FOR A SECOND, I can feel Berg crowding in on my mind, playing me again. Then I step grimly on the accelerator and get back up to speed. I am not going to be paranoid. I’m five hours from Vegas. He doesn’t know what car I’m in, and it would be nearly impossible for him to send someone to intercept me. Still, I have to be smart.
He definitely has the upper hand. All he has to do is send some lowlifes to pick up my family and stash them someplace. It infuriates me to think of Ma, Dubbs, and Larry in his control. Berg could drug them and mine them, just like he did me. Or he might keep them hostage until he can persuade me to do whatever he wants. My skin screams off my bones.
Think, Rosie. What’s my next move?
A truck roars past on my left and sends a mini tornado around my car.
I wish my dad were with me. Hearing Peggy’s perspective on him was unsettling. I should have taken the photo of me and him from the wall of my bedroom. Better yet, I should have taken the nail.
But I didn’t, and my dad’s dead. The truth is, I need help. It stings to admit it, but I do. I can’t outwit Berg on my own. I have to run over my options again.
I have a distant cousin in Calgary. It’s almost comical how unhelpful that is.
Linus.
Whenever I allow myself to think of him, even his name, an anxious, melty sensation curls in my gut. I can’t call him, even though his number is in my back pocket. Berg would trace the call for sure.
Burnham.
I chew on the inside of my cheek and allow myself to fully consider my friend in Atlanta. The last time Burnham and I spoke, it was by phone, and I was in the dean’s tower at Forge. Burnham’s computer was getting fried by a virus from Berg’s computer. That was Friday night, or technically early Saturday, and Burnham has probably replaced his computer by now, Sunday night. I can’t imagine him existing long without one. He’s far away in Atlanta, but he could help safely from a distance. On the downside, his parents own Fister Pharmaceuticals, the company that makes the sleep meds for Forge and half the country. He’s loyal to his family and hypervigilant about anything that could tarnish the Fister reputation.
I squirm uncomfortably in my seat and adjust the vent to get a stream of air on my neck. Okay. So there’s an added hitch to me and Burnham that I haven’t much wanted to admit to myself.
A week ago, that first night when I was visiting Burnham in Atlanta, I had a vicious nightmare and woke in a panic. Burnham got up to make me cocoa in his kitchen, and shirtless Burnham is quite the sight. The whole memory makes me uneasy, and not just because I feel guilty about hanging with Burnham while my relationship with Linus was murky. Now that I have a little space from the cocoa episode, I feel like Burnham shouldn’t have kissed me. I know that I came to the kitchen dressed in, well, not much, and I didn’t resist the kiss as it was happening. And yet, if Burnham was really as noble as I always thought he was, he should have known I was vulnerable.
I check my gas. I’m at half a tank. I put on my blinker to pass a slow car and then ease back into the right-hand lane.
The worst thing is, I apologized to Burnham the next day, like the whole thing was my fault, like something was wrong with me for not being into him more. I kept trying to be honest, but I didn’t really owe him anything.
Then the other night, when Burnham and I discovered that clip of me in Linus’s bed, Burnham was not pleased. I could tell. I wish none of this bothered me, but I feel this ick about Burnham and it isn’t going away.
I turn my thoughts to my last real option: Thea. She changed me. I wanted to stay angry and not care for anybody ever again, but when she was suffering and having her baby in that dark, filthy tunnel, I wanted so badly to help her. I felt like I was seeing myself struggle in pain, and in the end, she broke me open. She’s me. That’s why. She’s truly me no matter how much we change. And if I can feel so fiercely protective of Thea, I must have the ability to care for other people, too.
Fine, I think, but this isn’t helping me come up with a plan.
I’d love to talk to Thea and find out if she’s all right, but I don’t have a secure way to reach her. Anything I plan now needs to be kept from Berg if I’m going to have any chance of beating him, which brings me back to Burnham.
He set up a dark web Tor site so I could reach him securely if I needed to, and that’s exactly the situation I’m in now. When I consider how devoted Burnham has always been to discovering what Berg’s up to, it reassures me somewhat. Despite our turbid chemistry, I can count on Burnham. I’m probably making too big a deal out of the kiss, anyway. Could be he doesn’t even remember it.
At the next chance of a turn, I ease off the main highway onto a narrow, unpaved road and head north. My headlights bounce over the gravel, and phantom bushes fly past my windows, but I hold the jittery wheel steady until I find a decent place to pull over. I turn off the ignition, and in the quiet, the gravel road gleams a ghostly, pale line through the dark desert brush.
I dig into a satchel for Freddy’s tablet, doubtful I’ll even get a connection here, but after a moment of a searching signal, I get a Google window.
Yes.
I check Facebook and look up Peggy’s profile. Her latest post says, The idiot is gone. Nothing about my parents. It’s disheartening, and I shiver, thinking of Ian on the loose again.
I pull up the Tor site Burnham created when I was with him in Atlanta and type in our passcode, Waffles67. A string of messages pops up, and I feel a jolt of surprise. They’re from Burnham, and the first is time-stamped from last night.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sat 3/26/67 8:59 PM
Subject: Hey
I’m finally back up. Berg’s virus totally fried my computer. I had to buy a new one. Call me. 404-484-1223. The line’s secure.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sat 3/26/67 9:14 PM
Subject: FW: Hey
Are you there?
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sat 3/26/67 9:23 PM
Subject: FW: Hey
Reply if this reaches you.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sat 3/26/67 9:32 PM
Subject: FW: Hey
I get it. You’re not online yet. It’ll prolly take you a while to get to a computer. I’m not going to panic. Call me as soon as you can. Waffles says hi.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sun 3/27/67 6:06 AM
Subject: FW: Hey
I just saw Berg on the Forge Show like nothing’s wrong. Where are you? Don’t be dead. That would be uncool.
From: BurnFist51
To: LKRose
Sent: Sun 3/27/67 10:34 AM
Subject: FW: Hey
The now is miserable.
Burnham once professed that he didn’t worry because it made the now miserable, but clearly I’ve pushed him over the edge. I scramble for one of my new, recyclable phones and pull off the wrapper. Please have a signal, I think. I punch in Burnham’s number and listen to the rings. What time is it in Atlanta? Before I can calculate time zones, the connection comes on.
“Hello?” he asks.
I bolt up in my seat, smiling. “So you do worry after all.”
“I’ll be,” he says in his Southern drawl. “You’re not dead.”
I shake my head, clutching the phone hard. Hearing his voice twists me up because he sounds so close. A thrum of wind surrounds the car, and the desert outside my windows is impossibly vast and dark. “Nope,” I say.
“Don’t do that again,” he says. There’s a fumbling noise like he’s arranging something, maybe reaching for his glasses or shifting his brace. “Where are you?” he asks.
“About an hour west of Doli. I’m in my car, by the side of the road,” I say. I glance out the window. “In the desert.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re really okay? Berg didn’t hurt you at all? It sounded bad when I got cut off.”
“I’m okay,” I say. “I was able to jab a couple syringes into him and dose him with sleep meds. That was fun.” I explain how I escaped, and how my friend Thea had her baby down in the tunnel. “Berg kept her prisoner down there.”
“That guy is seriously twisted,” Burnham says. “But now, who’s Thea?”
I’m startled to realize I’ve never told him about her. I didn’t really know who she was myself when I visited him in Atlanta. It’s tempting now to tell him the whole story, but I have a sneaking suspicion he’ll want to tell his parents, which would not be good. Besides, I should check with Thea before I divulge what’s basically her health history. Come to think of it, I really should have checked with Thea before I told Peggy about her, too.
“Thea’s a friend of mine from way back,” I improvise. “We’re really close, actually, and she showed up at Linus’s house looking for me. She’s normally in Texas with her family, and I really need to talk to her and find out how she is, but I don’t have a safe way to call her. In fact, I haven’t been in touch with anybody ’til now.”
“No problem,” he says. “I can send her a recyclable phone and give you the number. Do you still have one yourself?”
“I have one left,” I say.
“Then what else? What else do you need?”
He is truly such a nice guy, and it feels so good to have his support.
“I have to find my parents and my sister,” I say. “Berg said they’re in Las Vegas, and he pretty much promised to kidnap them if I didn’t let him mine me.”
“You can’t let him do that.”
“I know, but I have no way to warn my parents,” I say, frustrated. “They don’t have a phone. I’m scared, Burnham. He could take them anywhere. Anywhere in the world, actually, even Iceland. The Chimera Centre’s there.”
“He can’t take them personally, though,” Burnham says. “He still has to show up regularly on The Forge Show. He could hire people to kidnap them, but I doubt he’d take them out of the country unless he had you, too.” A tapping comes from his end. “This isn’t good. I could get a PI, but that would take time. Do you have any other ideas? Why are your parents in Las Vegas?”
“I’m not sure,” I say. “I’m not even sure Berg was telling the truth about them being there. My neighbor Peggy said my parents had a lead on where I might be and that’s why they left. Vegas might have been their destination, or they could have been heading somewhere west of there and just stopped on the way.” I frown out my window as a shimmer of dust passes through my headlights. “There’s supposed to be another vault of dreamers in Miehana, California. A big one. I can’t help thinking it’s important.”
“You mentioned that once before,” he says. “Miehana,” he adds slowly. “Isn’t that near the Olbaid Nuclear Power Plant? The one that blew up?”
The name tickles a memory of a story from science class. “Possibly,” I say. “Let me take a look.”
On Freddy’s tablet, I do a quick search for the Olbaid Nuclear Power Plant, which is right on the Pacific coast, about halfway between L.A. and San Francisco. It had a major meltdown in 2048, about twenty years back. The town of Miehana is thirty miles inland, just outside the Olbaid Exclusion Zone. Images of the OEZ show the rusty ruin of a roller coaster and decaying, overgrown summer cottages.
“You’re right,” I say, impressed.
“Okay,” he says. “We’ll see what we can find out about that vault in Miehana. And here’s another idea. I can search the Fister database to see if there are any significant sleep med orders in that part of California.”
“You think that vault of dreamers uses sleep meds?” I say. “The dreamers are already asleep.”
“They used sleep meds for you when you were at Onar, didn’t they?” Burnham says.
He’s right. They did. “But I was an exception,” I say. “Berg buys bodies from a pre-morgue. They’re legally dead. He’s just found a way to boot up their bodily functions. He can reignite their brain stems.”
“Who told you this?”
“Berg did,” I say, remembering Gracie, a little dreamer girl from the vault under Forge. “From what he said, the dreamers are sort of half back from the dead, just enough for their old dreams to stir. Berg uses their brains almost like potting soil. He could implant dreams from Forge students into them and they’d take root. That’s what he said, at least.”
“Holy crap,” Burnham says. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t come up.”
“That is one creepy dude,” he says.
No kidding.
“Hold on. I’ve got another thing,” I say. I locate the pill box I took from Ian and fish out a few of the little pills. I turn on the overhead light so I can inspect a red one. “See if you can find out anything about a red pill marked ‘Echo eight,’ and a yellow one. I think this is a double theta marked on it.”
“Send me a picture.”
It takes me a couple seconds, but I do. “This phone camera’s not the best.”
“That’s okay. Where’d you get the pills?” Burnham says.
“I found them on a guy who works for Berg. Remember Ian? He came looking for me in Doli.”
Burnham wants to hear all about that, too, and I tell him how Peggy and I stuck Ian in the closet.
“You’re really not safe anywhere, are you?” Burnham says.
I focus out my window again. The place where I’ve pulled off is still dark and quiet. If I turn off my headlights, I’ll practically disappear, but I’m too anxious to stay here doing nothing. I switch the phone to speaker and prop it on my knee. Then I start the car again and turn back toward the freeway.
“I’m going to keep driving toward Las Vegas,” I say. “I’m going to hope Peggy warns my parents about Berg in time and they start driving back toward me.”
“Sounds good,” Burnham says. “But maybe get some sleep in there.”
I laugh. Like I could sleep. “And you’ll do your research and send a phone to Thea,” I say.
“What’s her address?” Burnham asks.
“I don’t have it on me. You’ll have to look it up. Her name’s Althea Flores. She lives in Holdum, Texas, and her family owns a ranch. They’re super wealthy.” I realize he’ll learn a ton about her online, but that’s for another conversation. “How long will it take to get her a phone?”
“I can have it delivered first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Burnham,” I say. “This is so nice of you. I mean it.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says. “I’m glad to be back doing something. I was worried about you.”
A louder shifting noise comes from his end. I think he’s about to say goodbye, but instead, he clears his throat.
“Listen. Do you have another minute?” he asks.
I’ve just reached the highway again and I turn on my blinker, which clicks in loud rhythm. I look to my left for oncoming headlights and wait while a pair of headlights gets bigger.
“Sure. I’m just driving,” I say.
After the car passes, I pull out onto the road and pick up speed.
“I was talking to my sister, Sammi, yesterday,” Burnham says. “I kind of told her about when you were staying with me here in Atlanta. That night. After you had your nightmare.”
I know exactly what he means. A cold furball lodges in my lungs. I can’t believe he told her about us.
“I remember,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “What about it?”
“Sammi says I owe you an apology,” Burnham says quietly. “She got me thinking I came on too, well, strong, and then I wasn’t exactly cool the next morning.”
I feel a snap of relief, like a cord breaking. I grip the steering wheel harder and aim straight ahead as an overpass whooshes above. “Wow,” I say.
“So she’s right?”
She’s brilliant is what she is.
“Yeah,” I say.
“I’m sorry, then. I really am,” he says. “The trouble is, I can never tell if the vibe between us is good or bad, or if I’m just imagining it, you know?”
I do know, unfortunately. It’s not like I have everything figured out. “Let’s just agree never to kiss each other again,” I say.
“Not ever?”
I throw up a hand. “Burnham!”
“I’m apologizing,” he says. “I’m trying to be straight-up honest with you.”
“And you’re making me really uncomfortable,” I say. “Just stop.”
“Okay. All right,” he says. And then, “Just tell me one thing. One last thing.”
“What?”
“That picture of you in Linus’s bed. Does that mean what I think it does?”
I frown at the road ahead and watch the white lines flicking by. I don’t owe Burnham an answer. I know that. I’m certainly not going to tell him that Linus and I didn’t have sex. But I have to say something.
“Linus doesn’t pressure me,” I say.
The car hums over the smooth road.
“Touché,” Burnham says softly.
I shake my head. He asked; he got his answer.
“If you don’t want to help me anymore, that’s fine,” I say.
“Wait a second,” he says. “I’m not helping you just because I like you. We’re a team, Rosie.”
“We are?”
“Berg messed up my life, and think of all those other students at Forge. We trusted that place, and he stole our dreams. I don’t mean mine, literally, but it’s effectively the same thing.”
A prickling of hope gathers in me. “You’re right,” I say. Burnham has always had an innate sense of justice. I knew that.
“We’re going to bring him down, Rosie. You can be sure of that.”
Wow, I think, and my hope is buoyed into something more certain. “Thanks,” I say.
“Of course,” he says. “Now, I’ve got stuff to do. Don’t drive too late. And be sure to eat something. Cheetos, at least.”
I smile. “All right,” I say. “Thanks again.”
He hangs up, and I’m left alone, still driving. It’s funny. With all the dips and turns our friendship has gone through, I feel closer to him now than I did when I was standing in his kitchen. I wonder if he feels the same.
My smile fades. If only I knew where Linus was.