Kingdom Keepers VII (46 page)

“Dillard, lift your right hand!”

The group joins and cheers.

“Look! There!” Violet points to the Matterhorn.

Flickering orange flames rise from a rent in the path, sending dancing shadows up the mountain like dark matter. A lone figure stands silhouetted on an upward ledge of gray rock and ice. Even from a considerable distance, the curved horns on either side of his skull are apparent, as is the extended snout of a bull’s nose.

The beast raises his furry arms toward the swirling fumes overhead and releases a moaning roar.

“Game on,” says Maybeck.

L
IKE RATS ON
a sinking ship, the Overtakers come out of every crack and crevice in the crippled Disneyland, swarming the park in euphoric celebration.

In the shadows, Finn and Maybeck work to keep their swords from reflecting flashes of light. They have adopted stealth tactics in an attempt to secure some kind of stronghold or base of operations for the Keepers. With the park in ruins, its trees and lampposts scattered across the ground like pickup sticks, there’s nowhere to hide. And hide they must. The Keepers are gravely outnumbered, their DHIs sparking and failing.

If they go dark, if they slip into SBS, then all hope is lost.

“You see those guys?” Maybeck says, and points.

“Yeah.”

“They’re putting the fires
out
. Why would they do that?”

Two teams of pirates move from one break in the asphalt to another, snuffing out the flames with blankets. Finn studies their actions, his mind whirling.

“You’re saying, why not let the park burn?”

“Exactly!”

“No clue. Makes no sense.”

The Dillard has come up with a list of possible hiding places nearby. None is more appealing to Finn than an abandoned tunnel across the Big Thunder Trail at the base of the mountain. Eyes fixed on their destination, Finn pushes Maybeck back as a pack of snorting hyenas charges by, led by Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed.

“Shades of the ship,” Maybeck says, once they’re gone.

“Don’t remind me.”

It takes a few minutes to find the tunnel, which is in the backstage area. When they reach it, the tunnel turns out to be more like a cave, since its far end is boarded up with lumber. The interior is cluttered with painting supplies. Maybeck and Finn leave the others outside as they inspect it.

“Our DHIs can pass through that wood at the end,” Maybeck says, “Most OTs can’t.”

“Storey and Violet can’t.”

“We’ll be vulnerable from the open end.” Maybeck’s voice echoes slightly.

“Yeah, but we’ve got to have a base, a place to meet up.”

“Amanda could defend the opening.”

Finn would rather have her by his side. He hesitates to agree. “Yeah. She could push any attackers, probably even push these boards away.” He thinks it through. “Trouble is, pushing the OTs won’t stop them. It’ll just knock them back. And when Amanda does that, it depletes her. She needs time before she can do it again.”

“What if we could contain Amanda’s force, like in a pipe or something, so it’s more concentrated, like a rocket launcher?”

Finn’s immediate reaction is that Maybeck has been gaming too much—
rocket launchers?
But it’s not that: rather, Maybeck’s artist’s eye is imagining Amanda’s force somehow contained. “Whoa! There’s an idea,” Finn mutters. “Can you imagine
that
as a weapon?”

“You know we can find a big pipe backstage. They’ve got everything here. But what’s the ammo we launch?”

“Pieces of concrete? We’ve got an endless supply.”

“How ’bout the green goo? The magic brooms? If it’s in Disney World, it’s got to be here too.”

“Killer,” Finn says, enjoying his own pun. “The stage is on Tom Sawyer Island here; it faces New Orleans Square. Take Charlie. Bring back as much of that stuff as you can.”

“On it.”

“Jess and the Dillard will stay here with Amanda. The Dillard’s no physical help and Jess is better in a quiet place trying to dream up stuff.”

“One question,” Maybeck says. “If we’re being projected, even poorly, then don’t we assume the security video is probably working? So why hasn’t Security called 911?”

“If you were the OTs, what’s the first place you’d attack
before
causing the earthquake?”

“Okay. Got it.” Maybeck pauses. “So they took out Security. But there’s smoke and fire, so why hasn’t someone called 911?”

“I don’t know. Voodoo? A spell? Tia Dalma once made me believe I was killing her.” Finn aches at the memory. “
We
all saw
her
, but not Dillard. Maybe if you’re outside the park it looks perfectly normal.”

“That’s just plain strange.”

“You and Charlie build the Mandy Blaster. It’ll make this place defensible and safe. We’re going to need that.”

“Done.”

With everyone now in the painting tunnel Finn realizes the Dillard’s processing power is slow. He’s spending a lot of time with his eyes closed.

“Is he all right?” Jess asks as Finn leads the remaining Keepers into the tunnel.

“I don’t think he has a great signal, so he’s slow processing,” Finn says. “I’ve asked him to look at all the data we’ve collected before and after the earthquake and to offer a plan of attack.” He pauses, and then adds, “As a side note, I’m worried about Remy and Django. I haven’t seen them since the earthquake.”

Overhearing them Philby speaks up. “If Dillard’s processing, if he’s still connected to the Internet—
which he must be
if he’s doing all this data work—then why haven’t the Imagineers called someone or done something?”

“Who knows who’s connected to what?” Finn says.

The Dillard is crouching off by himself in a corner.

“What if they know exactly what’s happened?” Willa says, joining in. “What if the Imagineers know exactly what’s going on but know the only chance to beat these jerks is us? What if we’re their only shot?”

“The
only
shot at what?” Finn says.

“If they’re monitoring Dillard’s search requests—and you can bet they are—they know we’re looking for a strategy. They’re not interfering. Not so far. So we have every right to assume our plan is better than anything they’ve come up with. Right? Or they’d program Dillard to talk to us.”

“Brilliant!” Philby says. “Absolutely, brilliant! Listen, that also means we should be able to get messages to them through Dillard.”

“We can use the Dillard like Instagram?” Finn says.

“A medium,” Jess says. “Like in a séance.”

“Creep me out, why don’t you?” Willa says.

“Finn?” It’s the Dillard. Finn walks over to him and crouches down.

“Here,” he says.

The Dillard’s eyes open slowly. “I require a park map and a writing implement.”

Violet overhears and takes off at a run. Jess moves to join them and offers Walt’s pen.

“I think that’s only for you, Jess,” Finn says. “Who knows what it’ll do in someone else’s hands?”

“I’ll find something,” she says, and nods to Amanda. Together, the Fairlies begin to search the junk in the tunnel.

Dillard speaks in a secretive voice that Finn hasn’t heard the hologram use before. “Initial search for Storey Ming has been fulfilled.”

“We don’t need that now, Dillard.”

“Twenty-year-old Chinese-American female declared missing at sea the night of April 16. Believed washed overboard in calm seas.”

Finn stares at his friend’s partial hologram, watches as it dissolves and reappears. His mind feels numb, working over the Dillard’s words. While he and his friends have aged considerably in the past several years, Storey’s look is timeless. He knows some people—especially women—can seem to barely age, but Storey still looks like she did when they met her aboard the
Dream
. Coincidence? Tendrils of panic worm through him.

“Continue.” His voice is rough.

“She was lost at sea. Believed deceased.”

Finn feels an actual stab of pain in his chest.
Storey!

“So she must have run away, or something.” He says this, but doesn’t believe it. Finn liked her immediately, remembers the other Keepers warning him about trusting her, and remembers how smug he felt when she turned out to be such a big help.

The others call to him. Finn is glad for it—he wants them to interrupt. Anything to mollify the sense of betrayal he’s suffering. He directs the Dillard, “You will keep this information between us until further instruction.”

“Information restricted,” the Dillard answers clinically.

With two pens, a crayon, and a park map in front of him, the Dillard directs Finn to draw. Finn passes the chore to Maybeck.

“You okay?”

“You’re the artist,” Finn replies.

“You look…sick or something.”

“I’m fine.”

Maybeck calls for something with a straight edge. Willa finds a broken piece of wood trim.

Finn understands what’s going on shortly after Maybeck extends the first line from a spire of Small World out over the peak of the carousel in Fantasyland and beyond—off the map.

“Why did we not think of this ourselves?” Philby asks.

“We were a little busy with the Skyway Station,” Willa reminds him.

The group has reformed, huddling around the Dillard and Maybeck.

“The theory is based on two points of origin,” the Dillard explains. “Both are elevated and difficult to access: the spire tower at It’s a Small World and the branch in what is now Tarzan’s Treehouse. Mr. Disney could ill afford to place such clues at ground level. He was aware the park would change multiple times over the years. But he could also be confident that two of his iconic attractions would never be torn down or replaced.”

“Small World and Tarzan,” Philby says, somewhat in awe.

“At the time, Swiss Family Robinson, but yes.”

“From Tarzan—”

“Draw a line directly over that cupola,” Finn says, interrupting the Dillard. As Maybeck draws, the two lines intersect at the entrance to the Mark Twain Riverboat ride.

“The boat is made of wood!” Philby declares. “And it was never going to be taken out of the park. That’s where we find the missing piece! Brilliant, Dillard!”

“That’s a lot of boat to search,” Finn says.

“And we can’t bunch up,” Philby says. “We can’t give the OTs that kind of target.”

“I wish we knew where Remy was,” Finn says, eyes searching the tunnel. “I’m worried about him.”

“Rats tend to do better than humans in a natural disaster.” Philby is clearly not worried. “They actually thrive. The plague, for instance.”

“Shut up!” Charlene says.

Maybeck offers to “fly solo” on the mission to retrieve the magic brooms’ green goo as part of their arsenal. He makes a point that these are exceptional circumstances and that they can’t pair up for everything. Finn is about to argue, but he knows Maybeck is right. He accepts the change in plans.

“Go, now,” he tells Maybeck. “We’ll all meet back here in no more than an hour.”

Maybeck nods, stares intensely at Charlene, who silently mouths,
Be careful
, and he takes off.

Finn instructs the Dillard: “Make two teams out of me, Philby, Storey, Violet, and Charlene. We need to search the vault in the Disney Gallery and the riverboat on the Rivers of America. Consider efficiency for both discovery and defense.”

Philby leans closer as the Dillard closes his eyes. Typically, he and Finn decide the teams, usually based on which relationships are the most stable at that particular moment.

“Willa, leading Philby and Charlene,” the Dillard says after a moment’s hesitation. “Finn leading Violet and Storey.”

“You rigged that,” Philby says.

“Did not,” Finn fires back. “Maybe the Imagineers, but not me.”

The Dillard speaks up, uninvited. “The relative under-development of your leadership ability, Dell Philby, may somewhat compromise your analytical skills if you are placed in a position of responsibility. At this moment, the need for access to your intellect supersedes any other mitigating factors.”

“You’re a real piece of work,” Philby says.

The Dillard thanks him, which cracks everyone up. All but the Dillard, whose attempts at displaying emotion come too late to be relevant.

* * *

Willa leads her team with a barely contained sense of personal achievement. For six years, she and Charlene have been sidelined, left to watch Philby and Finn struggle for power. The two girls have borne the brunt of Maybeck’s disparaging sarcasm, have fought to get their ideas heard and be recognized as better qualified than the boys for particular missions. Neither girl blames the boys. Finn, Philby, and Maybeck have never intentionally pushed them aside; it’s more like they couldn’t open their eyes or ears, couldn’t
see
the girls.

It’s funny, Willa thinks. She’s never felt comfortable around other people. It wasn’t until her DHI audition that she found a sense of belonging. Adults are adults; little kids are just that, little. But people her age confuse her. Some want to be fast on a field, others gorgeous, thin, witty, or funny. She never considered herself any of those things. Then came celebrity when she became one of the hologram guides in the parks, the ones you could swipe your hand through. Little did those guests making comments about how real she appeared know that she felt like her DHI: insubstantial.