Flanked Page 2

  Footsteps, quick and light, approached from the same direction as the voices. Devin pulled the VICE-shot out of his pocket and released the safety.

  “Hey, hey! Don’t shoot. It’s me.” Joe’s soft voice and sweat-and-vanilla smell reached Devin a moment before warm hands cupped his shoulders. Joe roughly rubbed at them before pulling Devin to his feet.

  “Where the hell did you go?” Devin hissed.

  Joe took Devin’s hand and held his elbow, so their forearms pressed together. “I wanted to see if I could tell anything about the people.”

  They veered toward the noise.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? We’re heading for them!” Devin threw on the brakes. Joe had some muscle to him, but he was a short man and Devin was way stronger. They wouldn’t move until Devin was willing.

  Joe tugged at Devin’s arm. “There’s a median. We’re going to hide there.”

  Devin had no idea what a median was, but he didn’t want to go toward the noises. He smacked at Joe’s hands.

  More yells. This time, they were close enough that Devin could tell they belonged to at least two men.

  Joe pressed against Devin’s chest and whispered, “If we don’t move, they’ll see us. I need you to trust me.”

  Joe squeezed his hand, and Devin moved. He tripped a few times but kept both hands on Joe and let himself be led.

  They climbed over a warm metal something. Dead grass crunched under their feet. A charred smell hung in the air. Devin was tempted to hold his nose.

  “Crouch.” Joe tugged at Devin’s hand. “Watch your knees.”

  “Can’t watch my knees.”

  “Just sit.”

  Devin did, his knees scraping the metal they’d climbed over. When he’d dropped low, Joe pushed him onto his ass. The burned smell got stronger. Joe nudged and maneuvered him to turn and curl in on himself, then Joe’s body pressed tight against him.

  Joe’s lips brushed his ear. “Duck your head, papi. Stay low.”

  The voices grew louder. One warbled in Spanish. Whatever he was singing, the man mangled it. His buddy laughed.

  A breeze ruffled Devin’s hair and cooled the sweat-soaked back of his jacket. Tucked down as he was, he could smell his own armpits. The sweat stink mixed with the smell of fire until he was lightheaded from the fumes.

  The singing man abruptly stopped and, in a low growl, said something about chicos.

  Devin was barely eighteen, Joe nineteen. They could pass for boys. Had they been discovered? Devin was hit with the urge to throw his body over Joe.

  Instead, Joe shifted beside him and whispered, “Give me the VICE-shot. My knife won’t help much against two people.”

  Devin wanted to protest. The gun belonged to him, and with it, he had ideas of protecting Joe, not the other way around. But his blindness made him a liability. He fished the gun out of his pocket and handed it over.

  Back before they’d left Austin, he’d set the gun to stun and hadn’t changed it. He’d only used it once, to fire a single pulse at Boggs, so he wasn’t sure it could be fired in rapid succession. They might be about to find out.

  ***

  Joe inched closer to the guardrail at the edge of the median. He couldn’t be sure if Boggs had sent word to someone in this town to watch for them or if the men were random townspeople who’d spotted young-looking strangers. Either way, his and Devin’s best bet was to attack before the men reached them. He clenched the VICE-shot, warm and nearly weightless, in his hand and lined up his index finger with the trigger.

  He peered over the edge of their hiding space and saw the two men.

  With a giant full moon in a star-filled sky, their faces shone. They both seemed older, maybe even in their thirties, and both were thin. Dark hair. Sharp eyes. Brothers, maybe. Each with the barrel of a gun visible behind their backs. Their steps brought them closer, but they watched the road to the south instead of focusing on Joe and Devin. Perhaps they hadn’t been spotted after all, and they could wait out the danger.

  The men stopped twenty feet away, still facing south.

  Joe followed their gaze. His breath stopped cold.

  Three more people approached from that direction, too far away to make out more than dim silhouettes. One was slightly smaller, and another’s rounded body was easily twice the size of the others. They were all short, though. Teens or women, maybe.

  Seconds ticked by as the new arrivals drew closer.

  Joe tried to breathe deeply, to saturate his blood and brain with oxygen, to stay calm. Devin’s foot bounced against Joe’s ass. Part of Joe wanted to stop it; another part found the steady smack reassuring, a reminder he wasn’t on his own.

  The men nearest Joe pulled long-barreled rifles that had to be a century old. The things looked lethal.

  The figures down the highway stopped when the weapons were drawn. Not friends, then. The men near Joe yelled for the others to put up their hands and come closer.

  The trio did as told, and the bulk of the large person’s body fell away. Ah. The person had been carrying something large, maybe a bag. Now two of the approaching group appeared identical. Same height. Same body shape. Same frightened, familiar faces.

  Oh, God. Joe swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. What the hell were they doing out here?

  Recalculating quickly, he waited along with the men, who watched the boys approach. When one of the men laughed, Joe fired the VICE-shot.

  The weapon whipped to life. Crackling electricity filled the night with dazzling light. The bright-white arc hit the man facing Joe. Surprise etched the man’s features before he twitched and fell. The other man turned, weapon at the ready, but Joe didn’t release the trigger of the VICE-shot. He kept the pulse firing and roped the man into the current.

  When the second man dropped, Joe released the trigger and jumped over the guardrail. He picked up the rifles the men had carried and slung them over his shoulder. Only then did he turn to the south and the boys who had no business almost getting themselves killed.

  The boys had scattered, and the two bolting east were about to reach the safety of the grass. At least they’d done one smart thing.

  “Flix!” Joe yelled. “Marcus!”

  The runners heading east stopped. Even the boy running south slowed. Behind Joe, Devin said, “Joe, are you okay? And please tell me you’re fucking kidding and those kids did not leave Flights of Fantasy all alone.”

  Joe turned around and watched Devin stand. “I’m fine. It gets even better. It’s not just the two of them. Wait for it.” He hustled back to the median, switched the VICE-shot off, and shoved it in Devin’s pants pocket.

  Devin managed to climb over the guardrail on his own, and Joe hoped that meant his partner’s vision was improving. He grabbed Devin’s elbow and led him toward the side of the road, away from the incapacitated men. For the benefit of the boys, he gestured north, then hurried Devin along the road, trying to put as much space between themselves and the unconscious men as he could. Everyone seemed to understand the need to get away. Even Flix kept his mouth shut and followed along behind.

  After half an hour and no sign of strangers, Joe stopped and allowed the boys to catch up. When they got within fifteen feet, Flix broke away from his twin and ran to Joe. He flung chilly arms around Joe’s neck and burrowed into him.

  Joe patted Flix’s back awkwardly and tried to warm him up. What had they been thinking, coming out here without warmer clothes? They shouldn’t be out here at all.

  “You saved us, Joesy. Thank God we ran into you.” Flix rubbed his cheek back and forth on Joe’s shoulder but stiffened when Joe’s hand grazed his ribs.

  Devin grabbed at Joe’s arm and pushed Flix away. “Back off, Junior. Why the fuck are you out here?”

  Marcus — slower, gentler, and blessedly not attracted to Joe — answered. “You said we could come with you.”

  The expression on Devin’s face — mouth open, brow furrowed — had to match the one Joe was
sporting. They had said that. When they’d left their home at the Flats, they’d offered to let anyone come with them. No one had. Only Peter, new and too green to make the trip, had expressed any desire to leave. And now, in between Marcus and Flix, here was Peter.

  His ruffed-up brown hair hung in his eyes until he pushed it away and glared at Joe and Devin. “You left me. I needed your help, and you left me with a man who was going to make me a” — Peter hesitated and dropped his voice — “prostitute.”

  The accusation, ugly and true, hung in the air. Joe had felt guilty about it, of course, but they hadn’t taken the boy with them when they’d left.

  “Shit,” Devin breathed. “Peter. Man, we left you because we believed it was for your own good. We’re both sorry.”

  Peter opened his mouth, but Flix cut him off. “He’s here now, asshat, so —”

  “Shut up, dickwad,” Devin snapped.

  Joe sighed and grimaced at Marcus, who seemed as disinterested in Flix and Devin’s crude insults as Joe was. They had more important things to worry about right now. “Tell me how you ended up out here.”

  Marcus set down the huge object he’d been carrying, which had turned out to be a bed sheet serving as a makeshift suitcase, and ran a hand over the sides of his head, where his dark hair was shaved. He half-smiled. “After you left, Peter came back in bawling and —”

  “I wasn’t bawling,” Peter said. At least he’d gotten distracted and stopped shooting Joe dirty looks.

  Marcus shrugged. “Anyway, he came back in. Mr. Boggs came out of your room and screamed at us all, wanting to know where you’d been planning to go. None of us knew.”

  Good. That not knowing, the little head start it had afforded them, had probably kept Joe and Devin from being caught already.

  “We got assigned to train Peter, probably since he’s about our age,” Flix added. “We took him downstairs and got all the checkups and stuff, so he’s not going to get sunburned or die of worms or something.”

  Peter straightened. “You people are disgusting. I never had worms.”

  Devin chuckled and reached his arm out blindly, his hand groping at the air. Once he hit Joe, he walked his fingers around until he held Joe’s hand. “This is fun, but Joe and I need to head on down the road.”

  “We’re going with you,” Flix said.

  Joe hated to turn them away, but when he and Devin had left, he’d been very clear that anyone who went with them would have to be self-sufficient. “We don’t have enough food and water for you.”

  “We have supplies. We promise we won’t be a burden.”

  Flix’s enormous brown eyes tugged at Joe’s soul. Flix could promise all he wanted, but taking these boys along meant slowing down. It meant a greater chance of being caught. This wasn’t a decision Joe could make alone. He’d promised Devin they’d be full partners. “Give Devin and me a minute, please.”

  The boys walked a short distance away, and Joe poked around at the outside of their sheet of supplies. Quietly, he said, “What do you think?”

  “I think they’d get us all killed.”

  “I don’t want to be like my dad.”

  Devin sighed heavily. “You aren’t leaving behind your child, Joe. Let’s give them some food. Give them one of those guns. Send them back, and when they’re stronger —”

  “Tell them,” Marcus almost shouted. He shoved Flix by the back of the neck over to where Devin and Joe stood. “You tell them or I swear I will show them.”

  Flix scowled. “It isn’t their business, Marc.”

  “To hell it’s not. They’re going to send us back to Flights of Fantasy.”

  “Boggs will be angry,” Joe said, “and he’ll probably punish you, but it’s better than starving —”

  Marcus yanked the back of Flix’s shirt up over his head and spun him around so his back was to Joe.

  Joe’s stomach lurched. Flix’s back was covered with fine, long cuts in a row of four, starting near his left shoulder and snaking lazily across and down, all the way to his waistband. Not deep enough to scar; more than enough to torture. The perfect balance, so Flix could heal on his own, slowly and painfully, and still be a pristine, marketable whore afterward. “Who did this to you?” But Joe knew.

  Flix wrenched away from his brother and pulled down his shirt. He kept his back to Joe, arms stiff, fists clenched.

  “Boggs said we’d be his favorites until you got brought back,” Marcus said. “He also said we’d take your punishments, one a day, every day, until you came home. The bastard took Flix back to his office and gave him a choice: share the punishment with me, or take it all. You can see what he chose.”

  Flix turned back to them, and his eyes were rimmed red. “It doesn’t matter. What does is that we’re here now, and we’re not going back.”

  Joe thought it mattered a whole lot. Flix hadn’t deserved that. No one deserved it. Joe couldn’t send them back, couldn’t hand them to Boggs. He wouldn’t be like his father, wouldn’t abandon vulnerable kids. He lowered his voice and spoke to Devin. “Papi...”

  Devin squeezed Joe’s hand. “We have to let them come with us, don’t we?”

  Joe nodded, forgetting for a moment that Devin couldn’t see. “They’ll be tortured if we don’t. The twins won’t even be sixteen for another month. Peter looks even younger. I need to help them.”

  “Of course you do.”

  Joe stood on tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss to Devin’s cheek. He was heartened when Devin wrapped an arm around him and drew him in, even if it ended a moment later. Joe raised his voice so the boys could hear him. “Do you want to go with us to New America?”

  The boys practically skipped over, a desire for adventure splashed across their faces.

  Joe worried they’d all made a terrible mistake.

  TWO

  At the first sign of the sun, Joe decided to lead the boys off the highway and let them get some rest. They’d done well on the long nighttime walk; their youth and excitement no doubt helped. Twice they’d stopped for food breaks and once when a spider crawled down Flix’s shirt, but they hadn’t made Joe and Devin lose too much time.

  During the night, Devin had given Marcus and Peter the sleek black sleeping bags to use as coats. Now, tucked up beneath the highway in an underpass, they laid out the sleeping bags and crawled in. Marcus and Flix were small enough to share.

  Intending to get them organized while he kept watch, Joe busied himself sorting through the supplies the boys had stolen from Flights of Fantasy. If only he could unpack his brain, pick out the useful parts, and get rid of the rest. It had been two days since they’d left home, and already it felt like a different life. The ache of Bea’s death, and all the guilt, had numbed. Not like it would fade; more like it was nestling in, making itself at home. And Victor. That pain was still white-hot. How could it hurt so much to lose someone Joe had hated? He slid his fingers over the V he’d carved near his elbow. “Make it matter,” Victor had said of his sacrifice. Joe kept his promises.

  He needed to fix his relationship with Devin. He still had an overwhelming desire to protect Devin, but it had to be something mutual, not a plan shrouded in patronizing secrecy. Joe got it. He did. They were equals. Partners. He just had to commit to living it. And now the kids were tagging along. More complications, more distractions, more ways to let people down.

  Joe rolled his neck, stretched his aching back, and went back to picking through the boys’ stash. Mainly, it looked like they’d given little thought to what would be useful and instead packed everything they could get their hands on. Clothes, which were plentiful at the Flats, lined the interior of their makeshift luggage. Too bad only Flix’d had enough sense to put on more than one layer of clothes as they had ventured into cooler weather. Marcus and Peter had shivered for hours, teeth chattering, even under the warmth of the sleeping bags.

  Their pack also had plenty of perishable food. Tasty, but not as valuable as the nutrition bars Joe had brought. T
hey’d probably end up leaving most of the food to rot in the sun.

  Joe found a few worthwhile items: another flat-fold water jug, three forks, a serrated knife, and a jar of rash preventative. It had to be Flix who’d packed four bottles of lubricant — Joe pocketed one — and a set of worn, carefully folded maps. Joe thought back to his last days at Flights of Fantasy and how Flix had used his maps to plan and track their searches for baby Nina. The kid may have a creepy, oversexed crush on Joe, but he was also smart and inventive. Even if the maps were old, they’d be a big help if the group was ever forced off course or getting desperate for water.

  Joe repacked the useful items inside a shirt, then stuffed the new package sideways into a second shirt. He cut apart a pair of pants to fashion straps for his improvised backpack. There. Now they could travel more efficiently.

  “Find anything good?”

  Joe jumped and whirled toward the voice. Devin sat apart from the younger boys and stared straight ahead. His golden hair stuck up in every direction, and his eyes burned a vibrant blue in the natural light.

  “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”

  Devin smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Joe sat next to him, close enough to let their arms brush. “What’s up? How are your eyes?”

  A frown creased Devin’s face. “Better, I think. I can see light.” He waved his hand in front of his face. “Shapes are a little clearer. Should we be worried?”

  A week ago, Joe might have lied and convinced himself it was for Devin’s benefit. Not anymore. “I’m concerned. Getting better is a good sign, but you should be fine by now.”

  Devin nodded. “I’m scared.”

  “Here.” Joe reached across Devin for his backpack and withdrew a pair of vision shields. He put them in Devin’s hand. “You should wear these when the sun’s out. Your eyes can get hurt even if you can’t see.”

  Devin put them on and activated the sun-blocking feature. The lenses darkened until his blue iris faded to a dark smoky gray. “Those little shits have anything to protect their eyes?”