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  OUTCASTS

  BOOK TWO OF THE

  SAFE LANDS SERIES

  JILL WILLIAMSON

  THE SAFE LANDS

  To my sister Beth Britton, for wanting

  to read book two so desperately.

  Thanks for your enthusiasm and support.

  “Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master,

  nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him.”

  — John 13:16, NIV

  Contents

  Title Page

  THE SAFE LANDS

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  About the Author

  Books by Jill Williamson

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  JULY 2088

  Almost there.

  Kendall strode around the curve of Belleview Drive and fixed her gaze on the messenger sign at the end of the block. The flying white envelope on a red circle flickered in the night.

  She wanted to run — to at least jog — but held back, forcing her legs into long strides. Kendall swung her arms and breathed in the scents of dryer sheets and waffle cones from the Belleview Laundry and Cinnamonster ice cream shop.

  Barely four weeks had passed since she’d given birth in the Surgery Center, and only two since she’d moved out of the harem and back to the Midlands. Kendall’s medic had told her to wait at least six weeks before doing serious exercise. So Kendall walked everywhere, determined to firm up her abdomen, look normal again. Determined to forget.

  She wasn’t supposed to work for six weeks, either. But staying home with no baby to hold … Add to that her depressing thoughts, worry over the girls from Glenrock, and the task director general’s summons — it had been too much. She’d begged Tayo to let her come back to the messenger office early.

  Kendall picked up her pace. What could the task director want now? He’d taken everything from her. She’d served her term in the harem, had given the ultimate sacrifice. This couldn’t be a surrogacy request. Safe Lands customs said she deserved a two-year reprieve for her service to the nation.

  This summons had to be personal.

  A taxi turned down Belleview and sped toward Kendall, its headlights blinding. She lowered her gaze. The vehicle passed — and the product expo on its side caught her eye.

  The face of her son. “Welcome, Baby Promise” scrolled underneath.

  Kendall stopped. She watched her son’s face shrink away until the taxi vanished. Fortune was mocking her pain.

  What kind of a name was Promise, especially for a boy? More Safe Lands strangeness. Her baby would always be Elyot to her.

  Kendall choked back her sorrow and trudged the rest of the way to the messenger office. She used her SimTag to let herself inside and set her messenger bag on the front counter.

  A single bulb cast yellow light and hard shadows over the messenger workstations and rows of nearly empty package shelves. Kendall crossed the lobby and slipped behind the counter, her running shoes scuffing over the concrete floor. She walked down the first aisle of shelves, her shadow creeping along beside her.

  This place had always been ghoulie at night.

  The task clock hung outside Tayo’s office door, located at the back. Kendall tapped her fist on it, officially tasking out for the night, and started back toward the lobby.

  A low moan rose from the dark. She jerked her head around, spine tingling. Cocked her ears.

  No more sound.

  Kendall peered through the shelves on her right. “Hay-o? Who’s here?”

  A gargled breath. “Help me.”

  The words squeezed her throat. For a moment Kendall couldn’t move. Pushing down her fear, she forced herself around the end of the shelves. Peeked down the next row.

  Empty.

  She inched toward the third one.

  Nothing.

  Kendall glanced at her messenger bag. Her portable Wyndo was inside. She could tap Enforcer 10 for help.

  She bit her lip, then eased around the fourth row. Halfway down, a man in a messenger uniform lay on the floor, one hand on his stomach, the other under his back. White-blond hair. Big feet.

  “Chord?” Kendall ran to him.

  Red everywhere, like a bottle of spilled Shower Paint. It had soaked Chord’s white T-shirt and the top of his green shorts, puddling under him. Still spreading.

  She swallowed the bitter burning of nausea. “What happened?”

  Chord lifted his hand. Kendall reached for his bloody fingers, but he pointed upward, to a large box high on the shelves.

  “You want the box?” she asked.

  He nodded and choked out the word, “Hurry.”

  Kendall had to climb on the lowest shelf to reach the box. She held the shelf with her left hand and slapped the box with her right until it slid over the edge, careful to use her arms and not put strain on her stomach. She stepped down with the box, keeping her hand underneath to catch it as it fell. It was light and open at the top. She set it on the floor and pulled out a messenger bag. Chord’s? She met his gaze.

  “Deliver,” he rasped.

  “You want me to deliver your messages?”

  “To the … addressees. No one else. Secret.”

  She found four messages in his bag. Messages with no codes. In the Safe Lands, it was illegal to deliver mail off the grid. Enforcers monitored everything. She read the addresses. Chord worked the Sopris route, but these addresses were mostly in Old Town, which was her route.

  “Chord, why do you …?” She looked up to find him staring past her knees. Unblinking. Unseeing. His eyes dull, mouth half open, face slack.

  A breath rattled past her lips. She spun around, slipping in the blood. Kendall ran to the counter, withdrew her Wyndo from her own messenger bag, and tapped one zero. Her thumb — shaking over the glass screen — produced a one-eight-eight. She deleted the numbers and carefully tapped one zero again.

  One ring and a female face showed on the glass. She had silver hair, mimicking Luella Flynn, no doubt. “Enforcer 10. Where are you located?”

  “Midlands-east-messenger-office,” Kendall said, breathless. “A man’s been hurt. He’s bleeding. I think he’s … dead. Oh, walls! Don’t let him be dead!”

  “Try to stay calm,” the woman said. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Kendall gasped in a breath, panic clouding her thoughts, tears and hysteria lacing every word. “I don’t know. I didn’t see. I came in and found him here.”

  “You found him dead?”

  She stared at the woman on her Wyndo screen and set her messenger bag back on
the counter. “No. He was just talking to me, but now he’s only staring.” She looked back down the aisle to where Chord lay. No change.

  “Okay, I’m dispatching Enforcer 10,” the woman said. “I see two SimTags at the address you gave me. ID#5 – 71 – 36, Chord Prezden and ID#1-W1, Kendall Collin. Is this Kendall?”

  “Yes. And Chord is hurt.”

  “Kendall, do you see any weapons?”

  A new wave of horror seized her. “I didn’t.” Had Chord been shot or stabbed? “Should I go back and look?”

  “No, stay where you are,” the woman said. “I need you to preserve the scene until Enforcer 10 arrives. Do you know the victim?”

  “Yes! Chord tasks here.” Tears were flowing down Kendall’s cheeks now. She paced the length of the counter. How could this be happening? Who would kill Chord?

  The front door whooshed open, bringing the smell of dryer sheets and waffle cones inside the lobby. Kendall spun around. A man stood on the other side of the counter. She screamed and dropped her Wyndo, which snapped into three pieces on the concrete floor.

  “Hey, sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The man looked familiar. He was wearing a messenger uniform, but he wasn’t a regular here. Where had she seen him before? He had a 9X on his face. Was this Chord’s murderer?

  Trapped, Kendall crouched behind the counter to pick up her Wyndo. She was still holding Chord’s messages in her hand and shoved them into the waistband of her shorts. She pulled the hem of her T-shirt over the messages and collected her Wyndo and the solar pack. Where was the back? She never understood how these things looked like transparent glass until they came apart. Technological magic was the worst kind. It made her feel ignorant for not comprehending how it worked.

  Calm down! Look for it. She scanned the floor for any reflection.

  The man stepped around the end of the counter, his messenger sneakers, bare legs, and green shorts a blur outside her focus. There! She spotted a rectangle of clear plastic across the floor, by the man’s foot. She blinked and looked up to his face.

  Alone with a strange Xed man who was blocking her way to the exit and might be a murderer. No Wyndo. Not good. If she survived this night, she vowed to reconsider a SimTalk implant.

  The man’s dark eyebrows rose, causing his forehead to wrinkle. “You okay?”

  He was young, his voice soft and a little hoarse, like he had a cold. Cute. Boyish, though his jaw and upper lip were shaded in the soft scruff of a first attempt at a beard. He was likely harmless. Not every man was like Lawten. But this one looked so familiar.

  The answer came a second later. Omar. The new rover. Tayo had introduced him at Monday’s staff meeting. See? It was okay. He had a right to be here. So … probably not a murderer, then. Right?

  “Hey.” Omar crouched and picked up the back of her Wyndo from the floor beside his foot. He held it out, baring thick black SimArt lines that swirled and knotted their way up his left arm. A chain. “Don’t worry. It’s probably not broken. For bits of plastic and glass, they’re pretty sturdy.”

  She snatched the back from him and fumbled with the pieces, trying to put the contraption back together. She had the solar pack upside down, so she flipped it over and clicked it into place.

  Enforcer 10 was coming. She’d be okay.

  “Aren’t you that Kendall girl from the ColorCast?” Omar asked. “The queen? The one who just had the, uh …?” His gaze flicked down to her belly.

  “No,” Kendall said, hating that she’d lied. Lawten had made her afraid of everyone. Her legs shook from squatting so long, yet she felt safer crouched against the counter.

  She snapped on the back of the Wyndo, but when she tried to power it up, the glass remained dark. No!

  “So, what’s your name, femme?” Omar asked.

  She met his gaze then. A risk. But perhaps conversation would distract him until Enforcer 10 arrived. His eyes were slate blue, rimmed in thick, dark lashes. Natural eyes that made her think he might have once been an outsider too. His skin looked healthy — she could see actual pores. No Roller Paint. But he was marked 9X. Weird. Outsiders weren’t usually nines, but they did tend to get an X or two before they figured out how to live here. Especially the men. Maybe he hadn’t been in the Safe Lands long. Maybe he wasn’t like the others.

  But maybe he was.

  “Why do you want to know my name?” she asked, tempted to look at Chord’s body, wanting to help him in case it wasn’t too late, but wanting to get away even more.

  Omar’s lips spread into a slow grin that completely lit up his face. “Okay, never mind. Um …” He ran his fingers through his hair, creating three thick waves that swooped back over his head. “Have you seen Chord? I was supposed to meet him.”

  His words threw the fear back in her face. “You were supposed to meet him?”

  “That’s what I said.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Shards of ice slid down her back. If Omar had hurt Chord, would he hurt her too? Kendall couldn’t help it. Her body betrayed her, and she glanced down the aisle to where Chord lay.

  Omar followed her gaze and gasped. “Wait, what?” His voice rose in pitch, panicked. “Is that Chord?” He ran down the aisle. “No! Why?” He picked up Chord’s messenger bag, reached inside it. “His messages are gone.” He turned back to Kendall. “What happened? What’d you do?”

  He wanted Chord’s messages. The ones Chord said were secret. “Me?” Kendall stood, fumbled for her bag, and backed toward the end of the counter. “I didn’t do anything. I just came in to task out for the night and found him there. He said — ”

  “He spoke?” Omar walked toward her, his eyes bearing down, intense.

  Kendall turned and ran around the end of the counter.

  “Whoa! Hold on!” Chord’s bag clutched in hand, Omar jumped against the counter and slid his legs over the top, landing on the other side and cutting off Kendall’s exit. He was standing so close she could smell the hint of metallic mint on his breath. He was a user.

  She wanted to scream but had no lungs or legs or breath at all.

  “What did he say?” Omar asked. “Did he say anything about his messages?”

  Kendall shook her head, almost a tremble, back and forth, back and forth. Chord had said to tell no one about the messages. And if Omar had killed Chord, he would kill her too. She tried to walk around him, but he stepped to the side, blocking her way.

  Where was Enforcer 10? Hurry!

  “Please.” Omar dropped Chord’s bag on the floor and grabbed her shoulders. “It’s important.”

  Beastly hands squeezing … Kendall screamed.

  Omar quickly let go, swallowed, and held up his hands, palms facing her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know what he said.”

  Lies. Lies. Her voice came in a rush, sounding like someone else. “All he said was, ‘Help me,’ so I tapped Enforcer 10.” Can I go now? Please let me go. Need to walk. Need to run.

  Omar closed his eyes and exhaled a breath that took four inches off his height. That stopped Kendall, confused her. He wasn’t exactly acting like a killer. And the mention of Enforcer 10 being on the way didn’t seem to alarm him. But why had he been going to meet Chord here? And why did he seem to be looking for the messages?

  The sound of a siren grew in the distance — finally! — giving strength to her legs. Kendall darted past Omar, but he caught hold of her messenger bag and looked inside it, deflating again when he found it empty.

  Kendall snatched it back and walked toward the door, holding her wrist against her hip to keep Chord’s messages from sliding past her waistband. She stepped outside just as Enforcer 10 arrived.

  The enforcers questioned Kendall and Omar, scanned their bodies for blood residue — finding it only on their shoes — then released them. The process took so long that Kendall had mostly calmed down by the end, though she kept Omar in sight. He hadn’t hurt her, but he still could.

 
She tried to slip away, but a familiar voice called her name. “Kendall! Come say hay-o, you sweet femmy.”

  It was Luella Flynn, the ColorCast co-host and most famous face in the Safe Lands, waving her signature handheld microphone like a flag, her silver hair shining brightly under the streetlamps. Kendall groaned but knew if she ignored Luella now, the woman would simply invite herself to Kendall’s apartment later. Might as well get it over with.

  Kendall walked up to Luella and Alb, the cameraman who was Luella’s shadow. Luella looked stellar, as always. Tonight she wore a purple-and-yellow houndstooth jumper over a silver bodysuit. She’d been wearing the tinsel weave in her hair for a few weeks now. Silver: a trend that had lingered longer than the celebrity usually allowed. Half the Safe Lands had been dressed in silver since Lonn’s liberation four weeks ago. Maybe the purple and yellow was a sign that the fashions were about to get brighter.

  Luella kissed both Kendall’s cheeks and then spoke into her microphone. “Kendall Collin, our former queen, can you tell us what’s happened here tonight?”

  “I don’t know if I’m allowed. The enforcers didn’t say.”

  “You can tell me, femmy. Lawten okays everything I record before it’s broadcasted, so no need to worry.”

  Lawten. The man was on a first-name basis with far too many women.

  “I understand a man was murdered tonight?” Luella said, eyes shining as if death was thrilling. “Chord Prezden? And you called Enforcer 10.”

  “Well, I don’t know if he was murdered. But he is dead.” Though if Luella knew that Chord was dead, she knew all that Kendall knew — except for the messages tucked into the waistband of Kendall’s shorts.

  “Did you witness the murder?” Luella asked.

  “No,” Kendall said. “I had just finished my shift and found him when I went to task out. There was no sign of any attacker.”

  “Can you describe how he looked for the Safe Lands viewers? How was he killed? Did he suffer?”

  “I …” Chord’s dying body flashed back to her mind, helpless, bleeding.

  “We really didn’t see much of anything, Miss Flynn,” a soft voice said.

  Kendall looked just behind her. Omar stood there, his attention focused wholly on Luella Flynn. Where had he come from? And what did he want? Did he suspect she had the messages?