re seemed no point in whining about it, though. Without another word, she went off down the beach, stooping to study the sand every now and then. For long moments, Silas watched her instead of repairing the hut. Pure distraction, she was.
Eventually, she returned with a couple of crabs, beaming in the moonlight. She dumped them in his hands and pulled out a pocket-knife. Without visible fear or disgust, she took care of the cleaning, cutting away the inedible bits. She cut the meat and then pierced them with a sliver of driftwood.
“If you can find some more dry wood, I can build a fire.”
She hadn’t been kidding when she said she’d be a help. He’d resigned himself to privation during the long walk. Though Silas had traveled a lot, both before and after his incarceration, he’d never done so as a wilderness type. He’d preferred riding the bus—people watching; disconnecting from the high-stress university job for three full months, and staying in hostels. But he always had a duffel bag and money in his pocket. Not this time.
Nodding, he went down the beach to look for firewood.
The world had changed in five years, and he wasn’t equipped to deal with it. Maybe some day he’d apply for a job at a college again. Hell if he knew what he’d put on his resume about his long disappearance off the grid. God knew it bespoke a certain instability. Some academic types were prone to that, vanishing to live in a trailer in the Arizona desert for ten years and then popping up with some new earthshaking theory that made the erratic behavior acceptable. He didn’t have a new hypothesis. He couldn’t chance working in that place, though it would’ve offered some solace. He couldn’t risk giving away the fact that their experiments hadn’t ruined his mind, as they thought. No, he had to maintain the façade at all times.
As long as Rowan believed he was broken, he had some hope of minimizing the collateral damage. If they’d managed to re-create their success in him for mass production, his ability would’ve been weaponized. Unthinkable. He’d had no choice but to keep the truth from them: he wasn’t their biggest failure. In strictest terms, besides T-89, he was the most powerful subject they’d ever produced. He was also the only one who’d successfully prevented them from discovering what he could do.
The walk took him a far ways before he thought he had enough wood to cook on, not that he could be sure. He returned at a run, worried now about leaving her alone in the dark so long. Granted, she was more capable than most, but she’d come with him for protection. If nothing else, his size deterred trouble.
He found her waiting with makeshift crab skewers in each hand. Nothing to fear. The beach flowed empty in all directions, and the ocean sang to him in rhythmic cadence. Soothing. Restful.
“Build a tent with the wood, if you can. Kind up propped up at an angle? That lets the oxygen flow through better.”
“Like this?”
Silas did as she asked and then took the skewers. With her lighter, dried palm fronds, and a lot of patience, she got it to catch. He watched with naked admiration, enjoying the sight of her bent over the flames. They glazed her skin, highlighting her curves. Juneau had long legs; he couldn’t help but notice, though it had been so long since he’d been with a woman that he wouldn’t know what to do with her even if she presented herself naked. But he could look. No harm in that.
Exhausted, he dropped onto the sand and listened to the night. Seabirds called. Insects chirruped. The crabmeat smelled so good, juices crackling in the fire, that he almost moaned.
“Here. Be careful. It’s hot.”
And he laughed. God, it had been so long. “I just watched you cook those. You don’t think much of the wits I’m supposed to survive on, do you?”
To his surprise, she ducked her head, sheepish. “It’s not that. I just thought you might be too hungry to remember to be careful. My stomach feels like it’s eating my spine.”
“Delightful image.” But he took her warning to heart and blew on the seafood kebabs long enough not to sear his tongue.
It was sweet and a little gritty. Not nearly enough to sate his appetite, but it did take the edge off. They should reach Salango by midmorning, and then they’d figure out what to do next. Funny how he’d come to include her in his thoughts, even though he didn’t make plans.
Later, they lay back to back on their sides. It gave him a strange feeling, nothing he could put a name to, but less alone, though as she’d said, alone was not always the same as lonely. For him, it always had been. Until now. Until tonight.
Until Juneau.
FIVE
Once again, she’d cut and run. It wasn’t the first time Juneau had chosen the highway, just the occasion she felt guiltiest about. She always wanted to help . . . at first. Until she hit that personal wall and realized she couldn’t take it anymore.
She could’ve stayed. Kept working for the Red Cross. But the worse things got in Puerto López, the more she wanted to get away. Sure, she knew terrible things happened in the world, but she didn’t want to see them. She preferred her pocket universe, where she controlled the flow of information. Head in the sand, an old boyfriend had called her. Well, yeah. And she recognized the futility of it, but she’d never seen the point of moping over what she couldn’t change. Just keep moving; keep looking for the next shiny thing. Maybe it wouldn’t save the world, but she’d live a relatively happy life, at least.
Salango might’ve been a quaint fishing village, smaller than Puerto López—before the quake. Her hope that they would find normalcy here died as they came into town. Though the damage was somewhat less, away from the epicenter, she saw no signs they could find transportation or a functioning infrastructure. The bottled water wouldn’t last much longer either, and she wanted a shower. Desperately.
The building materials were such that it hadn’t taken much stress to topple the houses and business, and people were picking through the wreckage. And worse? Here, people had set up barricades, protecting their territory and the salvage that lay within it. Armed men stood ready to defend them. It seemed surreal that they would fight over piles of wood and cement, just for a chance at what might be buried there, but then she saw the dirty, big-eyed children peering around the roadblocks. That, she thought. That’s why.
“It’s no better here,” she said softly.
Right now one of those chicken buses she’d bitched about earlier in the year sounded pretty damn good. Unfortunately, they had to keep walking south. What town came next? Puerto Rico. But she didn’t know how far it was; she hoped Silas did.
“But we can’t leave without finding supplies,” he answered. “Let’s cut around this street and see what the rest is like.”
There was no official aid here—not yet—and nobody to manage hostilities. The military would be sending troops, but earthquakes could rock the world in up to a one-hundred-kilometer radius. It would take time to determine the areas most in need of pacification and deploy soldiers appropriately. Meanwhile, the folks in Salango were on their own. The gunmen stared after them, eyes cold and watchful, but they made no moves. Juneau felt that regard until they turned the corner.
In the distance, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire echoed, chilling her blood. “Somebody challenged them?”
“Maybe. Could be warning shots.” But from his somber expression, he didn’t think so.
That brought it home to her then. This wasn’t an adventure. It wasn’t a joke. She was stuck in ravaged Ecuador with no food, no money, and a stranger who had dug her out of a death pit. Christ almighty. Her breath went in a whoosh.
“I . . . need to sit down for a minute.” Blindly, she put out her hands and found her way to the broken curb. The earth itself had buckled a short distance away. Across the street, two stray dogs were fighting—one black and one dun—over a hunk of meat. In this situation, it might even be human, and the thought was more than she could bear.
He knelt beside her and took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up. “It’s not the heat. Not dehydration?”
“No. It’s
just sinking in. How screwed we are.” She laughed at her own stupidity. “I’m the original proponent for performing without a net, but this . . . shit. Even I’m scared now.”
More gunfire. Screaming. Real. It was real. And the people she’d run away from? Also real. The children she’d taught and her coworkers in the coalition, all gone. Shaking set in. If she hadn’t gone shopping, if he hadn’t found her—
He hesitated and then spun to sit beside her. His arm went around her shoulders; for a giant, his touch felt delicate. But his body felt solid. Immovable. If she’d had to wind up in this mess, she could’ve done worse for a companion.
“Just breathe. Don’t think about it. Sometimes the only way you stay sane is living in the now. No past. No future. Get through this minute. Then tackle the next.”
Juneau relaxed by millimeters, despite her desperation. She remembered how he’d spoken to her while he worked to get her out. God, she’d been so scared. No air. His tone was the same now—soft and soothing, echoed by the slow stroke of his big hand up and down her biceps. And it felt good.
“I’m okay,” she said eventually.
To her relief, he didn’t ask questions. He just pulled her to her feet, and they continued on. Near the outskirts of town, they found the ruins of a small store. But before they could check it out, two men, both armed, came around the side of the building.
The shorter one glared and lofted his pistol. “Vete a la chingada.”
“He said—”
“I know what he said.” Silas planted his feet, drawing up to his full height. “Tell him we need food and water and we can’t leave without those provisions.”
This so wasn’t a good idea. But she translated nonetheless. Now the taller one scowled, bringing his gun up, but it wasn’t bravado. He removed the safety and aimed it at her heart. They were willing to kill over these odds and ends.
“We should leave,” she whispered to Silas.
“This place is ours,” the taller man said in Spanish. “Leave now, or I shoot your woman.”
Silas slid in front of her. Despite the danger, he seemed fearless, as if he thought himself bulletproof. “Not happening.”
He extended a hand, made a quick twist in the air, and the bigger one screamed, clutching his wrist. His weapon clattered to the pavement. Silas sucked in a pained breath and turned his gaze to the other, who gaped at his moaning friend. Then his expression hardened, and his finger tightened on the trigger. Silas repeated the gesture, and the second man howled in anguish. This time, she heard an audible snap, as if from a broken bone. They cowered before Silas, eyes filled with terror.
What the hell—
“Advise them to leave before I do worse.”
Her voice shook as she relayed the message. The men fled without picking up their guns. Once they’d gone, before she could process what had happened or decide if she needed to run, too, he swayed hard and then caught himself with his left hand. His right, he cradled against his chest, his face bone white and sweaty.
“I don’t understand what just happened . . . but you don’t look so good.”
“Take a look around,” he bit out. “I’ll be fine by the time we need to move.”
So he wasn’t going to explain. Against all logic, it really seemed like he’d broken their gun arms. With a flick of his wrist. And he’d said he could do worse. Was she safe with him? It seemed best to do as she was told, at least for now. Juneau hurried away to poke through the rubble, looking for usable supplies. Conveniently, the two men who’d arrived before them had gathered things into a pile.
When she came back to tell him, he was sitting in the shade with his head tilted back, his mouth still compressed into a pained line. He spoke without opening his eyes. “If you don’t want to go further with me, I understand.”
Do I? First instinct—hell no—but neither did she want to travel alone. If she had confronted those men without him, she might’ve ended up shot, raped, kidnapped, or some heinous combination of the three. Whatever his deal—and she wasn’t convinced he hadn’t hypnotized them all somehow—he offered more protection than she could afford to discard. And he seemed to be on her side, at least.
“This isn’t the time to talk,” she said, “but I’m going to have questions later.”
He considered and then: “That’s fair. I’ll answer. Did you find anything?”
“I think we’re set.”
Silas pulled himself to his feet, still favoring his right arm. “If we follow the road, we should be fine.”
“How far are we going?”
“Eight kilometers, give or take.”
She did the conversion and came up with an answer of about five miles—in addition to the distance they’d already traveled—and with no guarantee of an end in sight. It might not be any better in Puerto Rico. Damn. Her feet already hurt. She was in decent shape, but hiking with an injured knee on inadequate food took a toll. Then again, staying here wasn’t an option. Not with those guns going off and two inexplicably injured men who might be running for backup even now.
“I can make it. What about you?”
“My legs are fine.”
As they set off, she noticed he set a slower pace. He could take three steps to each one of hers, if he wanted, effectively forcing her to run. But she couldn’t tell if it was kindness or weakness. His face was still pale, still clammy with sweat, and he held his arm as if it were fractured, though she saw no swelling or injury.
The sun blazed down, reflecting off the broken pavement, and sweat poured down her back. She had been wearing these clothes for four or five days now. In fact, she’d lost count.
“So how did you end up here?” he asked eventually.
She recognized the tactic as a calculated move. He wanted her at ease again. But since she appreciated the gesture, she went along with the conversational gambit.
“After college, I did a stint in the Peace Corps. When I got out, I went for TEFL certification because I still wanted to travel, just with more freedom than I had in the Corps.”
“That’s Teaching English as a Foreign Language?” At her nod, he asked, “Do you have a regular degree in education as well, then?”
She laughed. “No. Sociology, actually. The pay isn’t great in developing nations, but I don’t like being locked into a two-year contract like many schools in Europe demand. Here, they’re content with a handshake agreement that I’ll stay for one school term.”
“And it lets you see the world.”
“Exactly.” It was rare someone got it right without asking a hundred more questions about her motivations.
God knew, her loving, well-intentioned family never tired of telling her she could do so much more with her life. Her mother couldn’t stand that her youngest taught English in Ecuador for the equivalent of three dollars an hour while her middle son had become a surgeon and her eldest son the partner in a law firm. It wasn’t that Melva Bright didn’t love her; she just wanted her to achieve great success and be happy. She didn’t get that the two didn’t go hand in hand, where Juneau was concerned.
“I used to teach theoretical physics.”
Holy crap. He must be hella smart. Juneau glanced at him in surprise, although she ought to know better than to judge a man by his hair, which he’d caught up in a tail, or because he had a few tatts. “Not anymore?”
“No.”
“How come?”
“I suppose you could say . . . I dropped out.”
“You ever going back?”
He paused, black eyes gazing out over the long road unfurled before them. “I don’t know for sure, but . . . I think not. I suspect that part of my life is over.”
“You didn’t enjoy it?” It wasn’t like her to interrogate other people like this, but he fascinated her. Mostly because with his broad shoulders, broken nose, dark ponytail, and tribal tatts, he didn’t resemble any college professor she’d ever known. If the physics professors had looked like him, she might’ve taken more interest in
the hard sciences.
Then again, maybe that’s why he quit.
Silas answered slowly, his voice deepening with notes that whispered of rue. “I did, once. Then everything changed. And I’m not the same person I was then. I can’t stand and stare at a whiteboard for hours while pondering problems that have no real-world application. I have something else I must do now.”
“Walk across Ecuador?”
His eyes crinkled in a surprisingly warm smile. “No. That’s tangential to my true goal.”
“And that is?” Unforgivable. Nosy. Prying. But she wasn’t sorry she’d asked.
“To make amends.”
That sounded like a twelve-step thing. She’d known her share of addicts. Guiltily, she flashed a look at his arms, but the ink made it impossible to tell if he had track marks. If he’d managed to kick the habit, though, more power to him.
The sun soon stole her desire to talk, however. They stopped for periodic water breaks, but the food had to last. Juneau welcomed the cooler weather when the sun sank away from the zenith, falling toward the horizon. She’d thought she was pretty tough, until now, but really, it was all she could do not to whine because there was no traffic on the road. Even if there had been, they shouldn’t accept a ride anyway. Kidnapping was big business in this part of the world.
As they crested a hill, the most welcome vista unfurled. Three simple white vacation bungalows, built on a rise overlooking the ocean, sat off to their right. Two of them had been damaged to the point of being uninhabitable, but the third appeared to be more or less intact. She quickened her pace without even checking to see what he thought of the idea. Proper shelter, running water, a regular toilet . . . oh yes, please.
She ran up the path, framed by brick and stonework. Cracks lay in what had been a pretty pattern, but nothing dangerous. Juneau vaulted some chunks of the other casitas and kept going. On closer inspection, the third house hadn’t escaped unscathed, but all four walls were standing, despite the fissures.
“Sound enough?” she asked Silas over one shoulder.
He studied the fracture running parallel to the door. “I think so.”
“Can you get us in?”
In answer, he slammed his left shoulder into the door, and it popped like a champagne cork. “They’ll never know it wasn’t quake related.”
Inside, it was beautifully cool and dim. A white and blue ceramic floor—some tiles now had cracks in them—led to a simple sitting room. This was a tiny vacation cottage, where the attraction lay in the landscape, the ocean, and the wildlife. Admittedly, it was gorgeous with spectacular sunsets, crystal clear water, unspoiled beaches, and the prospect of endless solitude. One didn’t come here for the luxurious accommodations, Juneau reflected. Still, she could tell the place had been built well, or it wouldn’t be standing. Simple worked when it came with running water.
“God bless the ecotourist,” she said on a happy sigh. “Dibs on first shower.”
“Go ahead. I’ll get the generator running, if there’s any fuel.”
It stood to reason there would be. This was probably a latchkey place with an absentee owner who took bookings online. There might even be some food in the cupboards. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? The few stale, crushed pastries and cans of soup they’d found in Salango would only go so far.
Juneau went down the hall and into the bathroom. God, it would be good to feel human again; she wouldn’t think of children who had no more birthdays coming or coworkers’ families who were praying to hear good news. One minute at a time, he’d said. Well, she could do that. In fact, she excelled at it. It was the longer stretches that gave her trouble.
SIX
A ping made Mockingbird turn to check it. So Silas was in Ecuador. He wondered if the Foundation tracked in the same way he did. Wait, they couldn’t. They might have Kestrel now, but they lacked his unique talent. He studied the picture of the fugitive, working with the Red Cross in the aftermath of the quake. Disaster relief, who would have guessed?
He needed to get an agent to Ecuador. Warn Silas not to use his ability, if he had one. If only I hadn’t lost Finch in Guatemala—but no use lamenting the irrevocable. If Finch wasn’t dead, he’d soon be working for the enemy. They needed to find Olivia Swift, like, yesterday. Her ability to fight covert battles while their adversaries slept would prove invaluable.
But that was a pipe dream. He had no idea where she was; she’d gone ghost. Then it occurred to him: Maybe she wipes our memories in our dreams. Maybe he’d found her. At that, he prowled through all his files, but there was nothing. Could she convince me to get up in my sleep and erase the records? A cold chill went through him. If she was unbalanced, there was no telling what she might be doing out there.
Anyway, he had no proof that was the case or that she knew anything about him or his efforts to find her. Sitting in this room, surrounded by humming electronics, was making him paranoid. Better to focus on the mission.
Tanager was in Florida. She could hop a plane to Ecuador, but getting to Puerto López, where Silas had last been sighted, would be tricky. Fortunately, Tan specialized in persuading people to do impossible things. That made her a natural for this job.
She hated carrying a laptop, so he used the phone straightaway, engaging the voice scrambler. “Tan, I have a job for you.”
“I’m on vacation.” It was a halfhearted protest, and they both knew it.
“Maybe I should call someone else. It’s bound to be dangerous.”
“Now I’m interested.”
He’d known she would be. “We have a possible recruit trapped in Ecuador.”
“What’s his X?”
In his opinion, Tanager had read too many X-men comics in her youth. “Uncertain. If he has an ability, he managed to keep it out of the Foundation records.”
“So he could easily be a zero.”
That was what they called failure to evolve, the term used by the lab geeks to describe all the corpses their experiments left behind and all the human detritus that wound up with tumors, lesions, and shattering mental illness. Zeros. Rage boiled through him.
“I think it’s a risk we should take, in case he’s viable. But if you don’t think you can handle it—”
“No, I can,” Tanager said. “Did you get my tickets?”
“You’re going first class to Quito, but you’ll be on your own from there. There’s nothing I can hack that far off the grid.”
“It’s not a problem. I’ll find and warn him. Am I recruiting?”
“I’ll leave that up to you. Do so if you think it’s safe and he’ll be valuable.”
“I live to thwart the Foundation. Over and out.”