Grip (The Slip Trilogy Book 2) (8 page)

“Where do you think all the free drinksh come from?” Rod slurs.

“Minda told me the Lifers get funding from some rich guy who believes even rebels need to let loose every once in a while,” Check says. Harrison is just sober enough to notice that Check seems the most in control of any of them.

“You’ve been hanging out with Minda?” Gonzo says. “She’sh hot.”

“Yeah,” Check says. “I’m attracted to her half the time and scared of her the other half.”

Gonzo and Rod laugh likes it’s the funniest thing they’ve ever heard.

“Hey, Harry,” Gonzo says.

“Harrison,” Harrison says.

“Harrrryyyy!!!” Rod shouts.

Gonzo erupts with peals of laughter.

“Yeah?” Harrison says.

“You got a thing for Destiny?” Gonzo asks, trying to wink but blinking instead.

“No.”

“Riiiight,” Rod says.

“She’s interesting,” Harrison says.

“She’sh hot,” Gonzo says.

“You’d think a bowlegged miniature horse was hot right now,” Check points out.

More laughter, but no denial.

“Destiny got two schtitchesh today,” Rod says.

“Stitches,” Check translates.

“Yeah, they pulled a schliver of metal out of her back. It was the schize of a pin,” Gonzo adds.

“How do you know?” Harrison asks, suddenly feeling the most clearheaded he has all day.

Check steers the group toward the lifter. “We talked to her for like ten minutes before we came here. Why?”

Something pricks in the back of Harrison’s mind. Some memory, or piece of information, or fact. Something...important? He’s not sure, his head swimming once more, all clarity washed away by the drinks and Simon’s head butt and general fatigue. He’ll think about it later, if he remembers.

They pile into a lifter and ride it back to their sleeping quarters.

~~~

Article from the Saint Louis Times:

Lifers Strike Again! Bomb Blast Rocks Downtown Saint Louis

In the third of a series of bombings that have occurred over the last two weeks, the largest prison in the country was hit, a maximum security facility that specializes in the necessary termination of prisoners with sentences greater than ten years. The prison known as The Way Station has been lauded by population control experts as “a crucial element to the survival of the RUSA.” It’s estimated that more than twenty thousand births are authorized each year due to prisoner terminations occurring at the prison. Twelve guards were killed in the attack, while there were no prisoner fatalities.

The rebel organization known as the Lifers has once more claimed responsibility for the bombing. In an encrypted message sent to Pop Con, the Lifers vowed to cease all attacks once Pop Con has ceased all termination activities related to unauthorized citizens, including Jumpers and Diggers. Authorities were unwilling to discuss the possibility that the Lifers’ broader purpose for their recent spate of bombings is to open up new birth authorizations for hopeful want-to-be parents.

The response from newly appointed Head of Population Control, Corrigan Mars, was short and to the point. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists,” he said. He also added, “The Lifers’ days are numbered.”

Have a comment on this article? Speak them into your holo-screen now.
NOTE: All comments are subject to government screening. Those comments deemed to be inappropriate or treasonous in nature will be removed immediately and appropriate punishment issued.

Comments:

SamSnipe1: Go get ’em, Mars. My sister works at that prison. She survived, but she lost two friends in the bombing. The Lifers are murderers.

WeAreTheLifers: Comment removed and disciplinary action taken.

CorriganMars: My condolences to your sister, SamSnipe1. I agree with your classification of the Lifers as common murderers. Justice will prevail.

“J
arrod’s at it again,” Benson says, reaching over to pass the holo-screen to Luce.

Benson, Luce, and Destiny are sitting on their respective beds, forming a triangle. Janice is in the middle of the triangle, lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The rest of their friends haven’t come back yet. Benson wonders what condition they’ll be in when they do.

Luce scans the article and tosses it across to Destiny. Janice’s eyes track the projectile like it’s a bird. “Tweet,” she says. And then: “Shut up, Zoran.”

Destiny refuses to catch the device, letting it skitter across her bed. From afar, she reads the three-dimensional letters floating from the screen. “I don’t get it,” Destiny says. “Jarrod is a Lifer?”

“Their leader,” Benson says, nodding.

“He doesn’t smile,” Janice adds. “No smiles, no piles, no trials, no…” She touches the stone-tiled floor beneath her. “…
tiles
.”

Benson only realizes it’s a joke when Janice’s eyes dance with delight. It makes him want to smile but he doesn’t. “Good one, Janice,” he says.

“I’m Mom. Not Janice. Michael is gone and so is Janice.”

“Okay,” Benson says, feeling a pang of pain in his chest.

Having watched the exchange with interest, Destiny says, “But this is Refuge.”

“That’s what they call it,” Benson agrees.

“So the Lifers created Refuge but they’re also bombing the big cities?” Destiny asks.

“Correct,” Benson says. “Screwed up, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Luce says. “Somebody had to do
something
about Pop Con. We can’t hide forever.”

“We can try,” Benson says.

“I can’t run anymore,” Destiny says. “Hiding sounds better than running.”

Luce blows out a breath. “I’m sorry, I—Benson and I have only been running from them for a short time. You’ve been doing it your whole life.”

“It’s okay,” Destiny says. “I’m glad to be here.”

“We’re glad you made it,” Benson says. In reality, he’s still in a state of shock. There aren’t supposed to be other Slips his age. There aren’t supposed to be Slips at all.

“I wouldn’t have if not for your brother and Minda,” Destiny says, scooting away from the holo-screen, as if it might try to bite her. “Those AttackDogs had me trapped.”

“Harrison thought you were doing pretty well on your own,” Benson says. “And he doesn’t give out many compliments.”

Destiny looks embarrassed at Benson’s comment, unable to meet his eyes. “What are you going to do now?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I don’t know,” Benson says, the only answer he’s got. “Before we got here, all I wanted were answers. But now that I’ve got them, there’s nothing left to learn.”

Destiny frowns, surprised. “There’s always more to learn,” she says. “The world is a big place.”

“Not for me,” Benson says. “My world is nothing but four walls, a ceiling, and a floor. And now my world is your world.”

“Well, that’s depressing, Bense,” Luce says. “Maybe we should’ve gone to that party, sounds like you need to get out.”

“Sorry,” Benson says. “I don’t mean to be depressing. The world just seems a lot heavier these days.” Like a concrete block on his shoulders. Like thick chains and an iron anchor dragging him to the bottom of the Mississippi.

“It’s been heavy for me my entire life,” Destiny says. “So I pumped it full of air and made it light. Then I did it again. Every day I have to add air to it or it’ll collapse on my head.”

Benson likes the analogy. It reminds him of things that both Janice and his father would say when he was young. Almost like a combination of both their wisdom. “How do you do it?” Benson asks, deeply curious now.
How do you go on in a world where no one wants you?
he adds in his head.

“Do what?” Destiny says, twirling a frizzy curl of hair on her finger.

Benson sighs deeply. “Sometimes I feel like there was an epic mistake and I was dropped on the wrong planet or something. Like I should’ve been on Earth 2 in some other galaxy and I ended up here. So I guess what I’m asking is how you find meaning in a world that doesn’t fit you exactly right?”

Destiny’s big brown eyes seem full of answers and Benson finds himself leaning in. “No one fits this world exactly right,” she says. “Some of us are just better at pretending. You love her, right?” she says.

Benson flushes, wondering who she means. Luce or Janice?

Destiny glances back and forth between the two. “Zoran says it’s nice to meet you,” Janice says to Destiny.

“It’s nice to meet him, too,” Destiny says. Looking back at Benson, she says, “Well?”

“Yes,” Benson says, and he knows his answer is for both of the other women in the room. He loves Janice. Maybe he doesn’t understand her exactly, not anymore, but he still loves the woman who raised him, who protected him, who lost her mind when she thought he was dead. And he loves Luce, from her rough edges to her soft heart, and everything in between. From her past to her present to her uncertain future. A future he hopes is with him.

“Isn’t that enough?” Destiny asks.

Right then, Benson knows it is and it always should’ve been. The meaning in his life is right in front of him, next to him, all around him. And he
does
fit. He
does
belong. Not necessarily in a particular place, but with particular people. They’re his people. His friends. His family. His life. He smiles a very real smile, one he thought he might never smile again. The Slip named Destiny has reminded him that all hope is not lost. Hope is never lost while there is love.

Luce crawls over to him, sharing his space without touching, and yet making it feel as intimate as a lover’s embrace. “Thank you,” she says to Destiny. “Thank you for coming here.”

The door bursts open, rattling as it rebounds off the concrete wall on the inside. Harrison enters first, hauling a bucket full of cans. “Yo,” he says, seeing Benson and Luce.

Rod and Gonzo come in next, holding each other up. “What ish thish, a funeral?” Gonzo says.

“More like a séance,” Rod says, eyeing Janice with her arms and legs spread wide on the floor.

Check strides in last, seeming more alert than the others, his eyes finding Benson and Luce right away. If he registers their nearness, it doesn’t show on his face. In fact, he immediately scoots onto the bed, pushing in between them. He drapes an arm around both their shoulders, like an eagle spreading his wings. Benson’s throat tightens as he remembers the promise he made Luce—that he’d tell Check about them tonight. But he can’t do it with all these people around, can he?

Harrison steps around Janice, says, “Hi, beautiful,” and dumps the bucket on the floor. His eyes roam to the other side to find Destiny. “Hi, other beautiful,” he says. He’s acting exceptionally outgoing, even for Harrison. Clearly whatever he’s been drinking is enhancing his personality.

Destiny smiles shyly, but manages to slide over to make room. Harrison grabs two cans from the bucket and fills the space on her bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. He presses a button on the can and a straw slides upwards. “Fizzer?” he says. Seeing the suspicious look that crosses her face, he says, “I swear it’s just a fizzer. Nothing else.”

She accepts the can and takes a cautious sip. “It’s good,” she says.

“Good,” Janice agrees, slurping from her own straw. She dumps a small amount on Benson’s old Zoran watch.

Rod and Gonzo pass cans all around and they settle in on a third bed.

“Good party?” Benson asks.

“Well, we didn’t kill each other,” Harrison says. “So that’s good.” Benson’s surprised to see his brother getting along with his friends, but he’s not about to question it.

“What happened to your face?” Destiny asks.

Harrison raises a hand to his forehead, as if just remembering something. “Simon and I went head to head. Literally.”

Destiny laughs. “I meant the clown paint.”

Harrison raises an eyebrow and then shoots a glare at Rod. “You!” he says, pointing a finger at the Jumper. “You made me look like a clown?”

“Shorry. I thought you were a jerk before.”

“And now?” Harrison says.

“I shtill think you’re a jerk. But short of cool, too.”

Harrison thinks about it for a minute, and then shrugs. Benson breathes again, thankful he isn’t going to have to break up another fight.

“How are you two lovebirds doing?” Harrison says. Benson freezes. His eyes meet Harrison’s, who looks vacant of intelligence.
Don’t
, he pleads across the space between the two beds, trying to harness any special bond between twins they might have. “Oops,” Harrison says, which only draws more attention to his verbal blunder.

“What’s he talking about?” Check says, sensing Benson’s discomfort.

“What’s he talking about?” Benson echoes, sounding like an idiot.

Check’s head snaps back and forth between Benson and Luce, his eyes even darker than usual. “Waitwaitwaitwaitwait,” he mutters. Benson can clearly see the wheels turning in his friend’s head. “
You
”—he jabs his head sharply in Benson’s direction—“and Luce?”

Flames seem to lick at Benson’s face, and he almost feels as if he’s lifted off the bed, floating above the very scene he’s been avoiding for some time. “I’m sorry, I was going to tell you—”

He’s cut off when Check drags him to his feet, tightening him into a headlock, ignoring Harrison’s howl of protest. “You and freaking Luce,” he mutters, squeezing hard enough for stars to appear before Benson’s eyes.

“Oops,” Harrison says again, not sounding sorry at all.

“Check, cut it out,” Luce commands.

Benson’s best friend ignores her, leaning in close to Benson’s face. “You could’ve told me,” he spits. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Benson chokes out, gasping for breath.

“Not good enough,” Check says, simultaneously shoving him back the moment he releases him. Benson stumbles back a few steps, coughing once, his hands on his knees. Although he doesn’t want to, he looks at Check through his bangs. “How long?” Check demands.

“It doesn’t matter,” Luce says.

Check whirls on her. “It does to me.”

Benson has never seen his friend so angry, certainly never at Luce. He’s never so much as raised his voice with her. But when he turns back to Benson, the fight seems to drain out of him, falling away like a cracked outer shell. “How long?” he asks again.

Benson glances at Luce, who nods encouragingly.
Tell the truth.
“It happened so fast,” he says. Even as he says it, he knows it’s such a cliché thing to say. The worst thing to say. He starts again, feeling his mother’s and brother’s eyes on him. “Things progressed just before everything went down.” He’s about to make another excuse, but stops himself. Focuses on the truth. The truth his friend has deserved for a long time. “I had chances to tell you before we were attacked, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

Check shakes his head and his expression is far worse than the rage-filled face he wore earlier. Disappointment is heavy in his eyes and the slack set of his jaw. “That’s not what I was asking. How long
have you LIKED her?
Weeks? Months? Years?”

Oh. Of course. While Check was expressing his interest in Luce quite publicly for some time, Benson was silently keeping his own feelings close to his chest. “A long time,” he admits. “Years.”

Check shakes his head again, his mouth pursing into a thin line of bitterness. “I told you everything,” Check says. “I expected you to do the same. Even the hard stuff. Those were the things we were
supposed
to tell each other. Because we were
best friends
.” The last two words come out like a curse pushed between clenched teeth.

“I—I’m sorry,” Benson says again, although he knows it’s too little, too late.

“You know the sad thing?” Check says.

Benson can think of a lot of sad things right now, but he doesn’t know which one Check is referring to. He bobs his head from side to side.

“I suspected there was something there. Despite my own feelings for Luce, I thought you two were better suited. I almost wanted you to show some interest in her. You’re two of my best friends—I’m not oblivious. I knew you had some kind of a connection Luce and I would never have, but I thought that if there was something more than friendship you would tell me.”

Benson says nothing, his legs feeling heavy, as if they’re sinking into the floor. He thought that by keeping this from Check he was protecting him. In reality, every lie between friends has the destructive force of a tsunami, he realizes.

“You should be angry at me, too,” Luce says.

“You never led me on,” Check says.

“But I had feelings for Benson and I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

“Thanks for your pity,” he says. “I feel so much better now.”