I stare at Miesha. Even Dot has looked up from her lap.
The land pirate looks amused. "And why would I be giving away my valuable services so cheap to the likes of--"
"Karden Sanders. That's why. He was my husband."
I haven't a clue what is going on or who this person is that Miesha seems to have become, but the snarl on the land pirate's face has disappeared and is replaced by a blank stare as he appears to take in every detail of her appearance. His gaze lingers on her arms, and for once, Miesha doesn't move to hide her scars.
He finally turns to me. "We have a truck out back. You pay for the fuel and our lunch, and we'll call it even."
Chapter 33
We huddle in the back of the flatbed truck with a plastic tarp thrown over us. Miesha has shut me out, refusing to elaborate on Karden Sanders or the land pirate's change of heart.
"This is insanity," I whisper, incensed that she's pulled a card like this but then won't share it. "Insanity!"
"But it's my insanity, and all you need to know is it bailed you out."
Miesha is mixed up with something bad--maybe illegal--and that means I am too. That makes it my business. I fume in silence while we eat the sandwiches that we got to go. The tuna is greasy, and the bread is stale. At least the moody Greta at Gatsbro's estate could cook. Right now I think Dot is lucky that she doesn't eat. Even she is silent. Mostly. "I'm an Escapee. An Escapee. Just like you." Besides the occasional chanting of her new status, she concentrates on keeping her balance so she won't slide across the bed of the truck when our driver takes sharp turns. The land pirate and his friends hooted when they saw the rest of Dot beneath her canvas blanket. Contraband, they called her. Stolen Bots bring high prices and stiff sentences. Even land pirates don't mess with them. We're quite the trio, illegal on every level imaginable. At least I assume Miesha has some criminal past--and maybe a present one too.
I finish my sandwich and give Miesha one last glaring look before I close my eyes and try to block it all out. How did I get here? Hiding in the back of a land pirate's truck with fabricated but very cracked ribs, a stolen Bot on one side of me, a likely criminal on the other, and more than two centuries and a dozen lifetimes from who I was? Does any part of the Locke I was even exist anymore?
A familiar ache sneaks inside of me and fills the space where real things used to be. Real things like my parents, my sister, even my brother. My aunts and uncles and their potluck dishes. My dad's voice telling me not to be too late as I walked out the door.
His voice. It was the last thing I heard.
Don't leave us, Locke. Please don't leave us. But I did.
There was a time when all I wanted was for my life to be different, and now all I want is for it to be what it was. I might as well be wishing for a time machine. It's all gone. My home. My family. My whole neighborhood. Even the small stone bridge a few blocks from my house that I thought would last forever. It was one of my favorite places to be by myself, and when I met Kara and Jenna, I shared it with them. We used to dangle our legs from its lower trestle while we spouted great thoughts that would change the world.
Kara and Jenna. Our thoughts. My thoughts.
At least I still have those.
Chapter 34
I squeezed her neck. At least a thousand times. I put her out of her misery. In the long dark hallways, I found a myriad of ways to do the deed because she begged me to and because I had nothing but time. And then later, in my dreams, after Gatsbro had given me a body, when I had real hands, blood, and anger, the face I saw changed. It was no longer Kara. It was Jenna. I killed her over and over, my hands around her throat, squeezing, feeling the life ebb from her. Slowly. And with each weakened heartbeat, I became stronger, until I finally snapped her neck and ended it. I did it because she was silent. I thought she was punishing me, and I wanted to punish her back. Or maybe I just wanted to punish someone. Anyone. Someone had to pay.
I would wake in a sweat and see Kara sitting at the side of my bed. Smiling.
"It's all right, Locke. I'm here."
I reached out and held her, ashamed. Did she know?
"It was only a dream," she would coo in my ear.
Only a nightmare.
I showered, trying to wash away my thoughts, the blood on my hands, and the memory of satisfaction. This is not me. And when I was finished, Kara would be waiting for me, still smiling.
Chapter 35
"We're never going to pull this off."
"We have so far," I tell Miesha. "Just keep walking. We look like everyone else."
We stopped at a booth just outside the station, and Miesha purchased a white shawl to cover the back of Dot's cart and a blue blanket to replace the dirty canvas tarp that covered her stump and missing legs. The rusty cart can almost pass for an assistance chair if no one looks too closely. "I've never been inside a train station," Dot says. "Only as far as the drop-off. It's beautiful." She points out every detail, from the moving walkways, to the souvenir kiosks, to the glass ceilings, to the holographic entertainment for bored travelers. Miesha keeps shushing her and shoving Dot's pointing finger back into her lap. If I weren't so focused on trying to fit in, I would be pointing and marveling too.
I watch other travelers who wave away V-ads that hover in front of their faces and I try to do the same with an annoyed look rather than an amazed one. Bots are in abundance--Bots with legs--and Dot's head turns to look at each one, but she doesn't point. Some seem to be owned by wealthy individual travelers. Even the wealthy do not fly anymore. Air travel must be applied for months in advance and is often denied. Sweepers, Bot-manned cargo transports, and military get priority airspace.