The Gathering (9 page)

The hub feels strange with so many gone. Almost everyone left before breakfast. All that remains is our four-person team, along with Sticks, Non, and Clive. When I asked Cap what would happen to him, he said Sticks and Non would “take care of it”. There was no need to elaborate. I picture Clive now, tied up in the training center with a probe attached to his right temple, awaiting his fate. Anytime he falls asleep, he’s transported to the dream dojo, isolated from the enemy. Another one of Link’s genius ideas.

I follow Jillian down the hallway, wondering if Gabe’s body is still in the training center, too. Shuddering, I step inside the common room. Luka stands in the entryway next to Link. Both of them look up and spot me across the room. A few butterflies take flight in my stomach. Luka and I haven’t talked about his nightmare. And I was such a weirdo earlier this morning with Link. He was just showing me how to use the dream phones.

With flushed cheeks, I take in my surroundings one last time, wondering if the foosball table will ever be used again. Or the books in the library. Will they remain closed forever? How long before the plants in the greenhouse wither and die? Will anybody besides us know that life existed down here at all? That below the ground in the city of Detroit, a group of people slept and ate and learned and fought?

Jillian and I join the boys by the steel door—the very one Luka and I knocked on a lifetime ago, when we had no idea what waited for us on the other side. Now here I am, wondering the same thing.

“You ready?” Sticks asks.

I swallow and nod.

Sticks unlocks the bolts and opens the door. The hinges release a groan that echoes down the dark corridor. So do Cap’s final words to me before he left.

Whatever happens, stay off the radar.

Luka steps out into the hallway. Jillian, Link, and I follow.

“Good luck,” Sticks says.

And just like that, the door closes with deafening finality and the world goes black.

Base is gone.

Luka turns on the miniature flashlight attachment on his Swiss Army knife and shines a path to the stairwell. A mouse scampers along the wall. Jillian’s breaths are short and quick behind me. We reach the steps and begin our ascent, the darkness fading the higher we climb. Finally, we reach the main level. Shafts of sunlight slash through bits of crumbling wall. Real-live, actual sunlight. It’s been three-and-a-half months since I’ve seen it.

Squinting, I hurry around piles of debris and step outside into the sun. The glorious sun. It shines overhead against a backdrop of hazy blue. My eyes can’t handle the brightness. So I close them and tilt my face up and spread my arms wide. The warmth soaks into my skin. Fresh air ruffles wisps of hair against my cheeks. Not even the Detroit smog can dim the euphoria of this moment.

I turn around. Jillian stands beneath the cover of the warehouse, her hand at her forehead like a visor. She looks uncertain, a little afraid. For her, it’s been nearly two years.

“Come on,” I say, waving her forward.

She takes a tentative step, and then another, until she’s standing beside me with a large grin. I’m not sure how long we stay that way—the four of us, like hungry flowers leaning forward. I only know that after finally getting the sun back, I’m more than a little reluctant to put on my hat and sunglasses.

We don’t encounter any signs of life—not even a homeless man or woman—until we reach the seedy tattoo parlor called The Dragon Den. Its neon sign buzzes with electricity. Through the grimy window with a dragon painted on the glass, a tattoo artist moves around inside. The corner, usually home to at least one or two ladies of the night, is completely empty. We wait there for five minutes before the cab arrives.

I don’t miss the strange look the cabbie gives us as we climb inside. No matter how hard we’ve tried, we’re a conspicuous group. While Luka and I wear the clothes we arrived in at the hub, Link and Jillian are dressed in faded hand-me-downs that don’t fit them quite right. Combine that with our pasty skin and our bulging, tattered backpacks, and we’re a motley crew.

Caps’ warning—
stay off the radar
—replays in my mind.

As we ride to the Greyhound station, I gaze out the window, careful to avoid eye contact with the cab driver.

Detroit is a different city. It’s still run-down, with bars over the windows and police cars on most street corners, but all the commotion is gone. No street vendors hawking illegal paraphernalia. No homeless men digging through trash. No scantily-dressed women flashing too much leg to passersby. No sirens. No gunshots. No fights. The chaos that left me feeling safely invisible when Luka and I first came to Detroit has been snuffed out.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

Luka presses his leg against mine, but it’s too late. The cabbie’s eyes narrow at me in the rearview mirror. “Where have you been, girl—living in a cave?”

I drop my gaze.

“Governor’s taking a page out of Cormack’s book. Cleaning up the streets. Getting rid of the riffraff.”

The four of us exchange ominous looks. How exactly are they getting rid of them?

“I say good riddance. And about time.” The cabbie flicks on his blinker and moves into the left lane. “This city is finally turning itself around.”

A Nasty Shock

I
don’t take a proper breath until we’re on the bus. Luka gives me the seat by the window. Link and Jillian sit in the seats facing ours. After all the passengers have boarded, the bus finds the highway. I don’t speak. It’s like I’m afraid speaking will draw attention. So I remain silent while the miles accumulate behind us.

Across from me, Link sleeps with his head resting against the window. Each one of his breaths sends a fresh layer of fog across the glass. He’s stretched his left leg out so his foot is right next to mine. Beside him, Jillian walks a quarter up and down the knuckles of her right hand.

Luka sets his hand on my knee. “Breathe.”

“Aren’t I?”

“It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest.” His calm demeanor reminds me of our break-in at Shady Wood—the first time around when our physical bodies were actually there. I’d been on the verge of hyperventilation and he was all confident and collected. Like a legit doctor. “Care to tell me what you’re thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I’d like you to knock me out and wake me up when we get there.”

“That might draw some attention. Would it help if we talked about something instead?”

For a moment, I almost ask him about last night’s nightmare, but I kill the question before it has a chance to live. That isn’t a conversation for a greyhound bus. “Like?”

He looks up at the bus’s ceiling, as if considering. “How about this. What are you most looking forward to when this is all over?”

I force my lungs to expand and contract. “Learning how to surf?”

He leans his head back against the seat. “You’ll love it.”

“Except there’s a good chance I’ll be terrible at it. And I’m slightly terrified of sharks.”

One side of his mouth quirks into that crooked grin. It doesn’t really help with the breathing situation. “Don’t worry. I’m a good teacher. And if a shark comes anywhere near you, I’ll throw a shield at it.”

I laugh. Some of the tension in my shoulders lets go. “Hey Luka?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really think this will be over someday?”

His eyes meet mine. They’re as serious as a heart attack. “Of course.”

I relax against the seat, so immensely grateful that Luka’s here. That he’s okay. Before I get a chance to reciprocate his question, the temperature plummets.

Jillian stops her quarter walking.

Luka’s grip tightens on my knee.

And my stomach turns to rock.

At the front of the bus, right next to the driver, darkness materializes out of thin air. I force my lungs to do as Luka said—breathe. I remind myself that this thing—whatever it is—cannot see me. Luka has me cloaked. I’m safe.

So why then, does the darkness creep closer?

I look at Luka. His brow is furrowed in concentration.

Cold sweat prickles beneath my arms. I don’t understand what’s happening? Why does this thing keep coming closer? Why isn’t Luka throwing his shield?

The dark shadow lunges at me.

I rear back in my seat with a sharp intake of breath.

A blast of light bursts in front of my eyes. It doesn’t come from Luka. It comes from Jillian. Her shield slams into the shadowed form. The thing hurls through a woman in a business suit, then disappears.

My attention darts around the bus. I’m positive we’ve caused a scene. We had to. But the people to our left continue their conversation. A man behind us turns the page of a magazine. Link keeps on sleeping. The bus driver keeps on driving. The woman in the business suit, however, has looked up from her newspaper. She looked up the second the shadow flew through her, and now she’s peering at me.

I look down, but not quickly enough. Her stare heats the crown of my head. A few seconds tick by before I’m brave enough to peek. Her narrowed eyes are pinned on Luka, whose face has gone pasty white. I bump his leg with mine. He looks at me, a whole army of questions gathering in his dilated pupils. I have them, too. I just can’t focus on them right now. Not when the woman is typing something into her phone. She glances up from her screen, looks from me to Luka, then resumes her typing with fast thumbs.

My mouth goes dry.

She recognizes us. I’m sure of it. She recognizes us from the news, she’s notifying the authorities, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do. We’re stuck on this bus until we reach Fort Wayne, which isn’t for another hour and thirty-five minutes.

The time passes in agony. All I can do is exchange worried glances with Jillian and Luka while the lady keeps on staring. When we finally reach our first destination, our worst fear is confirmed. Two police officers stand on either side of a crooked-nosed man dressed in a navy blue windbreaker with the letters FBI stitched in yellow on his sleeve.

My heartbeat crashes against my eardrums.

The memory of two burly men dragging me out of Mr. Lotsam’s Current Events class flashes like lightning, making my heart crash faster. I kick the bottom of Link’s shoe. When he doesn’t wake up, Jillian gives him a sharp jab in the ribs. He jerks awake and wipes at the corner of his mouth.

A few wordless gestures from Jillian and he’s caught up to speed.

The driver parks. The staring businesswoman departs faster than everyone else. My escalating panic is about to hurl me off the bus after her. Maybe we can make a run for it. But Luka’s hand returns to my knee and holds me in place, whatever confusion he felt earlier gone. Outside the window, the businesswoman approaches the three men. She points to the bus. The guy in the FBI jacket nods.

My panic shifts into fifth gear. I remember the feeling of being restrained. Of the saccharinely sweet nurse jabbing a needle into my neck. The utter helplessness and confusion of not being able to escape, not knowing what was real. It’s going to happen again. Only this time, it will happen to Luka, too. And Jillian. And Link. We’ll end up as dead as my grandmother.

Passengers begin filing off, oblivious to the tornado of chaos spinning inside of me. Jillian rummages through her backpack. She pulls out a T-shirt and a small bottle of antiseptic from our first aid kit. As discreetly as possible, she douses the T-shirt in rubbing alcohol.

“Link, take my seat,” Luka whispers.

Link does so without arguing.

Jillian shares a nod with Luka, like the two hatched some sort of plan while I wasn’t looking. She slides her backpack over her shoulders and joins the passengers exiting the bus. With her thumbs tucked beneath the straps, she steps outside and slips past the police officers undetected. Confusion spins the tornado of chaos faster. Is that it, then? Is Jillian leaving us?

“Put your hood up,” Luka says, putting his own hood up, too.

Link and I obey.

Luka slips into an unoccupied seat across the aisle.

Outside the window, the FBI agent leaves the two police officers behind and steps onto the bus.

I grab Link’s hand.

He doesn’t object.

Footsteps slowly approach, like the man’s taking a Sunday stroll. I close my eyes, willing him to walk past us. Praying that this is some kind of freak coincidence and there are other wanted fugitives a few rows behind us. It’s no use. The footsteps stop beside Link.

“Excuse me, sir,” the man says. “I’m going to need to see some identification.”

My pulse taps a violent SOS against my wrists. I want to scratch them. I want this to be an awful nightmare. I want to wake up and see Jillian walking the quarter up and down her knuckles again.

Link doesn’t move.

“Sir, I’m going to need to see—”

A deafening explosion rattles the windows.

My head snaps up just in time to see Luka sweep the FBI agent’s legs out from under him. Luka grabs the holster of his gun and knocks him out cold over the head. The remaining passengers scream and grapple over one another for freedom, as though the next thing to explode will be this bus. Luka pulls me up and I’m running with him and Link to the back exit. Luka rams it open with his shoulder and we jump out into the madness. Jillian runs toward us, waving us on. Luka pushes me forward.

We sprint as far and as fast away as possible. I glance over my shoulder, but nobody pursues us. The explosion and the ensuing pandemonium must have distracted the other police officers. And thanks to Luka, that FBI agent’s unconscious on the bus floor. We keep running, turning up and down side streets at random. We run until my lungs burn, until they might explode. Until Luka grabs my waist and we skid to a halt at the end of an alley.

Link bends over his knees. Jillian clutches her side. Luka leans against the brick wall. For a few seconds, there’s nothing at all but the sound of panting and my crashing heartbeat.

“What was that explosion?” I finally ask.

“We needed a distraction.” Jillian winces like she has an awful stitch in her side. “So I stuffed the T-shirt into a gas tank and lit it on fire with my lighter.”