Taken

by Edward Bloor

  Patience and I, without Daphne’s knowledge, pulled out lots of our own clothes and put them in two large bags. Then we visited families in The Highlands who had seventh-and ninth-grade boys. When we were through, we had four big bags of shirts, pants, sneakers, dresses, et cetera.

  Our next step was to figure out how to deliver them. Daphne would not be allowed to accept anything from us. She wasn’t even allowed to tell us that she had a family, or that she had a real name. So we asked Mr. and Mrs. Patterson what to do. At first they were mad at Daphne for taking a personal call in a place where Patience might overhear her. But then Mr. Patterson saw a business opportunity. He offered to take the four bags to Mangrove and to deliver them personally to the mayor if my stepmother, Mickie Meyers, would agree to vid the event for her show.

  Mickie jumped at the chance. She arranged for Daphne’s four siblings, their parents, and the mayor of Mangrove to be standing outside the burned-out shell of the house when Mr. Patterson arrived in his bulletproof car, followed by two Highlands security guards in their van.

  Mr. Patterson presented the bags to the kids as Kurt’s camera ran. Then, to Mr. Patterson’s surprise, the kids gave him something in return. It was a tornada— a wooden doll with the letter P carved in the front and a face carved on the back. One of the twin girls explained to him that the doll symbolized her wish to see him again someday and to return the favor.

  Mickie’s vidcast of the event was such a success that both The Highlands and the town of Mangrove decided to do it again the following year. They didn’t have another burned-out family, so Mickie came up with the idea of using kids from my class and kids from the town in an event she titled “Kid-to-Kid Day.” That outing went smoothly, too, except for an incident where a town kid, some mean boy, tripped Hopewell and gave him a bloody nose. Albert cleaned Hopewell up quickly, though; the vidcast went on as planned; and it scored more high ratings.

  As a result, the third annual Kid-to-Kid Day was scheduled for Saturday, December 22. It turned out to be a very full day—full of people, and events, and details. It was exactly the kind of day that I needed to focus on. I made up my mind to concentrate next on Saturday, December 22.

  I remembered that the students from my class gathered in the Square at 09:00. The group included Sierra, the Dugans, Sterling Johnston, Hopewell, Patience, and me. (Whitney’s family had already headed south in their yacht to spend the holidays in the Berry Islands.)

  By 09:15, our group of seven kids, four maids, four butlers, two guards, one realtor (Mr. Patterson), and one teacher had loaded up sixteen bags of clothing into the storage bay of the security van. Lena also handed Mrs. Veck two cartons of books for young readers—all Ramiro Fortunato novels—from the book division of SatPub, Mickie Meyers’s parent corporation.

  The Highlands’ van was a long gray scary-looking vehicle. It was more like a bus than a van, customized with armor, bombproof sides, and black-tinted, bulletproof windows. It seated between twenty and twenty-five people, depending on the configuration. For this trip, the guards had removed the top-mounted machine gun and stowed it on a rack to the right of the driver, eliminating two seats in the process.

  The four butlers—Albert, William, Edward, and James—went over the security plans with the guards. Each butler would carry a Glock 450C, an NLS (non-lethal stun) gun, and an aerosol can of organic repellent. None of these weapons had been used the previous two years, but they decided to keep them in the security plan just in case.

  This was to be the first Kid-to-Kid Day for the Dugans. They seemed to have no clue what the day, the field trip, or the gift exchange was all about. Pauline snarled at Mrs. Veck, “Why do we have to go? This sounds so stupid.”

  Mrs. Veck smiled kindly. “Well, Pauline, you girls did return your permission slips. They were signed by both of you and by your parents. That permission slip described the trip in great detail. Didn’t you read it?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It was too long.”

  I commented to Patience, “That, and the fact that she can’t read.”

  Pauline snarled, “Shut up!”

  Maureen stepped forward. “Maybe I’ll snap your scrawny neck, hor.”

  Patience lined up next to me. “Maybe you won’t, dumbass.”

  Mrs. Veck interrupted: “Girls, girls. This is a day for giving. And it’s a day for learning.”

  This time it was Maureen who snarled, “Learning? It’s Saturday. And we’re supposed to be on Christmas break.”

  Mrs. Veck replied, “All school field trips are about learning. And this trip will provide some excellent opportunities. Do you remember our discussion yesterday about King Edward the Seventh?” All of us looked away. She continued, “Well, we’ll be talking about him some more, and about his parents, and about Christmas traditions. A lot of our Christmas traditions come from Edward’s family, and from his era.”

  At that moment, Mickie Meyers, Lena, and Kurt the cameraman pulled up in an electric cart. Mickie shouted at us, “Everybody ready to roll?” She didn’t wait for a reply, which is good, because it would have been a long wait. She led her group onto the van, and the rest of us followed.

  I sat with Patience near the middle. Mrs. Veck told the rest of the students to sit around us so that she could lecture on the way. Mickie and Kurt set up in the aisle to shoot her speeches and our reactions, should there be any.

  Finally the maids and butlers climbed on and dispersed themselves throughout the van. Albert came down the aisle to check our ID cards. These cards, issued by the federal government, were embedded with microchips that contained our personal information. They also served as global tracking devices for any kids who didn’t have them implanted. (Supposedly the cards were hard to come by, but the Dugans bragged that they had cards to prove they were eighteen years old and that they had used them to drink in Bermuda.)

  When he’d finished his check, Albert gave a thumbs-up signal to the guard in the driver’s seat and we took off. We drove parallel to the north wall of The Highlands, on the bank of the St. Lucie Canal. Families who lived along the north wall, like Whitney’s, could sail directly from The Highlands to the Intracoastal Waterway. From there they could turn north toward Amelia Island, or south toward Fort Lauderdale, or they could continue east to the Atlantic Ocean and beyond. (“Beyond,” however, included some areas controlled by pirates, so people tended to stick to a few safe destinations.) My house was on the south wall. It was not literally a wall, though. It was an airstrip surrounded by an electronic security fence.

  This field trip was a rare outing for us. Highlands kids didn’t often get to travel beyond the walls. School came to us via satellite links. Shopping was done online and then delivered to us by tightly screened UPS or FedEx trucks. Even doctors came to us in special security ambulances.

  Once we got past the guardhouse gate, we accelerated toward the Florida Turnpike, and Mickie signaled Kurt to start shooting. She raised her microphone and began, “I’m Mickie Meyers. And we are privileged to ride along with Mrs. Veck’s class on Kid-to-Kid Day, a wonderful tradition that began here three years ago. On Kid-to-Kid Day, children from The Highlands, a wealthy Martin County development, bring clothes to children living in Mangrove, an impoverished local town. In return, the children of Mangrove give the Highlands children handmade gifts.”

  Mickie took a step toward Mrs. Veck. “I am told that this type of day has its origins in the past, and that it may even tie in with our discussion yesterday about an Edwardian Christmas. Isn’t that right, Mrs. Veck?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And just who was this King Edward who gives his name to our theme?”

  “He was the son of Queen Victoria and her husband, Prince Albert. They are generally spoken of together, as a couple—Victoria and Albert.”

  Mrs. Veck paused briefly, reaching one hand out and waving it to get Sterling Johnston’s attention. She then continued, “Prince Albert, a German,
brought many Christmas traditions to England that are now thought to be English. Queen Victoria loved those traditions and practiced them over her long life.”

  Mickie wasn’t really listening. She was watching the scene unfold on Lena’s screen. But she made a rotating motion with her hand, urging Mrs. Veck to keep talking, so she did.

  “Many of our modern customs come to us from that era. And some stem from a very interesting phenomenon that happened at Christmastime known as the ritual of social inversion. The king or lord always had food and drink left over from the fall harvest that was just sitting there, about to spoil. So, in the first days of winter, he shared it with the poor people, the peasants. The peasants, for a few days at least, got to live like lords.”

  Mrs. Veck turned to us. “Now, students, how might that phenomenon, the ritual of social inversion, relate to Christmas?”

  Patience actually raised her hand and answered: “We give to the poor at Christmas, like on this trip to Mangrove.”

  “Yes indeed. That’s a good modern example. But who can look back with me for many centuries—for 2,035 years?”

  I had no idea where Mrs. Veck was going with this, so naturally she called on me: “Charity?”

  I tried: “Uh, the birth of Jesus, maybe?”

  “The birth of Jesus indeed! A poor baby. Now, who bowed down to Jesus on the first Christmas?”

  “The Three Kings?”

  “That’s right. Three wealthy kings bowed down to one poor baby! Many Spanish cultures consider Three Kings’ Day, El Día de los Reyes, to be an essential part of Christmastime, the day when the poor and the meek are honored in a ritual of social inversion. In fact, the town of Mangrove celebrates its Christmas Carnaval on that day.”

  Mickie interrupted. “What does this have to do with Victoria and Albert?”

  “Well, Victoria and Albert enthusiastically embraced the ancient rituals of Christmastime, and they brought those rituals into modern London society. And from there the customs traveled to the New World, to our world.”

  Mickie nodded briefly. Then she signaled to Kurt to stop shooting and moved to a front seat, next to Lena.

  Patience told me, “I did a paper on Victoria and Albert. They had it all. They were the richest, most powerful, most glamorous couple in the world. They were even happy! But Albert died forty years before Victoria. She spent all that time mourning him and building monuments to him, monuments of her love. That’s what I want some guy to do for me.”

  “Marry you and then die?”

  “Marry me. Love me desperately. And then die. Then I’ll build monuments to our love.”

  We continued driving east past Indian Well, a former migrant town that housed workers for the many wealthy communities in the county. From the van window, I could see rusty trailers, small cinder-block homes, and RVs that would never ride again. We passed a lake called Deep Lake, preceded by signs that advertised its “great bass fishing.”

  Sierra told Maureen, “My dad says that Deep Lake is stocked with killer bass fish. They’ll eat anything that falls in there.”

  Patience and I started to scoff at her, but Mrs. Veck surprised us by saying, “That’s true, Sierra. In fact, they used to call it Killer Bass Lake. Who can tell me why they might have changed that name?”

  After a moment, she gave up: “No one? How about to make it more appealing and more marketable to fishermen?”

  Everyone avoided eye contact with her. “Okay, then. Let’s all look across the lake. That means you, too, Sterling Johnston. Now, what do you think those huge metal towers are on the other side?”

  I looked where she was pointing. The south side of the lake was bordered by a row of tall steel structures. I gave Mrs. Veck a break. “Those are high-tension electrical wires.”

  “Yes. Thank you, Charity. Who can tell me what their purpose is?”

  Maureen actually made a comment: “Don’t those have electromagnets or something that come out of them and eat your brain? Don’t kids down here have, like, a hundred times more brain tumors than we do?”

  Mrs. Veck smiled. “I don’t know, Maureen. Would you like to research that information and share it with us?”

  “No. This is supposed to be vacation! I don’t even know what we’re doing here. We’re supposed to be out on our boat.”

  That exchange ended the teachable moment, and Mickie and Lena came back to our area with a vidscreen and huddled a long time with Mrs. Veck.

  My attention snapped back to reality when I heard the ambulance door slam shut. The dark boy had slipped outside. Almost immediately after, I heard a sharp, crackling sound from somewhere beneath me. What was it? Where was it coming from?

  I listened for a few seconds, and I heard it again. It was close by. A new burst of sound led me toward the foot of the stretcher. I scooted forward on my hips until I could bend and look underneath.

  The first thing I saw was my backpack, a familiar dark red shape against the white metal floor. It looked very flat. I wondered what the kidnappers had left inside it. The next thing I saw was the dark boy’s two-way resting against a rubber wheel of the stretcher. He had, apparently, left it behind. What would Dr. Reyes think about that?

  I leaned closer and listened for a moment. The crackling gave way to voices, at least two of them. They were arguing, it seemed, in a foreign language. Creole? I suspected so. Some words were clear, and they sounded like French.

  I soon gave up trying to understand them and scooted back up to my usual position. I thought for a moment about the dark boy. He presented himself as being such a genius. Had he just made a really stupid mistake? Could I, if I had the nerve, pick up that two-way and call for help? To Victoria? Or to Patience?

  Most likely not. Most likely I would need a password to use it. Or maybe he had left it there on purpose to see if I could be trusted? But what if he hadn’t? What if it had been pure stupidity on his part? Just a stupid, dumbass mistake. What would Dr. Reyes do to him for that? Would the dark boy get treated any better than the guy who had fallen asleep in the front cab? I didn’t think so.

  Anyway, my moment of opportunity soon vanished when the dark boy returned. He sat down without a glance toward me, picked up the two-way, and joined in the Creole conversation.

  I sat there for a good ten minutes, mentally kicking myself, feeling myself a coward for not trying to get help on the two-way. Patience would have tried it. Most kids I know would have tried it, with the possible exception of Hopewell.

  That’s because most kids had never been taken. Only Hopewell and I knew what it was really like to face kidnappers; to try to remember our training; to try to survive.

  So I forgave myself. I told myself that I was doing the right thing. I forced myself to concentrate again on the events of December 22.

  The Highlands guard pulled the van into a church parking lot near the center of Mangrove. He let the engine idle while he contacted the local police on a securescreen.

  Mangrove was an interesting place to me. It was as different from The Highlands as it could possibly be. The town had a combination of dirt roads full of deep ruts and asphalt roads full of potholes. The roads were lined on both sides with brightly colored cinder-block houses—green, pink, orange. The houses had rusty room air conditioners sticking out of the sides and ripped screen doors in front.

  Something must have been wrong, because we sat at that church for a long time. While we waited, Patience and I quietly played a game called Syllogisms. It’s a logic game that you can use to prove or disprove any point (naturally, we learned it from Mrs. Veck). There are different types of syllogisms to choose from. For example, the Categorical Syllogism says that everybody in a category has the same thing.

  I started the game by stating the first premise: “All members of the Dugan family have coarse hairs sprouting from their noses.”

  Patience then stated the second premise: “Pauline is a member of the Dugan family.”

  I stated the conclusion: “Therefore, Pauline has coar
se hairs sprouting from her nose.”

  Then we switched, and Patience began: “All girls who wear the same white shirt to satschool and to cheerleader practice have pit stains.”

  I added: “Maureen wears the same white shirt to satschool and to cheerleader practice.”

  Patience concluded: “Therefore, Maureen has pit stains.”

  I started a third one: “All mammals have spines.”

  Patience opened her mouth to respond; then she stopped and glared at me.

  I suggested, “Hopeless does not—”

  But she cut me off. “What? What are you saying? My brother doesn’t have a spine?” She looked like she was about to punch me.

  Patience had been getting very impatient with Hopewell jokes, especially after the attack by the Dugans. I leaned back and muttered, “Uh, sorry.”

  “Do you really think that? Because it’s not true.”

  “No. I just said it for fun.”

  “Fun?”

  “Yeah.”

  She continued angrily, “Fun? Really? From you? Isn’t your idea of fun to follow your maid around the kitchen?”

  Now I was the one who was offended, but I responded meekly: “I said I was sorry.”

  Patience’s eyes bored into mine. “And don’t call him that stupid name anymore.”

  “I won’t. Take it easy.”

  “No, I won’t take it easy! That’s when people attack you, when you take it easy. That’s why the Dugans thought they could attack Hopewell, because even I was going along with it. I was treating my own brother like a joke. Well, I’m not doing that anymore.”

  “Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.”

  She finally mumbled, “Okay.”

  After that, we sat in awkward silence until the van started to move. We left the parking lot of the church, a Catholic one called La Iglesia de la Natividad, and turned onto the main road. It was a nice wide road without any potholes. I could see a makeshift stage ahead, positioned in front of a building that said MANGROVE TOWN HALL.

  Just before the van stopped for good, Albert stood up and addressed us all. “Stay within the perimeter established by Security. Speak only to the kids within that perimeter.”