“So, shall we play?” Nelson asks.
Lev swallows, and his throat feels like it’s coated with wood shavings. “What’s the game?”
“Russian roulette! My clip is loaded with five tranq bullets and one nickel-plated lead shell with an explosive tip. I can’t recall in what position I put Mr. Bad Bullet—I was too busy talking to you to notice. I will ask you questions, and if I don’t like an answer, I shoot.”
“This game could last for days if I keep going unconscious.”
“Or it could be over very quickly.”
Lev takes a deep breath and tries not to show any more fear than he has to. “Sounds exciting. I’m in.”
“Well, it’s not quite the thrill of clapping, but I’ll try to keep you from getting bored.” He takes the safety off the weapon. “Question one. Is your friend Connor still alive?”
Lev suspected he might ask this, so he does his best to lie as honestly as he can. “I’ve heard the rumors too,” he says, “but I’m out of that loop. He was taken away, bloody and unconscious, from Happy Jack, and I was arrested. Beyond that, I have no idea.”
Nelson smiles at him, then says, “Wrong answer,” and swings the gun toward Miracolina.
“No!”
Nelson fires without hesitation. Miracolina arches her back as she’s hit, releasing a semiconscious gasp, then falls silent. Lev’s heart feels like it’s about to explode, until he sees the tiny telltale tranq flag sticking out of her shirt.
Nelson stands and shakes his head at Lev. “I’d better like your next answer.” Then he leaves, closing the door.
53 • Nelson
Nelson decides to give Lev plenty of time to think about it. In the meantime, he sits in an adjoining room of the cottage, researching the leads he already has. Not that many. He has tagged nearly a dozen AWOLs, letting them think they’ve escaped from him. Some are still on the streets not far from where he originally captured them. Others are at harvest camps, having been caught by the Juvies. One appears to be in Argentina, although he suspects the kid was caught by another parts pirate and unwound on the black market, which means only his tagged part went to South America. There are two signals pinging from Arizona at the site of an old defunct air force base. This he finds the most curious. He heard talk of some sort of AWOL sanctuary in the Southwest when he was still with the Juvies, but details were sketchy, and he hadn’t had high enough security clearance to learn any more about it, or interest at the time to care. In any case, Arizona is too far away for him to jump to any conclusions. Unless, of course, his little clapper boy places Connor there.
The tranq bullets Nelson loaded in his pistol are the mildest kind, with the shortest half-life. When he returns about two hours later, he lingers outside the door, listening. The girl is awake but groggy, and Lev is all about apologizing for getting her involved in this. No talk of Connor or any potential AWOL hideouts.
Nelson kicks open the door for effect, then sits calmly in the chair between them, brandishing his pistol, just in case there’s any question about his intentions.
“Are we ready?” Nelson says. “Five bullets left. A twenty percent chance that the next one is lethal.”
Lev avoids eye contact with him, struggling to keep his breathing under control. As he already knows the surprise ending of the game, Nelson aims the gun at the girl even before asking the question.
“You think I’m afraid to die, but I’m not,” the girl says. However, the warble in her voice says otherwise.
“Please,” Lev begs. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I believe I do,” Nelson cheerfully tells him. He clears his throat. “Round two. The question is . . . Where is the Akron AWOL hiding? You have three seconds before the buzzer.”
“Please don’t,” Lev pleads again.
“One!”
“Turn it on me! She has nothing to do with this!”
“Two!”
“I’m the one with the wrong answers! Not her!”
“Three!”
“No! Wait! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!”
He cocks the trigger. “Better make it quick.”
Lev takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Indian Echo Caverns. In Pennsylvania. It’s where the AWOLs from the East Coast are hidden. They take them deep in the caverns and keep them there until they turn seventeen. Connor’s helping them run it.”
“Hmm,” says Nelson, considering it. “It’s on an Indian rez. I’ll bet stinking Slotmongers are always giving sanctuary to AWOLs.”
He puts the gun across his lap and leans back in his chair. “Now I have a dilemma. Of all the AWOLs I’ve tagged, none of them have gone in that direction. So who should I believe? You or my data?”
“Where were you tagging them?” Lev asks quickly. “If they’re west of Pittsburgh, they probably go someplace else if the resistance picks them up—and don’t ask me where, because I don’t know!”
Nelson smiles. “You know, I’m so glad you didn’t blow yourself to smithereens last year, young man. Because you’ve just saved this girl’s life. Assuming, of course, that you’re telling the truth.”
“If I’m lying,” says Lev, “you can come back and kill us both.”
That makes Nelson laugh. “If it turns out you’re lying, I would have done that anyway, but thank you for giving me permission.”
Then he leaves, making no attempt to free them from their bonds.
54 • Lev
“Were you telling the truth?” Miracolina asks,
“Of course I was,” Lev says, just in case Nelson is still listening. A few moments later he hears Nelson’s van start and drive off. The fact is, it hadn’t mattered what Lev told him—what mattered was Nelson believing it. Lev pulled the location out of his memory—he had been to Indian Echo Caverns with his family many years before. He remembered the guide saying that it used to be a hideout for outlaws. Lev stayed close to his mother, fearing that those outlaws might still be lurking in shadowy crevices. Lev has no idea if AWOLs really are hiding there. He hopes not, now that he’s unleashed Nelson on the place.
“So what do we do?” Miracolina asks. “If he catches your friend, he won’t be back, and we’ll starve to death, and if your friend’s not there, he’ll come back and kill us.”
“I thought you weren’t afraid of dying.”
“I’m not. I just don’t want to die a senseless death.”
“We won’t. Not if I can help it.” Then he begins to roll back and forth on his bed. His hands are secured tightly to two of the metal bedposts with the cable ties, but his feet are able to build a kind of rocking momentum. He throws his weight left, then right, over and over again, and the bed begins to scrape on the ground beneath him as he does. He tries to flip the bed but can’t build the momentum, and eventually he has to rest.
“It’s not working,” Miracolina says, stating what’s more than obvious.
“Then maybe you should start praying. I sure am.”
After a few minutes’ rest, he tries it again. This time he’s able to slide the bed over a little bit more with his rocking, until one of the legs catches on an uneven floorboard. Now when he rocks the bed, the legs on the other side rise slightly off the ground. He loses his strength, and the pain of the plastic ties digging into his wrists gets to him. He has to stop, but after a few minutes of recovery he tries again, and again, each time getting closer to the exact force, and the exact torque it will take. Then finally, releasing a clenched-jawed groan, he hurls all his weight toward the far wall, practically wrenching his arms out of their sockets—and the bed rises, its future dangling like a coin between heads and tails—and then it flips upside down. The metal frame and the mattress land on top of him. Lev’s elbows smash painfully on the rotting wooden floor, splinters digging in. With the bed lying on top of him, he has a momentary flashback to the explosion in the town house and being pinned beneath the sofa. His brother’s face, and Pastor Dan’s. He tries to draw strength from the moment, rather than let himself be overwhelmed by grief.