Sneak (Swipe Series)

picking up a wire that fed out through the window. “A radio antenna. She uses it to listen to electricity in the air—to track thunderstorms apparently. But we”—Grandma grinned now—“I think we could use it for something else. Dianne—you and I could broadcast .”
    “I don’t know about this . . . ,” Mrs. Phoenix said. “Didn’t you say your daughter’s up here all the time these days? What if she catches us?”
    “She won’t! It’s true Charlotte spends her days here, but at night she’s out like a light.”
    “Even so . . .”
    “Oh, come on , Dianne! This is our chance. Shoot—even you kept listening to that dead station all week! If Hailey’s still tuning in, this is our way to reach her. We have to try! I can’t even sleep at night, I’m so guilty over this thing. All those times we condemned that stupid Mark program . . . Dianne, we’re the ones who turned these kids into rebels. And now that they’ve finally listened to us, we abandon them? No! We have to help! Don’t you want to know where your daughter is? How she’s doing?”
    “Of course I do,” Mrs. Phoenix said. “Desperately.”
    “Then let’s do this. Let’s tap into their network. My daughter and son-in-law are sick of entertaining me anyway—they’d love it if you came over each night. We’ll just wait for Charlotte to retire each evening, and then we’ll slip up here undetected. We can do this. I’ll take us live, and you be the voice—it’s perfect!”
    Mrs. Phoenix was smiling now, picturing it. “I’ve always hated the sound of my own voice . . . ,” she said.
    And Grandma smiled too. “Any chance I can take that as a yes?”
    4
    The mansion at the end of the drive was even more inviting from close up. It was huge, sprawling out in a pre-Unity style, with shutters outside its windows, powder blue clapboard, columns on the front porch, and two chimneys, smoke rising pleasantly from each stack . . .
    Tyler was the first one to the door. He rang the bell before the rest of the Dust had even caught up.
    It was a short wait for an answer.
    “Whoever could that be?” a woman’s voice called from inside.
    “I’ve got it,” another voice said, speaking with an accent Tyler didn’t recognize.
    “But at this time of night?”
    A man’s face peered through the window. Then he smiled and quickly stepped to open the door.
    “Well, blimey . . . ,” he said. “Rivergoers, honey!” he called back into the house. “A whole group of them!” He grinned, and he let the Dust inside.

    Peck, Joanne, Blake, Tyler, Eddie, Meg, and Rusty all sat at a dining table that could have easily seated ten more. It was long and ornate, a beautiful, polished wood with a shining gloss. The chairs were high backed and plush with red velvet on the seats and arms. The room by itself was bigger than the footprint of most houses in Spokie.
    “Welcome to the Rathbone home,” the woman said from across the table. “This is my husband, Mr. Rathbone, and our son, Winston. Say hello, Winston.”
    He did, though some part of him looked uneasy about it.
    “Honestly, at sixteen you think he’d have better manners,” Mrs. Rathbone said to her husband, and Winston rolled his eyes.
    “We’re so glad you’ve joined us,” Mr. Rathbone said quickly, eager to change the subject and gesturing kindly to the group. But Tyler practically gasped when he did. Mr. Rathbone was a handsome, clean-shaven, middle-aged man, with dark hair, a strong chin, deep, dark eyes . . . but Mr. Rathbone was missing his right hand. He smiled and picked up his fork with his left.
    There was food on the table, and lots of it. Fresh apples, oranges, grapes; a pumpkin and an apple pie; turkey legs and sliced turkey breast; juices and sodas and milk; a large salad bowl . . .
    The Dust had never seen a spread quite like it. Meat was barely eaten anymore, ever since the collapse of the farming industry during the States War, and unless it happened to be in season and close by, fresh fruit was nearly impossible to find.
    But not for the Rathbones.
    “You’ll have to excuse our appearance,” Mr. Rathbone apologized. “We would have tidied up, had we known we’d have guests.”
    The Dust looked around, confused. The entire house was spotless.
    “Your home is beautiful,” Joanne said quickly. “We are . . . so grateful to you for taking us in.”
    “Well, there’s plenty of room for everyone,” Mrs. Rathbone said. “We have more than enough beds.”