I turn to see Tag watching the spot where Wes disappeared with narrowed eyes. “I guess he’s learned some new moves.”
Before I can say anything, Wes calls out, “Come on, Lydia.”
I slide through the window, and Tag follows. The dark room around us is filled with junk—empty bins and crates, old furniture covered in dusty tarps. The only light comes from the cracks between the boards that cover all the windows.
“This way.” Tag leads us through a doorway and to a tall staircase. We climb up three flights. I can’t see much, just the impression of small hallways and battered doors. The entire building smells stale, like moth-eaten sweaters or an old basement.
Finally, Tag stops on a landing and flings open one of the doors. A warm light pours into the hall.
Tag and Nikki disappear into the doorway, and Wes and I follow. The room around us is filled with stuff. Candles and bottles and blankets and furniture.
“It’s like the cave of wonders from Aladdin,” I say under my breath. “Without all the gold.”
Wes smiles slightly. “More like the cave of forty thieves.”
Tag and Nikki move around the room, turning on even more of the lamps. The room is practically glowing. You’d think they’d want to be a little more subtle, considering they’re here illegally, but I guess not.
The apartment is bright and cluttered, with boards pulled away from the windows to let in more light, and lamps scattered all over the floor. They are connected by a series of wires that disappear out one of the windows. I tilt my head down and see that it’s attached to one of the power lines outside. This must be how they’re getting their electricity; they’re sucking it off of the main city grid.
“What do you think, man?” Tag spreads his arms out and spins around a little. Though clearly not trained like Wes, he still moves with an easy sort of grace. It makes me wonder if he’s a dancer. Or maybe just a really good fighter. “Beats our old haunts, huh?”
Wes looks around the room, and I know his dark eyes are taking in everything—the two connecting doorways with sheets draped over them like curtains, the lawn chairs next to a cheap plastic table. The walls look like they’ve been attacked with color, as though someone painted them in rage: lines are splattered and slashed across the once-white background, stretching from the floor all the way to the high ceilings.
“There’s a shower in our room,” Tag says, pointing toward one of the connecting doors. “If you guys want to take one. LJ—he’s Nikki’s little brother—figured out how to hook up the plumbing, though we have no gas so the water’s always cold.”
“Can I take one now?” I ask, aware of the last two days of grime covering my skin.
“Sure. I think Nikki has some girly soap around. Right, Nik?” Tag looks at her.
The dark-haired girl scowls, but doesn’t disagree.
“Will you set her up?”
Nikki walks into the bedroom and I follow her. The painted walls are even darker here, with large gashes of color.
“Did you do this?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Tag.”
“Really?” I’m surprised; he doesn’t seem capable of such dark emotions. But then, he did spend his life on the streets. Maybe his cheerfulness is as much a mask as Wes’s detachment.
Nikki shoves a towel at me, and I walk into the cramped bathroom.
The water is freezing. By the time I get out, my teeth are chattering and goose bumps have taken up permanent residence on my arms and legs.
I pass Wes in the bedroom, and give him my towel. “Will you tape my arm again?” I ask.
He nods, and carefully reapplies surgical tape to the wound. It is angry and red and stings when he touches it. “I think it’s getting infected,” he says softly.
“I’ll be fine. They have antibiotics in the eighties, right?”
He smiles at my sarcastic tone, then moves into the bathroom. I stare after him as he shuts the bathroom door. He seems more natural here than he was in the Center, or even in 1944. It’s a good thing that we decided to stay, though I still don’t know what made him agree to it.
Nikki and Tag are at the large table in the main room.
“Thanks for letting me shower,” I say. “I almost feel human again.”
“Don’t mention it.” Tag gets up and pulls out a chair for me. “LJ should be here with dinner soon.”
I sit down. “So you knew Wes when you were kids?”
“Yeah, known him forever. I ran away from a shitty situation as soon as I could.” At my sympathetic expression, he shrugs. “No one missed me, and it was better than ending up in the system. Wes was already living on the streets. He was practically born here. Don’t know how he ended up without parents. He doesn’t either.” Tag’s tone is a little too casual.
“We found each other and decided to team up. Kids barely old enough to feed ourselves, fighting for territory and begging for scraps. We fell in with some older kids for survival, but we mostly looked out for each other. Then one day, poof!” Tag wiggles his fingers in the air like a magician on a stage. “He disappeared.”
I lean forward. “Didn’t you worry about what happened to him?”
“Sure. But I figured he got picked up by the cops, or got tossed in a home. It happens. People disappear all the time out here.” His gaze cuts to Nikki and he falls silent.
“What was Wes like back then?”
Tag smiles. “You ask a lot of questions, huh? Miss Twenty Questions. That’s what we’ll call you.”
“No,” Nikki interjects. “Princess. It’s a better name for her, don’t you think?”
I narrow my eyes at her, but before I can say anything, like screw you, the front door of the apartment
