Flanked Page 9

  Joe removed his shoes and socks and rolled up his pants. “I’ll wade in, and you can hand me the jugs, okay?”

  “The water’s going to be freezing.”

  No doubt. The farther north they traveled, the more a chill entered the air. Joe hadn’t bargained on it being so much colder while they were still in Texas. A shortage of water was probably the main reason the people here had fled north, even more than extreme temperatures. Of course, summers in Dallas were probably plenty hot, but Austin tended to stay warm year-round, even, like now, in the dead of winter.

  Joe exhaled, inhaled deeply, and stepped into the water.

  Ice. Oh, God. Joe said a quick prayer and thanked God he was too dehydrated to piss his pants. His teeth chattered. “Hand me a jug.”

  The water slowly passed through the filter. The jug sank as it filled, reducing the burden on Joe’s submerged, frozen hands. When the water stopped gurgling, Joe lifted the jug and handed it off to Peter before starting on the second one.

  The chill in the water eased as Joe became acclimated to it. He pushed at the muddy lake bottom with his toes, soothing his blisters, and took note of the soft waves lapping at his calves. That swim he’d wanted before still sounded so good. Maybe when they got to safety in New America, lakes and rivers would be so abundant they could waste a few hours, feel refreshed and renewed.

  The second jug filled, and Joe stepped out of the water. They could spare a moment for his feet to dry. He walked around so he didn’t cake too much mud on his feet. It really did make the blisters feel better, though. He wished he could scoop some up and carry it back to the others. At least Peter could take advantage of it.

  “The mud feels good on my blisters. You should take off your shoes and —”

  Peter frowned. “No. That would be distasteful. White people don’t get dirty on purpose.”

  Were all northern teens this prissy? Joe dug his socks out of his shoes and put them on. “I promise you, Peter, lots and lots of white people had no problem getting dirty with me.”

  “I’m not a sex toy.”

  Joe’s chest tightened. He worked to keep his voice level. “Neither am I. I did what I had to do to live. You would’ve done the same if you hadn’t left.”

  Peter closed his eyes and shook his head.

  He could believe whatever he wanted. Joe knew the truth. Peter thought his belly was empty now? This was nothing. Joe had no regrets. Not about the sex work.

  They walked toward the place on the road where they’d left Devin and the twins. Halfway there, a sharp cry shattered the stillness of the night.

  Marcus in pain. Or Flix.

  Joe broke into a run. Peter struggled to keep up, but Joe didn’t care. He needed to make sure Devin was safe, that they weren’t under attack. Water lapped out of the mouth of the jug Joe carried, wetting his shirt, but it didn’t matter. He had to get to Devin.

  Close enough to make out the scene, no one had a gun drawn; no other people were nearby. Joe relaxed, less worried for Devin, then kicked himself because Marcus must be awake and hurting. Those broken bones weren’t small cracks. His tibia hadn’t broken the skin, but Joe had been able to feel the displacement. Marcus’s arm wasn’t bad. It seemed the fall mostly impacted his right leg, where the tibia was broken. And his foot — Joe hadn’t checked to see how bad it was for fear he’d make it worse, but the blood soaking the heel of Marcus’s shoe made it pretty clear he’d fractured something enough to break the skin.

  Joe pulled the bottle of pain pills from his pocket, shook out two and fed them to Marcus, whose skin had paled. “What’s going on?”

  Devin and Flix were crouched over the lower half of Marcus’s body. Devin met Joe’s eyes. “We took off the shoe.”

  “It’s so bad. Oh, God, Joe, it’s so bad.” Flix stared at Joe with his mouth open, his eyes wide. Even in the dark, Joe saw him shaking.

  “He was complaining it was too tight,” Devin said, “told us it hurt too much. We were trying to help.”

  Joe gently nudged Flix to the side. “Go up to Marcus’s face and rub his scalp like you were doing last night.”

  Joe couldn’t decide what was worse, Marcus’s injuries or Flix’s anguish. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could do this. Look at the mess the fall had caused. He opened his eyes and looked down.

  Blood covered almost everything. Underneath the blood, Marcus’s heel had split in half. The back part of the bone bowed up at an almost ninety-degree angle. What skin was visible stretched taut and white.

  Joe’s stomach lurched. “Does anyone have a shirt that’s not too dirty?” He rummaged through the backpack containing their medical supplies and found the anti-infection spray. “Devin, help me lift his leg. Hold him still.”

  Marcus screamed when they moved his leg, but once his ankle was in the air, Joe steeled himself and tuned out the cries. He sprayed as much anti-infection as he could around every exposed area. Someone handed him a t-shirt, and he managed to rip it into an awkward bandage. He wrapped it as carefully as he knew how and lowered the ankle to the sleeping bag. Nothing else could be done. But Marcus would get an infection sooner or later unless they got him real help.

  They had to get to Purcell.

  Marcus’s life depended on it.

  SIX

  Midday sun warmed Joe’s face. He licked a trickle of blood from his cracked lips and rolled his right shoulder, which ached from the work of carrying Marcus. On the other side of Marcus’s body, Flix stumbled, his face etched with dirt and tears. Ahead of them, Devin held the foot end of their makeshift stretcher in one hand. With the other, he half-supported, half-dragged Peter along the dusty stretch of highway.

  Four days ago, they’d left the lake in the northern suburbs of Dallas. Each day since, they’d walked as fast as they could, as long as they could. Once they cleared the Dallas metro area, the abandoned houses and shopping centers thinned. They’d crossed into Oklahoma two and a half days ago and hadn’t seen a soul since. The barren, bleak land stretched flat, red, and empty in every direction.

  Marcus twitched on the stretcher, and Joe glanced down at him. He tried to look only when he had some comfort to offer. A sip of water. Medicine. Reassurance. Joe had been able to offer less and less of all three as the days wore on. He would run out of pills in a day or so. The water jugs were empty. Marcus’s eyes were sunken, his skin deathly pale. He shivered even though the sun was out, and he was wrapped in both the sleeping bags and the jackets. His skin burned to the touch.

  Joe had given him antibiotics, had sprayed more anti-infection, had kept the dressings fresh. None of it made a difference.

  The mile markers promised they weren’t far from Purcell, less than a day’s walk, but Marcus might not make it. Infection festered in his foot. Angry red streaks spread away from his blackened heel, up his leg. Joe had seen it this morning when he’d changed the bandage. He hadn’t told Flix.

  The sun had passed over their heads maybe an hour ago. In the past few days, that had been Joe’s cue to call an end to the day. They’d had no place to hide, nowhere to be safe, so they had laid at the side of the road and took turns getting a few hours’ sleep. Today, they needed to keep going until someone couldn’t walk another step. Joe wasn’t giving up on Marcus’s life.

  “What is that?” Flix pointed at something ahead of them.

  It took Joe a moment to see it. Even once he’d found it, he didn’t know what it was. A white line stretched out at the edge of the horizon, extending as far as he could see. Despite his worry for Marcus, his concern for all of them, really, a thrill rushed through him. “I think it’s the New American border.”

  Flix inhaled sharply. “It’s in Oklahoma?”

  Joe nodded. He raised his voice. “Peter? Is that the border?”

  Peter, his head perched on Devin’s shoulder, looked back at them. His glassy, distant eyes didn’t focus. He twisted a little, wedging his hand against Devin’s upper arm. Devin lost his balance and fell to his k
nees, dragging Peter and worse, Marcus’s broken body, down with him.

  Marcus whimpered but didn’t cry out. He should have howled.

  Joe and Flix lowered the rest of the stretcher to the ground. Leaving Marcus to Flix, Joe rushed to Devin, who staggered to regain his footing.

  “Stay down.” Joe pushed at Devin’s broad shoulders until Devin sat heavily. “Rest.”

  Dirt crusted Devin’s eyelashes, turning them reddish. He squinted up at Joe. “We have to keep moving.”

  “Not like this. You’ve been carrying half of Marcus and half of Peter for hours. Besides, look at Peter.”

  Peter lay to the side, curled into a ball on the highway, his eyes closed, his legs trembling.

  Devin sighed and didn’t reply.

  Joe patted Devin’s shoulder and walked back to where Flix squatted next to his brother. Joe helped him up, and they walked away from the others, into a shallow ditch beside the road.

  Flix pulled the vision shields off his face and shook his head. “He’s getting worse. No bullshit, Joe.”

  God, how hard this was. “I think so. We need to keep going, but Devin can’t keep carrying both of them, and you and I aren’t strong enough.”

  Flix rested his forehead on Joe’s shoulder. He drew a shaky breath. “I can’t lose my brother.”

  “We’re going to do everything we can to keep him alive.”

  “We have to get to Purcell, find your friend. There’s nothing else to do. We wait, I lose him.”

  Joe wrapped his arms around Flix, tried to give him comfort. Anything reassuring Joe might say would be a lie, so he didn’t speak.

  Flix stood rigid. He raised his head off Joe’s shoulder and looked past him to the rest of the group, then returned his gaze to Joe. He started to speak. Stopped. Tried again. “If we left Peter —”

  “No.” Joe shook his head, dropped his arms, and walked away. Non-negotiable. He didn’t leave his responsibilities behind. He’d gotten halfway back to Devin when Flix blocked his path.

  “We’d come back. I need you to help me —”

  “No.” Joe stepped around Flix and addressed Devin. “Have Peter help you get Marcus out of the road. Sit in the ditch. Eat something and take turns on watch. Flix and I are going to find water.” He turned his back on Devin and marched off the highway, not bothering to see if Flix was following.

  “What are you doing?” Flix hissed from behind.

  “Finding water.”

  “You’re wasting time.”

  Joe sped up. The baked clay earth felt almost as hard as the highway. “See that building?” A metal roof glinted in the sunlight. The place had to have its own water supply, as isolated as it was.

  Flix pulled alongside. “I see it. It’s at least a mile away. By the time we get there and back we could be two miles closer to Purcell.”

  “Devin and Peter can’t walk right now. They have to rest.”

  “You’re going to let my brother die so you can baby your idiot boyfriend?”

  Joe gritted his teeth. He understood Flix’s desperation, but he was tired and hungry and scared, too. He didn’t want to answer stupid questions. “I’m going to take care of Devin so he can carry your brother.”

  “If you and I carried Marcus, we could get him to Purcell. Once we’ve found your friend, you could come back for Devin and Peter.”

  “You and I can’t carry Marcus several miles.” Joe bit off each syllable, timed them with the collision of his feet and the ground. “We aren’t strong enough.”

  Flix wheeled around and punched Joe in the jaw.

  The impact jarred Joe’s teeth and split his cracked lips but didn’t knock him off his feet. He put his hand to his mouth, then looked at his fingers and found them bloody.

  Flix’s eyes had gone wide, but he stood his ground. “I am strong enough.”

  Joe wiped the blood on his jeans and resumed course. “Well I’m not. And as soon as we have some down time, I’m teaching you how to hit. You’re not that much smaller than me. You should’ve been able to knock me on my ass.”

  Something hard rammed Joe’s back and sent him forward a few paces. It hit him in the shoulder and knocked him sideways.

  “You son of a bitch!” Flix lunged at him and kicked.

  Joe grabbed Flix’s foot and yanked him to the ground. “Knock it off. You’re wasting your energy. And mine.”

  Flix growled and got to his feet. This time, he shoved Joe in the chest. When Joe didn’t react, he did it again. “God damn it! Why are you so cold? How can you not care?”

  Again Flix rushed in. He cocked his fist, and Joe blocked the punch with his forearm. Flix hauled back and tried again. Joe blocked that one, too, but Flix followed fast and landed a blow to Joe’s stomach.

  It hurt. And it pissed Joe off. He didn’t stop to think, just swung, and the solid crack of his fist against Flix’s face stung so good.

  Flix landed hard in the dirt. Joe followed, straddled Flix’s stomach, pinned his arms, and held him down while he struggled and cursed. Flix kicked and bucked with surprising strength, but Joe refused to be thrown. It went on until blood from Joe’s busted lip dropped onto Flix’s face. It hovered, held together by surface tension, on the ripe apple of Flix’s cheek, until Flix shuddered. Then it fell, streaking a slow line to his ear.

  They stayed still in the sudden quiet and stared at each other.

  “I’m done now,” Flix whispered.

  Joe let Flix’s arms free. “Do you feel better?”

  Flix nodded. “Thank you.”

  Joe rolled off and stood before helping Flix to his feet, too. “I think you’re going to have a black eye.”

  With tentative fingers, Flix touched his cheekbone and winced. “I’ve never had a black eye before.”

  Joe snorted. He hooked his hands in his pockets and started toward the metal-roofed building. “Congratulations.”

  Flix fell into step next to him. “I’m scared.”

  “I know. Me, too.”

  And he was. They could die before they ever made it to Purcell. They could get there and find nothing, no help. He didn’t even know which side of the border Purcell was on. What if it was north, in New America, and they weren’t allowed in right away?

  Peter and Devin would be welcomed. Devin had the microchip that confirmed his status as an American citizen. Peter’s had been removed, but all it would take was a simple DNA test to confirm his identity. Surely the murder of his parents had been a big deal. People would recognize him, help him, take him in.

  Joe and Flix and Marcus? They weren’t citizens, didn’t have the right genetic makeup. They could still test in, demonstrate a gift prized by the government. It was what Joe and his father had banked on, what Joe had prepared for years ago. Would he even remember half the stuff he’d learned? He hadn’t put it to much use working as a prostitute. And Joe and his dad had expected the testing to occur at a biodome, not along the border. The border might not even have testing facilities. He could reach it and be turned away.

  Joe tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the here and now. Turned out the metal-roofed building was a small house with dusty white siding and a wide front porch. Brush had been cleared around the perimeter, so Joe slowed his steps and watched for any sign of people moving about. In Austin, most people stayed inside during the day since they didn’t have access to the dermal fortification injections Flights of Fantasy administered to their runners. Joe assumed it was the same out here. Whoever lived in the house was probably asleep.

  He led Flix around to the back. Greenish plants sprouted from a small garden right near the house. The rooftop greenhouse back at Flights of Fantasy surfaced in Joe’s memory, and his stomach rumbled in response. Real food had tasted so good.

  To the right of the garden, a small pump jutted from the ground. If the pump was in regular use, they might even be able to get at the water without waking the house’s owners.

  Joe crept closer but stopped about twenty feet from
the garden.

  Something was off.

  A sickly-sweet smell tinged the air. Insects buzzed in heavy swarms over the garden. The back door was ajar.

  Joe withdrew the VICE-shot. “Stay here, Flix.” He crept closer, keeping an eye on the house.

  The smell turned into a stench, like something rotting. The garden was laden with vegetables, all decaying.

  Joe covered his nose and mouth with his hand. People didn’t let food go to waste. He approached the house and stepped inside.

  He found them in the living room. A man and woman, maybe, shot through the head. The man near the front door, the woman a little farther in. Blackened blood pooled around their bodies, though not as much as Joe would have guessed. Their bloated forms and vacant eyes occupied the entire room, and every sense at Joe’s disposal. He turned away and managed to choke out a call in case anyone was alive and injured.

  No one answered, and Joe didn’t find any other bodies when he ransacked the house, searching for medicine.

  Back outside, he dropped to his knees and worked the pump furiously. All he wanted was to run. He’d seen dead bodies before, left to rot on the streets. But something about these people, dying, decaying in their own home... The killers hadn’t even taken the vegetables.

  “They’re dead, aren’t they?” Flix bent at the waist and laid his hand on Joe’s shoulder.

  “I told you to stay back.”

  “I have the other jug.”

  Flix handed it over and stood. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched him walk toward the other side of the house.

  “Hey, Joe? I found something.”

  Joe finished at the pump and capped the jugs before following the sound of Flix’s voice. When he rounded the corner of the house, he gasped. Finally, something had gone right.

  In front of him, a long metal kayak stood propped against the siding. Joe lifted it. Lightweight. Two seats. Intact bottom. Along the bow, an eye hook threaded with rope. Joe laid the kayak on the ground and settled the water jugs inside.

  “What’re you doing?”