Jay Budgett - The Indigo Thief

“Well for starters, you tried to kill us all.”

I nodded—it was a fair point.

“Also,” she continued, “you muttered ‘Terrorists. The Lost Boys are terrorists, Charlie!’ in your sleep.”

They knew I was on to them. There was no time to play games. “Why don’t you just kill me, then?” I asked. “Like all those other people?”

Bertha threw up her hands. “For Christ’s sake, I’ve been TRYING! It’s the damn management around here…” She pointed to my shirt. “I see you’ve been worrying your little skirt about it.”

Crap. I was still wearing nothing but the long shirt.

“Maybe try some pants next time, eh, buttercup?”

My face flushed red. I was suddenly more concerned with my modesty than with my life being in jeopardy. “You—you guys are the ones who put me in this thing.”

She gestured toward my body. “I sure as hell didn’t put anything on that .”

“Right,” I stammered, the word clinging to my throat like peanut butter. “I—I’m gonna go look for some pants.”

Bertha stared at me with her brown eyes and nodded. “Try not to shoot anyone.”

Wait—brown eyes? Hadn’t Kindred said Bertha was seventeen? Her eyes shouldn’t have been brown; they should’ve been blue like the others. Why hadn’t she been vaccinated?

I thought about the way Bertha had obliged when Phoenix had ordered her to take me to Sparky. Phoenix was the one calling the shots. He would have been the one to decide whether or when a Lost Boy got vaccinated.

I wandered down the hall. A warm breeze wafted through a broken window and lifted my shirt-skirt. I smashed it down on my thighs. Was a pair of underwear so much to ask for?

“Hey!” called Bertha from down the hall. “I—I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” She paused. “Well, yes, yes actually I did. But look, I don’t think anyone’s seen anything except maybe Kindred, and hell, she’s been looking at blueberries so long you don’t have anything to worry about.”

Bertha had just compared my junk to blueberries. Things couldn’t get much worse.

“If you want pants,” she said, “you’ll have to steal them. We don’t have extras lying around here. New Texas isn’t big enough for that kinda thing.”

I pulled down the edges of my shirt. “Then let’s steal me a pair of pants already.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t mind being a thief?”

I shrugged. “I’ve already been robbed of my dignity. The universe owes me a pair of pants, at least. What’s a thief, anyway?”

She grinned. “Then welcome aboard, Car Battery.” She walked down the hall to me and offered me her hand. “We aren’t terrorists at all. We’re thieves: Phoenix McGann and his merry gang. The one and only Lost Boys. Like Robin Hood, but with fewer arrows and more wetsuits. Lots of wetsuits. Like really tight wetsuits. Like really, really tight wetsuits. Dove wore one the other day—you know, ’cause he’s Dove—and I thought, Wow! I’ve seen you naked. I mean, it’s probably good you’ve been wearing your little kilt the past few days because the second you put on a wetsuit, we’re gonna see everything.” She paused. “Both your little blueberries.”

Phoenix appeared in the doorway. “I think he gets it, Bertha.”

But I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand who the Lost Boys were or who they said they were supposed to be. Nothing made sense. The world was spinning. I wanted Mom and Charlie.

“I get the wetsuits,” I said. “But thieves? I’m not really—I’m not following you. So you’re not terrorists? You’re just… thieves?” Phoenix nodded. “But, like, what kind of thieves? Do you steal diamonds? Guns? Bombs?”

Phoenix shook his head. “More dangerous. We steal Indigo. We’re Indigo thieves.”

“Indigo thieves?” I asked. The world was spinning. “You steal Indigo vaccines? From the Hawaiian Federation?”

“They deliver an incredible profit,” said Phoenix. “Imagine doubling your lifespan. Beating the Carcinogens a while longer. People will pay big money to escape their own mortality. And the rich can afford it.”

“But… how do you do it?”

Kindred joined him in the doorway, giggling. “It’s all Phoenix, dear. He’s the mastermind,” she said. She passed me a brown bag with “Kai” written on it in curly letters. “I wasn’t sure what sort of sandwich you’d like, so I just packed you blueberries. Can’t go wrong with blueberries.”

Bertha rolled her eyes.

I stared at the bag now in my hand. “Are we, uh, going somewhere?”

Bertha shook her head. “Not we. You. With Phoenix and Mila. All the way to Newla, princess.”

I felt queasy. Why did they want me to travel with them?

“Newla?” I asked, still confused.

“Yeah,” said Bertha. “Newla. You know, New Los Angeles? The capital of the Hawaiian Federation? Home to two million people, all crazy or homeless? Christ, what do they teach you in school?”

“I know what Newla is,” I said. “But why me? Couldn’t Kindred or you go?”

“Kindred doesn’t do so well out in the field.”

Kindred nodded. “I’m far too sensitive for that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” said Bertha. “Last time she hugged a guard instead of shooting him.”

“He looked sad!” said Kindred.

Phoenix stepped between them. “We need another body,” he explained, “and I’m afraid you’re the only one who fits the uniform.”

Mila joined him in the doorway. “Same size as Bugsy,” she said.

Kindred’s eyes got watery.

“Is the equipment prepped?” said Phoenix.

Mila nodded. “And New Texas is on course. We’ll be at Federal Water borders within the hour.”

“Excellent, Meels.” Phoenix looked me up and down. “And can someone get the boy some pants?”

Bertha threw up her hands. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

“He’s not getting pants,” said Kindred. “He’s getting a skirt, dear.”

“Skirt?” I said. “Another one?”

Bertha burst into laughter. “Damn, I wish I was going now.”

Kindred put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, “but it’s not safe for you in the Federation anymore. They’ve got pictures of you now.”

“Pictures?”

Phoenix nodded. “We’ve been intercepting Federal broadcasts for twenty-four hours now. They searched your home, confiscated your possessions. You’re a wanted man, Kai Bradbury. Charged with treason and crimes against humanity. Your name’s been attached to the bombings on the Pacific Northwestern Tube. You’ve been classified as a Lost Boy—an enemy of the state. A terrorist in the eyes of the Feds. Just like us.”

The room was spinning again. The ringing returned to my ears. My lungs cramped. My knees buckled.

Bertha slapped me. “Pull yourself together,” she said. “We don’t have time for you to pass out every five minutes.”

I shook my head. Things snapped back into focus. Kindred dropped a stack of clothes at my feet. Among them was a new skirt—and a blond wig. She hadn’t been kidding.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I said. “Really sorry. It’s—it’s just a lot to take in.”

The Feds thought I was a Lost Boy. If they found me, they’d torture and kill me. There had to be a way out of this. A way to clear my name and turn in the real terrorists—or thieves, or whatever they were.

And then a thought struck me: if the Feds thought I was one of the Lost Boys, what had they done to Charlie? I’d tried to swim to her; they must know she was with me. Did they think she was a Lost Boy, too?

“What happened to Charlie?” I asked.

Bertha snickered. “ They’re all terrorists, Charlie! ”