Jay Budgett - The Indigo Thief

An extra set of Wet Pockets got us to Newla. This time we set them to take us to the Sewage Treatment Facility. I doubted the Feds expected to find me in the same place twice.

It was nightfall when we arrived. The drainage pipes had been covered in scaffolding since my last visit—the fire drill floods appeared to have damaged them badly.

We used the scaffolding to pull ourselves from the water, then ran through several of Newla’s neighborhoods. The news of our capture was everywhere, blasted across the city’s bubbling screens: LOST BOYS DOWN—THE FEDERATION IS SAFE! The captured vigilantes’ mug shots accompanied the news. Mine, however, was conspicuously absent. The only evidence that I’d ever existed was an occasional variant on the usual headline: LOST BOYS CAPTURED—ONE DIES DURING RAID .

To the press—to the world—Kai Bradbury was a dead man. It seemed incredible, but evidently the day the press declared someone dead was the day the world stopped looking. It had taken less than a day for the Hawaiian Federation’s entire population to learn my face, and it would take even less time than that for them to forget it. People just didn’t have time for things that weren’t of the utmost urgency. They never had time.

We were lucky that neither the Feds nor the public had ever come to know the faces—or even the existence—of Sparky Stratcaster and Kindred Deer. It was fortunate that they had always stayed back at New Texas.

The Skelewick district’s yellow lights welcomed us with open arms, the denizens with their familiar blank stare. It was only now that I realized the poles’ metal feet were rusted, the haunting light not the only thing betraying the neighborhood’s age. I saw the gates of the Morier Mansion looming at the end of the street, and then, on a nearby corner, I saw the man with the trench coat and the glowing watches, gazing at a street lamp from atop his barrel.

At this point, my soul was as lost as anyone’s had ever been. I gestured toward my wrist. “You got the time?”

Kindred pulled me toward the mansion. “I think he’s a bit busy, dear.”

The man’s eyes turned from the lamp and stared me in the face, the yellow light catching in his blue irises. Before turning away, he tossed me a silver watch on a chain.

Kindred eyed it suspiciously. “Uh— dear ,” she hissed, “what is that for?”

“It’s for the lost soul,” I answered.

The man nodded from his barrel. I threw the chain around my neck and ran toward the mansion.

Kindred panted behind me. “Care to explain what just happened?”

“I—I think it’s a metaphor,” said Sparky.

“Oh,” she sighed, “well—in that case—don’t bother. I haven’t the head for that sort of thing. You only have so much gray matter, you know. I’ve got to save all of mine for the recipes.”

“Because those muffins won’t bake themselves,” I said.

She smiled. “Neither will the poisons.” It seemed there was still much about Kindred I didn’t know.

I was somewhat surprised to see that the Feds had set the gates and fence back up after knocking them down in the earlier raid and fire. Signs had been posted as well: “WARNING—TREPASSING IS A FELONY.” I guessed this was government property now.

I quickly clambered over the iron gates. Kindred and Sparky both struggled to follow, and it was clear why Phoenix had never brought them in the field. Tim bested them both by several minutes in a true testament to their speed.

The smell of smoke still wafted from the building’s charred remains. Only the outside shell of the place remained, and that hadn’t escaped unscathed either. It was like the building had become a red apple—rotten to the core.

But the building wasn’t our destination. We headed straight for the banyan tree, which was far enough away from the house to have been largely undamaged by the fire. I quickly shinnied up a hanging root and settled myself along a low branch. Sparky and Tim joined me, but Kindred remained on the ground, shaking her head. Together, Sparky and I grabbed her arms and pulled her up onto the branch with us. Tim helped by snagging her beanie. It looked better on him than it did on her.

I struggled to find the keypad in the tree’s mass of branches, then struggled to remember how exactly Phoenix had gotten its center to slide open. Why hadn’t I paid more attention? I couldn’t believe our brave rescue attempt might get stopped before it had even started.

At last Tim crawled past me, and I heard a few beeps on the keypad—followed by a crunching sound. The trunk’s center slid open and Tim crawled down, the keypad’s wired remains hanging from his mouth.

Well, there’s always another way.

We lowered ourselves into the tunnel as scattered moonlight bounced through branches and lit its depths. Then the tree’s trapdoor resealed itself with a click, and the little light we’d had was gone.

I took a deep breath. “So… anyone got a match?”

“Negative,” said Sparky.

“You can’t be serious, dear.”

I hadn’t gotten this far in my head—the extent of my planning had stopped at getting to the tunnel, and even that had been a stretch to begin with. For the first time, I realized what a miracle it was that Phoenix was always so prepared. I had packed some dynamite borrowed from Bertha’s room, as well as some snacks—I’d be a dead man before I forgot to bring some snacks—but a flashlight had been the last thing on my mind.

The silver watch felt cool against my chest. I thought back to my first encounter with the watch man, and the way the watch faces had glowed from within his trench coat. Would this one glow, too? I fiddled with a button on the watch’s side, and its silver shell slid open—revealing a glowing face. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

We made our way down and through the tunnel until we reached the fork I’d seen earlier with Phoenix and Mila. I stared at the branch we hadn’t taken the last time, and remembered Phoenix’s words: They say it goes all the way to the Light House’s cellar. I wondered if he’d known I’d come back this way. He probably had—this was Phoenix, after all.

It was a long shot, but it was the best shot we had. I followed the unfamiliar path, and Sparky and Kindred followed.

We’d been walking for at least half a mile, and I was beginning to wonder if this part of the tunnel would ever end, when my face slammed into a brick wall and I crumpled to the floor. For a brief second, I wondered how many times I’d crumpled to the floor in the past few weeks. It seemed like every fifteen steps I took, my legs had an obligation to hit the ground.

“Next time,” Sparky laughed, “ watch where you’re going, KB.”

The pun was almost worse than hitting the brick wall. I guess I deserved it for the Dummy Darts.

My nose burned where it had hit the wall. I put my hand to it and felt blood pooling in my palm. Kindred made me lean forward to drain it. We didn’t have much time. We had to keep moving. Bloody nose or not, we couldn’t stop.

“Can one of you—uh—just get the stuff from my bag?”

Kindred pulled out the dynamite. “Oh, dear… spicy.”

“Affirmative.” Sparky nodded.

The three of us lined the dynamite sticks against the brick wall. A pit formed in my stomach when I remembered we’d forgotten the matches. We were stuck. We couldn’t go any farther. The mission was a failure. I shook my head. “We’ve gotta go back into the city. I don’t have the matches. The watch won’t cut it this time.”

Kindred pulled a sparkly pink lighter from her pocket. “We can just use this.”

“Kindred! Why didn’t you give me that earlier? When I was searching for a light?”