Jay Budgett - The Indigo Thief

“Because I’m one of the Lost Boys?”

“Because you’re one of my friends.” He glanced at my ankles. “And because nobody deserves to die while wearing cheeseburger socks.”

A Dummy Dart lodged itself in Phoenix’s neck. He crumpled to the floor and convulsed. Chancellor Hackner appeared in the kitchen’s doorway wearing his trademark twisted smile.

“Ah, Bradbury,” he said, offering his hand. He kicked Phoenix’s body against the wall to reach me. “Truly a delight.”

I stepped back. “Where’s Charlie?”

He caressed his gun’s trigger and grinned. “Let’s be reasonable, Bradbury.”

My whole body shook—he’d promised he’d bring her. “Where the hell is she?”

Hackner licked his lips. “Come now, you didn’t really think I could let her go, did you? I mean, her mug shot’s been plastered across the Federation for nearly a week now. What would the press say? What would the people think?”

I balled my fists. “You gave me your word. You promised .”

“You’re a bright kid, Bradbury.” He shoved the gun against my neck and breathed in my ear. “You should’ve realized by now that a politician’s promises are worth less than dog shit.”

Phoenix was right. He was right about everything. I was the one who’d been wrong all along. The Feds had never been on my side—they’d never been on anyone’s side. There had never been a way to save Charlie.

Chancellor Hackner breathed in my ear again. “But I’ll make you a deal.”

“I’m done with your deals.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he said, “because I’m afraid you really haven’t much of a choice.”

Three of his men darted into the kitchen and wrapped Phoenix in a net like the others, then dragged him toward the beach. When they were gone, the chancellor continued.

“Because you’ve been so incredibly helpful, Bradbury, I’ve decided to let you go.”

“Let me go?” It was a trap. It had to be a trap.

“Yes,” he said slowly, “but only on the condition you promise not to come look for the others. I will allow you to run off, change your name, start a new life. We can burn your file and tell the courts you died in a megalodon’s mouth while resisting capture.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because,” he said, his lips twisting into a smile, “the thought of you spending the rest of your life alone—knowing you are single-handedly responsible for the death and slow torture of all your friends—would give me great pleasure. I don’t like arresting criminals, Bradbury—I like seeing them punished. I like to watch a man with fire in his heart smother his own flames to keep his soul from burning. So, what do you say?”

I resisted the urge to spit in his face and tell him to go hell. He was sick. There was something wrong in his head. Maybe he had no soul. I squeezed my eyes tight. I had to slow down for a second and think. And not the way I was used to thinking—my kind of thinking was what had gotten me into this mess in the first place. No, I had to think differently. I had to think like Phoenix. To Phoenix, there were always other options, other opportunities. There were two days before Charlie stood trial. Two days before the courts ordered her execution. There was still time.

Chancellor Hackner would take the other Lost Boys to the Light House—to the same prison that held Charlie. I could rescue them all. I thought about Sparky and Kindred, both of whom still lay unconscious upstairs—they could help me. Together, we could save everyone. There was still a way.

I buried my face in my hands. “Oh, god.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Oh, god. Oh, god.” I pretended to wipe away tears from my face before shaking his hand. “It’s—oh, god—it’s a deal.”

My acting was bad on a good day. In the third grade, I was cast as a peach in the school play. I had one line in the entire show—the farmer asked, How ya doing?, to which I responded, I’m just peachy —but even that was cut when I got so nervous each time that I literally wet my pants. I prayed the chancellor was too self-absorbed to notice.

He flashed me another sparkling smile—yep, he was definitely too self-absorbed—and ran his fingers through his silky hair. “I think you’ll find,” he said, sliding his gun back into its holster, “that I’m really a generous man at heart.”

“Too generous,” I agreed. “Far too generous.” His promises might’ve been dog shit, but so were his brains.

The soldiers who were waiting on the beach, eager to shoot me down, stood baffled when the chancellor walked away from the fort empty-handed. They exchanged looks: he was letting a Lost Boy get away? But the chancellor merely waved them off, and I heard him mutter something about him having a larger brain—among other organs.

I was left standing in the fort’s ruins as the copters took off from the beach. The chancellor may have left my hands empty, but he left my heart full of a yearning for vengeance.

Phoenix’s instincts had told him this would happen. He knew the chancellor would betray me. He knew I’d want revenge. And he knew I’d come to save them—and Charlie.

There was still time to act. There was still time for one final raid.

Both Kindred and Sparky were surprised when I woke them—the Dummy Darts had made them forget the entire incident. Tim, however, looked moderately pissed. Apparently the solution wasn’t nearly as effective on sloths.

When I explained what happened, neither Kindred nor Sparky were very happy—unsurprisingly. Kindred wept when she heard the others had been taken prisoner, and Sparky actually punched me in the cheek. Hard.

“What the hell were you thinking, KB?” I let the force of his blow carry me to the ground. I’d never seen him so angry before. I guess I’d have been just as mad if he’d done the same. I shut my eyes tight and lay there for a minute. Tim crawled onto my chest and slowly slid his claw across my cheek like a slap.

“That’s enough, Tim.” Sparky pulled him off my chest. “C’mon, get up, KB. Get up already. We don’t have much time.”

“So you’ll go with me, then?” I asked. “To save them?

Kindred dabbed tears from her eyes with a tissue. “It’s not like we really have a choice, dear.”

“But it’s a suicide mission.”

She straightened the edge of her floral dress. “They’re all suicide missions.” She had a point. “Once in a while,” she continued, “I’d like one less risky. Something simple. Like getting a stick of frickin’ butter . We’re almost out,” she added. It seemed that Sparky wasn’t the only one who’d been slightly unhinged by the news.

Sparky typed something on the computer, then shook his head. “It looks like they’ve beefed up Light House security since the Ministry of Health raid. From what I see, it looks like they’ve got guards guarding guards. They know you’re coming. The entrances are impenetrable. There’s no way we’re getting in.”

“I’m not planning on getting in,” I said. “I’m planning on getting under.” Sparky looked confused. “Never mind, just—do you think you could get us to Newla?”

“Affirmative. Only trouble is getting us back.”

“We’ll have Phoenix by then. He’ll figure it out.”

Sparky smiled and stared at the screen. “I admire your optimism.”

“Optimism’s all we’ve got at this point, isn’t it?”

“Affirmative.”

Kindred had insisted we all wear black. “It’s the proper thing to do,” she’d said matter-of-factly. Sparky and I had come out covered in matching black tracksuits to find her in yet another floral dress, topped with a speck of black in the form of a beanie. Even Tim wore a black sweater.