Sneak (7 page)

It was Morse code. The oldest code in the book. But who

would think to look among the rocks and the dirt?

It was a system Hailey and Peck had devised the night Logan

ran off, when they realized that even notes burning away on paper would be too much of a liability from then on. The game had

changed. Even a single visit between Hailey and Peck was now an impossible risk.

They set the first location together that night in November.

Each would be in the woods, they decided, but each after the first would be in a different spot. Keeping it the same would invite DOME to look too closely, and perhaps notice the code. So the

first location would be by the birch tree next to the wide stream, and the second location would be included in the message at the first. The third in the message at the second. And so on. In this way, Hailey’s nighttime strolls seemed arbitrary to anyone not reading the code. Pointless, even.

But this visit to the glade was anything but pointless.

Hailey translated the message in her head and smiled.

Hayes farm.

Here to stay.

Come with Logan

or not at all.

Next note at cave.

PS Make radio

3900kHz

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4

Erin had her jacket off, and it lay in a wet crumple on the floor. The room grew dim in the waning daylight, and she listened intently to each word Johnson said.

“They are fractured, and they are desperate. Throughout New

Chicago, the Markless community is reeling. We’ve cracked down on squatters; we’ve cracked down on loitering; we’ve even re-defined probable cause.”

“These orders have come straight from the top,” Mr. Arbitor

assured her.

“The top?” Erin asked.

He smiled. “With the Global Treaty in place, the game is

changing. Rapidly.”

“What do you mean, ‘in place’? I thought all that G.U. stuff

wasn’t happening until the spring, when Parliament could vote—”

“It wasn’t. But Chancellor Cylis and General Lamson are

pushing it through.”

Erin knew as well as anyone that the general in chief of the

American Union had always been a supporter of the European

Union’s chancellor. She knew that the two of them had been

advocating for a true Global Union ever since Lamson adopted

Cylis’s Mark program in America, just after Erin was born. Erin’s mother, a top economic software analyst on Barrier Street in

Beacon, had even helped facilitate the merger of the A.U. and

E.U. economies over the past decade. But Erin never could have imagined that the Global Treaty would pass through the American Parliament so quickly; it was a process she figured would take years.

“We are close, Erin, very close, now, to a single-nation world.

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Never again will we worry about another Total War. Never again will we suffer from fractured cultures or incompatible views.

Unity
, Erin. Complete unity is upon us.”

“This is classified, you understand, what we’re telling you.”

Johnson looked nervously between Erin and her father.

“Okay,” Erin said.

And Mr. Arbitor continued. “The American Union is merg-

ing, as we speak, with the European Union. They aren’t waiting for the new year. It’s happening now.”

“So then . . .”

“As a sign of good faith, Lamson is redoubling efforts to reach a 100 percent Marked populace. To show our solidarity, you understand, across the A.U., in support of Chancellor Cylis.”

“All right . . .”

“Well, Erin, your good friend Logan Langly has given us just

the excuse DOME needed in the New Chicago area to . . .
revise
our stance against the Markless. No more turning a blind eye.

They’re criminals, Erin. And they’re traitors. They’ve refused allegiance to Lamson and Cylis, and they are trying to convince others to turn against the government as well.”

“I
know
that, Dad. We all know it.”

Johnson nodded. “And yet, just six months ago, if we went

around locking up Markless, what would we get? Unrest. We’d get whining about rights and free speech and respect for dissent and all of that, even among the Marked communities. You know—the

idealists.”

“The idealists,” Mr. Arbitor growled.

“But the bigger the threat the Markless pose, the easier it is, from a public relations standpoint, to deal with them properly.”

Mr. Arbitor leaned forward. “The Dust is that threat. And

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now that we can tie them to Logan’s premeditated assault on a

Pledge Center nurse—which was nothing short of a direct and

aggressive attack against DOME’s New Chicago headquarters—

we have all the proof we need that Unmarked communities are a

hostile and dangerous public enemy. Logan’s escape was an opportunity for Lamson—and he’s taking it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Erin said. “You’re manipulating Logan’s

intentions to prove your point.”

“Oh, are we?” Mr. Arbitor sneered at his daughter now.

“We’ve been raiding Markless gangs for weeks,” Johnson said.

“Slog Row was just the beginning. We’ve swept all the surrounding neighborhoods. We’ve swept downtown New Chicago. We’ve

clamped down on every bit of known activity.”

“Good,” Erin said sincerely. “It’s about time, if you ask me.”

“But there’s more.” Mr. Arbitor smiled. “Because in every raid since the escape, we have made one thing perfectly clear: DOME’s priority is Logan. And any leads resulting in his capture will be rewarded accordingly.”

“We know there are more Markless out there in the shadows

and the alleys and the woods. But now all of them are the survi-vors of one raid or another. All of them have heard the terms of our deal.”

Mr. Arbitor nodded. “And today, one of them has come

for ward.”

“The tip sounds credible.”

“Logan has surfaced.”

“Our agents are standing by.”

“You’re not gonna hurt him,” Erin said. “Once you have him.

You’re not gonna hurt him, are you?”

“No,” Johnson said. “We would never hurt him.”

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“He’s not one of them,” Erin insisted. “He’s not Dust. He’s

Unmarked at the moment, I know, but that’s . . . temporary.

He’s isn’t Markless, Dad. Peck
tricked
him. I told you that—Peck tricked him into thinking DOME has Logan’s sister. It’s ridiculous, I know. It was just a trap, and Logan fell for it. But you can’t blame him for—”

“We’re not, Erin. We’re trying to help. That’s all.”

Erin sighed, and another chunk of slush fell to the floor.

“Okay. And what about finding the Dust?”

“Can’t pit Markless against the Dust,” Johnson said. “Not in the same way. All anyone knows about Logan is that he’s the miser who caused the raids. But the Dust . . . Dust is revered in this city. Peck’s a symbol to those Unmarked beggars. They’d never turn him in.”

“And anyway, he’s too smart. Peck’s suspected for years that

Markless are too desperate, as a group, to be trusted. He’s learned how to stay away from enemies and friends alike.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Erin asked. “Assuming your source

is right, when do we move in on Logan? How do I know you’re

not just gonna kill him? And how does any of this fit with finding Peck and the Dust?” She looked at the two men nervously, but Mr.

Arbitor was grinning now.

“Well, sweetie . . . that’s where you come in.”

5

Hailey arrived home just before sunset to the sounds of her mother in the bathroom upstairs, coughing and wheezing out the nanodust piled up in her lungs.

Growing up, Hailey’s mom was always home while Mr. Phoenix

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worked long hours as the head manager of a nanomaterials plant outside of town. But that changed when Mr. Phoenix passed away, and ever since, Hailey’s mom had made ends meet by working her own long hours on the same factory floor once managed by her

husband. Though Mrs. Phoenix never once complained, Hailey

knew that her mother’s job was a difficult one, made worse by the constant exposure to nanodust, which had given Mrs. Phoenix an awful, chronic cough.

Tonight, Hailey went straight to the kitchen sink, turned on

the faucet, and let the white noise of the running water drown out the spasms of her mother’s dry choking. She stood there for a full minute, hands braced against the countertop, just staring out the kitchen window. Finally she grabbed a pot and lit the stove to boil some water for lentils to eat with her mother. But when she put the pot on the stove and turned the faucet off, the familiar coughing again filled the empty, quiet space.

“My favorite,” Mrs. Phoenix said when she sat at the dinner table twenty minutes later. “Thank you, honey.” She chewed and swallowed gingerly. “So how’s Erin? Any news?”

“Erin’s good.” But Hailey put her spoon down. “Suspicious,

though. She’s careful, no doubt about it.”

Mrs. Phoenix nodded. “And how was your walk?”

“Refreshing,” Hailey said, and Mrs. Phoenix knew what that

meant. She extended her hand across the table and put it lightly on Hailey’s.

Each of them knew that these days, anything they said might

very well be used against them, given Hailey’s connections with
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the Dust. They’d never found evidence of bug tape (an electronic adhesive used to record and transmit sound to DOME’s headquarters), but their house was dusty enough that a bit of surveillance powder was always a possibility. So Hailey and her mom had long ago decided that their mother-daughter conversations were best kept as vague as possible, and it was a rule they’d yet to break.

“Thanks, Mom.” Hailey said, smiling just slightly. “Hey, I’m

starting a new sculpture tonight.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great! It’s been a little while.”

“Yeah,” Hailey said. “Figured it’s time to get back into it.”

Hailey was a gifted artist, particularly with sculpture. She could turn garbage into anything, and this was good, since in Hailey’s neighborhood, garbage was just about all she had to work with.

“Any idea what you’re going to make?”

“Yes.” Hailey winked. “But you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I’m very proud of you,” Mrs. Phoenix said, unable to say more for fear of who might be listening. “You’re doing just great. I want you to know that.”

“I’m not sure I am, Mom.” Hailey sighed. “My team’s down for

the count, and I still don’t see a way not to lose.”

“You’ll find it,” Mrs. Phoenix said.

But Hailey shook her head. She no longer believed that was

true. And in her frustration, Hailey decided finally to break her own household rule. “DOME’s winning,” she said. Then she

laughed, and her mom watched wide-eyed as Hailey leaned far

back and said loudly into the powdery air, “You hear that, DOME?

You’re winning.”

Mrs. Phoenix couldn’t stop coughing after that.

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