Gemma shook her head. “The Faraday cage—”
“Is part of the problem. When enough people disappear into a blank spot, you know something secret’s going on in there. Remember the phone call before? That was from someone who worked it out. Someone I know. If she can do it, so can the bad guys.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Ray. “You’re trying to flush us into the open.”
“Really?” she said. “Well, feel free to sit here and see what happens. I’m leaving now, and I’m taking Zep with me. Come along if you want. It’s your decision.”
“You want them to come with us now?” asked Zep in disbelief. His wounded leg was jiggling as though his muscular tension simply couldn’t be contained.
“Yes,” she said. “Improvement has to be more than just sucking in people like Libby, or else why would someone kill to keep it a secret? I want to know everything. These guys can help. No one else can.”
“Peacekeepers—”
“I tried calling them before.” She outlined what had happened to her in Maine, carefully avoiding naming Dylan Linwood to spare them getting mired down in Jesse’s protests again. “If it was just one crazy guy with a gun, maybe they could help, but we don’t really know what happened back there. He definitely talked to someone else. Maybe my call was intercepted; maybe the PKs set me up. Until we know exactly what we’re dealing with, we can’t risk talking to anyone.”
Clair tried to radiate self-assurance, but the pistol was heavy in her hand, and she was afraid everyone could tell it was only for show. Who was she to tell a bunch of adults what to do?
“She’s right,” said Arabelle, easing her wheelchair through the doorway. “You need us, and we need you. If you can bring your friend Libby around, Clair . . . if we can prove that she’s been altered illegally, particularly in the wake of that video stream . . . then that’s a big step forward.”
“But we don’t have forever to get her on board,” said Gemma. “The clock is ticking.”
“What do you mean?” asked Zep.
“People affected by Improvement rarely live longer than a week.”
Clair stared at her, struck to the pit of her stomach with a new fear.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Improvement doesn’t affect everyone, otherwise there’d be dead kids everywhere. Those who do show the symptoms last seven days, maybe eight. Never nine.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“Headache, erratic behavior . . . I’m guessing you already know, otherwise why would you be so worried about your friend?”
“Shit,” said Zep, looking as aghast as Clair felt.
Libby had used Improvement two days ago. How many days did that leave her? Five or six?
“Cut the boy’s feet free,” said Arabelle. “Raymond, call and give the code to move out. Clair and the others will come with us.”
Ray vanished into the hallway while Big-Ears sliced Zep’s ties with a pocket blade and helped him to his feet.
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Jesse, red-faced and teary eyed. He was obviously struggling to take it all in. “You killed my father.”
“Do you really want to stay here and take your chances with the PKs?” asked Gemma. “You’ll be guilty by association.”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“That doesn’t matter. You’re one of us now.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you tell us where,” Clair said.
“Escalon. We have a cache there. Once we’re away from here, we’ll have more options.”
“Like what?” asked Clair.
“I’ll tell you,” Gemma said, “if you tell me who your hacker friend is.”
“Uh, that’s harder than you think.”
“Well, the same goes for us.”
Clair looked at Zep, who shrugged.
“All right,” she said. “That far. Then we talk again.”
“Agreed,” said Arabelle.
“I haven’t agreed to anything,” said Jesse.
“You’re not staying behind.” There was steel in the crippled woman’s voice. “I won’t let you.”
“Why not?” he asked her, fists balling in frustration. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”
The phone’s shrill ring cut the argument short. Ray called Clair’s name from the hallway in puzzlement.
“It’s that friend of yours again. Says it’s urgent.”
Clair squeezed past Arabelle and took the phone from him while everyone watched her. “Hello?”
“Surveillance has changed in your vicinity,” said the voice of “q,” sounding faintly tinny.
“What kind of change?”
“All EITS drones within camera range have been detoured along alternate routes. Not only that, but crowd-sourcing allocations for the surrounding area have been reduced to zero, so the drones are flying on internal reckoning only.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the Manteca Municipal Authority is effectively unmonitored for two blocks around you, and the blind spot is widening.”
Clair bit her lip. “Someone’s up to something, and they don’t want to be seen doing it. Any sign of him?”
“None, but I too am blinded by the lack of data. I can’t tell you anything until I can hack into a satellite or something.”
“Okay. Thanks for letting us know. We’re heading out now.”
“Be careful, Clair.”
“I will.”
28
CLAIR PUT THE handset back in its cradle and hurried back to the living room. Zep was waiting for her, looking
rumpled and rubbing his chafed wrists, but at least he was free. Jesse had gone reluctantly with Gemma, Big-Ears, and Arabelle to the back of the house. Only Ray remained, back at his post by the front door.
Zep limped across the room and took Clair into his arms.
“My hero,” he said.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Me too, frankly.”
Her laugh was choked, but she told herself that was because he stank of stale sweat and tension. She leaned into him, grateful for his solidity and unafraid for once if anyone saw it. What happens behind a Faraday shield, she thought, stays behind a Faraday shield.
“You haven’t hit on me once today,” she said.
“I’m not the one with the gun in my pocket, in case you’d forgotten.”
She laughed and held him more tightly still.
“Don’t tell me you’re disappointed,” he said.
“Can I be honest?” she said. “I’ve been chased around the world and shot at. My parents were threatened. Libby might have brain damage. You’re hurt. I can’t even think about anything else at the moment.”
“Maybe when this is over—”
“Don’t say it.”
“Why not? I mean it.”
He brushed an errant curl from her forehead. She kept her cheek pressed against his chest, suppressing a sudden gulp of emotion.
“I just don’t get you, Zep. Why would you ever choose me over Libby?”
“Are you really asking that?”
She shrugged, not sure what she wanted him to say.
“Libby could never do what you just did,” he said. “You faced up to a pack of terrorists and got them to do what you wanted. You know how to figure things out. You can handle yourself. And you know what’s right, too, or else we’d have had this conversation weeks ago.”
She looked up at him, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “Really?”
He rolled his eyes. “Hell yes. You’re fine as limes, girl. Too good for me, if you really want to know the truth. Look at how I sat there like a useless lump while you did all the negotiating.”
“Don’t,” she said, not wanting to hear him put himself down.