The Queer Rebels

Chapter 24: Fleeing

My lungs burn. My legs ache. My arm is numb. But I keep running, wild and directionless, lost in the cacophony of shouts and sirens. The sounds of human misery.

Then Harry tugs at my sleeve, guiding me down a side street and behind a dumpster that's in another alley.

When I look at him–his true face still showing–tears stain his reddened cheeks.

Then I lean back against the wall. Looking around, this alleyway seems familiar to me. All alleyways are basically the same, but I know this one. Know the door.

This is where I exited on my Choosing Day. Where Marcy and I couldn't find a way back in.

"Can we get down there?" I ask, gesturing. An escape tunnel would be a welcome surprise right now.

Harry looks in the direction I'm pointing and shakes his head. "No. It's an exit only." Then he turns his attention down to the duffel and pulls out two sweatshirts. "How bad is your arm?"

"Just a scratch," I say, even though I haven't taken the time to look. But I can still ball my fist and bend my elbow, so it can't be that bad.

"I brought these." He reaches back into the duffel and pulls out two NanoPens. He hands one to me and stuffs the other in his pants pocket. "Do you need to use it?"

I shake my head. "Better to save it." I slip it in my pocket.

"Okay, well, put this on." He tosses me a plain navy hooded sweatshirt and takes a forest green one for himself. He pulls it over his head, then walks over to a dumpster and opens the lid. Using the pair of work gloves he packed, he rubs the fingerprints off each can of spray paint and tosses them in, one by one. They land with soft thuds.

"You still have the ID card, right?" he calls over his shoulder.

"Yeah," I say. "Should we toss them?"

"I don't know." He shakes his head. "It wasn't supposed to go down like this." Then he dumps the empty duffel and slams shut the lid.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" I ask. "Are they traceable?"

"No, but I don't know what will be safer. Getting out quick, with the chance of being spotted on the tram, or staying stealth and being stuck in the city until nightfall."

His indecision—the lost look in his eyes—might terrify me more than what's happening out on the streets beyond this alleyway.

I need him.

Don't I?

"How did this happen?" I ask. "How the fuck did this happen?"

Harry just shakes his head, a faraway look in his eyes. "It was supposed to just be glitter."

"Supposed to? Didn't you build it yourself?"

When he doesn't respond, I have my answer.

But we don't have time for his pity party. We need to decide how we are getting out of here.

"Let's go," I say, grabbing him with my good arm.

"I don't know," he mumbles, slouching down against the wall.

"Fuck it," I say, exasperated. I will not sit in this alleyway and wait for my death. If Harry isn't going to help me, then I'm going to help myself.

I don't have a picture to look at to visualize, but I can glamor a full beard. I close my eyes and do my best. I can't feel anything, there isn't a mirror around, and Harry is acting useless, so I just have to hope that it worked.