RECKLESS: Chapter 1
The U-Haul’s engine shuts down with a rattling cough. I lift my head off KJ’s shoulder, instantly alert, and blink into the absolute darkness filling the back of the truck.
We’re free.
The words pop into my head, bringing a burst of happiness that explodes inside me like my own private fireworks. The murmur of tentative voices rising through the dark confirms that this isn’t a dream. We did it. KJ and I rescued all twenty spinners from Portland’s supposedly secure Crime Investigation Center and brought them here, miles from where we started, to the brink of a new life. A safe life, where no one will control us or our time skills.
“You awake, Alex?”
KJ’s whisper is so close to my ear that his breath tickles my neck. I reach through the darkness and find his hand. When I touch it, his fingers twine with mine.
A loud creaking sound comes from outside as our driver, Yolly, climbs from the truck’s cab. Seconds later, she yanks the rear roll-up door partway open with a deafening clatter. Normal darkness, the kind lightened by moon and stars and streetlamps, floods our cave-like space. In the soft glow, I can make out the outlines of the kids KJ and I rescued, curled together like puppies on a patchwork assortment of pillows and blankets. At the lip of the truck’s bed stands Yolly, her round form a solid mass of reassurance.
“Everyone OK in there?” she whispers—an unnecessary courtesy, given that all the people clustered around me are wide awake.
“We’re great.” I crawl toward the opening, KJ at my heels.
“Wait here,” I tell the other spinners as I squeeze my way through them. “KJ and I will make sure everything is safe.”
“What about us?” asks Aidan. “We’re just supposed to stay wedged in here?”
“Yep,” KJ answers.
Aidan mutters, “So they think they’re in charge now?” to his buddy Raul, but neither of them gets out from under his blankets.
I swing myself out of the truck, wincing a little when my feet hit the ground. It’s been a long night. The short nap I snatched on the hour-long drive over here is holding back the worst of my exhaustion, but it hasn’t erased the headache beating a persistent drumroll inside my skull.
KJ clambers out behind me, stretching his long body like a cat and darting quick glances at our surroundings, presumably searching—as I am—for a sign of someone about to attack. No one appears. The night smells like diesel and hums with quiet. To our right are a handful of long-haul trucks, their slumbering forms blocked from the freeway by a stand of tall pines. To our left, empty parking spots face a low concrete building. A sign hung near the door proclaims men over the blue-and-white image of a person in a wheelchair. There’s a soda machine next the building and a display of maps and tourist information. I can’t read the notices from here, but if we’re in the right place, they’ll be telling us about the wonders of Oregon’s Columbia River Gorge.
“Is the guy you’re meeting here?” Yolly asks, peering across the dim lot. She’s parked the U-Haul in a spot at the end, as far as she could get from the lights.
“He should be,” I say. “This is the Moose rest stop, right?”
“Memaloose,” Yolly corrects me.
The word slides from her on a heavy sigh, and I study her more closely. Yolly looks as tired as I feel. Her full lips are pinched, and there are cavernous circles under her eyes. A twinge of guilt dims some of my happiness. What has Yolly been thinking about as she chauffeured us on this midnight drive? Does she regret what she’s done? Yolly is an adult and an employee of the Center. If they figure out that she helped twenty spinners escape, she won’t just lose her job. Yolly will go to jail.
“I don’t see him,” I say, pushing my guilt aside to answer her original question. “But I’m sure he’s on his—”
A car exits the highway, heading in our direction. KJ yanks down the truck’s roll-up door and pulls Yolly and me behind the vehicle’s bulky mass. All three of us peer around the side to watch as the car’s headlights grow bigger. A familiar thread of worry worms its way up from the back of my mind. What if this is a trap, and instead of coming here to take us to a spinner refuge, Miguel actually works for the Center? What if it’s the Center’s director, Dr. Barnard, or my former time agent, Carson Ross, who leaps from the oncoming car, bringing with him the leashes that prevent us from freezing time? Or worse, what if the car is full of wipers?
I clench my teeth, willing the fear to go away, which only sort of works. Knowing that freezing time for extended periods causes paranoia doesn’t stop my alarm bells from clamoring.
“You think it’s Miguel?” KJ asks me. He shoots a quick glance at Yolly, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am: She shouldn’t have turned off the truck.
“Why don’t you wait in the cab,” I tell Yolly. “We’ll go talk to the driver, and if he’s not who we think, or if he does anything threatening, you drive everyone else away. OK?”
Yolly’s eyes go wide. “You don’t think something’s going to go wrong, do you?”
A quiver of fear prickles my scalp. Of course I do.
The U-Haul’s engine shuts down with a rattling cough. I lift my head off KJ’s shoulder, instantly alert, and blink into the absolute darkness filling the back of the truck.
We’re free.
The words pop into my head, bringing a burst of happiness that explodes inside me like my own private fireworks. The murmur of tentative voices rising through the dark confirms that this isn’t a dream. We did it. KJ and I rescued all twenty spinners from Portland’s supposedly secure Crime Investigation Center and brought them here, miles from where we started, to the brink of a new life. A safe life, where no one will control us or our time skills.
“You awake, Alex?”
KJ’s whisper is so close to my ear that his breath tickles my neck. I reach through the darkness and find his hand. When I touch it, his fingers twine with mine.
A loud creaking sound comes from outside as our driver, Yolly, climbs from the truck’s cab. Seconds later, she yanks the rear roll-up door partway open with a deafening clatter. Normal darkness, the kind lightened by moon and stars and streetlamps, floods our cave-like space. In the soft glow, I can make out the outlines of the kids KJ and I rescued, curled together like puppies on a patchwork assortment of pillows and blankets. At the lip of the truck’s bed stands Yolly, her round form a solid mass of reassurance.
“Everyone OK in there?” she whispers—an unnecessary courtesy, given that all the people clustered around me are wide awake.
“We’re great.” I crawl toward the opening, KJ at my heels.
“Wait here,” I tell the other spinners as I squeeze my way through them. “KJ and I will make sure everything is safe.”
“What about us?” asks Aidan. “We’re just supposed to stay wedged in here?”
“Yep,” KJ answers.
Aidan mutters, “So they think they’re in charge now?” to his buddy Raul, but neither of them gets out from under his blankets.
I swing myself out of the truck, wincing a little when my feet hit the ground. It’s been a long night. The short nap I snatched on the hour-long drive over here is holding back the worst of my exhaustion, but it hasn’t erased the headache beating a persistent drumroll inside my skull.
KJ clambers out behind me, stretching his long body like a cat and darting quick glances at our surroundings, presumably searching—as I am—for a sign of someone about to attack. No one appears. The night smells like diesel and hums with quiet. To our right are a handful of long-haul trucks, their slumbering forms blocked from the freeway by a stand of tall pines. To our left, empty parking spots face a low concrete building. A sign hung near the door proclaims men over the blue-and-white image of a person in a wheelchair. There’s a soda machine next the building and a display of maps and tourist information. I can’t read the notices from here, but if we’re in the right place, they’ll be telling us about the wonders of Oregon’s Columbia River Gorge.
“Is the guy you’re meeting here?” Yolly asks, peering across the dim lot. She’s parked the U-Haul in a spot at the end, as far as she could get from the lights.
“He should be,” I say. “This is the Moose rest stop, right?”
“Memaloose,” Yolly corrects me.
The word slides from her on a heavy sigh, and I study her more closely. Yolly looks as tired as I feel. Her full lips are pinched, and there are cavernous circles under her eyes. A twinge of guilt dims some of my happiness. What has Yolly been thinking about as she chauffeured us on this midnight drive? Does she regret what she’s done? Yolly is an adult and an employee of the Center. If they figure out that she helped twenty spinners escape, she won’t just lose her job. Yolly will go to jail.
“I don’t see him,” I say, pushing my guilt aside to answer her original question. “But I’m sure he’s on his—”
A car exits the highway, heading in our direction. KJ yanks down the truck’s roll-up door and pulls Yolly and me behind the vehicle’s bulky mass. All three of us peer around the side to watch as the car’s headlights grow bigger. A familiar thread of worry worms its way up from the back of my mind. What if this is a trap, and instead of coming here to take us to a spinner refuge, Miguel actually works for the Center? What if it’s the Center’s director, Dr. Barnard, or my former time agent, Carson Ross, who leaps from the oncoming car, bringing with him the leashes that prevent us from freezing time? Or worse, what if the car is full of wipers?
I clench my teeth, willing the fear to go away, which only sort of works. Knowing that freezing time for extended periods causes paranoia doesn’t stop my alarm bells from clamoring.
“You think it’s Miguel?” KJ asks me. He shoots a quick glance at Yolly, and I know he’s thinking the same thing I am: She shouldn’t have turned off the truck.
“Why don’t you wait in the cab,” I tell Yolly. “We’ll go talk to the driver, and if he’s not who we think, or if he does anything threatening, you drive everyone else away. OK?”
Yolly’s eyes go wide. “You don’t think something’s going to go wrong, do you?”
A quiver of fear prickles my scalp. Of course I do.