Minders

CHAPTER 25

How’d they find me?”

Ford woke with those words like a swimmer breaking the surface of a lake, wide-eyed, gasping, and thirsty. He’d been unconscious for five and a half days.

It was two thirty in the morning, although time had ceased to have any meaning in the Winter house. One day slipped into the next, someone always sitting in the chair next to the couch in case something—anything—happened.

“Who?” Lulu asked. She was the one on watch when his eyes opened. When he showed a sign of actual consciousness, not another false alarm, she called over her shoulder, “Mom, he’s awake,” and turned back to him to say, “Don’t look in the mirror when you go to the bathroom, you’ll be scared.”

Ford took a deep breath, and Sadie felt him wince at the pain it triggered in almost every part of his body. “Good to know,” he said. He looked down at his arms and hands, which were criss-crossed with cuts and abrasions. There were bandages with smiling suns on both forearms, and one with Snoopy taped over his right knuckles.

Sadie had never been as grateful for anything in her life as she was for Ford waking up. She was overwhelmed by her love for him, by her relief, and by the vacuum left by worry and fear, but she pushed all of that aside to concentrate on Ford. Whatever you feel doesn’t matter, she told herself. You’re here to be with him.

To observe him, she corrected.

The first thing she observed was that the pain, which had registered as a fairly unobtrusive set of noises while he was passed out, was now like a noisy cityscape. Every time he moved, some kind of discomfort zigzagged through him, setting off different noises depending on its type and calibrated in volume to its intensity. Sharp pain sounded like a truck horn, throbbing pain resembled an extended bleating, stinging was the piercing jangle of bells.

Lulu gave him a tour of his primary injuries. “You have a bruise on your stomach that according to the Internet means at least two of your ribs are broken. The only thing to do is put ice on it, which we have been, and take aspirin, which you did about three hours ago, although you were a baby about it.”

Ford smiled, setting off shrill bells. He reached up to touch his cheek and discovered another bandage. “Thank you for taking such good care of me,” he said.

His mother came in then, looking even more exhausted than usual. She was carrying a bowl, which she set on the trunk in front of him.

“Good, you’re up.” Her tone was completely flat, her face expressionless. “You should eat this. You’ll need something in your stomach.”

Ford’s heart started to pound fast, and Sadie knew he was nervous. He was desperate for his mother to understand this hadn’t been his fault, he hadn’t picked this fight. “Thank you,” he said, trying to catch her eye, but she wouldn’t look at him. “Mom, I want you to know how—”

“Eat your soup.” Her flat gaze moved to Lulu. “I’m going to lie down. Make sure your brother finishes that. And no gabbing, he needs to sleep.”

His head turned to watch his mother leave the room, and a sharp thrust of pain overwhelmed him, filling his mind with blaring truck horns. Sadie saw his vision go misty and wished she could steady him.

His eyes refocused a moment later, on Lulu, who was watching him with unconcealed worry. Show her everything’s fine, Sadie heard him think and wanted to kiss him. He licked his dry, craggy lips and said, “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.” Lulu scooched her chair toward him and whispered conspiratorially, “Mom found you on the couch Thursday morning and you’ve barely moved since then. And neither has she. She sat right next to you the whole time. I think she might have prayed. She even started to draw again.”

Ford moved his eyes to the bowl of soup, and Sadie felt a lump in his throat and tears prick at his eyes.

“Are you crying?” Lulu said.

“Yeah, no, it’s just—” He swallowed back the lump. “The pain.” But it wasn’t, Sadie knew. He reached for the soup and made a show of eating it. Holding the spoon caused a bus-sized horn blast, so he raised the bowl to his mouth and slurped.

“I need to ask you something, and I need you to tell me the truth,” Lulu said, very serious. “Did James’s monster do this?”

“What monster?” Sadie and Ford asked in unison. Hands shaking, he set the bowl down.

Lulu took a big breath. “He said I couldn’t tell you. Not”—she rushed to assure him—“because he didn’t love you as much as me. Or almost as much. It was because there were circumstances. But now this has happened, and I wonder if I had told—” She glanced away but not before Sadie saw the pain in her eyes.

She thinks she’s responsible, Sadie realized, her heart aching.

“Tell me about this monster of James’s,” Ford prompted.

Lulu frowned, trying to figure out where to begin. “He said there was a monster in our city, taking control of people and making them zombies. They looked okay on the outside, but they were dead inside, and they fed off sadness. James said Serenity Services was powerless to stop it from happening, and you couldn’t trust anyone except little kids like me, but he was going to fix it.” She picked up speed as she talked, the story bubbling out of her. “He had a magic power that made him invisible, and he was going to find the monster and slay it, and then everyone would be free.”

“How was he going to find the monster?” Ford asked, his mind spinning over the words magic power.

“The monster had a treasure hidden in a stone fortress. James was going to use his invisibility power to hide there, and when the monster went to count the treasure, he’d slay it. And then everyone, you and me and Mom and Copernicus, would all live happily ever after. But he was worried if he failed you’d go hunt the monster even though you don’t have his magic power. I asked him why he couldn’t just give it to you, but he said it didn’t work that way, you either had it or you didn’t.”

Ford was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Tell her she’s not responsible for what happened to you, Sadie urged. You can pass out after, just tell her that.

“But you went looking for the monster anyway,” Lulu pressed on. “Because you’re a hero, like James.”

“No.” Ford shook his head. Her face was an indistinct series of shadows, and his voice sounded like it was coming from far away. “I’m not like James. And what happened to me had nothing to do with the monster.”

“You’re sure?” Lulu asked. “Swear?”

“Swear,” he said and plunged back into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke, thirty-six hours later, Mason was in the chair next to the couch.

Ford frowned. “What are you doing here?”

Mason glanced at his watch. “My shift. I have another hour. So don’t think of doing anything rash until three thirty. That’s when Mrs. Entwistle comes on, and your mom can’t yell at me.”

“Mrs. Entwistle?”

“Neighbor across the hall.”

“I’m sorry they made you do this,” Ford said.

“I volunteered,” Mason told him. “What else am I going to do while my overpriced scout is out of commission?”

Ford sat up and frowned at the yellow envelope on the coffee table. “What’s that?”

“I found it outside the door when I came this morning.” Mason said. “It was hand delivered. Mysterious.”

Ford’s fingers weren’t entirely steady as he ripped it open, and Sadie knew it was because he was excited. He’d recognized the writing on the envelope.

The card inside was a birthday card. It was unsigned, but “SAFE KEEPING” was written in big letters on one side, and the $5 Bigfoot bill was secured on the other.

Ford clutched the envelope and said, “Come on.”

Mason looked up from his word jumble. “Where are we going?”

“To see Bucky,” Ford told him, making to stand up.

He fell on his face.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere,” Mason said gently.

Ford glared at him. “We are.” Pushing Mason’s hand aside, he gritted his teeth and stood. He stayed leaning on the couch for a minute until his nausea and dizziness cleared, gave Mason a triumphant glance, and staggered to the shower.

At first the water stung on the cuts and abrasions, but once that passed he closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the hot water pouring over him, and so did Sadie.

She reveled in the way soap smelled on him, the way his fingertips felt on his scalp. She lost herself in the prickly sensation of face wash being rubbed through his beard, of his work-worn hands soaping his chest, his fingers cleaning his ears.

And she loved it when he smiled in the mirror.

On the way out of the bathroom, he stopped to put the toilet seat down. You’re going to break my heart, Ford Winter, she thought.

Four hours after waking up, he was sitting in the passenger seat of Mason’s car across the street from a low-slung cinder-block building. It had a sign that read U DRINK EM PACKAGE–LIQUOR–LUCKY LOTTO on the front and a thick chain and foreclosure notice on the door. It was still light, the evening sun turning the windshields of the used cars on the lot next door gold.

“The nurse told you to stay in bed for two weeks,” Mason said casually.

“And I told you if you were going to be bossy I didn’t want a ride. Guess we both suck at listening,” Ford answered.

Mason grinned. He watched Ford compare the address on the yellow envelope to the one on the building for the fourth time. “I doubt it’s changed.”

“This just isn’t what it’s supposed to look like,” Ford said. He was trying to reconcile the short, squat liquor store with the room big enough to hold fifty miniature-golf holes, not to mention an entire outdoor theater. Next door to the liquor store in one direction was the used car place, and the other side was an empty lot.

“You didn’t see the exterior.”

“True.” Ford nodded and kept nodding as he said, “I don’t think you should come in.”

“That doesn’t work for me,” Mason said, nodding with him.

Ford stopped nodding. “I’m serious.”

He’s serious, Sadie seconded.

“We said no rescuing.” Ford sounded almost desperate now. “This might be a trap.”

Mason twisted behind the wheel to face him. “Let’s put it this way. I’m not letting you out of the car without me. And if anything happens to me, up to or including death, I won’t hold you responsible.”

“That’s not comforting.”

Mason looked surprised. “Funny, it is to me. Come on.” They got out of the car and approached the liquor store. “Don’t forget, this is an MRP address.”

“I’m not likely to forget that.”

Sadie didn’t know which one of them was more excited, her or Ford, and she couldn’t tell whose heart was the one racing. Being out of commission for six days had left Ford both restless and weak, but the card from Bucky had been like a shot of adrenaline.

The front door was locked, for real, but the one on the side gave easily. It looked like a standard solid metal aluminum door on the outside, nothing camouflaged about it. It opened into…

. . . an abandoned liquor store. Just like the sign said. Sadie looked through Ford’s eyes, watching the play of images fly by as he catalogued and filed what he was seeing. There were three doors—the front door, the door they’d come through, and the door to the bathroom. The linoleum floor showed the outline of shelves, but they were long gone. What was left: the counter—too big to move and not valuable; a three-year-old poster of a Korean pop sensation eating a lollipop; a toilet, ripped out of the wall and turned into a mini-shrine with candles and some plastic flowers in the middle of the floor.

Ford rubbed a hand through his hair, accidentally scraping a cut on his scalp, and winced. If this was the right place then one of these things had to mark the entrance to Bucky’s lair, Sadie heard him think. He and Mason spent an hour knocking on walls listening for hollow sounds, testing the door, verifying every set of hinges.

As they prodded the counter a second time, Mason announced, “Toilets and radiators. That’s going to be the name of my community theater company.”

Ford looked up. “Because you never want anyone to come see your shows? I thought you said you were trying to impress some girl, not depress her.”

Sadie laughed.

Mason made a broad gesture. “They’re everywhere. Every demo and salvage site we go to. They are the icons of this moment.”

I noticed that too, Sadie said.

“Or the toilets have no resale value, and the radiators are too heavy to move,” Ford pointed out.

“Still like the name.”

“Good thing you can afford to lose some—” Sadie watched the points of color in Ford’s mind do acrobatics, picturing where the toilet should have been. He crossed to the bathroom, pushed the door open all the way so the knob came to rest against the rubber stopper, and leaned into it until he heard a click. Then he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. The false wall came with it, revealing the passageway concealed behind it.

The passage led to a descending flight of stairs that went to another passage that ended in a flight of stairs going up. As Ford and Mason climbed the second staircase something skittered across the ceiling. Sadie felt the hairs on the back of Ford’s neck bristle. “What was that?”

“Best case? Rats,” Mason answered.

Ford had been mentally compiling a map as they went, so when they reached the top of the stairs he knew they were in the big room where the miniature-golf statues had been, but it was unrecognizable. The fake grass had been ripped up, and piles of smashed fiberglass formed eerie colored mounds, an eye winking out here, a claw there.

The bed was gone from the light blue bedroom, and the partition that had separated it from the other room was flattened. The only thing that hadn’t moved was the radiator.

“Case in point,” Mason said, leaning against it.

The skittering noise came again.

The stairs up to the stage had been stripped to metal slats, but the stage was still there, and the outdoor theater. Bucky, you sneaky rat, Sadie heard Ford think, as he now realized that the theater he’d been searching for was actually a hanging garden, a completely fabricated outdoor space. Even the perfectly ruined walls had been constructed. Sneaky rat genius.

“It’s even more beautiful when you realize Bucky built the whole damn thing,” Ford said, echoing Sadie’s thoughts.

“But why do that?” Mason asked. “Why not just move into an old theater like the one he took the seats from?”

“Camoufla—”

A shower of bullets strafed the front of the stage. Ford flattened himself to the ground, groaning as his ribs hit, and tried to make out where the shots were coming from. He spotted one ski-masked gunman in the audience—

Another round of bullets.

—and two more on top of the exterior walls.

Ford popped up and ran toward the back of the stage, shouting at Mason, “Come with me.”

“Divide and conquer,” Mason yelled back, giving a loud war cry and running the other way.

The men in ski masks all turned to look at him, and while they were distracted, Ford jumped on the lever Bucky had used to activate the trapdoor, opened it, and leapt through.

There was no bag this time, and he landed hard on his hurt ankle. It twisted out from under him, and as he staggered to right himself in the darkness under the stage he tripped over something, making it clang. He stopped moving and held his breath. Had they heard? Were they coming after him?

His heart was racing against his ribs, and his lungs contracted. Don’t panic, she whispered to him, keeping her breaths long and regular. Breathe and think.

It worked. She sensed his attention sharpen as he took in his surroundings: light from the left, a sink across the way, tall shelf full of umbrellas.

Why would Bucky need a dozen umbrellas? Ford wondered.

There was a—moan?

Sadie held her breath, and so did Ford. Was there someone there?

Another moan.

“Do you need help?” Ford whispered.

The sound stopped. But it was close by, he thought, stepping around a pile of chairs, just—

“Oh, Bucky, no,” Ford whispered, collapsing on the floor next to him. The hair on Bucky’s forehead was matted with blood, his left leg was at an unhealthy angle, one eye was swollen shut, and his lips were caked with blood.

“Who did this?” Ford demanded. Sadie felt his rage sweltering like a foundry in the summer, a hairbreadth away from complete combustion.

He needs water, she urged Ford, to focus him. And a blanket. He’s in shock.

“Water,” Ford’s mind echoed, and he twisted around, assessing. Getting to the sink without making noise was going to be challenging.

There’s a blanket to your left, Sadie told him. He looked to his left and was pleased to see a blanket. He put it on Bucky and started for the sink.

“Gotcha!” a voice—male, jovial—said, and a volley of bullets from above flew through the stage within inches of Ford’s position.

He leapt back toward Bucky and stood stock-still.

“Lost him. Anyone got a chirp?”

Another guy, this one slightly nasal sounding. “No chirp.”

Chirp? Sadie repeated. What did that mean? How had they known exactly where Ford was standing?

“He’s still down there.” This voice sounded older, and familiar.

The boards of the stage creaked with the weight of the gunmen as they moved over it in slow, concentric circles, searching for Ford.

The one with the sniffles said, “Stupid chippy thinks he can hide from us.” Chippy. Sadie and Ford both repeated the word in their mind.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, chippy.”

Sadie’s mind wouldn’t let go. Chippy. Chip. Could they be referring to—

No, she protested against the thoughts pushing their way into her head. Her conscious mind dug its claws in, trying desperately to deny it, but she couldn’t. They were tracking Ford with his Sycnopy chip.

With a shock, Sadie realized she’d known. Known subconsciously, and repressed it, like Ford repressing his memory of walking in on James and Cali. She’d kept her mind busy with misdirected suspicions about other people’s influence on Ford, resenting Plum and Mason, how open he was with them, worrying they might hurt him when—god, the irony—she was the danger to him. She was the one leaving him completely vulnerable and unprotected. It was because of her they could hunt him this way.

James’s “magic power” hadn’t been that he was invisible, she realized. It was that he couldn’t be tracked because he didn’t have a chip. He was free. Safe.

Her presence stole that security from Ford.

The same chip that makes me care for him makes me betray him, she realized, horrified by the irony. By her powerlessness to stop it.

Anger filled her now, not Ford’s but her own. Against her will she had become Ford’s implacable, inescapable enemy. Somehow she’d been tricked, turned into an unwitting pawn in the Pharmacist’s sick game.

“Yoo hoo, chippy,” a voice coaxed from upstairs. “We’re bound to get you. You might as well come out.”

An unwitting executioner.

Ford took a step forward and said, “I want to talk to the Pharmacist.”

I want to punch the Pharmacist, Sadie thought.

There was a deep, swaggering laugh. “Sure thing, chippy. Just come a little more to the center of the—gotcha.”

The bullets started to fly again, nearly on target. Ford took two steps back toward Bucky, and the guns stopped.

Was it a trick?

From upstairs the older voice said, “That dead chippy down there’s interfering with the relay. We need to pull him out.”

Bucky’s chip was blocking their ability to see Ford’s when they were close together, Sadie and Ford realized simultaneously.

But then Ford took a step forward, away from Bucky. What are you doing? Sadie yelled as a hailstorm of bullets flew around him. He jumped back to Bucky and the bullets stopped.

Yep, looks like that’s how it works, he thought.

That was not a hypothesis that needed to be tested, Sadie seethed at him.

“Go get that dead chippy,” the older voice ordered.

“Could be an ambush,” the one with the sniffles said. “They could be waiting with weapons down there.”

Good idea, Sadie heard Ford think. He could make them think he had weapons even though he didn’t. His eyes roamed the room for anything within hand’s reach.

On the floor near his feet, Bucky groaned. “You weren’t supposed to come,” he said. “Card only for emergency purposes. All went wrong. So sorry.”

“What happened?” Ford asked, leaning in close. “Do you know who the Pharmacist is?”

Bucky shook his head. “These are just thugs. Paid guns.” He made a gun with his fingers. “Bang.”

“Why are they here?”

Bucky grabbed Ford’s arm and pulled him closer. “I’m sorry. I saw—Fourth of July. They made me watch. That. This—” He rolled his eyes. “My punishment for not telling. Never tell. But hated seeing what they did to you.”

Ford smiled at him. “You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Oh god, Ford, I love you, Sadie thought.

Bucky tried a chuckle, then gulped air. “Hurts too much.” His hand squeezed Ford’s hard, eyes closed against the pain. “I didn’t tell. All still there for you.”

“All what?”

Bucky opened his eyes. “The treasure.”

“We’ll have some fun with it when this is over.”

Yes, Sadie vowed. You will. I promise.

“No, Citizen F. This is the end for me.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Bucky,” Ford threatened, as if the force of his will could keep him alive. “Don’t give up. I’m not going to let you go. We’ll get out of this.” I’m not going to lose anyone else, Sadie heard him think.

But something had changed in Bucky. His eyes were clear and alert, and he seemed calmer. He said, “Was always jealous of James. Not because of him.” Bucky’s hand clutched Ford’s, and his eyes closed as a fresh surge of pain rolled through him. “Because of you. Always wanted a brother like you.”

Sadie tasted tears and didn’t know if they were hers or Ford’s. “Bucky—” Ford said, part plea, part gasp.

Bucky’s eyes opened and he smiled at Ford. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about me. Bet they have better treasure hunts where I’m going.” He looked peaceful, but there was a hint of fear in his eyes.

It ripped Ford in half. “The best,” Ford told him, struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. “The very best.” Sadie heard him praying: Please don’t let him die, please.

Boots sounded on the stairs behind them. Bucky gave Ford’s hand a feeble squeeze. “Hide.”

Grief welled up in Ford as he flattened himself against the armoire. His heart was racing with fear, but over it Sadie heard him repeating that it wasn’t fair, Bucky couldn’t die too, it wasn’t fair.

I’m so sorry, Ford, she cried, guilt making her feel like she’d been stabbed. This was her fault. Not consciously or intentionally, but she was still responsible. Without her, he wouldn’t have been in this situation.

The heavy footsteps—two sets? More?—had almost reached the bottom of the stairs. Ford’s heartbeat jumped with fear, and he thought, I’m really sorry, Mom.

Oh, Ford, Sadie gasped.

There were three gunmen, large guys wearing ski masks and body armor with weapons cocked at waist level. Two of them advanced toward Bucky to pick him up while one of them stayed by the stairs.

“Let’s make it fast,” the one nearest to Ford said. “All this dust is hell on my allergies.”

“We should take a second to look around for Sub Nine. If we find him, we—”

“Stop talking and do this,” the gunman at the stairs barked.

From above Sadie and Ford heard a baritone that hadn’t spoken yet announce, “I got one!” and the sound of booted footsteps marching across the stage.

So there are four gunmen, Ford thought.

Sadie added, At least.

“He’s not on our list,” another voice they hadn’t heard before said.

Five.

“He’s not a chippy, but he was nosing around,” the baritone explained.

“Not nosing.” It was Mason’s voice. The strain in it made Ford feel like someone was pulling on his guts and increased the crushing burden of Sadie’s guilt. “I’m a developer. I’m just looking at the property.”

“Put him in the transport,” the newest voice said.

No! Sadie heard Ford think, and she caught quick flashed images of white, of rope, of the black glove, the icehouse.

What does that memory mean? she wanted to ask him. Why are you thinking of it now?

The two gunmen lifted Bucky’s body from the floor. Ford’s mind was raging. You can’t have him, Sadie heard him think. Not without a fight. Sadie saw him putting together a plan, grab one of the umbrellas, use it to hook—

“Got a chirp on your chippy!” the baritone from upstairs called. “He’s down there with you, I’m locked on—”

Get back! Sadie screamed, and Ford skidded away from the umbrellas, knocking the gunman carrying Bucky’s legs to the ground as his colleague began shooting through the floor at the place where Ford had been standing.

“You hit me, you bastard!” the one with the allergies shouted.

Sadie felt Ford’s grim pleasure, but it was short-lived. The other gunman kept moving and had dragged Bucky nearly halfway up the stairs, which meant he was getting away and Ford’s chirp would be visible in five… four… three.

Duck, Sadie called to him as the gunman by the stairs opened fire, sending a barrage of bullets into the debris where Ford had been the moment before.

Shell casings clinked on the ground. The air stank, thick and smoky. Bucky was out of view.

They must be reloading, Sadie thought. We’re completely exposed now. Trapped. She was shaking all over.

“Did we get him?”

Above them the guy with the baritone said, “I can’t find Subject Nine. He’s off screen.”

What? Sadie asked. How?

“I’ve lost Subject Nine.”

“Me too.”

A knot began twisting in Sadie’s stomach. She could see everything Ford saw, which meant his chip was active. And Bucky was gone. So how was Ford staying shielded? Unless there was someone—

Linc’s big head filled Ford’s field of vision. “I really didn’t want it to come to this,” he said, pressing the point of a knife against Ford’s neck.