It didn’t matter now anyway. If she died, he’d dump her — her skin was the wrong shade and size to be of use to his project, after all. If she awakened, she would help him. If she didn’t help him, he would kill her.
Bobby watched her ample chest as it rose and fell in shallow breaths. She was still with the living — the question was, for how much longer? Turning back to the television, he watched the Satellite News Network, looking for stories about Terminal City.
Though the national news still covered it, the siege seemed relegated to the back burner as earthquakes and other catastrophes started shoving at each other for space on the little screen. The local news still seemed largely focused on the siege, however; interestingly, a few protransgenics protesters had also shown up — FREAKS ARE PEOPLE TOO, one sign said, and BAN TRANSGENIC TESTING, said another.
Original Cindy moaned, and Bobby went to check on her. Slowly, as if every centimeter of movement caused excruciating pain, she moved a hand up to the washrag on her forehead. She touched it gingerly and her eyes fluttered, then opened wide.
Looking up at him, she managed to say, “You — Bobby.”
He smiled a little. “You remembered my name. I’m flattered.”
“What... what happened?”
“Your bike took a tumble. I picked you up and brought you here.” He could tell by her eyes that she didn’t remember clearly, yet, and what he was saying made little sense to her.
“Where’s... here?”
“Just a motel.”
She tried to sit up, but the pain obviously forced her back, her hand again going to the lump. “This bitch hurts.”
“Probably a concussion,” Bobby said.
“Why did you bring me to the No Tell Motel? If you think you’re gettin’ some, you ain’t been payin’ attention to Original Cindy’s predilections — short form: you ain’t gettin’ none. Concussion or not, I’ll kick your scrawny ass.”
He smiled. “That’s not what I want from you.”
Confusion tightened her eyes.
He went on: “I just want to join the others.”
She still didn’t get it.
“At Terminal City, I mean.”
“That’s right,” she said slowly, her voice thick with discomfort. “You’re a transgenic.”
He watched her wrestling with that. If she remembered what had freaked her out this morning, they’d have to do it the hard way. If she didn’t remember, then she might still help him on her own. Her eyes cleared slowly; from the look of her, she didn’t remember a thing.
“I should probably get my beautiful booty over to the ER,” she said. She tried to sit up again, but had no more success than the first time.
Helping her lean forward, he propped up the pillows behind her. “Aren’t there doctors in Terminal City?”
Her eyes tightened again, this time mockingly. “You shittin’ me, right? They make doctors out of any of you Manticore men? You killin’ machines, not healin’.”
“I don’t know — a lot of the X5s and X6s have medical training.”
“Maybe so, but I don’t know if I can make it over there — can I rest for a while first?”
He didn’t like that, but she’d been cooperative enough, so he said, “A while longer, Cindy — then we’ve got to go. Or do we need to wait till dark?”
She studied him. He knew what she was thinking: if she trusted him, and Bobby turned out to be a spy for the feds or something, she might be endangering everybody inside those fences.
Finally, she said, “No — I can get us in, during the day. No problem.”
“Great — but you better be quiet and rest, because I’m really anxious to join my brothers and sisters.”
Lying back, she closed her eyes.
Original Cindy was tired, and still woozy from the probable concussion. But as she began to drift off to sleep, she suddenly remembered why she’d crashed...
It had been him — Bobby Kawasaki — he’d scared her.
So tired, so tired, but she thought something about his wanting into Terminal City so badly was... whack. She didn’t know what that was, exactly — it was her gut, and Original Cindy listened to her gut, it was a goddamn eloquent instrument, and she knew this nondescript little brother was wrong... and she had to buy as much time as she could until she figured out a way to warn Max.
In what seemed like seconds — which was a little over an hour later — she felt hands on her, as he shook her awake.
“Come on, Cindy — rise and shine! Time to go.”
Groggy, she managed to sit up; but the pain filled the whole side of her head, ran into her neck, down her shoulder and into her arm. It might only be a concussion but, damn, girl! Everything hurt.
“I’ve got to call them,” she told him, “to tell them we’re coming.”
“No — no calls. Come on. Get up. You need my help?”
“They... they won’t let us in.”
He shook his head. “If they’re not maintaining radio silence, they should be, and I’m not going to be the one to break it. We’ll worry about getting in when we’re there. Come on.”
“How... how are we going to get there?” she asked. Her legs were rubbery. “My head’s poundin’ like a bitch. I can’t walk.”
“We’ll flag down a cab.”
He let her lie there while he pulled out a large suitcase and laid it open on top of the dresser. She watched as he pulled something big and tan out of the closet and gently folded it inside the case. The object looked like leather, a patchwork garment, very amateurish, even primitive; but she couldn’t be sure what she was seeing, exactly. Between her fuzzy vision and the duskiness of the room, it could have been almost anything...
Bobby put a small flashlight in one pocket, tucked a long knife and scabbard into his boot, and carried a stun rod under one arm.
She noted this, the knife and the stun rod reasonable precautions for a transgenic... but that intelligent stomach of hers was sending warning signals...
Once Bobby had packed up, he none too gently led her outside. She recognized the neighborhood, once they exited the motel. The only good thing was that in a slum this dumpy, it would take them forever to get a cab, even in the middle of the day.
Unfortunately, he’d been kidding about the cab. The first car they came to, he broke into, tossed her inside in the front, put the suitcase in the back, and hot-wired the car.
As they drove, she focused all her energy on trying to think of a way to warn her sister.
Max was worried, and wishing she could trade this leadership gig in on kicking the crap out of some bad guy, any bad guy.
Alec and Joshua were still missing, Logan had been gone for some time now and she hadn’t heard so much as a peep from him, and when she tried to call Original Cindy, her Boo’s cell phone had this odd buzz to it, and no dial tone. Stomping into the media center, she tossed the phone on a table.
“Any ideas?” she asked Dix.
His half smile was only technically a smile. “Cell phone ain’t working, is it?”
She shook her head angrily.
“None of ’em are,” he said. “Looks like the feds are taking the gloves off. Instead of just monitoring our transmissions, they’re jamming them now. They cut off the power into the area, a couple of hours ago. By now they’ve figured out we have our own generator.”
Luke walked in, an empty glass in his hand. “They just cut the water.”
“Is our system up?” she asked.
Dix shook his head. “But we’re close — fifteen, maybe twenty-four hours, we’ll be up and runnin’.”