The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

pulled taut under my chin.
“You idiot,” he said, and he gave my collar a tug. “You absolute fool. I died when they told me you’d gone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I should slap you,” said Mom. She pulled back to look at me, then threw her arms around me again. “We thought we’d lost both of you. We thought...”
I found Ona’s hand and squeezed it hard. I hadn’t slept at all. I’d lain listening for her breathing, for the sounds of her moving about her room. Prium had done a number on me with his little charade.
“Sit down,” said Dad. “I’ll make you all breakfast.” He herded me to my seat and just stood there, holding me in place.
“I can’t sit with you grabbing my shirt.”
He laughed, soft and brittle. “I’m afraid if I let go of you, you’ll go up in smoke.”
“I won’t let her,” said Ona. She pushed me down, not too gently, and slid in beside me. Dad finally let me go.
“You need a haircut,” he said. “You both do. You look like a couple of old brooms.”
I smoothed down my hair and twisted it into a ponytail. Ona shook hers out till it bristled all over. Mom clucked her tongue at us and poured us big glasses of water. She took her place at the head of the table and kept stern watch over us as Dad sliced the turnips.
“You can’t ever do that again,” she said. “That goes for both of you—but especially you, Myla. Your father wasn’t joking. Losing you, losing both of you, we’ve been the walking dead.” She sipped at her own water and set it aside. Her hands shook and didn’t stop, a fine, constant trembling she’d never had before.
“I’m sorry,” I said, again. It didn’t feel like enough. “I was just thinking of Ona, all by herself out there. If I’d thought of you first—”
I’d have done the same thing.
“I won’t do it again.”
“See that you don’t.” Dad dumped the turnips in the pot and set about peeling onions. He looked older, as well, stooped at the shoulders. I got up and took over, dicing and frying the onions and mashing them up with the turnips. I threw in some soybean paste for flavor, and the dog-end of a ginger root. Ona watched me, sour-faced.
“I miss pepper,” she said. Mom’s brows shot up.
“When did you ever have pepper?”
I dropped Ona’s plate in front of her, piled high with turnip mush. “The Decemites get it,” I said. “Lock mentioned it, too.” I kicked the back of her chair and went back for Mom’s plate.
“We do,” agreed Ona. Her cheeks had gone pink. “I didn’t tell you before so you wouldn’t get jealous.”
“We’re just glad they’re feeding you,” said Dad. He dug into his own mush and took a big bite. After that, we ate in silence, forks squeaking on our plates. Ona ate all I’d given her, and Dad did the same. Mom only picked at hers. I covered her leftovers in foil and stowed them in the fridge.
“Want something else instead?”
“Maybe later.” She yawned. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”
Dad glanced at her and frowned, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He got up, snagged a bucket, and handed one to me. “Help me fill the hot water tank. Your sister’s drained it dry.”
I followed him outside, down to the reservoir. We marched up and down with our buckets, filling the tank to the line. Dad started the heater and sat on the edge of the tub. He motioned me to sit next to him, so I did.
“What did he say to you, Prium Lazrad?”
My spit turned to acid. “Not much,” I said. “He was, uh—he kept playing with his tablet, like I wasn’t there at all. He said I’d been punished enough, all those weeks lost Outside.”
“And what else did he say?” Dad jogged my elbow to make me look at him. “This is important, Myla. Did he mention me or your mother?”
“No.” I scrounged for a comforting lie. It was easy to find one, and I delivered it with a smile. “He said Ona’s a hero. She found something out there, something good. He didn’t say what, but she’s his new darling. He’s not going to do anything to her family.”
Dad’s brows drew together. “Ona didn’t mention that.”
“And I shouldn’t have, either, so don’t tell her I told you.” I gripped his hands in mine. “We’re good, though. I promise. She came through.”
“Thank you.” Dad bowed his head. His hair was going gray, I noticed, a few strands at his temples, brindled stubble down his cheek. “You should go see your gran,” he said. “She’s missed you most of all.”
“I’ll go right there and back.”
“Mind you do. You’re grounded.” His scowl came and went, like a cloud over the sun. “But if you do still have friends down here, anyone who’d like to see you in one piece, I won’t tell you no.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I leaned down and kissed his cheek. He caught me and hugged me fit to split me in two. By the time he let go, my eyes were wet. I wiped them on my sleeve and made my escape, down the hall and through the kitchen, straight out the front door. I bumped into Ona on the steps.
“Hey.” She darted in front of me, eyes dark with suspicion.
“What? I’m coming back.”
“It’s not that.” She nodded over her shoulder, at an armed guard jogging toward the bridge. He wasn’t a watchman, or anyone I’d seen before. He was one of Prium’s, blaster strapped to his hip, Lazrad Corp’s logo emblazoned across his vest. “He came for us.”
“For us? What are you talking about?”
“They’re expecting us at Central in an hour.”
My head spun. “Central? You mean Central Operations? Why?”
“He didn’t say. He just said come.” Ona pulled me away from the door, out of earshot of anyone inside. “Prium’s office is up there. D’you think he changed his mind? What did you say to him? Did you—”
“Calm down.”