Throat (12 page)

I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I knew I wasn’t making sense, was only making things worse. But I couldn’t tell her the truth, I just couldn’t. She begged me to explain and I had to deal with a fresh bout of shouting and weeping. Finally I just held the phone against my leg, afraid the clerk would hear us from the other room.

“Mom, would you listen. Please! Just listen … just … for a second, could you?”

“I called the police, Emma. You are making me crazy,” she went on. “Oh please, dear God, please come home. Please just let me come pick you up.”

She was practically shrieking now. I took my shades off and swiped my sleeve across my face. I had to get under control here. “Please … please, Mom. Calm down. I can’t tell you where I am, Mom. I can’t explain why I left. You will just have to accept that. There was nothing else I could do. You’ll understand—”

“Drugs! It has to be drugs. I have told you time and again—”

“It’s not drugs, Mom. You know me better than that! I would never put that crap in my body.”

“Someone gave them to you! I know it. A boy. Someone … someone slipped them in your food, something you drank.”

“Nothing like that, Mom. I’m okay, I swear.”

“But where are you?” Her voice was choked; she was running out of steam at last. “What am I supposed to do, Emma? Knowing you are out there—somewhere dangerous … and I can’t even help? Oh dear, sweet God …”

I saw the clerk moving around the counter out in the store.

“Look, I’ve got to go now, Mom. I’ve got to go. I’ll be okay, I swear. You don’t have to worry. I’ll call again. Okay? Soon as I can. Tell Manda I love her—”

I had to hang up. The store clerk was coming through the door.

“Hey, you can’t be back here,” she said, sweeping her dark bangs out of her eyes. “You could get me in trouble. What are you …”

But I had already brushed past her and soon was roaring up the highway with my stolen Home Depot cart practically sparking the road. My face burned from crying.

It was an adventure getting all my stolen junk back to the base. I had to cross a couple of major thoroughfares, jouncing over the uneven pavement and drawing looks you wouldn’t believe. The last trouble spot involved heaving everything over the NASA fence. But I managed it without breaking anything and stashed the orange cart near the bunker after unloading everything back at my tower.

I scaled my new home, lugging the tools up, and furiously threw myself into action. Anything to keep from thinking about Manda, Mom, all the stupid things I had done.
The trouble I’m in
.

I started by stringing what felt like miles of wire around the tower and catwalks, complete with noisy jangly things like metal outlet covers to provide some early warning. The generator I left
up on top, and the tools I dispersed at important locations all over the structure, mostly hidden behind posts and beams where they would not be easily seen, but I could get at them in a hurry.

The rest of the day slipped by faster than I thought it would. I couldn’t help but wonder what all my classmates were doing and if they even wondered why I wasn’t there. Probably not. It felt ridiculously strange and guiltily shameful being outside on a school day. You do things a certain way year after year, it just doesn’t feel right when everything changes.

The sun marched across my little enclosure, the tower’s ginormous shadow gradually leaning this way and that, almost like a sundial. I wondered if I could figure out how to use it as a way to tell time.

After hours of hard work, I felt pretty satisfied with my preliminary defenses. I could tweak them some more tomorrow. At least I would sleep a little better tonight. I filled the generator with gas and cranked it. It was kinda noisy, but my ears were so sensitive, it was hard to tell what the noise sounded like to someone with normal hearing. I plugged in the battery charger and the battery pack.

I was feeling hot and sticky, so I climbed down with soap and headed inside the bunker to clean off.

The concrete floor of the bunker was submerged two inches deep in cool running water.
The faucet
.

I had left it going all this time! I splashed inside and followed the gurgling rush of water to the spigot. All of the brown was gone; I collected a mouthful in my palm, sniffed it, then finally tasted it. It was slightly metallic, but other than that it was okay. I drank my fill, then cut the tap off, praying there wasn’t a sensor going off somewhere that would bring a NASA repair crew.

I made sure nobody was around, then stripped and hung my clothes over the windowsill. Turned the water back on and bathed.
So cold!
But so good too. While I drip-dried, I shook my hair out, using my fingers for a brush. It felt so wonderful to be clean again, I hated the thought of putting my filthy pajamas back on.

Laundry, Emma
.

I swallowed a lump in my throat, hearing my mom’s voice in my head. I retrieved my pj’s, gave them a squirt of soap, and started rubbing fistfuls of material together under the cold water. It was harder than I would have ever imagined. After ten minutes of this caveman stuff, I told myself I would never again complain the next time she asked me to throw something in the washer.…

The next time
.

What was wrong with me? I never used to cry at all, and now I always seemed to be teetering right on the verge. To distract myself, I watched out the little bunker window. A hawk was circling a distant field and the sun was still a ways above the horizon. As soon as I finished, I would go foraging again—

Something fell out of the pocket of my pajama bottoms. It was floating on the standing water next to my bare feet. I reached to scoop it up.
What in the world?
Macaroni noodles painted gold and sprinkled with glitter, glued together to form a small oval … and in the center of the oval, a picture …

Manda
.

She was grinning at the camera, golden curls on either side of her head. One of her front teeth was missing. I turned the macaroni frame over; on the back was a little heart drawn in now-blurry red marker.

She must’ve slipped it into my pocket that last time we were reading the Sneetches.…

I dropped to my knees and stared at the picture as if I could somehow pull my sister through it. Absorbing every line and feature and the points of light in the corners of her eyes.

Now I couldn’t keep from blubbering. It was as if this frail little thing in my hand, charged with all my sister’s trust and love, was standing alone against the horror of Wirtz. My logical mind knew that if the vampire had found us in that apartment, my family would now be dead. But I couldn’t help feeling I had abandoned them when they needed me most.
I will tear her head from her shoulders.…

I put a wet knuckle to my mouth and bit down. Hard.

Get it together
, I thought.
You just need something to eat
.

When I arrived back at the Solar Observatory, it was starting to get dark and there weren’t many lights on in the building.
Perfect
. Nobody around to bother me. Except now I wouldn’t be able to get in by piggybacking behind some employee with a badge.

The roof turned out to be the easiest access. I found a metal door that came loose when I put my strength into it, and from there I climbed down a ladder to a closet that locked from the inside.

The building was harder to navigate than I expected—lots of long hallways with side junctions. I saw acres of cubicles. Most of the offices were completely dark, but one cube was strung with chili pepper lights that gave the whole room an eerie red glow.

By the time I found the cafeteria, I was ready to eat toilet paper. But the serving lines and warming pans were empty and stainless steel shiny. I hurried back into the kitchen … everything spotless in there too. Not one crumb of food. There were bags of potato chips and cookies behind a plastic shield, but I was looking for something a little more substantial.
Like a bucket of chicken
.

I noticed my appetite had been increasing lately. Did half-human non-bloodsucking vampires have to eat every two hours or something? Maybe I was not only the first vampire with epilepsy,
but the first with hypoglycemia as well. I laughed out loud at the thought. It felt good to laugh for the first time since … 
Since the last time I tickled Manda. Stop it
.

I told my stomach to be quiet and rifled through the steel cabinets and overhead bins. There was a walk-in freezer, but it had been turned off and was stacked high with boxes of napkins, paper cups, and plastic utensils. What kind of cafeteria was this?

I went back out front, ready to rip into the plastic bin full of chips. I raised my hand to smash the plastic shield.…

“Hey.”

The voice was not loud, but it made me turn around so hard, I cracked my head on a metal shelf. I cursed and grabbed at my forehead to see if it was bleeding.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry.”

A young guy was standing there. Tall and thin with straight blond hair that was parted at the side and came just over his ears. He looked a few years older than me.

“My bad,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I said.

My second night on the run and I’d already managed to get caught. What was he doing here after everything was shut down, anyhow?

I slowly straightened up and looked at my hand. No blood. Looked back at the guy. His mouth was wide, nose a little long, eyes large and icily blue. The kind of blue where it seemed like there might not be anybody inside. But so striking. He was wearing khaki shorts, leather slip-ons, no socks, and a T-shirt that said
HUBBLE TROUBLE
.

“They bring the food in,” the guy said, coming closer. “Every day. In this big truck with warming pans. Some contractor. It must
be a cost-saving deal. My dad says in the old days they had full cafeteria staffs. Now they just bring it in, sell it for a couple of hours, shoot the leftovers back on the truck, and zoom, they’re gone.”

“Oh.” I put a hand to my head again.

“Let me look at that,” the guy said.

“What?”

“Your head. You banged it pretty good.”

“Oh. It’s okay. No blood, no foul.”

He frowned in a surprised way. “You sure? You want to sit down? Most girls would be wailing after a lick like that.”

“Most girls?”

He put his hands up in the air. His fingers were long and thin. “Okay, okay. People. You with the crew?”

“What crew?”

“You know. Custodial. Cleanup. You sure you’re all right?” He came even closer, staring at me intently.

“No, I’m not with the crew.…” I didn’t know what to say I was. I felt completely embarrassed standing there in my damp pj’s and gum boots. At least I was clean.

“What’s with the Ray-Bans?” the guy said.

“Huh?”

“Sunglasses.”

“Oh. I have … an allergy to sunlight.”

He smiled. “After dark?”

I took my shades off. I had forgotten I was wearing them. Now he was so close I could smell the remnants of shaving cream on his cheeks. He had a dark mole along his jawline that was unbearably cute.

“Oh. I have a cousin with that,” he said. “Breaks out in the worst rashes ever. Sun poisoning …”

“It’s not like that,” I said, feeling slightly dizzy. “Maybe I will sit down.” I pulled out one of the plastic chairs and plopped into it. “It’s just my eyes. They’re really sensitive. I forget when I have my sunglasses on.”

“Oh.” He sat down beside me. His eyes were amazing. I felt like I was staring, so I dropped my gaze to his arms. The hair on his arms was golden.

“You Swedish or something?” I said.

“Norwegian. Most of my relatives are from Minnesota. Lutefisk every holiday and smother everything else in cheese. I’m Sagan. Sagan Bishop.” He held out his hand and I shook it. His fingers were cool.

“Sagan?”

“My parents came up with that. One is an astrophysicist, the other a solar astronomer. They work out here.”

“Okay?”

“Carl Sagan? The astronomer?”

“Never heard of him.”

“One of the co-founders of the Planetary Society? Heavily involved with SETI?”

“SETI?”

“Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. They use the big radio telescope down in Puerto Rico. Haven’t you seen
Contact
, with Jodie Foster? Any of this getting through?”

He moved his eyebrows in a way that made me think he would like to rap me on top of my head with his knuckles. In a sweet sort of way.

“Oh. One of those guys,” I said. As if I knew what he was talking about.

“No, not one of those guys.
The
guy. Carl Sagan was brilliant.

He helped design the plaques they sent into space on the Pioneer and Voyager probes for aliens to find. Always went around saying, ‘Billions and billions.’ ”

“So he was rich?”

Sagan Bishop laughed. I liked the sound of it and started to feel a little less self-conscious. “He was talking about how there are so many stars out there,” Sagan said. “His theory was that it’s a mathematical certainty there are other inhabited planets with intelligent life-forms.”

I smiled. “Gotcha. So, didja ever meet him?”

“Who?”

“Your hero, Cal.”

“Carl. Nope, he died in 1996.”

“Well, good God, that was ages ago. How was I supposed to know—”

“Struck on the skull by a meteorite.”

“Really?”

Sagan leaned in closer, grinning. “You’re pretty gullible, aren’t you?”

I liked how quickly he was able to tilt things back in his favor. But I wasn’t letting him get away with it.

“Nope, just honest. When I feel like talking at all. Mom calls it blunt.”

“Ah! So you have a family.”

“Who you will never, ever know anything about.”

Sagan mimed being struck in the chest by an arrow and slumped over on the table. “You’re blunt, all right. Anyhow, that’s where my name comes from.” His face was still down on the table. “And you’re …?”

“Hungry.”

He sat back up. “I noticed. When I came in, you were about to
fracture your arm on that case over there, weren’t you? No, seriously, who are you? Could you at least tell me your name?”