Free The Isle by Jordana Frankel

my ankle. I want to do it all myself—at least start off that way. I push my muscles until they shake, but it’s the chafing that hurts the most. My hospital gown shreds all around me.
    I have to use Ren’s shoulders. She takes some of my weight, and the rope burns less.
    â€œWe’re here,” she says, dangling under me. “We’re gonna drop into the mobile together. Wrap your legs around my waist, piggyback style.”
    I look down the shaft, past Ren and into the mobile. “You want to jump into that ?” I ask. The moonroof’s opening is so tiny.
    â€œIt can fit two, don’t worry.”
    â€œOkaaay,” I say, shaking my head, not liking it. I monkey onto her back until she’s holding all my weight. I don’t know how she does it, where she gets all her muscle.
    â€œOn the count of three we’re both letting go,” she says, grunting, and I feel her fighting to hold on. Her hand slips, and we drop down a few inches. “Here goes. You ready?”
    â€œUh-huh.” My voice wavers.
    â€œOne. Two. Three .”
    She does it. She lets go, and I let go, and we’re meteors falling through space.
    Callum’s Omni catches us like a wormhole. It bucks from side to side. We land with a loud thump and Ren hoots, pounding the floor with her fist. “Guts of steel, this one!” She grins to the boy in the driver’s seat like she’s so proud of me. “I got no words. Impressed don’t even cut it.”
    Ren pokes me and I look away, tucking my wrists away between my legs. I didn’t really do anything. I just followed her the whole way out.
    â€œWhere’s Derek?” Callum asks, giving up the front seat. He hardly has time to move out of the way, Ren propels herself forward so fast.
    Through the rearview mirror, she shoots him a look.
    She hates herself—it’s written all over her face, and I can’t help but feel guilty. If they hadn’t come for me . . .
    â€œHe’ll be fine,” Callum tells her. “Derek knows more aboutthis city than the DI. He’ll know what to do.”
    From her expression, I can’t tell if what he said helped.
    â€œMoonroof, closed,” Ren murmurs. “Beamers, dimmed.”
    I’m in a mobile. The realization buzzes alive inside me. My first time. I’m terrified, breathing heavily into my knees, and my heart might jackhammer itself out of my chest, but . . .
    I’m living.

14
REN
4:00 A.M., FRIDAY
    â€œ E veryone ready?” I ask, not expecting an answer. How ready can you be for a high-speed getaway from a government lab?
    Lowering the Omni underwater, I flip on the beamers only for a second—otherwise I can’t find a way out of the building. Spotting a window through the dark brown murk, I carefully steer us through it and into the Hudson Strait.
    When I flip off the high beams, Callum hands me a DI-issued thermal-imaging visor. I know these from my DI training. Throwing it on, I get no time to adjust to the new way of seeing.
    In the distance are three hot yellow blobs. Two southwest, one north. We’ve definitely got DI Omnis headed our way. Brack .
    â€œHang tight, folks,” I warn.
    â€œReservoir dock, please?” Callum says to the VoiceNav system. Apparently he’s always polite. Even now. To technology, when we’re on the run.
    A cluster of neon-green lines appear on the navigation panel, drawing us a map of the West Isle. Reservoir Dock appears as a small red dot northwest.
    Meanwhile, the three hot yellow blobs grow exponentially bigger, according to the visor. My nerves balk at the odds. I swallow too much air, like a starved person. But I know what I’m doing, I’m no amateur. In, out, in, out . I give my breathing a pattern and force my heart to chill the brack out.
    If there’s anywhere I know what I’m doing, it’s behind the wheel.
    Then why am I so on edge right now?
    Looking in the