The Fox Inheritance (7 page)

"The world was lucky, actually. It could have been much worse--they said the explosion wasn't even half of what it could have been. Eventually the ash settled into jet streams, so the whole race didn't vanish. A warning, really, to all the Eaters and Breathers."

We learn that is what the Bots call us, the Eaters and Breathers, like we are spineless slugs at the mercy of our biology and the environment, which I suppose we are. At least I think Kara and I are in the class of Eaters and Breathers. I'm not sure I can trust anything Dr. Gatsbro told us.

"Now they mostly patrol in the upper atmosphere waiting to be called into use. Some hostile countries and a few Non-pacts still resort to primitive biowarfare, but the sweepers usually make those attacks a futile game of pounding chests. Of course, every decade or so a nuclear attack isn't intercepted by Galactic Radar Defense and then the sweepers are brought into overtime--all air travel is grounded. That can last for weeks."

I stare out the window as Dot tells us more and more about this world that I don't understand and don't fit into. As she talks, I take in every green hill, every pond, every sheep, and every cow. I tell myself some things are still the same. Some things.

We'll be okay.

I look at Kara. She nods and squeezes my hand.

Some things are still the same.

Chapter 15

I was scared when we moved. I came home from my first day at the new school, and I didn't want to go back. I was sure I would never make it. It was intense. Way more intense than my last school, and I was starting midsemester. I was certain I would never catch up. I wanted to go back to my old school, where I at least knew who would steal my lunch money. My mom didn't want to hear that. This whole move was for me and my sister. I heard the whispers in the kitchen when my dad got home and then he came to my room to talk about it.

"I don't fit in, Dad. Nothing's the same. I might as well be on another planet. It's completely different from Bellwood High."

"Different isn't necessarily bad, Locke. Just different. And in this case, I know it's a good thing. Trust me. You're just a little overwhelmed today."

I jumped on his words, emphasizing that I would
never
fit in, because I was certain he didn't hear me the first time I said it. I hoped that would end the conversation. It didn't.

"It takes time," he said firmly. "Think of it as a journey, Locke. A long one. Not a sprint. You'll find your way." He pulled my desk chair closer to the bed where I was lying and sat down. I knew I was in for a long one. "Sure there are going to be changes, even detours and setbacks--probably lots of them. But you have to remember what's important. The goal."

He leaned forward and wove his fingers together, looking at his hands. I looked at them too. He worked in construction. His hands showed the years of his trade, the scars, and the cracks. He was good at his work, but it was backbreaking and unreliable. I knew he wanted something different for me. He raised his eyes to mine. "You can make a difference in this world, Locke, but you have to be patient and determined and not let a few fears derail you. Focus on the goal and not on where the road is bumpy. It's rough for everyone at some point, but some people keep going and others give up. Don't be one of those who give up."

Is that what my brother did? Give up on his own dreams and theirs? I nodded, still wanting to give up but hoping my nod would make him leave. He squeezed my shoulder, but I could tell he was reading my mind. He knew me too well. He stood to leave and then paused at my bedroom door.

"Picture yourself five years from now, son. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there. I believe in you, Locke. Your mother and I both believe in you. You can do this."

Picture yourself five years from now....

I look at the iScroll in my palm, the landscape I don't recognize, and the Bot who is driving me through it. I had tried to picture a lot of things that night, but I never pictured this.

Chapter 16

"Here we are," Dot says.

Our doors open automatically, but neither Kara nor I get out. We are at the end of the historic road. Ahead of us are remnants of Route 90 and where it once continued on into the city, but from this point, it is rubble and weeds.

"Don't worry," Dot adds. "About a half kilometer down, most of the road is there again. This was one of the invasion points."
The invasion
. How could Dr. Gatsbro not mention a small detail like the Civil War of 2112 and the dividing of the United States into two nations? Which United States are we stepping into? The Democratic States of America or the American United Republic? Kara joked that her geography was all blown to hell now. But she wasn't smiling. Neither was I.

"Go on," Dot says. "I'll meet up with you just where I told you. Oh--and if you are approached by any nasty Non-pacts, tell them you are Migration Security. With those clothes on, they'll believe you. And if they should close in, just pretend you're reaching for your Security tazegun. They'll scatter."

We can hope.

I begin to step out on one side, and Kara on the other.

"One more thing--"

We both gladly delay our departure.

"If for some reason I don't make it, will you remember my name? My whole name. Dot Jefferson. That's the name I gave myself. If you get in another Star Cab, tell them about me. The other drivers know my name. Not just the assigned DotBot#88 that Star gave me. What kind of name is that anyway?"

I look at Dot. She is only a Bot--a half Bot even--of wires and chips and programming. A DotBot#88, but whatever she is, she's helped us.

"It's no kind of name at all," Kara says.

And I add, "We'll see you again, Dot Jefferson."

She nods her head in her own peculiar way. "Good luck, Escapees."

The tone of her voice chills me. It holds hope like my mother's voice did when she sent me off to school in the new neighborhood.

We step out of the car and watch Dot wind her way back down the historic road, headed for the transgrid. When she is out of sight, we turn and look at the path ahead of us. The city lies just beyond it, but it doesn't look like the Boston I remember.

Chapter 17

The city doesn't sprawl like it used to. The landscape surrounding us that used to hold neighborhoods, streets, and factories has changed. It is eerily empty. It's like the city has rolled up its doormat into a tight ball. I don't feel welcome. We see a few developments in the distance, houses maybe, but forest has swallowed up most of the rest, covering up the scars of history like a green bandage. I knew the city streets. I don't know forests. Even with Dot's detailed instructions and the remains of a long-ago road, I feel lost already.

Francis Street
, I tell myself.
Just make it to Francis Street.

I look at Kara. She surveys the landscape too. She looks in both directions and briefly closes her eyes. I wonder if she's having second thoughts about leaving the safety of the estate.

"We were only property, Locke," she says, shaking her head. "We had to leave. I hate him for what he did."

It's hard to believe that just this morning we were parroting our lessons and Kara was calling Dr. Gatsbro our savior. He did save us, but does that give him the right to control the rest of our existence? Kara's rage becomes my own. The anger feels good, empowering; it squeezes out my fears. It's a better place to be.

We can do this together.

Kara stares at the city. "After two hundred sixty years we deserve this."

After two hundred sixty years
. Every time she says that, a part of me dies all over again. The party, the car, it was all my idea. I pull her close and press my lips against her hair, breathing in her scent. Her arms tighten around me, and she presses her cheek against my chest. I feel her heartbeat, and I know she feels mine. Maybe now that we're away from the estate, we can finally have more. The more we deserve. More of each other. Maybe this is what we needed all along to fill the empty space in us. But I have to be smart about this, and follow Dot's directions. I have to get us out of here. Fast. We only have a couple more hours of daylight left, and even though I want to hold on to Kara and never move, I gently push her away. I can't make mistakes.

"We need to get going."

She agrees and we set out across the broken landscape.

The rubble is uneven. Every step must be carefully placed. We're cautious as we approach blind crests. We are not exactly sure what Non-pacts are. Thieves? Worse? But we know to avoid them, or at least try to.

The walk is strenuous. Kara and I help each other climb over huge blocks of concrete and then carefully make our way down cascading piles of rubble overgrown with weeds, always with a watchful eye for movement around us. We stop for just a moment to rest, eyeing the next towering mound of concrete. What lies on the other side? "Got your tazegun ready?" I ask.

"Of course," Kara answers. She reaches down and snaps off a small piece of a branch from a dead bush and stuffs it in the band of her pants, pulling her shirt over to cover it. She pats the bulge it creates. "At least I have something deadly to reach for now."

I smile, thankful for even this small bit of humor in a situation that's so precarious. Here we are in the middle of nowhere in a world we don't recognize, relying on the directions of a half Bot, the security of a broken branch, and hoping for black market IDs. Kara's face is smudged with dirt, and her hair is tangled from the breeze. She doesn't look like Queen Kara anymore.

I eye some rocks at our feet and pick one up that fits my hand well. "I think I'll rely on old-fashioned technology."

"Caveman," she says.

We continue toward the city and finally reach the flat stretch and the remnants of the old highway Dot told us about. It seems like we've traveled much farther than the half kilometer she described to us, and we still have three kilometers to go to reach our destination on the outskirts of the city. The sun is low in the sky. I walk faster. Kara matches my pace.

As I walk, I search for other weapons. In this modern world I do feel like a caveman looking for a sturdy club, but there is nothing near the road, and I don't want to venture into the forest on either side to look for one. I wonder if I could find a branch and make a slingshot. It would at least allow me to protect us from a distance, but I have nothing flexible to act as a sling.

As we get closer, the Boston skyline becomes vaguely familiar in the way the jagged tops of skyscrapers cut into the sky, but the most noticeable difference is the color. The buildings--almost all of them--are white or light gray. They look like a cluster of shimmering quartz crystals sitting in a white bird nest. I assume the intricately woven nest is the transgrid, which surrounds the city. It looks like a protective wall around a fortress. Dot said that several levels of transgrid systems circle the city. It looks wildly complicated. I'm glad neither of us will be driving.

"I'm hungry," Kara says.

"Maybe Dot's contacts will feed us."

"Or maybe not. They're probably all stomachless Bots too."

And what are we? More expensive models? The upgraded Stomach200 model?

It is strange that I didn't question it more before, but now I can't stop thinking about it. I knew we were illegal, but I just thought it was a technicality, like someone not having the proper passport. It didn't make us bad or less human. It was a bureaucratic snafu, that's what I told myself, something on paper that could be cleared up eventually. It had to be. Everything about me is human. Dr. Gatsbro said so. Eighty percent. Bioengineered with some adjustments, but still human. That's what he said. Flesh. Blood. Organs. And I have my own mind. Isn't that enough? And a nail clipping.
A nail clipping
. That's more than Dot ever had.

"Locke!" Kara's elbow jabs into my side. I haven't been paying attention to the landscape, but I see it immediately now. In the distance, a group walks toward us. Four, maybe five. Their clothing is loose and dark and billowing in the breeze, like a pack of flapping ravens. My fingers tighten around the rock in my hand.

"Stand tall, Kara," I say. "Try to look big." What am I saying? Isn't that what you do with bears or cougars? It's all I have. I pull myself up, gaining an inch.

"Don't stop," Kara whispers when I slow down. "Keep walking. Swagger like you own the planet."

I don't even own the clothes on my back. "You think there's time to run?" I ask.

"Where would we run? They know this territory better than we do. And we don't know what they are. We don't even know if they're people."

"They have legs like people."

"And Dot had a head like a person."

They are nearly within rock-throwing distance now, and their black silhouettes are beginning to take form. There are definitely five of them. They begin to slow and spread out across the road. An attack strategy? I move in front of Kara and wave the rock over my head. "You Non-pacts have permits to be out here?" I yell.
Permits?
But at least they have stopped coming toward us.

They snicker between themselves and then the one in the center says to the others, "You hear that, boys? Mr. Fancy Pants thinks we don't bathe and have
purrrr
mits." The others laugh and make rude gestures like they're picking lice from their bodies. He takes a step forward. He is no longer smiling or laughing. "We ain't no Non-pacts, Fancy Boy. We's pirates, and you's on our ocean."

Pirates?
Land
pirates? Dot didn't tell us about those.

They begin inching closer. They are thin and wiry. I outweigh each one by at least forty pounds, but there are five of them, and they look mean. As mean as any of the thugs in the old neighborhood. My brother always warned me: no eye contact, look away when you meet more trouble than you can handle--it was small-time street survival--and then run like hell. Neither of those strategies will help me now. I've already stared into the leader's beady black eyes. He wants trouble, and I am not sure any kind of strategy will work on someone who thinks we are in the middle of an ocean. His ocean.