Текст книги "Unwind"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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It's as Connor gets close that he sees the cop twenty yards away, raising his weapon, and firing. He shouldn't have risked this! He should have gotten away when he could. Connor waits for the telltale sting of the tranq bullet but it never comes, because the moment the bullet is fired, the boy in white takes a step back, and he's hit in the shoulder. Two seconds, and his knees buckle. The kid hits the ground, out cold, unwittingly taking the bullet meant for Connor.

Connor wastes no time. He picks the kid up off the ground and flips him over his shoulder. Tranq bullets fly, but no others connect. In a few seconds Connor's past the bus, where a gaggle of shell-shocked teens are getting off. He pushes past them and into the woods.

The woods are dense, not just with trees but with tall shrubs and vines, yet there's already a path of broken branches and parted shrubs made by the girl who ran from the bus. They might as well have arrows pointing the police in their direction. He sees the girl up ahead and calls out to her. "Stop!" She turns, but only for an instant, then renews her battle with the dense growth all around her.

Connor gently puts down the boy in white and hurries forward, catching up with her. He grabs her arm gently, yet firmly enough so that she can't pull away. "Whatever you're running from, you won't get away unless we work together," he tells her. He glances behind him to make sure that no Juvey-cops are in sight yet. There aren't. "Please—we don't have much time."

The girl stops fighting the bushes and looks at him.

"What do you have in mind?"

_{5 Cop}

Officer J. T. Nelson has spent twelve years working Juvenile. He knows AWOL Unwinds will not give up as long as there's an ounce of consciousness left in them. They are high on adrenaline, and often high on illegal substances as well. Nicotine, caffeine, or worse. He wishes his bullets were the real thing. He wishes he could truly take these wastes-of-life out rather than just taking them down. Maybe then they wouldn't be so quick to run—and if they did, well, no great loss.

The officer follows the path made through the woods by the AWOL Unwind, until he comes to a lump on the ground. It's the hostage, just dumped in the path, his white clothes smudged green from the foliage, and brown from the muddy earth. Good, thinks the officer. It was a good thing this boy took that bullet after all. Being unconscious probably saved this kid's life. No telling where the Unwind would have taken him, or what he'd have done to him.

"Help me!" says a voice just ahead of him. It's the voice of a girl. The officer isn't expecting this.

"Help me, please, I'm hurt!"

Deeper in the woods a girl sits up against a tree, holding her arm, grimacing in pain. He doesn't have time for this, but "Protect and Serve" is more than just a motto to him. He sometimes wishes he didn't have such moral integrity.

He goes over to the girl. "What are you doing here?"

"I was on the bus. I got off and ran away because I was scared it would explode. I think my arm's broken."

He looks at the girl's arm. It's not even bruised. This should be his first clue, but his mind is already too far ahead of him to catch it. "Stay here, I'll be right back." He turns, ready to pick up his pursuit, when something drops on him from above. Not something, someone. The AWOL Unwind! The officer is knocked to the ground, and suddenly there are two figures attacking him—the Unwind and the girl. They're in this together. How could he have been so stupid? He reaches for his tranq pistol, but it's not there. Instead he feels its muzzle against his left thigh, and he sees triumph in the Unwinds dark, vicious eyes.

"Nighty-night," the Unwind says.

A sharp pain in the officer's leg, and the world goes away.

6 Lev

Lev wakes up to a dull ache in his shoulder. He thinks maybe he slept funny, but he quickly realizes the ache is from an injury. His left shoulder was the entry point of a tranq bullet, though he doesn't realize that just yet. All the things that had happened to him twelve hours before are like faint clouds in his mind that have lost their shape. All he knows for sure is that he was on his way to his tithing, he was kidnapped by a murderous teenager, and for some strange reason the image of Pastor Dan keeps coming back to him.

Pastor Dan was telling him to run.

He's sure that it must be a false memory, because he can't believe Pastor Dan would do such a thing.

Everything's blurry as Lev opens his eyes. He doesn't know where he is, only that it's night and he's not where he should be. The insane teen who took him sits across a small fire. There's a girl there, too.

That's when he realizes he'd been hit by a tranq bullet. His head hurts, he feels like he might puke, and his brain is still only at half power. He tries to get up, but can't. At first he thinks that's also because of the tranquilizers, but then he realizes he's tied to a tree by thick vines.

He tries to speak, but his voice comes out as a little groan and a lot of drool. The boy and girl look at him, and he's sure they're going to kill him now. They kept him alive just so he'd be awake when they killed him. Maniacs are like that.

"Look who's back from Tranqville," says the boy with wild eyes. Only his eyes aren't wild now, just his hair—it's all sticking up like he slept on it.

Although Lev's tongue feels like rubber, he manages to get out a single word. "Where . . ."

"Not sure," says the boy.

Then the girl adds, "But at least you're safe."

Safe? thinks Lev. What could possibly be safe about this?

 "H. . . h. . . hostage?" Lev gets out.

The boy looks to the girl, then back to Lev. "Kind of. I guess." These two talk in an easy tone of voice, like they're all friends. They're trying to lull me into a false sense of security', thinks Lev. They're trying to get me on their side, so I'll take part in whatever criminal activities they have planned. There's an expression for that, isn't there? When a hostage joins the kidnappers' cause? The Something syndrome.

The crazy kid looks to a pile of berries and nuts obviously foraged from the woods. "You hungry?"

Lev nods, but the act of nodding makes his head spin so much, he realizes that no matter how⁷ hungry he is, he'd better not eat, because it'll come right back up. "No," he says.

"You sound confused," says the girl. "Don't worry, it's just the tranqs. They should wear off pretty soon."

Stockholm syndrome! That's it! Well, Lev won't be won over by this pair of kidnappers. He'll never be on their side.

Pastor Dan told me to run.

What had he meant? Did he mean run from the kidnappers? Maybe, but he seemed to be saying something else entirely. Lev closes his eyes and chases the thought away.

"My parents will look for me," Lev says, his mouth finally able to put together whole sentences.

The kids don't answer because they probably know it's true.

"How much is the ransom?" Lev asks.

"Ransom? There's no ransom," says the crazy kid. "I took you to save you, idiot!"

To save him? Lev just stares at him in disbelief. "But . . . but my tithing . . ."

The crazy kid looks at him and shakes his head. "I've never seen a kid in such a hurry to be unwound."

It's no use trying to explain to this godless pair what tithing is all about. How giving of one's self is the ultimate blessing. They'd never understand or care. Save him? They haven't saved him, they've damned him.

Then Lev realizes something. He realizes that he can use this entire situation to his advantage. "My name's Lev," he says, trying to play it as cool as he can.

"Pleased to meet you, Lev," says the girl. "I'm Risa, and this is Connor."

Connor throws her a dirty look, making it clear that she gave him their real names. Not a good idea for hostage-takers, but then most criminals are stupid like that.

"Didn't mean for you to take the tranq bullet," Connor tells him. "But the cop was a bad shot."

"Not your fault," says Lev, even though every bit of it is Connor's fault. Lev thinks about what happened, and says, "I would never have run from my own tithing." That much, Lev knows, is true.

"Good thing I was around, then," says Connor.

"Yeah," says Risa. "If it wasn't for Connor running across that highway, I'd probably be unwound by now too."

There's a moment of silence, then Lev, biting back his anger and revulsion, says, "Thank you. Thank you for saving me."

"Don't mention it," says Connor.

Good. Let them think he's grateful. Let them think they're earning his trust. And once they're lulled into their own false sense of security, he'll make sure they both get exactly what they deserve.

_{7 Connor}

Connor should have kept the Juvey-cop's gun, but he wasn't thinking. He was so freaked out at having tranq'd a cop with his own weapon, he just dropped it and ran—just as he dropped his backpack on the interstate so he could carry Lev. His wallet with all his money was in that pack. Now he has nothing but pocket lint.

It's late now—or, more accurately, early—almost dawn. He and Risa had kept moving through the woods all day, as best they could with Connor having to carry an unconscious tithe. Once night fell, he and Risa had taken turns keeping watch while the other slept.

Connor knows that Lev can't be trusted, that's why Connor tied him to the tree—but there's no reason to trust this girl who had come running out of a bus either. It's only their common goal of staying alive that binds them.

The moon has left the sky now, but there's a faint glow promising a quick arrival of dawn. By now their faces would be everywhere. Have you seen these teens? Do not approach. Considered extremely dangerous. Call the police immediately. Funny how Connor had wasted so much time in school trying to convince people he was dangerous, but when it came down to it, he was never sure if he was all that dangerous at all. A danger to himself, maybe.

All the while, Lev watches him. At first the boy's eyes had been lazy and his head lolling to one side, but now those eyes are sharp. Even in the dimness of the dying fire Connor can see them. Chilly blue. Calculating. This kid is an odd bird. Connor's not quite sure what's going on on Planet Lev, and not quite sure he wants to know.

"That bite's gonna get infected if you don't take care of it," Lev says.

Connor looks to the spot on his arm where Lev bit him, still puffy and red. He had tuned the pain out until Lev reminded him. "I'll deal with it."

Lev continues to study him. "Why are you being unwound?"

Connor doesn't like the question for a whole lot of reasons. "You mean why WAS I being unwound—because, as you can see, I'm not being unwound anymore."

"They will if they catch you."

Connor feels like punching that smug look off the kid's face, but he restrains himself. He didn't rescue the kid just to beat him up.

"So, what's it like," Connor asks, "knowing all your life you're going to be sacrificed?" He meant it as a jab, but Lev takes the question seriously.

"It's better than going through life without knowing your purpose."

Connor's not sure if that was intentionally meant to make him squirm—as if his life has no purpose. It makes him feel like he's the one tied to a tree, not Lev. "I guess it could be worse," says Connor. "We could have all ended up like Humphrey Dunfee."

Lev seems surprised by the mention of the name. "You know that story? I thought they only told it in my neighborhood."

"Nah," says Connor. "Kids tell it everywhere."

"It's made up," says Risa, having just woken up.

"Maybe," says Connor. "But there was this one time a friend and I tried to find out about it while surfing one of the school's computers. We hit this one website that talked about it, and how his parents went all psycho. Then the computer crashed. It turns out we were hit by a virus that wiped out the entire district server. Coincidence? I don't think so."

Lev's taken in, but Risa, fairly disgusted, says, "Well, I'll never end up like Humphrey Dunfee, because you have to have parents for them to go psycho—and I don't." She stands up. Connor looks away from the dying fire to see that dawn has arrived.

"If we're going to keep from being caught, then we should change direction again," Risa says. "We should also think about disguising ourselves."

"Like how?" asks Connor.

"I don't know. Change our clothes first. Haircuts maybe. They'll be looking for two boys and a girl. Maybe I can disguise myself as a boy."

Connor takes a good look at her and smiles. Risa's pretty. Not in the way Ariana was pretty—in a better way. Ariana's prettiness was all about makeup and pigment injections and stuff. Risa has a natural kind of beauty. Without thinking, Connor reaches out to touch her hair, and gently says, "I don't think you could ever pass for a guy—"

Then suddenly, he finds his hand tugged behind him, his whole body spins around, and she painfully wrenches his arm up the small of his back. It hurts so much, he can't even say "Ouch." All he can say is, "Eh-eh-eh!"

"Touch me again and your arm gets ripped off," Risa tells him. "Got that?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Hands off. Got it."

Over at the oak tree, Lev laughs, apparently pleased to see Connor in pain.

She lets him go, but his shoulder still throbs. "You didn't have to do that," Connor says, trying not to show how much it still hurts. "It's not like I was going to hurt you or anything."

"Yeah, well, now you won't for sure," says Risa, maybe sounding a bit guilty for being so harsh. "Don't forget I lived in a state home."

Connor nods. He knows about StaHo kids. They have to learn to take care of themselves real young, or their lives are not very pleasant. He should have realized she was a touch-me-not.

"Excuse me," says Lev, "but we can't go anywhere if I'm tied to a tree."

Still, Connor doesn't like that judgmental look in Lev's eyes. "How do we know you won't run?"

"You don't, but until you untie me, I'm a hostage," Lev-says. "Once I'm free, I'm a fugitive, like you. Tied up, I'm the enemy. Cut loose, I'm a friend."

"If you don't run," says Connor.

Risa impatiently begins untying the vines. "Unless we want to leave him here, we'll have to take that chance." Connor kneels to help, and in a few moments, Lev is free. He stands and stretches, rubbing his shoulder where the tranq bullet had hit him. Lev's eyes are still blue ice and hard for Connor to read, but he's not running. Maybe, thinks Connor, he's over the "duty" of being tithed. Maybe he's finally starting to see the sense of staying alive.

_{8 Risa}

Risa finds herself unsettled by the food wrappers and broken bits of plastic they start coming across in the woods, because the first sign of civilization is always trash. Civilization means people who could recognize them if their faces have been smeared on the newsnet.

Risa knows that staying completely clear of human contact is an impossibility. She has no illusion about their chances, or their ability to remain unseen. As much as they need to remain anonymous, they cannot get by entirely alone. They need the help of others.

"No, we don't," Connor is quick to argue as the signs of civilization grow around them. It's not just trash now, but the mossy remnants of a knee-high stone wall, and the rusty remains of an old electrical tower from the days when electricity was transmitted by wires. "We don't need anyone. We'll take what we need."

Risa sighs, trying to hold together a patience that has already worn through. "I'm sure you're very good at stealing, but 1 don't think it's a good idea."

Connor appears insulted by the insinuation. "What do you think—people are just going to give us food and whatever else we need out of the goodness of their hearts?"

"No," says Risa, "but if we're clever about it instead of rushing into this blind, we'll have a better chance."

Her words or maybe just her intentionally condescending tone makes Connor storm off.

Risa notices Lev watching the argument from a distance. If he's going to run, thinks Risa, now's the time for him to do it, while Connor and I are busy fighting. And then it occurs to her that this is an excellent opportunity to test Lev, and see if he really is standing by them now, or biding his time until he can escape.

"Don't you walk away from me!" she growls at Connor, doing her best to keep the argument alive, all the while keeping an eye on Lev to see if he bolts. "I'm still talking to you!"

Connor turns toward her. "Who says I have to listen?"

"You would if you had half a brain, but obviously you don't!"

Connor moves closer until he's deeper into her airspace than she likes anyone to get. "If it wasn't for me you'd be on your way to harvest camp!" he says. Risa raises a hand to push him back, but his hand shoots up faster, and he grabs her wrist before she can shove him. This is the moment Risa realizes she's gone too far. What does she really know about this boy? He was going to be unwound. Maybe there's a reason for it. Maybe a good reason.

Risa is careful not to struggle because struggling gives him the advantage. She lets her tone of voice convey all the weight. "Let go of me."

"Why? Exactly what do you think I'll do to you?"

"This is the second time you've touched me without permission," Risa says. Still, he does not let go—yet she does notice his grip isn't all that threatening. It isn't tight, it's loose. It isn't rough, it's gentle. She could easily pull out of it with a simple flick of her wrist. So why doesn't she?

Risa knows he's doing this to make a point, but what the point is, Risa isn't sure. Is he warning her that he can hurt her if he wants to? Or maybe his message is in the gentle nature of his grip—a way of saying he's not the hurting type.

Well, it doesn't matter, thinks Risa. Even a gentle violation is a violation.

She looks at his knee. A well-placed kick could break his kneecap.

"I could take you out in a second," she threatens.

If he's concerned, he doesn't show it. "I know."

Somehow he also knows that she won't do it—that the first time was just a reflex. If she were to hurt him a second time, though, it would be a conscious act. It would be by choice.

"Step off," she says. Her voice now lacks the force it had only moments before.

This time he listens and lets go, moving back to a respectable distance. They both could have hurt one another, but neither of them did. Risa isn't quite sure what that means, all she knows is that she feels angry at him for such a mixture of reasons, she can't sort them out.

Then suddenly a voice calls to them from the right. "This is very entertaining and all, but I don't think fighting is going to help much."

It's Lev—and Risa realizes that her little ruse has backfired. She had set out to test him with a fake argument but the argument turned real, and in the process she completely forgot about Lev. He could have taken off, and they would not have known until he was long gone.

Risa throws Connor an evil look for good measure and the three of them continue on. It isn't until ten minutes later, when Lev goes off to relieve himself in private, that Connor talks to Risa again.

"Good one," Connor says. "It worked."

"What?"

Connor leans closer and whispers, "The argument. You put it on to see if Lev would run when we weren't paying attention, right?"

Risa is bowled over. "You knew that?"

Connor looks at her, a bit amused. "Well . . . yeah."

If Risa felt uncertain about him before, it's even worse now. She has no idea what to think. "So . . . everything that happened back there was all a show?"

Now it's Connor's turn to be unsure. "I guess. Sort of. Wasn't it?"

Risa has to hold back a smile. Suddenly she's feeling strangely at ease with Connor. She marvels at how that could be. If their argument had been entirely real, she'd be on her guard against him. If it had been entirely a show she'd be on guard too, because if he could lie so convincingly, she'd never be able to trust him. But this was a mixture of both. It was real, it was pretend, and that combination made it all right—it made it safe, like performing death-defying acrobatic tricks above a safety net.

She holds on to that unexpected feeling as the two of them catch up with Lev, and move toward the frightening prospect of civilization.

_{Part Two}

_Storked

"You can't change laws without first changing human nature."

– NURSE GRETA

"You  can't  change   human  nature without first changing the law."

–

NURSE YVONNE

 

 

 

_{9 Mother}

The mother is nineteen, but she doesn't feel that old. She feels no wiser, no more capable of dealing with this situation, than a little girl. When, she wonders, did she stop being a child? The law says it was when she turned eighteen, but the law doesn't know her.

Still aching from the trauma of delivery, she holds her newborn close. It's just after dawn on a chilly morning. She moves now through back alleys. Not a soul around. Dumpsters cast angular black shadows. Broken bottles everywhere. This she knows is the perfect time of day to do this. There's less of a chance that coyotes and other scavengers would be out. She couldn't bear the thought of the baby suffering needlessly.

A large green Dumpster looms before her, listing crookedly on the uneven pavement of the alley. She holds the baby tight, as if the Dumpster might grow hands and pull the baby into its filthy depths. Maneuvering around it, she continues down the alley.

There was a time, shortly after the Bill of Life was passed, that Dumpsters such as that would be tempting to girls like her. Desperate girls who would leave unwanted newborns in the trash. It had become so common that it wasn't even deemed newsworthy anymore—it had become just a part of life.

Funny, but the Bill of Life was supposed to protect the sanctity of life. Instead it just made life cheap. Thank goodness for the Storking Initiative, that wonderful law that allows girls like her a far better alternative.

As dawn becomes early morning, she leaves the alleys and enters a neighborhood that gets better with each street she crosses. The homes are large and inviting. This is the right neighborhood for storking.

She chooses the home shrewdly. The house she decides on isn't the largest, but it's not the smallest, either. It has a very short walkway to the street, so she can get away quickly, and it's overgrown with trees, so no one either inside or out will be able to see her as she storks the newborn.

She carefully approaches the front door. No lights are on in the home yet, that's good. There's a car in the driveway– hopefully that means they're home. She gingerly climbs the porch steps, careful not to make a sound, then kneels down, placing the sleeping baby on the welcome mat. There are two blankets wrapped around the baby, and a wool cap covers its head. She makes the blankets nice and tight. It's the only thing she's learned to do as a mother.

She considers ringing the bell and running, but she realizes that would not be a good idea. If they catch her, she's obliged to keep the baby—that's part of the Storking Initiative too—but if they open the door and find nothing but the child, it's "finder's keepers" in the eyes of the law. Whether they want it or not, the baby is legally theirs.

From the time she learned she was pregnant she knew she would end up storking this baby. She had hoped that when she finally saw it, looking up at her so helplessly, she might change her mind—but who was she kidding? With neither the skill nor the desire to be a mother at this point in her life, storking had always been her best option.

She realizes she's lingered longer than is wise. There's an upstairs light on now, so she forces herself to look away from the sleeping newborn, and leaves. With the burden now lifted from her, she has sudden strength. She now has a second chance in life, and this time she'll be smarter—she's sure of it. As she hurries down the street, she thinks how wonderful it is that she can get a second chance. How wonderful it is that she can dismiss her responsibility so easily.

_{10  Risa}

Several streets away from the storked newborn, at the edge of a dense wood, Risa stands at the door of a home. She rings the bell, and a woman answers in her bathrobe.

Risa offers the woman a big smile. "Hi, my name is Didi? And I'm collecting clothes and food for our school? We're, like, giving them to the homeless? And it's like this competition– whoever gets the most wins a trip to Florida or something? So it would be really, really great if you could help out?"

The sleepy woman tries to get her brain up to speed with "Didi," airhead for the homeless. The woman can't get a word in edgewise because Didi talks way too fast. If Risa had had a piece of chewing gum, she would have popped a bubble somewhere in there to add more authenticity.

"Please-please-pretty-please? I'm, like, in second place right now?"

The woman at the door sighs, resigned to the fact that "Didi" isn't going away empty-handed, and sometimes the best way to get rid of girls like this is just to give them something. "I'll be right back," the woman says.

Three minutes later, Risa walks away from the house with a bag full of clothes and canned food.

"That was amazing," says Connor, who had been watching with Lev from the edge of the woods.

"What can 1 say? I'm an artist," she says. "It's like playing the piano; you just have to know which keys to strike in people."

Connor smiles. "You're right, this is way better than stealing."

"Actually," says Lev, "scamming IS stealing."

Risa feels a bit prickly and uncomfortable at the thought, but tries not to show it.

"Maybe so," says Connor, "but it's stealing with style."

The woods have ended at a tract community. Manicured lawns have turned yellow along with the leaves. Autumn has truly taken hold. The homes here are almost identical, but not quite, full of people almost identical, but not quite. It's a world Risa knows about only through magazines and TV. To her, suburbia is a magical kingdom. Perhaps that's why Risa was the one who had the nerve to approach the house and pretend to be Didi. The neighborhood drew her like the smell of fresh bread baking in the industrial ovens of Ohio State Home 23.

Back in the woods where they can't be seen from anyone's window, they check their goody bag, as if it's full of Halloween candy.

There's a pair of pants and a blue button-down shirt that fits Connor. There's a jacket that fits Lev. There are no clothes for Risa, but that's okay. She can play Didi again at a different house.

"I still don't know how changing our clothes is going to make a difference." Connor asks.

"Don't you ever watch TV?" says Risa. "On the cop shows they always describe what perps were last wearing when they put out an APB."

"We're not perps," says Connor, "we're AWOLs."

"We're felons," says Lev. "Because what you're doing—I mean, what we're doing—is a federal crime."

"What, stealing clothes?" asks Connor.

"No, stealing ourselves. Once the unwind orders were signed, we all became government property. Kicking-AWOL makes us federal criminals."

It doesn't sit well with Risa, or for that matter with Connor, but they both shake it off.

This excursion into a populated area is dangerous but necessary. Perhaps as the morning goes on they can find a library where they can download maps and find themselves a wilderness large enough to get lost in for good. There are rumors of hidden communities of AWOL Unwinds. Maybe they can find one.

As they move cautiously through the neighborhood, a woman approaches them—just a girl, really, maybe nineteen or twenty. She walks fast, but she's walking funny, like she's got some injury or is recovering from one. Risa's certain she's going to see them and recognize them, but the girl passes without even making eye contact and hurries around a corner.

₁₁

_Connor

Exposed. Vulnerable. Connor wishes they could have stayed in the woods, but there are only so many acorns and berries he can eat. They'll find food in town. Food, and information.

"This is the best time not to be noticed," Connor tells the others. "Everyone's in a hurry in the morning. Late to work, or whatever."

Connor finds a newspaper in the bushes, misthrown by a delivery boy. "Look at this!" says Lev. "A newspaper. How retro is that?"

"Does it talk about us?" asks Lev. He says it like it's a good thing. The three of them scan the front page. The war in Australia, King politicians—the same old stuff. Connor turns the page clumsily. Its pages are large and awkward. They tear easily and catch the breeze like a kite, making it hard to read.

No mention of them on page two, or page three.

"Maybe it's an old newspaper," suggests Risa.

Connor checks the date on top. "No, it's today's." He fights against the breeze to turn the page. "Ah—there it is."

The headline reads, PILEUP ON INTERSTATE. It's a very small article. A morning car accident, blah-blah-blah, traffic snarled for hours, blah-blah-blah. The article mentions the dead bus driver, the fact that the road was closed for three hours. But nothing about them. Connor reads the last line of the article aloud.

"It is believed that police activity in the area may have distracted drivers, leading to the accident."

They're all dumbfounded. For Connor, there's a sense of relief—a sense of having gotten away with something huge.

"That can't be right," says Lev, "I was kidnapped, or . . . uh . . . at least they think I was. That should be in the news."

"Lev's right," says Risa. "They always have incidents with Unwinds in the news. If we're not in there, there's a reason."

Connor can't believe these two are looking this gift horse in the mouth! He speaks slowly as if to idiots. "No news report means no pictures—and that means people won't recognize us. I don't see why that's a problem."

Risa folds her arms. "Why are there no pictures?"

"I don't know—maybe the police are keeping it quiet because they don't want people to know they screwed up."

Risa shakes her head. "It doesn't feel right. . . ."

"Who cares how it feels!"

"Keep your voice down!" Risa says in an angry whisper. Connor fights to keep his temper under control. He doesn't say anything for fear he's going to start yelling again and draw attention to them. He can see Risa puzzling over the situation and Lev looking back and forth between the two of them. Risa's not stupid, thinks Connor. She's going to figure out that this is a good thing, and that she's worrying for nothing.