The Fox Inheritance (8 page)

My mind races. What did Dot say, the migration something? I try to sound angry. "We're from the Office of Migration Security." They stop advancing and begin laughing among themselves. Everything I say seems to amuse them.

"And we're in a
hurry
." Kara takes several steps in front of me. "If you move your skinny butts down that embankment right now and save us the trouble of frying and hauling you, we'll call it a day. I'll count to three. One..." She moves her hand to her side where the broken branch is bulging beneath her shirt.

The pirates look from one to another. The leader in the middle puts his hands up in a stopping motion and smiles. "Now, let's not be hasty. All we's wanting is a little grub, mates, for--"

"
Two..."

The short one on the end yells and stumbles backward, and they all scramble. They race down the embankment, two of them tripping and rolling most of the way down, their thin black coats flapping like broken wings. They disappear into the cover of the forest.

"Run!" Kara says. And we do. We don't know how long it will be before they regroup and realize they've been duped.

One mile. Two. Our breaths quickly become uneven and hoarse. We are not used to running distances, but Kara and I keep pace with each other and never slow to look back.

Chapter 18

The alley is putrid. Water trickles somewhere in the dark. Our footsteps echo on the cobblestones. The only other sound is the occasional rustle of something behind the mounds of trash that are piled against the black buildings on either side of us. The street beneath us glistens with broken slivers of moon. It's the only light we have. As we pass dark doorways and windows, I sense that we're being watched.

Neither Kara nor I speak. This is not the kind of place to draw attention to yourself. Even Kara, who has never been near a neighborhood like this, seems to know that. Where has Dot sent us? Is this a trap? Maybe there's a bounty for Escapees like us? Dot's directions said to go to the end of the alley and wait, but ahead of us is a dead end. No escape. It was still light out when she gave us directions. Following them in the dark is an act of sheer will. We reach the back wall of the alley, and I squeeze Kara's hand. We face stacks of old boxes overflowing with more trash.

"Where is she?" I whisper.

"Where are
we
?" Kara whispers back.

I wish I knew.

We hear a sound, the swishing clap of tires over wet stones. It grows louder, and suddenly blinding lights turn a corner and come at us. Kara and I both frantically look around, searching for escape, pulling on boxes that tumble down around us, rats the size of cats squealing for cover. The lights zoom down on us, then just a few feet away screech to a halt. Kara and I are frozen in the beams. The lights go dead, and I hear a voice. "Escapees! You made it!"

Kara lets out a rumbling angry breath. My knees go weak. This body that Gatsbro gave me is too much like my old one. "Yes, Dot," I say. "We made it."

She calls us over and begins to give us further instructions. We are to go down some steps that are hidden by a Dumpster. Her Network is down there, in the labyrinth of abandoned basements below. They are expecting us. They are trolling for IDs tonight and we will have them by morning. Don't ask questions. Just do what they say. They will give us something to eat and a place to sleep since they know Eaters and Breathers cannot manage long without these things. She will wait for us and take us where we want to go in the morning.

"Go," she says. "They're waiting."

Kara grabs me by the arm to go, but I lean back toward Dot. "What about you?" I ask. "You're going to stay out here with the rats?"

She briefly looks down at where her lap should be, her torso firmly attached to a console. The answer is obvious even before she tells me. "Yes," she says. "I'll be staying right here."

I hesitate.
She's only a Bot
.

"Let's go," Kara says, tugging on my arm. "I'm starving."

I nod at Dot. I am not sure what my nod even means. It is a placeholder for all the things I don't know how to say.

Chapter 19

If I thought walking down a dead-end alley was a huge mistake in judgment, walking down dark abandoned basement stairs is complete lunacy. We hold on to sticky walls to find our way, since not even slivers of moon will venture into this particular corner of hell. When the last glimmer of outside light disappears, my breaths freeze in my chest.

I stop. I can't move forward.

The darkness is as thick as cement.

The panic inside me fights with reason.
We're not there.
Kara walks behind me, her nails digging into my arm.

Never show your weakness again.

I concentrate. We need help, and these people can give it to us. I strain to see anything at all.
Focus
. I feel a rush somewhere behind my eyes, a dull ache, but then suddenly, the blackness takes form. Dark red edges, a wall, a landing. A door. Stale air enters my lungs at last. I draw on every last bit of reflected light in the stairwell. Maybe Gatsbro was at least right about one thing. If I focus, maybe I'll surprise myself. Or maybe this body is learning new tricks, just like a dog. Sit up. Fetch. See in the dark.

"We're almost there," I whisper.

"How do you know?" Kara asks. "I can't see anything."

"My eyes are adjusting. There's a door ahead."

We reach the landing, and I push on the handle. The door opens easily, and a rush of light hits us. It is a dim orange glow, but against the dark it seems bright.

"Come in. We've been waiting for you."

Three people inhabit the room. At least I think they're people. In adjacent hallways and rooms we see more people, all busy with something. The large man in the center of the room takes charge of us and guides us down a long, poorly lit hallway. He is definitely human. His face is slashed with a deep scar from his temple to the corner of his mouth, and he walks with a marked limp. He leads us to a small, windowless room with a single cot in the corner. The only light is what spills in from the hallway.

"Probably not what you're used to, but it's only for one night. We don't take repeats, you understand? You either make it or you don't."

"Repeats? We don't know what--"

"And we don't take questions."

I nod.

Kara meets his somber stare and smiles. "Thank you. This will do just fine, Mr....?"

"For your purposes, F is enough."

I mumble a thank-you too.

Before he turns to leave, he adds, "Don't come out. Don't wander around. Stay here until we come and get you in the morning. There's food in the corner."

I peer into the dark cavern. "Is there any light so we can see?"

He sighs and shakes his head. "Wait here." He limps down the hallway to another room and returns with a broken jar that holds the melted remnants of a candle in the bottom. "This should last you a few hours." He lights the wick and hands me the jar.

We enter the room and close the door behind us. Kara grunts. "The
F
must stand for Friendly."

I set the candle on a small overturned crate. The walls flicker with its faint light. Kara kicks at a piece of trash on the floor, her nose wrinkled. She crosses to the cot, lifts one corner of a blanket with two fingers to inspect what might be hidden beneath, and then lets it drop.

She turns to look at me and shrugs. "Not the Ritz, is it?" she says.

I lean against the door behind me. I don't know how she can make small talk at a time like this. "What are we going to do, Kara? What's our plan? This doesn't even look like the Boston we knew. It's nothing like--"

"Shh! Keep your voice down," she whispers. She walks over to the corner of the room and begins rummaging through a box of food. "Nuts. That's all they have in here. Lousy packages of nuts. And a few boxes of water." She rips open a packet and throws a handful into her mouth. "Stale nuts." She grimaces but eats them anyway.

"Kara, I don't care about the nuts! We have to--"

"Stop worrying! We're on the outskirts, Locke. That's all. The old part of Boston still has to be there. We'll be fine."

"
Fine?
Gatsbro's dead. Haven't you thought about that? We're on the run, and we're illegal. We have no money. No home. We don't know a soul on the whole planet and--"

"We know
Jenna.
"

I am caught off guard. My present fears screech to a halt against the mention of Jenna's name. Conversations with her as the topic do not go well.

I push away from the wall and pretend to adjust the candle. I can't look in her eyes when I talk about Jenna. I swirl the melting wax to the outside of the jar to increase the flame. "Yes. There's Jenna."

"We'll go and see her."

See her. Like it's just a friendly visit. Surprise, Jenna. Look who's shown up after a couple of centuries. Bet you never thought you'd run into us again.
See her?
For Kara it's about a lot more than seeing. It's about justice. I set the candle back on the crate. "Is that what this has been about all along? Jenna?"

She explodes like she was just waiting for me to ask. "
No!
" She throws the nuts in her hand against the wall and they rain to the floor. "Contrary to popular belief, everything is
not
about Jenna!" She walks over to the cot, jerks away the rumpled blanket, and sits down, crossing her arms, hugging herself, pulling everything in tight. "I used to live here too, you know? I might still have family in Boston. Something. Or there's my mother's law firm, Brown, Kirk, and Manning. They're huge. And powerful. My mom was a partner. They would help us. There has to be someone left."

With each word, her voice has grown smaller. She is looking down at her lap, probably thinking all the same things I am. There is no one. No one who cares about us. We're forgotten by everyone, including Jenna. We only have each other. I stare at her. The angry Kara is gone, and I see the Kara I love, the one who can be so strong but is still as fragile as a strand of spider silk. I see the Kara who has lost everything, just like me. My hand clenches tight. Jenna could have saved her. She
should
have found a way.

The faintest sound rolls from Kara's lips, like an injured kitten mewling, and all I want to do is hold her and make the rest of the world go away.

Chapter 20

My body molds to hers, my arm slipping around her waist, my lips brushing the back of her head. With our bodies squeezed close, the narrow cot is enough for the two of us. The light from the candle is gone. Only a thin orange glow seeps into the room from beneath the bottom of the door. We lie so close my words become hers and hers become mine.

How did this happen to us?

Why?

My hand covers hers, gently rubbing it.

I lost track of time.

There was no time.

I thought it would never end.

After centuries of waiting and wondering, we needed more time to talk than Gatsbro ever gave us. It was all about lessons and tests and how wonderful we were and never about the darkness that still lived in us.

I called out. Every minute. Every day. You were the only one who answered.

How could we hear each other? Gatsbro says it was impossible.

But we did.

We did.

Maybe the impossible is possible when you take everything else away.

When nothing is left, maybe you can reach for something that no one knew existed.

Or maybe we became something new.

Maybe we made it exist.

My words. Her words. Our words. I don't know where one begins and the other ends. I want to stay here holding her forever.

The accident was her fault.

She wasn't driving.

Her car. Her fault.

She was your best friend.

Was.

Was. I lift my hand to brush her hair from her cheek.

Why didn't she help us?

Maybe she didn't know.

We heard her. In the beginning she was there with us.

It was such a short time.

She knew. I heard her screams.

I thought she had died when she was silent.

But she left us. She left without helping us.

I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair.

What will become of us, Kara?

We'll make a life.

Together.

Together.

Together where? Kara has never lived on the streets. She went from one privileged life to another.

Do you still like poetry, Locke?

Poetry?

You never recite poetry anymore. Not once since we woke. Not like you used to. Then. Before. Did you only do it for--

Her.

My mind races. Poetry was lifetimes ago. No. I don't care about poetry. I'm a different person from that Locke. How can she even think about that now?

Locke, was it only for--

For you, Kara. Just for you....

Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace;

You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face....