Unwind

11. Connor

Exposed. Vulnerable. Connor wishes they could have stayed in the woods, but there are only so many acorns and berries he can eat. They’ll find food in town. Food, and information.

“This is the best time not to be noticed,” Connor tells the others. “Everyone’s in a hurry in the morning. Late to work, or whatever.”

Connor finds a newspaper in the bushes, misthrown by a delivery boy.

“Look at this!” says Lev. “A newspaper. How retro is that?”

“Does it talk about us?” asks Lev. He says it like it’s a good thing. The three of them scan the front page. The war in Australia, King politicians—the same old stuff. Connor turns the page clumsily. Its pages are large and awkward. They tear easily and catch the breeze like a kite, making it hard to read.

No mention of them on page two, or page three.

“Maybe it’s an old newspaper,” suggests Risa.

Connor checks the date on top. “No, it’s today’s.” He fights against the breeze to turn the page. “Ah—there it is.”

The headline reads, PILEUP ON INTERSTATE. It’s a very small article. A morning car accident, blah-blah-blah, traffic snarled for hours, blah-blah-blah.

The article mentions the dead bus driver, the fact that the road was closed for three hours. But nothing about them. Connor reads the last line of the article aloud.

“It is believed that police activity in the area may have distracted drivers, leading to the accident.”

They’re all dumbfounded. For Connor, there’s a sense of relief—a sense of having gotten away with something huge.

“That can’t be right,” says Lev, “I was kidnapped, or . . . uh . . . at least they think I was. That should be in the news.”

“Lev’s right,” says Risa. “They always have incidents with Unwinds in the news. If we’re not in there, there’s a reason.”

Connor can’t believe these two are looking this gift horse in the mouth! He speaks slowly as if to idiots. “No news report means no pictures—and that means people won’t recognize us. I don’t see why that’s a problem.”

Risa folds her arms. “Why are there no pictures?”

“I don’t know—maybe the police are keeping it quiet because they don’t want people to know they screwed up.”

Risa shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel right. . . .”

“Who cares how it feels!”

“Keep your voice down!” Risa says in an angry whisper. Connor fights to keep his temper under control. He doesn’t say anything for fear he’s going to start yelling again and draw attention to them. He can see Risa puzzling over the situation and Lev looking back and forth between the two of them. Risa’s not stupid, thinks Connor. She’s going to figure out that this is a good thing, and that she’s worrying for nothing.

But instead, Risa says, “If we’re never in the news, then who’s going to know if we live or die? See—if it’s all over the news that they’re tracking us, then when they find us, they have to take us down with tranquilizer bullets and take us to be harvested, right?”

Connor has no idea why she’s stating the obvious. “So, what’s your point?”

“What if they don’t want to take us to be unwound. What if they want us dead?”

Connor opens his mouth to tell her how stupid that is, but stops himself.

Because it’s not stupid at all.

“Lev,” says Risa, “your family’s pretty rich, right?”

Lev shrugs modestly. “I guess.”

“What if they paid off the police to get you back by killing the kidnappers . . . and to do it quietly, so no one ever knew it happened?”

Connor looks to Lev, hoping the kid will laugh at the very suggestion, telling them that his parents would never, ever do such a terrible thing. Lev, however, is curiously silent about it as he considers the possibility.

And at that moment two things happen. A police car turns onto the street, and somewhere very close by, a baby begins to cry.

* * *

Run!

This is the first thought in Connor’s mind, his first instinct, but Risa grabs his arm tightly the moment she sees the police car, and it makes him hesitate.

Connor knows hesitation can mean the difference between life and death in dire situations. But not today. Today it gives him enough time to do something Connor rarely does in an emergency. He goes beyond his first thought, and processes his second thought: Running will attract attention.

He forces his feet to stay in one place, and takes a quick moment to assess their surroundings. Cars are starting in driveways as people head off to work.

Somewhere a baby is crying. High-school-aged kids are gathered on a corner across the street, talking, pushing each other, laughing. As he looks to Risa, he can tell they’re both of one mind, even before she says, “Bus stop!”

The patrol car rolls leisurely down the street. Leisurely, that is, to someone who has nothing to hide, but to Connor its slow pace is menacing. There’s no way of telling if these officers are looking for them or just on a routine patrol. Again, he fights down the urge to run.

He and Risa turn their backs to the police car, ready to stride off inconspicuously toward the bus stop, but Lev is not with the program. He faces the wrong way, staring straight at the approaching cop car.

“What, are you nuts?” Connor grabs his shoulder and forces him around. “Just do what we do, and act natural.”

A school bus approaches from the other direction. The kids at the corner begin gathering their things. Now, at last, there’s permission to run without looking out of place. Connor begins it, taking a few strides ahead of Risa and Lev, then turns back, calling with a calculated whine, “C’mon, you guys—we’re gonna miss the bus again!”

The cop car’s right beside them now. Connor keeps his back to it and doesn’t turn to see if the officers inside are watching them. If they are, hopefully they’ll just hear the conversation and assume this is normal morning mayhem, and not think twice. Lev’s version of “acting natural” is walking with wide eyes and arms stiff by his side like he’s crossing a minefield. So much for being inconspicuous.

“Do you have to walk so slow?” Connor yells. “If I get another tardy, I’ll get detention.”

The squad car rolls past them. Up ahead, the bus nears the stop. Connor, Risa, and Lev hurry across the street toward it—all part of the charade, just in case the cops are watching them through their rearview mirror. Of course, thinks Connor, it could backfire on them, and the cops could cite them for jaywalking.

“Are we really going to get on the bus?” asks Lev.

“Of course not,” says Risa.

Now Connor dares to glance at the cop car. Its blinker is on. It’s going to turn the corner, and once it does, they’ll be safe. . . . But then the school bus stops and turns on its blinking red lights as it opens its door—and anyone who’s ever ridden a school bus knows that when those red lights start blinking, all traffic around them must stop and wait until the bus moves on.

The cop car comes to a halt a dozen yards short of the corner, waiting until the bus is finished loading. That means that the cop car will still be sitting right there when the bus pulls away. “We’re screwed,” Connor says. “Now we have to get on the bus.”

It’s as they reach the sidewalk that a sound which has been too faint and too low-priority to care about suddenly snares Connor’s attention. The crying baby.

At the house in front of them, there’s a bundle on the porch. The bundle is moving.

Connor instantly knows what this is. He’s seen it before. He’s seen a storked baby twice on his own