Shadow Train (8 page)

Benji was the first to notice Nass, and he nudged Josh with his elbow, causing him to look up. When Josh saw Nass, he stood and hurried over to him.

“What's going on?” Nass asked, and he followed as Josh led him across the lobby, away from everyone else.

“It's Emory,” Josh explained. “He got jumped.”

“Is it bad? I mean, it must be bad or he wouldn't be here, but—he's going to be okay, right?”

Josh raised his gaze to meet Nass's. There weren't tears in his eyes; instead they were filled with a cold, hard pain.

“They don't know,” Josh said quietly. “I guess he has brain swelling from the beating. They did some kind of surgery to relieve the pressure, but they're not sure . . .”

In the silence that followed those words, Nass's gaze slipped down to the brand-new polished floor at his feet. He wished his body could slump down there, too. He suddenly felt a crippling exhaustion, as if every overtaxed cell of his body would give way, his bones would crumble, his muscles would melt, his brain would seize up, and he would fall down and sleep for a thousand years. His wasn't an exhaustion of the body. It was exhaustion of the soul.

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't collapse now. He had to stay strong for the rest of the Flatliners, for Emory and his family. He forced himself to speak again. “What happened?”

Josh repeated what Myka had told the Flatliners and the police.

“So it was Rick?”

“Myka didn't actually see the fight, but it had to be him, obviously,” Josh said. “The cops supposedly went to talk to him. They told Emory's dad he was out of town.”

“When are they going to know about Emory?”

“I guess he's in no condition to be moved, so they're bringing in some neurosurgeon from Topeka to perform another emergency surgery. He hasn't been conscious since it happened.”

Nass only shook his head. There was nothing he could say.

“Myka was with him while they were waiting for the ambulance, and I asked her how bad it looked.” Josh's lip quivered for a moment, and he paused and regained his composure. “It's bad.”

Nass looked over at his friends, all of them sitting in chairs in the waiting area, their faces wracked with misery. He thought of Emory, lying in the hospital room, fighting for his life. He thought of Rick Banfield, wherever he was, probably plotting another horrific attack. And soon, Agent Hackett would leave and the Topper companies would start bulldozing the Flats, leaving the Flatliners and their families on the streets. All these thoughts hit him once, like the scattershot from a shotgun, and as the sting of their impressions receded only one thought remained:
Where is Raphael Kain?

Chapter 5

Feng Xu was not in a pleasant mood. The journey from the
Zhanjiang naval base in southern China to Cuba had been miserable. Although the People's Liberation Army submarine he'd ridden on had been the flagship of the fleet (and vaguely and pleasurably snake-like in shape), his quarters had been cramped and dank, and the trip had dragged on far too long for his liking. The journey from Havana to Cape Coral, Florida, on the cigarette boat had been pleasant enough, though. Feng Xu had enjoyed skimming across all that clear, azure water and breathing the rich, primordial-smelling, brine-filled air. But the rest of the trip, from Cape Coral to Middleburg, Kansas, in the back of a black Lincoln Town Car, had been as dull as it was tiring, a blur of gray skies, drizzling rain, and dismal small towns punctuated only by a seemingly endless series of brightly lit signs for American fast-food restaurants and gas stations. If this was all his enemies had to offer—greasy beef sandwiches, French fries, and petrol—Feng Xu had thought, then retrieving the treasure he had sought for so long would be easier than he'd imagined.

Now, at last, the illustrious leader of the Order of the Black Snake had reached his destination—the Order's makeshift base, set within a drafty, abandoned brick factory building. Before him stood the two most senior, most trusted, and most powerful members of his brotherhood—and yet both had failed miserably. They held their derbies in their hands and stared subserviently down at the cracked concrete floor, literally trembling before him.

“I remember when I found the two of you,” Feng Xu said slowly, practicing his English. “Two brothers—one twelve, one fourteen. So smart, so eager, so full of promise . . .” he shook his head sadly. “If I had known then how you would fail me, I would have fed you to the Snake God before the whole assembly.”

The taller one, the eldest, winced at his words as if at a blow, but Feng Xu continued: “But no. You would not have been worthy food for our lord,” he said softly. “Likely you would have given our master indigestion.”

The four men who stood behind Feng Xu laughed. They were dressed identically to the two brothers he had sent ahead to Middleburg—in the same suits and the same derby hats.

Feng Xu allowed himself a smile. He stood tall, with his arms at his sides, as if he were standing at attention, but he was completely relaxed. In fact, it was only in moments like this that he felt truly at ease. He was enjoying himself.

“In honor of the potential that those two bright-eyed young pupils displayed so many years ago, I will allow you the honor of deciding which of you will pay for your incompetence and which will live. So tell me: who will sacrifice himself to our lord, the Black Snake?”

The taller brother stepped forward first; the shorter one, who had a fresh scar on one cheek, hesitated for a second, and then he stepped forward, too.

Feng Xu smiled again and stepped up to the shorter brother who, if Xu remembered correctly, was the younger one. “Ah, you let your brother step forward first. Good for you. There is some selfishness left in you after all. The selfish man is predictable, reliable. I can work with a selfish man. As long as you hold his fate in your hands, he remains utterly true. But a man who cleaves to so-called loftier ideals . . .” Feng Xu clucked his tongue at the taller brother. “Such a man is as unreliable as a drunken rat. And as such, he is good for only one thing—snake food.”

Feng Xu laughed, and his men laughed as well, in the very same manner. All the while, Xu watched the taller brother, watched his face grow pale, his brow beading with sweat, his teeth beginning to clench. Xu waited patiently for him to lash out, eager for the fun, and when it happened, he was ready.

The condemned man dropped his hat and whipped out his double daggers, stabbing them both at Feng Xu's eyes. It was a particularly bad move. Since the blades were close together, Xu was able to parry them both with a single
Tan Sau
, then gather up both the man's arms with a
Huen Sau
, and snap both his elbows with a quick but ferocious arm-break. It was as simple as trapping the arms then striking the elbow with his forearm, with a sharp shift of the hips. The brother screamed in agony, and both knives fell from his hands. Before they had hit the ground, Feng Xu had snapped his opponent's left knee with a stomp kick and blinded him with the Bite of the Snake—a single finger strike to both eyes.

The result was devastating, Feng Xu thought with businesslike satisfaction: only a single second had elapsed from the moment the man pulled his knives until he was reduced to a crumpled, trembling mass of broken limbs and bloody tears.

Feng Xu gazed down at him for a long moment, as he gently wiped the blood from his right hand with a black silk handkerchief he'd pulled from his suit pocket. When one became a master of the Venom of the Fang fighting style, the reward was not a sash or a belt or a silly American-style trophy—it was a set of steel fingernails, implanted on the middle two fingers of each hand. It was these nails, the Fangs of the Snake, that Feng Xu had used to blind his opponent.

Now came the fun part. The shadows of the rusted machinery, broken-down conveyer belts, old smelting ovens, and rotten crates began to coalesce, then to slither, moving slowly but inexorably toward the blind and squealing sacrifice Feng Xu had prepared. By the time the form reached him, it was visible for what it was: a great black cobra.

All the men of the Order watched in rapt silence as the blind man on the ground shrieked, begged, and cried, as first one leg, then the other, then his entire lower half, then his whole torso, was swallowed up by the giant, shadow-black serpent. Finally, only one hand was left visible, its fingers wriggling strangely in the same gesture as a child would use to wave goodbye. Then in one more chomp, the hand was gone too. The Snake God rose up then, over their heads, coiling itself and flaring out its hood as if poised to strike its next victim, and everyone—including Feng Xu—bowed subserviently.

Out of the corner of his eye, Feng Xu watched the surviving brother to see if any rebellious thoughts might be coursing through his mind. Fighting off his shock, the man hesitated only for a second before he too bowed before the Black Snake God.

The snake hissed once, a sharp sound that seemed to cut to the bone, and then in one swift blink it was gone, disappearing as if it had never been there at all.

Feng Xu rose and smoothed out his shirt, making sure that there was no blood staining it from his short-lived fight, and then he looked around, gauging the morale and the loyalty of his remaining men. They were all looking at him as he expected they would be, with the perfect mixture of awe, fear, hatred, and admiration—even the scar-faced brother.

“Very well, gentlemen,” Feng Xu said in his usual businesslike fashion. “I believe we have a treasure to find.”

He knew from his latest briefing that the ring had been shattered and the shards scattered throughout Middleburg, but that prospect didn't concern him at all. It was simply a matter of gathering them together again. And he had a feeling he knew exactly where to begin.

* * *

Friday after school, Zhai, Maggie, and Master Chin marched together through the Middleburg tunnels, toward the mystical railroad roundhouse they called the Wheel of Illusion. In his pocket, Zhai's fingers closed on the three pieces of the shattered crystal ring that he'd managed to round up. One was his, and the others belonged to Dax Avery and Michael Ponder, two of the Toppers. Zhai had tried to reach Rick, Bran, and the Cunningham brothers last night after he'd seen Violet Anderson's tapestry, but Rick and Bran hadn't answered their phones, and D'von Cunningham had told Zhai that they weren't following his orders anymore; they reported to Rick now.

“Rick says you've been helping the enemy search for Raphael Kain,” D'von had said coldly. “That's treason, man.”

“If I help find Raphael, maybe the Flatliners won't be our enemies anymore, D'von,” Zhai had patiently replied. “Did you and Rick think of that?”

There was a pause on the other end of the phone line.

“Look, I gotta go. Rick told me not to talk to you,” D'von had said and ended the call.

Dax and Michael had acted a little weird, too. Standing on his front porch, Dax had glanced around furtively before turning his shard over to Zhai, as if he expected Rick to be hiding in the bushes watching them. Once he'd handed it over he quickly said goodbye and slipped back inside. Michael wouldn't even see Zhai; he simply left the shard in an envelope and put the envelope in his mailbox for Zhai to pick up.

Zhai worried about the fact that his control on the Toppers had slipped. For years now, he'd been the voice of reason and the advocate of calm and peace within the group. Without him, there was no way of telling what the Toppers would become. But as dangerous as it was to cede his position as leader of the gang, finding Raphael was more important, and he wasn't going to let anyone's opinion stand in his way.

So, Zhai had three shards of the magical crystal ring in his pocket, Maggie Anderson had one, and Master Chin had one—that made five. It only accounted for about a third of the ring, but they would have to hope it was enough.

“We're getting close,” Chin said, and Zhai immediately abandoned his extraneous thoughts and focused on the task at hand. The tunnels were dangerous—it was important that he remained mindful and present.

“I've never been in here before. Are we going to the X?” Maggie asked quietly. “It's kind of creepy.” But she seemed more fascinated than scared.

Zhai knew what she was talking about. There had always been legends circulating in the school about a spot deep inside the tunnels where the railroad tracks crossed. According to the stories, no one saw the X and lived to tell about it—because the Middleburg monster would eat them alive. Zhai, however, had seen the X and survived. He also knew that the stories were true, and he hoped that when the ring shattered, the giant shadow monsters that guarded it had also disappeared.

“Yes—the X is just up ahead,” Chin whispered, and as he did they passed from the stone tunnel into an open space so massive and vacuous that their flashlight beams were unable to penetrate the blackness surrounding them. The Wheel was housed in a vast stone dome, Zhai knew—a space so huge that it had to take up half of the mountain.

“Be on your guard, my friends,” Chin whispered. “We are not alone.”

Moments later, the companions reached the fabled X where the tracks crossed. Zhai and Maggie each handed their ring shards to Chin, who held the five pieces in his hands and closed his eyes in reverent meditation. For an instant, Zhai thought he saw a glimmer of light through Chin's fingers. Maggie gasped, too, but in the next second, the spark faded, and the shards were dead again, like ordinary pieces of broken glass.

Chin opened his eyes and shook his head. “There is still some power in them,” he said, “but not enough.”

It was at that moment that Zhai saw a movement just out of range of his flashlight beam. The figure materialized so suddenly that Zhai's breath caught in his throat. When the man stepped into the light and Zhai recognized his face, his unease only grew.

He was Asian, with long dark hair, a thin beard, and penetrating, dark brown eyes. He was tall and imposing, with limbs that seemed to Zhai as long and strong as the branches of an ancient oak. But perhaps it was his garb that made Zhai think of a tree. Instead of the robes he'd worn before—the one of bloody, autumn red or the austere, icy bluish-white garment—this time, the Magician's habit was the tender green color of the first newly born buds of spring.

“Greetings, Man of Four, our Dark Teacher,” Chin said and bowed.

Silently, the Magician returned the bow.

“You know the one whom we seek,” Chin said. “Will you help us find him?”

The Magician stared at Chin without moving, without breathing, as still as a corpse. In their previous encounters, Zhai had found the Magician's maniacal laughter and endless questions disturbing and frightening—but neither was half as terrible as his current stillness.

As Zhai's desperation rose, he could no longer contain it or remain silent. He moved closer to Chin and spoke to the Man of Four: “Please, how can we get Raphael back?” he asked. “Tell us what to do and we'll do it.”

Slowly, the Magician's gaze shifted to Zhai.

“Have you the treasure?” the Magician asked.

Zhai had expected to feel relieved when the Magician finally broke the horrible silence, but his voice was terrifying, too. It was somehow deep enough that Zhai could feel its rumble but also shrill enough that he wanted to cover his ears.

“Yes,” Zhai answered quickly, and Chin held out the five ring shards.

The magician's terrible, dark eyes scanned Master Chin's outstretched hands.

“A broken wheel cannot turn,” he said, and Zhai felt his hope crumbling to despair. Then, he had a realization.