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The man bristles, but only slightly. He pats the chair beside him. “Please sit, Mason. You never know when we’ll hit some unexpected turbulence.”
Reluctantly Starkey takes a seat. He figures this guy is going to try to offer him a deal—but what kind of deal could it possibly be? They’ve already captured him and the Stork Brigade. Perhaps they think he knows the whereabouts of Connor Lassiter—but even if he did, Starkey’s now a bigger prize for the Juvenile Authority. Why would they even negotiate?
“You’ve created quite a lot of consternation and confusion out there,” the man says. “People hate you; people love you—”
“I don’t care what people think,” Starkey snarls.
“Oh, you most certainly do,” the man says with such condescension, Starkey wants to strike out at him but knows that wouldn’t be wise. “We should all monitor our image in this world. Give it the proper spin to meet our best interests.”
He knows this man is toying with him, but toward what end? Starkey hates this sense of not being in control.
Finally the man turns off the TV and swivels his chair so that he’s fully facing Starkey. “I represent a movement that very much approves of your actions and the apparent madness of your methods because we know it’s not madness at all.”
Again, this is not what Starkey was expecting. “A movement?”
“I’d call it an organization, but just like a name, it would define us far more than would be prudent.”
“You still haven’t told me what you want.”
He smiles broadly. It is neither warm nor comforting. “We want the liberation of harvest camps, and more to the point, the punishment of those who run them. That’s something we’d very much like to see more of.”
This still feels like it must be a trick. “Why?”
“Our movement thrives on chaos because disruption brings about change.”
Starkey suspects he knows what the man is talking about, although he’s almost afraid to say the word aloud. “Clappers?”
He offers that cool smile again. “You’d be amazed how deep the roots of the movement go and how committed people are. We’d like you to join us, if you’re willing.”
Starkey shakes his head. “I will not become a clapper.”
The man actually laughs. “No, we’re not asking you to. What a waste that would be for everyone. We simply want to help you in your efforts in any way we can.”
“And what do you want in return?”
The man turns on the video again. On the screen is a shot looking down the long room of the girls’ dormitory at MoonCrater and the five lifeless workers lynched from ceiling fans. “More iconic images such as you’ve created here,” he says brightly. “Images that will haunt the souls of mankind for generations.”
Starkey considers the scope of the undertaking. The power it will bring for the storks. The notoriety it will bring him. “I can do that.”
“I hoped you would say that. We have a wealth of state-of-the-art weaponry and dedicated, if somewhat fanatical, followers willing to sacrifice themselves to create trigger points of mayhem.” Then he holds out his hand for Starkey to shake—but it’s his left hand held out, not his right. He’s done that intentionally. “Consider us your partner, Mason.” And although Starkey’s left hand is still throbbing with pain, he extends it and lets the man grasp it. He bites back the searing sting, because Starkey knows, when it comes to alliances, it’s the pain that seals the pact.
• • •
The helicopter flight is a journey to nowhere. It circles back when the conversation is over and the partnership has been struck, leaving Starkey off where he was picked up, near the entrance to the mine.
There is a heightened sense of reality to everything around Starkey now. A sense that he’s not so much walking but levitating a fraction of an inch above the ground. As he steps into the cavelike entrance of the mine, everything around him seems to be moving differently—not so much in slow motion, but a sort of lateral peeling, as if the world is parting for his presence. Kids in the mine are beginning to regain consciousness. The fast-acting tranq darts were also short-lived, for the purpose was not to catch the storks but to incapacitate them long enough to pull Starkey out for his summit meeting.
Kids who managed to avoid the darts are doing their best to revive the others. When they see Starkey, they stand in awe. It must be what the kids at Happy Jack felt when they saw Connor Lassiter walking out of the Chop Shop alive.
“He escaped!” they yell, relaying the good news down into the deeper tunnels of the mine. “Starkey escaped!”
Jeevan comes up to him. “What happened?” he asks. “How did you get away? Why didn’t they take us?”
“No one’s taking us anywhere,” Starkey tells him. “We’ve got a lot of work to do—but it can wait until morning.” He orders the unconscious to be covered with blankets and moves through the mine, calming fears and telling everyone to get a good night’s rest. “We have exciting days ahead.”
umps her head hard on a rock jutting from the low-slung ceiling. She doesn’t even realize where she was going until her head smacks that rock.
“You again?” Hayden says when he sees her. This time, he’s actually loading a cart with food for the evening meal.
