UnBound (28 page)

“Settle down,” she hisses. “I'm here to save you.”

This must be the ultimate humiliation—not just to be bested by a girl, but to be bested by a girl who serves slop in a soup kitchen. He tries to wriggle out from under her, but the girl's got moves and keeps him pinned.

“Stop squirming, or I will hit you so hard you'll think you've entered the divided state.” Then in one smooth motion she lifts him halfway to his feet and tosses him to the other side of the staircase, where they will be hidden from view of the nearly empty boulevard. The meager streetlights have come on, but the space behind the staircase, which smells of dirt and urine, is mostly dark.

“I'll kill you before I let you turn me in,” he threatens, although he's not entirely sure whether he could follow through on the threat.

The girl is not intimidated in the least. “What about ‘I'm here to save you' is unclear?” she says. “You can't be low-cortical, so you must just be stupid.”

He ignores the insult. “Save me how? You mean go-back-to-that-church-and-confess-my-sins kind of saving? Because that's not going to happen.”

“Your immortal soul is your problem,” she says. “I'm talking about saving your hide, because in spite of your unwind order, it's only semiworthless, not entirely worthless.” She shifts slightly so that the streetlamp lights her. “What's your name?” she asks.

Seeing her clearly makes him feel easier, but not easy enough to answer.

“Are you a Juvey-cop?” he asks.

She hoots. “Do I look like a Juvey-cop?” She straightens importantly. “I know what you're up against—I used to run with AWOLs.”

He throws her a doubtful look, and she qualifies it.

“Well, with one AWOL in particular.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Everything. That priest—the one at the soup kitchen—Father Lawrence, he looks for AWOLs and does what his conscience tells him to do. He gets them to safety—and I'm a key part of that safety net.” Then she looks him in the eye and asks, “Do you want me to save you or not?”

Bryce doesn't need some church girl to save him; he's been saving himself since he turned thirteen and his stepmother signed his unwind order. On the other hand, he could use someone who knew a safe way out of town . . . but safe passage can be expensive.

“I don't got any money.”

“I don't want money. I just want to ask a question.”

He tenses, which she must have seen even in the shadows.

“But the question can wait. Let's go.”

He doesn't move. “Go where?”

“I know people who can take you to where you'll never have to worry about harvest camps again.”

She heads for the sidewalk and waits for him. Still feeling wary, he joins her.

She sticks out her hand. “My name is Miracolina Roselli.”

He gingerly shakes it. “I'm Bryce Barlow.”

She squeezes his hand hard. “Pleased to meet you, Bryce.”

About four blocks later she opens the door to a small store between a pawnshop and a tattoo parlor. The sign above the door says
JACK AND JILL EXTERMINATORS
. On the roof floats a huge roach balloon. In the window a poster states virtuously
WE USE ONLY ENVIRONMENTALLY SAFE PRODUCTS TO RID YOUR HOME OF PESTS.

Bryce stalls on the sidewalk. “Exterminators? I'm not a roach—I don't want to be exterminated.”

“It's a cover for an AWOL rescue operation,” Miracolina says impatiently. “It's supposed to be ironic. Now get in before someone sees you.”

That makes him jump inside, and she shuts the door behind them.

The front office looks more like a school counselor's office than an exterminator's place of business. She holds open the small swinging door at the counter and prods Bryce through it. At the back of the office she rings a bell.

Immediately a voice sounds through the intercom, too distorted by static to distinguish whether it's male or female.

“Are you here for our termite special? A free inspection and ten percent off if you decide to use our service. Good till the end of the month.”

It's a pretty lame code, but the girl presses the button and speaks into the grille as serious as if she works for the CIA.

“My fire ants are back.”

In a moment the door cracks open. “That you, Miracolina?”

“Yeah, Jack. I got an AWOL here name of Bryce Bower. . . .”

“Barlow.” Bryce corrects her.

“Bryce Barlow. Can you take him?”

“Of course.”

A man in his late twenties with thinning red hair opens the door wider. He yells over his shoulder, “Jill, we got a guest.”

A woman immediately appears at his side, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. She's wearing a moose oven mitt on her right hand and a wedding ring on her left. With a radiant smile, she pulls Bryce into a hug. He hasn't been held by anyone since forever, but after about five seconds he pats her back awkwardly. When she releases him, he has to turn away because he doesn't want anyone to see how watery his eyes have gotten.

“I'm so happy you showed up, Bryce. We have about a gallon of stew left over from dinner and several pieces of my famous rhubarb pie. Hope you're hungry.”

Bryce, glancing at her oven mitt, says, “I could eat a moose, ma'am.”

“Sorry, not on the menu,” Jill says. “And don't be calling me ma'am. It's Jill.” She leads him down the long hallway.

Miracolina starts to follow, but Jack stays her with a hand to her elbow. “Let's talk.”

They return to the office, and he peeks through the blinds for a second before turning to face her.

He smiles, but it fades quickly. “You've become our biggest customer, girl. How many AWOLs have you brought us? Five? Six?”

“Eight,” she says. “Bryce makes eight.”

He tries another smile, but it vanishes as he looks through the blinds again.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

His forehead has more worry lines than she remembers. Suddenly he looks decades older. “We lost thirty-one kids last week. Parts pirates took a van in Milwaukee. Two days later, they clobbered the safe house in Saint Louis.”

She sucks in a breath. “Were any of them mine?”

He shakes his head. “No. But I'm not sure how long we've got before one of the kids that got taken cuts a deal with the pirates and tells them where we are and what we're doing. Don't bring any more kids till we find a new place and a new cover.”

She frowns. “But what if . . .” She fizzles to a stop seeing the wretched look in his eyes.

Jack nods to the back of the house. “I can't trust anyone till I find out who's selling us out. I'm keeping intel down to just family—and now you. We got twenty-seven kids upstairs. Twenty-eight with Bryce. Later tonight we'll be driving them out in three vans to different safe houses, but I don't want you coming around here again. Hear me?”

She shivers, knowing the danger they're in, and feels absolutely furious that she can do nothing to help. “I hear you, Jack. Promise me you'll tell Father Lawrence when you've got a new place. He'll let me know.” She jerks her head to the back door. “Can I tell Bryce good-bye?”

Walking through the narrow house, she wonders what she'll do if she can't save AWOLs. This is how she keeps on living whole when she still has such a hard time believing she should be. She has a mission. Which she just lost to parts pirates.

Remembering the parts pirate that kept her and Lev imprisoned, she seethes.

In the kitchen Miracolina finds Jill ladling a second helping of stew into Bryce's bowl. Even after dinner at the soup kitchen, he's eating like he's starved. The boy must have gone shy, because he's pulled his hoodie low over his face. Jill's brother, Griffin, is wiping down the stove. He's got a shaved head and a bushy beard, but like Jill, he has a smile that can melt ice.

Jill pats Miracolina's cheek. “Eat some pie, girl.” Then she nudges her brother. “Come on, Griffin. We got packing to do.”

They leave Miracolina alone with Bryce, and she takes the chair across from his. Although she hears rustling through the walls, floors, and ceiling around her, for a building holding so many hidden kids, it's unnaturally quiet.

She's ready to ask her question, the one she asks all the AWOLs she finds, but Bryce pushes the hood off his head and leans closer to her.

“You trust these people?” he asks.

“Of course I do!”

“Even the guy with the beard?”

Miracolina looks at Bryce closely. “Why?”

Bryce shrugs. “Just asking.” Then he holds up his bowl, which is empty again. “Could you get me some more?”

Miracolina goes over to the stove and fills his bowl again. “You should pace yourself,” she says. “Eat too much, too fast and—”

But she never finishes the thought. Because when she turns back, Bryce is gone.

It might be nothing. It might be just the paranoia that infiltrates every AWOL's thoughts. But it's a protective paranoia—it's there for a reason—and more often than not, when Bryce has had a bad feeling about something, caution has saved his life.

The guy with the beard might not be the same guy.

And even if it is the same guy, it might not be what Bryce thinks. What he saw in the alley last week might have nothing to do with AWOLs. For all Bryce knows, the guy is a tobacco dealer, selling cigs on the side to earn some spare cash. Who knows, maybe the money the guy makes dealing goes right into their AWOL-saving operation.

Or maybe not.

Bryce has a pretty sweet setup. There's an alley a few blocks from the “exterminators” behind a row of bars and pawnshops. There are three Dumpsters back there. Two are still in use, but the third one is in such bad shape, the lid has rusted shut—but there's a huge hole in the back, large enough for a person to climb through. He's filled it with pillows and sofa cushions and even has a sleeping bag he scarfed from a donation bin. So far no one's found his personal safe house.

He squeezes behind the Dumpster and climbs inside, belly bursting from all he's eaten, and peers out through one of many bullet holes in the old trash bin. No activity in the alley this early at night. Later there'll be things going on, though. It can be a regular entertainment zone out there. Mostly Bryce ignores it. The scum of the world doesn't bother him in his private domain, and he has no interest in bothering them. But once in a while he does see things. Like the time he was turning into the alley, and he passed two men in some sort of clandestine deal.

A lot of guys look like that,
he tells himself.
It wasn't him. And if it was, why should I care? It's not my problem.

But it becomes his problem again ten seconds later when someone climbs through the hole in the trash bin, invading his personal domain.

“Don't be so surprised,” says Miracolina, shining her phone light in his face. “You're not exactly a stealthy AWOL.”

“Be quiet!” Bryce snaps. “No one knows about this spot—and if someone out there hears you . . .”

She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Why did you run?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Something scared you, didn't it?”

“Will you lower your voice?”

Miracolina takes a deep breath, returns her voice to the faintest of whispers, and lowers her phone so it's not in his face anymore. “I need to know what spooked you.”

Bryce doesn't say anything for a moment. Then he finally tells her “I saw someone who looked like Griffin taking money in this alley last week.”

“Money for what?”

“I don't know.”

Miracolina leans back against the rough trash bin wall. Could Griffin be selling them out to parts pirates? It seems unthinkable, and yet they know there is a leak. It has to be someone on the inside. Miracolina knows what she has to do.

“They're transporting all the kids in a few hours. So if he's making deals in this alley, then he'll be back tonight.” She thinks about it and nods. “I'll wait here with you.” She already called her parents, telling them she's staying overnight at the church to help in the shelter. They trust the nuns to take care of her. Tonight she's just compounding lie upon lie.

In the oblique light of her sideways phone she catches Bryce giving her a faint grin. “You don't mind being in a Dumpster with an AWOL?”

Miracolina thinks back to the time she was trapped in the tiny luggage compartment of a bus traveling cross-country with Lev. They barely had room to breathe, and Lev had to pee in someone's shampoo bottle. She smiles and finds it odd that this has somehow become a pleasant memory.

“I can handle it,” she tells him.

•  •  •

An hour later, to Miracolina's profound despair and disappointment, Griffin makes an appearance in the alley. Both she and Bryce watch through the trash bin's bullet holes as he meets with a man who appears to be missing an ear. Although they speak quietly, and they're at least twenty yards down the alley, she hears enough of the conversation to know that Griffin is the one selling them out.

The question is, will Jill believe her, or her own brother? Then she realizes she doesn't have to convince her if she has evidence. So she raises her phone to the small hole and opens her camera app.

•  •  •

The roach balloon bobs mockingly over Jack and Jill Exterminators, looking far more threatening than it ever did before. They waited ten terrible minutes in the Dumpster after Griffin left, afraid they might bump into him on the way back. Neither Jack nor Jill are answering their phones. The call goes straight to voice mail. Just as well; this has to be done in person, and Miracolina knows she can't bring this to Jill—she has to tell Jack. He'll know how to break the bad news to her that her brother has betrayed them. Miracolina doesn't want to see the disbelief and dawning despair in Jill's face. She doesn't want to be the one responsible for wiping Jill's smile away, perhaps forever.