Chapter Nine

Aiden

“I can’t believe this.” Elena groans, still trying uselessly to turn the ignition.

“Hey.” I lie my hand on top of hers, forcing her to stop trying to make the key work. “I think it’s safe to say it’s dead. It’s not something we can fix right now, unless there’s an auto parts store open.”

She pulls out her ComPad, and after a couple minutes, she shoves it into her back jeans pocket with a sigh. “All the ones around here are closed until tomorrow morning. Crap. Freaking crap.” She blows out a breath and turns toward me. “It’s not like I can ask Jamie to borrow her car. She’ll ask too many questions.”

“What about the subway?” Unlike the old school subway systems, it’s a newer technology that connects, turning it into a super fast, super upgraded interstate. “I’ve been told it’s usually quicker than driving a car since it’s so efficient. Is that not true?”

“It is. But…” Groaning again, Elena looks almost guilty. “I’ve never been on the subway. It…well, it freaks me out.”

“What do you mean, it freaks you out?”

“You know how some people are afraid of spiders or planes? Well, I’m afraid of subways. All those people in tight spaces. The smells. The noise. Not to mention I usually get motion sickness.”

I don’t understand her fear, but I can tell by her face that she’s not lying. “Do you have a better idea?”

Elena sighs, defeated. “No. Fine, let’s go.”

With my bag of Walmart goods in hand, we start walking. A few minutes into our trek, it starts to rain. A zing of lightning splits the sky in two, casting a yellow hue over the darkening streets. A few seconds later, thunder roars, and we pick up our pace until I spot the navigation board lit up in the middle of an intersection. I’ve never used one, but I know what they are: damage resistant, display enabling, and touch sensitive, made of all-weather surface glass. Much like a virtual map, it highlights the easiest route to get to your intended destination. The system is also able to identify who you are based on your ComPad settings—mine haven’t been set—and the screen will change the language accordingly.

I touch the start button. “Hello, Unknown,” says the smooth female’s voice, muffled from the wind. “Where would you like to go?”

“Closest subway station.”

The screen dings, and a few selections pop up. I have the choice between walking directions, driving directions, or locating the nearest airport, cab service, bus, or subway station. “Please tell me your selection,” the voice says.

I ask for the walking directions. Instantly, a map appears, highlighting where we are and the shortest route to take. “Look, we can get there in under thirty minutes,” I tell Elena.

We move past the giant, high-tech board and walk toward Lane Avenue Subway Station. Warm air blows past my nose, and it smells of summer, fresh flowers, and the overwhelming sensation of wet earth. So much different than the smells outside the AIR building.

We arrive at our destination in less time than the map estimated. Stepping across the metallic platform of the station, I search the overhead display screen. The departure times and destinations are listed, and it takes only seconds to find what I need. Making our way to the entrance marked with L7, we pass a handful of people. Most are standing around, noses buried in their ComPads as they wait.

Elena and I get in line behind a woman with bright-red hair and curls so big my entire head is hidden behind them. The subway car pulls up a minute later. Perfect timing. A few people give us curious stares when they take in our appearance. Guess I can’t blame them. It looks like we went for a swim in all our clothes. Most of the others, however, look like they got caught in the rain for only a handful of seconds, likely shielded with an umbrella.

The subway door opens, and I peer around the nest of fiery hair to see a uniformed man step out and onto the platform. He wears dark-blue clothes with a black belt and black shoes, topped off with a stern expression. It doesn’t take much to peg someone for an officer. If it wasn’t for the badge and the gun resting on his hip, his stance would’ve given him away. Police officers have a distinctive posture and gait—according to the shows and movies I’ve watched.

As we wait to board, I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, trying to warm them. It might work if my pockets were dry. My thoughts jump to Elena, who fidgets beside me. I think of grabbing her hands, but I can’t convince myself it’s a good idea.

The subway idles for long minutes, and the line doesn’t move at all. Eventually, I step to the side to see what the holdup is. The officer standing in front of the bus door is asking people to take out their IDs. He runs a scanner across them, then waits, frowning at his device, before motioning with two fingers, allowing them inside.

Why are they checking IDs to get on the subway? From what I’ve been told, this isn’t standard protocol, and apparently, I’m not the only one wondering what the deal is, because a man near the front of the line asks the officer what’s going on.

“All passengers are being monitored,” the officer says, not looking up.

“Why would they do that?” the lanky guy says with a huff. “It’s an inconvenience if you ask me.”

“Just following orders.”

“Is this gonna be a permanent thing?”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” the officer says. “The monitoring will continue until we locate the young man we’re looking for.”

The man uncrosses his arms and shakes his head. “I don’t wanna deal with this bullshit every day.”

They’re looking for me.

I’d love to blame the idea on paranoia, but I know better. Even if AIR wasn’t a government owned facility, Dr. Niels has mentioned government contracts and government this, that, and the other. One of my tests even involved an FBI agent, so I don’t doubt Carter has the power to get the state police involved. I don’t have an ID, so there’s no way they’re letting me on. And the officer probably knows what I look like. If he sees me…

Fucking hell.

Grabbing Elena’s hand, I quietly step out of line and walk toward the back wall, pretending to examine the overhead screen, not wanting to bring attention to our departure.

“What are we doing?” she asks.

“Didn’t you hear them?”

“Hear who?”

“The officer and that guy.”

She wrinkles her nose with a slight shake of her head. “How could you understand anything over all the noise?”

I open my mouth, but I don’t have an answer, so I shrug. “We’re both screwed if that officer recognizes me. Let’s go back to your sister’s and figure out a new plan.”