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Authors: Mary E. Pearson
Tags: Fiction, General, Science-Fiction, adventure, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Survival Stories, Survival, Identity, Bioethics
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planet."
I don't even own the clothes on my back. "You think there's time to run?" I ask.
"Where would we run? They know this territory better than we do. And we don't know what they are. We don't even know if they're people."
"They have legs like people."
"And Dot had a head like a person."
They are nearly within rock-throwing distance now, and their black silhouettes are beginning to take form. There are definitely five of them. They begin to slow and spread out across the road. An attack strategy? I move in front of Kara and wave the rock over my head. "You Non-pacts have permits to be out here?" I yell. Permits? But at least they have stopped coming toward us.
They snicker between themselves and then the one in the center says to the others, "You hear that, boys? Mr. Fancy Pants thinks we don't bathe and have purrrr mits." The others laugh and make rude gestures like they're picking lice from their bodies. He takes a step forward. He is no longer smiling or laughing. "We ain't no Non-pacts, Fancy Boy. We's pirates, and you's on our ocean."
Pirates? Land pirates? Dot didn't tell us about those.
They begin inching closer. They are thin and wiry. I outweigh each one by at least forty pounds, but there are five of them, and they look mean. As mean as any of the thugs in the old neighborhood. My brother always warned me: no eye contact, look away when you meet more trouble than you can handle--it was small-time street survival--and then run like hell. Neither of those strategies will help me now. I've already stared into the leader's beady black eyes. He wants trouble, and I am not sure any kind of strategy will work on someone who thinks we are in the middle of an ocean. His ocean.
My mind races. What did Dot say, the migration something? I try to sound angry. "We're from the Office of Migration Security." They stop advancing and begin laughing among themselves. Everything I say seems to amuse them.
"And we're in a hurry ." Kara takes several steps in front of me. "If you move your skinny butts down that embankment right now and save us the trouble of frying and hauling you, we'll call it a day. I'll count to three. One..." She moves her hand to her side where the broken branch is bulging beneath her shirt.
The pirates look from one to another. The leader in the middle puts his hands up in a stopping motion and smiles. "Now, let's not be hasty. All we's wanting is a little grub, mates, for--"
" Two..."
The short one on the end yells and stumbles backward, and they all scramble. They race down the embankment, two of them tripping and rolling most of the way down, their thin black coats flapping like broken wings. They disappear into the cover of the forest.
"Run!" Kara says. And we do. We don't know how long it will be before they regroup and realize they've been duped.
One mile. Two. Our breaths quickly become uneven and hoarse. We are not used to running distances, but Kara and I keep pace with each other and never slow to look back.
Chapter 18
The alley is putrid. Water trickles somewhere in the dark. Our footsteps echo on the cobblestones. The only other sound is the occasional rustle of something behind the mounds of trash that are piled against the black buildings on either side of us. The street beneath us glistens with broken slivers of moon. It's the only light we have. As we pass dark doorways and windows, I sense that we're being watched.
Neither Kara nor I speak. This is not the kind of place to draw attention to yourself. Even Kara, who has never been near a neighborhood like this, seems to know that. Where has Dot sent us? Is this a trap? Maybe there's a bounty for Escapees like us? Dot's directions said to go to the end of the alley and wait, but ahead of us is a dead end. No escape. It was still light out when she gave us directions. Following them in the dark is an act of sheer will. We reach the back wall of the alley, and I squeeze Kara's hand. We face stacks of old boxes overflowing with
I don't even own the clothes on my back. "You think there's time to run?" I ask.
"Where would we run? They know this territory better than we do. And we don't know what they are. We don't even know if they're people."
"They have legs like people."
"And Dot had a head like a person."
They are nearly within rock-throwing distance now, and their black silhouettes are beginning to take form. There are definitely five of them. They begin to slow and spread out across the road. An attack strategy? I move in front of Kara and wave the rock over my head. "You Non-pacts have permits to be out here?" I yell. Permits? But at least they have stopped coming toward us.
They snicker between themselves and then the one in the center says to the others, "You hear that, boys? Mr. Fancy Pants thinks we don't bathe and have purrrr mits." The others laugh and make rude gestures like they're picking lice from their bodies. He takes a step forward. He is no longer smiling or laughing. "We ain't no Non-pacts, Fancy Boy. We's pirates, and you's on our ocean."
Pirates? Land pirates? Dot didn't tell us about those.
They begin inching closer. They are thin and wiry. I outweigh each one by at least forty pounds, but there are five of them, and they look mean. As mean as any of the thugs in the old neighborhood. My brother always warned me: no eye contact, look away when you meet more trouble than you can handle--it was small-time street survival--and then run like hell. Neither of those strategies will help me now. I've already stared into the leader's beady black eyes. He wants trouble, and I am not sure any kind of strategy will work on someone who thinks we are in the middle of an ocean. His ocean.
My mind races. What did Dot say, the migration something? I try to sound angry. "We're from the Office of Migration Security." They stop advancing and begin laughing among themselves. Everything I say seems to amuse them.
"And we're in a hurry ." Kara takes several steps in front of me. "If you move your skinny butts down that embankment right now and save us the trouble of frying and hauling you, we'll call it a day. I'll count to three. One..." She moves her hand to her side where the broken branch is bulging beneath her shirt.
The pirates look from one to another. The leader in the middle puts his hands up in a stopping motion and smiles. "Now, let's not be hasty. All we's wanting is a little grub, mates, for--"
" Two..."
The short one on the end yells and stumbles backward, and they all scramble. They race down the embankment, two of them tripping and rolling most of the way down, their thin black coats flapping like broken wings. They disappear into the cover of the forest.
"Run!" Kara says. And we do. We don't know how long it will be before they regroup and realize they've been duped.
One mile. Two. Our breaths quickly become uneven and hoarse. We are not used to running distances, but Kara and I keep pace with each other and never slow to look back.
Chapter 18
The alley is putrid. Water trickles somewhere in the dark. Our footsteps echo on the cobblestones. The only other sound is the occasional rustle of something behind the mounds of trash that are piled against the black buildings on either side of us. The street beneath us glistens with broken slivers of moon. It's the only light we have. As we pass dark doorways and windows, I sense that we're being watched.
Neither Kara nor I speak. This is not the kind of place to draw attention to yourself. Even Kara, who has never been near a neighborhood like this, seems to know that. Where has Dot sent us? Is this a trap? Maybe there's a bounty for Escapees like us? Dot's directions said to go to the end of the alley and wait, but ahead of us is a dead end. No escape. It was still light out when she gave us directions. Following them in the dark is an act of sheer will. We reach the back wall of the alley, and I squeeze Kara's hand. We face stacks of old boxes overflowing with
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