The Dark at the End Read online

  I swallow bile.

  She was going to betray me, she said. To Dad. Is that true?

  I can’t think of that now. I have minutes at most before someone finds out I got out of that room and hunts me down.

  I go to the study door and open it, the gun at my side for now. It’s the same scene as before. Lucas is in one of the big chairs, a book in his lap. This time as soon as he sees me he stands up, the book still clutched in his hand. “Jake?” he asks, cautiously. His gaze flicks to my face, then the gun in my hand.

  “We’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got one chance, and this is it. Come on.” I try to sound gruff, commanding, like Dad or Dedushka would.

  I probably fail. He raises his eyebrows. “Get out? Away from Smith? We can’t.”

  I wave the gun. “We have to. Now. I know he’s using you. He’s not going to use you anymore, or me. Do you have shoes?”

  He shakes his head, wide-eyed. He’s so tall, so skinny, it’s ridiculous. Awkward, like a baby deer who might break if I pushed him too hard. “I heard a gunshot. How…?”

  “No time.” I wave him out into the hall with the gun hand, and I’m kind of surprised when he complies. I think he is too.

  “He’ll kill us when he catches us,” he whispers as we start to move forward, quick, along the walls.

  “He won’t kill us,” I say, confident about that truth at least. “He wants both of us alive.” We keep moving all the way down the hall, around the corner. I see the stairwell Bunny and Jones promised, there at the end. No one between us and the door. I move faster, and Lucas keeps up with me. I stop at the door, gun up by my head like in video games, listening. I don’t hear Joneses or anyone pounding up the stairs, so I open it, slowly. Clear.

  My gut clenches. This is too easy. Security has got to be tighter than this, doesn’t it? We don’t even have a smoke alarm distraction. I guess the distraction is Bunny. Maybe they’re all rattled. Or maybe nice-ish Jones is doing something to stall them.

  I wonder if he loved Bunny.

  I hold my finger to my lips and slip through, the stairs cold on my bare feet. It smells stale in here, like underground air, and I barely make myself move forward. But Lucas follows me, shutting the door quietly behind him. I breathe. Down. Deal with anything that comes up on the way.

  We move slower here, trying to be quiet, taking one step at a time. I count the levels as we go. Twenty-four. Damn. My legs burn by the time we get to the bottom, and I’m panting. Out of shape. I stop again at the bottom door, wait for Lucas to catch up—he’s not panting—and then open it, the gun ready.

  It opens into a little lobby, with an elevator on our right and a door ahead of us into the parking garage. It’s empty, clear. We step into it.

  The elevator dings, loud in the small space, and the door slides open.

  It’s Smith, alone, another gun held loose in his hand. His eyes widen when he sees us.

  Without a second thought I rush him, before he can even consider what to do. I crash into him in the elevator and he falls straight back, arms wheeling to try to catch himself, but there’s no time. He smacks straight back against the wall, then slides to the floor. But he’s not out. He blinks, stunned. I have to knock him out. We can’t move fast enough to get away if he’s conscious, aware of what’s going on. He could call someone else for help. He could stop us too easily.

  I glance back at Lucas, hovering by the wall, and then at Smith. He blinks again, his jaw twitching, and I see him gearing up the energy to move. Scream. Call for help. Fire his gun. The elevator doors start to close, then sense my foot in the way and open again.

  I think of how many people he’s hurt. How he lied to me about Mom and Myka, kept Lucas captive here for who knows how long.

  Killed Bunny, just because.

  I could kill him, right now. The threat would be gone.

  Except I can’t do that no matter what he did. Then I’d be just as bad as him.

  I draw back and whack him in the temple with the butt of the gun, as hard as I can. There’s a sick crack. He’s instantly out, a line of blood trickling down his cheek.

  I’ve never done that before. I’ve never actually hit somebody, certainly never hurt somebody like that. If you don’t count Eric, but that was unintentional.

  It’s a rush, adrenaline surging through my veins. Powerful.

  I don’t like it.

  I scramble off him, scooping up his gun. I dive out of the elevator doors before they close again, and grab Lucas’s arm. He seems unsure, stunned. He probably saw, or heard, that hit. He has no idea who I am. He probably thinks I’m a lunatic.

  I tuck the gun into my waistband, throw Smith’s into the trash bin right there. It drops right to the bottom, hidden.

  The parking garage smells greasy, like exhaust. I see Bunny’s car right away, a pale blue VW Bug only a little ways from the door. But it’s new, with a security system, and I don’t have any tools. And I never was as good at breaking into cars as Dedushka is. I don’t have time to figure it out.

  I change plan and run with Lucas right alongside the barrier, out into the street. We’ll be easy to spot, with our bare feet, but that way I don’t have to navigate the car or the gate. We’ll run until we find something else to steal, or some other way to get out of here with no money or ID. At least we’re outside.

  I see it as soon as we get on the street: a bus, just pulling up to the stop. I know DC buses—it’s the 52, so north and west—and you can fake scanning your SmarTrip card, if you get in the back. It’s risky, but I’ve seen people do it. I yank Lucas one more time, and we hop on as soon as the bus stops. I wave my empty, curled hand in front of the scanner, and Lucas does too. I sit down like I do it every day, squeezing in the space next to two old guys arguing about the Nationals. Lucas sits across from me, his eyes watching me close. It’s hot, and smells like sweat, but the bus pulls away, and that’s all I care about.

  The lady next to Lucas, a short woman with tightly curled black hair, eyes his feet, then mine, then glances at the scanner. “You boys have a bad day?” she drawls, nice enough.

  I shrug, as politely as I can. “A bet,” I say. “At least it’s summer.”

  She mmm-hmms and shakes her head. “All fun and games until you get glass in your feet.”

  Lucas fake-laughs, bad, and then stops. But afterwards he smiles at me, a hesitant but real smile.

  We did it. We got out, the two of us. Part of my family is reunited, even if he has no idea we’re family at all.

  *

  We only get off the bus when the line ends, at a place in Maryland called Friendship Station. I was hoping we’d be in some part of town that’s a little rundown, sketchy…so two scruffy guys with no shoes and I-just-got-out-of-prison brand-new jeans and t-shirts—and a gun in my pocket I hope nobody can see—wouldn’t stand out too much. No such luck. This stop is all wide streets and big-name stores, with women in heels and expensive sunglasses who glare at us to start their shopping day. We can’t afford that kind of attention or that level of cameras. I casually walk down a side street toward the more business-ish district, Lucas following close behind.

  We haven’t talked yet. We stared at each other uncomfortably on the long bus ride, judging. Me, trying to see if he is my brother, if he looks like me or Dad, and guess what his power could be. What his history is. I don’t know what he knows about me, except that he told Smith somehow about how I could control people. His stares are probably him trying to figure out how wacko I am.

  After a pretty good stretch of walking, in which I barely avoided broken glass twice and dog shit once, we come across an old, beat-up apartment under construction. It’s deserted—an empty Cat out front, cones and yellow tape and an industrial dumpster behind scaffolding. Some kind of complete reno, looks like.

  Thing is, yellow tape and scaffolding are pretty easy to duck behind. I note the address and then we pop underneath it, down the alley alongside, and look for a way in. I find it around the back, a se
rvice door that’s stuck open, and Lucas and I go inside.

  This space, a storage area, has some portable work lights set up, but they’re off, and the electricity to the building has been cut. There’s only a thin strip of light from a window, enough to show the manic clouds of dust motes in the air. I don’t know what the crew is doing in here that’s making so much dust, but I can feel it smothering my lungs. I don’t want to stay down here anyway. We need to hide here for a little while, if we can, and I don’t want to be somewhere returning construction guys could find us right away when they come back.

  “Let’s find some stairs,” I whisper. “Get up in one of the rooms and hide out.”

  “What are we going to do, stay here?” I can’t really see his face, but I can feel his eyes on me in the dark. His voice is high.

  “For a while. I’ll ask Dedushka and Rachel to pick us up. It’d be tough to get anywhere like this, without money.”

  His invisible stare gets more intense—he has no idea who Dedushka and Rachel are, much less where we’re going—but I ignore it and head across the back of the room, where I guess the stairs would be. I’m going to have to explain soon. I just don’t know how much to explain.

  “What about food?” he asks.

  Ah, yeah. I’ve gotten pretty good at shoving down my body’s need for food when I have to. But he’s at the age where he needs to eat every couple hours, just to keep up with growth. I remember wanting to gnaw on my pencil in school, I was so hungry. I’ll have to find him something. I open a door I think might be stairs, but it’s a closet. Next one. Bingo. The stairs are solid dark, and smell faintly of piss, but we go in anyway. The door clangs behind us too loud.

  “We’ll forage,” I say. “I think this is an apartment building. Let’s try four flights. That should be enough.”

  After four flights of going up and around, the dark pressing in on me—way too much like being under the CIA hood in Montauk—I fumble for a door and push it open. There’s light here. And air. I stop for a second, breathe. The window shows a long hallway. Definitely apartments. I head down to the last apartment and try the door. Locked. The next one in is broken, so I get in with a little jiggling. It’s deserted, the only furniture a couple empty boxes and a metal bed frame, and everything’s covered with that dust. A studio, all one room with a moldy bathroom and a tiny rectangle blocked off as a kitchen. It’ll do fine. I cautiously look out the bent window blinds. There aren’t any neighbors across, just a view of a brick wall and a pretty bare street below. It doesn’t smell like pee or anything nasty, just dust. It’ll do.

  Lucas wipes a square of floor clean with a piece of plastic and drops down on the wood, pulling his knees up to his chest. “You want to tell me who you are now? And where we’re going?”

  I blow a breath. “In a minute. I’ve got to do something first.”

  I sit too, under the window, and close my eyes. First I’ve got to tunnel to Dedushka and ask him to come.

  I try to slow my breath, relax. Think of Dedushka, his pipe smell, his wry sense of humor. How a hug from him is like holding a bear. It takes a few minutes of focusing, but I feel him. I get in.

  He’s in a car, heading north on I-95, around St. George, South Carolina. It’s flat, with trees crowding the sides of the highway, clouds low overhead. A good day for fish. But he is not hunting that kind of fish, not today. He should see Yakob soon, he hopes. A better fish. He looks at Rachel, driving beside him, her hair flying in the wind from the open window. She is a good girl, that one. A smart girl. She smiles, humming to herself. She is happy to see him soon too.

  I fill him, feel his recognition. Nudge him to the pad of paper and pencil waiting there on the dash.

  “Yakob,” he says aloud. “Hello, malchik. Yes, I will write for you.”

  Rachel inhales, sharp, but she keeps a tight hold on the wheel, staring straight ahead, as Dedushka gets the paper and holds the pencil ready.

  I fill his fingers, feel the pencil scratch against the pad. OUT, I write. PICK US UP IN CHEVY CHASE, MARYLAND. 4568 WILLARD AVENUE. 4TH FLOOR. AS SOON AS YOU CAN.

  “Us?” Dedushka asks. “Who is us? You have Abby and Myka with you?”

  NOT YET. I consider. Then add BRING TWO PAIRS OF MEN’S SHOES.

  There’s a pause, but he doesn’t question it. “We cannot go straight,” he says, almost to himself. “Feds will follow us.”

  I hear paper rustling, a map. He stretches it over his knees, runs a finger over a route. “We will be there tomorrow,” he says. “Morning. Soon, malchik.”

  I pull myself out of it. Message sent and received. The rest will come later. I breathe, deep.

  But when I open my eyes, Lucas is watching me, unblinking. I guess the rest will come for him now.

  “Okay, ask,” I say. “What do you want to know first?”

  “Where are we going to get food?” His stomach growls so loud I hear it across the room, and I laugh.

  “That’s the easiest question you could’ve asked. Let’s try the kitchen first.”

  Several apartment kitchens later, we’re back in our crash pad with a pack of dry ramen for Lucas—the water is off too—and some dusty crackers and wasabi peas for me. I also found a couple bottles of water that seem to be unopened sitting on the floor, so we should be good. Enough to stop the rumbling for a while. Maybe later tonight, after it’s dark, we can go forage for something more substantial outside.

  “So,” I say, between bites. I don’t want to ask, not really, but I should. “First question answered. Next?”

  He stops shoveling the noodles in his mouth for a minute, long enough to give me a good stare-down, then takes a slug of water. “Who are you?”

  I put down the crackers, brush off my hands. Take a deep breath. “Okay. Short version: my name is Jake Lukin. I have a special ability—which I guess you know about—that makes me useful for people like Smith, and the CIA, and DARPA, and any organization with initials. I was held in an underground facility for half of this year while they made me spy for them, until my Dedushka—grandfather—who you’ll meet, helped me get out. I thought Smith had my mother and my little sister too, but it turns out…” I stop, clear my throat. I don’t want to go into that yet. “Someone else has them instead, and now we’re going to go get them.”

  He crunches on some more ramen, waiting. “Okay,” he says finally, when he realizes that’s all I’m going to say. He clenches one fist, unclenches, clenches. He looks so young…but all the same I can tell he’s not totally shocked by what I said. He must’ve been through a lot of that hell too. “I get all that. I saw your ability. I know a little of what that’s like. But…why did you take me too? Why would you risk it, for someone you don’t know from a hole in the wall?”

  “Well.” I take another drink of water, trying to clear my mouth, hoping it’ll make it easier to say. But it isn’t. I just have to say it. “Apparently, you’re my brother.”

  28

  RACHEL

  Car Chase by The Freebeez & Honey Horns

  “Shoes?” I say, still looking at the road. My hands are warm, from the sun beating through the window. “Why two pairs of shoes?”

  Dedushka does a big Russian shrug I don’t even need to see to understand. Who knows, and it is not important. The goofy grin on his face tells the rest. I’ve never seen him grin like that.

  I feel it too, a giddiness stretching all the way to my toes. We’re going to him. He’s fine. We’ll see him tomorrow morning.

  And we’re going with the serum, victorious.

  But he isn’t with Abby and Myka. He’s with someone, another man. Why would he leave with someone else? One of Smith’s people who helped him escape, maybe? Then where are Abby and Myka?

  Okay, I’m still curious even if Dedushka’s not. But I guess we’ll find out soon.

  Some road signs come in view. “Which way?” I ask. “Do we stay on 95, or…?”

  Dedushka bends over the map again, changing focus in a snap. “We could take
this 95 all the way to him. But…” He looks in the Honda’s scratched sideview mirror. “Are they still there? Can you see?”

  I sigh. “I’m not sure. I think…two cars back, maybe? The same car. Will they really follow us all the way to Jake?”

  “If we let them.” He taps the map again. “We can go to west, divert, but we still need to lose them.” He glances over at me, fuzzy caterpillar-brows raised. “You let me drive? I will do it.”

  “You’ll lose them on a straight freeway?” I laugh. “I let you drive.”

  I squeeze the wheel, nervous. I’m getting used to a lot, but purposely trying to lose a tail? That’s new. I shake my head to clear images of Dedushka trying to do a sharp turn in this old car and flipping us right over.

  There isn’t any chance to get off for a long time, but I finally exit at the crossroads for 178, a Wilco Travel Plaza. Like every other “travel plaza” in the south. Gas, a Dairy Queen, a Wendy’s.

  We go into Wendy’s for cover…and to get sustenance. I was starving. I wipe my fry-greasy fingers on a napkin. When we get back in, Dedushka takes over, and I make sure the old seat belt is snapped in all the way, and hold on to the armrest.

  Good thing. We fly out of that parking lot, west on 178. I see the tail car farther behind than usual. They weren’t ready for that.

  They’re not ready for Dedushka’s driving at all. I’m not either. I’d close my eyes, but that would be even scarier. He gets on the 95 onramp, still at ridiculous speed, and merges all the way to the left. I see the tail behind us, struggling in their sensible black car. He shoots along in the fast lane until there’s a break in the fence of the divider, meant for emergency vehicles. The clearance is just big enough for one car.