Forged(49)

“That’s exactly the kind of thing you should never say to her. Not unless you want to lose a limb.”

“Obviously. I’m not suicidal.”





TWENTY-FOUR


IN THE KITCHEN, THE WEST-FACING window frames a square of the Gulf like an oversized painting. I pause to watch the docks come to life.

“Did you eat?”

Emma.

She’s in the mouth of the kitchen, hair wet from a shower. She tosses a biscuit at me, and in the time it takes to catch the small meal, she’s joined me at the window. We stand there in silence, watching the gulls ride the wind along the shoreline.

“I don’t even know what I’m fighting for anymore,” she says. “I climbed the Wall for answers about the Heist, which we have, and you, who I’ve lost and can’t look at the same even if I hadn’t. So what now? What’s the point?”

“The point?” I stare at her out of the corner of my vision. “Emma, this is where we change everything. Claysoot, your mother, Kale. Don’t you want to get them out?”


“They’re safest where they are. It’s this world they should fear. Frank. Forgeries. A complete lack of freedom.”

“All the more reason to remove him from power.” She gives me a look that reeks of doubt. I don’t know—or like—this person she’s becoming. So pessimistic, so beaten. “And they aren’t free, Emma. They’re slaves.”

“To what?”

“The Heist. The Council. All those stupid rules they’ve created just to last another generation. We both hated the slatings. I don’t want Kale to have to deal with that when she’s older. I want her to be able to make her own choices. Remember the birds?”

She glares. “Do you?”

Of course. I might feel differently about her now, but the birds, that idea she planted in my mind of permanent pairs, is something I’ll never forget. Emma changed me. She changed me for the better.

A group of gulls soars past, heading for the white-specked shoreline. One lands on the section of roof right outside our window and starts pecking at the shingles as though he can drill his way into the first-floor rooms. I cup my hands at my mouth and though I expect nothing, I blow into my palms. The most feeble whistle cuts between us.

“Did you hear that?!”

I adjust my hands, try again. This time it’s unmistakable. Not as pure and crisp as the cries Bree can produce, but audible.

“Ha!” I push the window open and stick my torso through. Clinging to the top of the frame, I pull my feet after. The gulls are screeching and the water is lapping and the world smells like salt and hope and possibilities. We’re going to be okay. All of us. The Rebels, the Expats, our steadily shrinking team. My eyes stream from the fierce morning wind, but I stand on the shingled roof, my hands in position, whistling again and again to the loons that are nowhere to be found.

“Well, I’m glad one of us is happy with the way everything’s panned out,” Emma mutters.

I turn around, but she’s already gone. It’s Aiden in the window frame now, one hand tangled in Rusty’s copper coat. He refuses to move for me.

“Why’d you lie about Emma?” he asks.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not letting you in until you tell me.”

I want to be honest with the kid, but the whole of it will give him nightmares and leave me weak in the process. He puts a hand on the glass pane, threatening to lock me out.

“Aiden . . .”

He looks up at me. The wind whips through my shirt.

“Sometimes people lie because they’re trying to protect you. They’re trying to help.”

“But you made me think she was dead. All that did was hurt.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I say. “Really. I just didn’t think we’d see her again.”

He taps on the pane, sucks on his bottom lip. Then: “Will you play a game with me?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

He steps aside and lets me slip back into the house. I wish all negotiations were so simple.


After a few rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Aiden, I head downstairs. Harvey and Clipper have rewritten portions of the code and pinned them up on the far wall. Select letters and symbols are circled, lines connecting them like cobweb strands.

“Did you guys get any sleep?” I ask.

“Barely,” Clipper says through a yawn. “But it was worth it.”

“You found something?”

“Think so.” He taps one of the pinned-up comment blocks, and I step closer to read.

/* Master logic and Most Operations vary depending on Forgery’s Zoning (test group origins, location assignments, etc.). Corresponding Algorithms should Run accordingly, though some errors Triggered in early model Forgeries. Backtrack(?) catches and resets Forgery logic per K492 in these instances. */




“The Forgeries have specific zoning?”

“That part’s not important,” Harvey says. “But backtrack”—he taps the word with a forefinger—“is the fail-safe function. It’s embedded in the conditionals I was talking about last night. If it’s initiated, that’s the end of them.”

“Okay, so how do we initiate it?”