How did this happen to us?
Why?
My hand covers hers, gently rubbing it.
I lost track of time.
There was no time.
I thought it would never end.
After centuries of waiting and wondering, we needed more time to talk than Gatsbro ever gave us. It was all about lessons and tests and how wonderful we were and never about the darkness that still lived in us.
I called out. Every minute. Every day. You were the only one who answered.
How could we hear each other? Gatsbro says it was impossible.
But we did.
We did.
Maybe the impossible is possible when you take everything else away.
When nothing is left, maybe you can reach for something that no one knew existed.
Or maybe we became something new.
Maybe we made it exist.
My words. Her words. Our words. I don't know where one begins and the other ends. I want to stay here holding her forever.
The accident was her fault.
She wasn't driving.
Her car. Her fault.
She was your best friend.
Was.
Was. I lift my hand to brush her hair from her cheek.
Why didn't she help us?
Maybe she didn't know.
We heard her. In the beginning she was there with us.
It was such a short time.
She knew. I heard her screams.
I thought she had died when she was silent.
But she left us. She left without helping us.
I pull her closer, breathing in the scent of her hair.
What will become of us, Kara?
We'll make a life.
Together.
Together.
Together where? Kara has never lived on the streets. She went from one privileged life to another.
Do you still like poetry, Locke?
Poetry?
You never recite poetry anymore. Not once since we woke. Not like you used to. Then. Before. Did you only do it for--
Her.
My mind races. Poetry was lifetimes ago. No. I don't care about poetry. I'm a different person from that Locke. How can she even think about that now?
Locke, was it only for--
For you, Kara. Just for you....
Her air had a meaning, her movements a grace;
You turned from the fairest to gaze on her face....
"The fairest," she whispers, and then I hear her gentle breaths of sleep.
Chapter 21
"Where to, Escapees?"
"Food," Kara says. "We need real food."
I climb in beside Kara. "Morning, Dot." I reach into my pocket, checking again for the ID that was trolled during the night. Apparently the network of pickpockets in Boston is alive and well, targeting tourists with temporary IDs. I still don't know what this will cost us. All I know is that it will mean a favor. In my old neighborhood, that wasn't a good thing. "Were you okay out here by yourself all night?" I ask.
"No one bothers with Bots. I mostly had to worry about a few large rats and, of course, Remote Deactivation. I'm on the run now too." She winks at me like we're partners in an adventure. "But I'm still here this morning, so I guess the Retool that I got last night worked. So far. But if you see me go suddenly dead"--she makes a face like she has been hanged--"you'll know they found me."
"I'm glad you made it through the night okay, Dot. I hope--"
"Food," Kara interrupts. "We're starving."
"Right," I say. "And then we head to my house." Kara glances at me but says nothing. I know my house wasn't first on her list of places to visit, but as far as I can tell, my street would be the closest to where we are right now. She'll concede on this. Last night was a good night between us. It gave me hope that maybe she was right. We'll make a life together, somehow, someway, but right now we're going into the heart of Boston in the light of day, and I'm nervous enough to keep hope on hold. What will we see? Who will we see? Other than land pirates and the shadowy figures in the basement who mostly ignored us, we haven't seen anyone in this new world.
At the end of the alley, Dot turns and takes us down another narrow street. Tall, decaying buildings rise up on either side, and they all appear empty. Windows are boarded up or broken. As we get farther down the street, we see signs of people. Sidewalks are swept, windows have shades, an orange cat eats from a bowl set on a doorstep, and finally, there are a few people out in cars or walking. At the end of the street is a large cart filled with baked goods and baskets of fruit. Dot stops and whistles to the woman tending the cart. "Hey, Lucia! Got a couple of tourists here. Lost their money. Can you spare a muffin or two?"
"Ah, you and your tourists," the woman says, shaking her head. She grabs a bag and begins filling it with muffins, fruit, and boxes of juice. "Always with the tourists. You'd think you were the Statue of Liberty." She walks over with the filled bag and hands it to Dot through the window. "You need a new line, Miss Liberty." She leans down so she can get a better glimpse of us and then grunts at Dot. "Maybe these two really are tourists. They don't look like your usual free breakfasts."
"Nothing usual about them at all," Dot says. "They're--"
"Dot!" I lean forward. Dot may be enamored with our Escapee status, but I don't know how Lucia will feel about it or how loose her tongue might be. "We're from out of town," I say to Lucia. "Lost our money. How stupid is that? But we really appreciate your kindness."
She frowns and nods at me.
"What trouble have you gotten into now, Dot?" She waves her hand and walks away. "Don't tell me! I don't want to know!"
"You're a gem among gems, Lucia," Dot calls after her.
"I know, I know...."
Kara is already biting into a muffin.
"Did you see that?" I ask. "Just like the old neighborhood." Kara doesn't answer, but I'm feeling better already. "Now on to Francis Street."
"Francis Street?" Dot says. "Let me check." She pauses, her eyes becoming unfocused for a moment. "No, I was right. No Francis Street in Boston."
Chapter 22
I thought maybe the street had been renamed or that Dot was simply wrong. So I gave her directions and told her to look for certain landmarks, and now I stand where my whole neighborhood once stood. It is not just Francis Street that's gone, but the street over from it, and the next one, and the next.