a machine, but I still didn’t want her to die. Or melt. Or whatever machines did.

“Yeah,” said Chris, rubbing his hand up and down her tubular body, muscles sliding beneath me. “She’s gone cold again.”

“Oh, good.” I rolled my head on his shoulder to look at him. My eyes landed on his mouth and stayed there. What would it feel like? Kissing him, that is. Just putting my lips on his, maybe nibbling a little? Nothing intense. He really did have interesting lips, I decided. It would be like a—a science project, wouldn’t it?

Gosh, was it suddenly hot in here? I hoped the budgie wasn’t malfunctioning as well.

But, back to Chris’s lips. I sighed. They looked both hard and soft (how was that even possible?) and I couldn’t begin to imagine what they would feel like on mine. Clarrie could, I remembered. That thought came at me like a bucket of ice.

“Willow?” murmured Chris.

I watched his lips move, forgetting about Clarrie and buckets of ice. “Mmm?”

“You can, you know, get up now. I’ll have to see what I can do for Gale later.”

“Ah, yes, yes, of course.” I rolled my head the other way, took a micron to squeeze my eyes shut and wish myself to hell, and lurched up. Then, “Ouch” as my head hit the hood above.

A set of arms pulled me down again. “Bleeding hell, Willow, what did you do that for?”

“For fun,” I barked, responding to the anger in his voice. Honestly, it wasn’t as if I’d banged his head into the hood.

“Well, just be careful, okay?”

And no, still not sounding concerned. Just angry.

I huffed. Ripped his hands from my waist. Did some slinking manoeuvre that brought me up while keeping my head low. Then I wrapped my arms around Gale and set my chin down heavily on the top of Clarrie’s seat with another huff.

“Would someone care to share?” demanded Clarrie.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t know what to say.

Chris did. “It’s a long story.”

“If we’re going all the way to sector 4020, I’ve got time to hear it.”

“You’re better off not knowing, Clarrie, even if I had any answers.”

“Right. And if you told me, you’d have to kill me, huh?”

“No, but someone else might.”

“Fine. I don’t really need to—but Razoks, Chris? Seriously? The Razoks are a history lesson, not some black-suited baldy parading about on the rooftops.”

“Seriously,” I muttered.

“How do you know that was a Razok? Weren’t they all blasted out of the sky before they got close to earth? According to the whole freaking world, we’ve never seen a Razok. Have no idea if they’re little green men or giant purple octopuses. So how, Chris, how do you and Willow know that was a Razok?”

“I don’t know anything,” I corrected her. “Chris is the only...” I let my words drift to nothing. I didn’t think I was supposed to be explaining this.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said Chris quietly.

I wondered if Clarrie heard. She didn’t press anymore, though. Which left me feeling a little guilty. She had, after all, put herself at risk to help and what did she even know about us? Sure, we had precious few answers, but there was more to tell and Chris and I both knew it.

“We’re going down,” were the next words spoken.

I saw the red button blinking, realized that was the advance warning. Chris’s arms didn’t come around me this time. When Clarrie hit the red button to retract the hood, I saw we were still moving. Along the ground on a narrow road. A proper road, with asphalt and no horizontal conveyor belts. To the sides and front, green hills rolled on forever beneath a pale blue sky.