Page 71 of Down to One
Blaze
“We’ve got a plan. Don’t worry.” He looks pointedly at a few of the screens. Yeah, I guess they’re bugged somehow.
“Here!” Sprout says as he returns from his uncle’s room with a red t-shirt for Xzavic.
It’s clearly too small for him, but the gesture is so touching, he tries to pull it over his humongous body.
“Wait!” I grab a knife from the kitchen and make a slit in the arms and down from the collar toward the navel. When he pulls it on, it clings to every muscle and hunky bulge. It’s sexy.
“Sprout,” Xzavic says. “How old are you?”
The boy stands taller and puffs out his chest. “Eight. Do you want me to come along with you? Help keep you safe?”
Hot tears spark behind my eyes at the sheer poignancy of the boy’s eagerness to help us.
“I do need your help,” Xzavic says seriously. “Red is the mascot of the Resistance now. He’s more valuable than Blaze or me. He’s the face of the movement, the thing people will rally around. Are you up to the task of taking care of him? Keeping him in food and water?”
Sprout’s face lights with pride as he nods his head solemnly.
“Yes, Sir. I will keep him on my shoulder and make sure he has food and water.”
“Good. Very good.”
“Here you go,” Altair says as he loads the last canister into the backpack, then pulls it out again as he motions me over. He nods his head, encouraging me to look. The canister in his hands, as well as the others in the pack, indicate a full charge.
“Thanks,” I say, careful not to say what for. I’m sure the network—or whoever—is still listening in.
“We’re all set,” Xzavic announces as he hands me my backpack and grabs our two swords.
Altair has been typing on his keyboard at the speed of light. Perhaps he’s reaching out to friends and family with requests to help him and the boy leave their hovel before it’s bombed to oblivion.
“You need to wait.” He holds both hands up and flashes his fingers to indicate ten. “Then go.”
“Why?” I ask.
He points his chin to one of the screens, reminding me that Hahn and Zedd heard everything we said.
My thoughts are flying as I try to strategize our next moves, but Xzavic and I can’t talk. Not here. We’ve got to wait until we’re on the road.
Finally, Altair nods his head and points to the stairs. I take Red, who has been clinging to my shoulder since Hahn and Zedd’s little pep talk, and place him in Sprout’s upturned palm.
“Bye, Crimson,” I say, purposely giving Xzavic an opportunity to play-argue with me to lighten the mood.
“Bye, Red,” he says, his voice gravelly.
We slowly mount the steps, Xzavic pushes up the hatch, and we’re back in the abandoned room at street level that serves as Altair’s cover. After settling the hatch back down and making certain it’s covered with a threadbare rug, we open the door.
My mouth actually falls open when I see what’s outside.
