Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2) (5 page)

S
ometimes Harrison wants to punch his brother in the mouth.

Like when Benson talks about their dead father as if he was some kind of saint, some hero. Not a terrible father. Not the lying monster that ruined both their lives, not to mention their mother’s.

But he’s also not stupid. Harrison understands that Benson saw a very different side of Michael Kelly than he did. That thought only makes Harrison want to punch his twin even more. Out of jealousy. Even if only for a short time, Benson had the father Harrison always wanted.

The father he needed.

On the other hand, sometimes Harrison wants nothing more than to hang out with Benson and get to know the brother he never had. Explore the bond they seem to have, almost without even trying. Because of blood. No, more than blood. They shared their mother’s womb, after all. It would be strange if he
didn’t
feel a connection with Benson.

Sitting at the one-way portal window, Harrison tries to shake away the past, but it JUST WON’T DIE. It’s cemented in his brain. As unmovable as a mountain. As unshakeable as a building. His father may have died—“Good riddance,” he growls through clenched teeth—but all his mistakes live on in his family. In his mother’s insanity. In Benson’s twisted perceptions. In Harrison’s own anger and short temper.

His father lives on in all of them like a plague.

He feels a pang of guilt at not inviting his brother to come to the portal with him. Cut into an enormous mountain of junk in the center of the compound, the portal provides a sweeping view of the area around them. With thick, tinted, unbreakable one-way glass, Harrison can see out without anyone being able to see him. Although there’s not much to see—just a junkyard, an aut-car graveyard—it’s
something
. Something more than gray walls and dim lights.

But he doesn’t dare tell Benson about the one-way portals. He’s safer a dozen floors below, where even Pop Con’s resources will never be able to find him. Harrison couldn’t save his mother from insanity; he couldn’t make his father proud or save him from death; but he can protect his twin, and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.

Still. There’s something beautiful about the way the setting sun sprays pinks and purples over the junkyard. Something beautiful he wishes he could share with his brother.

The sky is changing like his life has changed: fast and drastically. Although most would consider his new life a pathetic version of his old, he actually likes it better. Because it’s real.

He remembers his old life, how bright and shiny and beautiful it looked on the outside, like a dazzling sunset. His fake life. His fake smiles. How he woke up every day and told himself that his friends and girlfriends and success in the hoverball arena were enough. Something to be proud of.

Now that life is gone and he should feel sorry about losing it. He should want it back. And yet…

He doesn’t. Not one tiny bit. Only now does he realize how tired he was of pretending to be happy. Because behind the painted-on smile and the high fives and the public make out sessions with Nadine was a fire, burning him alive from the inside out.

And now he has a new life where he doesn’t have to pretend to be someone he’s not. He doesn’t have to make fun of his crazy mom just to make his friends laugh and feel better about himself. He doesn’t have to hide his true emotions.

For him, this is a better life.

“I think you should head back down,” one of the Lifer guards says to Harrison. Standing motionless on either side of the portal, he’d almost forgotten they were here. His silent companions, watching his every move. They wear all black. They carry big-time weapons. Expensive ones. Laser guns, the kind that’ll fry your brain from the inside out. The Lifers are well-funded; from where, he has no clue. The guards never let him stay more than a few minutes.

“Just another minute,” he says.

The male guard, Simon, glowers at him, puffing his chest out threateningly while tapping his gun’s trigger.

The female guard says, “You’ve already had three extra minutes than you’re allowed.” Her name’s Minda. She’s pretty hot, with long lashes and brown Indian skin and jet-black raven hair, always pulled into a ponytail. She looks athletic, exactly his type.

“I’m hitting Dark tonight, wanna come?” Harrison asks.

“I already have a date,” Simon says in his thick French accent, “but thanks for asking.”

Harrison laughs. “I meant Minda,” he says. “I mean, you’re a handsome man, but I usually prefer a little less facial hair. Not to mention the back hair I’m sure you hide beneath that uniform.” The guard’s face twitches, which is as good as a laugh as far as Harrison’s concerned. Maybe he’s making progress with these two.

“Drop dead,” Minda says.

Or maybe not.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Minda just rolls her eyes. “I prefer my men a little less pretty.”

“So like Simon,” Harrison says, smiling. “He’s definitely not pretty.”

“Not like Simon,” Minda says.

“You can rough me up a little bit, if that’ll help?” Harrison offers.

“Don’t tempt me.”

He’s considering a dozen other witty and flirtatious comments, but his mouth falls closed when he spots movement in the junkyard. That wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact that the junkyard workers have all long gone home.

“What? Is that all you’ve got to offer me?” Minda says. “Usually we can’t get you to shut up. Have you finally given up?”

Harrison barely hears her, his attention focused on the scene unfolding in front of him. He takes a step forward, past the line he’s not supposed to cross.

“Back up,” Simon says.

Harrison ignores him, takes another step, pressing his face up to the portal. Simon grabs him, but he shoves him away, unable to tear his eyes from the junkyard.

A dark-skinned girl skirts the edge of a rusty aut-car skeleton, the dying sun haloing the top of her head, where a hat poorly conceals a mop of frizzy brown hair. She’s hovering above the ground, easily dodging and leaping obstacles in the junkyard. She’s athletic and strong, using hoverskates rather than the hoverboard that Harrison prefers. However, it’s something else that catches his attention.

She’s being chased by AttackDogs.

There are three of them, their sleek steel frames flashing with streaks of silver and black. Their eyes are yellow beams of light, focused on their prey.

“What the hell?” Minda says, pushing in beside him. Simon does the same, on the other side, but Harrison doesn’t look at either of them, watching as the robo-dog trio splits up, altering their pursuit pattern, their movements governed by some computer program designed to achieve the optimal results. Which in this case means catching and chewing on the girl.

The lead AttackDog closes in on her, snapping a mouth full of vicious dagger-like teeth at her heels. Distracted by her pursuer, she doesn’t notice the long-dead aut-car in front of her, seeming to grow out of the junkyard like a metal flower. “Watch out!” Harrison shouts, forgetting that she can’t hear him through the soundproof portal.

“Shut your mouth,” Simon says, trying to force him back. But Harrison keeps shouting, trying to warn her as she barrels toward a certain collision.

And then, at the last second, she leaps, her feet carrying her impossibly high, soaring over the metal barrier.

The guard releases Harrison and they watch in awe as the AttackDog crashes, metal shrieking, into the junk pile. It lets out a metallic yelp and rolls several meters before going still, lying on its side.

Harrison almost wants to cheer, but he has no voice. She did it on purpose. She saw the aut-car the whole time and timed her jump perfectly.

The hoverskater lowers her head and barrels forward, her arms swinging purposefully at her sides, trying to outrun the other two AttackDogs, which are threading their way through narrow gaps between the piles of junk.

One of the dogs spots an opening and cuts through it, nearly colliding with the girl. It lunges for her head, but she ducks and it eats a mouthful of air. Harrison realizes he’s been holding his breath; he lets it out in a slow, steady, hot stream that fogs up the glass.

Wiping the condensation with a hand, he gulps in another breath. Because, from his high vantage point, he can see what the girl can’t:

The third AttackDog has managed to get well out in front of her, and is hiding, waiting to do exactly what it’s been programmed to do: attack. Clearly the two dogs are communicating somehow, the second dog is chasing her right toward his companion. She’s trapped.

And between the two dogs rests the mountain of junk.

“We’ve got to help her,” Harrison says.

“Not a chance,” Simon says. “The portal cannot be opened except under special circumstances.”

“I’d consider this pretty special,” Harrison says, reaching for a large button to the side of Simon.

The bigger man grabs his arm and says, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

Harrison’s eyes meet his for a split-second, and he forces his face to relax, as if he knows he’s defeated. Which, in turn, makes Simon relax his muscles and grip for a split-second, long enough for Harrison to twist sharply and simultaneously bash the top of his forehead directly into the guard’s nose.

There’s a crunch and a grunt and a spray of blood as Simon’s nose breaks. He crumples, clutching his face.

Harrison can sense Minda behind him, so he lunges forward, slapping his palm against the button, hearing the
whoosh!
of the portal opening, from side to side. “Dammitdammitdammit,” Minda mutters under her breath. Harrison whirls around to face her, the tip of her laser pointed directly at his face. “What have you done?” she says, her mouth a tight line.

Harrison knows there’s no time to spare, so he says, “Shoot me if you have to, but I’m going out that portal.”

Minda shakes her head and he can see the resignation in her eyes. She’s not going to shoot him, even if she might want to. She drops the nose of the gun to the floor and Harrison races past her.

Outside, his eyes dart around, taking in the situation. The girl is racing through the junkyard, the dog nipping at her heels, just missing her with each swipe. She’s heading directly toward the base of the junk mountain. The other dog is nowhere to be seen, but Harrison knows he’ll be hiding in wait for her. The trap is set.

He wishes he had his hoverboard, but it’s tucked safely beneath his bed back in the sleeping quarters. With no other choice, he plunges down the mountain, his feet tiptoeing and dancing on metal parts that break beneath his feet like loose rocks on a steep slope. With reckless abandon he charges down at an angle that he hopes will intersect the girl’s path.

And then what?

He hasn’t thought that far ahead and he doesn’t now, concentrating on his balance.

He almost falls, drops a hand to steady himself, a sharp metal edge slicing his palm. But he regains his balance, his hand slick with warm blood. Just as he reaches the bottom of the mountain, which drops off a three meter wall to the junkyard floor below, he spots the other AttackDog, its bright yellow eyes giving away its presence in the shadows.

Skittering to a stop before the drop off, he glances to his left, where the girl races along the base of the mountain, just out of reach of her pursuer, her eyes black spots of determination. There’s movement to his right as the other dog springs from the shadows, bounding forward to cut off the hoverskater’s path.

Harrison knows if he jumps down they’ll both be dog meat. He has to somehow get her up to where he is. And fast.

Nearby he notices a metal beam poking from the junk, hanging partly out from the mountain. Not knowing how deep it’s buried or how sturdy it is, he leaps forward and then shimmies his way out onto the beam. The girl’s eyes widen as she seems to spot both him and the other dog at the same moment.

“Grab my arms!” Harrison shouts, swinging down like a monkey, gripping the beam tightly between his hamstrings and calves, using his knees as the pivot point.

Upside down, he sees her skates first, then her torso, then her head, from top to bottom. And then he sees the AttackDog behind her, its movements lithe and athletic, too bot-lickin’ close for comfort. But the worst thing is knowing the other dog is somewhere behind him, closing in.

He’s too high, he realizes. Despite the girl’s impressive jumping ability, she’ll never reach him, no matter how far he stretches. He needs another half-meter, at least.

Doesn’t matter. He has to try. Clamping his legs tightly around the beam, he unfurls himself, trying to stretch his muscles and tendons and skin and bones as far as they’ll go, all the way to their breaking points. His arms ache and he reaches for the ground until his shoulders feel like they might burst from their sockets, his fingers stiff and straight, almost popping from his knuckles.

The girl is right there, so close he can see the whites of her eyes surrounding deep brown orbs flecked with green, much lighter than the black spots they appeared to be from a distance. She jumps. In front of him, he can see one dog leap after her, while behind him he can sense the other doing the same.