Page 133 of Shatter

"She comes out first." It grinds out of me.

Tor holds my eyes a second longer.

Then he nods once.

"Go get your girl, prospect." He jerks his chin at the door.

Back in my room, Walt picks up on the second ring.

It's Wednesday, and we only talk on Sundays.

I hear it in his voice the second he answers.

"Breck." He's already awake, the radio murmuring behind him. "What's wrong?"

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed with one boot on.

The other boot's in my hand.

Tucked in its sheath inside the top of it is the lineman's knife he gave me the day I turned sixteen, the wooden handle worn smooth by his hand and then by mine.

"The girl." My voice cracks. "Somebody took her."

He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

On the other end of the line, I hear the radio click off.

"You going after her?" His voice is low.

"Yeah." My grip tightens on the boot.

"Good." He clears his throat, rough. "You remember what I told you? About my brother, and the fires?"

"The first person you pull out of a burning house stays with you forever." I close my eyes. "I remember."

"She's already the first one, son." His voice goes thick. "She's been the first one since the night you carried her out of that parking lot. You already pulled her out once."

I press the heel of my hand hard against my eyes, and I can't answer.

"So, go pull her out again." Walt breathes out, long and shaky. "And call me Sunday."

"Yes, sir." It barely gets past my throat.

I pull the boot on over the knife and lace it tight, and I don't let go of the phone until he hangs up.

We ride out at eight-fifteen.

Sixteen bikes, in a double column, through the gate and out onto the highway in a roar rattling the windows of every house we pass.

I ride third, behind Tor and Rati, with the cloned drive zipped into the inside pocket of my cut and her note folded against my chest under it.

The sun's up and hot already, glaring off the asphalt.

The road runs south through the pines, the same road I rode four days ago with her arms around my waist and her hands under my shirt at the light in Crawfordville, laughing so hard she almost fell off.

We blow through the light in Crawfordville.

I don't look at it.