The Unknown

vi.

Kyle and I unanimously decided to get something to eat. We stopped at a diner and ordered a huge stack of pancakes and bacon, then slipped out the door when no one was looking. 

I did not feel guilty—it was easy to justify such crimes to myself. The restaurant was owned by the city, and the city had stolen much more from me than a cheap breakfast.

We once again found ourselves strolling down the sidewalks, hiding in plain sight as we immersed ourselves in the rush of people heading to work. 

Stealing a car turned out to be a bit of a conundrum. Our old car was ancient. New cars were self-driving and connected to the city grid. We'd need to tear out the GPS device if we wanted to get anywhere without being tracked. Getting the car out of the city presented another huge problem. The entire perimeter was fenced in. Only government workers could legally leave.

Apparently Kyle had an idea, because he suddenly sped down the street, forcing me to jog to keep up. I felt some strength returning to my body, but my muscles still ached as an embarrassing reminder of last night's events, none of which would have happened if I hadn't stupidly decided to get drunk. I wasn't sure what had come over me.

 We weaved between buildings in seedy alleyways, winding up at a car dealership.   

"Are you going to let me in on the plan?" I asked, but Kyle didn't respond. It seemed that more and more often he'd inexplicably become very cold and distant. It was beginning to worry me.

Kyle burst through the doors. I followed cautiously. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. We passed rows of ridiculously expensive cars. The place reeked with the scent of leather and new tires. We walked to the back of the building, through a doorway that read "employees only", and entered a room with a few dozen office cubicles. Workers were staring. 

Kyle stopped at a cubicle where a man sat with a phone to his ear. The phone slipped from the man's fingers and skittered across the floor as his striking green eyes met Kyle's.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Kyle's father rose from his chair.

"I'm only here because I need a favor," Kyle said, leaning forward. "I will never forgive you for what you did." He spoke those words with a chilling intensity, stressing every syllable.

Kyle had never talked much about his family. Now he was eye-to-eye with his father. Many of their features were similar, except the elder man's hair was graying and his skin was etched with lines of aging.

"What sort of favor?" his father asked, crossing his arms.

Kyle glanced toward a window, at the rows of new cars parked outside.

His dad followed his gaze, understanding immediately. "Oh," was all he said.

The other workers were still staring. As Kyle and his father continued a hushed conversation, something in my peripheral vision caught my eye. Just as I turned and saw the red flashing lights, a siren became audible.

I interjected,  "We need to leave, now."

"I'm not going to prison for aiding and abetting a criminal," Kyle's father said adamantly.

Kyle pulled a gun I didn't know he had from his belt and, without hesitation, pointed it directly at his father. Instinctively, I recoiled a bit when I saw it. The workers around us began to scream with fear and take cover. "Tell them I held a gun to your head. You've got plenty of witnesses."

Kyle's father, seemingly unfazed by the threat to his life, casually grabbed a key off his desk and led us out a back door. I wasn't sure if he didn't believe Kyle would shoot him, or if he didn't care if he did. 

The man pointed at a sleek, inconspicuous black car and handed his son the keys. "You're welcome, I guess."

More police cars were beginning to swarm—I saw flashing lights in all directions. We sprinted across the parking lot and unlocked the car. The window glass was ridiculously thick, maybe even bulletproof. Despite whatever terrible thing Kyle's father had done to him, he'd just given us a massive gift.

Once we hopped in, Kyle immediately turned the key and sped out of the parking lot, while I pulled out my handy switchblade and stabbed at the GPS device mounted in the dashboard. When I finished with it, I threw the remains: fragmented pieces of plastic, glass, and wiring out the window. It was beginning to seem like we were home free.

Suddenly the car swerved dangerously. "I'm feeling a little...lightheaded," Kyle slurred. I looked down, immediately spotting a tranquilizer dart embedded in his leg. My heart skipped a beat in my chest.

"Stop the car, let me drive!" I shouted urgently.

He was gradually fading out of consciousness, unable to respond, but his foot remained planted on the gas pedal. His eyes drifted shut. The car was speeding up into oncoming traffic. For a split second, I froze in a hopeless panic. 

Then I forced myself to move. I straightened the steering wheel and shoved my leg over Kyle's to reach the brake. I braced myself and did my best to keep Kyle from bashing his face on the steering wheel as we jolted to a sudden stop. A hysterical laugh of relief escaped my lips. We were alive and no longer careening toward certain death.

But it was too soon to celebrate; the distance we'd put between us and the police was rapidly closing. Sirens in the distance grew louder. I awkwardly yanked Kyle's now completely limp body into the passenger seat, strapped his seat belt, and pulled the dart from his leg. His face looked uncharacteristically peaceful.

I drove at the speed limit, blending in with traffic until we reached the fence at the city's edge. Then I punched the gas pedal to the floor, burst through the fence, and didn't stop for hours. 

The asphalt of the old, long-abandoned roads was cracked and breaking into chunks. It was a bumpy ride, despite the luxury of our new car. I took my time, weaving onto side streets to be absolutely certain we weren't being followed.

Kyle didn't wake up until just before sundown. "Have a nice nap?" I asked.

He groggily assessed his surroundings, his gaze eventually landing on me. "They hit me with a dart?" 

I nodded. "At least they aren't using bullets again. They want us alive," I said. "We're safe. Home is a few miles away."

"This was the most exciting and terrifying few days of my life," he said, his words blending into each other as if he were intoxicated. "I'd never want to go through it all again, but I'm sort of glad it happened."

Whatever drug was in that dart seemed to bring out Kyle's soft, honest side. "Me too."

We sat parked for a while, watching the color gradient of the sky change as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was like a moving painting.

"You never told me what the files said," I pointed out, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Our blood and DNA are all messed up, just like they said at the hospital about you," he mumbled.

"Is that all?"

"No." His eyes tightened.

He still seemed reluctant to tell me. Catching him off guard for once, or maybe just taking advantage of drug-related slow reflexes, I slipped a hand under his jacket and swiftly snatched the files.

"Hey," he said, his reaction very delayed.

I skimmed through the pages, but nothing stood out to me. They were full of medical data, charts, and graphs.

Kyle rubbed his temples. "I didn't want to jump to any insane conclusions." He inhaled deeply and turned to meet my eyes. "There's a date on all of our files, at the bottom of the first page." 

I flipped to my own file and spotted what he was talking about.

"It—It can't mean what I think it means," he said anxiously, waiting for me to read it.

The date on my file was eighteen years ago on the fifth of April. I was two years old.

Above that, it said: believed date of abduction.