Landlocked (Atlas Link Series Book 2) (31 page)

he swarm of bodies and the heat of the asphalt mingled together to create a massive burning inferno. Heatstroke closed in on me as I passed through the venue’s entrance and into the parking lot being used for Juxe.

My body couldn’t keep up with the temperature closing in on me while still acclimating itself back to normal after the plague. My eyelids hung heavy, caked with fatigue despite the sunlight trying to wake up my retinas and burn them to death. Ever since I’d blacked out in Dr. Hill’s office, images of Link Pieces and the Waterstar map had assaulted my mind with a vengeance. This was
not
normal.

I pulled off my t-shirt.
This heat.
Damn plague.

It didn’t help that I knew by being here, Chelsea’s wrath could be incited and burn far hotter than any sun. Was it worth it for a chance to see her smiling and enjoying herself on stage? Absolutely. Even angry, the freedom she felt up there was written on her face for the world to see. That freedom had drawn me to her the first night we met, a vague thing I thought I’d never see or hold.

I still didn’t know what freedom meant, but seeing it illuminate Chelsea’s eyes gave me a bit more of an understanding each and every time.

On the opposite end of the parking lot, far beyond the thousands of people dancing, cheering, and drinking beer, sat two large stages side by side. A crowd swam in front of one, bodies surfing across the top, as a band played. The other entertained a more mellow crowd of people waiting for the next band.

Sweat soaked my brow and back. I wiped my face with the back of my hand. Whoever thought outdoor concerts in the dead of summer was a good idea should be shot. My eyes caught sight of a row of thirty ambulances and EMS staff off to the right. Guess they agreed with me.

Pike stepped behind me, dressed in the first—and possibly only—civilian outfit I’d ever seen him in. He looked out of place, like a guy who missed the rock shows of old instead of liking the new pop punk of today. “I haven’t been to a concert like this in years.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I mumbled. Then louder, “I’m hoping to never have to again.”

It was a lie. If I somehow became lucky enough to call Chelsea mine again, to be back in the only relationship that had ever made sense (romantic or otherwise), there was a high possibility this would be my life. She’d either make it big with Phoenix and Lobster or die trying. That they’d booked these two Juxe shows was a major step in the right direction.

“How are you feeling?” Sophia asked me, joining us.

“Hot,” I replied. She handed me a cold bottle of water from her backpack. It took all my willpower not to pour the whole thing on my head. “Thanks.” I opened it and let the cool water douse my nerves.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Pike asked.

I shrugged. “It’s three hours, and I can’t tell if not showing up would be worse than being here.”

“It’s only been a week and a half, Trevor,” Sophia said. “And you look like you haven’t slept at all.”

“I’m fine. You guys cured me and I’m fine.” I didn’t know why I kept seeing the Waterstar map, but there wasn’t much they could do to help me get better. There was also no way in hell I’d be bed-ridden until healthy. Not with Valerie’s warnings. Not with our discovery of the true nature of the Altern Device. But maybe hiding the map in my head from them was wrong. Maybe they’d already seen through the lies. “I’ll tell you guys what’s going on after this is over, okay?”

Pike looked like he wanted the truth right now, but nodded and walked away with Sophia and Dr. Hill, who looked even more out of place here than Pike. I, for once, blended in.

I returned my attention to the empty stage and walked toward it, dodging people and beer the whole way. This would be Phoenix and Lobster’s stage in a few minutes, when the band on the other stage finished. The closer I got to both stages, the more rock music assaulted my ears. The band currently playing sounded like a herd of dying cats. I clamped my palms over my ears.

I claimed a standing spot next to a refreshments vendor while the caterwauling continued. Fifteen minutes of sipping water later, sometime after the other band had stopped playing, Phoenix and Lobster took the stage. Only then did I move closer.

Chelsea came on first, followed by Kris and Sarah. Their drummer and second guitarist came on last. They jumped right into their first song, something pop punk, which was a welcomed sound after the dying cats and tribal drums of before. Cheers from the crowd followed them throughout their first song. A decent portion of their New England fan base must have trekked out for the show, that or Phoenix and Lobster was more famous than they thought.

Their second and third songs were heavier, and I recognized at least one of them from the show Chelsea played before she returned from shore leave after the hijacking. She’d written heavy stuff while she was gone, in lyrics and tone. Today, she jumped around during the song, except when she stood behind a mic while playing a turquoise, sparkle-encrusted guitar. It wasn’t hers. Unless she bought it to use for this show? Seemed like her, showing off.

Who are you trying to impress?
Not like the crowd needed much convincing. They drank up the music like it was their sole lifeline to sanity.

I glanced at Chelsea in time to watch her eyes cut to mine with a glare. It ripped through me straight to the bone. Something colder than a chill ran up my spine. We were still telepathically connected. My stray thought hit her, even in this crowd.
Think of something. Anything. Anything other than—

“Today we’re debuting a new song,” she said as she tore her eyes away from mine. She chuckled into her mic and spun behind its stand. She placed the mic into the holder at the top. “And I think it’s quite brilliant.”

“Probably because you wrote it,” Kris shouted into his mic. “Though it’s kinda crazy.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes at him and adjusted her guitar in quick movements.

“It’s only crazy because the style was a dare,” Chelsea said, a grin spread wide across her face. She was having the time of her life setting up for my downfall. “You see, we do this thing in Phoenix and Lobster called ‘dare songs.’ One of us, or like via fan poll, will dare us to write a song in a different genre of music, for fun.”

“That’s how
Down Under
came about,” supplied Kris.

Chelsea nodded. “And we all know that didn’t work out so well. We’re not meant for screamo, guys, sorry.”

The crowd laughed and cheered like the whole thing was an inside joke.

“My idea!” Kris exclaimed.

“Bingo,” Chelsea said. “This time, I was told I couldn’t write pop music. Today I’m gonna try to prove that person wrong.” She began plucking away on her guitar strings.

Before any singing started, Chelsea’s eyes found me once more, then cut directly, purposefully, at someone else in the audience. I followed her line of sight until I saw her standing there, white tank top and skimpy little skirt.

Lexi.

For someone who hated Chelsea so much, she sure followed the band everywhere. Lexi looked as terrified as I did, but a hint of devilish indignity on her face shone like moonlight on a dark night. Like she knew what was coming and didn’t give a damn because at the end of the day, Lexi must have thought people would take her side again. Or at least she’d get her three and a half minutes of fame every time the song played.

Suddenly there wasn’t enough heat island effect to keep me warm. My body shook. This wasn’t going to end well, and that I hadn’t heard a response come through Chelsea’s thoughts also didn’t make me think a pretty sunset was on the horizon.

Shit
.

The content of the song was pretty clear. You screwed up. Now no one likes you. Hah-hah. But of course it sounded better than that. Of course it’d been wrapped up in Chelsea’s stage-tongue; the proud, slightly arrogant, carefree,
gorgeous
words she used on stage. The voice that captivated me despite the meaning of the words she sang. The words were so perfectly planned that even
I
couldn’t help but like the damn song. So. Damn. Catchy. Even if at the end of every chorus there was a line designed to hit me where it hurt, far harder than any punch she could ever throw.

Lied again. Lied again.

Rage built up with every mention of those two words, but I had no right to say anything about it. I’d made mistakes. I kept making them. But at least I dealt with it unlike her. Okay, at least I
planned
to deal with them rather than completely run from them only to put them onstage for the world to see. Maybe the title of her song should have been
Ran Again
, instead.

Her eyes cut to mine and my breath caught. What the hell? Couldn’t I have my own thoughts anymore? Why couldn’t I hear hers in return?

I didn’t mean that
, I told her. But I did. Of course I did.

Chelsea ended the song by swinging her new turquoise guitar in some stage-trick, the meaning of the act clear. The guitar was probably a gift from whatever guy had convinced her that leaving TAO was a good idea.

The guitar was a gift. No, a trophy. A warning. A gigantic
screw you
.

I get it
, I thought.

I get it.

jogged offstage the second Phoenix and Lobster’s set ended. I passed my guitar off to one of our friends who’d volunteered to be our stage crew for the day then headed for the fence separating the crowd from backstage. The door swung open and shut before I could get there, allowing Josh, Mara, and Weyland passage to me. I was
so
glad they’d decided to come, especially Weyland, but now I wish I’d never given security the okay to let them back here. They were about to see me lose it, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.