The Nowhere Man

21 In Trouble

A buzzing pulled Evan from sleep.

Was it in his body? The sheets? No — under the mattress, vibrating him through the fabric. The princess and the epileptic pea. Groggily, he lifted his ten-ton head from the pillow, trying to regain his bearings.

The buzzing came again.

The RoamZone? It couldn’t be.

He rolled off the bed, his knees striking the floor, hands digging the phone out from its hiding place between mattress and box spring.

Sure enough, light leaked through the shattered façade. The caller’s number flickered, carved up by dozens of hairline fractures. The TALK icon at the bottom floated in the sole section of unbroken glass. He held his breath, thumbed the icon.

He held the phone to his ear.

It took him a moment to recall the script, to remember the words he was supposed to say when he picked up. He forced them out through the drug-induced grogginess. “Do you need my help?”

“Yes.” The voice of a boy, high-pitched and scared.

Evan knew he was clear of the hidden camera, but he turned his back anyway, leaning against the bed. He pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, blinked hard around them.

“Where did you get this number?” Evan asked.

“A girl gave it to me. She said you help people and stuff.” The boy was whispering. He sounded somewhere around ten years old.

“What’s her name?”

“Anna something.”

“What’s she look like?”

“Dark hair. Patchy, like it’s falling out in places.” The whisper grew more hoarse, more urgent. The boy’s words were distorted ever so slightly. A speech impediment? “Look, can you help me or not?”

“I can.”

“I don’t know how much time I have till they catch me. I stole the cordless. I’m under the couch. I’m not supposed to make calls.”

“What’s your name?”

A hesitation. “I can’t … I can’t tell you. I’ll get in trouble.”

The kid’s quick breaths were audible even over the crackle of static.

“If they catch me with the phone, it’ll be bad.”

Evan listened to the kid’s articulation. Not a lisp. He closed his eyes, his brain still gummy from the sleeping gas. It took a moment, but he put it together. “Someone beat you up.”

“So what?” the kid said, his words blurry across a swollen lip. “I get beat up all the time. Please come. Please help me.”

“Where are you?”

“You should see how they keep us here. Like cattle, all lined up.”

“Where are you?” Evan asked again.

“Are you coming to get me?”

Evan looked around, the dead-bolted door, the caged balcony, the gas-breathing vent. He took stock. First: Escape. Second: Rescue Alison Siegler. Third: Help the kid.

“Soon,” Evan said.

“Then I don’t … Then I can’t risk saying yet.”

“Who else is there?”

“Other boys.”

“Where are you from?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Do you have a family? Parents?”

“I don’t … I don’t know. It’s been so long.”

“How long have they kept you?” Evan asked. “How old were you when you were taken?”

“Oh, shit. I can’t — they’re coming. I’ll try ’n’ call back. Will you help me? Will you?”

“Yes. I will get to you.”

“Promise me.”

“I promise.”

The broken phone cut out. Evan stared down at the shattered shards held together loosely in the cracked casing of the RoamZone.

He shoved the phone back into its hiding place and crawled into bed. He imagined Alison Siegler, locked in her container aboard a ship halfway around the globe. Did she have enough food? Enough air? He thought about a little boy also waiting for his help, his words blurred over a swollen mouth: You should see how they keep us here.

Evan’s blinks grew heavier.

Two dogs, ten guards, one sniper, Dex, and counting.

He’d have to kill a lot more of them tomorrow.