The lead skimmer passes our position as I hear the click. And another. It’s coming from the Transit Communicator in my bag. Zeen.
Raffe turns his head. A second skimmer comes into view. The click sounds three more times. When I don’t pick up, a voice calls, “Cia, answer me.” Zeen’s frantic plea echoes in the quiet of the night. I reach into my bag to find the Communicator and shut it down. My fingers fumble with the fastener as Zeen yells, “I’m coming, but Symon is—”
I hit the Off switch.
Everything goes silent.
No. Not everything.
The hum of the skimmer engine turns to a roar. The running lights flare to life as the skimmer turns and heads across the grass, directly at us.
Chapter 17
TERROR FUELS MY feet. “Follow me,” I whisper as loud as I dare, hoping my words can be heard over the roar of the skimmers’ engines as they throttle up. These skimmers are bound to be fast and easy to maneuver. That’s almost enough to make me think our fate is sealed. Our only chance is to ride around the far side of the house and double back toward the road before they see us. If they can’t see us, they won’t know which direction to follow.
I take a standing position to gain more momentum. The sound of Raffe’s harsh, fast breathing tells me he’s not far behind. We are almost to the edge of the house when my front wheel hits something. I jolt as the bike slows to a crawl. Panic flares as Raffe zips past and around the corner. I try to push the pedals again but they won’t turn. Whatever I hit must be wedged in the gears.
Jumping off my bike, I lift it by the frame and run. Between the bulk of the bag and the weight of the bike, my movements are awkward. Engines roar somewhere behind me. I don’t think they are close—yet—but I can’t tell for sure and I don’t dare take the time to look. My feet stumble. Raffe takes the bike from me and runs to a small group of bushes. He slides the bike under it and then grabs my hand and dashes toward the front of the house.
“Dr. Barnes lives two houses down on the north side of the street. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”
I don’t have a chance to argue as he darts away. Without thinking, I run to the front of the next house and cross the street. The slap of my boots on the pavement makes me cringe. When I reach the grass on the other side, I brave a look behind me. The skimmers have not yet reached the end of the house we came around.
My heart pounds. I run as fast as I am able and drop to the ground near the wall of the house, and flatten myself against the dirt.
I keep my face lowered, hoping my dark hair will blend into the shadows. The sound of an engine comes closer. Slowly, I move my right hand. My fingers search for the side pocket of my bag and the gun I have stored there. I can feel the seam of the pocket, but I cannot slip my hand inside without shifting my entire body, giving myself away.
I hear the sound of the other skimmer. I press my cheek to the ground and squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for shouts, increased engine power, or anything that would indicate I have been spotted. My whole body quivers with the urge to run, but I force myself to stay put. The smell of rich dirt evokes memories of my father. My first memories are of the smell of earth that surrounded him when he’d come home after a day of working in his greenhouse. It’s a smell I have always associated with hope. I cling to that as I wait.
Three gunshots slash through the night. Somewhere to the left. Perhaps a few houses away. Maybe more. Did a Safety official find Raffe? Has he survived? I want to look for him, but getting myself captured or killed will not help anyone. Instead, I bite my lip, force back tears of frustration, and hold my position.
The engine closest to me roars and disappears in the direction of the gunshots. I force myself to count back from fifty in case another patrol comes by. Fifty. Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven. The seconds feel like hours. When I reach five, I lay my hands flat on the ground. Two. One.
Pushing to my knees, I blink at the darkness. There are no signs of skimmers or their running lights. Can I still hear their engines? No. My legs tremble as I climb to my feet. The pain that streaks up my leg makes my knees buckle. When I reach down to adjust the bandage, it is wet. My leg is bleeding. I consider my options. Go to the north and around the back of this structure toward Dr. Barnes’s house or see if Raffe needs my help.
There is really only one choice. Raffe could be captured or dead. All I can do is continue to follow our original plan and hope for
the best.
Slowly, I cross the grass to the back of the house. The breeze rustles the leaves on nearby trees. Somewhere in the distance I hear a dog bark. No engines. No sound of footsteps other than mine. I pass several windows as I walk but see no faces peering out.
When I reach the end of the structure, I glance around the corner, toward the street. Nothing. I quickly cross the expansive lawn between this house and the next. The one that Raffe told me belongs to Dr. Jedidiah Barnes. The house is two stories tall. A flicker of light from a second-story window tells me someone is home.
As I walk to the back door, I glance through the rear first-story windows, but it’s too dark to see within. The door is unlocked. I tighten the hold on my gun and start to push it open.
“Cia.”
I turn the barrel toward the sound of my name and squint into the darkness for the source. When I can’t make out the person running toward me, I raise my flashlight and hit the switch. After the events in the stadium, I think the risk of exposing my position is worth it.
When the beam illuminates Raffe’s face, I let out a sigh of relief and switch off the light. “Are you okay?” I ask when he reaches my side. “I heard gunshots and thought you’d been killed.”
“I used to play with some of the kids in this neighborhood,” he whispers near my ear. “There are old water ducts at the end of the block. They’re not easy to find if you don’t know where to look. I fired a couple of shots to draw the Safety officials in my direction and then went into one of the ducts and crawled until I came out on the other side of the block, which is harder to do now than when I was smaller. Are you ready?”
Am I? Could I ever be ready for what I now must do? “I’m ready for this to be over,” I answer.
“Then let’s go.”
Raffe pushes the door open and steps cautiously into darkness. I follow, closing the door behind me, then turn on my flashlight. We’re in a large kitchen. My light shows dark wood cabinets, white and gray countertops, and a large wooden table. There are no dishes in sight. No glasses in the sink. My mother would approve. Raffe frowns.