The Body Electric - Special Edition by Beth Revis

Author:Beth Revis [Revis, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Scripturient Books
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

forty-three

I spin around wildly, looking for someone to help me, but this boat is old and empty. I can hear the cops louder now—they’re shouting about a reward. Whoever captures me and turns me in will get ten thousand credits.

That old man was willing to turn me in for free.

Where do I go? Where do I go?

One of the boats not too far away is yellow and black, just like the auto-boat was. I clench my teeth and hurtle toward it. Inside, a woman nods at me, urging me to the other side. She points to another boat—it’s painted in traditional red and blue and green—but there’s a small bee painted on the prow.

“Stop, Ella Shepherd!” the police shout behind me.

I keep low, running as quickly as I can. Jack’s program is completely dead, but between the Zunzana symbols and a few people willing to point to the next friendly stop, I can keep going. The boats are fewer and further between now, and some of the people in the boats I have to cross over grab at me—perhaps eager for the reward, or just wanting to get on the good side of the cops.

Then—there—I see it—a boat close to the end of the water, near the gray sands of a beach shadowed by the bridge city. I leap closer to it, stumbling and nearly falling. A woman—young, about my mom’s age—stands in the boat. Next to her is a boy about a decade younger than me, but tall and slender. He urges me closer to their boat, shooting frantic, worried looks at the cops behind me. I take a breath and hurtle myself over the water toward their boat. I crash into a pile of rags, then glance behind me. At least a dozen black uniformed officers, all chasing me. They’re closing the ground rapidly, like vultures swooping toward an injured rabbit.

“Quickly!” the woman in the boat tells me. I jerk around to face her just as she yanks me down. What is she thinking? There’s no way I can hide here; the cops are too close. They know where I am.

“Charlie!” the woman snaps. The boy drops to the deck beside her. She frames his face with her hands and kisses him quickly on the forehead. “Run, baby,” she says, snatching the dirty dark shawl off my head and wrapping it around him. She keeps one hand on my shoulders, pushing me down, and Charlie—dressed in my shawl—takes off at a run, leaping to a nearby boat. The cops shout at each other, and I hear a whistle blowing, cursing, yelling.

“Deep breath,” the woman tells me.

“What?” I gasp.

Her hands are under my shoulders, lifting me up, and she throws me in the water with a splash drowned out by the cacophony of the chase.

I bob up, gasping for air, and the woman, leaning over the edge of the boat, pushes me back down. “Shh,” she whispers, eyes wide. I nod and sink low into the water, clutching the side of the boat.

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