Forged(43)

“The only reason I haven’t pulled this trigger is because it will be loud,” she says. It’s then I notice his Order uniform.

“I’m Garrett,” he says frantically. “I work with September.”

“Sure you do.”

“You think I couldn’t see the second door? I’m no idiot. And I covered when one of you sneezed. I’m on your side.”

“Where’s September?”

“Distracting my boss so I can get you guys into town.”

Bree’s eyes narrow. “There are six of us and one of you. Do anything suspicious that might compromise our safety and it will be your last act.” She lowers her weapon but keeps a finger near the trigger.

“Does she always show gratitude this way?” Garrett asks as he extends a hand to pull me to my feet.

“Pretty much.”

Bree punches me in the arm. My limbs are too cramped to bother fighting back.





TWENTY-ONE


IT’S WEIRD TO BE BACK in Bone Harbor. I never thought I’d see this place again and I’m almost shocked to realize I missed the smell of it—the salt and wet wood and smoking chimneys.

Garrett leads us to a two-story house that looks as dreary as most homes in town. The west side of the building has aged twice as fast as the others. The paint peels from the Gulf’s salty mist, and some of the boards are rotting, but inside, the place is dry and warm.

The first floor is shared by Garrett and his older siblings—one brother and one sister—who happen to be the same Expat-friendly citizens September mentioned working with when she visited us at the bookshop. She and Aiden rent out the upstairs floor.

“Did you want to see the basement?” Garrett asks the group after a round of introductions. “I heard you might need access to a computer while you’re here.”

Sammy lifts his shoulder, showing off his backpack. “I’m dropping this gear first.”

“You, then?” Garrett says, nudging my arm. “I want to show you something.”

Clipper offers to take my bag up for me, so I stay with Garrett. The main hallway is fully carpeted, but he grips a corner and strips back the material to reveal a trapdoor. I follow him down a rickety set of stairs and into a basement filled with computers, radio scanners, map-strewn walls, and enough crumpled wads of paper to fill several books.

“Bea’s real picky about getting the stories right,” he explains, kicking some of the paper aside. “Says people count on the Harbinger and we can’t release anything but the finest. It would be irresponsible.”

I eye a bulky contraption in the corner where most of the papers seem to congregate.

“You guys print it right here?”

He nods.

“But you work for the Order.”

“I’ve had to do things I’m not proud of,” Garrett admits. “I cover for folks as often as I can, but sometimes there’s no alternative. If we want eyes on the most precious information, this is the way to do it. I have to be truly inside, and convincing.

“Bea started the Harbinger a few years back, before I even began this undercover stuff. She’s always been the one with initiative. Our dad worked for the Order in Haven, and she fought with him every damn day because she didn’t agree with his values. One day she took me and my brother and hopped a boat south without telling him. Dad’d probably call her a crazy conspiracy theorist if he saw what she was up to now. How she’s got me working inspections to pick up stories, Greg listening to radio scanners and hacking into any Order database he can manage. That or beat the living crap out of her. Moral codes aside, it’s probably good we ditched him. He wasn’t right in the head.”

Bea didn’t look much older than September when we were introduced. She’s probably been acting as a mother for more than half her life.

“Here.” Garrett flattens out one of the crumpled pieces of paper. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

My face fills the majority of the page. Alive and Well Despite Order Rumors, the headline reads.

“It’s great, isn’t it?”

I say nothing.

“The Order released some horrible photo of you the other day. Slumped against a wall. Stomach bleeding.”

Of course they did. My Forged counterpart may be dead, but the corpse could still serve a purpose.

“You don’t look like you took a bullet to the stomach,” Garrett adds.

“That’s because I didn’t.”

I could tell him about the Forgery, but it’s too much—too heavy, too complex, too personal. The image of Blaine, slack and lifeless on the Compound floor, flashes through my mind.

“It’s really good to meet you,” Garrett says. “I’ve been . . . Well, it makes me braver. Each day I have to go down to the docks and search boats, never knowing when I’m going to find something I might want to hide, not sure if I’m going to have to turn someone in. It’s easier to face that knowing you’re doing the same thing. That you’re my age. That you’re fighting it all despite the odds.”

“I’m not doing anything, Garrett. Your sister’s really good at spinning things to fit her needs.”

He glances at the wrinkled document.

“It’s not true, then? That you stole a vaccine from beneath Frank’s nose? That you outsmarted his troops in the Western Territory and then crossed the border despite his best man being on your tail?”