Present Day

THE CAR SMELLED LIKE DAYS-OLD french fries and drove like it was slouching toward its millionth mile. The engine clogged and churned pitifully each time I sped up, and the brakes screeched as I slowed. It did have a full tank of gas, but that was only because I’d shown Roman how to use the motel’s garden hose to siphon from the other car in the parking lot.

This was a routine I knew. Find a car. Siphon gas. Change the plates. I latched onto the familiar steps, because I didn’t want to think. Anything was better than mentally replaying what I had seen on the television.

Me, killing that Defender. Me, sending out a bolt of bright electricity that ripped through the speakers and tech booth, making all of them explode in turn.

I’d been hoping one of the reporters on hand had captured the attack on camera. At least two of them had, but both videos were set from behind the Defender who had approached me with the gun. Only someone recording from my right would have captured what actually happened.

I couldn’t shake it, even as I stalked down the interstate to retrieve the truck’s license plate and swap it with the one on the gray sedan we were taking. Of all the cameras there rolling…there had only been that one angle?

By the time I had the license plate in place, Priyanka and Roman were already in the car, the supplies in the trunk along with the water bottles and snacks Roman had selected from the vending machine.

No one said a word as we drove east using the car’s dashboard compass. It was at least an hour before we knew where we were: Nebraska. Over a thousand miles from the attack in Pennsylvania, which had occurred three days ago.

The men had held us for three days while the rest of the country, the UN, its peacekeepers, the Defenders, and local police searched for me. While they sent out drones to scan blocks of cities and highways for any sign of me. While my face was plastered on newscasts and, I assumed, on the few social media sites that the interim government had approved access to.

The search is still on for the Psi responsible for the deaths of seven people….

It was another hour before cars started appearing, cities began sprouting up, and the highway widened around us. I felt like an ant caught under glass; unable to move and slowly being burned alive by the sunlight.

I swallowed hard, reaching for the water bottle in the cup holder. Roman opened the cap and passed it over. I drank it down, crushing the plastic as I finished, but it did nothing to ease the ache in my throat.

“Are we going to talk about this, or are we just going to ignore the fact you’re a wanted fugitive?” Priyanka asked from where she’d sprawled across the backseat. “I’m fine with either, I just want to make sure that we’re all on the same page. Also, I’m bored.”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m glad you have the luxury of being bored by this situation.”

“We do need to discuss a plan,” Roman said, almost apologetically, “if only to get through the zone crossing. Did your friend give you any sort of way to get…wherever we’re going?”

“Yeah, and by the way, what friend was that?” Priyanka asked. “The one who is on the Psi Council, or…who were the others? Stewart and…Ruby? Was that her name?”

I shut that down quickly. “It was Charles.”

Priyanka knew Ruby’s name. After the media storm following the camp closures and, later, her disappearance, everyone knew Ruby’s name and that she was wanted by the government. This wasn’t an innocent question.

I bit the inside of my mouth to keep from saying anything else. After everything, the lies stacking on lies, it couldn’t be that simple. That obvious. My personal history was out there, along with the knowledge I’d been close to Ruby and Liam. It wasn’t totally unreasonable for them to assume that I was secretly in contact with my friends and might turn to them in a time of need.

Still, the thought was like cold fingers closing over the back of my neck. That would mean, what? That they’d set everything up to get the wheels moving in this direction? That they were just taking advantage of the situation we were in now?

Shit. And here I am taking them right where they want to go.

There were two options in front of me. The first one was to get the cell phone with the evidence on the kidnappers back from Priyanka, and then, once we were in Virginia, make a run for it. It would avoid exposing the existence of the safe place, along with everyone in it, to harm.

As for the second…There was a way I could use Haven to trap Roman and Priyanka without ever bringing them to the house’s secure location.

When I’d pieced together my plan in the motel, the second option had seemed like a fallback—the thought of even bringing them near Haven made my skin crawl—but now I wasn’t so sure. If Roman and Priyanka were interested in finding Ruby and Liam, my friends wouldn’t just want to know about it, they’d need to.

Playing the situation out like that was tricky, but I could control and limit those risks as long as I was careful.

I could do this. I could. They’d backed me into a corner, but they didn’t realize I’d already walked them into another one.

A mile up the road, the electronic billboard flashed on. Static swept over it as it received its transmission. When the image finally snapped into place, it wasn’t an ad or traffic alert.

It was my face. Fourteen feet high and glowing. The headshot slid across the screen, allowing red flashing text to appear alongside it.

My foot slipped onto the brake, jerking us forward in our seats. A car speeding up behind me honked, swerving to pass.

“Um,” Priyanka said mildly. “I can’t say that’s your best photo. You look like you want to punch someone.”

They’d used my Psi ID photo. The one they’d specifically told me not to smile for. The result was a mean mug shot that Vida had found so funny she’d printed and framed it.

Not so funny now.

One mile down the road, the next billboard flickered on. IF YOU SEE THIS PSI…

With the flashing distraction of the billboards, the new power sources registered in my mind slowly, quickly growing like a swarm of bees. The vibration of their electricity was muted compared to the nearby car engines, but harmonized with them in a way that set my hair on end.

“Suzume—” Roman began.

“I see it,” I choked out.

The cars a few miles up were slowing, bottlenecking as the highway narrowed down to one lane. Just beyond them, red and blue lights flashed. Several uniformed police officers and Defenders walked from car to car, opening trunks. Overhead, making slow passes with their cameras and scanners, were drones. All state-of-the-art technology commissioned by the United Nations, as one of their parting gifts.

I sucked in a hard breath, holding it as I cut off the car in the next lane and blindly took the nearest exit.

“Definitely not going to raise any red flags with that move,” Priyanka said, hanging on to one of the car’s grab handles.

I accelerated onto the surface street, making a hard right on red without looking. Someone honked, but the sound faded under the sensation of something electronic tailing us in the sky.

Shit, I thought, picking up speed with another turn, narrowly missing a cyclist about to enter the crosswalk. I cringed, but the drone was still in the rearview mirror.

“Priyanka, can you just—?” Roman began.

“Already on it,” she said. I’d thought she’d tossed the burner she’d broken apart, but she’d only stuffed the pieces into her jacket. She quickly reassembled it, leaving out the SIM card, then reached into her pocket, to retrieve the other phone. The one with the photos.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked sharply.

“Relax,” she said. “I’m taking a small part from this one to modify the other one. The phone’s storage and your pictures won’t be impacted.”

I wanted to lunge back between the seats and pry the phone out of her hand, but she’d already flicked out one piece and inserted it into the other.

“I swear to God, if you mess up that phone…” I began, gripping the wheel.

“I’m not messing anything up except that drone,” Priyanka said, her voice calm. “The phone is going to emit a low-grade signal that’ll scramble the drone’s feed before it can transmit its footage. We’re now a permanent blind spot, as long as I can keep this phone charged. Same with any highway cameras—it’ll make them blink as we drive underneath.” She turned in her seat, giving the hovering black device a wave. “See? Farewell, drone.”

I swung the car into the first deserted strip mall I found, watching in no small amazement as the drone peeled off, turning back in the direction of the highway. We jerked to a hard stop behind a shuttered dry cleaner. I yanked on the parking brake and turned off the engine.

I hadn’t even thought of the newly installed highway cameras we’d find along the way to Virginia. They were a new security measure, meant to help prevent smuggling and crime. They were also programmed to flag any car where the passengers seemed to be intentionally altering or masking their faces. A very useful thing…when you were not the one being tracked.

“You’re sure we’re okay?” I’d seen other Greens pull miracle tech results from a few wires and an empty tuna can, but this was wild, even to me.

Priyanka pretended to look offended, pressing a hand to her chest.

I don’t know why I looked at Roman for confirmation when he had been just as dishonest as her. Maybe because if there was one single thing I believed about them, it was that they would never risk each other’s lives or safety if they didn’t have to. They had every reason to want to escape the camera’s eyes, too.

“It works,” he assured me. “The drones will just signal that they’re experiencing a routine error, and the highway cameras won’t know to switch on to take the photo or video to begin with.”

Breath fired in and out of me, cranking up my pulse. I leaned forward to rest my forehead against the wheel. I shut my eyes, trying to bury the memory of the billboard in that darkness. When I opened them again, Priyanka was holding a plastic grocery bag in front of me. “Please don’t throw up on the upholstery. We have to share this space.”

“Priyanka!” Roman said.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t thinking it, too,” she said.

I pushed her hand away.

“I’m—” Angry. Confused. Scared. So many different terrible things at once. But I didn’t want to give any of those feelings power by acknowledging them, so I changed the subject. “I’m fine. How did they know to look for me out here?”

“It is an enormous search field…” Roman said, smoothing a hand back over his mussed hair. “They’ve likely been expanding it out from Pennsylvania each day.”

I forced myself to sit up, even as feeling was slow to return to my body.

“Can you tell us where we’re going?” he asked. “If they’re checking the highways, we can just make it a point to avoid them.”

No we couldn’t. Not the whole way. “Virginia. I’m taking us to a safe place there. Somewhere off the grid.”

A place where I’d be able to send the photos of the kidnappers to Vida and Chubs, and start piecing together the connection between them and the bomb.

Priyanka leaned forward between the seats. “I like the sound of that.”

I hated to give them even that much information up front, but sharing some small bit of information might make them think I was starting to trust them. Besides, even if I did get the chance to run from them, Virginia was a big state. They could spend years driving around, searching aimlessly.

“So we are going to have to pass through a zone crossing,” Roman said. “How do you want to do this?”

It didn’t matter how we approached, we’d have to cross at least one zone checkpoint. We were currently in Zone 3. The boundary for Zone 1 ran along the western edge of Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Virginia, with Virginia also serving as the southern boundary for Zone 2, which began at North Carolina and stretched down to Texas.

The zones had been important in the early days after the United Nations’ intervention, mostly for administrative purposes. They dictated how supplies were divided and organized, and allowed for smaller, more manageable areas for the peacekeepers to monitor. Now we were only months off from our first real election in more than five years, and the dismantling of the zones would probably be one of the first items the newly elected Congress voted on.

It was impossible to cross zone lines off-the-books, so to speak. All the access roads were blockaded. Everyone crossed using one of many checkpoints along the major highways and interstates. License plates were photographed and cars were scanned and put into the system to keep track of who was coming and going.

The thought made me turn toward the others.

“How did the kidnappers do it?” I asked, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. “How did the truck get from Zone One to Zone Three without raising any red flags? Even if it didn’t go through a scanner, there should have been a visual cargo search.”

“I wish I could tell you that everyone loves rules as much as you do,” Priyanka said. “Except more people seem to love bribes.”

Bribing wasn’t an option for us. Even with the cash, I couldn’t risk being ID’d. They’d just installed facial-recognition cameras at all the checkpoints, and I had no doubt that the UN peacekeepers who monitored the flow of traffic were stopping people for more thorough checks as they looked for me. The fugitive.

Roman glanced at me. “We could try going on foot?”

“No,” I said, bracing my elbow against the door. “I know another way.”

I didn’t want to do this—it was selfish, not to mention criminal, to reveal this to people without a security clearance—but we didn’t have the time to wander and look for a gap in their fencing or security monitoring. I’d only found out about this loophole by accident, when we’d been forced to change our travel plans from Zone 1 to 3 because a group of Liberty Watch supporters had barricaded the main checkpoint. Agent Cooper had let it slip.

“There’s an unmonitored side route,” I admitted. “The government sometimes uses it to bypass traffic or backups at the checkpoints.”

A state route that ran along Lake Erie in New York and Pennsylvania. The government’s transportation team had planned to reopen it to the public for lake access and to ease some of the traffic from the main checkpoint. They set up smart visual-ID cameras and everything to monitor the flow of traffic during phase one of Setting America Back on the Right Route! But, at the last minute, the Canadian government had lodged a formal complaint—they’d said the cameras, which faced the lake, could be used to monitor Canadian ships in Canadian waters, and violated their citizens’ right to privacy. They claimed that it could be considered domestic espionage, given their role in the United Nations.

The government had left the cameras up for later use, but they weren’t turned on. The interstate wasn’t monitored.

“Quelle surprise,” Priyanka said.

“How frequently is it used?” Roman asked. “Would anyone think you’d try to use it?”

Those were all good questions that I had no real answers to. “I don’t know. I think we should try it and see.”

It wasn’t a good option, no. But it was the only halfway-decent one I could come up with, and if it was a choice between that and nothing it would have to be enough.