MASON’S BODY STILLS beside me; he doesn’t need further explanation. I keep watch on the sensor above us as his hands press on my shoulders. Again the sensor shifts, still tracking the bird, so I push back ever so slightly: a sign that it’s okay to sneak away.
Slowly Mason guides me towards the safety of the fir tree, working in tandem so that we’re checking in front and behind at the same time. As soon as we’re out of sight, the pressure eases and we pull out our compads.
The history I find makes me feel like throwing up. A few hours after I returned, three motion sensors were set up around Mason’s house. I tag the workers who installed the sensors and trace their day’s work: around the room I shared with Mum, Karoly High School and a local cafe.
There’s even one at Kessa’s house, but I must have been there before they came. I didn’t have much reason to visit the cave while I was chipped, so I’m lucky they didn’t pick that as a location I might visit.
‘This way.’ Mason grabs my hand.
We climb back over the fence into the neighbouring yard, and sneak along the side fence until Mason stops and checks his compad. While I was checking for the other motion sensors, he must have been mapping out a path that we could take to his house without being caught by the sensors.
With a sharp rock, Mason scratches a cross at this spot on the fence: an indicator for next time. We climb over in silence, cautious now as we track a diagonal line to the side wall of the house, then shuffle sideways until we reach the door of a utility room and slip inside.
In silence we head up the stairs, relief growing with each step we take. In here, we’re safe.
We reach the main part of the house, and Mason lets his head drop back, clearly relieved.
‘I knew they’d be watching, I just didn’t realise …’ I drift off, frustration still burning, because I’m not the only one they’re trying to find. Mason’s chance of being caught has just shot through the roof because I’m back.
‘Not your fault,’ he says.
‘How long until your folks are able to do a long jump?’
He turns away and starts stashing the water bottles in a cold cupboard. ‘They’re ready now. Pretty sure. Mum’s last day at school is this Friday. Dad’s already halfway though handing over at work. He’s told them he’s been transferred.’
‘Okay … okay.’ I’m nodding as a kind of reassurance. ‘You’ll be able to leave soon.’
Mason turns to consider me, a bottle in one hand. He doesn’t answer for a while. Then he turns back to the cupboard. ‘Not without you.’
‘But, now that they’re watching even closer …’
‘It’s not me I’m worried about,’ Mason mutters into the cold cupboard. He closes the door and turns to face me again. ‘At least I have citizen status. If they do catch me, at least I’ll have rights.’
I try to swallow my next thought away. ‘But … why do you think they’re trying so hard to catch us?’ I’m pretty sure I already know the answer, but I want to hear Mason’s take on this. ‘I mean, it looks like they have their hands full already. And I’m illegal with no access to rations. There’s not much I can –’
‘They have proof that you stole a chip, so they can use that as grounds to lock you away. And you can time skip. If they catch you, they’ll have no restrictions on the tests they can do …’
‘So you think this is happening because I can time skip?’ It’s not a question, really. I’ve started to suspect this ever since I came back.
‘And me. We’ve had more legal advice since I’ve been back. People who are witness to an accidental death like Amon aren’t normally targeted as closely as I’ve been.’
‘So they want to test you, too. Even though you’re a citizen?’
‘Don’t know. But probably. They know we can time skip, but they don’t understand how. I bet they’re dying to know what’s going on.’ He takes a breath and crosses his arms. ‘Imagine if more illegals learnt to skip. Or even citizens. They’d be harder to catch. Harder to control.’
‘Yeah.’ The longer I’ve been back, the more I’ve begun to wonder whether I could teach more people to skip, at least show them what’s possible.
‘So …’ Mason lifts his eyebrows, as if trying to lighten the mood. ‘Just don’t get caught, yeah? Easy.’
‘Sure,’ I mumble. Fine. No problem.
He turns towards the boiler and flicks it on. ‘Let’s eat something before we head back.’
‘Thanks, but I’m okay. I ate at the cave.’
He acts as if he didn’t hear, just pulls out a couple of mugs and a jar of syrup. ‘C’mon.’
I can tell he’s not going to give up. I cut a path past the dining chairs to find a spot on a stool at the bench. Mason places a mug in front of me and turns back to the cold cupboard, pulling out a storage container and scooping some sort of porridge into a pan.
Warmth from the tea spreads through me as I enclose the mug in both hands and sip. It’s almost too hot but just enough below burning to swallow. This is good.
I sip quietly until Mason places a bowl in front of me. He perches on a stool and hooks one foot on the rung, leaning against the bench as he scoops up mouthfuls with a teaspoon.
I put down the mug, not sure what to do. It used to be rude to accept rations, but things are different now. Different in 2089, but also between Mason and me. And the truth is, I need to eat.
He stops chewing and pushes my bowl towards me, one last gesture of reassurance, so I accept and give it a stir. The porridge is made with oats and some other grains I don’t recognise. I take a small bite and chew, sort of testing. There’s something else in there, beans maybe, or small chunks of meat. I pick up another spoonful and examine it surreptitiously on the way to my mouth, not wanting to seem rude.
‘They’re grubs,’ says Mason, grinning. ‘But don’t think of them like that. Just think of them as lab meat or something.’
I look back at the spoon. They’re curled up head to tail, like the shrimp I tasted once on Alistair’s birthday. I push them around the bowl, then take another mouthful. They taste a bit nutty and fleshy. Not bad, really.
I take one more bite, chewing slowly, savouring the warmth. Then I let go of the spoon and push the bowl towards Mason. ‘Here, you finish it. I’ve had enough.’
‘Just think of them as chunks of meat. You need to eat.’
He thinks I’ve stopped because of the bugs, but that’s not the reason. It’s what the bugs mean that made me push the bowl away. This is the food that people eat when they don’t have enough, the diet of the desperate. I know enough about living on low rations to understand the decisions behind this meal, the cost versus nutrition ratio, the agony over portion sizes.
And besides, I already know what it’s like to owe that sort of debt. I’m not going there again.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘But I’m okay. I’ll find food some other way.’
A pause, before he breathes in. ‘Scout, you were the one who thought up the blocking script that is keeping me safe now. You told us about the underground spring. Do you think I owe you because of that?’
I frown. ‘Of course not.’
‘So …’ He lifts his eyebrows, like I’m a kid being taught a lesson. ‘Keep eating.’
I roll my eyes, but I start scooping and chewing again.
After another mouthful, Mason says, ‘You know, this time I’ve had living without rations …’ He pauses. ‘I just don’t know how you did it your whole life.’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. When you’ve never known anything else, you get used to it, I guess.’ But I get what Mason’s trying to say. Right now, he’s living a life that I know only too well. No access to any of the rations that people all around you take for granted, depending on the help of others to survive.
Mason drains the rest of the porridge and leaves the bowl on the bench. ‘All my life, I always had food and water, anything really, with a single swipe.’ Again, he stops to look at me. ‘I didn’t really know how to handle it when I went off-grid. But you … being illegal has made you smart, resourceful.’
By now I’m shaking my head, the spoon left in my empty bowl. It’s not being smart that helped me get by; it’s simply that I had no choice.
Mason turns his head as if suddenly unsure. ‘I think …’ His eyes stay on the bench. ‘I get now why you never told me you were illegal.’
Neither of us speaks for a moment. I’m not sure what to say. Even now, it’s hard facing up to the secret that came between us, the truth that I hid.
Mason lifts his head to me. ‘I never would have turned you in, so I couldn’t understand why you didn’t trust me.’
‘I know … I did trust you. It was just …’ I guess I didn’t know how to trust him.
‘But I get it now. I mean … now that I’ve had these past eight months with the chance of being caught constantly hanging over me. My whole focus has been on keeping out of trouble.’ He jerks a shoulder. ‘And I guess I did start to rethink the stuff you said …’
My eyes lift to his. ‘I should have told you, Mason.’ Wish I had.
We both go quiet, the weight of our past still hanging in the air. But something about the silence seems solid, as if our past is locking into place. Our history might be messed up, but it’s brought us to this point, this moment of understanding.
‘So … what happened with your plan to jump ten years?’ I ask finally. Sort of changing the subject. And sort of not. ‘Did you come back early on purpose?’
‘Yeah … I mean, no. I don’t know. It was like being pulled –’
‘– out?’
He pauses for a moment, watching me. ‘You too?’
‘Yeah,’ I mumble, remembering the sludge of the tunnel, the emptiness of losing my place in time. Almost forgetting who I was. The only reason I made it as far as I did is because I was trying to catch up with Mason, ten years into the future. It was like I latched onto the thought of him to anchor myself. But once I started having trouble making it that far, the only way I found my way out was the idea of seeing Mum again.
‘I think I was pulled back early because I left Mum behind,’ I say slowly. Already Mason’s nodding. ‘Like … I couldn’t travel too far away from her.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’
Because of … who? I’m dying to ask. He thought I was staying behind when he jumped, but his parents stayed behind too. So who was it that pulled him out early?
‘It makes me wonder,’ Mason continues, ‘whether there’s something going on with that. The way our relationships impact on when we return. Our sense of who we are and where we belong …’ He glances my way and blinks. ‘Sorry. Just thinking aloud.’
‘It’s okay.’ I’ve missed hearing him talk about stuff like this, the nature of time. My whole way of looking at the world changed because of Mason.
He’s watching me again when I look up, but then glances at his compad. ‘We should get going. Unless you want to say hi to my folks?’
I’m not sure how to answer. How awkward will it be if they come home to find me eating their tiny rations? ‘What do you want to do?’
‘Don’t worry.’ Mason winks. He gets it.
There’s a folded whitesheet under the bench, with a marker and cloth ready to go. I get the feeling they’ve been leaving notes this way the whole time Mason’s been back: easy to wipe clean and impossible to trace.
The backpack gets jammed full again, with light blankets and ration bars. At least we don’t need to lug water all the way back. Then we head out the way we came, sticking to a safe path out of sight of the motion sensors.
One night together, before I find Mum.