Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

L
uce decides to take a nap, and for a while Benson lies next to her, close but not touching. He’s afraid to touch her while she’s sleeping, for fear of what might happen if she wakes up in a confused daze. The last thing he wants to do is rekindle bad memories.

He hasn’t seen her sleep this deeply in a while. He suspects it has something to do with her finally feeling like her brother is protected in this place. They rarely even see Geoffrey any more. He made friends with other kids his age almost right away, children of the Lifers, and he’s been off with them from morning to night. So Luce can rest easy.

Eventually, however, Benson realizes he’s not in the least bit tired, so he slides carefully away from her and tiptoes out of the room.

In the long hallway just outside the door to their sleeping quarters, he stops. He feels confused as to where to go. Before he was identified as a Slip, he would’ve grabbed Check and they’d have gone out and Picked some rich person’s pocket, and then used the funds to buy some cake or pie, which they’d eat down by the river, laughing and telling stories, dreaming of a better life. But now there are only endless gray, metal walls and narrow corridors. The entire Lifer facility is underground, beneath a junkyard, hidden away from the prying eyes of the Hawk drones.

No sunshine. No fresh air. No life.

Benson hates it down here, but poking his head aboveground would be suicide, regardless of how much he wants to. By denying his request to go up, the Digger, Simon, was really saving his life.

As he stands there, uncertain as to what to do or where to go, Benson remembers one place he hasn’t been able to explore yet. He promised Check he’d go back there with him later today, but he’s not really in the mood for company.

Feeling better now that he has a destination, he starts through the maze of tunnels and walkways and Lifters. Dim yellow overhead bulbs provide the only light. Every corridor looks the same. He doesn’t even know if he can find his way back to the door that he and Check stumbled on yesterday, but that only makes him more determined to find it. A left turn. A right turn. A staircase down two floors, to minus-ten. Isn’t that where Check said the party would be later tonight? Doesn’t matter. He finds a Lifter, which transports him down another five levels. He takes four left turns, which should bring him around in a full circle, but somehow it doesn’t. He reaches another Lifter, which carries him all the way down to what he’s been told is the bottom level, minus-twenty-five. Twenty-five stories underground. Deep below the earth’s surface. And although the passageways look the same—silvery and dimly lit—the thought makes him feel claustrophobic. He takes a few deep breaths and follows the same path he and Check took yesterday.

The massive door looms ahead. Thick, heavy steel. A retinal scanner on the side. A warning:
Authorized entry only. Stairway access to level minus-twenty-six.

Everyone he’s asked has told him there are only twenty-five levels. And yet he’s staring at the door to another level. A door he can’t open. He goes through the motions one more time. Pulls on the handle—won’t budge, as sturdy as a bank vault. Allows the red beam from the scanner to sweep over each eye—blinks red for no access. Knocks on the door, a dull, echoing thud—no answer.

A voice startles him from behind. “Why are you so interested in this door?”

He spins around to find a familiar man who he’s seen once before, on his first day at Refuge. A middle-aged guy, with silvery hair, stern brown eyes and the kind of deep-lined wrinkles that only come from experience in stressful situations. Benson thinks he’s smiling, but it’s hard to tell because the man’s thin lips have a tendency to curl downwards.

The Lifer leader, Jarrod.

Charred bodies, crumbling buildings, and clouds of thick, black smoke fill Benson’s mind. All a result of this man’s actions. The man who seems to think Benson could make a difference in the fight against Population Control, as a sort of symbol for their cause.

But standing in front of Jarrod, Benson only feels angry.

“I’m not ready to talk yet,” Benson says.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Jarrod says.

Benson breathes the dense air through his nose. Pushes out a sigh. “Then why are you here?”

“I’ll answer your question when you answer mine.”

Benson glances at the door and then back at Jarrod. “I’m bored. I’ve seen every bot-licking room and hallway in this place. Your people won’t let me go up, so I’m going down. All the way to level minus-twenty-six, which, by the way, isn’t even supposed to exist.”

The Lifer leader raises his eyebrows. “I’ll take you down there. Tomorrow night. After everyone’s asleep.”

“Why not tonight?”

“You’re not quite ready. Neither am I. Tomorrow, okay?”

Benson chews his lip. He can hang in there one more day. “Okay. Why did you follow me down here?”

Jarrod doesn’t even blink as he says, “To find out why you were so interested in this door.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well it’s the truth.”

“I don’t trust you,” Benson says.

“Why not?” Jarrod seems sincerely interested in the answer, his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Because you blow innocent people up.”

“They’re not innocent,” Jarrod insists. “Like I told you before, we only target government facilities supporting Pop Con. They deserve exactly what they get.”

“If you say so.”

“How can I get you to trust me?”

“You can’t,” Benson says.

Jarrod takes a step forward, closer than Benson is comfortable with. “Um, personal space?” he says.

The next two steps are much faster, the gap between them disappearing in an instant. Benson tries to duck away, but the larger man grabs him, whirls him around, and jams a knife to his throat. “What the hell?” Benson says, freezing, not daring to move. This guy is crazy, he thinks. He’s going to kill him because Benson doesn’t trust him?

Jarrod’s voice is a hoarse whisper in his ear. “If I was the monster you think I am, I’d kill you right now, or I’d force you to do what I say, to be the symbol of our cause. I’d shove a tracker in your skin and I’d have you guarded night and day. I’d use your friends, your mother, and your brother as leverage, threatening their lives to bend you to my will.” Benson feels the edge of cold steel against his skin, the pulse of his blood beating erratically against it. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, wishing he’d kissed Luce one more time before he left her to sleep.

And then the pressure is gone as Jarrod pushes away, slipping the knife casually back into a sheath on his belt. He strides off, not bothering to look back. “But I won’t do any of that, Benson, which means you can trust me,” he says before disappearing into the gloom.

~~~

Benson is still touching his neck with shaky fingers when he spots Harrison, sweaty and dark-eyed, striding toward him.

“Mom wants us to go to the gym together tomorrow night,” Harrison says.

Mom?
For a minute Benson can’t seem to grasp the meaning of the word. He’s never had a mother. Oh, right. Stupid. Janice. The woman who raised him but who was never exactly his mother. “She wants us to work out?” Benson suddenly feels inadequate standing next to his brother. Compared to Harrison, his arms are twigs, his chest puny, his legs thin and knob-kneed. Normally Benson wouldn’t consider himself weak, but next to Harrison’s extraordinary physique, he can’t help but feel less than a man.

“No. She said she wants to show us something.”

Oh.
“What?”

“She didn’t say. You know how she is.”

Not really
, Benson thinks. He’s barely spent two minutes with her since they arrived at Refuge. Not alone, anyway. When Harrison’s around, he’s like a buffer for her crazy. He’s good with her, knows how to handle her, always has the right things to say. A good son.

“Okay,” Benson says. “I’ll go.”

Benson starts to turn away, but hesitates, still feeling awkward around his brother. Particularly because it’s freaking weird seeing a much more athletic clone of himself everywhere he looks. “Uh, see you later?”

“Where you headed? I’ll walk with you.”

Where
is
he headed? he wonders. When he saw Harrison he was wandering aimlessly, still trying to shake the feeling of having a knife at his throat. “To the sleeping quarters?” he says.

“Me, too,” Harrison says. “I gotta get a shower before the party tonight.” He falls into stride next to him. “You going? It’s at some Lifer club called Dark.”

“Check told me.”

“You don’t seem that excited.”

“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” Benson says, staring straight ahead.

“Why? Wait, don’t tell me, you’ve got a date with that hottie of yours.”

Benson looks sharply at his brother, then behind them to make sure no one overheard. “Keep your voice down!” he hisses.

“Hmm,” Harrison says, winking. “I prefer to be public about these sorts of things, but I’ll admit that a secret lover has a certain appeal.”

“She’s not my secret lover,” Benson says.

“Then why are you telling me to keep my voice down?”

“It’s complicated,” Benson says. “I’m going to tell my friends, but I’ve got to do it in my own way, in my own time.”

“Riiight. If you say so,” Harrison says.

An uneasy silence falls between them as they both stare straight ahead. Benson is faintly aware of how similar their stride is, how they naturally fall into step with one another. Is that a brother thing? Or maybe a twin thing? Whatever it is, Benson tries to change his stride and the length of his steps, but finds Harrison changing his, too, as if to mimic him. He glances at Harrison, but if his brother’s messing with him, he doesn’t show it with as much as a smirk. He wonders whether it’s all in his head.

They pass by an area where families of Lifers live. Most of the doors are closed, but one swings open and a young boy’s voice carries through the opening. “Da-ad! Ralphy won’t share his toys!”

“Ralphy, share with your brother,” a gruff voice says.

“Da-ad! Courtney won’t share her toys either,” the little boy cries.

Benson laughs and he sees that Harrison is, too. Their eyes meet for a quick second and something unspoken passes between them. Benson looks away, a thousand memories spinning like mini-tornadoes in his mind. Memories of his father. Memories that he should’ve shared with Harrison, if only the world were a perfect place. Lost memories.

Harrison turns away and Benson sees something glittering in his eyes. It’s the first sign of weakness he’s ever seen from his brother, and it makes him feel slightly better about himself. It’s not a nice thing to feel better because of another’s weakness, but he can’t help it. “It’s okay to cry for Dad,” Benson says.

Harrison whips his head around and Benson’s surprised to find his face absent of tears. “One, I’m not crying,” Harrison says. “And two, if I was, it wouldn’t be for him. It would be for us. We never got to fight. Never got to complain to Mom and Dad. Never had any of it. We lost out. We’re the victims. Not Dad. Not even Mom.”

Benson studies his brother’s hard face for a moment, thinking about his words, and then says, “No. They lost out, too. We all did. None of it was any of our faults.”

Harrison’s jaw is set like iron. “Not even Dad’s?” he says, mocking.

“Especially not his,” Benson says, his vision blurring. Once more, his brother is strong where he is weak.

All Benson wants is to remember the father from his childhood, who gave him the horsey rides and shared his words of wisdom and taught him how to swim. Not the man who killed unauthorized children. He may not have literally pulled any triggers but he didn't stop anyone either.

But that’s not the man Harrison knew. Benson gets that. Compared to Harrison, Benson knows he got everything. He got the good half of his father, at least for a time, while Harrison saw only a shadow of the man.

Even as Harrison glares at him, Benson feels like he’s shed his skin and grown another one. He feels like he's been running after his life since the day he was born and finally caught up to it, only to find that he never should’ve been chasing it in the first place.

“I don’t know why I said that,” Benson says. “I know Dad wasn’t the same for you. Life sucks sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Harrison’s eyebrows curl up in surprise and his jaw softens. “Yeah, bro. It bot-lickin’ sucks.” He ropes an arm around Benson’s shoulders and although it makes him feel even more like a little brother, he doesn’t mind.

Because he finds his brother giving him strength he never knew he had.

D
estiny is so tired of running. She hears the Hunters splashing through the sewers looking for her. She sees the yellow, bouncing edges of their flashlights curling around the bend, closing in on her like bloodhounds on a fresh scent.

So she does what she always does:

She runs, her heart pounding, her breaths coming sharp and fast, adrenaline rushing through her veins.

Well, not runs exactly, but
hoverskates
. Eventually the splashes and voices and lights fade away behind her, and she feels reasonably safe again. When she finally finds a way out of the sewers, the afternoon light is waning on another day of fear.

Then she sees the sign for Saint Louis. Although it shouldn’t, it buoys her spirits. Saint Louis is the last place she should go. Saint Louis is where Slips always get caught, which is why the one who escaped is splashed all over the news headlines. And yet, Refuge, if it exists, is supposedly near Saint Louis. Just south of it, apparently.

Refuge might be the only place in the world where she can stop and rest, for once in her life. Feel safe. She has no clue what it might be like to feel safe. All she knows is that it’s got to be better than being scared all the time. So she lifts her chin, tightens the straps on her backpack, and follows the arrow on the sign.

As she skates along, the wind whipping the plume of her dark, frizzy hair that’s sticking out of the stolen hat behind her, her eyes roam the streets, on high alert. Getting caught now, when she’s so close, would be a tragedy of monumental proportions. She can’t get caught now. She won’t.

A Crow’s aut-car crosses an intersection in front of her, so she slows, letting it advance a few blocks before she crosses the same intersection, careful to look both ways for traffic. A floating holo-ad bumbles down the opposite side of the street, scanning a beggar and trying to sell him toothpaste. The guy doesn’t have more than a few teeth left. Perhaps they should call it Artificial
un
Intelligence.

Her stomach is growling something fierce, but she doesn’t consider stopping, even when she sees a rather lengthy line for free food pills. A ragtag assortment of characters are shuffling along, waiting their turn to get a single food pill.

She skates past, pretending the hunger pangs are all in her head.

Her legs are starting to cramp and she knows she has to rest, even if only for a few minutes. Turning hard, she cuts into an alley and almost collides with a young kid scrounging in a Dumpster. His head’s in the garbage and his feet dangling beneath him, jutting out into the narrow lane.

Skidding to an air-stop, she says, “Hey.”

The kid’s body jerks and he almost falls headfirst into the waste receptacle, but Destiny grabs his feet and holds him back.

He pulls out, his face dirty, his nose snotty, garbage stuck in his hair. “It wasn’t me,” he says.

Destiny makes a face. “Wasn’t you what?”

“Um, I don’t know anything,” the kid says next.
What is he talking about?
Destiny wonders.

She asks, “Are you from around here?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I don’t know.”

“Look, kid, I don’t have time for this. I’m looking for something. A place. I need to know if you’ve heard of it.”

“Nope. Never heard of it,” the kid says.

“I haven’t even asked you yet.”

“Sorry,” he says. He shrugs and starts to walk away.

“It’s called Refuge,” she says quickly.

The boy freezes. He doesn’t turn back, but she can see the way his head cocks to the side. He’s thinking.

“You’ve heard of it,” she says. “Don’t lie.”

“Are you a Jumper or a Digger?” he asks, still not turning around.

“Neither,” she says.

“Then why do you need to find Refuge?”

Because I’m a Slip.
“Because I want to work there. It’s not fair what they do to unauthorized citizens. I want to help them.”

“Don’t let the Crows hear you say that,” the boy says, finally turning to meet her eyes. His eyes widen and then narrow sharply. “Hey, wait a minute, you’re not an undercover Crow are you?”

“I’m only sixteen,” Destiny says.

“They’re recruiting sixteen-year-olds now,” the boy says.

“Really?”

“Better believe it. My older brother got picked up by one who was pretending to be his friend. Now he’s stuck in some awful orphanage.”

“I’m not a Crow.”

“Says you.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she says nothing.

He looks at her shiny new hoverskates. “Street rats looking to work at Refuge wouldn’t have digs like those,” he says. His expression is smug, like he’s caught her in a lie.

“I stole them today. There were Hunters all around me and I grabbed them and took off.”

“Hunters?” the boy says. “Why would Hunters…”

I’m so stupid!
Destiny
screams in her head. “They mistook me for someone else,” she says quickly.

But it’s too late. The boy takes a step forward, lowering his voice. “You’re a Slip,” he says. The missing question mark on his statement is unmistakable.

“No,” she says, but the denial comes out weak.

“Yes,” he says.

A shiver trembling down her spine, she readies herself to bolt from the alley. She might be tired of running, but she’ll still run if she has to. The boy seems to sense her unease. “Wait,” he says. “If you can prove it, I’ll help you.”

She chews her lip. This could be a trap. There would be a pretty decent monetary reward for turning a Slip over to the authorities. “Why would you help me?”

“Because of my brother.”

“What about him?”

The boy’s eyes find his feet. “Before he got caught he was a Pointer for Refuge.”

“What?” Destiny momentarily forgets about running. Forgets about the fear of getting caught. “So it does exist?”

The boy nods.

Her heart is in her throat, pounding away. She feels like she’s floating amongst the clouds, not just hovering a meter off the ground. “What’s a Pointer?” she asks.

“Someone who helps people like you find Refuge.”

Destiny didn’t even know there was such a person. She wonders whether the kid who stuffed the hastily scrawled note in her hand was a Pointer. “And now you’re a Pointer?” she asks.

“You sure you’re not a Crow?” the boy asks.

“You got a scanner?” she asks, surprised at how willing she is to trust this stranger with her secret. Sometimes that’s what dreams do to you. They cast away your fears and inhibitions and let you trust again. Dreams let you live the way you always wanted to. And sometimes they make you stupid. She wonders whether she’s being the biggest idiot in the world right now.

The boy rummages through his pocket and pulls out a battered old portable scanner. “My brother’s,” he says. “He used it to verify identities.”

The point of no return, Destiny thinks, visions of Refuge filling her mind. “Scan me,” she says, dropping to the ground.

The boy shuffles forward, and only now does she notice his dirty, bare feet. The boy follows her gaze to the ground. His cheeks turn pink. “Don’t like shoes,” he says. “I’ve got a pair, but I never wear them.” His shaky voice gives away the lie.

“Yeah, I like walking barefoot, too,” she says, leaning forward and opening her eyes wide.

His flushed cheeks fade back to normal and he aims the old scanner. A red beam passes across her eyes and the boy looks down at a small screen. “False reading. No match,” he says, his eyes wide with awe. “You ARE a Slip!”

“Shh!” she warns, watching a pair of aut-cars zip past on the main street just behind him.

“Sorry,” the boy says, looking sheepish. “It’s just, I’ve never met one before. My brother always kept his work away from me. Said it was too dangerous.”

“But you’re a Pointer now, right?”

“No.”

“But he told you where Refuge is, right?”

“No.”

The wall of excitement that’s been building inside of Destiny crumbles into a pile of rubble. “I thought you said you could help me.”

“I don’t know where Refuge is, but I know how to find it. My brother told me before he was caught. He gave me the signs to follow, in case I ever needed to go somewhere safe. He said never to tell anyone unless I was absolutely sure they were in need.”

“Your brother sounds like a smart guy.”

“Not smart enough to not get caught.” She senses anger and pain and sadness in his voice, all at once, each word laced with bitterness. She wonders if he’s really angry at his brother, or at the people who caught him. Or perhaps the entire world.

“Do you want to come with me?” Destiny asks.

The boy looks as shocked as if she’d slapped him in the face. “You would want…
me
…to come with you?”

“Of course,” she says. “You’re smart and careful and resilient. Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“Because I’m nobody. I’m a street rat, and not even a good one. I can’t even Pick, digging through the garbage to survive. I’m useless.” With each subsequent word she can feel the tears trying to push from his eyes, until he’s forced to bite his lip and screw up his face to stop them.

“None of that is true,” she says. “You’re more than what the world says you are.” She feels her own tears pricking behind her eyes. Because she’s just told this boy the same thing her mother once told her, before the Hunters found her. It was the last thing her mother ever said to her. Maybe the last thing her mother ever said, period, before they killed her.

You’re more than what the world says you are.

“Thanks,” the boy says, his eyes remaining dry. “But I can’t come. My baby sister needs me.”

Gosh. Having a single brother or sister isn’t the most unusual thing in the world these days, although there tend to be large age gaps due to the time it takes to receive authorization. But two siblings? Either one of them is a Slip or this kid’s parent’s hit the jackpot with their Death Matches. Destiny wonders what happened to them. The kid can’t be more than twelve and he’s looking after a child? He might be an authorized citizen, but he’s not much better off than her, even with her being a Slip. “Okay,” she says, “but let me know if you change your mind. The offer’s open.”

The boy nods.

Then he tells her how to find Refuge.

When he’s finished, she slips off her hoverskates and pulls off her shoes. Hands the shoes to him. “They’re probably a little big on you, but you’ll grow into them.”

The boy just stares at them. “Don’t
you
need them?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I’ve got these,” she says, stepping into the hoverskates. They automatically adjust to the size of her feet without the shoes.

The boy shakes his head. “I told you, I’ve already got shoes. I share them with my sister. They look pretty funny on her little feet.”

“Well now you don’t have to share,” Destiny says, pushing them toward him.

And although he pretends to grudgingly accept them, she can see the excitement in his eyes. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“It’s a fair trade,” she says. “You saved my life.”

Before the boy can say another word, she pushes off and away, bound for a real place.

A real place called Refuge.

~~~

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