Clair felt light-headed, but she found the strength to stand on her own. The four of themClair, Zep, Jesse, and the woman who had pulled them from the blast sitestaggered to the nearest corner. Clair felt bruised all over, as though she had been hit by a giant fist. The woman urged them to go faster, but Zep was falling back, limping, his face contorted in pain. Blood flowed in a steady stream from his right thigh. Clair took Zeps right arm and put it over her shoulder in order to bear as much of his weight as she could.
Jesse trailed them, looking stunned. The right sleeve of his orange T-shirt was burned black. His jeans were filthy. Multiple tear tracks carved lighter lines down the dust on his face, and he kept glancing behind him as though to check the veracity of what had happened. The columns of belching black smoke left little doubt of anything.
Through her shock, Clair noticed a couple of drones swooping in from the north, smoke swirling like translucent wings around them as the woman hurried Clair and the others down another side street. The effects of the blast were minimal there, just a light rain of ash settling on the roofs and grass. People were issuing from their houses in ones and twos, some of them heading to the blast scene, most standing about uneasily, uncertain of what they should do. Someone offered help. The mystery woman waved them away.
The fog Clair had been operating under began to lift, and it occurred to her to wonder what was going on.
Wait, she said. Her voice echoed in her ears as though it came from the bottom of a very deep well. Who are you? Where are you taking us?
Im a friend of Jesses, the woman said. We have to get off the streets.
Why? asked Zep through gritted teeth.
Youre injured, for one.
Jesse didnt say anything. He didnt seem to be hearing or seeing anything at all.
What happened back there? Clair pressed. Who did this?
Later. Come on.
She pulled Jesse up the path to a simple single-story house behind a stand of drooping palms. Clair, unsure of her options, followed. Blood continued to flow from the wound on Zeps leg, and even through the ringing in her ears she could hear him gasp with every step. Whoever she was, the woman leading them seemed to know what she was doing.
The door opened before they reached it, and two men urged Clair and her bedraggled entourage inside.
Get that door shut, said the woman to the smaller of the two men, who was wiry, flat faced, bald, with ears like jug handles. Go on in, you three.
Did anyone see you? The second man followed them up the hallway. He was long and overstrung like a fencing wire, a head taller than Zep.
Just drones, and they were focused on the house. We got past them okay.
Clair wondered why that was necessary. Any disturbances the drones spotted drew PKs to the scene like red blood cells to a cutand that was a good thing, right?
They entered a boxy sitting room, lit only by what natural light came through the loose-shuttered windows. The walls were uniformly cream-colored, the floors carpeted in flecked gray. The woman led Zep to a low couch, and he fell awkwardly onto it, crying out with pain.
Easy, she said, crouching down to inspect the source of the blood. A small cross swung from a silver chain around her neck, and she tucked it down into her sweater, out of the way. Youve taken some shrapnel, but it cant be too serious or you wouldnt be here to complain. Jesse?
Jesse was still in shock, staring at nothing in the real world.
Jesse, listen to me.
The bark of command in the womans voice snapped him out of it. Gemma?
What were you doing back there? Youre supposed to be at school.
We came . . . we came to talk to . . . He stopped, Adams apple bobbing. Dad stirred up something serious this time.
He did. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldnt listen. Her uneven eyes were watching Clair. Youre the girl from the video.
And youre Abstainers, Clair said, beginning to piece it together. Like Jesse.
Congratulations. Jesse had called the woman Gemma. You win a prize. How about you tell me what youre doing here?
She wanted to ask Dad about the data, Jesse said. Where he got it from . . . what it means . . . if its real.
Of course its real, Gemma said. You really know someone whos had a problem with Improvement?
Maybe, said Clair. My best friend.
Zep groaned again. Gemma had found a rip in Zeps track pants and torn it wider. His leg was slick with red. Something was sticking out of his thigh. Something metal, like a shuriken. Gemma wiped the blood away, revealing one of the metal cogs from Dylan Linwoods workshop.
Jesse turned even paler under the ash and grime.
All right, Gemma said. Jesse, take her to see Dancer, in back. I need to deal with this. Ray. The tall man looked up. Get me the med kit. Watch the door. Tell me if anyone comes.
20
THE TWO MEN jumped at Gemmas command. Clair did too, because it was only beginning to sink in that they had just seen someone die. Dylan Linwood had been standing in front of her one second, gone the next. How was that possible?
Jesse took her arm and guided her through the house. After the sitting room was a flight of stairs leading down to a cellar shrouded in gloom. There was an old-fashioned wall telephone anchored to one wall, then a dining room and a Stainer kitchen, complete with stovetop and sink and cupboards for preparing the ingredients that would become actual food. The air smelled stale, though.
In here, called a voice from the kitchen. Come clean yourself up and let me take a look at you.
Silhouetted against the rear window was a figure in an electric wheelchair. A woman in her seventies with a halo of gray hair, spine straight not slumped, wearing a comfortable pantsuit in peach. Her hands were long boned and thickly veined, and her nails neatly trimmed. She was watching them with keen attention.
Aunt Arabelle? said Jesse in a cracked voice.
She nodded. Wash your hands in the sink. Theres a towel for your faces. Then come and sit with me.
Jesse nodded and used the tap first. While she waited, Clair felt the bright gaze of the old woman studying her closely.
Are you Dancer? Clair asked.
Thats what they call me, the woman said. My real name is Arabelle. Are you a friend of Jesses?
Uh . . . kind of. Im Clair, Clair Hill. I dont think Zep and I are supposed to be here.
None of us are, Clair. Wash up and Ill explain.
It was Clairs turn to use the tap, and she felt relief that the womans gaze was temporarily off her. Her hands shook as she splashed cold water onto her face. In her mind she saw the fireball over and over again, Dylan Linwoods compact figure vanishing into it, lifted momentarily off his feet as though about to take flight.
He hadnt even had time to look surprised.
She leaned her elbows on the sink and let the trembling spread from her hands, up her arms, and into the rest of her body. It was okay to feel shock, she told herself. No one was hurrying her anymore. She could take all the time in the world if it made her feel better.
It did.
When the shakes passed and she was done with the towel, she found Jesse kneeling and weeping into the old womans shoulder. ArabelleAunt ArabelleDancer . . . Clair hadnt decided yet how to think of her . . . Arabelle put an arm around him and patted his back.
Shhh, she said softly, as though to a child. I know what happened, and Im very sorry. We all are, Jesse. You have to be brave. Those psychopaths in VIA have been up to no good again.
VIA blew up Dylan Linwood? asked Clair in disbelief. Who says it wasnt an accident?
I do. Gently but firmly, Arabelle pushed Jesse from her. Take off my shoes, dear boy. She needs to understand what shes gotten herself into.
I havent gotten myself into anything, Clair wanted to say. Then she wondered if that was entirely true. It had all started with Zep and Libby and led via Improvement to Dylan Linwoods door. Maybe she could have walked away, but she hadnt. And here she was, watching Jesse crouch down, tug the old womans traditional paraplegic blanket aside, and expose a pair of brown slip-ons.
Jesse pulled the left one off first, revealing a thin but perfectly ordinary foot. The right shoe was next.
When he had finished, he sat back and stared resentfully at Clair, as though daring her to argue with what she saw.
Clair saw a thin but perfectly ordinary left foot. A second one. She clenched her fists to stop them shaking again.
I wasnt born with two left feet, believe me, said Arabelle. In fact, I used to be a very good dancer. But I cant walk on it now, thanks to d-mat. The entire leg is out, and my hip, too. I tell myself Im lucky a blood clot didnt kill me the very moment it happened. But I dont feel lucky. I feel trapped and ignored by a system that doesnt like to acknowledge its failures. It prefers to sweep them under the rug like they never existed. Well, Clair, some of us wont be swept away so easily. Jesses father wasnt one of them, God take his precious soul. None of us will be.
WHOLE, said Clair again, feeling as though she had fallen down Alices rabbit hole and landed in a nest of vipers. Thats who you are. Youre terrorists.
Jesse, you can put my shoes back on. My toes are getting cold.
Jesse wiped his nose on his sleeve, smudging his face with ash anew. Clair was relieved when the feet were hidden. They made her feel queasynot in a getting-sick way, but as though the world had just shifted underneath her in a subtle and utterly disconcerting way.
Gemma came into the kitchen to wash her hands. Her curly hair was full of scraps of plaster and plants, like urban camouflage. Tiny drops of blood matted the front of her shirt.
Your boyfriend will be all right, she said. Just a scratch.
Hes not my boyfriend, said Clair emphatically. Why are we here and not in a hospital?
Were avoiding the peacekeepers.
Why?
Theyre nothing but glorified security guards in the service of the OneEarth government. And what does OneEarth rely on to keep the peace? D-mat. If you think theyll have our best interests at heart, youre living in a dream.
You think VIA killed Jesses dad because he said bad things about d-mat? Clair said. That doesnt make any sense. He was paranoid but he wasnt dangerous.
Youre not the only one who thinks were terrorists, said Arabelle. That gives the PKs carte blanche to do whatever they like to us.
Clair refused to let the matter go just because someone told her to.
So what happens now? Do you expect me and Zep to hide in here with you?
It makes sense to sit tight until the cleanups over, Gemma said in a businesslike fashion, as though people being blown up was all in a days work. When we can, well move out in ones and twos. Hopefully, therell be no reprisals.
Arabelle leaned forward and touched Clair lightly on the shoulder. You go see to your friend. I need to talk with Gemma alone. Jesse, dont worry. Youll be looked after, I promise. We wont abandon you.
He nodded and walked like a robot out of the kitchen. Clair hesitated, then followed. The way the two women from WHOLE were looking at her, it was clear they wanted her gone so she wouldnt overhear. Zombie girl, she thought. They obviously werent telling her the entire truth, but that look was hard to contend with.
21
CLAIR AND JESSE walked back through the dining room, past the stairs and the old telephone, into the living room. Zep was sprawled uncomfortably on the couch with his legs stretched out before him. His right thigh was bandaged tightly. There was blood all over what remained of his pants. He was staring at the man with the big ears, who stood in a corner of the room, watching him back. There was no sign of the taller man. They both looked up as Jesse and Clair entered.
I was beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back, Zep said. He looked wan and weak.
Whoever Gemma is, she says youll be okay, said Clair, coming to sit at his side. Not my boyfriend. How are you feeling?
Ill be a lot better when the painkillers kick in. He sketched a rough smile. Now Im wishing Libbys drugs hadnt worn off so fast.
Clair didnt laugh. Neither did Jesse. He collapsed into a chair and retreated into himself, as though he hoped everything would disappear if he ignored it hard enough.
Clair turned to the man with the big ears. Her hands were shaking again, and her mouth was desperately dry.
I could really use a drink, she said. We all could. Is that possible?
Sure, Big-Ears said, but not before glancing up the hallway to the front of the house. Clair knew then that his tall companion was watching the front door. Was he a sentry or a jailer?
Big-Ears headed into the back of the house. His feet beat a tattoo down the stairs to the lower floor.
Have you tried your lenses? Zep whispered when they were alone. Mine are dead, and every time I access the Air, I get an error message.
Clair discovered that she had the same problem. Every field of view was clear of patches, even from the creepy q. Shed lost access to her family and friends, her blogs and grabs, her media and shows, her wardrobe and meals. Every pattern she had ever saved was cut off from her. Her whole life. God, her books! Her Tilly Kozlova recordings! She had never once been deliberately disconnected from them.
Jesse spoke from deep in his funk. The house is a big Faraday shield.
Which means what? Zep prompted.
Nothing electromagnetic can get in or out. No one can spy on what goes on in here. I think were in some kind of safe house.
Safe from who? asked Clair. Have these guys done something we should be concerned about?
If youre in WHOLE, youre automatically on the PKs watch list, said Jesse.
Yes, but were not in WHOLE. Why are we hiding?
Theyre WHOLE? Zep asked, eyes wide.
Big-Ears came back with bottles of water for the four of them, and a fifth for Ray, who appeared from the front of the house to give a status report.
Drones still flying, Ray said. The fires out, though. So thats something.
My father is dead, said Jesse. Thats something.
There was a moments awkward silence.
An image struck Clair out of nowhere, perhaps inspired by Arabelles crippled feet. It was from a cheap-scare story Clair had been told when she was younger, about a girl whod gone into a booth but not arrived at her destination. Her pattern had gotten hung up in the back end of a file system and wasnt discovered until someone stumbled across it during a routine cleanup twenty-five years later. VIA brought her back perfectly well and whole, but by then her parents had died and all her friends had young families of their own. The girl found herself in an entirely new world, cut off from her life like a time traveler. So the story went.
Clair was beginning to feel that way. This shadow world of broken families, sabotage, and conspiracy wasnt the world she wanted to live in. It wasnt even supposed to exist. The world she knew had regulations and AIs to make sure of that. Billions of people traveled by d-mat every day without evidence of harm. Arabelles feet were horrible to look at, and it made Clair shudder now to think of them, but they werent evidence of anything, really. Maybe she had been conceived near one of the old radioactive waste dumps before they were cleaned out. Maybe the feet were fakes.
WHOLE was the one with the track record of social disruption and violence, not VIA. And now weve seen their faces, added the part of Clair that enjoyed too many bad horror movies.
But it didnt make sense. Why would WHOLE blow up Dylan Linwood when he had gone to such efforts to expose Improvement? If anything he had said was true, it actually made more sense, crazy though it seemed, that VIA might have been behind his death.
Clair wasnt willing to go that far. She had enough to trouble her as it was. If improvement was hurting people, and someone was trying to cover it up . . . and if Dylan had been targeted by this someone because of his stunt . . . why hadnt Clair been too?
The question rocked her. Dylan Linwood might have masterminded the stunt in the principals office, but she had been part of it as well. She had been asking questions. Was there a bomb waiting at her house too?
Not since childhood had she felt such an intense yearning to see her parents. It was like an adrenaline hit times ten.
She drank heavily from the bottle and swished the water around her mouth to get rid of the taste of vomit and ash. Ray resumed his watch at the front door. No one seemed in a hurry to go anywhere, except Clair.
She wanted to find out more about Improvement, but that wasnt worth anyone else getting killed or hurt. Looking after herself and Zep had to be her first priority now. She would decide what happened to them, not Gemma and Arabelle.
How are you feeling, Zep? she asked. Up for a walk?
I cant feel my leg at all now, so I guess thats a yes.
Good. She stood up and held out her hand.
About time, he said.
22
YOURE LEAVING? ASKED Jesse, blinking at her in surprise.
Come if you want to, said Zep. But were not sticking around any longer. Youre not going to stop us, are you?
Big-Ears looked up at Zep, who was easily a foot taller and wider than him.
Uh . . . wait.
Clair and Zep were already on their way to the front door, where Ray barred their way with his arms outspread.
Come on, said Zep. Youre not doing your reputation any favors.
We are the good guys. You dont want to meet the bad guys.
From behind them, deeper in the house, came a shrill, electric tone. Ray turned to stare up the hallway, eyebrows bunching in puzzlement.
Its too early, he said.
Clair understood. That sound came from a telephone. The antique landline she had seen earlier was probably the only way to get signals in and out of the Faraday shield.
But that wasnt her concern. While Ray was distracted, she ducked under his arm and lunged for the door. It opened smoothly.
Hey
Zep pushed him to one side and followed Clair out into the light. The smoke-dimmed sun was bright. Daylight hues stirred in her lenses: greens, blues, and whites. Patches winked and flashed as she reconnected to the Air. Out of the Faraday cage, into the fire.
Which way? asked Zep.
We came from the left, she said, leading him up the path and onto the street. Ray didnt follow, and neither did Gemma and Big-Ears, who had joined him. Jesse craned past all of them, curious or concerned enough to come see what was going on.
Youre making a mistake, Gemma called.
I really dont think so, Clair said.
Gemma stayed just inside the door, where the sun barely touched her, and where, presumably, there was no possibility of a drone seeing her. There was a pistol in her hand, held close to her chest. It wasnt pointed at Clair, but there was no mistaking its meaning.
Its just a bluff, Clair told herself, even as she wondered why Gemma needed to bluff. What did it matter to WHOLE if she and Zep left right then?
Lets split up, said Zep. Ill go that way.
Clair!
She hesitated. That was Jesses voice.
The phone call was for you! he shouted.
So take a message!
Zep was already limping away from her, raising his middle finger to Gemma as he went.
Gemma raised the gun. She didnt fire, but now Jesse had seen it. He stared at the gun in shock and horror, which reassured Clair that Gemma had to be bluffing. The gun was out of character, or at least something Jesse had never seen before.
Go after them, said Gemma to Ray and Big-Ears. Dont let them do something stupid.
Clair ran. Away from WHOLE and away from Zep.
The nearest corner was three houses away. She reached it in seconds and turned hard, skidding on the ash-slippery pavement.
Something whined in the sky far above. Clair glanced up and saw an eye-in-the-sky drone hanging in the air above her. Drones ran on crowd sourcing, directed from place to place by community service volunteers who tapped into EITS feeds as the whim took them. Events of interest, criminal or not, drew in watchers until a threshold was reached and peacekeepers were summoned.
Clair waved her hands above her head to attract the attention of the drone. It noticed her but didnt raise any audible alarms. Someone running along a straight road was much less interesting than the fire burning a couple of blocks over. Lots of people waved at drones.
Clair turned right instead of left on Jesses street and ran away from the smoldering wreckage as quickly as she could. Her second sprint for the day was taking its toll, thanks in part to all the soot in her lungs. She threw a quick glance over her shoulder to check if anyone was following her and saw Big-Ears take the corner behind her, head down, eyes glaring under furious brows at her.
Why? she asked herself, even as she somehow found the energy for a new burst of speed.
There was a peacekeeper patch in her infield. Her parents had insisted she install it, but she had never had to use it before. She winked on it now and was put straight through to an operator.
Hello, Clair, said a broad-faced woman with short blond hair, identified as PK Anastas. How can I assist you?
Im being chased, she said.
Have you been physically threatened? I can send a Rapid Response team if you feel you are in immediate danger.
Just tell me how to get away from him.
May I access your location?
Yes, of course.
The woman examined the information scrolling down her lenses.
You are approaching a d-mat station, Clair. Any destination you choose will be untraceable.
Clair knew that. She also knew that Big-Ears wouldnt follow even if he did know where she was going, since using d-mat wasnt an option for him or any Abstainer.
She pushed people out of her way and threw herself bodily into the first open booth. There she turned, put her back against the mirrored wall, and saw Big-Ears just four yards behind her. He was shouting somethinga warning, perhapsbut she couldnt tell if it was intended for her or the crowd of people milling in his way.
Home! she ordered the booth.
The door hissed shut on Big-Ears scarlet face.
Clair slumped forward against the mirrored surface, forehead-to-forehead with her own reflection. She looked awful, a mad thing running wild in the ordinary world. She barely recognized herself.
The sound of her breathing was loud in the booth. Big-Ears couldnt follow her now. The only way he could get to her was by physically crossing the continent from California to Maine, and without d-mat, that could take days.
sssssss
Her lenses lit up with another emergency flash, exactly the same as the one her mysterious caller had sent her at school.
pop.
The flash was still there when she arrived, and so was the window to PK Anastas, which she closed now that she was safe in the gloom of her Maine apartment block. Cool East Coast air was a blessing against her overheated skin. She was almost home.
Clair walked up the familiar corridor, with its wood-paneled walls and hideous green carpet, finally able to bump Zep as she went. Hopefully he had made it to a booth as well.
A second emergency flash joined the first, then another, and another, until her entire vision was strobing so violently, she could barely see.
She stopped and put her hand against the nearest wall to steady herself.
From somewhere nearby came the sound of raised voices.
More flashes. She clicked on the qqqqq link accompanying them. It was either that or stand where she was, blind, until they went away.
Leave me alone, she said, or Im calling the peacekeepers again.
That is an excellent idea, said the young-sounding voice. There is a man in your apartment holding your parents hostage. I believe he intends to do them harm.
What?
I said, there is a man in your apartment holding
I heard you the first time. Are you serious?
I would not lie about such a thing, Clair. I want you to trust me. I am providing you with a reason to trust me.
A cold feeling swept through her. What new trick was this? You leave my family alone, whoever you are.
It is not I who threaten them. That responsibility falls on the man WHOLE is trying to kill. I believe it is his intention to harm you in turn.
Okay, Im calling the peacekeepers.
Please do. And do not enter your home until they arrive. It is far too dangerous.
Clairs lenses cleared. She hit the peacekeeper patch again, even as she approached the door to her apartment. The sound of raised voices was getting louder. Someone was shouting over a babble of protest.
Hello, Clair, said another peacekeeper, a man. How can we assist you this time?
Hang on, she said.
She was close enough to the door to her apartment to hear what the voices inside were saying. The Thanksgiving wreath she had made in junior school was still hanging under the peephole, looking dustier than ever.
I said call her. Tell her to come home now and make her listen to you. If she doesnt, there will be consequences.
Dont hurt her . . . please dont hurt her.
Clair stiffened at the sound of her mothers voice. Her heart swelled up inside her, threatening to burst inside her chest like the bomb that had killed Dylan Linwood.
Weve been nagging her all day. That was Oz, her stepfather. What makes you think shell answer us now?
There was the sound of flesh hitting flesh.
You figure it out.
Clairs fingernails dug into her palms as she fought a powerful urge to burst in and hurl herself at the man in her apartment, armed with nothing but teeth and nails. The voice behind the emergency patch was right. That would be the action of someone with a death wish.
She backed up a step, feeling shaky in the knees, and spoke silently to the peacekeeper.
I need a . . . What had PK Anastas called it? . . . a Rapid Response team at my home in Maine. Quickly!
What is the situation, Clair?
My parents are in trouble. Theyre being threatened. Send someone, now!
All right, Clair, said the peacekeeper. Well have a team there shortly. Keep this window open and dont go anywhere.
Behind her, the door to the d-mat booth slid shut.
A new bump flashed in her lenses: it was a nag from her stepfather, flagged as urgent.
Clair highlighted the bump and without reading it sent him a quick message.
Stall. Helps coming.
!! he shot back immediately. Stay away! Not safe!
The apartment went quiet. Even her mother was silent. Clair held her breath, wondering what had changed.
When the voice of the man in the apartment came again, she was struck by a feeling of impossible recognition. She couldnt know who he was. No one in her world was capable of something like this.
The man WHOLE is trying to kill, as the mysterious q voice had called him, spoke in response to something only he could hear.
What? he said. Shes here? Now?
Clair backed away from the door. He couldnt be talking about her, could he?