The Rebel Code

Chapter Seven - Part Two

The emergency meeting place isn't a secret house or some basement somewhere, like I expected. It's the first rest stop once you get off the highway at the Port Carina exit. As much as I think it's a terrible idea, Atticus insists I get out of the van and use the bathroom. He also gives me some cash from over the sun visor and suggests I get something to eat. I don't want to leave, and I can't even think about eating right now, but he's probably right.

I slip some rubber sandals from my go-bag on, flip-flop my way into the rest stop, and find the ladies' room. It's not a moment too soon, either. The second I spot a toilet, something snaps, and I have to rush to the bowl to puke my guts out.

"Oh, you poor thing." There's a woman behind me, a tourist probably, and she must think I'm insane.

"I'm okay," I shakily manage, but when I look down I notice that my shirt isn't in the best condition anymore. The tourist woman wrinkles her nose.

"Is your family around, dear?" she asks gently.

I try and calculate the risks of an honest response. "They're not yet. I'm waiting for them to come pick me up."

"Poor thing," she repeats. "Here, let me fix that for you."

She leaves, and a few minutes later, returns with a gift shop beach towel, a swimsuit top, and an apologetic look on her face.

"They didn't have regular clothes," she sighs. "I guess people mostly swim around here. It looks like it might fit you, though."

I try to politely decline, to tell her she didn't have to buy me anything, but she insists. So I change into the swimsuit top and toss my mustard-yellow shirt into the trash. I didn't like it much anyway. The swim top is watermelon-print, which makes me smile.

"I love watermelon stuff," I tell her. "On my birthdays, my mom usually buys me watermelon-themed gifts."

"You see? It was made for you." She pats my shoulder with huge, colorful nails. "Oh, and have these. It'll get that terrible taste out of your mouth."

She hands me a little plastic container of some candy called "Tropical Flavor Blasts." As hard as I try to get her to take back all the expensive gifts, she just shakes her head.

"You go wait for your family now," she says firmly. "We've all had our throwing-up-in-the-bathroom moments, metaphorically or literally."

I thank her again, and gathering the towel and flavor blasts in my arms, I go back outside to find Atticus. I find him at a table in the cafeteria area, and he doesn't seem to notice my sudden costume change.

"Any news from John?" I ask, popping a flavor blast into my mouth.

"He received my message, and says he's on his way here with your sister."

I try to imagine how this has gone on John's side of things. No doubt they were in the middle of the meeting when he got Atticus's signal. Was he able to leave the room without any trouble, or did he have to fight his way out when he suddenly excused himself? And Mo, at her party, can't have had it easy either.

"John was able to communicate with some other freeboots," says Atticus. "There's a source here who will help us get to safety. We should wait by the van now."

I follow him outside, and we start to cross the lot, when there's a commotion down the highway. Three police trucks now, all with lights and sirens, are coming for the rest stop. Some tourists are stopping on the lawn or peeking out of buses to see the spectacle. I don't have to wait for Atticus's command. I'm a computer too, and I can think tactically. I turn from the van and run straight to the back of the lot, where it's dense with trucks and haulers. I leap behind the first massive tire I see, and Atticus creeps along in the shadows, inching towards the van. The cops are a mix of Cyber Police and local police, and they close in around the rest stop, focusing their attention on the building itself. No doubt this is where Criterion told them to go, where it thought we'd be stupid enough to stay. Yes, I'm hungry, but it's not like I'd waste time getting a burger when I'm running from the government.

Just as I snap back to my senses and start following Atticus to the shelter of the van, I hear a shout from the plaza, and one of the officers breaks away from the group. He steps into the light, and I recognize Captain Link. Of course he'd think to check the perimeter. John would stop to be impressed, to praise this small, brilliant act of rebellion, but I just feel mad. Why can't he follow protocol like the others?

He doesn't see me, but he's getting dangerously close to my hiding place. He extends one of those steel blades from the wrist of his metal arm and starts knocking on truck windows, checking for passengers. If I move, he'd be close enough to see me. If I stay, well, he'll see me soon enough. I glance at Atticus, who's motioning for me to make a break for it, but he doesn't see the danger. Maybe if I stay low...

"Hey!"

And I've already spent too much time thinking, because there's a light on my face, and Captain Link is raising his ProtoBand to contact backup. A thousand escape possibilities flash through my mind. I could roll under the nearby truck. I could just sprint for it. But when I see the device in his hand, a long, rectangular gun with blinking lights that can't mean anything good, I freeze.

"Don't move," he orders. "Just stay... right... there..."

The adrenaline in my veins has kicked my freeboot skills into overdrive. That must be it, because I practically see the scenario play out before my eyes. He's got his gun in his right arm and his ProtoBand on his left wrist. Your ProtoBand hand's fingers can't reach the screen—I know this because I've tried, along with hundreds of kids at the academy, and only Danny Khumalo from my Language and Grammar class ever succeeded, though I think he had some kind of weird condition with his tendons—so no matter what he does, Captain Link will have to take his attention off his gun, lower it even, to call for help. It may only be a few seconds, but that's a window worth more than gold to me. I can't just run and hope he misses, since he has some kind of visor that looks like aiming tech. I have to wait for my moment and seize it.

And of course I screw it up.

He moves for his ProtoBand, and I whirl on my heels, heading for the closest hauler's tires in desperation. But my cheap, rubber sandal gives up on me and twists, catching in a rut of pavement and coming completely undone. I feel the grit of asphalt on my arm and then my jaw as I go down, bracing myself for what I know is coming. Would he shoot me? They wouldn't let the local cops shoot a child, but Link Al-Marri isn't a local cop, and I'm a dangerous weapon that has to be destroyed to preserve the country's order.

But no shots come. Nervously, I turn my head back to face my opponent, brushing gravel out of my hair, and that's when I see John standing between us. He's here, finally, and just in time.

Captain Link's gun is trained on John's chest, but he isn't firing. I can't think why, until I see the lights on his aiming visor flickering and struggling. John's holding a scrambler, a little black box that messes with protocol signals. I know freeboots sometimes use them, but I've never seen them in action before.

"Jenny," hisses John, "get to the van."

I turn and see Atticus and Mo waving at me to hurry. I jump to my feet and run, ditching the useless sandal, but I don't go all the way to the van. Instead, I flatten myself against the back side of the hauler and watch John. I won't leave without John. I can't.

Captain Link moves to shoot, but John simply shakes his head.

"I'm not a target," says John calmly, "and I won't be as long as I've got this."

"You're sabotaging our tech," sputters Link, keeping grip on the gun.

"Criterion won't know that. All they'll know is that you fired without orders, and we'll both be dead. If you kill me, you're sentencing yourself."

"I know you're a freeboot," says Link, "even if you trick the computer, you can't trick me."

"Do you really think that will end in your favor?" John taunts. "Everyone knows that Criterion knows best."

"No it doesn't, damn it!" Captain Link suddenly reaches to the side of his aiming visor, which is bombarding him with error messages, and shuts it down. I see his non-metal hand tremble as it goes for the trigger, and then he freezes, as if realizing what he's just done. His chest rises and falls in a shaky, horrified gasp, and the gun clatters to the ground. Then, John's running and he turns the corner, almost crashing into me.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks, grabbing my arm. "Run!"