She nodded her head. “I think I’d come.”
Charlie hugged her. She tingled all over. Friend, Sage repeated to herself again and again. She’d finally made a friend.
“Brilliant!” said Charlie. “We’re gonna escape this place. But first, I have to ask you, have others tried running away? Getting out of here? Has anyone ever gotten out of here?”
Sage nodded. They had. The determined ones always found a way.
Charlie clapped her hands. “They made it? They got out?”
Sage nodded again. During her time at the Light House, she’d walked into many cells where prisoners had found their way out.
Charlie leaned close. “How do they get out, Sage? How do they escape this godforsaken place?”
Sage gritted her teeth. She couldn’t lie to Charlie. Not now that they were friends. She had to tell her the truth.
“They escape,” she said quietly, “with a rope around their neck.”
A week after the torture began, it was Sage’s job to leave a rope in the prisoner’s cell—death’s quiet calling card. Then the guards would tie a noose in it and hang it above the bed.
If the Federation couldn’t crack a nut, they helped the nut crack itself.
Yes, all the prisoners eventually escaped their cells. But unfortunately for Charlie, they never escaped alive.
Chapter 13
Police pounded the streets behind me as I raced through Newla, spurred on by the heckling of the holograms that shouted obscenities from window ledges. My heart raced and I panicked as I sprinted along the bustling streets of a city I didn’t know. Back home we’d only read about Newla’s different districts. Now I was seeing them first-hand, but not the way I’d ever imagined. The Upper East Side, the Lower West Side, North Atlantic, the neighborhoods raced by, on and on…
I swerved off the sidewalk and into the street. Cars slammed their horns. A taxi driver scarfing down a hoagie lowered his window. “YOU SOME KINDA FRYER?”
Farther down, another smashed his horn. “WELCOME TO NEW LOS ANGELES, MORON! NOW GET THE HELL OUTTA THE WAY!”
The police didn’t evade traffic nearly as well as I did. They tumbled to the curbs like toddlers learning to walk. The chaos unfolded behind me, but I kept going. I had to. Stopping meant certain death—or worse, torture.
A dark alley caught my eye, and I turned sharply and sprinted down its length. A boy a few years younger than me was sprawled out behind a trashcan, a toothy grin plastered across his face below glazed eyes. He popped another pill as I passed. An empty prescription bottle rolled by his arm, the bright yellow packaging giving it away—Neglex. I guess it worked as well for kids who’d lost they parents as it did for parents who’d lost their kids. But it seemed like the vast majority of people wandering the streets were kids.
The alley exited into a neighborhood that replaced skyscrapers with gothic buildings lined by wrought iron gates. A rusted sign towered over the street: Welcome to the Skelewick District.
There were few lights in the district, and the smaller—though still large—buildings sat in their neighbors’ monstrous shadows. The only real light trickled from the bronze streetlamps that lined the barren streets. They glowed eerie and yellow. A perpetual twilight.
There were no holographic actors. No bubbling screens. Just pavement, pedestrians, and yellow pallor glowing from the lamps.
I hurried along, keeping my head down. People didn’t seem to notice. They just stared at the lamps, hypnotized by the glow of twilight.
It seemed I’d lost the cops. For now. But I had to find Phoenix and Mila if I was going to stay alive.
I approached a street corner where a man in a trench coat stood on a crate, hawking watches that hung from the seams of his jacket. A streetlamp stood in front of him, and he stared at it with unblinking eyes.
If I was going to find the Morier Mansion, I needed help. I covered my face with one hand—a ridiculous “disguise,” but really my only option at this point—and sucked in a breath. “Excuse me, sir. Could you—do you know where the Morier Mansion is?”
“Lost?” he asked simply. He picked a watch from his trench coat and pressed a button on its side. Its metal casing flicked open, and white light glowed from its face, lighting the man’s eyes.
“Uh—well, a bit.”
I prayed he wouldn’t turn his attention to my face. He kept his eyes focused on the watch’s brilliant light, nodded slowly, and pointed to a house at the end of the street. “Banyan tree in the front,” he said without looking up.
“Thanks.” I glanced at his coat. “Good luck selling the, uh, watches.”
“They aren’t for sale,” he said. “They’re for the lost souls.”
“Er—right then.” The man was clearly insane. “Well, uh, good luck anyway.”
I hurried away. Uncle Lou always said it was best to run from things you didn’t understand. Mom disagreed—she said the things you didn’t understand were the things you should spend your time looking at. Maybe she was right. I glanced back over my shoulder to look at the man, but he was already gone.
The banyan tree loomed at the end of the street, a tangled mess of twigs and trunks. The Morier Mansion lay hidden in the yard behind it. Through patches in the tree’s many trunks, I saw lights flicker inside the mansion. A pointed black gate marked the entrance to the property.
I hopped the fence and landed silently on a patch of moist moss. I raced past the magnificent tree, marveling at the way its roots stretched from its branches to the ground. It was as sprawling as the city itself.
I pounded the brass ring against the black wooden front door. Its knock echoed through the mansion, and the front room’s lights flickered out. As I waited, I glanced back. Outside the gate, I could see police officers searching the street. Perhaps I hadn’t escaped them yet.
The mansion’s massive door cracked open. “Come in, Kai Bradbury,” whispered an old woman—mid-forties at least. “Hurry in before they see you.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. I slipped inside and the door shut behind me.
The woman shook my hand fervently. She had gray hair bundled atop her head like a dust bunny, and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of purple horn-rimmed glasses with emeralds encrusted in the corners. Several shawls in shades of scarlet were wrapped around her neck.
“How do you do, Mr. Bradbury?” she said warmly. “We’ve been expecting you for quite some time.”
Behind her, Phoenix and Mila stood on the steps of the grand staircase. Mila took one look at my torn skirt and stifled a laugh. “Staying classy, I see.”
Phoenix shook his head. “You’ve been all over the news. What were you thinking? Flooding the sewage treatment facility? Wandering through the city streets like a Neglex-snorting lunatic? Tell me, Kai: Were you intentionally trying to get yourself killed, or did you not believe us when we told you that you were on the ‘Most Wanted’ list?”
Both, I wanted to yell back, but instead I shrugged. “Bertha’s device didn’t work. It crapped out in the middle of the ocean. You’re lucky I made it here.”
Mila pulled a knife from her pocket. “We’re lucky?” she said. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
I laughed nervously. “Well, uh, I mean—you should try getting around in this sort of thing.” I shook the skirt. “Was pretty breezy though… Maybe you could wear it tonight?”
Phoenix stroked his chin. “With the police on alert? I’m afraid we won’t be going tonight.”
The woman in the scarves stamped her foot. “Oh, you’re going tonight. Everything’s set up, Phoenix, and it wasn’t easy. Nancy Perkins is the only cover we’ve got. She has to wear her Daisy tonight.”