heart. “It’s all we have.”
Scar Boy grabbed the potato. “Give me your shoes, too,” he growled.
Jordan, using his fingertips, swept the dirt and gritty pebbles from the parking lot surface into a pile under his palm. Greeting Scar Boy with a face full of dirt might buy them a few seconds to deflect the knife and strike back.
Chung chung.
The sound was unmistakable, and Jordan’s rapid heartbeat shifted into an even higher gear. Someone had cocked a shotgun.
The boy gripping the gun towered over them. Purple tattoos adorned his ripped, muscled arms, and above his lip was a scar or a mustache. The guard with the baseball cap stood next to him.
Purple Tats gestured to her, and she took the potato from Scar Boy and handed it to Jordan.
Then Purple Tats swiveled the barrel at Jordan. “What do you want Martha for?”
“I’m looking for someone who works for her. His name is Spike. He drove my sisters and a friend to Colony East.”
Keeping the gun aimed at Jordan, Purple Tats said, “Martha went to Canada. She thinks nobody has the Pig there.” He gestured to Eddie. “Who’s that?”
“My friend,” Jordan said. “We’re on our way to Colony East. I want to find my sisters.”
Purple Tats pointed the gun at Scar Boy. “Get lost.”
Scar Boy cursed bitterly. “We’re all going to die soon.” His tone was fearless.
Jordan gulped, wondering if Scar Boy was daring Purple Tats to shoot him. Purple Tats braced the butt of the gun against his shoulder.
Scar Boy had just tried to harm Jordan, but burning deep in his gut was disgust toward the senseless violence he feared he was about to witness.
“He’s hungry, that’s all.” Jordan took a bite of the potato, spit the piece into his hand and passed it to Scar Boy, who scarfed it.
Scar Boy and Purple Tats locked eyes. Then Scar Boy slowly stood and skulked into the SUV.
“That was a waste of food,” Purple Tats said, resting the gun on his shoulder. “Lisette, right?”
Jordan’s heart stopped. “Yes, she’s my kid sister.”
“Abby called her Toucan. I’m Spike.”
1.23
BROOKLYN
Abby paced across the roof’s pebbled surface. Imagining something terrible had happened to Toby, she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. It was eleven forty; he should have returned by now.
He had every right to be angry with her. If she had remained in the alley, she might have been able to stop Lexi from stealing the car.
She glanced to the south. The Colony East skyline was barely visible under a dome of stars and a half moon. Jonzy would soon head up to the top floor of the Biltmore Hotel, if he weren’t already there. They’d be speaking to each other in less than fifteen minutes.
Abby turned on her walkie-talkie and celebrated a few seconds of white noise before flicking it off again. Then she sat cross-legged and placed the radio beside her.
The temperature had dropped a few degrees since the sun had set, but her fever gave her chills. She ripped a hole in the garbage bag, pulled it over her head, and then hugged a ratty pillow to her chest to generate warmth. Looking up, she identified the North Star, her lucky star. She made three wishes: for Toby to hurry up and join her, for Jonzy to safely escape the colony with antibiotic pills, and that they’d find a way to Mystic to meet up with Jordan. Pressing her luck, Abby made two more wishes: that they’d get Touk from Atlanta Colony and all go to the lake in Maine where they’d live in peaceful seclusion.
Hearing voices from the street, Abby listened intently. Ignoring the persistent cramps in her stomach, she crawled to the edge of the roof and peered down. Someone swept the end of the alley with a flashlight. The beam lit up the corners and then zigzagged on the ground where the car had been. Toby?
The light flared in her eyes, and she inched back, fearing she had been spotted. Toby would have called out to her.
The only way on to the roof was through the door. She
Scar Boy grabbed the potato. “Give me your shoes, too,” he growled.
Jordan, using his fingertips, swept the dirt and gritty pebbles from the parking lot surface into a pile under his palm. Greeting Scar Boy with a face full of dirt might buy them a few seconds to deflect the knife and strike back.
Chung chung.
The sound was unmistakable, and Jordan’s rapid heartbeat shifted into an even higher gear. Someone had cocked a shotgun.
The boy gripping the gun towered over them. Purple tattoos adorned his ripped, muscled arms, and above his lip was a scar or a mustache. The guard with the baseball cap stood next to him.
Purple Tats gestured to her, and she took the potato from Scar Boy and handed it to Jordan.
Then Purple Tats swiveled the barrel at Jordan. “What do you want Martha for?”
“I’m looking for someone who works for her. His name is Spike. He drove my sisters and a friend to Colony East.”
Keeping the gun aimed at Jordan, Purple Tats said, “Martha went to Canada. She thinks nobody has the Pig there.” He gestured to Eddie. “Who’s that?”
“My friend,” Jordan said. “We’re on our way to Colony East. I want to find my sisters.”
Purple Tats pointed the gun at Scar Boy. “Get lost.”
Scar Boy cursed bitterly. “We’re all going to die soon.” His tone was fearless.
Jordan gulped, wondering if Scar Boy was daring Purple Tats to shoot him. Purple Tats braced the butt of the gun against his shoulder.
Scar Boy had just tried to harm Jordan, but burning deep in his gut was disgust toward the senseless violence he feared he was about to witness.
“He’s hungry, that’s all.” Jordan took a bite of the potato, spit the piece into his hand and passed it to Scar Boy, who scarfed it.
Scar Boy and Purple Tats locked eyes. Then Scar Boy slowly stood and skulked into the SUV.
“That was a waste of food,” Purple Tats said, resting the gun on his shoulder. “Lisette, right?”
Jordan’s heart stopped. “Yes, she’s my kid sister.”
“Abby called her Toucan. I’m Spike.”
1.23
BROOKLYN
Abby paced across the roof’s pebbled surface. Imagining something terrible had happened to Toby, she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. It was eleven forty; he should have returned by now.
He had every right to be angry with her. If she had remained in the alley, she might have been able to stop Lexi from stealing the car.
She glanced to the south. The Colony East skyline was barely visible under a dome of stars and a half moon. Jonzy would soon head up to the top floor of the Biltmore Hotel, if he weren’t already there. They’d be speaking to each other in less than fifteen minutes.
Abby turned on her walkie-talkie and celebrated a few seconds of white noise before flicking it off again. Then she sat cross-legged and placed the radio beside her.
The temperature had dropped a few degrees since the sun had set, but her fever gave her chills. She ripped a hole in the garbage bag, pulled it over her head, and then hugged a ratty pillow to her chest to generate warmth. Looking up, she identified the North Star, her lucky star. She made three wishes: for Toby to hurry up and join her, for Jonzy to safely escape the colony with antibiotic pills, and that they’d find a way to Mystic to meet up with Jordan. Pressing her luck, Abby made two more wishes: that they’d get Touk from Atlanta Colony and all go to the lake in Maine where they’d live in peaceful seclusion.
Hearing voices from the street, Abby listened intently. Ignoring the persistent cramps in her stomach, she crawled to the edge of the roof and peered down. Someone swept the end of the alley with a flashlight. The beam lit up the corners and then zigzagged on the ground where the car had been. Toby?
The light flared in her eyes, and she inched back, fearing she had been spotted. Toby would have called out to her.
The only way on to the roof was through the door. She
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