Whatever. I need to focus.
I just have to do my best, blend in, and not let my anxiety overwhelm me.
With that decision made, I take the next set of stairs down to the ground level and exit onto Drummond Street. My feet carry me further south, hoping I still have a head start despite taking that minute to think. Keeping my pace casual is an exercise in madness when everything inside is screaming for me to run, but I need to blend in if I’m to remain unnoticed.
I pull my phone from my dress and scroll to messages. I can’t risk a conversation being overheard, but I can send a text, and using the phone offers another layer of disguise; these days it is more unusual not to walk around absorbed in your screen, though I wonder how people do it and walk in a straight line. My fingers itch to stop and send the message as quickly as possible. Everything takes so much longer with your focus split in all directions.
Ambushed. Cas gone.
We have men on the way. Are you okay?
Yes, but won’t know safe suits from danger suits.
Understood. Go to safety. Be prepared to clean if you think you’ll be caught.
Clean? Oh! The Clean app. That makes sense.
Understood.
We’re with you all the way.
Aiden probably means the tracker. Dax said it would work even after running the Clean app. So, if Franz takes me, Dax and Aiden should still be able to follow. A small sense of relief flashes through me at the reminder, but I’d still rather not risk it. I can keep myself safe. I just need a place to lie low.
Continuing along Drummond until it crosses Market Street, I take a sharp right. My finger hovers over the Clean app icon. My head tilts toward my phone screen, but I watch my feet and the pavement. Until I realise all the other pairs of feet passing me are going the other way. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m the only fool heading south toward the Vale.
I stop dead in the middle of the pavement. People are staring at me as they walk around me, like a fish swimming against the shoal. I spin around, glancing up and down to see how conspicuous I am. My breath freezes in my throat. Three men run towards me, shoving pedestrians out of the way and, despite my concerns, I can tell they’re not Aiden’s impeccably dressed guys.
“Hey!” one yells the second I make eye contact with him.
I glance down at the screen. My finger poised to press the Clean icon. It’ll wipe everything. The texts between Dax and me. All the moments that tie us together in the best ways. The things we struggle to say to each other’s faces…
I don’t want to do this. I’ve lost everything else. Not this too.
They’ve not got me yet. I’m not done until their hands are around my throat.
I bolt.
Across the road.
Down a loading alley for the grocery store.
Around onto the main road and through the park.
In a hopping shuffle, I lose the heels. Folding the boots under my arm, I dare the rest of the journey on bare feet. The sharp sting of concrete against my exposed soles is a reminder that I am my own lifeline.
When I can no longer see or hear the guys chasing me, I turn left and run the backstreet warrens, too afraid to step out onto the main road in case Franz’s men are driving around on the lookout. I keep a wary eye on the street signs and navigate toward the bridge that connects The Arts to The Vale and saves me going the long way around.
Wrapping the tailored jacket tighter around me, I shove my bag under my armpit with my boots to stop it bouncing against my back. The bridge is a vast open stretch of road and one I can’t avoid taking, but it leaves me vulnerable with nowhere to run unless I fancy a desperate dip in the Esk River.
I would rather swim than let Franz take me, so it’s a definite possibility.
Stepping onto the bridge is a lesson in exposure. I can’t hide from Franz’s guys or from the cold. Although we’re just out of August, the winds are a biting indicator that we’re going to skip autumn for an early winter this year. We’ve all felt the chill since July.
My body exposes all its weaknesses, too. Burning chest. Leaden legs. Aching and stinging feet. Debris lodges and buries itself in the soft flesh of my soles, but I don’t dare to stop and scrub the stones away. I just pull my bag even closer to my chest and tuck my head low to avoid looking at any passing cars. The closer I get to the end of the bridge, the faster I walk until I diverge off the main street and onto a sideroad.
Being in the Vale is a contradiction. I’m safer knowing these streets, but more at risk surrounded by people as abhorrent asFranz. They’re his demographic, after all. His clients. His workers. His prey.
But I was born here. I should be more at home here than at the compound.
