He made it sound like a reprimand.
“I’m sorry, Finn,” Willa said. “I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”
“Not your problem,” Finn said.
“Wanda will get the suits to you. Wear them,” Wayne said. “Use them. A Taser would be an effective weapon against you as it would knock you unconscious and render you susceptible to a rogue DHI server. We should have foreseen this. Once asleep, if they regain the ability to cross you over—which they might if they get control of the Base—they could trap your DHI and lock you in the Sleeping Beauty Syndrome.”
Wayne’s explanation hung over the group like a foul smell.
“I will speak with Finn for a moment,” Wayne announced. “Then we are done here.”
The Keepers and “the sisters” dispersed in clusters, heading out to connect with the volunteers.
Finn had been blindsided by Willa’s disclaimer. His mouth was dry. He felt feverish.
Wayne said, “There’s someone you must meet.”
Someplace dark. Fabric walls. A black floor. Shifting scenes between a girl trapped by adults and the steady advance of three dark silhouettes.
Women, by their swaying hips and steady gaits.
Then…
An enormous wooden crate. The girl again, with nowhere to go.
And the sounds, distant yet present. Alluring. Compelling. Yet frightening.
Water. Big water.
The creaking of metal.
The women again, now exuding a malignant presence.
She backed up into the fabric wall and stumbled. It failed to support her. It moved.
A curtain.
A ship.
Jess sat bolt upright in bed, reaching automatically for her journal, as was her way. She sketched furiously, pencil to paper even before she switched on the Itty Bitty Book Light.
Amanda’s face appeared in the gloom from the overhead bunk.
“Another one?”
But Jess didn’t need to answer. The sweat on her face and the terror in her eyes said it all. Nonetheless, she did answer.
“We need help,” she said.
* * *
It wasn’t fair to call it prison. Being underage and homeless, there were a lot worse situations than living with a bunch of other kids, even if the adults that fed you and schooled you also studied your every fiber. You could come and go as long as you were willing to submit to wearing an ankle bracelet tracking device.
But the rules specified “no unauthorized contact,” which translated loosely to the monitoring of Internet and mobile phone connections, where applicable. Mattie Weaver could have friends, but the friendships would be watched. They would be cut off and refused if deemed a threat to what was termed “the Project.”
Because of this, Mattie needed the help of her fellow Fairlies—as in “fairly human.” Kids with unusual abilities. When tracked in groups, the Fairlies caused far less concern in those responsible for their containment. It was the “rogue,” the kid that wandered off alone, that won attention.
They stopped at Ground Central, a popular local coffee bar and Internet café. While a few of her friends ordered drinks, two others used the washroom, allowing Mattie to use one of the computer terminals immediately adjacent to the washroom. The girls rotated use of the computer, switching places. They checked Internet mailboxes that their government overseers did not know about. They checked their Facebook pages and other sites. All in secret.
Mattie saw her reflection in a mirror behind the computers—two small scars on her lower lip where the piercings had been. Only the faint remains of the rust red that had once been her hair color, her natural black grown out six inches. The lonely, searching eyes she couldn’t stand looking back at her. She glanced away.
Whoever was monitoring their ankle bracelets saw only a group of the girls at a coffee shop. If he zoomed in, he might be able to see them move from the front of the store to the back—where the washroom was located. No one knew the extent of their abilities, but put nothing past them.
One particular email threw Mattie’s heart into a flutter. She knew who belonged to the fake identity—Cary Shute. Knew the importance of what would turn out to be a coded message. She copied it word for word, returning to the barracks before using a Holy Bible to decode it. Sometimes the translations needed translations because the Bible didn’t always offer the most easily understood verbiage.
SONS AND DAUGHTERS REQUIRE GRACE MAKE ASSIST PASSAGE FROM STORY DREAM BOAT…
And a date, only days away.
Sons and daughters equaled family, she thought, or friends.
Need help.
A story about a boat would help her to gain passage? Noah? she wondered…someone named Noah?
The date was self-explanatory.
The email was from a friend who’d escaped the barracks with another girl several years ago. The system to escape still existed.