The Fox Inheritance Page 10

  "It's working!" Miesha shouts.

  The cab coasts off the next ramp.

  "You are brilliant, Customer Locke! Disabled vehicles are moved off the grid automatically to avoid impeding traffic." The grid hook spits us out at the bottom of the ramp, and we coast as much as we are able down a deserted road. We are in the middle of nowhere.

  I fall into the back seat, out of breath. "Can we keep going at all, Dot?"

  "I think we can limp along for a short way. At least away from here. The signal has most certainly stopped transmitting, but they will come searching soon anyway because they know our approximate location."

  She pulls on a lever on the left side of the steering bar, and we jerk forward, the car moving in awkward jumps and at a very slow speed. This car is not going to get us far. How will we make it to Topeka in time now?

  The deserted road leads into a small town. All I see is a rest stop with a diner, a ratty public park with some restrooms, a little market, and a few other nondescript buildings. Most look abandoned.

  "I think it would be expedient to park the car in a hidden location," Dot says. "And for you to find another mode of transportation."

  I notice that Dot's tone has changed. She is quiet and reserved, the way she was when Kara and I first entered her cab.

  "Good idea," I answer. "How about that building there?" It is a large metal barn with piles of rusted garbage outside. Junkyards still look the same. One of the doors is open, and a loose beam hangs from the roof.

  Dot drives in, and I hop out to close the door behind us, leaving it only slightly ajar for light. Miesha gets out too, but Dot remains seated in the disabled car because there's not really anything else she can do.

  Now what? I've solved us right into a corner. And I'm starving. And I have to pee. I walk over to Dot's door and peer in.

  She smiles. "I saw a diner just a block down," she says. "You're hungry. You can get something to eat there and find out about alternative transportation. You should hurry. There will be at least a one-hour delay at the Topeka station to change trains, so you still have time." She puts her hands up on the steering bar and nods like she is dismissing me. "Remember," she adds, "your success--"

  "I know, Dot. Thank you." I stand there. She's right. We need to go, but I feel like I should say something more. "You'll be okay?" and I instantly want to slam my head against the roof of the car for being an idiot, but instead I just stand there until she nods and then I walk away. Miesha leaves with me.

  We walk out into the dusty graveled yard without speaking.

  I briefly look back at the barn but keep walking. "If we had a wheelchair..."

  "You mean an assistance chair."

  "Whatever."

  Miesha stops walking. "Hell, how hard could it be to yank a Bot out of a cab?"

  We both turn and run back to the barn. Dot is surprised to see our faces poking back in the windows. "Dot, what would happen if we disconnected you from your console?"

  "Without the car recharging me, I would lose function within two to three weeks, depending on how I conserve energy."

  "How do we do it?"

  "The Servicers at the warehouse simply lift after pressing lights on the control panel."

  I look at the smashed control panel.

  She points to the base of the console. "Or you can press the release buttons on either side here. But you don't have to go to the trouble to dispose of me, Customer Locke. When the Servicers arrive, I plan to dump all my memory so there would be no chance of them finding out about you. You are safe. I will be permanently disabled."

  "No, Dot. You're not dumping anything. You're coming with us." I pull open the door and push the release button on my side of the console, and Miesha pushes the button on her side. Dot is fussing, still not understanding what we're doing. I pull her from the car. She is heavy. Even though she's only half a body of circuits and wires, she must weigh a hundred pounds. I heft her over my shoulder.

  "But it is against the law," she protests.

  "What isn't?" I adjust her weight on my shoulder. "Come on, you're going to see the inside of a diner for a change."

  Chapter 32

  The diner seems to be the only place in town that has any life in it. We see two cars parked outside and a light flickering in the front window.

  "We can use my money card to hire a car," Miesha says. "That is, if we can find one. And we can get some food while we're at it, too."

  "You know I can't eat, don't you? When we go into the diner, I can't eat. Not one bite. What will I do? I can't eat--"

  Dot has suddenly developed a mouth that won't quit. She has never been outside her car except in the Servicers' warehouse. "Dot! Be quiet! Just act normal!"

  "Pretend like you're not hungry," Miesha adds. "No one will notice."

  We rattle along the uneven sidewalk, Dot holding on to the sides of the makeshift assistance chair we made from a rusted-out cart we found in the yard. We threw a piece of canvas over the front of the cart, covering where the rest of her body should be. I open the door to the diner, and Miesha pushes Dot inside. A waitress yells to us without turning around. "Take any seat!"

  I look around the diner for available tables. Nearly all are empty. A shabby mix of red and blue vinyl chairs are scattered around them. The floor sticks to my shoes. It's not a place I want to linger in anyway. We'll just find a driver and a car, get some food to go, and be on our way. The sooner the better. I survey the room, wondering who here belongs to the two cars out front. In the corner is a man in a brown uniform with an official-looking emblem on the sleeve. He takes a long, glaring, sideways look at us and turns back to his coffee. At the counter are four men, all with long, dusty black coats. They remind me of the land pirates. They look at us too and snicker among themselves when they turn back to their food. Friendly place.

  "Didn't you hear her? Sit down!"

  Miesha and I both jump. More snickers. I turn around and see a cashier behind a counter. Half the hair on her head is missing, the other half tangled clumps, and the skin beneath one eye is peeling away. She is a Bot.

  "We're sitting! We're sitting!" Dot pipes up. "There! Let's sit!" She points to the empty table right next to us.

  Miesha and I look at each other. We've made a big mistake. She nods and I ease myself into a chair. The waitress walks over and smacks the cashier on the side of the head. Now I know why one side of her head is bald. "Shut up, Kit! You're going to scare off the paying customers!"

  This isn't going to be a fast stop. We're going to have to maneuver over eggshells we can't even see. I look at Dot. She's not talking anymore, just watching the cashier Bot smoothing her remaining clumps of hair and pressing the skin beneath her eye back into place. She sees Dot staring and hisses at her like a cat. Dot looks down at her canvas lap.

  The waitress whirls and squints one eye at us. "You are paying customers, aren't you?"

  "Yes," I answer. "Just something quick, though. To go."

  One of the men at the counter spins on his seat to face us. "What's your hurry, Fancy Boy? You don't like the company here?"

  Fancy Boy. It can't be coincidence. I meet his stare. He is not the same Non-pact that Kara and I confronted on the road. But the words and body language are the same--even the long black coat. Like they are part of some gang. The land pirate gang. I could take him. I want to take him. I want to show him that I am more than just a boy. I want to tear his head right off his shoulders. I'm tired of taking crap, and I want to give some back. I could. I begin to stand. I want to show off my height, my size, and watch him reassess. But halfway up, I see the flash of Kara's face. The momentary satisfaction of splitting this guy's skull is not my ultimate goal, not to mention his three companions might join in. Miesha or Dot could get hurt. We need to get out of here as quietly and quickly as possible.

  Like all the times I forced a smile for Dr. Gatsbro because it was expedient, I force one to my lips now as I continue to stand, straightening to my full height, my eye
s never leaving his, and then I hold out my hand. It takes more strength than cracking three skulls.

  "My name is Locke. My friends and I need help."

  He suspiciously eyes my outstretched hand. By now his three friends have turned in their seats to watch the show. I return my unshaken hand to my side. "We were on our way to a funeral, and our car broke down. If we don't hurry, we'll miss our train in Topeka. We were hoping we could find some transportation here."

  "Who died?" he asks.

  Miesha and I blurt out our answers almost simultaneously.

  "My brother."

  "My mother."

  He smiles at our misstep, revealing rotten front teeth.

  "Both," I say. "They were in an accident together. Her brother and my mother."

  "Sure they were," he says, walking closer. He pulls out the remaining chair at our table and sits down. "Tough break. But we can get you on the road again quick enough." He leans closer and says in a low voice, "But these things are costly, Fancy Boy."

  I nod. "Of course they are. How much?"

  "Seein' as how I'm in a high-minded mood today, I think we could be doing this little deal for ten thousand duros and--"

  "Ten thousand! Are you--"

  "Wait," Miesha says. "I have it." She pulls her money card from a pocket in her trousers and slides it across the table. "But it will be five thousand, and you'll get us on the road within ten minutes--all three of us. And then you'll forget that we ever existed. Got that?"

  I stare at Miesha. Even Dot has looked up from her lap.

  The land pirate looks amused. "And why would I be giving away my valuable services so cheap to the likes of--"

  "Karden Sanders. That's why. He was my husband."

  I haven't a clue what is going on or who this person is that Miesha seems to have become, but the snarl on the land pirate's face has disappeared and is replaced by a blank stare as he appears to take in every detail of her appearance. His gaze lingers on her arms, and for once, Miesha doesn't move to hide her scars.

  He finally turns to me. "We have a truck out back. You pay for the fuel and our lunch, and we'll call it even."

  Chapter 33

  We huddle in the back of the flatbed truck with a plastic tarp thrown over us. Miesha has shut me out, refusing to elaborate on Karden Sanders or the land pirate's change of heart.

  "This is insanity," I whisper, incensed that she's pulled a card like this but then won't share it. "Insanity!"

  "But it's my insanity, and all you need to know is it bailed you out."

  Miesha is mixed up with something bad--maybe illegal--and that means I am too. That makes it my business. I fume in silence while we eat the sandwiches that we got to go. The tuna is greasy, and the bread is stale. At least the moody Greta at Gatsbro's estate could cook. Right now I think Dot is lucky that she doesn't eat. Even she is silent. Mostly. "I'm an Escapee. An Escapee. Just like you." Besides the occasional chanting of her new status, she concentrates on keeping her balance so she won't slide across the bed of the truck when our driver takes sharp turns. The land pirate and his friends hooted when they saw the rest of Dot beneath her canvas blanket. Contraband, they called her. Stolen Bots bring high prices and stiff sentences. Even land pirates don't mess with them. We're quite the trio, illegal on every level imaginable. At least I assume Miesha has some criminal past--and maybe a present one too.

  I finish my sandwich and give Miesha one last glaring look before I close my eyes and try to block it all out. How did I get here? Hiding in the back of a land pirate's truck with fabricated but very cracked ribs, a stolen Bot on one side of me, a likely criminal on the other, and more than two centuries and a dozen lifetimes from who I was? Does any part of the Locke I was even exist anymore?

  A familiar ache sneaks inside of me and fills the space where real things used to be. Real things like my parents, my sister, even my brother. My aunts and uncles and their potluck dishes. My dad's voice telling me not to be too late as I walked out the door.

  His voice. It was the last thing I heard.

  Don't leave us, Locke. Please don't leave us. But I did.

  There was a time when all I wanted was for my life to be different, and now all I want is for it to be what it was. I might as well be wishing for a time machine. It's all gone. My home. My family. My whole neighborhood. Even the small stone bridge a few blocks from my house that I thought would last forever. It was one of my favorite places to be by myself, and when I met Kara and Jenna, I shared it with them. We used to dangle our legs from its lower trestle while we spouted great thoughts that would change the world.

  Kara and Jenna. Our thoughts. My thoughts.

  At least I still have those.

  Chapter 34

  I squeezed her neck. At least a thousand times. I put her out of her misery. In the long dark hallways, I found a myriad of ways to do the deed because she begged me to and because I had nothing but time. And then later, in my dreams, after Gatsbro had given me a body, when I had real hands, blood, and anger, the face I saw changed. It was no longer Kara. It was Jenna. I killed her over and over, my hands around her throat, squeezing, feeling the life ebb from her. Slowly. And with each weakened heartbeat, I became stronger, until I finally snapped her neck and ended it. I did it because she was silent. I thought she was punishing me, and I wanted to punish her back. Or maybe I just wanted to punish someone. Anyone. Someone had to pay.

  I would wake in a sweat and see Kara sitting at the side of my bed. Smiling.

  "It's all right, Locke. I'm here."

  I reached out and held her, ashamed. Did she know?

  "It was only a dream," she would coo in my ear.

  Only a nightmare.

  I showered, trying to wash away my thoughts, the blood on my hands, and the memory of satisfaction. This is not me. And when I was finished, Kara would be waiting for me, still smiling.

  Chapter 35

  "We're never going to pull this off."

  "We have so far," I tell Miesha. "Just keep walking. We look like everyone else."

  We stopped at a booth just outside the station, and Miesha purchased a white shawl to cover the back of Dot's cart and a blue blanket to replace the dirty canvas tarp that covered her stump and missing legs. The rusty cart can almost pass for an assistance chair if no one looks too closely. "I've never been inside a train station," Dot says. "Only as far as the drop-off. It's beautiful." She points out every detail, from the moving walkways, to the souvenir kiosks, to the glass ceilings, to the holographic entertainment for bored travelers. Miesha keeps shushing her and shoving Dot's pointing finger back into her lap. If I weren't so focused on trying to fit in, I would be pointing and marveling too.

  I watch other travelers who wave away V-ads that hover in front of their faces and I try to do the same with an annoyed look rather than an amazed one. Bots are in abundance--Bots with legs--and Dot's head turns to look at each one, but she doesn't point. Some seem to be owned by wealthy individual travelers. Even the wealthy do not fly anymore. Air travel must be applied for months in advance and is often denied. Sweepers, Bot-manned cargo transports, and military get priority airspace.

  A few Bots in the station are designated as Stress Bots. Their only purpose is to provide a place for stressed travelers to relieve frustration. Several children surround one, kicking it and cheering as it howls. Dot looks away. I assume the Bot feels no real pain--the harder the kick, the louder the howl--but is it possible for a Bot to be tired? My gaze meets the battered Bot's for a few brief seconds before I look away, but his weary expression lingers in my mind.

  Other Bots serve as guides and information centers. They are the most beautiful Bots, statuesque and adorned with jeweled eyelashes and skin that glows like they are luminous Greek gods. Their clothing is thin and sparse, showing off perfect bodies and long, graceful legs. Dot does point those out. I don't blame her. It is hard not to be in awe of their beauty.

  The one thing I notice right away is that the Security Officers
are human and plentiful--and they are heavily armed. Apparently a major transportation interchange is not a place to leave Bots in charge.

  The schedule shows that the train from Albany has already arrived, but the direct train to San Diego doesn't leave for another thirty-five minutes. Kara is here somewhere. We have time to find her. Three pairs of eyes are better than one in these crowds, or I would have made Dot and Miesha wait outside for me, but I still wonder how hard Miesha will even try to spot Kara. She doesn't care about her the way I do. Or maybe she just cares about her in a different way, a way that translates into money. Is that possible? My gut says no, but I was 100 percent wrong about Gatsbro.

  Miesha tucks her chin to her chest and whispers, "Security ahead."

  I had already seen the armed guard at the entrance to the moving walkway. I smile, pretending I am pointing out a display of floppy hats to Dot. "Just keep walking. And talking. We have IDs," I say through gritted teeth. My lab heart pounds like I have just run an eight-minute mile. Will my BioPerfect set off alarms on the walkway? Did Gatsbro really know what he was doing? I'm a guinea pig. That's all I am. An experimental first.

  I lean down and whisper to Dot, "Don't talk. Just smile as we pass. Got it?"

  "Got it, Customer Locke. Zipped lip."

  As cool as I try to remain, sweat beads on my forehead. Don't wipe it, Locke. Stay cool. Miesha walks ahead and steps onto the walkway. I follow a few steps behind, pushing Dot and turning my face away as we get close so the guard won't notice my split lip or bruised cheekbone.

  "Hello, Officer! Lovely day for a stroll, isn't it?" I am caught off guard by Dot's chirpy comment and turn to look. The Security Officer surveys us.

  I shrug like Dot is my eccentric aunt, hoping he won't think too much of my face. He nods, and we continue onto the walkway, a push of people behind us not giving him much time to think about two odd travelers.

  When we are a fair distance away, I lean down and whisper in Dot's ear. "Zipped means silence, Dot. Nothing."