UnBound - Neal Shusterman Page 0,102

says, reading him better than he reads himself. “What he did—what he is—it’s not your fault.”

“No,” Cam admits. “But the fact that he escaped—that is my fault. Which means I’m accountable for anything that he does.”

There’s nothing she can say that can soften that reality.

“I’ll deal with the fallout later,” Cam says. “What matters now is that we catch him.”

As he looks around, he sees more and more military personnel from the compound arriving, not quite outnumbering the mob, but their presence begins to subdue the worst of the hatemongers even more than the sheriff’s presence had. Some people leave, but more linger, probably anticipating a more accurate reckoning. Not mob justice, but at this point any justice will do.

With the support of troops under his jurisdiction, Cam tells the sheriff, “We’ll take it from here. This is our problem.”

But the sheriff isn’t about to yield. “It stopped being your problem when your thing attacked that girl.” For a moment it looks like there’s going to be a standoff, until Keaton comes between them.

“Sunset!” he says. “Into the sunset!”

Keaton sputters and grimaces, trying to force coherence to his thoughts.

“What’s this one babbling about?” asks the sheriff, with no patience for it.

“Shh!” says Cam, and gives Keaton time to form his thoughts.

“Ride . . . into the sunset,” he says. “Dirk. Dirk doesn’t know. He doesn’t know!”

And Cam gets it. “Dirk doesn’t know we’re on an island!”

Keaton smiles. “On the nose! Dirk doesn’t know!”

Cam has become pretty familiar with the roads on Molokai. For Dirk, taking off into his metaphorical “sunset,” couldn’t have been west, or he’d have passed right through the most populated part of town. He would have headed east, away from the populated areas. He’ll be on Kamehameha V Highway, which wraps around the eastern tip of the island and doubles back along the north shore.

“How could he not know this is an island?” the sheriff asks.

“His mind hasn’t integrated as well as the others,” Cam explains. “He probably can’t think clearly enough to figure it out. The moon has already set, so he’ll have no way to gauge his direction, and it’s a slow curve going around the eastern tip, so he’ll think he’s going straight. We just have to cross a few miles to the north shore, and we’ll catch him as he loops back.”

“And if you’re wrong?” the sheriff asks.

“I’m not,” Cam says, then looks to Keaton. “We’re not.” But just to be sure, Cam sends a fleet of jeeps down Kamehameha V Highway in pursuit. Then he and the bulk of his forces cross the narrow width of the island to the north shore and wait for Dirk to arrive.

14 • Dirk

Me. Wheels. Road. Squint. Face. Wind. Vroom-vroom. Ocean on the right. Ocean on the right. Smarter than them. Faster than them. Vroom-vroom. Ocean on the right. “Born to be Wild.” Steppenwolf. Lone wolf. No one catches a lone wolf. Stupid people. Killing Keaton. Stupid Keaton. Saw them do it. Saw them tie him. Rope, rope, rope, rope. Car, car, truck, van. Stretch Armstrong. Couldn’t watch. Took Harley. No one saw. Stupid people.

Parts of me know how. Clutch. Accelerator. Vrooom-vrooom. Parts don’t know how. Make ’em learn fast. Almost fall. Learn quick or die.

Me. Me. Me. Not like other rewinds. Know that. Hate that. Think they’re better than me. Better than them. Hate them. Keaton dead. Hate all the rest. Make them pay.

Still night. Still of the night. Morning soon. Let freedom ring. Far from here. Vroom-vroom. Ocean on the right. Heading south? North? Doesn’t matter. Free either way. Find something pretty. Curvy. Prom night. Make her like it. Win the bet. Make them all like it. Smarter than them. Stronger. Stupid girl. Find her someday. Kill her for hurting me. But not now. Later. Later than you think. Dawn. Horizon. Ocean on the right. And ahead? And ahead?

No!

Can’t be! Jeeps and police and boeufs. Roadblock. And Camus Comprix. Can’t be faster than me. How are they here? How?

And Keaton.

Dead? Not dead? Ghosts. All ghosts. Are they?

Bird at my ear.

Not a bird. A tranq.

Missed.

Nowhere to go.

Pffft. Missed again.

Ocean to the right. And a pier. Nowhere else to go. Vroom-vroom. Road, road, then wood. Wheels on rattling wood. A shack at the end of the pier. Nowhere else to go.

15 • Keaton

The sharpshooters aren’t all that sharp. “It’s the tranqs,” they complain. “They don’t behave like standard bullets. It’s not our fault we missed him.” No one wants to take responsibility for Dirk.

No one but