Twinmaker

39

CLAIR LEANED FORWARD and ground her palms into her eyes. The bouncing of the buggy and the whipping of the wind weren’t helping her nausea.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Jesse. “You’re thinking that we have proof now. Proof of everything, thanks to Q. The dupes are real, and so is everything else Gemma—”

“Shut up.” It was true. That was exactly what she was thinking, and it wasn’t remotely a happy thought. The clock is ticking, Gemma had said. How many days did Libby have left, exactly?

We have proof now.

When had they become a we, Clair wondered.

An intersection came into view ahead. Jesse slowed them to a crawl.

“Which way, Clair?”

“You decide.”

“That’s your job, remember? We had an agreement. You navigate; I’ll drive.”

She forced herself not to dwell on what she’d just seen.

Think of the roads, the map. A puzzle can’t hurt anyone . . . and if we’re not going to make the airship, we might as well turn around right now and let the old man take us prisoner again.

Her original intention had been to take the most comfortable but now much less direct route to the airfield through a place called Angels Camp. There was an alternative, a more direct course that brought them close to the rear of the airfield. It was less than twelve miles by road, with a short overland leg at the end.

She weighed up the two routes in her mind. Fear made thinking easier. Fear of being left behind, of being stuck in the wilderness forever, of being shot, ultimately, and of losing the real Libby forever.

Comfort was no longer an option.

“North,” she said. “Route 4 for three miles, then take the left up Pool Station Road. Don’t stop until I tell you.”

“Okay,” he said. “Time to really put the pedal to the metal.”

That one she didn’t understand, but its meaning became clear as the buggy’s engine jumped an octave in pitch and their speed rapidly increased.

The helmet rocked at her side, nudging her hip. There hadn’t been so much as a squawk from the open channel since they had left Tulloch Dam, and according to the map the airship hadn’t moved. Figuring their position was largely blown already, she slipped the helmet over her head and selected the open channel.

“Got held up,” she said. “Expect company.”

“Understood” came the brief reply—Ray’s voice—then silence fell again.

Clair slipped off the helmet and sat for a moment, exhausted. She had decided which way to go in the short term. She was helpless now to do anything other than wait for the consequences.

“Moon’s rising, which means dawn’s on its way,” Jesse said, indicating the thin sliver creeping over the rumpled horizon to their right. “I’m worried we’re going to run out of time. They won’t keep the airship anywhere near the ground during the day, when it’s most vulnerable.”

Clair could do nothing to reassure him. Their vulnerability was gnawing at her as much as the airship’s. Not to mention Libby’s vulnerability.

“How does duping work?” she asked. “I mean, how can you put yourself into someone’s head?”

Jesse glanced at her, then back to the road. “Are you asking me or Q?”

“I don’t know. You.” Q was silent, for which Clair was grateful. “I mean, first you have to copy someone’s pattern, and then you have to change it, and then put it back into the system. How is that possible?”

“Did you see how her hand was shaking?” Jesse asked her. “It was fine when she came out of the booth, but it got worse really fast. It looked like nerve damage. . . .”

“Seven days,” Jesse went on when she didn’t sat anything. “That’s how long Gemma said Libby had. Maybe duping isn’t permanent because the minds and bodies don’t match. Maybe it’s the same with Improvement.”

“People change themselves so much, their minds and bodies didn’t match anymore, it drives them insane, and they kill themselves? Jesus.”

Clair couldn’t believe Jesse was taking it so calmly. Wasn’t he, the Stainer, supposed to be more outraged about this kind of thing than she was?

The speakers came to life. “Clair, are you there? I’m back now, and I’m sorry if I made a mistake. I was just trying to—”

Clair found the OFF button. Instantly, a patch appeared in her lenses. She switched them off too and sat still and silent in the rushing darkness.

The road forked. She gave Jesse directions from memory, without needing her lenses. Around them, the landscape became hillier. They were right on the edge of the Central Valley now. If they went much farther east, they’d hit the mountains, and the going would become really rough.

“Look for a bridge,” she said. “Just past it, that’s where we’re leaving the road.”

“Right.” He twisted the controls to avoid the outstretched branches of a fallen tree. The road snaked a third of a mile, then straightened. They were in the homestretch.

Clair gulped as Jesse locked all four wheels and sent the buggy into a skid. She braced herself for impact, but there was no sign of anything on the road ahead. Nothing at all. The bridge had fallen in.

The buggy jerked to a halt two yards from the creek. She could see slabs of concrete where the bridge had once been anchored to the shore. Jesse switched off the buggy and left it sitting in the middle of the road while they climbed out and jogged to inspect the creek. It was shallow, but the sides were steep and slippery toward the bottom, where the buggy was certain to become stuck. Clair retreated to get her pack, and they leaned on each other for balance until they felt smooth stones underfoot and rushing water over their feet. Instantly, Clair’s shoes were soaked. The cold was as piercing and as bracing as her fear of being late.

The other side of the creek was lightly wooded, and they slipped gratefully under the cover of the trees, squelching as quietly as they could.

“No, this way,” she said, turning Jesse around and pointing northeast. They ran straight across the countryside without concern for anything other than what would be waiting for them when they arrived. They ran until they hit a ridge, and then they walked. From the top of the ridge they could barely make out a long gray oblong that might have been a landing strip and possibly a clutch of old buildings. In the misty predawn light, the airship wasn’t visible.

It’ll be there. She told herself to focus on what was waiting for them inside it. Turner Goldsmith, the leader of WHOLE, would have answers. He would whisk them away from the assassins in the dark and tell them what to do next. She wasn’t expecting a knight on a charger like something from a fairy tale—but he was a grown-up who presumably knew what he was doing. He would help them like he had helped others in the past.

They ran down the other side of the ridge and approached a steeper, stonier rise with more caution, wary of turning an ankle. In the hush before sunrise, every footstep sounded deafening.

At the top of the rise were two runways connected by taxiways at both ends. All but one of buildings was abandoned and weatherworn. To the right of those two were spaces that might have been for light planes or automobiles. Parked haphazardly across those wide, empty spaces were three electrobikes.

There was no sign at all of their riders or the airship.

Clair stopped dead on the asphalt and looked around. The light was brighter now. Everything was still and silent and empty. No engine noise. No voices. No giant airships hanging in the sky.

“They left without us,” said Jesse.