The Fox Inheritance Page 17

  But still strangers. Strangers who could have gone into my room. As we approach, the workers look over at us. I can already tell they are sizing me up. Allys greets the man near the truck who seems to be the one in charge and then introduces me. His face is heavily lined, and his eyes have a permanent squint, like he has spent years in the sun.

  "Bone," he says. "Mr. Bone to you."

  There is no shaking of hands. A nod of the head. A grunt. A shovel in my hand. The niceties are over. Allys winks at me when Bone turns away, which I assume is a message that his behavior is normal. Yeah, in some alternate universe. She waves good-bye, saying she will return later with more supplies, and then leaves me alone with the cheerful company.

  The two other men ignore me. I notice they are both thin and don't seem particularly experienced at what they are doing. One drops his end of the pipe. The other curses at him and then, for no apparent reason, they switch ends, like one end of the pipe might be lighter than the other. Bone puts me to work at the opposite end of the field from them, digging trenches. It is mind-bogglingly primitive. They send people to Mars, but they still dig trenches by hand?

  Our spider broke down, Allys had explained just before she left, and we can't afford another right now. She pointed to a large long-legged machine near the truck that actually does look like a spider. It digs trenches, tills rows, and hauls materials on its back--a handy little arachnid--except for today. After half an hour of digging, I take off my shirt. I should have done it sooner. The shirt is drenched. After another half hour, I put my shovel down to go check out the spider. There has to be a better way.

  "It's not working," Bone calls when he sees me walk over to it.

  "I can see that," I answer. I walk around the beast, trying to find where controls might be hidden.

  "Those trenches aren't going to dig themselves," he calls again.

  "No, they aren't," I call back. The body of the spider is four feet across, and each jointed leg is about eight feet long. Finally, on one of the back legs, I find a slight indentation. I press it, and a panel unfolds.

  "I told you, it doesn't work."

  I hear the gritty rise in Bone's voice, but this time I don't respond. I look at the panel, which has a dozen small lighted squares, each with a printed word in a language I don't recognize. How many commands could there be? Go. Stop. Dig--that's the one I need.

  "He told you. Doesn't work. Don't touch it." The voice is right behind me. I turn around. All three men stand just a few feet away. Easy for them to say. They're not the ones digging ditches. I turn my back to them and touch the first light on the panel. The spider responds, groaning, rising, coming to life. I touch the second light on the panel. Its front legs snap, like it is stretching. I touch the third light and the spider's second set of legs dig into the earth. Bingo. I turn back to my peanut gallery.

  "Would you look at that? Looks like it's working, after all. I guess it just needed the right--" I feel something touch my leg and I whip around, but it already has me. A clamp on its back leg locks onto my ankle. "What--"

  And then it takes off like a crazed horse. I fall to my back and am dragged over row after row of tilled earth. It's moving so fast, I can't reach up to touch the panel. I flop like a rag doll behind it. Dirt flies in my face, my mouth, my eyes. I try to grab hold of something, but there is nothing to grab. It moves through the tilled field and starts up the hill, dragging me over grass, brush, and rocks. At the crest of the hill, it stops dead like it has either taken mercy on me or reached the end of its leash. Good spider. I lie there, rubbing grit from my eyes, spitting dirt out of my mouth, and looking up at a blinding sun. My back hurts, but my ego hurts more. I sit up and press the first light on the panel and the spider groans, its legs bend, and it releases my ankle. When I stand, I see it is not just the crest of the hill. It is the edge of a cliff. I look over at the straight drop down. At least two hundred feet below are some jagged rocks and a black seething river. I step back from the edge.

  Yeah. Good spider.

  I limp back down the hill without making eye contact with the men below, who I know are watching me. I spend the next three hours digging the trench without complaint. Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way. I guess they already knew that. And it is hard. When dirt turns to clay or rocks, I put my shovel down and swing a pick instead. My trench finally connects with the one that the three men are laying pipe in--a much longer trench they must have dug on another day.

  Bone walks over and surveys my work. "Hm. Done."

  A man of many words. No praise. No thanks. No "good job." But I didn't really expect it. I implied I was smarter than him when I thought I could make the spider work even though he couldn't and then I mocked their advice and stepped right into trouble. I wonder if that's why they have such chips on their shoulders--have they been insulted one too many times? I hope I never get so cynical that I speak in grunts and scowls. Bone points to the forest of eucalyptus. "Shortcut. Follow the creek back to the house." And on top of no appreciation, I also have no ride. But a shortcut is better than nothing.

  I glance up the hill at the spider, wondering if it needs to be retrieved. "What about that?"

  "It doesn't work."

  Right. That's well established. I nod. I guess it stays right where it is, and I'm glad I won't have to tangle with the maniac spider again. Or these guys. I walk over to the truck and grab my shirt that is draped over the hood. It is stiff with dirt and dried sweat, so I stuff it into my pack and walk away. I don't bother with good-byes. I know they aren't interested in them, either.

  Halfway across the field, I look back over my shoulder. They are throwing shovels and picks into the back of the truck. And then one by one, they put on coats--just like the one in my pack--and I watch the hems flap in the breeze. Even from a distance, I can tell they don't just wear them for protection. They wear them for a purpose.

  Chapter 53

  The forest is eerily quiet, except for the twigs and eucalyptus bark that snap and crunch beneath my feet. Occasionally the creek gurgles over a rock or a bird screeches somewhere high above, startling me. I've never been in a forest like this. The ones back home were thick and green with pine, spruce, and maple. This one has tall, thin trees with gray mottled trunks and branches that hang like the thin bones of skeletons. Large chunks of their bark peel away like cheeks that need to be smoothed back into place.

  I follow the creek, since Bone said that would lead me back to the house. I'm still bare-chested, and feel the fingers of cool shade sliding through the forest.

  A snap.

  A screech.

  I look up and see the shadow of a wing flying away.

  And then a hmmm.

  I stop. A chill tickles my neck. I look around.

  Hmmm.

  I turn my head, listening.

  "Is someone there?"

  Only silence.

  Was it just a breeze quivering the leaves that I heard?

  I look to either side of me, through the hundreds of shadows of thin, bony trees. The forest is empty, but it doesn't feel like I'm alone.

  "Hello?" I call. "Bone?"

  There is no answer. I decide not to ditch the knife in my pack. I hurry along the edge of the creek, kicking up rocks and leaves so there is plenty of noise to distract me.

  Hmmm.

  The last fifty yards, at the first glimpse of the house through the trees, I run.

  Chapter 54

  Twilight. I feel like my dad coming home from work, sore, tired, and hungry, and way dirtier. Except this isn't my home. I have no home.

  It's a strange thought to belong nowhere and to no one. This past year I thought of Gatsbro's estate as my new home. Why didn't I question it sooner like Kara did? Maybe I just wanted to avoid the obvious for as long as I could. For now, Jenna's home is my home, and even though it's probably temporary, right now it looks pretty good--even the sagging porch.

  I walk up the back steps and hear commotion insi
de. Jenna yelling, Oh, no, Kayla squealing. In two steps, I leap through the back door, already pulling my pack from my shoulder and reaching inside for the knife. One step into the kitchen and I freeze. I release my fingers on the knife still inside my pack.

  "Ole!"

  "About time!"

  "Look what the cat dragged in."

  Jenna, Allys, and Kayla are seated around the kitchen table--and so are Dot and Miesha. Dot sits in a high-tech assistance chair and wears a sombrero. Miesha is draped in a red and green serape, and her hair is now black. They look just as surprised to see me as I am to see them. Jenna jumps up from her chair and comes toward me. "What in the world happened to you?"

  I look down at my bare chest. Besides dried sweat mixed with dirt, there are a few scratches. Wait until she sees my back. "I had a wrestling match with a spider."

  "You didn't--"

  "Yeah. I did." But none of that matters. They made it. Dirt, sweat, and all, I walk over to Dot and Miesha and hesitate for only a second before I hug them. Miesha is caught off guard and stiffens for just a moment, but then she hugs me back. I really don't care what we have or haven't done before. Today I almost went over a cliff, and I'm glad to see them.

  "Mission accomplished, Customer Locke!" Dot says. "We shopped ourselves all the way down to Mexico!"

  I pull up an empty chair next to them and run my finger along the rim of Dot's sombrero. "I can see that, Dot. Looks like you got some new wheels too."

  "And then some," Miesha says. "It took a hefty chunk out of the money card, but it was worth it. She was becoming quite a load to push."

  "And it does everything," Dot says. "I can even go up and down steps. It's almost as good as legs."

  "I like it better than legs," Kayla says.

  Dot beams.

  "We were able to get her recharged too," Miesha says. "She's good to go for at least another three weeks."

  "And speaking of good to go--" Jenna excuses herself and Kayla, saying Kayla needs a bath. Kayla protests that it's too early, but Jenna is firm, promising more playtime later. I know she is trying to protect Kayla from hearing too much and there probably are plenty of things she shouldn't hear. When they're both out of the room, I turn back to Miesha and Dot. "How did you find the place?"

  "We were just telling everyone about it when you walked in. We found out you have to be very careful about the Network in these parts. There are infiltrators." Dot says the word like she is talking about aliens from another planet.

  "We were nosing around at the station and were just about to ask a CabBot when we were intercepted by someone from the Network," Miesha adds.

  "Good thing too," Dot says. "He told us that some of the CabBots are bounty hunters. You would never see that sort of thing in Boston. The Network contact didn't know you, of course, but as soon as we mentioned your friend Jenna, he knew right where to take us. She's a regular stop for them."

  A regular stop? Allys looks sideways at me. I return her glance by raising my eyebrows. Jenna's questionable circle of friends continues to grow. I look back at Miesha. "What about Gatsbro? Do you think he followed you down to Mexico?"

  "Oh, he followed us all right, like a shark after bloody chum. We saw him twice when we had delays at two of the stations. The last time was in El Paso. Once we crossed the border into Mexico, we rented a car and abandoned it in a small town about a hundred miles away. We left the code on the seat so anyone could take it. Hopefully someone will--all the way to South America."

  Dot jumps in. "That was my idea. That should keep your pursuer guessing for a while."

  My pursuer. It would almost sound romantic if it wasn't so deadly. I remember the cold, detached amusement in Gatsbro's eyes in the alley, and then when Miesha locked the doors and he pounded on the windows, I saw the sputtering rage. He's not just pursuing product anymore--he's after vengeance too. How dare anyone as low as us interfere with his carefully calculated plans. "Let's hope it keeps him guessing forever."

  Miesha leans forward on the table and says in a low voice, "What about Kara?"

  I knew it was only a matter of time before we got to that. I shake my head. "She hasn't shown. I don't know what to think. It's been too long. She had no money. Nothing--"

  "Don't worry, Customer Locke. Your friend--there was something different about her." Dot confidently nods her head. "I am very good at figuring out customers, and she had what we call drive. Like a sweeper. One set course, and nothing gets in their way. She will make it."

  I cringe and am almost glad Kara's not here for that analogy. If she heard herself being compared to a mountain of mindless metal--little more than a glorified vacuum cleaner--it would set her on a rampage. But Dot is right. One course. That's Kara. Once she sets her mind on something, there's no stopping her.

  Miesha and Dot tell me more about where they went and the trail they left and the sights they saw. There is an odd moment of quietness among us as we all witness Dot describing the wonders she saw for the first time, from the mystic orange sunsets of Santa Fe to the jewel blue sea of the Gulf. Jewel blue. I think her description makes us all pause. Is that standard CabBot vocabulary? What is the blueness of blue for a Bot? It makes me wonder, Whose blue is bluer, mine or hers?

  Dot tilts her head to the side, noticing the silence, and immediately turns the conversation back to me, wanting to know about my arrival here. I share with them my encounter with the bounty hunter CabBot. Dot winces when I describe taking his arm off, but then comes to my defense and says it served him right. I tell them about having to run and walk all the way here in the rain, and tell Miesha the coat worked well, like she said it would.

  "He's quite attached to it," Allys adds. "He wore it this morning, just as a fashion statement."

  I roll my eyes.

  "He never cared much for fashion before," Miesha says.

  "Exactly," Allys replies.

  Miesha looks back and forth between Allys and me, but says nothing.

  Jenna and Kayla return, and Allys orders me to go wash off at least one layer of mud because dinner will be ready soon, and then she shows Miesha to the room where she and Dot will stay.

  As I strip my clothes off and turn on the shower, my thoughts return to Dot's earlier words about Kara. She will make it. When? What is taking her so long? But one thing Dot said plays over and over again in my head. Your friend--there was something different about her. Something different. There always was.

  Chapter 55

  I've been at this job for twenty-two years. I've heard it all. I know what you're thinking before you even say it. Don't try me.

  He thought he knew it all, but Dean Witters didn't know Kara.

  She, Jenna, and I had ditched seminar. It wasn't our first time, but it was the first time we had been caught. We should have been afraid as we lined up on the bench outside his office. And part of me was. If I looked down at my shoes and thought about where I was and what I would tell my parents, my blood rushed from my stomach to my head like it was going to shoot out my ears.

  But when I looked up, and Kara widened her eyes in mock terror and Jenna stifled a nervous laugh and shrugged her shoulders, I thought I was going to split apart with laughter, and the more I tried to hold it in, the funnier it became.

  It was all my fault, Dean Witters. I told them seminar had been canceled. They didn't know.

  When we opened our mouths to protest, Kara shot us a look that clearly said, Shut up. Jenna and I both knew there was no stopping her. This was her call, her moment. She owned it.

  Kara took the fall for us that day.

  Chapter 56

  I hear Kayla and Dot out on the porch. As promised, Jenna gave Kayla more playtime after her bath. Even over my shower I hear Kayla's squeals and Dot's hoots as they take turns going up and down the porch steps. I smell the casserole Jenna has baking too. I could eat two. I scrub the dirt from my chest and pull a washcloth over my back to undo the damage from the spider. The soap stings the scrapes and scratches. The pain is no
thing compared to the damage that Gatsbro's goons did, or maybe I have readjusted my sensitivity levels just as Hari feared I would. Yes, Gatsbro, be very afraid. I am becoming something you never planned on. Something I never planned on, either.

  Jenna offered to clean and bandage my back. The thought of her touching and bathing me while I was fully awake was tempting. Before the world turned upside down for all three of us, when we were just friends at school, I wanted so badly for her to notice me, not in the friend way that she already did, but in the same way I noticed her. The way I thought about her at night when I went to bed, thinking about her skin, her lips, her hair and how it smelled when I got close. Our friendship meant everything to me, but I couldn't help wondering about more. And sometimes at school, on the bench at lunch, sometimes she would linger, her shoulder touching mine more than it needed to, her eyes watching me a second longer than a friend's would, and I would wonder if maybe she was noticing me in more than the friend way too.

  Hmmm.

  I drop the washcloth and spin around in the shower. I wipe away a circle of steam on the glass door. The bathroom is empty. I open the door to be sure. Steam pours out into an empty room. Did I only hear the hum in my head? I grab the washcloth from the floor and hurry to finish washing, letting the shower spray in my ears.

  I listen to Jenna out on the porch laughing at the antics of Dot and Kayla, and I turn off the water, grabbing a towel to dry myself. I don't want to keep her waiting. As I pull on my pants, I remember a line from a poem that Jenna always liked--all I could see from where I stood--and I wonder if she remembers it too. Or was it Kara who liked it? It's hard to remember.

  Chapter 57

  "I'm sorry about your back," Jenna whispers.

  "My fault. I was warned. And you were right about the work. It did distract me."

  We sit on a bench near the pond. The others have all gone to bed. When Jenna said she was going to take a walk to the greenhouse to get something, I said I would walk with her. We never made it to the greenhouse. I spotted what I thought was an enormous bright star, but Jenna told me it was the Galactic Radar Defense satellite. "Here, let me show you some of the new stars in the night sky." We whisper in the quiet about the twinkling lights above us.