The sun was close to setting, which would make it easier for me to hide. If Teague called in the cavalry, chances were slim I’d be able to escape. But he’d followed me to Eden alone, and I assumed he’d do the same here.
The multitier was four stalks high-taller than my house. Instead of using soil, which made crops difficult to irrigate and cultivate, this farm used carbon netting. Seeds were planted in the crisscross of netting material, which was hollow and provided their root system with a steady stream of water, insect repellent, and nutrients, along with a heating element so they could grow during winter. Then they were stacked one on top of another, tethered to mirrored poles that held them up. Other mirrors were also strategically angled, to make sure each plant received adequate sunlight. Harvesting was a snap-the nets were simply reeled in.
I took a deep breath of the oxygen-rich environment, then walked for a hundred yards, zigzagging the railroad track, giving Teague an easy trail to find. From there, it was into the corn net. I followed one of the mirrored rows, squinting against the glare. The sun was close to setting, but under all the corn it was bright as a cloudless high noon. It would stay bright all night; the solar panels in the mirrors had absorbed enough energy during the day to power the net’s lighting system.
Fifty steps down the row I stopped, my foot in midair. I remained perfectly still for eight seconds, then carefully walked backward in my own footsteps. After ten steps back, I ran forward another ten. Then I sat down and waited.
Teague couldn’t track my chip, because I’d stuffed it down a raccoon’s throat. But I could track Teague’s chip. Even though the cops had suspended my electric account, I was still able to access the CPD GPS system, thanks to the good old Freedom of Information Act. A person’s location wasn’t considered private. Anyone could find anyone, as long as they were chipped.
I punched in Teague’s ID number, plotting him on the map, and waited for him to come. Then I watched CNN. Relatives of those who died in Boise pleaded for information leading to my capture. The president spoke, calling the massacre the biggest tragedy of our era. He vowed to find me and bring me to justice. Scientists were interviewed, postulating that it must have been a black hole that sucked up the city. The implosion footage, with Alter-Talon pressing the button, was shown over and over and over.
I gave up wiping the tears off my face and just let them flow. I was numb, devastated, shocked, upset, and confused all at the same time. But most of all, I was angry. Like the rest of the country, I wanted to get that son of a bitch who did this.
Unlike the rest of the country, I was the only one who truly knew that son of a bitch wasn’t me. Even with Sata and Vicki believing in my innocence, I’d never felt so alone in my life.
My DT beeped. I checked the GPS.
Teague had arrived.
I stood up, gripped my Nife, and hoped this plan was going to work. If it didn’t, I’d get caught. And then I’d die. There were more than a hundred thousand cops after me. And the president wanted to call a special session of Congress, and have them vote to repeal the Twenty-ninth Amendment.
Because of me, he wanted to bring back the death penalty.
THIRTY-ONE
I waited and watched, figuring I had a fifty-fifty chance of this working. If the same trick was pulled on me, I might fall for it. Or I might not.
It took ten minutes before Teague appeared. He was playing it very cautious, moving slow. His left hand was on the TEV. His right held his Taser. His eyes flitted between the monitor and the corn around him, including the net overhead.
When he passed under me he looked up, and I swear his eyes met mine. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, hoping the corn leaves I’d glued to my body were enough camouflage in the strong lighting.
Then, on the monitor, I began to walk backward. Teague studied it for a moment, following my movements with the lens. Then he set down the TEV and holstered his gun.
I shifted left and dropped through the slit in the netting, right on top of him, aiming my knee at his collarbone.
His reaction was instantaneous. Before I connected, Teague rolled sideways. I landed on his legs, slipping off due to momentum and the aluminum sheets still glued to the bottoms of my shoes. I landed on my side, reaching for Teague’s holster at the same time he did.
He got there first, drawing his Glock. I lifted my foot as he fired. The wax bullet hit the aluminum on my sole, a Tesla bolt throwing sparks and bouncing off into the corn. I kicked out my other foot, connecting with the gun, sending it flying. Teague replied with a kick of his own, catching my chin, snapping my head back. Then he scrambled on top of me, thumbs digging into my neck. He quickly found the carotid, and applied pressure. The edges of my vision got dark.
I brought my knee up, connecting with Teague’s balls. Unlike Rocket, his were average-sized, and he grunted and pulled away. I rolled onto all fours, getting up in a crouch as Teague did the same. His face was flushed, and there was sweat on his forehead.
“You walked backward,” he said, pain in his voice. “Made me think the TEV was glitching and had switched to rewind mode. So, like a dummy, I holstered my gun to tune the dial. Mistake on my part.”
I felt my chin. My fingers came back bloody. “I probably would have done the same thing. Did you see me hobo the train?”
Teague got to his feet. “Missed that. I did see you kill half a million people, though.”
“You know that wasn’t me, Teague.” I raised my fists and took a step toward him. “Did you set all this up?”
“WTF are you talking about?”
He looked truthful. But he’d also looked truthful when he swore he was over Vicki, when later I saw her, topless, as a screen saver on his DT. That resulted in another fistfight that left each of us with various broken extremities.
I stepped forward, feinting with my right, jabbing with the left, and pounding him on the side of the head. He staggered. I followed it up with a tight spin-kick, connecting with his chest, knocking him down.
Pressing my momentary advantage, I rushed at Teague, swatting away his kicking legs, joining the fight on the ground by grabbing him under his right armpit and around the neck in a reverse half nelson. Teague and I were even when trading punches, but I was a better grappler. I dug my feet in, pushing him over, trying to jam his face into the dirt path. If I could force him onto his belly, get his arm into a hammerlock, I could hyperextend his elbow or pop out his shoulder.
Teague arched his back, resisting the move. I squeezed his throat with my hand, but it was like squeezing steel cable. Then, surprisingly, he grabbed my shoulder and wrenched me out of position, clenching me in a bear hug. I felt his chest muscles flex and realized I’d made a mistake.
“I’m gonna break you in half, bro.”
Teague was on steroids.
It seemed that everyone these days but me was taking roids. Teague was bigger, and much stronger, than the last time we’d tussled. Instead of ignoring him at work, I should have been paying closer attention. Based on the size of his chest, he’d gained at least fifty pounds of muscle mass.
And I’d stupidly brought the fight to the ground.
I went low, reached for his balls. He twisted he pelvis away from my hand, crushing my chest even harder. I couldn’t inhale, and the oxygen still in my lungs was getting squeezed out like a tire pump. Bright motes popped up in my vision, a precursor to unconsciousness. I grabbed Teague’s side, digging my fingers into his oblique muscle, fighting the striations to pinch his kidney.
Teague grunted. I pinched harder, the motes swimming around and beginning to fade into darkness. Finally, he moaned and shoved me away. I rolled several body lengths from him, sucking in air. I managed to get to my feet, but I was wobbly, like I’d taken too many whiskey pills.
“Why’d you do it, bro?” Teague had his hand pressed to his side, but I knew he wasn’t asking me about his
