Javier winced. “You won’t fit through the window, huh?”
Jack lifted a leg. An ankle bracelet clung to his right ankle. It looked lab-made; the colour hinted at cheap feedstock. FEMA hadn’t purchased it from an approved contractor, or anything like that. Which meant it could be hosting any old kind of tracking they wanted. “Oh, that’s some bullshit,” Javier murmured. “I know this place is code-named Stepford, but Jesus Christ.”
Jack snorted. “It’s not Stepford. It’s the Village.”
“The what, now?”
Jack waved a hand. “Never mind.”
Javier ran a finger over the bracelet. “What are you even doing here?”
“They hired me. As a consultant. After…” Jack blinked hard. “You know.”
“I know.”
“I thought I could really help. Use my experiences for good. All that shit.” Jack shrugged. His shoulders sank lower than Javier had ever seen them. “And then they showed me the contingency plans, and…” Jack held up his hand. The knuckles were covered in small cuts in various stages of healing.
“What contingency plans?”
Jack frowned. “You mean you don’t know? Then why are you here?”
“I asked you, first!”
A knock sounded at the door. The knob twisted. It was locked. “Are you OK in there, Jack?”
It was Holberton. “I’m, uh…” He looked at Javier. Javier shook his head frantically. “I’m really not, Chris! I think I’m having some heatstroke, maybe. Or maybe just a… a bad burrito, or something!”
“I’ll call you a nurse,” Holberton said. They heard him walk away.
“A bad burrito?” Javier whispered. “Could you be more racist?”
“Oh, shut up,” Jack said. “Let’s get out of here.”
Javier unhasped the bracelet, then reached out the window and attached it to a stormdrain. With any luck, it would still register Jack as being in the apartment. Next he had to get Jack out, which involved his getting out first, dangling over the side of the roof, and telling Jack to climb out through the window.
“Are you out of your mind? I’ll fall!”
“You won’t fall. If you fall, I really will lose my mind. Literally. So I have a vested interest in you not falling.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Jack wriggled himself out of the window. It was an oddly quiet process. Out here, there weren’t even dogs to get confused by their display. It was a big contrast to Puerto Limón, and even to the island itself. Jack lost his balance once, but Javier grabbed his hand and held him in place until he could stand up on his own. Then he grabbed both of Jack’s hands, and pulled.
Jack had some seriously sweaty palms.
“Hold my wrists, goddamn it,” Javier hissed.
“I can’t do that without moving my hands!”
“So fucking move them!”
“Fuck you!”
Javier growled and yanked. Jack yelped, but he was able to scramble up and over the ledge. He lay panting on the roof, but Javier was already standing up.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
Jack coughed. “How?”
Javier knelt. “Get on.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I wish I were. Get on.”
“Is it… safe?”
“It will be if you hold on. If you don’t, we’ll both die.”
“Oh. Great.” Jack draped himself gingerly over Javier’s back. “This is awkward.” He sniffed. “How come all vN smell like waffles? Why do you–”
Javier took to the air.
They flew.
He ran, then jumped, then ran some more. The library was close to the centre of the prototype city, and he ran ever deeper into it. His feet pounded glittering recycled pavement, and bounced off slippery glass towers. He watched himself reflected, multiplied, in each pane of glass. With Jack on his back, it felt a little like leaping with all the boys he’d lost.
In between the buildings, when his knees rose to his chest and his shirt rode up and the wind went through his hair, he felt more secure. He landed tumbling, ass over teakettle, as one of his more elderly lovers was fond of saying.
Righting himself, he let Jack go. They stood in the crossroads between skyscrapers. They were all dark, save for occasional blips and pings of light fluttering over their surfaces. If he looked closely, he could see the louvers of their glass cladding slowly turning. As they did, they caught the light emanating from strategically-placed LEDs. Anti-bird lighting, probably. Something to keep whatever sparrows still lived in this desert from flying into the towers and dying.
The divinity student he’d fucked before going to Amy for the final time, had explained that one passage about sparrows in the Bible. “His eye is on the sparrow,” the student explained, “but God’s not watching it fly. He’s watching it fall.”
Now was probably not the time to share that little story with Jack.
“Thanks,” Jack was saying.