that disappear on work calls—since they never come back, who’s to know where they really go? Who’s to say they don’t all get sent off to be unwound? The Admiral says his goal is to save Unwinds, but what if he’s got an entirely different agenda? These thoughts keep Connor awake at night, but he won’t share them with anyone, because once he does, it aligns him with Roland.
And that’s an alliance he never wants to make.
During their fourth week in the Graveyard, while Connor is still building his case against the Admiral in his own mind, a plane arrives. It’s the first one since the old FedEx jet that brought them here, and like that jet, this one is packed full of live cargo. While the five Goldens march the new arrivals from their jet, Connor works on a faulty generator. He watches them with mild interest as they pass, wondering if any of them would be more mechanically skilled than him and bump him into a less enviable position.
Then, toward the back of the line of kids is a face he thinks he recognizes.
Someone from home? No. Someone else. All at once it comes to him who this is.
It’s the boy he was sure had been unwound weeks ago. It’s the kid he kidnapped for his own good. It’s Lev!
Connor drops his wrench and runs toward him, but gains control before he gets there, burying his mixed flood of feelings beneath a calm saunter. This is the kid who betrayed him. This is the kid he once swore he’d never forgive. And yet the thought of him unwound had been too much to bear. But Lev hasn’t been unwound—he’s right here, marching off to the supply jet. Connor is thrilled.
Connor is furious.
Lev doesn’t see him yet—and that’s fine, because it gives Connor some time to take in what he sees. This is no longer the clean-cut tithe he pulled out of his parents’ car more than two months before. This kid has long, unkempt hair and a hardened look about him. This kid isn’t in tithing whites but wears torn jeans and a dirty red T- shirt. Connor wants to let him pass, just so he can have time to process this new image, but Lev sees him, and gives him a grin right away. This is also different—because during that brief time they knew each other, Lev had never been pleased by Connor’s presence.
Lev steps toward him.
“Stay in line!” orders Amp. “The supply jet’s this way.”
But Connor waves Amp off. “It’s okay—I know this one.”
Amp reluctantly gives in. “Make sure he gets to the supply jet.” Then he returns to herding the others.
“So, how are things?” says Lev. Just like that. How are things. You’d think they were buds back from summer vacation.
Connor knows what he has to do. It’s the only thing that will ever make things right between him and Lev. Once again, it’s instinctive action without time for thought. Instinctive, not irrational. Impassioned, but not impulsive. Connor has come to know the difference.
He hauls off and punches Lev in the eye. Not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to snap his head halfway around and give him a nasty shiner. Before Lev can react, Connor says, “
“Yeah. Me, too.”
He lets Lev go before it starts feeling awkward, and when he does, he can see Lev’s eye is already beginning to swell. And an idea occurs to him. “C’mon—I’ll take you over to the medical jet. I know someone who’ll take care of that eye.”
It isn’t until later that night that Connor gets an inkling of how much Lev has truly changed. Connor is shaken awake sometime during the night. He opens his eyes to a flashlight shining in his face, so close the light hurts.
“Hey! What is this?”
“Shhh,” says a voice behind the flashlight. “It’s Lev.”
Lev should have been in the newcomers’ jet—that’s where all the kids go until they get sorted into their teams. There are strict orders that no one is to be out at night. Apparently Lev is no longer a boy bound by rules.
“What are you doing here?” Connor says. “Do you know the trouble you could be in?” He still can’t see Lev’s face behind that flashlight.
“You hit me this afternoon,” says Lev.
“I hit you because I owed that to you.”
“I know. I deserved it, and so it’s okay,” says Lev. “But don’t you
Although Connor has no intention of ever punching Lev out again, he does not respond well to ultimatums.
“I’ll hit you,” says Connor, “if you deserve it.”
Silence from behind the flashlight. Then Lev says, “Fair enough. But you better make sure that I do.”
The light goes off. Lev leaves, but Connor can’t sleep. Every Unwind has a story you don’t want to know. He supposes that Lev now has his.
The Admiral calls for Connor two days later. Apparently he has something in need of repair. His residence is an old 747 that was used as Air Force One years before any of the kids here were born. The engines had been removed and the presidential seal painted over, but you could still see a shadow of the emblem beneath the paint.
Connor climbs the stairs with a bag of tools, hoping that whatever it is, he can get in and out quickly. Like everyone else, he has a morbid curiosity about the man, and he wonders what an old presidential jet looks like on the inside. But being under the Admiral’s scrutiny scares the hell out of him.
He steps through the hatch to find a couple of kids tidying up. They’re younger kids that Connor doesn’t know; he thought the Goldens might be in here, but they’re nowhere to be seen. As for the jet, it’s not nearly as luxurious as Connor had expected. The leather seats have tears, the carpet is almost worn through. It looks more like an old motor home than Air Force One.
“Where’s the Admiral?”
The Admiral steps out from the deeper recesses of the jet. Although Connor’s eyes are still adjusting to the light, he can see the Admiral is holding a weapon. “Connor! I’m glad you could make it.” Connor winces at the sight of the gun—and at the realization the Admiral knows him by name.
“What do you need that for?” Connor asks, pointing at the gun.
“Just cleaning it,” says the Admiral. Connor wonders why he would still have a clip in a gun he was cleaning, but decides it’s best not to ask. The Admiral puts the gun into a drawer and locks it. Then he sends the two kids off and seals the hatch behind them. This is exactly the kind of situation Connor feared most, and he can feel a rush of adrenaline begin to tingle in his fingers and toes. His awareness becomes heightened.
“You need me to fix something sir?”
“Yes, I do. My coffeemaker.”
“Why don’t you just take one from the other planes?”
“Because,” says the Admiral calmly, “I prefer to have this one repaired.”
He leads Connor through the jet, which seems even larger on the inside than out, filled with cabins, conference rooms, and studies.
“You know, your name comes up quite often,” the Admiral says.
This is news to him, and not welcome news, either. “Why?”
“First, for the things you repair. Then for the fighting.”
Connor senses a reprimand on the way. Yes, he’s had fewer fights here than usual, but the Admiral is a man of zero tolerance. “Sorry about the fighting.”
“Don’t be. Oh, there’s no question that you’re a loose cannon, but more often than not you’re aimed in the right direction.”
