Jay Budgett - The Indigo Thief

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!” they finished. Tim was hanging from Sparky’s neck, his arm still bandaged where he’d been shot. He, too, wore a party hat.

“Did we miss it?” said Dove.

Sparky glanced at Bertha’s red face and shook his head. “Negative.”

“JUST BRING IT IN ALREADY!”

We wrapped around our arms around each another, and Dove led another round of “Happy Birthday.” Bertha nursed the cake in the center, and Tim fought to sneak in occasional licks. The whole event was strange and bizarre and wonderful. The Lost Boys weren’t terrorists, anarchists, Indigo thieves, or even revolutionaries. Now, they were simply my friends.

In that moment, I felt oddly like Sage Penderbrook, standing there, marveling at something as simple as friendship. Somewhere in the midst of all their lies to me, and all my lies to them, we’d unearthed something impossible: the truth.

The world was changing—maybe it always had, and always would. There were more stars in the sky than photosynthetic bacteria in the ocean. There was more light than dark. There was truth and freedom, and the people of the Federation would soon know both.

Indigo was poison meant to keep people in invisible cages. But revolution was coming, and Phoenix was leading the way. A new republic would rise.

And the Federation would fall.

The glass casing of the ConSynth hummed in my hands. Today, its red glowed brighter than ever before. Its countdown clock flashed 00:03 . No longer was it signaling hours, but minutes. It would soon be fully calibrated.

Sage’s body twitched on the bed, and I rubbed my hand against her wrist. She fell still again. I massaged the wrinkles that lined her forehead, and her breathing steadied.

Soon I’d see Charlie. She’d be right here, in this room, like nothing had ever happened. My hands were already getting sort of sweaty.

A part of me wondered if the ConSynth would work. If we’d even hooked it up right. If synthetic consciousness was even possible…

But I’d seen Miranda Morier. I’d seen the way she moved. The way she spoke. The way she was very much alive. The ConSynth could work. It had to.

Still, had we done it right? Phoenix and Sage had hooked it up while I’d sat in a puddle of tears like Frosty the Melted Snowman. Was Charlie’s body supposed to have seized up like that? Like she was going into cardiac arrest?

I shook my head, trying to clear away the negative thoughts. I couldn’t think like this. It didn’t do any good. Phoenix and Sage did the best they could, and that was all I could’ve asked of them.

The clock flashed 00:02 .

I’d told the others I wanted to be alone in the room when the time ran out—that I wanted alone time with her if it worked, or alone time with myself if it didn’t.

I’d slicked my hair back and worn one of Phoenix’s ties. He’d offered me a jacket too, but I passed. When I tried it on, I looked like a Girl Scout swimming in shoulder pads. I guessed it was yet another testament to his size and my pubescent blooming, or lack thereof.

Of course, Bertha said that fifteen years old was probably a bit late to be blooming. She said some flowers never bloomed, but just sat there on the vine as buds for a while before wilting.

I told her some flowers should learn to mind their own damn business.

Phoenix had been in touch with the Caravites. He explained to me that they’d never really just been stealing Indigo vaccines—they’d been destroying them. That’s why it hadn’t mattered when they’d fallen from the sky. They were just trying to prevent the virus from getting injected into the veins of children. Captain Vern reached out to Phoenix after we escaped from the Light House. He finally admitted running was no longer an option, and—with the capital building being blown to the ground—war was the only path left. The Caravan didn’t need its plates polished anymore. Now, it just needed people.

Phoenix and Vern were planning a raid on the Ministry of Research & Development in Kauai. They said it’d be the toughest yet, with reinforcements increasing security twofold as Indigo production rushed to clear shortages and meet demand. I’d already agreed to go with them. Turns out, I wasn’t half bad in the field.

Now, children were dying from the “Carcinogens” more than ever before. Phoenix suggested we start recruiting kids from the street as Lost Boys, and Kindred agreed to head the efforts. We’d learned that she was okay in the field, but after shooting the guard, she admitted she didn’t have it in her to kill more people. Recruitment, however, was different, and she decided it would suit her quite well. And she’d already started developing materials. Mostly blueberry muffins.

The ConSynth’s clock flashed 00:00 . The orb glowed a brilliant red, and the numbers disappeared among swirls, the machine humming louder than ever, then abruptly going silent.

I pressed my fingers against the glass. “Hello?”

No response.

There was no one in the room. I was still alone. I shook the orb a bit. “Anybody in there? Charlie?”

Nothing.

The sphere’s swirls settled. I held my eye to the glass and squinted—a part of me wanting to believe I’d see a tiny version of her in there.

I felt someone staring at me from behind. I turned—and saw her standing on the opposite end of the room.

Charlie.

The room’s dim light lit only her face. Her body was still cloaked in shadows.

Somehow, it was a different Charlie. Not the Charlie I’d seen in the Light House—the one who’d been starved and tortured and lay dying with her bald head pressed against the chancellor’s floor. No, this was a different Charlie.

This was the old Charlie—the girl I’d grown up with. The girl with the bright blue eyes and chopsticks shoved in her perpetually messy bun. The girl whose blue eyes were a shade all her own. Not gray, like Miranda’s, but Charlie-blue.

She smiled and waved at me from across the room.

My hands were sweaty. What should I do? What should I say? Again, I was reminded of all the things they didn’t teach you in school—the stuff they should’ve taught instead of calculus.

I just grinned and waved back. “Hi, Charlie.”

“Hey there, Kai-Guy.” She smiled. “I’ve got something to show you.”

She glanced down. My heart was melting. What was she wearing? Lingerie? A purple prom press? A chicken suit? What was happening? What was I supposed to do? Nobody had prepared me for this moment. Megalodons were easy. Girls were hard.

She stepped from the shadows and pointed to her feet. She wore a pair of red cheeseburger socks.

The world made sense.

Charlie was there. Everything would work out. I took a deep breath.

Things always worked out when you wore your cheeseburger socks.

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading The Indigo Thief . I have loved writing about Kai, Charlie, Phoenix, and all the other Lost Boys over the course of the past year. Things are certainly not finished for them and the Hawaiian Federation.

If you’re so inclined, I’d greatly appreciate a review of The Indigo Thief . Whether you loved it or hated it, I’d just enjoy your feedback.

Reviews these days can be tough to come by, but you, the reader, have the power to make or break a book with them.

Thank you again for reading The Indigo Thief and for spending your time with me.

First, I’d like to thank Ruthie Berk. There is no other person who had more influence on this book than you did. Without your support I doubt I would’ve ever finished it. Thank you for teaching me about life, love, and all the things in between. If every author had a Ruthie, there’d be more books in the world. Thanks for being my Charlie.