The Indigo Thief (42 page)

And the Federation would fall.

The glass casing of the ConSynth hummed in my hands. Today, its red glowed brighter than ever before. Its countdown clock flashed
00:03
. No longer was it signaling hours, but minutes. It would soon be fully calibrated.

Sage’s body twitched on the bed, and I rubbed my hand against her wrist. She fell still again. I massaged the wrinkles that lined her forehead, and her breathing steadied.

Soon I’d see Charlie. She’d be right here, in this room, like nothing had ever happened. My hands were already getting sort of sweaty.

A part of me wondered if the ConSynth would work. If we’d even hooked it up right. If synthetic consciousness was even possible…

But I’d seen Miranda Morier. I’d seen the way she moved. The way she spoke. The way she was very much alive. The ConSynth could work. It had to.

Still, had we done it right? Phoenix and Sage had hooked it up while I’d sat in a puddle of tears like Frosty the Melted Snowman. Was Charlie’s body supposed to have seized up like that? Like she was going into cardiac arrest?

I shook my head, trying to clear away the negative thoughts. I couldn’t think like this. It didn’t do any good. Phoenix and Sage did the best they could, and that was all I could’ve asked of them.

The clock flashed
00:02
.

I’d told the others I wanted to be alone in the room when the time ran out—that I wanted alone time with her if it worked, or alone time with myself if it didn’t.

I’d slicked my hair back and worn one of Phoenix’s ties. He’d offered me a jacket too, but I passed. When I tried it on, I looked like a Girl Scout swimming in shoulder pads. I guessed it was yet another testament to his size and my pubescent blooming, or lack thereof.

Of course, Bertha said that fifteen years old was probably a bit late to be blooming. She said some flowers never bloomed, but just sat there on the vine as buds for a while before wilting.

I told her some flowers should learn to mind their own damn business.

Phoenix had been in touch with the Caravites. He explained to me that they’d never really just been stealing Indigo vaccines—they’d been destroying them. That’s why it hadn’t mattered when they’d fallen from the sky. They were just trying to prevent the virus from getting injected into the veins of children. Captain Vern reached out to Phoenix after we escaped from the Light House. He finally admitted running was no longer an option, and—with the capital building being blown to the ground—war was the only path left. The Caravan didn’t need its plates polished anymore. Now, it just needed people.

Phoenix and Vern were planning a raid on the Ministry of Research & Development in Kauai. They said it’d be the toughest yet, with reinforcements increasing security twofold as Indigo production rushed to clear shortages and meet demand. I’d already agreed to go with them. Turns out, I wasn’t half bad in the field.

Now, children were dying from the “Carcinogens” more than ever before. Phoenix suggested we start recruiting kids from the street as Lost Boys, and Kindred agreed to head the efforts. We’d learned that she was okay in the field, but after shooting the guard, she admitted she didn’t have it in her to kill more people. Recruitment, however, was different, and she decided it would suit her quite well. And she’d already started developing materials. Mostly blueberry muffins.

The ConSynth’s clock flashed
00:00
. The orb glowed a brilliant red, and the numbers disappeared among swirls, the machine humming louder than ever, then abruptly going silent.

I pressed my fingers against the glass. “Hello?”

No response.

There was no one in the room. I was still alone. I shook the orb a bit. “Anybody in there? Charlie?”

Nothing.

The sphere’s swirls settled. I held my eye to the glass and squinted—a part of me wanting to believe I’d see a tiny version of her in there.

I felt someone staring at me from behind. I turned—and saw her standing on the opposite end of the room.

Charlie.

The room’s dim light lit only her face. Her body was still cloaked in shadows.

Somehow, it was a different Charlie. Not the Charlie I’d seen in the Light House—the one who’d been starved and tortured and lay dying with her bald head pressed against the chancellor’s floor. No, this was a different Charlie.

This was the old Charlie—the girl I’d grown up with. The girl with the bright blue eyes and chopsticks shoved in her perpetually messy bun. The girl whose blue eyes were a shade all her own. Not gray, like Miranda’s, but Charlie-blue.

She smiled and waved at me from across the room.

My hands were sweaty. What should I do? What should I say? Again, I was reminded of all the things they didn’t teach you in school—the stuff they should’ve taught instead of calculus.

I just grinned and waved back. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Hey there, Kai-Guy.” She smiled. “I’ve got something to show you.”

She glanced down. My heart was melting. What was she wearing? Lingerie? A purple prom press? A chicken suit? What was happening? What was I supposed to do? Nobody had prepared me for this moment. Megalodons were easy. Girls were hard.

She stepped from the shadows and pointed to her feet. She wore a pair of red cheeseburger socks.

The world made sense.

Charlie was there. Everything would work out. I took a deep breath.

Things always worked out when you wore your cheeseburger socks.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading
The Indigo Thief
. I have loved writing about Kai, Charlie, Phoenix, and all the other Lost Boys over the course of the past year. Things are certainly not finished for them and the Hawaiian Federation.

If you’re so inclined, I’d greatly appreciate a review of
The
I
ndigo Thief
. Whether you loved it or hated it, I’d just enjoy your feedback.

Reviews these days can be tough to come by, but you, the reader, have the power to make or break a book with them.

Thank you again for reading
The Indigo Thief
and for spending your time with me.

In gratitude,

Jay Budgett

First, I’d like to thank Ruthie Berk. There is no other person who had more influence on this book than you did. Without your support I doubt I would’ve ever finished it. Thank you for teaching me about life, love, and all the things in between. If every author had a Ruthie, there’d be more books in the world. Thanks for being my Charlie.

Chris Okawa—thanks always for your excitement, encouragement, and kind words. There is no person whose opinion and insights I respect more than yours. You are one of those incredible people who can look at other’s fragile dreams and see the strong realities that they can become.

Thank you Mom for keeping me grounded and for humoring all my crazy ideas. Dad—thanks for your belief, support, and words of encouragement.

Thanks to Lindsay Gregory for believing in my story and for your early critiques—they helped shape the story more than you’ll ever know. Susan Faurer, thank you for being my “eagle eye.” I am so grateful for your enthusiasm to read and improve this story. Your zeal for life is truly contagious.

I am fortunate to have had many teachers who, in one way or another, helped shaped my belief in myself to tell stories, as well as my ability to do so. Thanks Blair Biederman for giving me the opportunity to finish my first piece of writing back in high school. It gave me the courage to keep writing. Thanks Gregg Maday for teaching me more about shaping stories than anyone I’ve ever met. You’ve got an incredible eye for stories and a gift for teaching others how to tell them.

Lastly, I’d like to thank my phenomenal editor David Gatewood for helping me transform this novel from what it was to what I’d always wanted it to be.

Born and raised in Phoenix, Arizona, Jay Budgett is a senior studying business at Arizona State University. In his spare time, he enjoys travelling, swimming, coffee drinking, and scuba diving. He is also the playwright of a comedy titled
Greener Pastures
. Jay loves to hear from his readers. Connect with him at:
jaybudgett.com