The Line Read online

  I push my board into a rise, jerk the board over my head, and turn off the engine. The flip is perfectly timed. As I sail over Jules’ head, I grab her shoulders to help direct my descent. I want to land beside her. Twisting my body, I place myself in between her and the rock wall then turn my engine back on at exactly the right moment. I fall to one knee when I land, lowering my center of gravity to keep my balance. The rock wall is rushing by my face but I barely notice how close it is.

  I just completed a half-twist flip on the most dangerous road! My mind’s stillness washes away as I yell out in triumph. There’s no way Jules can top that. Still kneeling on my ride, I perform a congratulatory 360. The edge of my board pushes her to the side. Not enough to put her over, just enough to remind her of the steep drop.

  Catching her balance, Jules cocks her head to one side. She has to admit defeat.

  Heart pounding, head reeling from the rush, I wait for her to glide to a stop. But Jules is still watching me, trying to figure out how I completed that trick. Even I’m shaking my head in disbelief at my own daring and stupidity. I should have crashed into the wall or sailed over the edge, but I survived.

  Jules suddenly accelerates. Confused, I watch as she looks back at me, gauging the distance between our boards, the cliff’s edge and the rock wall. My elation crumbles to dust when I realize she’s going to retaliate. She’s waiting for a part of the road that doesn’t twist so much, a place where she’ll feel safe enough to perform whatever stunt is buzzing through her head.

  Sweet sky! She’s going to kill herself to win.

  When did she get this reckless? I should turn off my board and end the battle…but I really deserve this victory. Luckily for her, my original plan is about to come to fruition. The next tight curve will take us into a near 180. Easing into it, I offer her a mock salute as I turn on my helmet’s sunglass feature.

  The harsh morning sun shines directly into her eyes. Blinded, she jerks to the left. The wrenching movement sends her dangerously close to the cliff’s edge. Terrified she’s going to go over, I try to grab her as I race by. My hands slip past her and I lose my balance. Immediately sensing my uncertain footing, my board decelerates. Praying that Jules is still on the road, I bring it to a stop and quickly turn around.

  Twenty feet back, the front of her board hanging over the edge, she’s tearing off her helmet and swearing. Her long brown hair falls down her back, gold highlights glittering in the morning sun; her amber eyes sparkle with excitement.

  “Daryl, you fucker!”

  Sighing in relief, I put one foot back on solid ground. My synapses are buzzing from the rush, making it difficult to focus, but she seems to have enjoyed her brush with death. I take off my helmet to get a better look at her. “Are you all right?”

  “It was a road battle!” Jules laughs at my concern, feigning casualness as she coasts up to me. “I should have remembered how the sun works with that curve. Besides, I’m too experienced to fly.”

  “You’re sure? It would have been a long drop.”

  “Give over. I’m okay.” She can’t quite meet my gaze so she pretends to check her board for scratches. “Remember what you always used to say? ‘Live near death or walk dead in life’. According to you, there’s no in between.”

  “I used to say a lot of things.” I’m still worried about her so I don’t bother telling her I was quoting a song that I’d heard in H Sector.

  “Then what are you doing next to the cliffs?” Her challenge echoes with nervous energy. “What was with that flip? You aren’t here for the view.”

  My concern is quickly replaced with irritation. Leave it to Jules to use insight to deflect from her own fear. It’s time to change the subject. “Where’d you get the board?”

  “The Court,” she replies. Crossing her arms triumphantly over her chest she waits for my astonished reaction. “It’s the newest model. After the crew’s last heist Wulff painted it for me.”

  My stomach flips when I hear that name.

  Wulff is a member of Heathcliff Jackson’s crew, the only people what have a line to the Court. Before I went into lock-up I was part of that operation. Jules just talked about him as though they were working together and it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve been replaced.

  Shocked, I openly stare at Jules. She must have finally proven herself. Jack wouldn’t recruit anyone that he didn’t trust to get the job done.

  Catching my expression, Jules’ bravado falters. “Shit. I’m such an idiot.”

  “That’s highly unlikely if Jack is working with you.” Trying to hide my displeasure, I turn my gaze towards the horizon. I knew they’d have to replace me but I never thought that Sabine Jules would be on their list. Considering how I feel about her, I’m somewhat insulted. “Congrats. They’re a great team.”

  “The best,” Jules agrees.

  I could ask how Jack’s crew is doing, but the question sticks in my craw. That life is over; I shouldn’t prolong the death throws. Opening a small pack on my hip, I pull out a nutrient bar and offer my replacement a bite.

  “Are you kidding?” She takes a small block of chocolate from a cooling bag in her back sack.

  Mouth watering, I stare at the chocolate’s dark splendour. Being part of the only crew with a line to the Court has more than just financial advantages. It’s the only place you can find chocolate. The crew makes half of its credit from stealing the dark, creamy candy.

  Jules breaks off a piece and throws it to me. I catch it reverently. Biting into the bittersweet paradise, I savour the hypnotizing flavour. It melts in my mouth, coating my tongue and making my taste-buds hum. In the Prison, if you were fed at all, everything tasted like paste. Nutrient bars aren’t much of a step up. I don’t want to swallow but my reflexes take over; the rich decadence slides down my throat.

  I never knew the meaning of the word satisfaction until this moment.

  Jules is studying me compassionately. She has no idea how uncomfortable her sympathy is making me, but she’s never been one to hide how she feels. Trying to ignore her, I sit down on my board. She follows my lead and we silently sweat away in the hot desert sun.

  It’s plain as day that my appearance is scaring the shit out of Jules. The Prison has a reputation. Nobody comes back unscathed, nobody gets out whole, no Criminal gets back in the game. I’m not physically scarred, like some Hack’s, but anyone can see that I’m half-dead.

  “You’re not looking good, Daryl,” Jules says. Sipping water from her canteen she offers me a swig..

  I wave it off, gesturing to my own. “Surprised to see me on the roads?” I ask, wiping sweat off my face.

  “I’m surprised to see you anywhere,” she admits. Something like shame passes over her face but she quickly covers it with a half-hearted smile. Knowing full well that I stole my ride from an unsuspecting citizen, she shoots my board a significant look. Stealing a board isn’t considered real action, but its more than half-deads should be able to do. “You just got out.”

  “I’m just a Hack taking a ride.”

  “That’s not what people are saying.” She’s suddenly agitated, chewing her hair and fidgeting with her canteen. “You need to know that.”

  Made wary by her sudden change in demeanour, I give her my full attention. “What does it matter what people are saying?”

  “It matters what Madman thinks,” Jules replies, suddenly jumping to her feet and moving away from me. “He’s got people looking for you…and he’s offering big rewards.”

  Madman. That’s a name I wasn’t expecting to hear. A familiar voice of dread whispers in the back of my head.

  Madman isn’t one person. He’s an organization, a business if you will. Generations before I was born the first Madman, Tobias Hansen, died and left a giant vacuum in the Criminal power system. Those who worked for him had to make a new niche for themselves. Some didn’t like the idea of starting from scratch and decided to keep the idea of Madman alive. It took some doing but they found a new leader, one w
ho was known by Hansen’s associates, and he took over the business.

  It’s been like that ever since. One leader dies and the four higher-ups, the Generals, choose a new one. Gordon Harcourt assumed the throne about six years ago. Before I went into lock-up his administration had grown to include nearly a third of the Criminals in the City. They give up their freedom to live under Madman’s protection. It’s probably the most comfortable cage the Criminal world has to offer.

  I can’t imagine what Madman wants with me and I don’t want to know. I used to be an independent, talent for hire. Independents steer clear of organizations. We value our freedom above everything else. I’ve never had anything to do with Madman and I’ve never wanted anything to do with him. But if he’s hungry enough to offer payment to bring me in, it won’t be long before someone tries to take me down.

  Jules sink into an offensive stance. Unconcerned, I study her anxious yet determined expression. She’s going to try and bring me in. Like I said, you’re either crazy or desperate when you come out here alone. It looks like I was wrong about her—she’s both.

  “Big rewards,” I echo, amused. I don’t bother getting up. “One wrong step, softy, and I’ll kill you.”

  My nonchalance has the desired effect. Uncertainty plays across her face as she reconsiders my ability to defend myself. The problem with desperate people, however, is that they’ll rush into suicidal battles.

  It’s hope that will make her do it. Hope that Luck will be on her side, hope that she’ll catch me off guard, hope that the two years in lock-up have weakened my fighting skills.

  Staring at each other across the thick silence, we wait for someone to make the first move—this only ends with one of us dead.

  A tour bus carrying citizens comes around the curve. Our little moment has ended…for now. Gesturing angrily and honking his horn, the driver yells at us through the bus’ thick glass. We’re right in the middle of the narrow road and he won’t be able to continue unless we move. As Jules slowly relaxes, I get to my feet. Our little drama can wait.

  Just as we get out boards out of the way, a silent helicopter turns its siren on above us. A fucking sweep.

  a nasal voice orders over an intercom.

  Jules growls angrily when she realizes the Cops are here. “ Stupid tourists on their way to the Springs. Desert-humpers always trail them.”

  I grunt my agreement and suddenly Jules and I are companions. Even Criminals who despise each other feel a sense of camaraderie when a Cop is around. We’ll finish our discussion later.

  Bleary-eyed people in casual civilian clothes trickle off the bus. They’re black fingernails identify them as C Sector citizens—the Moles. They work in the underbellies of the system, keeping the sewage running and the water clean. A plague ran rampant a decade ago, killing a quarter of their population, so they have to work all hours. Most have the pasty-faced, bewildered look of people who haven’t seen the sun for days, maybe weeks. I know how that feels.

  , the nasal voice commands.

  Jules and I put our backs against the cliff wall and wait for the desert-humpers to jump out of the carrier. As expected, black ropes are thrown out of the copter onto the dusty road. Four Cops repel down dramatically, but Jules and I aren’t impressed. Displays like this are for the citizens. When they land they start herding the Moles around, pushing them roughly against the rock wall. Jules folds her hand into a fist.

  Smiling, I consider letting her hang herself, but I wouldn’t respect myself if I did. “Don’t give them an excuse.”

  “What…me?” She bats her long eyelashes innocently. “Are you suggesting that I have a history of violence?”

  The Cops wear their standard black body armour and black helmets with mirrored visors. The black is more for effect than practicality. It’s supposed to inspire fear and respect. To most people they all look the same; it takes a trained eye to see the differences in their uniforms.

  Glancing over at one, I notice that this Cop, taller than the others, has a sleeker look. His armour and helmet are higher quality; his equipment is made for hunting in the City, not the burn of the Desert; his stance betrays a restless need for the chase. There’s no way this Cop makes a living as a desert-humper, exploiting tourists out here in the sand and heat.

  My limbs go numb with terror. I’m staring at a full-fledged bounty hunter.

  He’s a rare sight out here in the Desert and the last thing I wanted to come up against. Incredible fighters, equipped for taking down the hardest Criminals, bounty hunters are eminent Cops.

  The last time I saw one he was throwing me into the Prison.

  One of the desert-humpers is studying Jules and me: we obviously didn’t come off the tour bus. Hailing the other Cops, she points us out to her comrades. Jules begins her best ‘daddy-doesn’t-know-I-took-the-board-out’ act. I marvel at her acting talents as she rolls her eyes and sighs. The spoiled brat shtick has gotten her out of more than one scrape in the past. I, however, am a terrible actor. Nervously running a hand over my face, I do my best not to stare at the hunter.

  The Cops are arguing amongst themselves. None of them want trouble with any Court citizens, which is exactly what Jules looks like in her red suit. But the hunter’s presence is making them bold. Finally, two of the desert-humpers walk to the other side of the line.

  “They probably think we’re playing hooky from a Court training session. You’re lucky you look so young.”

  Jules is teasing me, but I’m too anxious to respond. My silence gives her reason to study my worried expression. She shoots me a look of concern.

  <750 credits,> a bored voice says through a helmet mike.

  Tourists make easy targets so they’re asking for a toll. It’s typical of desert-humpers to harass citizens who are probably on their first vacation in years. Standard practice but hard on the credit.

  “Bloody Cops always manage to get a part of my pay,” Jules grumbles, pulling out her balance. “I should make them panic and tell them my father is a judge.”

  The fact that they’re looking for credits helps me relax. Whether or not they think we’re Court citizens they’ll still want their payment, which is good. I can authorize the credit transfer and get out of here.

  Reaching into my leg pack for my credit balance, I search for the familiar metal disk, but somehow it eludes me. The pouch is small; I shouldn’t have trouble finding the balance. Doing my best not to panic, I start pulling everything out. Once it’s empty, I realize with mounting anxiety that my credit balance in missing. I could turn all my other packs inside out, but my psychic talent is letting me know that it isn’t with me.

  For a moment, I wonder if Jules stole it. It would be an easy way to get rid of me. Cops will throw you in for anything, even if they think you’re from the Court. Necessity makes them cutthroats and mercenaries. They get paid for every offender they deliver to the Prison; the higher the charge against the offender the higher the pay. Not having my credit balance isn’t a huge crime, but it’s enough. It’s unlikely, however, that Jules would pull something dirty. In my haste to get out here, I probably left the bloody thing next to my bed.

  Warily watching the hunter pacing back and forth, I decide that I only have one option.

  “I’m not going back to the Prison,” I whisper to Jules.

  She cocks her head to one side. “Daryl, what’s going on?”

  “I can’t find my credit balance.”

  “They think we’re from the Court,” she says. “ They’ll let you go.”

  “Wishful thinking,” I reply. Hoping not to draw any attention, I casually turn my glider back on. It will take a few moments to confirm it’s operational, but I don’t know if I can wait for the reassuring beep. “You know how it works.”

  “You can’t run from a toll in the desert.” Jules is suddenly alert. “Besides, they’re desert-humpers. They’re not going to have anything that can bind you for long.”

  �
�There’s a bounty hunter.”

  “Where…?” Jules looks them all over but she can’t tell the difference. Shaking her head violently, she puts a hand on my arm. “ If you’re right we’ll figure it out.”

  “The hunter is on the far right, hanging back a little…watch him when I break.”

  “Break…? Daryl, you can’t do this!”

  I fix her with a desperate, stony glare. There’s no way someone who’s never been in lock-up can understand. That place guts you, turns you inside out, and scrapes out the carcass. I’d rather fall to my death than go back.

  I glance down the line of Mole tourists. One desert-humper is making sure no one makes a false move while the other two place credit balances in transfer machines. The small, black boxes make annoying blipping noises and a green light flashes to signal that the credits have gone through. Ten more people until they reach me. The bounty hunter watches the process, obviously bored out of his mind.

  It’s now or never.

  I’m terrified but I have to run. If I don’t, I’m done for. Staring hard at the red dust on my boots, that familiar stillness creeps through my mind and body again. I feel distant, like I’m made of stone instead of flesh. Detached, dull, remote…

  Staring intently at the vast expanse of the Desert, I put on my helmet and race for the cliff’s edge.

  The Cops shout at me to stop. They weren’t ready for a chase. A part of my mind tells me that the bounty hunter is on my tail, breathing down my neck, but my psychic talent tells me he was just as surprised as the rest of the Cops. He isn’t anywhere near me. In a few seconds, I reach the edge of the cliff.

  There’s no time to hesitate. I launch myself over the side.

  Free-falling down the side of an eight hundred foot cliff, guts churning and eyes watering, I close my eyes and listen to the voice that isn’t scared of anything.