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REINFORCEMENTS. Amos fumed, staring out the passenger window as they waited in line to exit the Enclave. After all the innocent people he’s Implanted, he expects us to forget it ever happened, and rush to his aid.
He was being petulant, and he knew it. He understood the logical necessity of the alliance, but his emotions—fueled by too many memories—held a different opinion.
Like it or not, Darcy’s our ticket. Mateo can sneak us into the Enclave, but only Darcy can give us access everywhere else.
Amos shifted his position in the rear seat of the idling truck, impatient to be under way. He couldn’t wait to change out of the ridiculous outfit the Hoarders had given him to wear. He glanced over his shoulder at the small luggage bag in the cargo area. Tony had assured them their regular clothes were inside.
Amos settled into his seat, his restless eyes wandering to the driver. Tony exuded stress—drumming his fingers in an uneven rhythm on the steering wheel, stealing furtive glances at their surroundings, whistling a discordant melody.
I’ll bet Mateo sitting beside him doesn’t help. Amos hid a smirk at the thought.
“This line-up sure is taking a long time.” Sheila sat beside him, resting her chin on her hand as she stared out the opposite window.
To his right, Garr spoke for the first time since they’d descended to the vehicle level. “You don’t suppose Lindholm betrayed us to the Givers?”
Amos knew he wasn’t serious, but Tony jerked as if he’d been shot. He twisted, mumbling something incoherent into his collarbone. Mateo leaned toward him, a bemused look on his face.
“Mr. Moretti, there’s a saying your new allies are fond of: hidden in plain sight.” Mateo tipped his head to one side, watching for Tony’s reaction. “Unfortunately, you seem to be achieving the opposite. We’re far too close to the checkpoint for such unprofessional behavior.”
Tony flushed a dark crimson. He stole another glance at the checkpoint—two vehicle-lengths ahead—and snarled a quick response under his breath. “I said, don’t mention the Givers. Everyone knows they exist, but only a few people have ever seen them. And—in case you forgot—until we’ve cleared the gates, we’re probably being watched.”
Mateo leaned back, glancing over his shoulder to wink at the Runners. “Ah, yes, the vaunted security of the Enclave, keeping the good Citizens safe behind their walls.”
Whatever retort was in Tony’s mind was never spoken. The vehicle ahead of them shifted into gear, and advanced to the checkpoint.
Tony coaxed their truck forward, coming to a nervous stop. He reached one shaking hand between the front seats, retrieving the small packet of permits Darcy had prepared for them.
The vehicle ahead of them roared, tires squealing as it accelerated. The guards on either side of the exit brandished their weapons, relaxing only after the gate dropped into place with a thump that Amos felt through their vehicle’s chassis.
The checkpoint guard waved an impatient hand, and Tony maneuvered their vehicle into place. He said nothing, opening his window to hand their permits to the guard.
Amos was expecting a closer inspection, but he saw the guard’s eyes widen in astonishment as he perused their permits. He wasted no time in handing them back to Tony, affecting a crooked smile as he waved them through.
Darcy’s signature carries weight. Here’s hoping Garr can come up with a way to take advantage of that.
The massive gate lifted with a heavy groan, revealing the bustling shantytown outside, bathed in the late-afternoon sun. Tony gunned the engine, popping the clutch with an awkward foot, and the truck lurched forward.
The guards on either side of the gate stood at attention, their weapons held ready, flanking the vehicle as it plunged into the open country beyond.
The gate slammed down as soon as they cleared the exit, raising a cloud of dust. Tony wasted no time in accelerating, the spinning tires spewing dirt and small stones as the truck jostled over the packed earth outside the Enclave.
They were at the shantytown’s outer perimeter in less than a minute. Amos saw Mateo’s gaze flicker to his former shop’s location.
Another merchant had already taken over his space, like a hermit crab moving into a vacated shell. Business continued in the shantytown without a hiccup. Mateo said nothing.
Tony drove to the outskirts of the Old City, skidding to a stop in the middle of one of the anonymous intersections. He left the engine idling, turning to look at Mateo for the first time since they’d begun their tense journey through the gauntlet of gate security.
“End of the line, Tracker.” He tried—and failed—to sound authoritative. Mateo smiled, cocking his head to one side as if listening to the pampered demands of a child.
Tony bristled at his lack of response. “Did you hear what I said? Get out of the truck.”
Mateo held his stare without flinching, while the Runners took advantage of the opportunity. Once they were clear, Mateo opened his door and exited the vehicle.
His gaze never left Tony’s. He seemed to be enjoying his ability to agitate the driver.
Amos slipped behind the truck, opening the tailgate to retrieve the duffle bag with their clothes.
The sooner I get out of this Hoarder outfit, the better. He grimaced, slamming the tailgate shut. He slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and joined his companions on the sidewalk.
“Five days.” Tony spoke through his open window as he revved the engine. “This is the meeting spot. Bring the rest of your group here. I’ll pick you up and sneak you back inside the Enclave.”
“Five days isn’t much.” Garr raised an eyebrow, ignoring Tony’s attempt at intimidation. “We’ll be on foot for at least part of the trip. If we have to hike both directions, there won’t be any way . . .”
“Find a way,” Tony interrupted, scowling. “The Givers aren’t going to wait, and neither can we. We’ll probably all have nodes by the time you get back. You’ll be the only people able to travel inside the Enclave without being tracked.”
Mateo leaned one arm on the truck, speaking through Tony’s open window. “Are these your words, or those of the esteemed Councilor?”
Tony glowered at him, revving the engine again.
“Five days,” he repeated, rolling up his window. Mateo stepped back as the truck reversed direction. Tires squealed on the pavement, and Tony was gone.
“You heard the man,” Garr said dryly, as Tony’s truck disappeared in a cloud of dust. “Five days isn’t much. We’ve got a lot of planning ahead of us, not to mention a long walk.”
Mateo and Amos exchanged glances, and Amos thought he detected the slightest glint of amusement in the Tracker’s eye. We’ve got a truck they don’t know about.
“We might be able to help with that.” Amos shifted the duffle bag on his shoulder. “As long as nobody minds a quick detour to the ocean side of Hoarderville.”