I always wanted to participate in one, but I never had the courage. There was an immense, persistent fear of my discovery or the possibility of arrest. Atlas looks me dead in the eye. A small frown tugs his lips downward.
“You can’t live your entire life in fear,” he says, his focus entirely on me.
Conin shuffles on the rocking chair. It’s silent longer than feels comfortable. Ms. Bernard’s words drift in like a whisper, brushing against my skin, raising the hairs on my arms. A cold shiver takes root.
“Anyways, it was a peaceful protest—nothing the police or government could act on. And there were hundreds and hundreds of just normal citizens, all there in support of recidivist rights. If the authorities had done anything, shit would’ve gotten ugly quickly. And many were fearful of therecidivists in the crowd, of what they could do. The unfortunate truth, but we used it to our advantage.”
I possess nothing useful to contribute to the conversation, so my lips stay zipped.
“How long do you suppose we’ll be here before the Angelics can extract us? Who will it be? Esther herself or a smaller group of cohorts?” says Conin.
Atlas’s posture straightens.
“I’ll need to contact Ambrosia in the morning. She, along with several others, is usually in charge of extractions in Utah. Depending on whether they’re in California or somewhere nearby, it could take up to a week. Shouldn’t be any later than that.”
He stands abruptly. I mimic him, cursing my legs for betraying me, and almost sit back down, so as not to out myself that his entire presence has me on edge. Atlas studies me for a moment; our gazes locked, tension potent, palpable enough for Conin to squirm in his seat. Atlas blinks, then grins. His stubble is prominent in this lighting.
“Knowing ma, she’s probably whipped something up for you two, so I hope you’re hungry.”
It’s eleven at night, but I don’t point that out. Conin’s stomach grumbles. I stifle a laugh because the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Atlas, however, lets out a cordial chuckle.
“I’ll take that as a confirmation. The fridge and cupboards are stocked, but ma tends to cook whenever we have visitors. It’s just how she is,” he says, catching my eye one last time before disappearing through the secured door.
My gaze lingers long after he’s left, and a sigh presses out my lips. I hadn’t noticed it was queued for Atlas’s departure, but now that he’s gone, I regain the ability to breathe. Conin’s intense glare sears my peripheries. When it’s clear I’ve spottedhim, his focus darts intently to the abstract piece of art hung on the wall. We stay like this for a long time.
Chapter 27
Conin
Ihate how calm my nerves are—like a significant burden was relieved from my shoulders as Atlas showed us around. I’m not completely at peace, because that would signify a wholehearted trust that isn’t there yet. We may have achieved some semblance of safety, but my worries for Ezra are persistent and my distrust of Atlas needs work. When he leaves, I turn to Ezra and notice the sickly look on his face.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He isn’t.
He shakes his head and doesn’t speak. Instead, he stalks off to the bathroom, shutting the door with a jarring slam. It’s obvious he’s experiencing one of his episodes and I can do nothing to help him. Our conversation will have to hold out for later. In the meantime, I re-explore the bunker and get acquainted with its amenities. I enter the bedroom, staring down at the row of twin beds. Ezra can no longer share a bed with me. His body near mine was a comfort, an essential I needed, a means to keep mesane through the horrible things we’ve been through. I have no excuses now without outing myself to him. His friendship means the world to me. Creating a rift is the last thing we need.
I return to the entertainment room and rummage through the extensive array of books aligning the shelves. There are some greats mixed in with the bunch and several more notably queer titles I recognize. I file that information away for later, then make myself comfortable on the couch since Ezra might be a while. Moments later, the bunker’s entrance emanates a low hiss and Atlas enters with a tray in hand.
“Pa had a look at the vehicle you arrived here with. Thanks for the keys, by the way,” Atlas tells me while setting down both keyset and tray on the kitchen table.
“And?” I question, leaning in and clasping my fingers together. I clench tightly and watch my knuckles grow white.
“There was a tracker placed inside, just as he suspected. The Barclay Network was smart in placing it there, probably for situations like these. He’s erasing its history, then he’ll destroy it,” says Atlas.
I’m not at all relieved. A sharp stab pierces my chest—a hint of worry. Tommy was beaten by Mara, which means these mercenaries still have a means to find us.
“My car was destroyed on the interstate,” I say. “In our scuffle with Mara, we stole her vehicle and diverted paths for a while. Then we came here.”
“I figured that was the case. It’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with a situation like it. Scanning’s now become a precautionary measure.”
“I don’t believe the tracking device was their only method of finding us. The Barclay Network has Tommy now. They could torture the information out of him,” I say.
When the panic comes, I’m on my feet in a flurry. Ezra’s still in the bathroom, but I’m wired with impatience. The bunker’s afacade, one I’m more eager to escape. It’s only a matter of time before the Barclay Network picks up on our trail again. I’d rather not be here for their inevitable arrival. Atlas soaks in the hysteria I attempt to mask. He tests the waters by moving closer, but I’m feeling territorial and downright defensive. If he doesn’t back away, something of his is going to end up broken. The gun still weighs on me.
“Conin, I know what you’re thinking,” Atlas says calmly. “But leaving here will only condemn you and Ezra. This bunker was designed to withstand intruders. It will hold and you two will be safe.”
That brief calmness returns because I want to believe him. But what if belief is not enough?
