34.
Somehow “Dad” escaped my throat.
“Dammit.” Jag pulled me down an embankment to a ditch. “Now what?”
I dropped to the ground next to him, as if I could hide my mind from my dad that way. “He’s here . . . somewhere.” I closed my eyes, trying to find Dad without inserting myself into his head. “Let’s sneak around to the north.”
Using the demilitarized zone was clever, V. Where are you going now? The way he called me V made my heart twist. How I’d longed to hear that. Now it only sickened me. I quickly forced him from my mind.
Jag gripped my hand, and together we stood. “Let’s go.”
As we ran I struggled to push the fear to the back of my mind, the same way I kept pushing the sweat off my forehead. It mingled with the dirt, creating mud that stung the corners of my eyes.
Then I couldn’t see at all. “Jag! Tech!” I dropped to my knees, hoping to find cover from the unknown danger in the low bushes.
“Get your phone,” Jag whispered from beside me. His beeped as he activated it, but I fumbled for my pocket, my vision still cloudy.
“Holy overload.” My eyes streamed. My stomach boiled.
“Viii,” he said, drawing out my name dangerously. “Who are they?”
I gave up the search for my phone and focused. “There’re two people. Both men. Rangers. They can sense our tech.”
“Rangers?”
Their minds . . . their minds were clear. Sharp. Uncontrolled. And focused on harnessing the power of the earth. “Definitely rangers.”
Jag didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Then his fingers fumbled over mine and he pulled me to my feet.
“Jag?” The man who spoke had a deep voice. I couldn’t physically see him, but his name floated through my mind: Mark Kellogg.
Surprise flitted across Mark’s subconscious. He shifted nervously while the other guy—his younger brother Jake—came up beside him. They both radiated advanced tech energy, and they wanted ours.
“We need to see Gavin.” Jag’s voice sounded odd, too breathy or something. He was afraid, and that terrified me.
“Everything’s gone to hell,” Mark said. “Some heavies arrived from the Association. Gavin is in a special session, and no outsiders are permitted to enter the city.”
His words pierced the balloon of hope I’d been cultivating. “No outsiders?” I whispered.
Jag squeezed my hand, and I stifled a whimper of pain. Thankfully, my vision began to clear as I acclimated to the tech, but damn, that tag ached under Jag’s viselike grip.
“We need to see her,” Jag said, the fear gone. “Take us to her.” His voice could command armies. Mark’s mind turned to mush.
“Sure, she’ll be done by lunch. Let’s go.” He’d have done anything Jag said. Hell, I would’ve taken Jag to Gavin.
The brothers moved toward the scrub forest. Jag bent down to retrieve his bag, and we exchanged a glance. I didn’t like what I saw on his face: worry.
We caught up to the rangers and Jag made small talk with them. I moved in silence, a ball of anxiety growing in my stomach.
As we walked, the sun peeked over the horizon, and the first rays nipped at my healing-but-still-burnt face. The scrub forest gave way to towering trees. They were huge, and I mean like they-stretch-so-far-I-can’t-see-the-tops-of-them huge.
Legends about tall trees had been passed around the Goodgrounds, especially in the City of Water, where the only forests grew. Old land and ancient trees supposedly harbored power beyond our tech. I felt a sense of peace and awe walking through the old trees, almost like they understood me.
“. . . yeah, that’s a good one!” Jag’s laughter floated through my thoughts, causing some of the worry to unknot.
When we cleared the last of the forest, the rangers headed toward a small dock where a barge waited.
The tallest guy, Mark, pulled something out of his bag and checked it. I analyzed the brothers for the first time. They had bright blue eyes and luxurious waves of copper hair hanging to their shoulders. Jag looked like a complete freak with his black dye job and mess of spikes.
“So, we haven’t seen much of Gavin lately,” Jake said. “Even before the Thinkers showed up.”
“Oh yeah?” Jag asked. “Why’s that?” His voice sounded forced.
“Well, she likes to hang with her own crowd, if you know what I mean.”
Jag cast a quick glance at me. “I’m not sure I do.”
And if he didn’t, I was completely clueless. Jake was trying to say something, something important.
“You know rangers,” Mark said. “They like to stick to their own kind.”
“Yeah, you mind rangers are especially clique-ish,” Jake said, smirking at Jag and then me.
I stalled on the words “mind rangers.” Jag was a ranger? And if he was, did that mean I was too?
“We are not clique-ish,” Jag said, admitting his mind-ranger status. A few seconds passed as reality sank in, took root.
I am a mind ranger.
No wonder my dad wanted me so badly.