Nelson doesn’t know that. He sees Connor in only one dimension: a lowly AWOL. He won’t look for Connor at the battlefront, he’ll look for him on the fringes—and sure enough, Lev sees Nelson on the edges; places where stray kids have been tranq’d. Like a vulture pecking at carrion, Nelson lifts their heads off the ground, looks at each of their faces, then drops them back down again, moving on to the next one.

Lev circles behind Nelson in shadows, giving him a wide berth, and makes his way closer to the danger zone, where riot police clash with armed AWOLs. This is where Connor will be—but how can Lev save him from both Nelson and the Juvies?

When the answer comes to Lev, he grins in spite of the dire battle around him. The answer is simple. It’s terrifying. It’s impossible. It might work!

•   •   •

Lev nears the main aisle just as the Dreamliner begins to move and riot police advance on the crush of kids who never made it onboard.

A hundred yards away, on the failed front line, Lev sees a figure in off-color camouflage fearlessly charge a Juvey shooting at him. The kid takes the Juvey out—not with a bullet, but with the butt of his rifle—and there’s something about the way this kid moves that’s familiar.

Lev charges against a panic of escaping kids running toward him, ignoring the sound of gunfire, the roar of jet engines, and the crunch of crushing metal as the Dreamliner takes out a riot truck on takeoff.

The tumbling truck bursts into flames as the plane rises into the sky, and the light of the explosion illuminates the face of the kid in camouflage. Lev knows he’s found him.

“Connor!”

But Connor’s eyes are fixed on the escaping plane. “Don’t just stand there, run!” Connor tells him. “You were all supposed to run!”

“Connor, it’s me. It’s Lev.”

Even when Connor looks at Lev, he doesn’t seem to recognize him at first, and Lev knows it’s more than just the hair. Neither of them are the kids they were a year ago.

“Lev? What are you doing here? What, has the whole world gone nuts, and I’ve lost my mind?”

“I’m sure both are true, but I’m really here.” Lev bends down and takes the tranq gun away from the cop Connor has just rendered unconscious. “I came to save you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“That’s probably true too, but I have to warn you: There’s a parts pirate after you.”

“That’s the least of my problems right now!”

Another kid with an automatic rifle hurries up to Connor. “We’re out of ammunition! What do we do?”

“Sticks and stones and airplane parts,” Connor tells him. “Or you can take your chances and run. Starkey didn’t leave us many choices.”

“Freakin’ Starkey!” The kid drops his spent weapon. “Good luck, Connor,” he says, and hurries away, trying to lose himself in the night.

Farther away, the mob that has been trying to get on the Dreamliner is now lit by the spotlight of a police helicopter and is fully surrounded. There are maybe four hundred kids corralled and helpless, while huge transport trucks roll down the main aisle to gather them and take them away.

“There’s nothing you can do for them now,” Lev tells Connor.

“I won’t leave them.”

“That’s why I’m not giving you a choice.” Then Lev raises the tranq pistol he took from the unconscious Juvey and shoots Connor in the arm.

Connor’s spun away by the force of the blast and goes down, the tranqs taking effect in seconds. Lev catches him as he falls, and he looks up at Lev with half-open, fading eyes.

“It didn’t work, Lev,” he says weakly. “My plan didn’t work.”

“I know,” Lev tells him as Connor slips from consciousness, “but maybe mine will.”

70 • Nelson

He has no idea how many kids are here, how deep the airplane graveyard goes, or where his target might be in the midst of the chaos. No matter. If the Juvies do their job, and it looks like they will, the whole nest of AWOLs will be rounded up, tranq’d, and yanked. Lassiter will be among them. Nelson just needs to keep his eyes open and his head low, because some of these kids have weapons, and by the sound of them, they’re deadly.

Methodically he checks the AWOLs who have already been tranq’d and takes down a few himself, just so he really looks like a Juvey-cop doing his job. He keeps a safe distance from the heart of the battle, knowing that the Akron AWOL will do the same.

One of the Juvey-cops spots him looking at the faces of the fallen AWOLs. “Don’t waste your time,” he says. “It’s our asses if any of these kids get past us and into the desert.”

“I’m looking for an AWOL neighbor kid,” Nelson tells him without missing a beat. “Favor for the wife.”

But the cop is suspicious. “Do I know you? What unit are you with?”

“Unit Sixteen, down from Phoenix.”

“There is no Unit Sixteen in Phoenix.”

Deciding this has gone quite far enough, Nelson tranqs him, then tranqs an escaping AWOL who saw him do it. Then gets back to the task of finding the Akron AWOL.

It’s only when he sees the Dreamliner taking off that he begins to worry. What are the chances that Lassiter’s on that plane? Then he realizes that the riot squad isn’t just tranq’ing and yanking—they’re going against procedure, loading the mob into the transport trucks conscious. If Lassiter gets loaded into a truck before Nelson can get to him, it’s over.

Now he’s worried. He moves closer to the riot roundup, pulling out binoculars, scanning the faces. A gaggle of scared teenagers. No Lassiter. Sure, he might be in the swarm, but if he is, Nelson can’t spot him. He puts down the binoculars.

“Crap!”

He knows that with every passing second his chances get slimmer. Around him, kids who were either too slow to get there or smart enough to stay away from the corralled mob race in all directions to escape. Some get tranq’d as they run, but the farther they are away from the main action, the better their chances.

Up ahead Nelson sees the dark silhouette of one smaller kid struggling to carry an older tranq’d kid on his back—reminding Nelson of the way ants will carry off their wounded. But apparently this kid has better sense than an ant, because he gives up, drops the bigger kid in the dust, and takes off into the shadows.

Nelson almost doesn’t check the dropped kid. He almost walks on past, because he doesn’t want to miss a single face running by, but Nelson is nothing if not thorough. He grabs the unconscious the kid by the hair, lifts his head out of the dirt, and practically yells with triumphant surprise. It’s him! It’s Lassiter! Brought to him like a gift, right in his path!

Nelson wastes no time. He hefts him onto his back, gets his bearings, and weaves through the aircraft, heading toward his waiting van. As he crosses an outer aisle, he’s spotted by another Juvey.

“Forget him,” the cop says. “Leave him for Sanitation and Transport. Our orders are to take out the bolters.” And to emphasize his point, he fires at a girl bolting between two fighter jets, tranqing her into the dust.

“Special orders on this one,” Nelson tells him, trying to get past, but the other cop won’t yield.

“Why? Is he the one who’s been starting the fires in town?”

“Yeah,” Nelson says. “He’s the one.”

Then behind them, three kids try to break for the outer aisles, and their attempted escape pulls the cop’s attention long enough for Nelson to get past him.

The farther from the main aisle, the fewer AWOLs, and the fewer cops. Transport trucks are already here on the outskirts, gathering whatever tranq’d kids they find before moving into the high-density zone. The San & Tran workers treat the fallen kids with much more care than the Juvies, zipping them into padded transport bags—constrictive sleeping bags in either powder blue or pink that cover everything but their faces, so that their precious parts are protected in transit.