Chapter Seventeen: Sightseeing
After I left Elana, I returned to the control booth. Quin and Max were exchanging a computer tablet between them, engrossed in a game of Scrabble.
Max glanced up and waved me over. "Here she comes, our local celebrity," he joked, his eyes twinkling at me.
Quin snickered.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at them.
"We've been waiting for you," Max added. "Augustus wants us to take you on a quick tour of the city—a little sightseeing of the Guardians' handiwork."
I gave him a puzzled look, inwardly recoiling at the mention of Augustus' name.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You'll see," Max offered cryptically.
A few minutes later, they were both geared up, guns and walkie-talkies strapped to their waistbands. I still wanted to talk to Quin about the meeting, but I held back. I couldn't help but notice that he seemed less-than-excited about our excursion. He hardly spoke to me until we were outside, walking up Market Street, retracing our circuitous route from the night before. Making sure we avoided the surveillance cameras, Max walked a few steps ahead of us.
"Did you give Augustus the flash drive?" he asked me.
I nodded, still feeling annoyed with myself.
"So," he began, "your mother didn't tell you what was on it?" I was surprised at his interest.
"No," I replied. "My mother is kind of a mystery sometimes. She hasn't told me much about her work lately."
"Oh." Quin sounded disappointed.
His voice hesitant, he asked, "Does she still work with criminals?"
I turned to him, considering his face carefully. "Do you know a lot about my mother?" It seemed that he did.
Before Zenigenic, my mother had spent years studying criminals. She had developed a drug—Crim-X—for the government that was supposed to reduce crime by suppressing emotions like anger and excitement. Her work allowed for the release of many inmates previously evaluated as high risk.
A few years after the first group of five hundred inmates was released, one of the men, Inmate 243, committed murder. The other inmates were returned to prison, and the project was abandoned. My mother rarely spoke of that time in her life, even to me, so Quin's question was a curious surprise.
Quin shook his head rapidly. "Uh . . . no . . . not really. Just what I've heard," he stammered. I saw Max glance back at us, directing a raised eyebrow toward Quin.
Max's comment from the morning about Quin and my mother nagged at me. "What have you heard?" I asked.
Quin didn't answer. He pointed up ahead. "Stop one on your tour, Ms. Knightley," he announced.
Up ahead, I saw a familiar scene. It was the overturned, graffitied cable car at the intersection of Market and Powell Street. Max hoisted himself up on the car, showboating for a moment, his arms outstretched.
"Fellow San Franciscans, lend me your ears." Max's voice was intentionally dramatic.
I giggled, but Quin seemed perturbed.
"Max." Quin admonished with a disapproving look.
Almost immediately, Max jumped down, giving me a little bow. "Sorry, Dad," he said sarcastically, narrowing his eyes at Quin.
"Wasn't there a rally here a while before the city was evacuated?" I asked, vividly recalling an SFTV news broadcast from one of the protests where shooting had erupted in the crowd.
Quin nodded solemnly, something dark passing across his face.
"That's why Augustus wanted us to take you to this spot," Max explained. "A man was killed here during that rally. The Guardian Force made it look like the Resistance was responsible."
"How?" I asked, unable to conceal my bewilderment.
I noticed that Quin had walked away from us. He was standing on the sidewalk, absent-mindedly kicking at some of the debris with his boot.
Max glanced cautiously in his direction before answering. "By having one of the Guardians dress up as a protestor and fire the shot. That way, the public would fear the Resistance, and the government could justify their plan for evacuating the city."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise, my eyes widening.
"It wasn't the only time," Max added. "There are a few more unfortunate stops on this tour."
I shook my head in disgust at everything I had learned today about the Guardian Force. I desperately wished I could talk to my mother. She would know what to do—she always did. I began to wonder if she had known all along about the true purpose of the Guardians.
Quin was already walking briskly ahead of us. I trotted to catch up to him.
"You never answered my question . . . about my mother," I reminded him.
"You're persistent, you know that?" Somehow, he made it sound like a bad thing. Even so, I nodded, smiling at him.
"What about your dad?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject. "I haven't heard anything about him."
I furrowed my brow at Quin. "I wouldn't have to be so persistent, if you weren't so evasive," I teased.
"Fair enough," he said flatly.
Even though he didn't deserve a reply, I answered him anyway. "My dad left us when I was ten. My mom and I haven't heard from him since then. I wish there was more to tell."
Quin was silenced briefly by my revelation.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I just assumed that . . ." He left his thought unfinished.
"My life was perfect?" I guessed at his assumption.
"Something like that," he admitted, shrugging.
Max stopped and pointed toward a building that had been gutted by fire. "Stop two," he told me.
"The Guardian Force set fire to this building," Max explained. "The government made sure that SFTV would publicly attribute the arson to the Resistance." He pointed to the red mark of the Resistance, blazing red on all the surrounding buildings.
Turning toward Quin, I carefully considered how to word my next question. "When you were a Guardian, did you ever participate?" I asked, gesturing to the building.
Quin's jaw tensed. I saw Max eyeing him closely, the way I had seen my mother watchfully attend to a boiling pot on the stove. There was no answer from Quin, but his silence spoke for him.
On our way back, Quin was distant, removed, even from Max. He walked ahead of us, brooding.
"Guess he didn't like the tour," Max joked with me, loud enough for Quin to hear him.
Quin turned, his expression softening. He caught my eye and winked at me conspiratorially as he grabbed Max, placing him in a pretend headlock.
"The tour was fantastic." Quin's voice was steeped with exaggerated excitement, and I giggled. Rubbing Max's head with his knuckle, he added, "It was the annoying tour guide I didn't like."
Chapter Eighteen: Running
I was sitting on my bed, holding my book open to the dog-eared page. Only my eyes were reading. My mind was in a million other places. I had been prepared to fear the Guardian Force, but I was unnerved by what I had learned. Whatever their purpose, they were ruthless. Even more surprising, I hadn't expected to distrust the leader of the Resistance, but Augustus had given me an uneasy feeling that I couldn't ignore. He seemed as smooth and slick as oil. Another lesson from my mother: Never disregard that small, but insistent voice inside of you.
And there was something else I kept turning over and over in my mind like a stone. Quin, Max, and Elana had all been recruited as teenagers by the Guardian Force: Max from a group home, Quin from the streets—and Elana, I was still uncertain about, though I knew that she had demonstrated resistance to Emovere. Perhaps it was only an unlucky coincidence, but I couldn't help but think that long before the Guardians came looking for them, each had experienced something painful, something that couldn't be taken back. Was that why the Guardians had recruited them?
Mid-thought, I was halted by Quin's voice.
"I'm taking Artos for a run. Do you want to come?" Quin stood in the doorway, wearing shorts and a T-shirt. Artos was prancing, trying to contain his anticipation.
"Outside?"
"Not exactly." Quin smirked at me, running his hand through his dark brown hair, his eyes mischievous. I had to admit, Max was right—Quin was handsome—the unreachable kind of boy who, in my old life, I would have longed for from afar.
"I brought some clothes for you. These are Elana's." He held out a small bag with a shirt, shorts, and sneakers. "I'll meet you at the platform in ten minutes."
I felt eager to be alone with Quin. I was intent upon asking him about the meeting, but somewhere in my butterflied stomach, I knew that wasn't the only reason. When I arrived at the platform, Quin and Artos were standing below on the train tracks. Quin was jogging in place, holding a flashlight, and Artos was jumping eagerly next to him.
"Ready for this?" he asked me, his voice issuing a challenge. "I should warn you that I'm pretty fast."
"I would expect nothing less." I smiled at him.
Running through the tunnels was surprisingly exhilarating. Except for the small circle of light from Quin's flashlight, we were shadowed in darkness. After terrorizing a few unlucky birds, Artos trotted obediently next to us. Quin ran effortlessly. His breathing was steady and calm. I tried to match his pace, but he hadn't exaggerated. He was fast. After the first mile, Quin slowed his stride and turned to me.
"What did you think about the meeting?" he asked. I was surprised, but grateful that he had brought it up unprompted. He'd already been clear about his disdain for my persistence.
Uncertain how to sum up my thoughts for him, I began with the easiest question.
"Why did Augustus lie about how Elliot died?"
"He didn't lie," Quin replied. He kept running, his pace a steady trot.
After a few minutes of silence, I realized that Quin had no intention of offering more.
"You know, you don't have to make every conversation so difficult," I said, annoyed.
Quin stopped and turned to face me. "He didn't lie. He wouldn't lie." His voice was stern. "I told him that I killed Elliot."
"But why?" I asked.
"You ask that a lot, you know." I sensed that Quin wanted to trust me, but couldn't. His restraint protected him, like a turtle's shell hiding its soft underbelly.
"I know. Bad habit," I said. "But I'm trying to figure you out."
Quin took a breath. "I've done things, Lex, bad things. I've hurt people. If you knew what I did, you probably wouldn't like me."
I felt a dull ache, like a hammer strike to my chest, as I heard the shame in Quin's voice. I wanted to touch him, but I held back. "What makes you think I like you?" I asked, trying to lighten his mood.
Quin gave a half-hearted smile.
"I've hurt people too, you know," I said. I thought of Elliot, who was just a young man like Max or Quin, probably with a story equally as painful.
Quin nodded in agreement, but it seemed forced. As I turned from him, ready to resume our run, his voice stopped me.
"You don't hurt people, Lex. That's not what you do. That's what I do, and that's why I lied." His voice was hard as nails, matter-of-fact, as if it was a speech he had practiced many times alone.
I offered no response. We ran another four miles in silence, both of us entirely alone with our thoughts. I remembered Elana's words. Quin had been through a lot. The question was what?
Chapter Nineteen: Bullet to the Head
Quin and I returned to chaos, the hallways thick with the members of the Resistance. They were scrambling like ants. As we dodged anxious faces, I caught snippets of conversations. "Ten bodies . . . bullet to the head . . . Guardians . . ."
Quin and I exchanged a look.
"We should see Augustus." He said it without thinking, as if Augustus was the answer to every question. Quin wore his distrust for others like a badge, yet it appeared he trusted Augustus without exception. It worried me.
I followed Quin past the Map Room, down another long corridor, and through two more secured doors to a third. Outside, several armed members of the Resistance stood guard.
"Hey, Quin," a guard said in a low voice, gesturing us over. "We tried to find you. Augustus is meeting with the rest of the Council."
He opened the door and ushered us in.
Inside, around a large table, five chairs were filled. A sixth sat empty. Augustus presided at the head, of course. As we entered, I watched him cast a look of disappointment toward Quin. Immediately, Quin's shoulders slumped, his head hung downward like a scolded puppy. Just as he was about to take the sixth seat, which was meant for him, Augustus turned his cold eyes toward us and spoke.
"Mr. McAllister, would you care to enlighten us as to your whereabouts for the past hour?" Augustus' voice was different than before. He was no longer charming.
Quin avoided Augustus' eyes. "I'm sorry, Augustus. There's no excuse."
"You're right. There is no excuse."
His words cut Quin like the strike of a whip, fast and deep. Dr. Bell and Vera Bullock lowered their eyes, embarrassed for Quin. Only Cason continued to stare at him, a look of amusement on his face.
With that, Augustus was finished with Quin and turned his lash to me.
"Ms. Knightley, this meeting is for Council members only. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave."
I looked to Quin for support, but he refused to meet my eyes. I touched his shoulder gently, and he nodded at me, expressionless.
"Go," he said.