UnWholly (Unwind Dystology 2)

Risa crosses her legs.

For Connor, it’s as if the air has been sucked out of the jet. He half expects oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling.

“If you think that’s bad, listen to this next part,” says Starkey, actually seeming to enjoy it.

“Risa, would you call your change of heart a matter of convenience or a matter of conscience?”

Risa takes time to craft her answer, but that doesn’t make it any less devastating. “Neither,” she says. “After all I’ve been faced with, I find I have no choice. For me, supporting unwinding is a matter of necessity.”

“Turn it off,” Connor says.

“There’s still more—you really should hear the end.”

“I said turn it off!”

Starkey reaches over and turns off the TV, and Connor feels his mind slamming shut like a fire door to keep out all the things too hot to handle—but he knows it’s too late; the fire has already leaped inside. In this moment he wishes he had been unwound a year ago. He wishes Lev hadn’t come in to save him, because then he would never have to feel what he’s feeling now.

“Why did you show me this?”

Starkey shrugs. “I thought you had a right to know. Hayden knows, but he’s been keeping it from you. I think that’s wrong and completely unfair to you. Knowing who’s your friend and who’s your enemy can only make you stronger, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Connor says absently.

Starkey grips his shoulder. “It’s okay, you’ll get over it. We’re all here to support you.” Then he leaves, his mission of enlightenment accomplished.

Connor sits for a long time without moving. Although he knows he needs to be strong enough to carry this burden, he feels so shredded inside, he doesn’t know how he can make it through the night, much less take care of hundreds of Unwinds in the days ahead. All those lofty ideas of exposing history to end unwinding implode into a single desperate thought.

Risa. Risa. Risa.

He is hobbled. How could Starkey not know how devastated he would be? Either he’s stupider than Connor thought . . . or he’s much, much smarter.

42 - Starkey

Jeeves brings Starkey a copy of the list of local unwind orders. There are only three kids on this list deemed savable, and none of them are storks. But today is the day that things change. There is a storked kid on the list, ignored and forgotten.

Jesus LaVega

287 North Brighton Lane

Well, Connor doesn’t have a monopoly on rescuing Unwinds. It’s high time Starkey took things into his own hands.

“Hey, we’re saving Jesus, instead of him saving us,” someone says when Starkey tells the Stork Club his plan. Another kid raps him on the head. “It’s pronounced Haysoos, moron.”

But regardless of how he pronounces his name, Jesus is about to get a wholly visitation.

- - -

At eleven o’clock p.m., one day before the Juvies are due to come for Jesus, Starkey and nine Stork Clubbers storm the house at 287 North Brighton Lane. They have weapons, because Starkey picked the arsenal lock. They have cars, because the kid in charge of vehicle maintenance is a loyal member of the Stork Club.

They don’t knock, they don’t ring. They break down the doors, front and back, crashing the place like a SWAT team taking down a crack house.

A woman screams and herds two younger kids to a back room. Starkey doesn’t see anyone the right age to be the target of their rescue. He goes into the living room in time to see a man pull down a curtain rod and turn to him—it’s the closest thing to a weapon the man can find on such short notice. Starkey easily disarms him and pushes him up against the wall with the muzzle of a submachine gun to his chest. “Jesus LaVega. Tell me where he is. Now!”

The father’s eyes dart back and forth in panic, then fix on something behind Starkey. Starkey turns in time to see a baseball bat swinging at him. He ducks, and the bat breezes past an inch from his head. The kid holding the bat is the size of a linebacker.

“No! Stop! You’re Jesus LaVega, right? We’re here to save you!”

But that doesn’t stop him from swinging the bat again. It connects with Starkey’s side. An explosion of pain. Starkey goes down, his weapon flies behind a sofa, and now the kid is over him, hefting the bat once more. Starkey can’t catch his breath. His side hurts so much he can only breathe shallow gulps of air.