The Fellowship for Alien Detection (26 page)

“Tick-tock!” the girl, Haley, shouted.

Roswell, NM, July 6, 4:18 p.m.

“Fine,” said Dodger. “I'll go.”

Haley nodded. “Here.” She reached up and pressed hard against the skin behind his left ear.

“Ow!” Dodger flinched away at a stinging pain. He reached for the spot—

“Don't,” said Haley. “It's a field disruptor. It will keep the missing time from affecting you.”

“Oh. Sweet,” said Dodger. He thought that was pretty cool.

“Yeah, well, it can't keep them from grabbing us. Come on, this way. We have to hurry!” She yanked him toward the glass double doors and into the museum.

Dodger looked back and saw One and Two getting close, the light spreading even faster. Missing time, so that's what it was. Hadn't his dad just said something about that . . . sixteen missing minutes? When they'd taken him, as a baby, so long ago? Suddenly Dodger felt a pang of regret for being so hard on Harry. He glanced up the street, wondering if Harry was still at the car, or—

“Come
on
!” Haley dragged him through the entryway.

“Welcome to the museum,” said an elderly volunteer behind the counter, “Admission is fr—” Her mouth stuck open, her body beginning to drain of color.

“Faster!” Haley urged.

They sprinted into the exhibit hall, a tall, hollow room with display booths along each side, separated by Peg-Board walls. Dodger saw blurry photos of things that could be flying saucers or clouds, framed letters and newspaper reports, a display of old radios. The exhibits were already flickering, color bleeding out. “Where are we going?” he called to Haley.

Haley didn't answer, just dragged him to the middle of the hall. Before them was a small replica flying saucer, made of what looked like crinkled tinfoil and papier-mâché, and an inexplicable life-size plastic horse covered in old newspaper pages.

Dodger saw Haley gazing frantically around. “Now what?”

“He's supposed to be here,” she said. “He said all I had to do was get you in here and he'd have an exit strategy.”

“Who said that?” Dodger asked.

“Long story,” said Haley, head still whipping about.

“Well, what's the exit strategy?”

“He didn't say!” Haley shouted. “Ugh! He never says enough.”

Dodger looked around. There were other patrons in here, some looking at them oddly, others just gazing at the exhibits.

And all of them beginning to freeze in place.

“Uh-oh,” Haley breathed.

“What?” Dodger followed her gaze and saw a couple emerging from the back hallway. Not One and Two; this couple appeared elderly, the woman wearing a woven hat, the man a mesh baseball cap, both with white hair, hunched over, pastel shirts and starched pants . . . but both with the tiny black goggles and porcelain skin.

“No need to hurry, young lady,” said the male agent in a grandfatherly voice.

“Not good,” said Haley. “Come on!” She spun around, yanking on Dodger's arm, but then he saw her eyes widen.

“Just relax, kids.”

Dodger whirled to see One and Two entering the hall from the front. The entire room had faded to flickering black and white.

“What now?” Dodger asked.

“I don't know!” said Haley.

Dodger looked around wildly. There was another exit from the exhibit hall, on the far side. “There!” Now he took Haley's arm and started darting between the frozen people.

“Ow!” Suddenly Haley yanked back on Dodger's arm. He turned to see her arched to the left, her shoulder in the clutches of another black-goggled, pastel-wearing agent, this one in a white panama hat. His fingers were retreating from behind her ear.

And the color was draining out of Haley. Her body freezing in black and white.

Dodger was about to turn when there was a wicked sting behind his ear.

“There we are.”

Another agent. Right behind him. It was One. “Nice to see you again,” she whispered.

Dodger tried to move, but it was already too late. He looked down and saw his legs losing color, his hands, the feeling going with it.

Haley was a statue now. Behind her, the world was still, except for the agents—

And that little papier-mâché UFO. It was wiggling. Now it shot straight up into the air as if it had been launched.

Dodger saw a circular hole in the floor beneath where the UFO had been. And then he saw a giant man spring from it, dressed in black.

The agents spun. It was Two who was closest. He advanced, but the giant man went right at him. He met Two with a kick to the sternum that sent him flying.

Three others—there seemed to be six agents total—went after him. This guy was fast. A roundhouse kick, a lightning punch. He knocked the alien in the panama hat aside and frozen Haley fell into his arms. He pressed a finger behind her ear then dropped her and lunged toward Dodger.

With the little control he had left, Dodger tried to lurch to his side, to throw One off balance. All he managed to do was turn them a few degrees, but this allowed the large man to land a kick to One's shoulder. She flew back.

There was a sting as the man pressed a new field disruptor behind Dodger's ear. He felt his body seeming to come back to life. Haley was getting up from the ground, too.

“I'm the Alto,” the man said to Dodger. “This way.” He ran back to the hole in the floor.

Dodger grabbed Haley by the elbow. “Let's go,” he said.

They staggered to the hole. Dodger saw a stepladder below it. He dropped to the floor and slid into the hole. The Alto was fending off another attack from Two as Dodger slipped out of sight. He landed on the concrete floor of a basement hallway.

Haley half climbed, half fell down beside him, stumbling woozily.

The Alto dropped down. He made a motion for them to follow him and ran down the hall. At the far end, a set of concrete steps ended at a trapdoor. The Alto pushed this open and jumped up into daylight.

They emerged on the sidewalk, just beside the museum. The world was colorless, flickering, the people paused in midstride, the cars still, silent, like toys that a child had carefully set up but then left to play with something else. The sun was colorless. There was no wind, nothing.

“Now what?” Dodger asked.

“Fun,” said the Alto, jogging out into the middle of the street. He ran his finger back and forth on the face of his watch.

Dodger heard a screeching of tires and a long black sedan lurched around the corner. It swerved between the frozen cars and pedestrians, the Alto clearly steering it with his finger. He brought it to a skidding stop right in front of them. Dodger saw a hula girl bobbing enthusiastically in the window.

The Alto jumped in. Haley slipped in front. Dodger opened the back door but paused. “Come on,” shouted Haley.

“Where are we going?” he asked, though he thought he knew.

“Juliette,” said Haley. “You know its location, don't you?”

“I do . . .” said Dodger, but he didn't get into the car yet. He'd been looking back up the street toward the Denny's, and now he saw that there, among the few people paused walking this way and that was Harry, caught in midrun. He'd probably been coming after Dodger, to try to apologize, to explain more, to help him.

“What is it?” Haley asked, following his gaze.

He looked at Harry. Back at the purring car beside him.

“We need to move,” urged the Alto.

Dodger sighed to himself, and felt a new kind of emptiness inside. “I'm going to go,” he said quietly, not knowing if he wished his dad could hear him or not. The confusion returned.
Lied to me my whole life. Made me feel like I was a failure when he was really just trying to get over what had happened to me . . .
and then . . .
Brought me out on this trip hoping we'd figure something out. He wanted to find Juliette, too, not that he knew what it was. . . .

But right now, if Dodger really did want to get to Juliette, his frozen father wasn't going to be able to get him there. These people were.

He slid into the backseat and slammed the door. “Punch it!” he shouted.

“I don't follow,” said the Alto blankly. In the rearview mirror, Dodger saw him looking up, almost like he was trying to find a thought inside his head.

“It means go!” said Haley.

“Ah, affirmative.” He gunned the sedan forward.

They hurtled down the flickering street. Ahead was a blurry barrier, like looking out from beneath the surface of a pool. The Alto crushed the gas pedal and the sedan hurtled through the barrier, out of the sphere of missing time. The car convulsed, fishtailed wildly, then the Alto regained control and they sped away, out of Roswell and across the golden desert.

Juliette, AZ, April 25, 6:46 a.m.

Suza Raines was getting suspicious. As she slapped at her alarm clock, she wondered:
Am I the only one who hates getting up in the morning?
She sighed and slipped out of bed without looking at the clock. For a moment she thought:
Put on your glasses, dummy,
but then stopped. She didn't wear glasses. Never had.

Fifteen minutes later she was out on the front porch and realized that she was up earlier than usual, because there were Mr. Davis and MacDougals. Mr. Davis was literally
in
the road, sitting on his knees and rubbing his head.

How did I end up out here so early?
Suza thought. She got on her bike and rode off.

“Hey wait—” Mr. Davis called to her.

As Suza started down the hill, a strange thought passed through her mind:
Next time I take it— Next time I take it— Next time I take it— Next time I take it—

But as soon as the thought arrived, the rush of wind swept it away, and Suza coasted on to a perfectly normal day.

Juliette, AZ, April 25, 6:43 a.m.

Suza Raines was getting suspicious. She'd been lying awake for minutes in the deep blue silence, staring at the ceiling. Outside she could hear the birds chirping in their pre-sunrise frenzy. Through her wall, she could hear those short, yucky snores that Angie always made.

What am I waiting for?
she thought. Because she was waiting for something. Why else would she be awake
before
her alarm clock?

The numbers on my clock will be wrong
, she thought.
All the numbers will be wrong
.

Suza put on her glasses, then turned and saw that the red digits looked like a line of symbols instead. Her thoughts went on predicting in a way that didn't surprise her:
The music will be wrong, too. And I know why. It's because something's wrong with this day. And there's something I need to do to stop it
. She couldn't remember— Wait, there was something.

The metal key
, she thought.
When did I see it?

On this same day
, she thought to herself.
One of the other times that it happened
.

This day had happened before?

Yes, I already know that
, she reminded herself.
I've been repeating this day over and over. That's why I keep thinking that I have to take it. The key
.

But how could this day be repeating? How was that possible?

I already know that, too. Because of them. The ones who brought me here
.

Brought her here? That thought caused a cold tremor.

Yes, I've been told that I live here, like, programmed to think that, but deep down inside I know that I don't. I was brought here, and those people in the other room . . . they're not my real parents
.

Lying in her bed, fists clenched beneath the covers, Suza began to leak tears from the corners of her eyes. It was all true! She had finally figured it out. She had finally
remembered
.

How long have I been gone?

Months, maybe more
, she thought to herself.
I don't really know, because every time this day starts over, I can't quite remember, but part of me does. I'm one of only a few who have been able to resist their control, and . . .

We have a plan
.

That's right. That was it. The plan! They'd been piecing it together for months.
And my part in the plan is to get that piece of metal and take it to the observatory like AJ told me. I have to do it secretly, before they know that I'm malfunctioning and try to reset me. I have to do it while I remember—

But even though these thoughts were such a huge relief, they also felt like too much. It was too much to comprehend, too much to do . . .

I have to, quick, now, now now—

Suza sobbed, because now she could see them. Steph. Her mom. Amber, her home. Oh, she missed them so much.