I tense, waiting for the wheels to hit a runway I can’t see. The engines hum indifferently, and then I hear a soft whine, and I wait for it. A jolt. A lurch. Yet when the tires meet the ground, it’s the softest of kisses. A caress. I’m stunned by how effortlessly he did that.
The plane bounces slightly as Gray slows it down.
“That was incredible,” I tell him.
He winks at me. “I know. And you don’t have to look so relieved.”
“I’m beyond relieved. You literally landed a plane with no lights on a runway with no lights. I almost peed myself.”
Snickering, he shuts off the engines, and we climb out of the hybrid onto the tarmac. I breathe in the scent of pine and damp earth, turning to study our surroundings. There’s no airport. No hangars or other outbuildings. Beyond the shadowy runway lies a small stretch of forest, which Gray strides toward.
“This way,” he says over his shoulder.
We don’t walk far, only a few yards into the woods, where I’m startled to find a small carport. I almost miss it, that’s how well hidden it is. If he hadn’t been walking right up to it, I would’ve thought I was looking at overgrown foliage and the thick trunks of ancient trees. Branches and moss cloak the structure, blending it seamlessly into the background.
He pulls aside the brush to reveal a hunter-green canvas tarp. Pushes that aside, too, and now I’m breathing in the faint smell of engine oil and exhaust. Inside is a black vehicle that feels out of place in this rundown carport. It’s shiny. Almost brand-new.
“It’s a block-registered vehicle,” he says.
I’m relieved to hear it. A block-registered vehicle means it belongs to someone serving in one of the Command’s four blocks, usually a high-ranking officer. We’re unlikely to get stopped.
The airfield is in Ward E, only a short drive from Sanctum Point. As I settle in the passenger side, I link with Cross, who’s quick to respond. He’s clearly been waiting for me.
“Just landed,”I tell him.“En route to the rendezvous now.”
“Copy. I’m already here.”
My pulse quickens at the knowledge that I’ll be seeing him soon. I’m still shocked he even agreed to this, though to be fair, it wasn’twithout plenty of arm-twisting and coercion. Cross thinks it’s too risky to meet, but once I make up my mind about something, there’s no talking me out of it.
Gray slides behind the wheel and steers the car down a narrow, unlit road in the direction of the Point. The car windows are almost completely tinted. I can see out, but no one can see in. If we do get stopped, we’re hellfucked, or at least I am, what with the red threat on my ID.
Every citizen exists in the Company database under a unique identification number, but Gray assures me that our people in Company Intelligence swapped my prints in the system. Last time I snuck into the Point, they were able to temporarily lift my person-of-interest flag under the guise of a system glitch that lasted six hours. This time, I’m told I only have two.
“Two hours?” I echo uncertainly. That doesn’t seem like ample time.
“You’re lucky to have even that. For the next two hours, your prints and eye scan are linked to the name Mary Bowers. And if you, my dear Mary, aren’t at the pickup exactly two hours from now, I’m leaving without you.”
“Where will you be in the meantime?”
He’s obnoxiously vague. “I have some business to take care of.”
We drive through the city’s perimeter checkpoint, where the car is automatically scanned by the entry cameras.
“Oh,” he adds, “and they’ve increased security in the Point. Checkpoints in every zone now.”
“Fuck. Since when?” The city is divided into five zones, some of which are restricted to the general public. Like Zone 1, where the Capitol and official Company buildings are—only authorized civilians can access that zone. But Cross and I are meeting in the entertainment district, which is Zone 5. I’ve never heard of a checkpoint in Zone 5.
“Since your boyfriend’s brother took charge,” Gray says sarcastically.
A few minutes later, he pulls into an unpaved alley, gravel crunching beneath our tires. He stops the car but leaves the engine running, glancing over sternly.
“This is as far as I can take you. You’ll have to get to the checkpoint on foot. This’ll be your pickup spot. Like I said, you’ve got two hours. Give yourself enough time to get back here.”
“Are you sure the fake ID will work?”
“It should. But we didn’t have time to sync a bio to your comm, so if you are stopped, don’t let them question you. Just fucking run.”
“Awesome.”
