Tim's Arc

Chapter 9 of 11

The ramp stood open and empty. Every worker chased the laughing child the other way. Tim held his sister tight and ran for it, Jake beside him, Riley and Max at their heels. The floor stretched wide and bare between the crates and the ship. No cover. If one worker turned, they would see five figures crossing open ground. Halfway across, a shout cut the air. Not from behind. From the ramp. A small girl stood at the top, where the ramp met the ship. She wore a shirt and a diaper, her brown hair tied in two tails. She had slipped loose from the crew and climbed the ramp to find her lost toy. Now she stared down at Tim's group with huge, curious eyes. She was the runner. The one who had saved them. And she was blocking the only way in. "That's her," Jake breathed. "The one who drew them off." Tim stopped at the base of the ramp. If she screamed, the crew would come. If she climbed down, they would spot her and follow her straight to the ship. He could not push past her. He could not leave her. The girl pointed at the baby on Tim's chest. "Baby," she said, loud and pleased. "Shh." Tim crouched on the ramp. He kept his voice soft, the way he spoke to his sister at night. "Yes. A baby. You want to see?" She nodded hard. Behind him, Tim heard the crew still calling for her across the bay. Their lights would turn soon. He held out his free hand. "Come here, then. Come see the baby. Quiet, okay? It's a game." The girl liked games. She padded down two steps and took his fingers. Tim scooped her up with his other arm and pressed her face gently toward his shoulder, hiding her bright shirt against his jacket. Now he carried two children up the ramp. "What are you doing?" Riley hissed. "She can't stay here," Tim said. "And she can't go back to them." They reached the top. The hold yawned dark and cool. Tim set the girl down behind a stack of crates and crouched to her level. "Stay. Hide. I'll bring the baby back." She giggled, thinking it hide-and-seek, and tucked herself small. Tim turned to find Jake watching him, jaw tight. "Tim. The manifest's closed. There's no room logged for her." Tim looked at the toddler folded behind the crates, then at his sleeping sister. The ramp was behind them now. The crew's lights swept the empty floor where the group had been. They were inside. But the ship held one more child than the records allowed, and the scanners would weigh every kilo before the hatch sealed.