Nightrise (19 page)

"Are you sure?" Even Koring was surprised. "It's a hundred and ten degrees out here. The kid'll fry…"

"He'll be okay for twelve hours. I'll fly out tonight. I want him softened up before I arrive."

"He won't be soft. He'll have melted by then. But all right. Whatever you say, Mr. Banes."

"That's right, Mr. Koring. Whatever I say."

Colton Banes hung up, then settled back in his leather chair. Suddenly the office didn't seem so bad after all. Outside, the sun was shining. It was going to be a lovely day.

TWELVE

The Block

The heat.

Jamie had never felt anything like it. Even the theatre in Reno had never been as bad as this. He hadn't heard the air-conditioning unit in his cell switch off but he had felt the result only moments later. The cool air had evaporated instantly. The heat had hit him from every side. He would have said it was like being in an oven except there was no "like" about it. He was in an oven. Baking, slowly, to death.

He had waited for what felt like an eternity, then had gone over to the door and pressed the call button to summon help. The temperature was already well above a hundred degrees and rising. The sunlight was pounding the outer walls and the roof, and sweat was pouring out of him. His clothes were sodden. He didn't dare breathe too deeply for fear of scorching his lungs. But nobody came. He hit the call button again and then again but he soon realized that it had either been disconnected or he was being deliberately ignored. Was this part of the punishment for what had happened the night before? He doubted it. Although he couldn't be sure, he suspected that this new treatment might signal something much worse.

He went over to the metal sink — it was already too hot to touch — and turned on the tap. A trickle of cold water came out. So far he had only been given bottled water to drink at Silent Creek. Indeed, he had been warned that the tap water was unfiltered. But there was no helping it. If he didn't drink, he would die. He cupped his hand and scooped some of the water into his mouth. It tasted stale and metallic. He took off his T-shirt and held it under the flow, then pressed it against himself. Rivulets of water ran under his armpits and down his chest, feeling cool for just a few seconds. He squeezed the shirt against the back of his neck. He would have to do this constantly until someone came or until the air-conditioning was turned back on. But some how Jamie knew that neither of these things was going to happen soon.

Time crept past mercilessly. The window was a narrow slit with glass the color of milk. He couldn't see out, so there was no way of knowing what time of day it was except that — as midday approached —

the glare became even stronger, the heat ever more unbearable. He had nothing to read, nothing to do.

He wanted to scream and pound his fists against the door but he knew that nobody would hear him and it would do no good. Besides, he wasn't even sure he had the strength. He was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. As each hour passed, he drifted between consciousness and a sleep that he feared might be his death. He had to force himself to get up every few minutes and return to the tap. The little flow of water was the only thing keeping him alive.

He knew now that he had failed. He should have guessed from the way that Joe Feather had looked at him at the end of the meal only the day before. The intake officer had somehow recognized him and he must have passed on his knowledge to the supervisor, Max Koring. This was the result. They would leave him here until he died and then tell the authorities that it had been an accident. Apart from his bloody nose, there would be no signs of violence on his body. They would bury him in the desert and that would be the end of it.

Had they done the same thing to Scott? That was what he didn't understand. Why go to all the trouble of the kidnap, the dart guns, the double murder of Don and Marcie — just to bring him here to die?

Nightrise was supposed to be looking for kids with paranormal powers. Scott, Jamie himself, Daniel McGuire, and many others. But he still had no idea why they wanted them.

And then the door opened.

Jamie felt a cool breeze that danced on his skin. He was lying on his back, naked down to the waist, his pants soaked and the crumpled ball of his T-shirt pressed against his head. His chest was rising and falling as his lungs fought desperately for air. Somehow he managed to turn his head and saw a man standing there, silhouetted in the doorway. Jamie couldn't make out who it was but then the man stepped inside and his heart sank as he recognized Joe Feather.

Feather stood where he was. He swore quietly to himself, then muttered, "What are they doing?"

He backed out again and Jamie was afraid that he was going to abandon him — but instead Feather found a switch and turned the air-conditioning back on. Almost at once the temperature in the cell began to fall. And then Jamie must have blacked but for a brief moment because suddenly Feather was there, kneeling down beside the bunk. He had a bottle of cold water.

"Drink this," he said. "Not too much. It'll make you sick…"

He held the bottle against Jamie's lips and Jamie swallowed gratefully. He had never felt anything quite as wonderful as the sensation of. cold water trickling down his throat.

For a while, neither of them spoke. As Jamie recovered his strength, he once again examined the man who had introduced him to Silent Creek. Joe Feather was perhaps older than he had first thought. It was difficult to be sure as his face was so sunburned, so lived in. His eyes were very dark. He was looking at Jamie with a mixture of dismay and…something else. For the first time, Jamie wondered if this man might not be his enemy after all. They were both Native Americans. Didn't that put them on the same side?

"Can you get up?" Feather asked. He glanced nervously at the door, making sure there was nobody outside. "We don't have much time."

"Why?" Jamie asked.

'You have to get out of here. They want to hurt you. But I have friends. I've called them. Very soon, they will come. They will help you escape."

"Escape…?" This was all happening too fast. Jamie struggled to sit up. He took the bottle and drank some more water, then poured the rest of it over his head. It felt ice cold, trickling down his neck and over his shoulders, and revived him instantly. "What are you talking about?" Jamie demanded. "Why do you want to help me?"

"Later," Feather replied. "We can't talk now."

"No." Jamie shook his head. "I don't know you. I don't know what you want. Why should I trust you?"

The older man sighed in frustration. "I know you," he said. "I know who you are."

"Who am I?"

'You are one of the Five."

It wasn't the answer that Jamie had been expecting. It made no sense to him at all. He tried another approach. "When I came here, you asked me if I had a brother," he said. "Have you seen him?"

'You said you had no brother but last night, Mr. Koring told me your real name. You have a twin."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair, squeezing our more of the water. "That's right," he admitted. "My name is Jamie Tyler."

Joe Feather nodded. "There was a Scott Tyler here. He was sent to the Block…on the other side of the wall. But I wasn't here when he arrived. I didn't see him."

'You're lying! You knew about the tattoo. He's got the same tattoo in the same place. You must have seen it!"

"It was because of the tattoo that I knew who you were. There is much that I have to explain to you. But not now. Not here. I have friends who are already on their way here to help you. Tonight, when it is dark, you will leave…"

"I'm not leaving without Scott!"

Jamie had raised his voice and the intake officer turned anxiously toward the door, afraid that they might have been overheard. 'Your brother was brought here a few days ago," he whispered, the words tumbling over each other, "I don't go into the Block. I'm not allowed there. But sometimes I hear them talking and I know the names. He was here but he has gone again. They took him away."

"When?"

"The day before you arrived."

"Where? Where did they take him?"

Joe Feather cast his eyes down. "I don't know. They wouldn't tell me. All I can tell you is — he has gone."

It was almost the worst news that Jamie could have heard. To have come so close! Scott had been here!

If Jamie had arrived just a day earlier, everything might have been different. But his brother had already gone. Nightrise could have taken him anywhere in the world. His search was about to begin all over again.

"If you want to find your brother, you must get out of this place," Feather urged him. 'You must do what I say. If you stay here, there is no hope."

"Wait a minute…"Jamie tried to collect his thoughts. Everything was still happening too quickly. "Tell me about the Block," he said. "That's what you call the units on the other side of the wall. But what's it for? How many kids are there locked up? What goes on over there?"

"Please…" Feather looked pained. But he could see that Jamie was determined. "Listen to me," he whispered. "I've worked here only a few months. I don't know what goes on here. There are boys in the main prison and there are the specials. There is something they call the Psi project. I don't know what that means. And I don't work in the Block. Sometimes I see things. I see names on lists. And I hear the other supervisors talking. But it was just a job for me until I saw you. Then I knew I had to act…"

"Why?"

"Because of the tattoo!" Feather couldn't bear it anymore. He went over to the door and looked out. But there was no one in the corridor. The other isolation cells were empty. The two of them were on their own. "I will tell you everything," he promised. "But only when we are far from here."

"All right." Jamie could see there was no point arguing. And he had no desire to spend a minute more at Silent Creek, not if Scott had already gone. "But there is one thing," he went on. "There's a boy named Daniel McGuire."

"McGuire…" Feather nodded. 'Yes. I have seen that name."

"He's in the Block?"

''Yes."

"He's coming with me." Feather opened his mouth to argue but Jamie didn't give him time. "I'm only here because his mother helped me. I promised her. I can't leave him behind."

"But there is no way into the Block. There are cameras and guards…"

'You can help. You have to help me!"

The supervisor gritted his teeth, then nodded. "I'll see what I can do. There is no more time to talk now.

Mr. Koring will arrive very soon. I will come for you when it gets dark. Then we will see."

"I'm not going anywhere without Daniel."

"I will do what I can."

And then he was gone, leaving Jamie's head spinning. He heard a faint click and realized that Feather had turned off the air-conditioning again. That made sense. If Max Koring looked in, he would have to see that Jamie was still suffering. The heat returned, an unwelcome blanket that completely smothered him. But he had a whole bottle of water inside him and the worst of the day was over. Jamie wished he had asked Feather the time but he could only lie there, gazing at the rectangle of white glass, watching as the light softened and faded away. Eventually, the evening came, and then the night. The single lightbulb, in a steel cage over the sink, flickered on automatically. Nobody had brought Jamie any food. Perhaps that was part of the punishment too…or a way of weakening him up for whatever was to come. He was beginning to get nervous. Had Joe Feather been discovered? Had he had second thoughts? He had said he'd come back when it was dark and surely more than an hour had passed since the sun had set.

But it was much later when the door finally opened and Joe Feather hurried in. He had Jamie's old sneakers and a new T-shirt with him. He was also carrying another bottle of water. Jamie drank greedily while Joe talked. He wished the supervisor had thought to bring some food too.

"We must hurry," he said. "Mr. Koring has gone…"

"Where?"

"There's a landing strip. A small plane. He's picking up Mr. Banes."

Banes. It was the last name Jamie wanted to hear. He was instantly on his feet, pulling on the T-shirt, ready to go.

"My friends are close," Feather went on. He glanced at his watch. "It is ten o'clock. At half past ten they will come. We must be ready by then."

"What about Daniel?"

Feather took a small plastic bottle out of his pocket and unscrewed it. Jamie saw that it was filled with some sort of red syrup. "This contains choke cherry juice," he explained. "It won't harm you." Before Jamie could stop him, he had squeezed it all over the side of Jamie's face. Jamie put his hand to his skin and then examined his fingers. The juice looked exactly like blood. "I will take you to the medicine wing," Feather said. 'You must pretend you are hurt." Jamie remembered what Baltimore had told him while they were having lunch. The medicine wing stood right up against the wall and served both sides of the prison. Now he understood what Feather was doing.

"The security cameras will see you," Feather continued. "But they will see the blood and they won't ask questions. There is nobody inside the medicine wing. In an emergency, they would expect me to call the nurses — but of course I won't. We will be alone."

"How do we get through to the Block?"

"Come now. I will tell you…"

The two of them left together. The juice had streaked all the way down the side of Jamie's face and anyone watching him would assume that he had either been in a vicious fight or had tried to kill himself.

Joe Feather held on to him and as they went down the empty corridor, Jamie staggered as if he could barely stand up. They came to a door that led out to the football field. Jamie already knew that none of the guards carried a key to this one. It could only be opened electronically from central control. He felt a camera high above, swiveling around to examine him. Would it work? Silence. Then a loud buzz and the lock clicked open. Joe helped him through. They were out!

It felt strange, crossing the field in the artificial light of the arc lamps. The desert was pitch-black.