“But I don’t, you know, like high places. Falling from them, anyway.”
“I’ll carry you down,” Solo says.
“Not happening.”
“We are short on time, Eve. Tommy is on the hunt. Like I said, he’s not stupid. And if it hasn’t happened already, your mother will have security all over this. We have seconds.” He scrunches down a little so he can look me in the eye. “Don’t worry. I won’t drop you.”
“I could beat you in a 5K, too,” I add.
“Climb over the rail.”
I do it, fast, before I lose my nerve. The wind is cold and strong. I’m extremely aware that if my feet slip I’ll have a few seconds to scream before I hit the bottom.
I may be genetically modified, but I doubt my physical repair ability extends to recovering from death.
Solo swings easily over the railing. He loops the rope through his harness. He leans back, confident.
“Climb on,” he says.
“How?”
“Your arms around my neck, your legs wrapped around my waist. Try not to choke me.”
His body is at an angle to the building. He has one hand free. The other holds the trailing rope. Keeping all available hands on the railing, I turn to face him.
He pulls himself in closer, presses his body against mine.
Putting my arms around his neck is the easy part. The harder part is wrapping my legs around him. It feels ridiculous, and he has to lean slowly back to take my weight.
My calves are pressed hard against him. I don’t know what to do with my head. So I just look at him, and he looks past me at the rope. “Eve?” he says. “You okay?”
“Why do you insist on calling me Eve?” I ask, because I don’t really want to address the question of how okay I may or may not be.
“Dunno. Just feels right,” Solo says, and then we start to fall.
We float downward. When we slow and gently bounce, it drives me against him. We drop again and bounce. Fall, slow, impact. Fall, slow, impact.
“See?” Solo says, pausing halfway down. “It’s not hard.”
It takes me a few beats to realize he’s talking about the rappelling.
I snork a sudden, very stupid laugh.
He gets it, grins, looks away, and we bounce off again, falling, and now the truth is I am in no hurry to get to the bottom.
A final drop, and we land.
Aislin is waiting. It’s dark, so I can’t see her face very well, but her mocking, fake-disgruntled voice is clear enough.
“That’s so unfair. No one even told me coming down that way was an option.”
– 28 –
We are in weeds and rocks beneath stunted trees. The ground is so steep no one has ever made much of an effort to landscape it. It’s almost vertical from the foundation of the building down to the water.
“There’s a staircase, if we can get there before it occurs to anyone to cut us off,” Solo says. He points. “This way. Watch the branches—they might snap back as I push through.”
It’s not far, a hundred feet maybe, but it’s a struggle to avoid losing our footing.
The stairs turn out to be wooden, a little ramshackle. They must have been here before the Spiker complex was built. It’s dark, but there’s some moonlight bouncing off the water, so while I can’t see the steps, I can see the handrail.
Solo is in the lead, then Aislin, and I’m at the back. We try not to make noise, but the stairs creak and our breathing seems incredibly loud in the stillness.
“What do we do at the bottom?” I hiss.
“There’s a boat,” Solo calls back in a loud whisper.
It’s ridiculous, but I was almost hoping we’d have to swim somewhere. I’m an excellent swimmer. I could easily make the team, but I don’t want to be in cold water every morning before school. I’d like to show off my competence at something, after not exactly impressing during the rappelling event.
Then: “Someone’s coming!” I say, loudly enough, maybe, for Solo and Aislin to hear.
Powerful flashlights stab cylinders of light into the darkness. There are three beams, then a fourth, and one is on me, lighting up my arm and the side of my face, blinding my right eye.
“There they are!” a man’s voice cries.
They’re at the top of the steps. They are not trying to be quiet. They are thundering down after us, their lights bobbing wildly.
The water is close. I see a wooden pier. I see two boats, both small, open motorboats. One has a wooden hull and the other is an inflatable Zodiac-style boat.
Two boats are worse than one. One boat is an escape. Two boats are a chase.
Solo leaps into the wooden boat.
“Cast off!” he yells to Aislin and me.
Aislin says, “What?” But I dive toward the stern rope. It’s looped over a cleat. Aislin sees, understands, and starts to tug at the bow rope.
I hear the sound of a starter.
“Get them, get them, get them!” someone shouts.
A man, no two, hit the pier, two big, football-player-size guys charging at us.
Solo’s hand flashes out and I am yanked bodily through the air, swung aboard. I hit my knees on the bench and trip. My hands plunge into the few inches of cold water in the bottom of the boat.
Aislin jumps and lands hard, but her impact pushes the boat a few inches from the pier.
The engine catches. There’s a hoarse roar and the smell of diesel fuel.
The first of our pursuers leaps.