Captives (48 page)

He could hear her voice calling for help. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed at how he’d failed her. What if Levi never saw his love again? What if she were forced to live here forever? The thought made him sick.

“Levi of Elias.”

He sat up and looked into the adjacent cell. A toothless man pointed away, across the corridor. Levi followed his direction to the cell directly opposite from his.

Kneeling at the door, face pressed between the two bars that she clutched with her fists, was Jemma. She smiled. “I thought maybe they’d given you a sedative.”

“Jem!”

He practically flew across his cell to the door and reached out. Jemma reached as well, stretching until their fingertips brushed. Levi twisted so that his shoulder slipped between the bars. Jemma mirrored him, and their palms pressed together.

Levi bent his fingers around her hand and squeezed. She had an X by the number four on her cheek. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

“I’m fine. But I don’t know what happened to Shaylinn and Naomi and Kendall.”

“Kendall had her baby, and they took it from her. Shaylinn and the others …” He paused, not convinced the walls didn’t have ears. “They’re safe.”

Jemma started to cry. “What about the children?”

“Still working on that.”

“But what about you? You have three Xs. Are they going to execute you?”

The look on her face, as if he were dying in her arms, was too much. He couldn’t let her worry. “Maybe. But don’t worry, Buttercup. Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.”

Jemma’s face lit up. “I will never doubt again.”

“There will never be a need.”

O
mar sat on the soft red chair in the task director general’s office, giddy with the knowledge that Renzor again owed him. As usual, Kruse stood beside the desk, holding his Wyndo and looking too busy to bother with Omar. Wait until the task director rewarded him—then Kruse would pay attention.

The task director leaned back in his chair. “Mr. Strong, what
shall
I do with you? You must know I’m not a fool.”

“Of course not, sir,” Omar said, distressed by the tone of the man’s voice. A tone void of gratitude.

“How do I know you didn’t help them? You never turned in your enforcer uniform.”

Because he’d forgotten. And he’d been holding out hope. “I
didn’t
help them. I stopped them.”

Those vulture eyes watched him. “How did you know to listen to the radios?”

“I told you. I know my brother. And when I heard that someone in a DPT uniform was shooting, I figured it was Levi, since he tasks in maintenance and is still a scavenger at heart. He would’ve stolen radios from someplace. Why not from where he tasks?”

“But where did he get the gun? And how did he know where and when to shoot? These are things an enforcer has the resources to learn.”

Cold despair threatened to bring tears. Anything but tears. Omar composed himself, fought to control his emotions. “But I caught him. I brought him to you.”

“And I grow tired of seeing your face. You’ll report to the Registration Department—”

“I don’t believe this!” How could the task director think he’d helped Levi?

“—for task reassignment—”

“That’s not fair! I helped you!”

“—and receive new lodgings in the Midlands.”

Omar breathed slowly through his nose, glanced at Kruse, who stood like a tree shading the task director. A tree oblivious that Omar was even there. “That’s my only option?”

“Unless you’d rather join your brother in the Rehabilitation Center.”

“Gee, let me think it over, will you?”

“Your attitude does not bode well for your future here.”

“So sorry,
sir.
If you ever got up out of that chair, maybe I’d do a better job at kissing your—”

“Good day, Mr. Strong.”

Omar pushed off his chair, set both hands on the edge of the task director’s desk, and leaned forward. “May you be liberated soon, you flaking zombie.” That was finally enough to get Kruse’s attention. The pink-painted assistant threw Omar out of the office.

Omar took the stairwell to the Registration Department, trembling so badly he had to sit on a step and vape just to calm down. This was
all
his brother’s fault. Levi, who just had to be a hero. And now Levi was going to be liberated. Another death for Omar to feel responsible for.

Because liberation had to be death, and Bliss some twisted idea of
heaven. Right? But Omar couldn’t imagine people looking forward to death, even with the belief of returning as someone else. He also didn’t put it past the Guild to lie.

Where else would the people go, though? Helicopters and planes came and went from the area every so often. Maybe they took the liberated to some city called Bliss? No, that was just desperate thinking.

Why didn’t the Safe Lands nationals question any of it? They all longed for liberation as if it were a puff of brown sugar. Couldn’t these people think for themselves? Why did they scarf down everything the ColorCast fed them?

After a quick visit with Dallin, Omar walked across the street to the Snowcrest, stewing over his situation. Living in the Midlands would make visiting the clubs in the Highlands more difficult. He hoped Skottie would come get him. The only positive thing to come out of this situation was that his reassignment meant he would be tasking as a SimArt designer. Dallin told him to report to a place called Sim Slingers.

Omar pushed up his sleeve and studied the black lines that wrapped around his arm. Maybe now he could do his owl.

Back in his apartment, he packed up his clothes, his art supplies, a few paintings, and several vials of juice. He was up to a brown sugar three now and a ten with grass. In the back of his mind, he wanted to cut back, but every time he went to buy more, his willpower betrayed him.

He went into his bathroom to grab his shaving tools and studied his reflection in his bathroom mirror. He didn’t look sick. How long until his skin started to flake? How long until his veins started to show?

Belbeline.

Her name made him ache. Memories of her laugh, her touch, her eyes. Why couldn’t he forget her? Brush her off like Skottie did with women? It was pathetic that he couldn’t.

What if he simply filled his PV with a brown sugar ten? That would end this for good. Then he’d know if liberation was a load of dung.

But whatever remained of the old Omar insisted he should leave before he did any more damage to himself. Get out of the city. Go to Jack’s Peak or Wyoming.

Jemma’s face came to mind suddenly, surprising him at the powerful emotions she stirred within him. He’d heard on Charlz’s scanner that she was in the RC. Jemma was one of the few people who’d always been nice to him, treated him kindly, and stuck up for him when his Father treated him like a cowardly animal.

Omar hated her. But the thought made him laugh. He
wanted
to hate her. But who could hate such light and beauty? Such goodness. No one. Especially not Omar.

Perhaps, if he was careful, he could find a way to help her.

The buzz of his doorbell made him jump.
Belbeline?
His heart swelled within him. Maybe she’d changed her mind. Wanted him back. He ran to the door and pulled it open.

Instead, Skottie stood on his doorstep, Charlz leaning beside him. “It’s about time, peer,” Skottie said. “Don’t you answer your transmitter?”

As Skottie brushed past on his way into the apartment, Omar gazed down the hallway hoping for a glimpse of a red-haired beauty. But the hallway was vacant, filled only with memories. He closed the door.

“You listening to me, Omar?” Skottie said. “Just look at him!”

Omar turned then and saw that Skottie was supporting Charlz’s weight, that Charlz was bloody and dazed. “What happened?”

“
Now
you’re home,” Skottie said. “You been vaping the sweet stuff today?”

“A little.”

“Well, help me get him to the couch. He weighs a ton.”

Omar moved to Charlz’s right, and together he and Skottie hefted their friend to the couch. “Who did this?”

“Otley,” Skottie said. “Turns out Janique is one of Otley’s claims. When she heard Charlz was in the RC, she came to find out what happened. Otley didn’t like that. Had Charlz worked over. They
interrogated me too, asked a lot of questions about you and your outsider brother, like we know anything about that prude. But they didn’t hit me. Just Charlz.”

For the first time, Omar noticed that Skottie and Charlz both had an X by the numbers on their faces. “They Xed you guys?”

“Yeah, and kicked us out of the enforcers. Guess where I get to task now? Stimming taxi driver. And I’ve got to move to the Midlands. I’ve never been so fried in all my life.”

Charlz spoke, slurred and soft. “I gotta clean poop.”

“Sewage cleaner,” Skottie said. “They made us both retake the test. Charlz was too out of it to really read the questions. He botched it bad.”

Omar sank onto the couch beside Charlz. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to catch Levi. And I definitely shouldn’t have dragged you guys with me. Maybe my father was right, maybe—”

“Stim down,” Skottie said. “Charlz and I aren’t minors, you know. We make our own choices. Frankly, I don’t blame those rebels for trying to get their peers away from Otley. Wish I had some way to burn that overgrown, hairy downer. Make him regret he ever saw me.”

“Wait. You think my brother was right to shoot out the power?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Now that I’m banned from enforcement, the law just doesn’t matter. Not like it used to.”

“Wish I could liberate Otley,” Charlz said.

Omar’s mind felt like it was working clearly for the first time since he’d arrived in the Safe Lands. Skottie knew that Camella woman in Surveillance. They’d all done their tour of the RC in class. And Charlz had a collection of stunners. “I have an idea that could make the enforcers wish they’d never demoted us. But you need to help me get my brother and his girl out of the RC.”

“Serious? Now you want to help him?” Skottie said.

“I’ll help you do anything that’ll make Otley mad,” Charlz mumbled.

Omar raised his eyebrows at Skottie.

“Fine,” Skottie said. “But you better have a plan, ‘cause I don’t want a premie lib.”

“Did you guys turn in your enforcer IDs yet?” Omar asked.

Skottie shook his head.

Charlz said, “No.”

“Me either. Skottie, tap that girl up in Surveillance and see if you can stop by. Charlz, I’ll need you to help me get past the front desk and take out the enforcers at the RC, then keep watch. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be fine. Just need to clean up.”

“Good.” A rebellious thrill surged over Omar, making him feel powerful, strong.

“How we know Skottie’s up there?” Charlz asked as they walked up to the front doors of the RC sometime after three in the morning. The sky was like a canvas coated in midnight paint flicked with glitter and illuminated by an oblong half moon.

“We don’t,” Omar said, bringing his gaze back to earth. “We just have to hope he is.”

“And you’re sure she can override the Authorization System once we get to the cells?”

“According to Skottie, she can log us in as anyone she wants.”

Thanks to Charlz’s connections with several female receptionists, they faced minimum questioning as they entered the RC, passed the front desk, and called the elevator. When the door finally slid open, Omar was relieved to find it empty inside.

He’d been smart to come at night. Fewer enforcers tasking at this hour. Fewer witnesses and possible fights. Omar wasn’t looking forward to having to punch someone.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, Charlz slid in and covered the yellow camera lens as Omar put on a creepy Luella Flynn mask Charlz had grabbed from his apartment on the way over. It smelled like chemicals. Omar had wanted to wear the Finley one, but Charlz had insisted on first pick. Omar would never get why anyone would
pay credits for stupid masks like these, though he was glad Charlz had them. His friend’s odd quirks were finally coming in handy.

The elevator opened. Charlz stuck his boot against the door and peeked into the guards’ chamber. “I see one. He’s mine.” He drew his stunner and ran out of the elevator.