B003J5UJ4U EBOK (13 page)

I wanted to turn and run. I was sure he’d grab me when I went past. My disguise stunk. What was I thinking? He’d knock me out and take me back to Bowdler.

The guy glanced at the small photo in his other hand, then scanned the crowd. I froze as his eyes moved past me. He stared at me for an instant, then shook his head in disgust and looked away.

He didn’t recognize me. Still expecting to be grabbed, I walked past him, then slipped over to a corner of the terminal and studied the departure information on the big board that hung over the information desk. Maybe New York was a bad idea. They’d probably expect me to go somewhere like that. For all I knew, they had guys in Penn Station, watching everyone who arrived from Philly.

It would be better if I went to New Jersey first, and then to New York. There was a train leaving for Trenton in five minutes. That would work.

I bought a ticket and headed across the terminal toward the stairs that led to the platform for my train. I saw another guy in a suit ahead of me. I looked down, trying to make myself invisible. A crowd was coming in my direction. I guess another train had just arrived. Good. The more people around me, the better. Crowds were my friend.

I kept my attention glued to the floor. Once I got past this
last guy, I could go down the steps and get on the train. Despite the crowd, I wasn’t bumped much. Even without checking around me, I could tell that people were avoiding contact with someone who looked as creepy as I did. I almost enjoyed the feeling that nobody wanted anything to do with me.

elsewhere …

MARTIN WAITED WHILE
the rest of the passengers rushed off the train. He hated getting jostled in crowds. The flood of impressions he received was a heavy load to carry. Every person he bumped into left him with the details of his or her greatest prides and deepest sorrows.

Finally, he left the train. There was hardly anyone on the stairs, but the crowd grew denser when he got up to the terminal.

Luckily, he saw a break ahead. There was a punky-looking kid coming toward him. People were moving wide of the kid, as if the air around him was poisoned. That was good. It gave Martin more room to slip through without getting jostled as much.

Even so, he couldn’t completely shelter himself. At least he was used to it after a year weaving through the crowded halls at his high school. Impressions flittered through his mind with each jostle.
I’m so good at trading stocks. I hate my body. I wish I’d learned to play the guitar. I can move things with my mind. I have a photographic memory. I beat my dog. I make the best blueberry pies in the world.

Martin spun around as one impression seized him.
I can move things with my mind.

Trash! But Trash was dead. Martin searched through his memory for anything paired with the pride.
I can move things with my mind. I draw awesome spaceships. My parents don’t spend much time with me.

He scanned the crowd of people who’d just passed him. There were only three kids in the group—a little girl, a guy in his midteens, and the spiked-hair kid in a ripped Ramones shirt.

Martin didn’t recognize the punk kid. But the walk—the way he moved, slunk down like the world was pressing on him—that was familiar. Amazingly familiar. He remembered the way Trash had acted at Edgeview before he’d learned about his talent. He’d been beaten down by everything. Almost crushed out of existence.

It couldn’t be him. Trash was dead. It said so in the paper. But that guy at Trash’s house—he’d faked a kid’s death. Martin sped toward the kid, trying to reach him before he boarded a train. The closer he got, the surer he was. If he was right, this would erase all the sorrow he’d carried with him since that terrible day.
I have to be right,
Martin thought. He didn’t know if he could handle the pain of being wrong.

the power of two

AS I HEADED
for the stairs, I sensed someone behind me. The footsteps matched my own. I sped up. So did the steps that followed me. I wanted to run. But that would be a mistake. Running would get me noticed. Notice would get me caught.

Someone whispered in my ear. Three words. “Be cool, Trash.”

I glanced back and gasped at the sight of the brown-haired, blue-eyed guy in the plain green t-shirt. Suddenly, everything seemed so much better. I slowed my pace and let Martin catch up with me. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

“Tell me about it,” Martin said. “You’re supposed to be dead.” He’d grown a bit since last year. But so had I, which meant I was still a head taller and twenty pounds heavier.

I kept my voice quiet and my eyes straight ahead. “It’s a long story. Most of which I don’t know. But we have to get out of here. There are people looking for me.”

“Yeah. Serious guys in blue suits,” Martin said. “Like the one we just passed. That’s why I didn’t shout. There’s one outside your house, too. They aren’t playing around.”

“I know. So I can’t go home. But I have to go somewhere. I was figuring maybe Trenton, and then New York.”

“We can’t leave. Cheater’s here, in the hospital. He’s been hurt.”

“How bad?” I wondered if Bowdler was involved.

“I don’t know. But I’m headed there to find out.”

I looked at the train car that was just a couple steps away. Philadelphia was swarming with people who were searching for me. They had disrupters, guns, and probably all sorts of high-tech stuff I didn’t even know existed. Trenton would be safe. But Cheater was one of my few real friends. He’d never run out on me if I was hurt. “Let’s go.”

I turned and headed up the stairs and out of the station, back past the men in suits with their shopping bags. I waited until we were across the street from the station before speaking again. “You don’t know anything else about Cheater?”

“His brother said he got beaten up. And his parents are on a trip. That’s all I know.” Martin stared at me as we walked. “So, when did you decide to make a fashion statement?”

“About half an hour ago. You like it?”

“Not really. I think you should shave it all off and start over.”

As we walked to the hospital, I filled him in on everything that had happened, keeping my voice low, afraid that any of the hundreds of people we passed might latch onto my words, see through my disguise, and shoot me with a dart before I could react. I skipped over the worst part until I’d
told him the rest. Finally, I described the moment when I’d killed that man.

Martin stopped walking and turned to me. “You can’t change the past.”

“I know. But that doesn’t help. I can’t get the image out of my mind. Or the guilt.”

“From what you told me about Bowdler, the real problem might be that you killed the wrong guy.”

“Maybe.”

Martin shook his head. “Man, I thought I had a tough time adjusting. I mean, I survived some rough stuff at school this year. Walking through the halls and absorbing all that heavy angst from everyone was like reading fifty teen problem novels at once. But you’ve got me beat.”

“This is one contest I’d be happy to lose,” I said. “Makes me wonder what’s happening to the rest of the guys. If this disrupter works on all of us, we’re pretty much at Bowdler’s mercy.”

“Torchie’s fine,” Martin said. “I get letters from him all the time. I think he’s the last kid on the planet who uses snail mail. I can tell how he’s doing by how scorched the paper is. And I got an e-mail from Flinch last week. He sent me some jokes he’s working on. I haven’t heard anything from Lucky in a while, and he hasn’t answered any of my e-mails. I think Cheater’s been trying to get in touch with him. And you’re dead. Not to mention pretty funny looking.”

I punched him on the shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me, too.”

It was good to hear that Torchie and Flinch were okay. I guess Bowdler didn’t know about anyone else. But I was worried that the guys hadn’t heard from Lucky. Though, right now, I was more worried about Cheater.

When we reached the hospital, I paused by the front entrance.

“What’s wrong?” Martin asked.

“You sure you want to be with me? This isn’t some game, like sneaking out of Edgeview or taking on a couple bullies. The bad guys have guns. They seem to make up their own laws, too.”

“I’m sure,” Martin said. “You know me—the bigger they act, the more stubborn I get. At least, that’s what nine out of ten psychologists say. Come on, we’ve got a friend to see.”

while trash and martin are heading for the hospital, lucky stands on his own two feet …

“
IT’S TIME FOR
a walk.”

Lucky stared at the smiling nurse, wishing she’d go away. She smelled like rubbing alcohol and mouthwash. Back in the other place, one of the nurses dragged him out of his room and made him do stuff once or twice a day. Sometimes it was a jigsaw puzzle, sometimes it was stupid crafts. Mostly, it was walks. This place was no different. He felt like someone’s German shepherd. Besides, he’d just gotten here this morning, and wasn’t even used to his new room.

“Come on, Dominic,” the nurse said. “Exercise is important. You’ll feel better. Trust me.”

No way.
He didn’t trust anyone. And he didn’t want to get out of bed. But he knew she’d nag him until he did what she asked. He stood up and followed her down the corridor and out through the locked doors that separated his ward from the rest of the hospital. His slippers scuffed against the floor with each step. Her cushioned heels tapped the floor with the rhythm of a pendulum.

At least there weren’t any lost objects in the hallways crying out for his attention. Hospitals were constantly swept
clean of everything—dirt, germs, hopes. Though the voices wouldn’t have been much of a problem. The medicine kept them from bothering him.

“You’re so lucky,” the nurse whispered as they turned a corner into the main corridor. “Some of these poor children are very sick. It’s so sad.”

Yeah, I’m lucky,
he thought. There was no way to explain to her that his own problems were just as bad. Maybe his heart was fine and his kidneys weren’t failing. Maybe his bones weren’t broken and his flesh wasn’t burned. But there were other ways to suffer. The stuff nobody else could see—that was probably the worst kind of suffering to bear. Even if he told them, they wouldn’t understand. But he couldn’t tell them. If they knew about his hidden talent, they’d do terrible things to him.