The Ark

LAURA LIDDELL NOLEN

HarperVoyager an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpervoyagerbooks.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2015

Copyright © Laura Liddell Nolen 2015

Jacket layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Laura Liddell Nolen asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008113629

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008113629

Version: 2015-03-02

For Will

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

One

On the last day of Earth, I couldn’t find my hairbrush. That probably seems like a silly thing to worry about, what with the imminent destruction of, well, everything, but my mom was always after me about my usual ratty ponytail. Normally, I’d ignore her. Or, if I were having a really bad day, I’d tell her what she could do with her hairbrush. But like I said, it was the last day of Earth. And I figured, since it was the last time she’d ever see me, I wanted it to go smoothly. I wanted her to remember me, if not fondly, then at least without anger.

A girl can dream.

I slipped out of my cell as soon as the door swung open. I’d done the same every day for the past month, and my family had yet to show up. Their OPT—Off-Planet Transport—took off in eighteen hours, so they still had time. Barely. I couldn’t blame them if they didn’t come. It wasn’t hard to imagine that they’d rather escape to the stars without so much as a backward glance at me, their big disappointment. Even my father’s influence couldn’t persuade the government to give me a spot on an OPT.

Turns out, when humankind is deciding which of its children to save, the last place it looks is in prison.

But I was pretty sure they’d come. West had said as much in his last transmission. The thought of my younger brother actually halted me mid-step, like one of those punches in the gut where you can’t breathe for a few seconds.

“Looking for something?” The lazy drawl floated out of the nearest cell.

Against my better instincts, I turned to see Cassa lying on her bunk, her arm draped across Kip. My Kip. Or at least, my ex-Kip. Whatever. In twenty-two hours, I wouldn’t have to think about him anymore.

See? Silver lining. And they called me a perpetual pessimist at my last psych workup.

They barely fit next to each other on the flimsy mattress, but that wasn’t the weird part. The guys’ ward was separated by a substantial metal wall. We were kept apart during evening hours, for obvious reasons. Not that anyone cared anymore. The med staff had been the first to go, followed by the cleaning crew, followed by the kitchen crew. To show you where girls like me fell on the government’s list of priorities, there was still a skeleton crew of guards lurking around, despite the fact that I hadn’t had a real meal for going on a week. The guards would be gone soon, too, and then there’d be no one in here but us chickens.

I figured either Kip had a key, or the guards had left already. A key could be useful. My curiosity got the best of me. “How’d he get in here before the first bell?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I got some tricks you ain’t seen, babe. Why don’t you join us? End of the world and all.”

The guards were gone, then. I felt a small trill of anxiety deep in my chest. If the guards were gone, my family was even less likely to show. But it was never smart to show fear. “The Pinball could be headed straight for this building, and I still wouldn’t be desperate enough to touch you. Oh, wait. Guess you don’t have to take my word for it.”

I turned to leave, but he continued. “Now is that any way to treat your dear ole partners? Be nice or I won’t give you back your stuff.”

“Ugh, you were in my room?” I flexed my shoulder blades, making sure my gun was still tightly secured between them.

“Don’t worry, Char. I didn’t handle the merchandise. Didn’t want to wake you up. Just lifted me a few keepsakes.” He pronounced my name the way I like: Char, as in charred. Something that got burned.

I wasn’t sure what Kip and Cassa were planning, but I knew I wouldn’t like it. They were thieves and liars. I would know. I used to be one of them. That was before the last job, when Cassa had attacked an elderly man in the home we were robbing. She’d kicked him until he stopped fighting back. Kip had called her off after a few licks, but I just stood there, staring. The old man looked at me, like right at me, while we made our getaway, and my stomach twisted into a knot so tight that I tasted bile. That was the moment I knew I wanted out.

But by then, no one believed me. Or, if they did, no one cared. Except for Kip and Cassa, of course. They’d taken the news pretty hard, to put it lightly.

If I lunged for the box, I could probably grab my hairbrush and get out of there. I wouldn’t have time for more than that. Then again, I’d be doing exactly what they expected, and I didn’t have time for delays. My family could be in the commissary any second now.

“Ahem. Seeing as it’s your last day of life, I might let you have one thing back,” said Kip.

“In exchange for what?”

“I’m hurt. All our time together, and you still don’t believe in my inherent generosity. But now that you mention it, I’ve got a hankering for some peanut butter crackers.”

“Sorry, Kip. I’m fresh out of food. Kinda like everyone else.”

“Nice try, Charrr.” He drew my name out, as though tasting it. “I saw them yesterday. Figured you were hiding them under your pillow when I couldn’t find them last night.”

“You figured wrong.”

All I could think about was my brother’s face. And how I had this one last chance to apologize to my parents, for everything. I shrugged and turned to leave.

That was probably a mistake.

About five steps past Cassa’s cell, an enormous weight tackled me from behind. My chest and face hit the dirty concrete. My anxiety over my parents leveled up into near-panic territory. I could not afford to deal with this right now. I flipped onto my back and jerked my knee upward, and Kip let out a groan.

But Cassa was already there, standing over us. She kicked my head, and my arms and legs quit obeying me. I was vaguely aware of the dispassionate stares coming from other cells as Kip and Cassa dragged me back to their room.

“Now, now, love,” Kip murmured. “That was no way to treat your old friends.”

“She’s gone soft. Must have been distracted.” Cassa wasn’t British, but she had the intensely annoying habit of using a fake accent. Not all the time, either. Just with certain words or phrases. In my opinion, that made it even worse. It was probably an attempt to impress Kip. Or to prove to everyone she spent a lot of time with him.

They propped me up against the wall, and Kip began tying my wrists with a twisted black cord he pulled out of nowhere.

“Screw you.”

“Is that any way for a lady to talk?” he said cheerfully, slipping his hand up my shirt. His fingers were like ice, and I winced. “Aha—found them.” He removed a packet of crackers and waggled them in front of my face. Those were going to be my last meal. I bit back a curse. Wouldn’t have made much difference in the end, anyway.

I didn’t fully panic until they tied the ends of the cord to the exposed pipe of the sink.

“Wait, no. My family’s going to be here. I have to get downstairs.”

“No one’s coming for you. And even if they were, do you really think they want to see you?”

Cassa grinned down at me. “But me and Kip, that’s a different story. We’re busting out of here.”

“Figured we’d do a bit of traveling in our twilight years. I mean, hours. See the world, that sort of thing. So we need all the supplies we can get. And no one has supplies like you,” said Kip.

Cassa spat. “And if you hadn’t rolled on us, we might be bringing you along. Think about that while you wait for the Pinball. Alone.”

I kicked at them, once, and Cassa responded by plopping down on top of my legs. Normally I’d have been able to deal with that, but nothing about today was normal, and I had to settle for growling at her. Somehow, that made me feel even more helpless. My face was abruptly hot, and I gave myself temporary permission to hold my breath. If I cried, I’d never get over it.

I didn’t breathe until I had to. Gradually, my head cleared. “Don’t tell me you’re going hunting for the Remnant. They don’t exist.”

Cassa paused, just for an instant, and Kip gave me a hard look. “She couldn’t possibly know that.”

“She’s friends with the Mole.”

Kip rolled his eyes. “He couldn’t possibly know that. He doesn’t know everything, Cass.”

“You sure about that?” I said. “He knows the way out. He wouldn’t still be here if they exist. If there were even a chance.”

Cassa bit her lip, but Kip ignored me and continued his search. He was a bit rougher than before. “Ah, what have we here? Little blade-stick-doohickey?” He pulled a makeshift knife from the leg of my pants and twisted it in his fingers. “Fair enough. Not your best work though, if I’m honest.”

“Hello, what’s this?” Cassa yanked me forward and pulled my shirt up in the back. There was a tearing pain as she ripped the duct tape off my shoulder blades. “Bingo. Char, you never disappoint.”

Kip held the gun up to my face and grinned while peeling the remainder of the tape from the barrel. It had been my finest moment. The guard I stole it from never saw it coming. I consoled myself with the thought that, in a few short hours, I would never need a gun again. The thought was a lot more comforting than it should have been. It was probably the only silver lining I would cling to, in the end. No more guns, no more eternally disappointed family members. No more pitying glances from judges or lawyers or parole boards. Or West.

“I believe our work here is done,” Cassa said. She couldn’t get away from me soon enough. “Time to make our way in the world.”

“Good luck with that,” I muttered.

They stood to leave, but Kip stopped at the door. “Here,” he said, pulling my shoebox off the bed and tossing it to the ground in front of me. “For old times’ sake.”

And then they were gone.

Two

My panic disappeared quickly. First of all, it never does any good. Years of burglarizing high-level targets taught me that. And secondly, Cassa had actually kicked me pretty hard. I leaned back, letting the cords on my wrists support some of my weight. I barely felt the pain that spread through my forearms. I closed my eyes. The harsh light from the ceiling collapsed into a crescent, then blinked away. It felt good.

But I couldn’t let myself sleep. Not yet.

The usual noise on the block was gone, replaced by an eerie, soundless vacuum. I had been on lockup for so long that I was no longer at ease with total silence.

In her haste to leave, Cassa had missed the blade in my sock. Not that I could blame her. None of us had showered in a week. My leg was heavier than it should have been, but I managed to kick it up toward my mouth. I bit down on my shoelaces and yanked the knot out, then kicked off my shoe.

The blade itself was trickier, and it was several minutes before I had it between my teeth. From there, cutting the cords was nothing. I pulled on my shoe, leaving it untied, and took off for the commissary.

The only thought in my mind was West. West would come for me. He would smile for me, and it would be a sad smile, but it would belong to me. And I would tell him that he had deserved a better sister, and that I had always been proud that he hadn’t turned out like me. And that I would never forget him.

And he would say that he would never forget me, either, and I would know that I wouldn’t be forgotten. That I hadn’t already been forgotten.

I threw open the door to the commissary and was greeted by a total rager. People jumping on tables, singing, laughing, sobbing. The air was sour with the smell of liquor, which some kind benefactor must have brought in for our final hours. This was no place for my little brother.

My parents must have had the same thought.

When I finally saw them, huddled in a corner, backs pressed against the wall, they were alone in a sea of dirty prison scrubs. West was nowhere to be found. My father had his arm around my mother, but I could tell they had been fighting. Her arm was clenched across her chest, and her face had that blankly pleasant expression she used in public when something was wrong.

My tongue grew thick as I pressed my way through the crowd. When I was close enough to my parents to touch them, my mother cringed, and my father tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her hard against him.

I cleared my throat and forced my tongue to move. “Mom, Dad. It’s me.”

Dad’s brows deepened, and his eyes slid away from my face to focus on a place behind me, as though his real daughter might still emerge from the crowd.

“Where’s West?” I asked.

“Your brother couldn’t be here.” My father’s voice was strange, like listening to a once-familiar recording that had grown warped with time.

“What happened to your head?” My mother’s voice was exactly as I recalled: piercing and unhappy. “You’re bleeding. Let me take a look at that.” I flinched as she reached for my face, and she echoed my reaction back to me. “I’m not going to hurt you. It’s going to get infected, the state you’re in.”

“Not if I die first.” My words had the intended effect of shutting her down, but it didn’t feel like I wanted it to. Regret and fear crowded together in my stomach, and I looked away from her. “So, why couldn’t West be here?”

“For Pete’s sake, Charlotte,” my father began, but Mom cut him off.

“His OPT had to leave.”

“You’re not all on the same one?”

“No, we are,” Dad said, and it was Mom’s turn to look away. I stared at her anyway, trying to figure out how they were all going to be together, but West wasn’t here. In this room. “It’s been hard for him,” Dad continued. I flicked my eyes up toward my father, still confused.

“Michael,” Mom whispered.

“It has. It’s been hard for all of us. She should understand that.”

“It’s just not the time.” She turned to me. “But he wrote you a note, sweetheart.”

My mother had not called me sweetheart since I had called myself Charlotte. Dumb, I stared at the torn envelope in her hands. I snapped back to my senses when I saw the attention it was getting from the rest of the room. They were definitely watching us.

My father noticed it too, and stiffened. “We can’t stay here any longer. You were ninety minutes late, anyway.”

Mom wrenched herself from my father’s grip and wrapped her arms around me. I fit my face against her collarbone, exactly like I had as a child. Her voice in my ear was no louder than the slightest whisper. “I never gave up on you. I should have told you that.” Her arms moved down my back, and her grip tightened. “I’m so sorry, Charlotte.”

Everything I had planned to tell them—everything from I never meant to hurt you to please don’t forget me— curdled into a cold wad in my chest, and died in my throat. I tried to breathe in, but I heard myself make a sound like a gasp instead. “Mom. Please don’t leave me here.”

She jerked a little, as though something had knocked against her, and I didn’t feel her breath going in or out anymore.

“Excuse me, Senator,” a voice barked. I opened my eyes to peer over my mother’s shoulder. An armed guard stood a few paces away.

My father reached around my mother, so that for the briefest instant, he was holding me, too. But then he closed his fingers around her wrists, and pulled her arms away from me. “Goodbye, Charlotte. I can’t help but feel responsible for…” he began, then stopped.

I watched them leave, feeling numb, like floating underwater, before sliding the folded paper out of its nest. It was my brother’s handwriting, but not as I remembered it. He’d be thirteen now, not seven or eight, as I always thought of him, so it took a moment to confirm that the lighter, sharper letters were his.

I’m sorry.

Yeah, I thought. Me too, kiddo. Me too.

No one stopped me on the way back to my cellblock, and I was doubly thankful to find it as empty as before. When I slipped West’s envelope into my back pocket, my fingers closed around something sharp and hard. My mom must have put it there.

I pulled the object from my pocket as soon as I was sure I was alone. It was a dark metal card with a single silver band across the top. Raised symbols covered the band, and in my stupor, I ran my thumb over them twice before I realized that they were words.

Stamped across the top of the card was the phrase “North American Off-Planet Transport—Admit One.”

Three

My whole life, I felt trapped. I hated the constant pressure to maintain the appearances that were so crucial to my parents’ lifestyle. I resented every choice they made on my behalf: stuffy uniforms at private school, mind-numbing ballroom lessons at junior cotillion, forced smiles at charity events. No matter where I was or what I was doing, I was never where I wanted to be, and nothing I did made sense, even to me. I baffled the hell out of my parents. But all I wanted was to feel some kind of freedom, some kind of escape. Escape never came.

So my first stint in juvy, at the ripe old age of twelve, was hardly a big adjustment. It was actually more like a relief.

For the first time, I was surrounded by people who didn’t care what I did with my hair or who I hung out with or where I was going, which was always the same answer: nowhere. I was a lost cause, and in here, no one questioned that or tried to change it. Once I got in the system, the only life I could ruin was my own. And everyone here was fine with that.

I knew for a fact I wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Why else did I see the same kids coming in and out of here, for so many years that we had our own holiday traditions? Heck, last year, I had a Secret Santa. I had given myself a name, and they called me by it. So don’t tell me I didn’t belong here.

Except that now, I had to get out.

Standing on the floor of my block, dwarfed by the rows of cells above and around me, I felt, for the first time, like a rat in a cage. And the cage had become a death trap.

I pressed the starpass deep down into my shoe, inside my sock, where no one could lift it off me without my knowing it, and tried to think. There were no more guards to bribe or threaten. After the meteor was discovered, and the Treaty of Phoenix was signed, everyone who enforced it, from soldiers to street cops to prison guards, was guaranteed a spot on one of the five Arks. Keep the walking dead from rioting, and you get to live. I could hardly blame them; it was a brilliant solution. How else could you get nineteen billion people to die quietly while half a million others escaped to the stars?

I didn’t exactly have a key to the outside, since like I said, getting out had never been a big priority for me. But I knew someone who might.

Isaiah Underwood was a year older than I was, but it might as well have been fifty. He was legendary in our circles, not because he was the only juvy we knew who had escaped, which he was, but because he came back. Deliberately. I vaguely remembered the day he’d gotten out—alarms, total lockdown, the usual drill. Normally the missing prisoner was just hiding someplace halfway clever, like the laundry or whatever. But when Isaiah left, we stayed in our rooms for two straight days, and they never found him. They finally had to concede defeat and let us out.

I was between stays when he came back, but I’d heard the story a hundred times. Months had passed. Someone else had been placed in his cell. Everyone on his row was at lunch, and he just strolled into the commissary like he’d been in the john the whole time. Isaiah was back, except he wasn’t. First thing you noticed was his eyes, or rather, his lack thereof. It was only when you talked to him that you realized something else was missing, too, but you couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He was more thoughtful, less happy. Older.

We called him the Mole after that.

I took off in a dead sprint, hoping no one would see me. Running was an excellent way to make trouble for yourself. The walls smeared past in a blur of blue and gray, and even the barrier to the men’s quarters didn’t slow me down. It was wide open.

The Mole was sitting on his bed with his white cane across his lap. A book lay on the blanket before him, its precise rows of dots skating underneath long, careful fingers.

“A visitor.” He smiled a white smile, and I raised my hand to greet him out of instinct.

“Hi, Mole.”

“Charlotte Turner. You want some company? It’s too late for that. They say we all die alone, but you can read my book with me until then.”

“No, I—thanks, though. I was actually here because—”

“Charlotte, baby. Have a seat. You know what book this is?”

“No.” I sat next to him on the bed. Another moment brushed past us both, too quickly.

“Pilgrim’s Progress. I reckon we all have a journey to take. My journey’s about over. You’re out of breath. Don’t want yours to end just yet?”

“That’s why I’m here. Mole, I need to get out.”

“We all want out of something.”

“Not you.”

“Even me.”

“Then help me get out of here. We can go together.”

“My prison’s made of stronger walls than these.”

I paused. “But you could help me leave mine, if you wanted to.”

He turned his face to me, as though he could still see me. “You were a beautiful child. Someone should have told you that. A small bird in a big cage. I haven’t seen you since you were thirteen.”

“Tell me the way out.”

He sighed and sagged, as though carrying something heavy. “You don’t want to go out there. Ain’t no good out there for folks like us.”

“That why you came back?”

“It’s all the same. Doesn’t matter where I go. Only difference between us and them is that they don’t know they’re broken.”

“Look, I get it. You’re angry. And it burns you, like all the time, and sometimes that’s the only thing you can feel. And you think that if you give up, if you stop fighting it, then maybe it won’t hurt anymore. You think you’ve found peace because you believe that you belong here. But what if it doesn’t have to be this way?”

He didn’t answer, so I played another card. “What if the Remnant exists?”

The Mole leaned back against the rail of the bed. Something about his easy posture made me feel exposed, as though he knew what my future held. “Even if they did, there’s nothing out there for me, Charlotte. You remember when you first got here?”

“Of course. Everyone remembers their first day in.”

“You told me you didn’t care whether your family missed you.”

“They didn’t.”

“Mine didn’t miss me, either.” His voice was so soft, I wondered if I’d imagined it.

I didn’t see what that had to do with anything. I had to get him to help me. “They say your old boss did that to you.” I waved a finger at his eyes. He couldn’t see, but he knew what I was talking about.

“Is that what they say?”

I nodded. “They say he couldn’t stand you being out of the game. So when the Treaty was announced, he blinded you. He knew you’d never get a spot on an OPT if you were disabled.”

The Mole gave a short laugh. “It wasn’t my old boss. Turns out, he didn’t miss me either.”

“Who, then?”

He was quiet for a long time. “I was young enough to enter the lottery. Did they tell you that?” He was referring to the lottery for OPT spots, which was open to “all citizens of upstanding status under the age of forty, with no physical, mental, or moral infirmities.” If you’d been convicted of a crime, you were no longer eligible, unless you were under the age of fourteen when the crime was committed.

I shrugged. “We all were. Until we weren’t.”

“My last conviction was under the age cut-off, so I didn’t lose eligibility. Even if I’d come clean about breaking out, I had a few months to spare.”

“So?”

“So, I’m trying to warn you, little bird. My boss didn’t do this to me. He had bigger fish to fry.”

“Then who did?”

He closed the book slowly and laid it on the retractable shelf near his sink. “I broke my mother’s heart. You might know something about that.”

“Surely your mom didn’t—”

“Didn’t want to deal with me in space. I reckon she would have, though. Mothers are like that. But my brother, that’s another story. He was sick of watching me hurt her.”

That took a long time to sink in. I shuddered. “Your own family.”

“They made sure I’d never see the Ark. And now, my family is the one in here. So’s yours. The Remnant doesn’t exist, you know. Fairytales. Hope keeps people sane.”

I leaned across the book and placed my hand on his, mulling over his story. His nickname seemed cruel now.

We were still for a moment, but my breathing didn’t slow. His, by contrast, was as steady as the waves of the ocean. I wanted his calm, his acceptance, but I knew I wouldn’t find it here. His thumb flicked up to touch my forefinger. Every instinct I had told me to keep the starpass a secret, but it was the only play I had left.

I pressed the silver and blue card into his hand. “Isaiah. My journey doesn’t end here.”

He ran a thumb over the letters, and his dark glasses couldn’t conceal his surprise. “Alright, little bird. I’ll show you how I did it.”

Minutes later, we were standing in front of the walk-in freezer in the kitchen. Isaiah heaved the door ajar and waited for me to step inside.

“Back there.” Isaiah indicated the far wall with his cane, and I climbed inside. The cold hit me immediately, but the pleasure of a momentary chill faded when the frigidity coated my skin. Thanks to a raid several days earlier, the shelves around me were bare. There was a sucking pop sound as the door closed behind him. “All the way back.”

“Wait. It’s dark.”

“Always dark for me. Leave it closed. Don’t want to be followed. Go on.”

I stumbled forward in the cold. A few steps later, a pale green pin of light came into view on the back wall of the freezer. When I got closer, its dim light fell on the things around me—shreds of cardboard boxes and my own outstretched hands.

Isaiah’s hands appeared a second later. He slid a flattened palm across the wall before us until his fingers met a seam. This he followed to a screw, which he loosened with a thumbnail, then twisted until it dropped into his outstretched hand.

I shivered as he repeated the process three more times.

“Here we go.” Isaiah took a slow breath and heaved the panel onto the floor. “Watch your feet.”

A gaping hole yawned in the wall in front of me. “What is this?”

“Used to be the vent to the air conditioning. My guess is the workers didn’t much care about fixing it up when they installed the freezer during the last renovation.”

“How did you find it?”

“I was always looking, back then. Always searching for my way out.”

“Wish I could say the same.”

“You follow this to the outside. Leads to the south gate. You can’t get to it any other way, so it’s not as secure as the rest. I got out by climbing the old unit and hoppin’ down the fence. Here.”

He shoved an industrial-sized kitchen mat into my arms, which he must have picked up at the entrance to the freezer. “I had to take this with me, when I made my journey, so that they wouldn’t know how I did it. Won’t much matter now whether you leave it there or not.”

He was right about that.

“What’s it for?”

“Razor wire on the fence. Won’t stop ’em all, but you’ll make it just fine. If you want to come back, in the very end, I’ll be here.”

I stood facing him, paralyzed by the moment. “Isaiah, please. Come with me. I already got one starpass, maybe we can figure something out. You can’t stay here.”

He smiled again and shook his head. The green light shone against his teeth as they swung back and forth. “It doesn’t suit you, you know.”

“What?”

“Your name. Char is the end of the story, the cooked goose. Maybe you were right, and your story’s just getting started good. But look at me. I’m blind. They’ll never let me on the transport. And if they see you with me, you’ll have the same fate. And then you will be Char.” He chuckled, a soft, deep sound that swallowed the steady hum of the freezer. “But don’t think that this will be your freedom. You may find nothing but a bigger cage.”

“Or maybe I will fly.”

“Maybe so. Maybe so.” He grasped my arm, briefly, by way of a farewell.

A door slammed, its sound muffled by the walls of the freezer. I hesitated, one foot in the vent. “Did you hear that?”

“Kitchen. People want food.”

The freezing air made me suddenly aware of the tiny beads of sweat on my forehead. “No one here thinks there’s food in the kitchen.”

A series of methodical clangs danced around us. “Someone’s looking for something else, then,” Isaiah whispered. Cabinets were being slammed open. A louder bang announced that one of the pantries had been searched.

“It’s Kip. He’s going to find us.”

I expected Isaiah to protest, to say that I couldn’t possibly know who was out there, or that Kip had surely already left the prison by this point, but instead, he said, “Better go, then.”

The bangs were getting closer. I knew, without any doubt, that it was Kip, and that he would find me. “He must have waited, then followed me. They’re looking for the Remnant. They knew I’d go to you. Isaiah. Come with me.”

“Ain’t nothing for me out there. I’ll stop him.”

“You can’t. You can’t stop Kip. You haven’t seen him when he’s… You can’t stay here.”

“It’s the only thing I can do.”

“Take my hand.”

His hand was warm and firm, and a lot stronger than his final protest. “Charl—”

“Come on. We’re leaving. Your journey doesn’t end here, either.”

The duct was warm, but relatively ventilated. My hands shook as I replaced the grate. Normally, my hands were as steady as paperweights, no matter the stakes, but I was always unpredictable around Kip. It wasn’t the first time my body had betrayed me in his presence.

I wore the mat on my back like a cape, clasping it in place with my left arm while holding my right arm in front of my face, so that I wouldn’t run into anything. Isaiah followed at a short distance.

Almost immediately, my hand swiped into another wall. I panicked momentarily, sweeping my arms all around, before finding that the passageway had turned sharply and narrowed to a crawlspace near my right foot. I dropped to my knees and pressed into the darkness, trying not to think how very like a rat I was in that moment. Trying especially not to think about the possibility of other rats sharing the tunnel with me. But as soon as I heard a noise I couldn’t assign to Isaiah, I surprised myself by hoping it came from a rat, and not Kip.

I don’t know how I knew it was Kip who was following us, but I was absolutely certain that he’d find the grate. That was what he did. He found me. He pulled me back, no matter how much I wanted to get away.

I had crawled maybe ten yards when the gritty texture of the vent glinted into view, so I had to be close to the outdoors. Sure enough, within minutes, I could make out the slits of a grate, and beyond that, the green of grass and the dark gray of the prison walls.

I ran my fingers across the slatted panel for an instant before deciding that my best bet was probably to kick it out. I lay back, bracing myself with the mat underneath me, and slammed my feet into the thin metal as hard as I could.

The grate went flying through the air and landed four feet away.

Isaiah’s muted laugh floated out of the tunnel behind me. “I should have mentioned that I never screwed it back into place.”

Was this a game for him? I bit back a sharp response. “Did I mention he has a gun?”

“I know. I heard it scraping the ground when he started crawling.”

Kip had reached the tunnel, then.

I popped out onto the grass, squinting in the sunlight, and stood up next to the old air conditioning unit, turning to help Isaiah. I got the impression that he needed a lot less help than I’d expected, but perhaps more than he realized. The afternoon air was only slightly cooler than the warmth of the ventilation shaft, but infinitely more pleasant. Full of hope, but tinged with my rising panic.

The ancient gray air conditioning unit was tall and thick, with its far edge positioned about a foot from the prison wall. I grabbed the mat from inside the vent behind me and threw it up onto the first ledge I saw. From there it was a matter of climbing as efficiently as possible without dropping the mat. I created a few frantic footholds by bashing in whatever ventilation slats I found, and before long, I stood on the top of the unit, my back to the prison wall.

“Okay, we have to—”

“Jump over the fence. You first.” He waved a hand near his ear.

“I-Isaiah. I can’t. You first.”

“Afraid I won’t follow? Not to worry. I’m right behind. Got me all fired up, now.”

I sucked in a breath. We were pretty far off the ground, but my knees were about level with the top of the fence, which was several feet away. Thick coils of razor wire spun across its top, adding three more feet to its height. I slung the heavy mat over the razor wire, and, stepping back for a head start, leaped onto it for all I was worth. The wires gave slightly under my weight, and I never quite caught my balance. Almost as soon as my thighs touched the mat, I was falling face-first into the ground nearly twelve feet below.

I scrambled, limbs flailing against air and rubber, and managed to shift my upper body backward, so that my feet were beneath me when I began to fall in earnest. Time swung by in a single, heart-stopping arc before I hit the ground, hard. My legs buckled, and I threw my weight to the side, absorbing the secondary impact with my hip.

I breathed in, trying to contain the pain, and consoled myself with the knowledge that, where I was going, gravity wouldn’t be my problem.

It was several seconds before I stood shakily to ascertain the damage. Something dark in my peripheral vision caught my attention, and I realized with a jolt that my entire left arm was bright red with blood.

My throat made a noise like a long, low groan while I searched for the source of the blood, which turned out to be a slash along the side of my left hand. I must have grabbed the edge of the mat during my mid-air acrobatics, leaving the skin exposed to the razor wire.

The blood coated my forearm and blotted onto my prison scrubs. This, combined with the rest of my appearance, was not going to fly at the OPT facility. Assuming I made it that far. I removed a sock and tied it as hard as I could around my hand. That would have to do for now.

“You ready?” I shout-whispered at Isaiah.

“As ever,” he said back.

“You’re about ten feet from—”

“I remember.” Isaiah sent his cane sailing over the fence. He followed soon after, pausing only briefly atop the mat. He landed next to me, allowing his body to hit the ground once his legs had broken the fall.

“Okay, I’m impressed.”

Isaiah smiled.

We began to jog directly away from the prison walls, Isaiah’s cane sweeping the ground in fast-forward, but I quickly slowed our pace. I was weak from hunger, and from getting kicked in the head, so anything over a brisk walk was not on the menu. I turned back once, to say my final goodbyes to the prison that had been my home for years. As I watched, the grate popped out again.

The goodbyes didn’t take very long.

A thicket of trees spread before me, and I pulled Isaiah behind the first one we reached. I remembered from the stories that a town lay behind them, populated mostly by prison staff and their families. In ages past, an escapee sought refuge here at his peril, but I doubted there were a lot of people left in town, since all the guards had spots on an OPT. We moved from tree to tree, hiding our path until we were deep enough into the trees that no one could see us from a distance.

Then it was full speed ahead. Or as full speed as we could manage.

The second house we came to had no lights on. Perfect. Probably belonged to one of the guards, and he or she would be knocking at the gate of the OPT launch site by now. I let myself in through a back window and paused only a moment to take in my surroundings before turning to assist Isaiah. Again, he needed my help a lot less than I expected. We headed straight for the kitchen, but I stuck near a window, keeping one eye out for Kip. When I was satisfied that he hadn’t seen which house we entered, I relaxed slightly. Our best move was to stay here until he assumed we’d moved on.

I wanted a shower, but first things first. The house was old and small, with cheap linoleum on the kitchen floor that had begun to peel at the edges. I wondered how much Isaiah could ascertain about his surroundings, then noticed that the house smelled old and small, too.

The icer was stocked, though, as was the pantry, so to me, it was Buckingham Palace relocated to upstate New York. Two ham-and-jelly sandwiches for me, three ham sandwiches for Isaiah, and then we broke into the potato chips.

“So good,” I mumbled, not caring that the crumbs were sticking to my face.

Isaiah raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t your mama ever teach you to chew with your mouth closed?”

“Sorry.”

We climbed the narrow staircase, and I hopped into the rickety tub for the greatest shower of my entire life, leaving Isaiah to explore the other rooms.

I had no idea whose OPT pass I carried, but I knew they wouldn’t look like an escaped prisoner. So I ignored the fluttery, urgent feeling in my chest and took the time to blow-dry my hair. A raid of the bathroom cabinet revealed lipstick, deodorant, and moisturizer, along with a dried-out tube of eyeliner. I applied the lipstick quickly, grateful to my mom for the second time that day, since she had spent the better part of my time between stints in juvy forcing me to learn how to wear makeup. Or trying to, anyway.

I ran the eyeliner wand under the tap for a few seconds, swished it around in the tube, and swiped a thin line across my eyelids. The result was a lot more responsible-teen-headed-to-the-mall, or wherever it is normal teenagers go, and a lot less bruised-and-bloodied convict.

The cabinet under the sink produced Band-Aids, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and a worn-out, empty makeup bag. Gritting my teeth, I ran the alcohol over the cut on my hand, which had opened back up in the shower, and taped it shut with a Band-Aid. I used a wad of toilet paper doused in alcohol to dab at the cut above my eye from Cassa’s shoe. Then I threw the toiletries into the makeup bag and headed for the bedroom, stark naked.

The first room was a bust. Granny panties, nightgowns, and a drawer full of bras big enough to wear as hats. No thank you.

I hit the jackpot with bedroom number two. Whoever lived here was about my size. I found vintage-looking lace underwear in the drawers. I pulled on a set and stuffed a second into the makeup bag.

The closet was even better. Crisp brown pants, flowy blouses, and smart-looking dresses hovered over a neat row of shoes for every occasion. This girl really had her act together. I had never lined up a pair of shoes in my life.

I selected a blue skirt and a heavily tailored sleeveless top made of the same material and paired them with camel-colored heels. I had no idea what one wore on an OPT, except that almost everyone there would either be super smart or super rich. My mom would probably tell me to find some pantyhose, so I returned to the underwear drawer with a sigh. I reflected that there probably weren’t seasons in space, either, so I selected an additional outfit: a black, long-sleeved cotton shirt, black boots, and a pair of black pants.

I was just about to leave when I noticed a brown leather satchel-style purse slung over one of the coat hangers. A quick search of its contents turned up a wallet and ID. Magda Notting, born 2015. She’d be nearly fifty years old, then, much older than I expected, based on what I had seen of her clothing. She’d also be ineligible for a spot on one of the Arks. I wondered where she was. Probably waiting it out at a friend’s house, or something. I hoped she wasn’t alone.

I worked the black clothing into a roll and pressed it into the top of the satchel. I never considered putting the starpass into the bag. It went under my shirt, secured to the skin just below my collarbone with a series of Band-Aids. I took a final glance in the mirror and forced myself not to think about how we’d get Isaiah onto the OPT with only one starpass. I didn’t know if I was the kind of person who’d sacrifice my life for someone else, and that scared me as much as anything else. I clopped my way out the door and down the steps, uneasy in Magda’s heels. Uneasy in general.

“Isaiah?” I called. “You up there or down here?” Maybe he’d stepped outside. I was halfway through the sitting room, and maybe five feet from the door, when a rush of ice spilled down my spine, and I stopped short.

Someone was in the room with me. Someone with a rifle pointed straight at my chest.

Four

“Hold it right there, Missy.” The gravelly voice paused long enough for a wracking cough.

I raised my hands as slowly as possible. In my experience, there were two kinds of people who point guns at other people. The first kind weren’t going to shoot you unless they had to. Suckers, we called ’em. Suckers made it easy to get away. Sometimes you didn’t even have to give their stuff back, as long as you started running before they got too jumpy. The second kind were just looking for an excuse to pull the trigger. As I was sizing her up, she chambered the cartridge.

This was definitely the second kind.

I made my voice as small and feminine as possible. “Look, I didn’t mean any trouble. I thought you were gone.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to steal my stuff.”

I turned around, slowly. “Really, I thought the house was abandoned. Please don’t shoot.” The woman in the corner was elderly and heavyset and sucking hard on a nicostick, the kind the government had approved the year they banned cigarettes. I had no doubt this wasn’t the first time she’d handled a .30.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” I whimpered. “And I needed clothes.”

“What for?”

“For the OPT.”

“I saw them clothes in the bathroom. You don’t belong on no transport.”

I breathed out for a moment, and sniffed, and realized that my tears weren’t actually fake, even though I had planned them. “I know.”

“But you’re going anyway.”

If I spoke loudly enough, maybe Isaiah would hear me. Would he try to leave, or try to help me? Would he even be able to help? “I have to. My family went, and I was in lockup, and they left me there.”

The rifle sagged to point at the ground. “Okay, alright. Don’t cry.” She continued to stare at me. “It’s my daughter’s clothes, you know.”

“M-Magda?”

“My Magda. She died thirty years ago. You look a little like her.” She jerked her head toward the wall beside me, where a series of yellowing photographs showed a happy family. The youngest, a girl, did indeed have dark hair and light eyes, but I thought the resemblance ended there. Not that I planned on pointing that out to my hostess, who still had two hands clenched around the rifle. Its butt folded into the ample flesh over her ribcage. I bet she wouldn’t even feel the kick, with padding like that.

“Had a son, too. He worked at the detention center. Kellan Notting. Maybe you know him.”

I shook my head. “He’s on the transport now?”

She mirrored my head shake while taking another drag on her nicostick before answering. “Not anymore. Now he’s on the Ark. Left a couple weeks ago. He drew the European one.” She blew out the vaporized tar and glanced back at the photographs. “They called this morning to tell me he made it.”

“I’m glad,” I said, and meant it.

“So what are you in for?”

I coughed. It was a delicate situation. If I lied to her, she might shoot. But if I told her the truth, she’d probably think I was lying. Everyone else had.

“Robbery. I didn’t do it.”

The rifle twitched, barely, then she jerked it to her shoulder. The shot came an instant later, exploding into the wall above my head, louder than I thought possible. The carpet was suddenly coarse against my hands, and I found myself struggling not to scream. The anger on her face was terrifying. This was a woman who had no games to play. Whatever she wanted, she was determined to find it, and fast.

“Do I look like a fool to you?” She must have been shouting, otherwise I’d never have heard her.

I couldn’t see why she cared what I said, but I was far too shaken to think it over. Everything came spilling out. “I mean, I did! Before. But not this time. I was out, and I had my family back, even though they still acted weird around me. Even that was getting better. So I told the gang I was leaving, but they didn’t let me. They needed me to get into the best houses.” I knew I was barely coherent, but I could not stop talking. “I broke up with my boyfriend, but he tricked me. I went out to meet him, just to talk, you know? And he drugged me and I woke up in this house, and everything was broken. The cops were already there. I never wanted any of it. I thought I did, but I missed them. My family. And then it was too late. Please. Please don’t shoot.”

I clamped my jaw shut, finally silent.

There was a long pause. Too long. But then she nodded. “Alright, get up. I’m going to help you. Needed to decide once I’d met ya.”

I nodded, shaking, as though I totally understood the thought process there.

“I’m Meghan,” she croaked.

“Char.”

“Not anymore, you’re not. You’re Magda Notting, now. Best remember it. They’re definitely going to ask. You won’t get far with an expired ID, but it’s better than nothing. They can’t afford to look too close tonight anyway.”

In my opinion, they couldn’t afford not to, but Meghan continued. “Now, where’s your friend?”

I started.

“I seen him come in with you.”

“Um. I don’t know. Shower, maybe?”

There was a slight rustle on the stairs. “I’m here,” said Isaiah.

“You-all come with me. You’re gonna need a car.”

I stared at her. She might as well have told me I’d need a parakeet. “Wait, you’re … you’re giving us a car?”

“Sweetheart, it’s eleven hours to midnight. You know they close the gates at midnight, right?” She shouldered into the door on the other side of the kitchen and stepped into the garage.

I followed, numb, stealing little glances at Isaiah, who looked equally surprised. “No.”

“Well, you do now. And you’ve got a ways to go. And you’re not the only one who’s headed that way, either.” She pressed the car sensor into my hands, pausing to activate the thumbprint scanner, and looped a state-issued grocery bag over my arm. “Was that ham and jelly?” I nodded, and she made a face. “Whatever rings your bell. I made a few more while you was changing clothes.”

I stood next to the car door and stared at her.

She coughed nervously. “I figured you was hungry, coming from that place. We hear the stories. It’s a crime, what they done with you. Now get in.” She nodded approvingly as Isaiah climbed into the passenger seat. “You know how to get to Saint John?”

I looked from the car to Meghan. “I think so. Thank you, Meghan.”

“Yeah, okay. Car, I’m authorizing this driver.”

The car blipped on, and a warm female voice acknowledged the transfer. “Authorization accepted.”

I slid into the seat and forced my hands to grip the wheel. I was still recovering, either from the gunshot or the conversation itself. I gestured toward the nicostick. “Any chance I can get one of those?”

“You know they don’t let nic addicts on the OPT.”

“How about that rifle?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Now don’t you make me regret helping you, Char-whoever-you-are.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“You best make it on that OPT, and all the way to the Ark. You best make it all the way to that new planet they’re gonna colonize. And when you do…”

Meghan paused for another cough, this one so long that she bent forward, and I looked away.

And missed the door opening behind her.

I knew it was Kip before I saw him. It was a familiar, queasy feeling, like missing a rung on a ladder when you’re way up in the air. My hands jerked tight against the wheel as though I needed to catch myself from falling. I met his eyes through the windshield unwillingly.

He kicked Meghan’s wrist, and the rifle skidded across the concrete floor of the garage. When she straightened, her head came into contact with the barrel of his gun. My gun.

A smile twisted across Kip’s face. “I knew you could do it, love. All I had to do was wait.”

Cassa appeared behind him, and my throat went tight. She held my gaze, but spoke into Kip’s ear, her lips an inch from his skin. “Looks like you were right. She can’t go a day on the outside without robbing a house.” Cassa turned to me. “We definitely owe you one, Char. We’d never have gotten out without you.”

I peeled my hands off the steering wheel and raised them slowly. The thought hit me that I could just leave. I could duck down and drive the car in reverse, blind. By the time we hit the street, Kip couldn’t kill me through the windshield. He probably wouldn’t even try. Probably.

It was tempting.

“It’s Kip and Cassa,” I said. “They have a gun on Meghan.”

Isaiah did not respond.

“We could leave. Make a run for it.”

“We could,” he said, his tone neutral.

Meghan stood still, arms at her side. There was a wild, helpless look in her eyes. She was afraid.

She’s going to die anyway, I thought. If I left, I’d be saving Isaiah, too.

Kip cocked the gun and pressed it into Meghan’s temple. “Get out of the car.”

I took a breath. I needed a strategy, but what popped into my mind instead was, She made us sandwiches for the road. After we’d broken into her home.

Maybe it was better to leave, because then Kip and Cassa wouldn’t make it to the OPT.

My stomach twisted. Kip wouldn’t even have the gun if I hadn’t stolen it from the guard. He spoke again, this time in a slow, schoolteacher voice, every word enunciated. “Get out now, or I. Will. Blow. Her. Brains. Out.”

I looked back to Meghan, who thought I looked like her daughter.

“Okay, okay. I’m getting out.”

Five

“Good girl.” Kip turned the gun at us. I noticed that it never quite squared with my chest. Instead, it swerved toward Isaiah, then over my head and toward Meghan. “Stand over there, all of you.”

While we huddled into the corner of the garage, Cassa swept up the rifle. “I still don’t see much of a plan here, Kip,” I said. “It’s not like we have starpasses.”

“Shut up.” Cassa chucked the rifle into the front seat and slid behind the wheel. “Car on.”

The car answered dispassionately. “Authorization necessary.”

Cassa blew a breath through tense lips. A limp hank of blonde hair lifted, then collapsed back against her cheek. She climbed out of the car, and Kip waved the gun at Meghan.

“Authorize another user.”

Meghan moved forward, then stopped. “No.”

Cassa crossed the space between us in three enormous strides. In an instant, her free hand was around Meghan’s throat, dragging her toward the hood of the car. “Stay back,” she said to me.

Meghan’s face hit the car, and she grunted in pain. That was the wrong move, I thought. She’d been afraid, earlier. Now Cassa was making her angry.

Angry people are harder to manipulate, unless you were subtle about it. Which Cassa wasn’t, ever.

“Authorize me.”

Meghan gritted her teeth. “No.”

Cassa slammed Meghan onto the hood again. Kip moved in, and his gun bore into Meghan’s cheek, stretching the loose skin taut. “This is your last chance.”

I’d heard that tone before. Kip was deadly serious. He cocked the gun slowly, for effect, and Meghan froze.

“Wait,” I said.

They looked at me.

“If you let her go, I’ll drive you. Let her go, and let Isaiah ride with us.”

“You can’t exactly afford to negotiate here, Char,” said Kip. At the same time, Cassa said, “No way.”

“Look at her. You can tell she means it. I’m your only way out,” I said. Kip looked toward the house, and I read the look on his face. “No family. Her son’s already on an Ark. She gave us her car. She’s ready to die, Cass.”

Cassa glared first at me, then at Kip. “Kip, no. We talked about this. Char stays.”

Kip sighed and clucked his tongue casually, as though trying to decide which pair of pants to wear. Finally, he shook the gun at us. “The Mole stays.”

He was right: I couldn’t afford to negotiate. But neither could he. “No deal.”

Another moment passed, and Kip broke into his carefree grin. “Oh, all right.” He circled the gun in the air. “One big happy road trip. Mount up, as they say. Time to go.”

Cassa stared daggers at the back of his head, but eventually straightened and released her grip on Meghan. “All aboard. Quick like bunnies, before we change our minds. You two in front. Wouldn’t want Isaiah to miss the scenery.”

I wasn’t much for goodbyes, and definitely not hugs, so it was a moment before I spoke again. I paused, almost to the driver’s seat. “Meghan… thank you.”

She only nodded. “Give ’em hell.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Isaiah settled in next to me. We slammed the doors shut. I tried to relax, knowing that in a moment, I’d have a gun to my neck. Kip made a show of settling into the back seat, smiling indulgently, like a father giving a small child a piggyback ride.

Cassa was taking longer than I expected. When she opened the door, I forced myself to relax again. I focused on Meghan, who was still looking at me. She seemed satisfied. Almost happy.

She was still watching me when Cassa shot her.

Cassa was a fair shot, and this was close range, a direct hit to the head. Even knowing it was over, I couldn’t stop myself from lunging for the car door. Immediately, the burning barrel of the gun pressed into my neck. Cassa was already seated behind me. A scalding sensation spread up into my scalp, and I screamed. Before me, Meghan’s body hit the ground.

“Drive. Now,” Cassa said into my ear.

I made an awful, whimpering sound, and Isaiah’s hand slid over mine.

“He’s next,” said Cassa, moving the gun to point at Isaiah.

Isaiah squeezed my hand. I drove.

The silence stretched out like tar. It was a trick I learned my first week inside: how to cry without making any noise. Every soul in juvy had it down cold.

Isaiah’s hand was warm against mine, his skin dry and soft. Every so often, he’d give me a little pat, or another squeeze, and the road would blur until I blinked. I held my hand still, afraid that any movement would cause him to take his hand away. He couldn’t have known how much I needed it there.

After a moment, Kip’s pale, icy fingers touched the spot on my neck where the barrel of the gun had been. I shivered hard.

“There, there, love. She was practically already dead anyway.”

I forced my words through clenched teeth. “Then, why?”

Kip shrugged, and his hand mercifully left my neck. “Have to ask Cass that one.”

“Because he came back for you,” she said. I glanced back in confusion. They’d come back to follow me, not save me.

Kip shot me a strange look through the greasy strands of black hair that had fallen across his face before turning to rifle through my bags in the back seat, keeping the gun in one hand. “Once again, you don’t disappoint.”

Cassa’s eyes widened at the sight of food. “Maybe you were onto something after all, love,” she said to Kip.

They tore into the sandwiches. Cassa stuffed half the first one into her mouth. Kip did the same a moment later. The chips came next. She crunched them loudly. Through the rear view mirror, I watched her wipe her hands on the seat, leaving streaks of grease dotted with crumbs.

A light rain splattered against the windshield, and the wipers began their rhythmic response. Kip, Isaiah, and I were silent, and Cassa had little to say of interest. She mostly commented, between gulps of food, about the plight of the people we passed. “Toast. Toast. Space debris, look at her.” I wrestled thoughts of Meghan to the back of my mind. It was probably the only chance I’d get to plan my next move.

I had a few things in my favor, in spite of the gun at my back. Namely, Kip and Cassa didn’t know about the starpass. I had no idea how they planned to find the Remnant, if it even existed, and without a starpass, they couldn’t hope to board an OPT. The launch sites were, at this point, literally the most secure places on Earth. Also, Kip and Cassa were likely to underestimate Isaiah, which would be a mistake.

The thought gave me pause. Isaiah didn’t have a pass, either. When it came right down to it, as it inevitably would, was I prepared to give him mine?

I thought not, and shuddered. That I could even consider leaving him behind made me sick.

What kind of person had Meghan tried to save?

Another question prickled me: where had my mother gotten an extra starpass? Surely she’d never steal one. To do so would deprive her victim of their very life, an action my mother seemed incapable of. I mean, she was a doctor. She was all about saving people. But she was a mother first, and she still seemed to love me.

It was possible that she’d taken the pass from a deceased patient. In such cases, though, the next of kin or the government would likely want the pass returned to them. Maybe someone had died, and Mom didn’t report it. Whatever the case, I was grateful.

The car had a full charge, so we breezed around Boston and headed up the coast. I was lost in thought, and still without a plan, when Isaiah’s mellow voice broke my reverie.

“If you were stuck here, would you rather know, or not know?” he asked.

I glanced at him. “About the Pinball?”

“Yeah.”

“You are stuck here,” said Cassa.

I ignored her. “Like, does the knowing make it worse?” I thought about it for a moment. “It probably depends on the person. I’d definitely want to know.”

“Not me,” said Kip. “Life is uncertain anyway.”

“So you never made any mistakes?” I asked. “Nothing you’d have done differently, if you knew it was your last day?”

Kip was quieter. “There may be a few things I’d have done differently. But I’m not sure knowing would have changed anything. Not for me.”

“What difference does it make?” Cassa sounded irritated. Again.

Kip turned to look out the window. “Oh, nothing, I guess.”

“Just, being able to plan,” I said.

“Planning to die. Sounds awesome,” she said.

“No, planning how to live.”

“Better get to it, then. What time is it? Two? So you’ve got ten hours till the gate closes.”

Isaiah ignored her. “I wouldn’t want to know the day. We all got to go sometime. Pinball or no, it’s coming.”

“There’s a lot of clarity that comes from knowing it’s today, though,” I said.

He turned to me. For a moment, I imagined he could see through those dark glasses, straight inside me. Maybe he could. “Are you seeing things more clearly, Charlotte?”

It was weird when he called me that. Put me in a different frame of mind, somehow. “Maybe. Nothing I like, anyway.”

He smiled. “I like you well enough.”

It was strange to laugh. “I like you too, Isaiah. Nothing I like about myself, I mean.”

Kip was staring out the window and had nothing to say about that, to my surprise. Isaiah continued. “You have a long way to go, then. What about you, Cassa?”

“What about me?”

“Would you want to know?”

“Doubt it. I have clarity. People suck, and everyone who pretends otherwise gets rewarded. It’s bollocks. We’re all on our own. Death doesn’t change anything.”

“Then why did Kip go back for Charlotte, I wonder?” Isaiah said.

“Because Char…” she paused. “Because Char has better tricks.”

“That must be it,” he said softly. He took his hand away from mine, finally, and I pressed mine into my leg, because it was still slightly warmer than the rest of me. Isaiah straightened in his seat. “We passed Boston yet?” he asked.

“Why?” Cassa said. “The OPT’s in Maine.”

“No reason. Just like to feel oriented.” His fingers slipped underneath the dash, and I mimicked his posture, sitting straight, facing forward. Was he trying to find the glove compartment? I didn’t look at him again, to keep him from drawing Cassa’s attention. She was Kip’s mirror: gazing out the opposite window, a strange expression on her face.

“Maybe an hour back,” I said. “We went around.”

“I’d have been happy to let you out, Mole,” said Cassa. “I still am. Not that you’d have found where you’re going.”

“No need, Cassa. I’m going with Charlotte, here, for a little while.”

“I’m sure you’ll be very happy orbiting the sun together. Tell me, do bodies decay in a vacuum?”

Isaiah smiled, and his fingers continued to work. “I reckon they might.”

The question about Boston had thrown me off. Isaiah grew up there. Other than juvy, it was the only home he’d ever known, but I didn’t see why he’d ask about it.

Unless his family had lost the lottery.

It was strange to think about. I’d taken for granted that I’d have had a spot on an OPT, if my record were clean. But then, my father had major influence over the lottery. Everyone else had nothing but hope. If they’d known there were people who could tamper with the results, they wouldn’t even have had that.

I wanted to ask Isaiah about whether he’d had news from home, but it felt wrong to talk about something so personal in front of Kip and Cassa. His fingers were still under the dash, and he was unusually chatty, so I decided to follow his lead. “Do you think it’s like they say, up there?”

At my question, he paused for an instant before continuing whatever it was he was up to. He opened his mouth to reply, but Cassa was quicker.

“Oh, you mean will everyone have a fresh start and the same stuff as everyone else? And we’ll all be equals? Of course we will. And we’ll be attended by unicorns and fairies.”

I snorted at that. “How long has civilization been around? Six thousand years, give or take? Ten? Our species gets a clean slate, plus all that experience. Humanity could finally get it right.”

Kip finally spoke. “You believe that, Char?”

“She’s just stupid enough,” said Cassa.

I thought for another moment. I needed to keep Kip and Cassa talking. It would be easier to beat them if they let down their guard. “I don’t want anyone to die. But it seems like we have a real shot at… utopia. Whatever you call it. Democracy.”

“No, we don’t,” said Cassa. “Because it’s being built by the same people who broke the current system. You bunnies don’t get it. You’re either weak, or you’re strong. The people on the Arks will be stronger than the ones left down here, but they’re still just people. Before long, it’ll be every man for himself. Just like here. That’s why we’ll need the Remnant.”

“That’s still the plan?” I asked. “Find the Remnant, escape to space?”

“You got a better one? Kip says they’ll recruit at the launch site.” Cassa sounded less sure of that than I expected.

“Recruit?” said Isaiah. “Group like that doesn’t need to do much recruiting. You join up or you die.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in them,” said Cassa. Her voice made her sound unsteady. I pictured her trying to catch her balance, and I realized all at once that Cassa didn’t believe in the Remnant any more than I did.

“I don’t,” Isaiah answered. “But I sure don’t believe they’re recruiting.”

“Kip says—” Cassa cut herself off. “Never mind.”

There was a long silence, and it finally dawned on me that Cassa wasn’t trying to find the Remnant at all. She was just following Kip. Right to the end.

The sun continued its final arc across the horizon. I ran a finger over a small, circular burn on the roof of the car. I imagined Meghan scoring a real, sure-enough cigarette, then driving out of town to enjoy it. That way, her behavior wouldn’t reflect badly on her son, the prison guard. Maybe she’d even gotten it from him.

Click, snap, CLICK. The car jerked to a stop, jolting me from my thoughts about Meghan. My seatbelt bit into my shoulder, forcing me back into the seat.

“What was that?” said Kip. “What’s going on?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe a short?” said Isaiah. “I could check it out.”

“How dumb do you think we are?” said Cassa. “Char, you go.”

“To look for a short? I have no idea—”

“I’m going,” said Kip. “Pop the hood.”

Kip had barely set foot on the ground when Isaiah leaned across my lap, reaching to the other side of the steering wheel. “I’m on it,” he muttered. A moment later, the trunk popped open, followed by Isaiah’s door.

“Mole! Mo— Isaiah. Get back here,” said Cassa.

He called back to her without slowing down. It was the loudest I’d ever heard his voice. “I’m just looking.”

“What? You’re blind.”

“Can’t do no harm then, right, baby?”

She waved the gun. “I will shoot you.”

“Maybe he can help?” I said. “Maybe we should let—”

“Char. I can. NOT. Emphasize this enough: Shut up.”

Cassa was panicking. Panic is weakness, and a great way to lose the game at the last minute, but her instincts were right: Isaiah was up to something. I was glad she hadn’t seen him tinkering under the dash. She’d have shot him, cold. And it would have been the right move for her, then.

But it was too late for that now.

Her voice raised in pitch. “Mole! I will shoot her!”

Isaiah spoke calmly from behind the trunk. “Who’s gonna drive the car, Cassa? You? Maybe I should try it.”

Cassa realized the futility of her stance. She couldn’t possibly shoot me yet. We were six hours from Saint John and the OPT, and I was the only one who could drive the car.

But she could kill Isaiah.

She shot out of the car. I fumbled with my seatbelt for an instant before following her. My view of Isaiah was blocked by the open trunk.

Kip realized what Isaiah was up to before I did. But he was all the way in the front of the car, trying to pry open the hood. And Isaiah was nearly to the trunk.

I figured it out when I saw the look on Kip’s face. He bolted towards Isaiah, who had just ducked behind the open trunk. I threw open my door, slamming it into Kip’s hips. It barely slowed him down, but it was all the time Isaiah needed. He emerged from behind the trunk holding the rifle.

Cassa leveled the gun at Isaiah’s heart. I threw myself at her, making contact as the shot went off.

“Hoo, now,” said Isaiah. I breathed out. It had missed him.

I scrambled to my feet, but Cassa was faster. Her gun squared with my face. I froze, halfway to standing, and lifted my hands. But I knew it wouldn’t matter. She wore her hatred as plainly as the features of her face. In that moment, she wanted me dead more than she wanted the car to run. More than anything.

A second shot rang out, deeper and more hollow than the first, rattling back and forth between the trees on either side of the interstate.

Cassa hit the ground, face up, and didn’t move. Red splotches blossomed over her shirt. Isaiah stepped out from behind the trunk. He had a steady grip on Meghan’s rifle.

Kip was quick, but I had always been quicker. By the time he started moving, I had pried the gun from Cassa’s fingers and pointed it at Kip.

I hazarded a shaky glance back at Isaiah. From the look of it, he was well aware that his shot had hit its mark.

My attention turned back to Kip, whose hands were raised and whose face was marked with defeat. He stepped back, knowing already that we weren’t going to shoot him unless he tried to get back in the car. Neither of us spoke to the other. I guess we had already said everything there was to say.

We left him there, on the side of the interstate, with Cassa’s body. Even after everything that had come between us, I knew I’d never recover the piece of my soul that stayed with them.

It was a long time before Isaiah spoke. “Thank you,” he said. “For stopping her. And for bringing me.”

“Thank you, too. You know.” I gestured at the shrinking forms of Kip and Cassa in the rear view mirror, as though Isaiah could see me, or them.

“It’s nothing.”

His words hung in the air. We were quiet for a few more miles, and then Isaiah spoke. “Charlotte.”

“Yes?”

“Maybe I do want out after all.”

Isaiah leaned back in his seat. He looked content, comfortable. Too comfortable, if I’d understood him correctly.

Which I pretended not to. “Out of what?”

“This. All this.”

“Meaning…”

He tilted his head up and touched the roof of the car with one long finger.

I sighed. “Meaning we’re going to Boston.”

He smiled. “If you’ll take me.”

I stared at the road, saying nothing, calculating the miles and hours in my head. After a long moment, I turned the car around.

Six

The car door slammed shut, and I blinked at the harsh white of the sidewalk in front of Isaiah’s home.

He was already at the front door. He’d dealt with Cassa almost single-handedly, and he’d had no problem directing me to his house, so I couldn’t figure why it struck me as bizarre to watch him find his way to the front door without me.

It wasn’t his blindness. In juvy, he’d moved with an easy confidence. It was magnetic. Other people sought him out, and when they walked together, they matched their pace to his.

But he was different here, in this moment. He looked out of place. His confidence had dissipated, and only determination filled its place. He was slower, relying heavily on his cane. I watched it sweep over the path to the door, making more passes than usual. I wasn’t fooled for a moment. He could have found his way without it. Then he reached forward to knock on the door, and I felt his shame, his brokenness, as he’d put it, and understood.

It sucks to knock on the door of your own home.

I continued to stare as a small curtain shifted to reveal a face. The curtain froze, then swished back into place. Long moments passed before the door finally cracked.

A young man stepped onto the porch and regarded Isaiah with frank distaste. I regretted leaving our weapons in the car, but Isaiah had insisted.

The man shook his head. “So they let you out.”

Isaiah cleared his throat. “Something like that.” He seemed younger, suddenly. He’d always been, to me, one of the oldest souls in juvy. Full of wisdom and easy laughter. But all that was gone now. He was exposed, vulnerable. Childlike.

“And you came here.”

“Abel. I just want to see Mom.”

“There’s nothing for you here, Ise. Leave us be.”

This must be Isaiah’s brother. The man who’d blinded him. They stood there like statues, but I wanted to scream. “He can’t leave, not now. It’s the last—”

Abel looked at me. My jaw snapped shut, and I stepped back inadvertently. But his words to me were softer than I expected. “It’s too late for him. You can stay, if you need a place to be. But Isaiah is not welcome here.”

Isaiah let out a long breath. For the first time since I’d known him, I saw his youth. Really saw it. His cheeks and lips were full. His hands were smooth against his cane. The lines on his forehead would have disappeared if he’d relaxed his face.

When he spoke, his voice was small. “Just let me see Mom. Just tell her I’m here.”

Abel’s face hardened, and I lay a hand on Isaiah’s arm. I knew that look, and I could guess what was coming next. The door opened a hair further, and the gun sliced into view.

Abel cocked it, so that Isaiah knew it was there, and spoke through tight lips. “Get out. Last chance, Ise.” He’d stopped just short of aiming the barrel at his brother, but Isaiah couldn’t have known that.

Isaiah’s hands lifted in surrender, then jerked back to his side. “No.”

I pulled against him, and he was obliged to step backward. “We’re leaving. We’re leaving, Isaiah.”

Abel nodded at me, and I put my full weight into dragging Isaiah off the porch. “Come on. There’s a step down here.”

Isaiah stumbled, and for a moment, he allowed me to lead him. But halfway off the stoop, he stopped. I tugged harder, not caring that he could stumble. Everyone had a gun these days, but Abel was ready to use his. I could almost have understood him, at the time. He wanted to protect his family for as long as he could.

It was a few seconds before I realized that Isaiah wasn’t moving any more, no matter how hard I tried. He might as well have been an oak tree, for all the good it did me to pull on him like that. Another moment passed, and I gave up struggling.

I looked at Abel, wide-eyed. There would be no consequences for shooting us. We’d just done the same to Cassa, after all.

I kept a hand on Isaiah’s arm, so he’d know I hadn’t left him, but it fell to my side when he uttered his next words.

“I found the Remnant.”

Abel snorted. “You’re too old for this. I’m too old for this.”

“He did,” I blurted out before thinking. “He found them.”

Some small muscle twitched in Isaiah’s neck, but he stayed steady. Abel looked at me, unconvinced, and I summoned every ounce of steel I had. I could not afford to flinch. “You knew he would.”

“That’s just some story people tell.”

“They’re real, Abe. It’s gonna be a whole new setup up there. Let me see Mom, and I’ll take you with me.”

“What about Mom? You’ll take her, too?”

Isaiah hesitated. “It doesn’t work like that. Just you and me.”

That was smart. If he’d promised to take everyone, Abel would never have believed the lie. Isaiah was back to form.

Abel glanced at me. “And the girl?”

I gave him a convincing smile. “Obviously. Why do you think I’m with him?”

His doubts were smattered across his face, but the Remnant was more than anyone could resist. The gun disappeared behind his back. His face remained tense. “I’m warning you, Ise. I’m done with your games. You play me, you’ll regret it. It’s not too late to make you regret it.”

Isaiah’s shoulders relaxed. I allowed myself a breath.

That was when the impossibility of my situation hit me. Something slippery swirled in my stomach, and I felt sick. I couldn’t stay with Isaiah and his family, or I’d miss the OPT. But I couldn’t leave, either, because Abel would know we were lying, and Isaiah would pay for it.

I told myself that I didn’t have a choice, that it was his decision to come here. But deep down, I didn’t know if I had what it took to walk away.

For now, at least, I still had time before I had to act, time to find the smart move. I could play this out. I willed the slippery thing to hold still for a little longer.

I squared my shoulders, and noticed Isaiah doing the same. “You can keep the gun out, Abe,” he said. “I’ve gotta get something from the car.”

“Like hell you do.”

“Like I said. Keep the gun out if you like. That way, we understand each other.”

“Maybe we don’t.”

But Isaiah was already halfway to the car. I shrugged at Abel, pretending not to understand the warning in his voice, and casually placed myself between Isaiah and the gun.

Isaiah popped the trunk a moment later. As I expected, he came out with Meghan’s rifle. What I didn’t expect was where he aimed it.

At me.

“Step aside, Abe. I’m a fair shot, most of the time, but I’m not as sure as I used to be.”

I floundered, trying to figure out the play here, and felt the slippery thing in my belly harden into stone. Surely Isaiah would never tell Abel about my starpass. Surely.

“No.” The word escaped my lips before I thought it. “Isaiah. Don’t do this.”

“I can take one person with me, little bird. And it’s not you.”

I shook my head, confused. I glanced back at Abel in time to see him pull his gun again.

“I got her,” he said.

“No need,” said Isaiah. “Get in the car, Char. Drive away. I’m only gonna say it once.”

It was the way he said my name that finally tipped me off to his plan. He had never called me Char. It was an act.

Abel spoke. “We don’t have to kill you unless you get stubborn. So you better start moving.”

I stole one final glance at Isaiah before I started running.

He almost seemed to return my gaze. “Thanks for the ride, sweetheart.”

Another phony name. It was the perfect move. He was saving both of us, in a way I never could. So it made no sense to me, in that moment, that my heart was breaking.

I shut the door and powered on the car like a robot.

It wasn’t until I turned the corner, never to see him again, that I realized we never said goodbye.

Seven

I made it to Calais, Maine, in record time, not that I knew much about what constituted regular time. Maine wasn’t the type of place where girls like me tended to take road trips. Every so often, I’d think about how much time I had left, before the gate closed, and the blood would pull away from the tips of my fingers, leaving them slightly blue.

Whenever I passed a town, or a deserted shopping mall, I tried to fit it in my head that in a few hours, they wouldn’t exist anymore. They’d be gone. Space debris.

I couldn’t picture it, no matter how hard I tried. There were no cars on the road, and most of the cops were up in space already, so I pretty much floored it the whole way. As soon as I got to Calais, however, traffic materialized out of nowhere, and I screeched to a stop. I was still seventy-five miles from the launch site in Saint John.

It took me a good ten minutes to realize that traffic was going nowhere. Everyone on this side of the continent wanted to be in Saint John right now, including me. A lot of people, like Meghan, had chosen to spend their remaining hours in the comfort of their home. People who had no shot at getting on board, due to age or disability. But a lot of people would try to get on the OPT at the last minute, whether or not they had a ticket. People like me. And the OPT wouldn’t let them, and their cars would stay in the road, and I would never get there.

I needed a plan B. I jerked the wheel to the right and steered the car through the shoulder and toward the nearest exit ramp, which was also blocked. “Car!” I shouted, activating the system.

“Good afternoon.” The reply was cold, even for a robot.

“Is there an airport nearby?”

“You are four miles from Saint Stephen Airport.”

“Are there any planes there?”

“The airport is currently out of service.” That made sense. Under the Treaty, every airplane on Earth was grounded all week. Hijacking and piloting an abandoned airplane was above my pay grade, so I needed another tack. “What about the harbor?”

“You are one half-mile from the harbor. An international edict prevents navigation of waterways within one hundred miles of Saint John, New Brunswick.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like there’s anyone left to stop me.” I turned east and pressed the accelerator into the floorboard, sending the car flying over a curb and through a vacant parking lot.

“You may steer the car away from the port now.”

“No chance of that.” I was about four feet from a mostly empty side street, and I felt a tiny thrill of adrenaline as I pressed the accelerator harder. The electric engine snapped gently at the sudden velocity, then… clicked off. My chest slammed into my seatbelt.

“What the heck, car!”

“Your criminal intent is apparent. Car is powering down. Goodbye.”

So the cars on the road weren’t just stuck in traffic. They had probably powered down, too, at some point nearer the launch site. Awesome.

I slipped off my heels and shoved them into the satchel. Then I grabbed what was left of the food and a coat from the back seat and sprinted toward the water for all I was worth. I would have to try my luck with the boats.

My nylons plucked against the blacktop in the first few paces, so that by the time I reached the end of the block, they were sporting gaping holes on the soles of my feet. This was for the birds. Seriously, did these things serve any purpose at all? I paused just long enough to poke my feet through the holes and bunch the shredded ends around my ankles. That would have to do. I had a lot of tricks up my sleeve, but running in heels wasn’t one of them.

I was within a few blocks of the water when the air around me seemed to change subtly. At first, I couldn’t figure out what was different. I passed a man on a bench, leaning on a cane, then a group of people sitting in a circle on a big patch of grass. Someone had a guitar out, and several in the group were holding hands. I assumed they were around college age, but when I got closer, I saw that they were families. Old and young, huddled together. Small children ran in circles at the center of the cluster. No one so much as glanced at me as I sprinted by, and that was what had changed. I was no longer an outcast to be stared at, eyes narrowed. No one was judging me. I might as well have been invisible. Death had made us all equals.

I hustled past an antique store full of digital clocks, the old-fashioned kind that people used to plug into their walls or set out on a desk or a nightstand. Every clock faced the outside, so that the window was full of green and red square-shaped numbers, all reading 9:35 p.m. That’s also when I realized that every light in town was on. Of course. No one was concerned about saving electricity anymore.

Next was a convenience store with a cardboard sign taped on the window: “Take what you need.” Its fluorescent lights illuminated empty shelves. When the water of the harbor glinted into view, I started seeing restaurants. Every chair was occupied. I slowed my pace in spite of myself, trying to take in every aspect of the scene. The woman who caught my attention was draped over a chair, her long black gown spread out over the cheap red and brown carpet. She wore a diamond necklace and matching earrings. Also at her table were a teenage boy wearing a collared shirt and a man in shorts and flip flops.

The dining room was filled with tableaus as diverse as hers. There was a lot of wine, and a single man ran among the tables with food and bottles of liquor. He wore a smile.

A group of six sitting around a table for four waved at me, beckoning me to join them. The woman—I assumed she was the mother—slid to the side of her seat, indicating that I could share it with her. I didn’t even know I had stopped running. I was just standing at the window, taking it all in.

I almost joined her. I almost sat among this family of strangers and whiled away my remaining hours of life basking in their companionship, their acceptance. Maybe I would even tell them the truth about my life: that I had failed, in every possible way, that my family could never love me, that they’d left me to die in a prison commissary. I glanced at one of the boys at their table and thought that I would at least tell them about West, but not that he hadn’t come for me. I couldn’t tell anyone about that.

But I wasn’t one of them. I didn’t belong with their family. As much as I longed to fit into a group like that, it wasn’t in me. Maybe I would make it onto the OPT, and maybe I would die when the meteor struck. Maybe I would get all the way to the Ark, but not make it inside. Then I would die in space, alone. But I could never sit in a restaurant, drinking wine, and wait for fate to take me. One way or another, I was going to Saint John.

The harbor was clean and dark, and it smelled like fish and saltwater. A faint steam rose from the tips of the small waves, which were painted silver in the moonlight and dancing under the lights from the harbor. There were several larger boats and a few fishing rigs docked along a series of short piers. Glancing around, I climbed to the tallest point I could—a set of concrete steps leading to an American flag—and began to scan the gently bobbing boats. Most would have government-issue GPS systems and wouldn’t run. After checking the first few rows, I started to panic, just a little.

Then I saw it. It was about the size of a ski boat and mostly white, with plenty of peeling paint. The word “Bandito” scrolled across the bow in elegant script. It had to be at least twenty-five years old, before they started installing GPS on everything that moved. It was perfect.

It was also occupied. A man stood along the pier, pulling a length of rope hand over fist. Despite the slight chill in the summer air, he was stripped to the waist, and his skin appeared tanned in the half-light.

He turned to me as soon as the dock bobbled with my weight, and I raised my eyebrows.

“You’re Trin Lector.” I’d seen all his movies. His latest, about a group of renegade astronauts sent to uncover a plot to destroy the International Space Station, had been screened in the detention center right after the news about the meteor broke. It had broken every box office record ever, and it hadn’t even been that good, at least in my opinion. Not like his earlier stuff, anyway. But people flocked to anything involving spaceships these days.

The movie industry imploded after that, like everything else, but the demand for movies was higher than ever. No one cared about money. Executives quit. Studios collapsed. But the actors kept acting, and the writers kept writing. They said they were doing it for the fans, but I knew better. Immortality had never been more appealing, more urgent.

The most famous movie star in the world snorted at me. “No autographs.”

So he was a jerk. A jerk with a boat, though, so I couldn’t respond in kind. “No. I mean, sure. I am a fan, though.”

“Great.”

A cigarette dangled from his lips, and for an instant, I just stared. I hadn’t seen a real, lit cigarette since right after my first stint in detention, when Kip had given me one as a welcome home present. This guy must have saved up a pretty big supply when they went off the market fifteen years ago. That, or he’d only saved the one.

“Get going. I’m not taking any passengers.” His tone was less strained than before. He was used to being stared at.

“Just a couple hours. I need to get to—”

“Saint John. Yeah. You’re the first to ask.” The sarcasm brought the edge back to his voice. He turned to the rope.

“You can just drop me off and keep going wherever you’re going.”

“Fine idea. I don’t plan on getting shot, even if it’s all the same now. I’m going out to the middle of the ocean to meet the Pinball head on.”

“They’re guarding the harbor there?”

He sighed and made a show of stopping his work to face me. “They’re guarding everything. Can you blame them?” His forehead relaxed slightly as he took another drag. I watched, fascinated, as the tip of the cigarette glowed bright orange, then white, as he sucked in. “Your best bet is to turn back and find a group to join. Make some friends.” He stumbled back a little, and I saw that he had been drinking.

“I don’t need friends. I need a ride to Saint John.”

He grunted. “Wouldn’t do you any good anyway. You gotta have a starpass to set foot in town, much less get to the gate. Only cops left on earth are the ones guarding the transport cities.”

“I have a starpass.”

“And I got a rocket right here in my pocket.” It was a line from the movie about the astronauts. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes, and he slung the rope into the boat, swaying more than the action required.

“I’m serious. Look.” I dug into my shirt and pried the pass from my skin. I held it up and walked toward him, yanking Band-Aids off its corners and flicking them into the water along the way.

“Let me see that.”

I pulled my arm back. “Let me on the boat.”

He threw me a look I couldn’t read, then suddenly shrugged. “Worth a shot. All aboard.”

My satchel and food bag were on the floor of the boat in the next second, and I followed not a moment later. “Thank you. Thank you so much,” I said, straightening. “You have no idea—”

“Alright, alright.” Trin clambered into the front of the boat as I took my seat next to the inboard motor. “Let’s see the pass.”

“Here.” I held it toward his face.

He made a grab for it, but he was good and drunk, and I jerked it back with room to spare. “I’ll hang on to it.”

“Fine, fine,” he muttered into the dashboard. The engine sputtered to life, and I realized the boat ran on gasoline. This was old school. We went fast, much faster than I expected. The harbor shrank into the distance, and the light from the boat showed grass on both sides of the waterway. I was glad I’d brought the shapeless coat from the back seat of Meghan’s car. I slid it over my shoulders, careful to maintain an iron grip on the starpass. I wished I hadn’t tossed away the Band-Aids. Hands were not the most reliable way to keep up with stuff.

When the boat skimmed past the last mounds of earth and into the open water, I allowed myself to smile. As I expected, Trin swerved us to the left, and we swept north up the coast of Maine.

My moment of relief came crashing down an instant later when the engine died. I squinted at the actor, who was barely visible in the light from the dashboard. I couldn’t see his left hand, but his right slipped something small and metal into the pocket of his shorts. The boat key.

When he turned around, I imagined the gun in his hand before I saw it.

“Woah. Sit back down,” he said. “That’s right. Now just hand over that pass.”

“You have got to be kidding me. There’s no way they’ll let you on the transport. They’re gonna know you’re over forty.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, in a tone that implied that he usually got what he wanted. “Give it here. Your bags, too.” Up close, his hands were enormous. His fingers were thicker than the barrel of the gun. They stretched toward my face like wooden stumps.

I drew a ragged breath and pretended to fumble for the pass. “Please don’t do this.” My breath came a little harder, and shorter.

He was unmoved. “Now.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m just—here.” I let my voice shake and held the pass toward him. His red-rimmed eyes were totally focused on that shiny blue card. When those wooden fingers were inches away, I dropped the pass and yanked them, using his weight to swing myself up to a standing position.

He fell forward, and I shoved my body against the side of the boat. The gun went off, and my heart squeezed. Did the bullet hit the motor behind me?

His right elbow slammed into my face with unexpected force, and my field of vision swung upward, toward the stars. It occurred to me, too late, that he’d probably had combat training for half the movies he’d starred in. I found myself leaning backward over the side of the boat, jerking my head away from the choppy surface of the water.

I grabbed the back of his neck just as he cocked the gun a second time, a fact I barely registered before my mouth connected to his skin. I bit down, suppressing the urge to gag. He crumpled, but only for an instant.

It was all I needed. I hit him in the side of the head as hard as I could, then reached for his pistol arm. Using every ounce of strength I possessed, I flung him into the side of the boat.

He tottered for a sickening moment, and I ducked and reached for his ankles. Above me, the gun went off a second time. I pulled his legs up while simultaneously shoving my head into his sternum, and Trin Lector went over the side of the boat.

With the boat key still in his pocket.

I figured I had less than a minute before he got back on board, gun in hand. Although his boat was old school, the gun was a more recent design. It would fire despite being wet.

Luckily for me, I didn’t need that much time. I yanked the cover off the keyswitch and grappled for the wires in the darkness. I threw the switch for the dash lights and studied the wad of wires in my hand. Then I reached for a razor blade.

Blast.

My razor blades. I’d left them in Meghan’s bathroom. Not good, Char. Not good.

I forced myself to block out the sound of the splashing nearing the back of the boat and threw down the lid of the glove compartment, frantically tossing its contents onto the seat. Surely he kept a knife in here somewhere.

A glint of red the size of my thumb caught my eye. A pocketknife. Brilliant.

Within seconds I had stripped every wire I had uncovered. I had never hotwired a boat before, but the rules were always the same when there was no computer involved. Find the positive, connect it to the negative, and touch that to the starter wire. Problem was, before the government standardized this stuff, every manufacturer used different colors for the wires.

My hands did not shake even as the boat pitched backward very slightly, signaling that Trin had reached the back of the boat and was hoisting himself up. I tried combo after combo, steady as a cat. It did not pay to have shaky hands when the game was playing out.

“Hold it right there.”

I’ll never know why he didn’t just shoot first. Maybe he had lost the key in the water, and didn’t know how to hotwire the boat without me. Or maybe there was some shred of him that couldn’t shoot another person in cold blood, even drunk. Even when the stakes were as high as they were that night.

I tried not to wonder which it was.

But he didn’t shoot. Instead, he said, “Hold it right there,” like we were in a movie, and that was all the time I needed. The motor growled to life, and I pressed the throttle into first position. An instant later, the engine compressed, and it was all over.

I slammed the throttle fully open. The boat jerked forward, and the sound of his splash was drowned in the roar of the motor.

I don’t know if he caught in the blades or hit the water clean. I did not look behind me.

Eight

I stopped only once, to retrieve the pass from the floor of the boat, and only after I was at least a mile away. As I slid it into my nylons, next to my thigh, I wondered what Meghan would have thought of my leaving Trin in the water and decided not to dwell on that. He’d planned to kill me, and I had done the only thing I could. Hopefully Meghan would have understood that.

The night was beautiful, and despite its age, the Bandito had a strong light on its prow. I hugged the coast and kept a constant speed, so that I knew how far I had traveled. After sixty miles, I slowed at each cluster of lights along the shoreline, but I needn’t have worried. Saint John was unmistakable.

The Coast Guard surrounded the harbor, holding the last fifty or so feet of water open. Each official-looking boat had a floodlight and a loudspeaker, and the same message played over and over. “Civilian watercraft must maintain a distance of one hundred miles. Only citizens in possession of OPT passes will be allowed in the harbor. For the safety of law-abiding citizens, those violating orders will be shot. Anyone attempting to board a military vessel will be shot.”

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