The Indigo Thief Page 6

  “I was already awake,” said Dove with a dumb grin. “But the sand felt good on my back.”

  Kindred patted his hand.

  “Sparky never woke up,” said Mila. “In fact, he still hasn’t.”

  I pointed to my back. “The one with the—?”

  “Sloth?” said Bertha. “Christ, kid. Let’s use our words.”

  I glanced around the room. There were no guns. No instruments of torture, as far as I could tell. Just my bed and the Lost Boys.

  What did they want from me? I took a deep breath. I couldn’t think about what they had planned. I just had to get through the day—focus on the conversation at hand. “Sparky never woke up?”

  Mila shook her head.

  The tingling in my fingers and toes now made sense. I’d been inside the megalodon when she’d hit it with the Paralyzer. I’d been electrocuted, though the monster’s thick skin took most of the blow.

  “Now that I think about it,” said Dove slowly, “Sparky hasn’t slept in, like, two years. I mean, the rest’s probably good for him.”

  Bertha tightened her jaw. “Doveboat, what have I told you about thinking?”

  He stared off into space. “I forget.”

  “Think, Dove!”

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to—”

  “You can think when I tell you to!”

  “I believe,” said Phoenix, “we can attribute Sparky’s continued unconsciousness to his use of Cafetamines. You can’t stay awake for two years straight and not expect it to catch up with you. Batteries only last so long.”

  “Car Battery is already burnt out,” said Bertha, looking at me. “And we didn’t even get to use him.”

  Use him? For what? What had they intended to use me for?

  I had to change the subject. If they thought they couldn’t use me for whatever it was they’d planned, then they might just kill me instead.

  “Can I see him?” I asked.

  “Who?” said Bertha. “Sparky?”

  I nodded.

  “Why? So you can try to kill him again?”

  Kindred rubbed eucalyptus over the algae. “Maybe he wants to apologize?”

  Bertha made a face. “And maybe I want to be chancellor.”

  “Take him to Sparky,” said Phoenix. He was wearing a shirt now, but beneath it his muscles still rippled.

  “But he’s already got Tim in there,” protested Bertha.

  “Just take him,” said Phoenix.

  Bertha grumbled and motioned for me to follow her up the ladder. We passed a room with metallic walls and tables.

  “The armory,” Bertha said with a smile. “My lab.” She pointed to a set of weapons laid out across the main table. “Recent inventions,” she said proudly.

  I scanned the table. A black pen, a small silver box, a three-pronged projectile jammed into a gun, and a bundle of chewing gum wrappers.

  “They’re—uh—well, they’re something,” I said.

  She showcased them from left to right. “Laser Pen, Video Loop Fractalfyer, Grappling Gun, and some Gum Wrapper Bombs. Or,” she winked at me, “as I refer to the four: oh shit, deep shit, deeper shit, and holy shit.”

  “How refined,” I muttered. I noticed a stack of paper clips also rested on the table’s corner. “And those are?”

  “I call ’em ‘Paper Clips,’” said Bertha, “but they’re top secret.”

  “Let me guess: they have an uncanny ability to hold multiple documents together with ease?”

  “Shut up, Car Battery.”

  As we exited the lab, I noticed a pair of pink flip-flops resting against the wall. “Highly specialized weaponry,” I muttered.

  Bertha flared her nostrils. “ENOUGH! Time to see Sparky.”

  She hustled me down the hall to Sparky’s room. When we entered, the first thing I noticed was Tim, hanging from a bar beside the bed. He chewed leaves with a mournful expression.

  “Tim hasn’t slept in three whole hours,” said Bertha gravely. “We’re really worried about him.”

  “Poor guy,” I said, trying to look concerned. “Three whole hours without sleep… Just imagine.”

  Sparky had no such problem. His head was propped up on a feather pillow, his cheeks rosy and his complexion clear. His lips were even turned up in a slight smile.

  “Doesn’t he look just miserable?” Bertha said.

  “Absolutely awful,” I agreed.

  Bertha sat herself on the edge of Sparky’s bed. “So you really think we’re terrorists?

  My heart pounded. This was it. This was when they’d kill me. I stepped back and feigned surprise. “What?” I said. “Why would you think that?”

  “Well for starters, you tried to kill us all.”

  I nodded—it was a fair point.

  “Also,” she continued, “you muttered ‘Terrorists. The Lost Boys are terrorists, Charlie!’ in your sleep.”

  They knew I was on to them. There was no time to play games. “Why don’t you just kill me, then?” I asked. “Like all those other people?”

  Bertha threw up her hands. “For Christ’s sake, I’ve been TRYING! It’s the damn management around here…” She pointed to my shirt. “I see you’ve been worrying your little skirt about it.”

  Crap. I was still wearing nothing but the long shirt.

  “Maybe try some pants next time, eh, buttercup?”

  My face flushed red. I was suddenly more concerned with my modesty than with my life being in jeopardy. “You—you guys are the ones who put me in this thing.”

  She gestured toward my body. “I sure as hell didn’t put anything on that.”

  “Right,” I stammered, the word clinging to my throat like peanut butter. “I—I’m gonna go look for some pants.”

  Bertha stared at me with her brown eyes and nodded. “Try not to shoot anyone.”

  Wait—brown eyes? Hadn’t Kindred said Bertha was seventeen? Her eyes shouldn’t have been brown; they should’ve been blue like the others. Why hadn’t she been vaccinated?

  I thought about the way Bertha had obliged when Phoenix had ordered her to take me to Sparky. Phoenix was the one calling the shots. He would have been the one to decide whether or when a Lost Boy got vaccinated.

  I wandered down the hall. A warm breeze wafted through a broken window and lifted my shirt-skirt. I smashed it down on my thighs. Was a pair of underwear so much to ask for?

  “Hey!” called Bertha from down the hall. “I—I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She paused. “Well, yes, yes actually I did. But look, I don’t think anyone’s seen anything except maybe Kindred, and hell, she’s been looking at blueberries so long you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Bertha had just compared my junk to blueberries. Things couldn’t get much worse.

  “If you want pants,” she said, “you’ll have to steal them. We don’t have extras lying around here. New Texas isn’t big enough for that kinda thing.”

  I pulled down the edges of my shirt. “Then let’s steal me a pair of pants already.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind being a thief?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve already been robbed of my dignity. The universe owes me a pair of pants, at least. What’s a thief, anyway?”

  She grinned. “Then welcome aboard, Car Battery.” She walked down the hall to me and offered me her hand. “We aren’t terrorists at all. We’re thieves: Phoenix McGann and his merry gang. The one and only Lost Boys. Like Robin Hood, but with fewer arrows and more wetsuits. Lots of wetsuits. Like really tight wetsuits. Like really, really tight wetsuits. Dove wore one the other day—you know, ’cause he’s Dove—and I thought, Wow! I’ve seen you naked. I mean, it’s probably good you’ve been wearing your little kilt the past few days because the second you put on a wetsuit, we’re gonna see everything.” She paused. “Both your little blueberries.”

  Phoenix appeared in the doorway. “I think he gets it, Bertha.”

  But I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand who the Lost Bo
ys were or who they said they were supposed to be. Nothing made sense. The world was spinning. I wanted Mom and Charlie.

  “I get the wetsuits,” I said. “But thieves? I’m not really—I’m not following you. So you’re not terrorists? You’re just… thieves?” Phoenix nodded. “But, like, what kind of thieves? Do you steal diamonds? Guns? Bombs?”

  Phoenix shook his head. “More dangerous. We steal Indigo. We’re Indigo thieves.”

  Chapter 8

  “Indigo thieves?” I asked. The world was spinning. “You steal Indigo vaccines? From the Hawaiian Federation?”

  “They deliver an incredible profit,” said Phoenix. “Imagine doubling your lifespan. Beating the Carcinogens a while longer. People will pay big money to escape their own mortality. And the rich can afford it.”

  “But… how do you do it?”

  Kindred joined him in the doorway, giggling. “It’s all Phoenix, dear. He’s the mastermind,” she said. She passed me a brown bag with “Kai” written on it in curly letters. “I wasn’t sure what sort of sandwich you’d like, so I just packed you blueberries. Can’t go wrong with blueberries.”

  Bertha rolled her eyes.

  I stared at the bag now in my hand. “Are we, uh, going somewhere?”

  Bertha shook her head. “Not we. You. With Phoenix and Mila. All the way to Newla, princess.”

  I felt queasy. Why did they want me to travel with them?

  “Newla?” I asked, still confused.

  “Yeah,” said Bertha. “Newla. You know, New Los Angeles? The capital of the Hawaiian Federation? Home to two million people, all crazy or homeless? Christ, what do they teach you in school?”

  “I know what Newla is,” I said. “But why me? Couldn’t Kindred or you go?”

  “Kindred doesn’t do so well out in the field.”

  Kindred nodded. “I’m far too sensitive for that sort of thing.”

  “Yeah,” said Bertha. “Last time she hugged a guard instead of shooting him.”

  “He looked sad!” said Kindred.

  Phoenix stepped between them. “We need another body,” he explained, “and I’m afraid you’re the only one who fits the uniform.”

  Mila joined him in the doorway. “Same size as Bugsy,” she said.

  Kindred’s eyes got watery.

  “Is the equipment prepped?” said Phoenix.

  Mila nodded. “And New Texas is on course. We’ll be at Federal Water borders within the hour.”

  “Excellent, Meels.” Phoenix looked me up and down. “And can someone get the boy some pants?”

  Bertha threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

  “He’s not getting pants,” said Kindred. “He’s getting a skirt, dear.”

  “Skirt?” I said. “Another one?”

  Bertha burst into laughter. “Damn, I wish I was going now.”

  Kindred put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “but it’s not safe for you in the Federation anymore. They’ve got pictures of you now.”

  “Pictures?”

  Phoenix nodded. “We’ve been intercepting Federal broadcasts for twenty-four hours now. They searched your home, confiscated your possessions. You’re a wanted man, Kai Bradbury. Charged with treason and crimes against humanity. Your name’s been attached to the bombings on the Pacific Northwestern Tube. You’ve been classified as a Lost Boy—an enemy of the state. A terrorist in the eyes of the Feds. Just like us.”

  The room was spinning again. The ringing returned to my ears. My lungs cramped. My knees buckled.

  Bertha slapped me. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “We don’t have time for you to pass out every five minutes.”

  I shook my head. Things snapped back into focus. Kindred dropped a stack of clothes at my feet. Among them was a new skirt—and a blond wig. She hadn’t been kidding.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” I said. “Really sorry. It’s—it’s just a lot to take in.”

  The Feds thought I was a Lost Boy. If they found me, they’d torture and kill me. There had to be a way out of this. A way to clear my name and turn in the real terrorists—or thieves, or whatever they were.

  And then a thought struck me: if the Feds thought I was one of the Lost Boys, what had they done to Charlie? I’d tried to swim to her; they must know she was with me. Did they think she was a Lost Boy, too?

  “What happened to Charlie?” I asked.

  Bertha snickered. “They’re all terrorists, Charlie!”

  “Your friend?” said Mila. I nodded. “Feds got her. Wouldn’t worry about her now. No use. She’s a goner.”

  The Feds got her. The baddies, as Kindred called them. But she was still alive, at least. There was hope. She hadn’t drowned, and the sharks hadn’t gotten to her. There was still a chance I could save her.

  Friendship was a powerful thing. In an age where families weren’t forever, friendships were our only buoyancy. I had to save Charlie, no matter what the cost.

  But there’d be no saving Charlie until I left New Texas, and there was no escaping New Texas without the Lost Boys’ help. Not when I was a wanted criminal. So it looked like I’d have to stick with the Lost Boys, at least temporarily.

  My breath caught in my throat. What had the Feds done to Mom? She’d been at home when the accident on the Tube had happened. Had they arrested her, too? Maybe the Lost Boys knew. “And my mom?” I asked quietly.

  The group fell silent. Mila stared at the ground, and Phoenix shook his head. “I’m afraid they got her too. She’s gone.”

  “The Feds have her, like Charlie?”

  Phoenix rubbed his jaw. “Unfortunately, no. She resisted arrest when the Feds stormed your home.”

  My heart beat faster. “What happened? What’d they do to her?”

  He put a hand to his mouth. “I’m sorry, Kai. She—she’s dead.”

  Tears rolled down my cheeks like rain. Mila tightened her jaw.

  Kindred, however, fixed me with an odd look and shook her head ever so slightly. She mouthed a silent “no”. I was the only one who saw.

  Kindred was telling me that Phoenix was lying. I didn’t understand why, but at that moment I didn’t care: my mom was still alive, somewhere. The Feds hadn’t killed her. I could find her. Save her and Charlie both.

  But for some reason Phoenix wanted me to think she was dead. I couldn’t let him know I knew the truth.

  I buried my face in my hands. Kindred rubbed my back.

  “I’m sorry, Kai,” Phoenix said again.

  The liar. Two could play his game.

  “I—I can’t talk about it,” I said. “I’m not ready. I have to pretend. I can’t think about it right now.”

  He nodded. Probably figured denial was the first stage of grief. After a while, I picked up a skirt from the pile. “I have to wear this?”

  “It’s the only way, dear,” said Kindred.

  “We leave for Newla this afternoon,” said Phoenix. He stared at the skirt in my hands. “That’s your uniform. It’s essential to our mission. We can’t move forward without someone—you—wearing it.”

  What kind of mission were they running? And why were they throwing me into the field so soon after I’d tried to kill them? There had to be an ulterior motive. Maybe it had to do with why he’d lied about Mom…

  Well, Newla wouldn’t be so bad. And if the Feds really did have Charlie, that’s where she’d be. For now, I decided it was best to just go along with the plan, and not ask too many questions. Phoenix wouldn’t have given me honest answers anyway.

  “And what if we get caught?” I said.

  Phoenix’s face went grim. “Then we’ll be tortured and killed.”

  I shuddered. Was that what the Feds were doing to Mom and Charlie? I felt sick to my stomach. I had to save them, and soon.

  “No funny business out there,” added Phoenix. “Not like what happened out on the beach. If you try to kill us again, then we’ll kill you. That’s a promise. Or we’ll let the Feds do it, and th
at’d be worse. You’ll follow our commands—without question—and you’ll stay alive.”

  I nodded. I’d underestimated them on the beach. They weren’t idiots. They knew what they were doing, and with or without my help, they were going to do it. It was only a question of whether I wanted to live or die. And if I was dead, I couldn’t save Mom and Charlie. I’d work with Phoenix. And I’d stay alive. For now, at least.

  Phoenix turned to Kindred. “Did you get the pills?”

  Kindred gave him a blank look.

  “The ones we talked about earlier,” he said. “In the cupboard? Meels, you remember the pills, don’t you? The ones we talked about.”

  Mila nodded, left the room, then quickly returned with two blue pills, which she placed in my hand.

  Great, they intended to drug me. Drug me and take me to largest city in the world. In a skirt.

  Kindred saw the pills and laughed. “Those,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were talking about—”

  “The Indigo pills,” said Mila. “We were talking about the Indigo pills.”

  “It’s in lieu of a vaccination,” explained Phoenix. “Little doses of Indigo. If you take two a month, you’ll be fine. We’re the only ones who have them. A creation courtesy of Bertha. And if you run from us in the city… well—then I’m afraid you won’t have much time. If the Feds don’t find you, the Carcinogens will. The Indigo pills work just like the real vaccines, but are only temporary. In time, perhaps we’ll consider a vaccination—but those come at an incredible cost. Each vaccine we administer is one we can’t sell, and we need the money. An island of trash doesn’t pay for itself.”

  So that was why Mila’s eyes weren’t blue. She took the pills every month, too, instead of receiving the vaccine. The smaller doses taken orally must’ve prevented her eyes from turning blue. I wondered if she, too, was working to earn a vaccine. As an enemy of the state, I guessed sticking with Phoenix was really her only option to get one.

  I swallowed the pills without hesitation. “Thanks,” I said. “So about the skirt—”

  “It’s for Nancy Perkins,” said Kindred.

  Bertha grinned. “Which is gonna be you, sweetheart.”

  Kindred pushed me into a chair before I could say anything else. She spread a layer of powder across my face like icing on a cake. “Close your eyes, dear. You’re going to look lovely.”