by David Klass
“Shipwrecks.” Then, because she can see I’m not satisfied, she adds, “The Outer Banks used to be called the Graveyard of the Atlantic. Especially where we’re going.”
Fitting, in a way, given all the people trying to kill me. Jack Danielson, on his way to the Graveyard of the Atlantic for a beach vacation with conversationally challenged Ninja Girl.
What did I do to deserve this?
Eko back to silent mode. She’s got this Zen thing going on. Self-contained. Inward. As if I’m not even in the car. As if we could drive for five hundred miles and her eyes would never stray from the road, and that would be fine.
Isn’t she curious about me? Doesn’t she feel a need to explain her recent strange behavior?
The highway ends. Road jigs to the right and stops near a wooden fence. I assume we’re going to stop, too.
Wrong, Jack. White four-by-four drives right out onto sand. And continues northward, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to drive along a beach.
Other vehicles have been this way before. We follow their tracks. Pass Jeeps and trucks parked on the dunes. People swimming. Surf-casting. Kids gathering shells. But we don’t stop. That would be too normal. We keep going.
Dusk falls. We’ve been driving on the dunes for hours. No more swimmers or fishermen. Just sand and surf and us.
Sun sinking. Wind rising. Waves like rows of gnashing teeth. Getting creepy fast. Where are we headed? I don’t know. Why? I don’t have a clue.
At least I’m out of that barn. The scenery is more interesting here. Not to mention the wildlife. Bird circling overhead. Huge wingspan. Eagle? Albatross? I’m no ornithologist, but it sure is majestic.
“Blue heron,” Eko supplies. First thing she’s said that wasn’t in answer to a direct question.
Or was it? Uh-oh.
She never took her eyes off the sand. So how did she know I was watching the bird? My screens were up, but you can’t be too careful. “Did you just read my mind?”
“No,” she says. “You mask your thoughts.”
This must be true. If she could read my mind, she would have known my fighting plans in the barn. I could never have surprised her. “Then how did you know I was watching the bird? You weren’t looking at me.”
“The bird saw you looking up at him,” she says.
“So you read the bird’s mind? It’s hard for me to believe you could read the mind of a blue albatross circling five hundred yards above us.”
“Blue heron,” she corrects me. “The giant of the marsh.” The most Eko has said in hours. Maybe she feels like talking all of a sudden. Or maybe she’s a bird lover.
“What marsh?” I ask. “This is a beach.”
Eko nods toward the dunes. “Over there. You’ll see. The important thing now is to get where we’re going.”
“And where is that?”
“Someplace safe.”
“The barn wasn’t safe?”
She shrugs. Goodbye. I’m hanging up.
Her eyes flick to the blue heron and soar with it through purple clouds that swim to sunset. I watch her carefully. She has a good poker face, but I detect strong emotions stirring as she watches the heron glide.
Awe. Yearning. A deep, simmering anger.
Enough waiting. She’s been giving me the silent treatment for hours. Time to seize the initiative.
I grab the steering wheel and yank it toward the water.
“What are you doing?” Eko wrestles me for the wheel. We zigzag over dunes. “We’ll get stuck,” she warns.
“Then stop and talk to me. NOW!”
She stomps on brake. We jerk to a stop five feet from glistening tidal pool.
Nice to have her following my directions for a change.
“You owe me, Eko. I trusted you by coming, and now I need a few answers. That barn was safe and isolated enough to keep me locked up in while you beat the crap out of me. Why did we have to go on a beach safari all of a sudden?”
She answers reluctantly. “For your protection.”
“No one knows I’m here,” I point out. “Except for you and that flea-bitten mutt, who I assume took your money to betray me. So why did we have to leave a safe spot? Where are we going now? There aren’t any houses here. It’s getting dark. And, by the way, who are you when you’re not assaulting strangers in barns? Or is that your day job?”
Eko’s lips start to move. I get the weird feeling she is going to smile at my pithy wit. And I get the even weirder feeling that it might be a nice smile.
Nope. Frown. No warmth in it. “People will keep coming after you,” she says. “They will chase you down till you die.” If she’s trying to comfort me, she’s not doing a very good job. “You must know that by now, or you’re a total fool. I’m taking you to a safe place, or at least a safer place. But while we’re traveling we’re vulnerable.”
“But why are they after me?” I ask. No, I plead. Like I’m begging her for this one answer. “Why do they want to kill me? Why do you want to help me?”
Her gray eyes lock on mine. Neither friendly nor unfriendly. Her voice a whisper. “Because you hold the key.”
I open my hand. Empty. “I don’t hold any key.” In the fading light, the lines of my palm glint like diverging paths. Which is the lifeline? Probably not one of the long ones.
“You are the key,” she whispers again, very seriously.
I search her face. Not much there to help me. “Come on. Finish. The key to what?”
Her voice even more solemn. “Finding Firestorm. And saving the world. Only you can do it. So everything depends on you. The fate of the whole future.”
What? How? Why? Me? “How can that be?” I gasp, astonished and confused by her tone and the magnitude of her words. “I can’t even vote. Or buy alcohol.” Or get laid, I almost add, but I stop myself. I have my pride.
“Nevertheless,” she says. “Now, please, we need to go.” Her fingers brush mine on the steering wheel. Her touch is unexpectedly warm. She starts to pry my hands off. “You are our beacon of hope, but you talk too much.”
I release the wheel, she hits the gas, and we drive on in silence.
23
Beach house on fringe of marsh, perched precariously on stilts like an old wading bird. Inconspicuous and remote. Not visible from the beach. No other houses around, and no people either. No roads. No marinas. Nada.
Not exactly furnished with all the comforts and amenities. No jacuzzi. No satellite TV. No TV sets at all, in fact. No radios. No CD system to pump a little beach music when the sun is out.
Guess I should be grateful for lightbulbs and hot water.
One high-tech exception. In living room. Blue cube. Eko hurries to it when we arrive. Strokes it once and then puts her hands around it. It begins to glow. More than a light. An aura. She stands there for several minutes, bathed in blue glow. Concentrating. As if reading something with her whole body.
“What the hell is that?” I ask when she’s done. “A tanning lamp for people who want to be bluer?”
This doesn’t strike her as funny. “You don’t have the scientific background. Wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She sighs. “Ecosystem monitor and security radar.”
I ponder for a second. “It gives you weather reports and warns you if people are trying to find us here?”
“No need for that,” she says. “They are trying, and they will find us soon.”
Nothing like an optimistic attitude, Eko.
I pepper her with questions about who I am, who my parents are, and what my role is in saving the future. She will not answer. Promises we will get to that when the time is right.
“Just tell me if my mother is alive?” I insist.
She studies my face, takes pity on me, and finally answers in a soft whisper. “I believe so. She was the last time I saw her, three months ago and a thousand years from now.”
So she’s alive! Mira, who fades and grows brighter. That’s some unexpected good news from Ninj
a Girl. Maybe I’ll meet her one day, and we can do a little catching up. Hi, Mom, it’s the son you took out of the cradle and dropped into the time machine. Since then I’ve been lied to, chased, betrayed, and nearly killed a dozen times. Thanks. And how are you doing, Ma?
I explore beach house. Three stories connected by steep stairs. Jack’s room on second floor. Bed. Writing desk. Dresser with clean clothes. Not fancy, but style is not a high priority right now. When you’ve been on the run, don’t underestimate the value of clean underwear.
Who bought all this stuff? Who owns this house?
I ask Eko, but she dodges questions the way rain flicks off a duck’s back, into the marsh.
Yes, there is a marsh. As I lie in bed, I hear birds and gazillions of insects. No way I can sleep. What am I doing here? There’s not one person I trust, not one thing I know is true. Except that some kind of net is closing around me. Even in this isolation. Pursuit drawing ever closer.
I finally sink into a bad dream. See the evil face I first glimpsed when I jumped between Manhattan buildings. Leonine mane of white hair. Gleaming teeth. The raptor-like eyes are now blood red. And a voice like a hungry lion’s low roar. Echoing through my nightmare. “Jack, Jack.”
I’m home, in Hadley, on our back porch. Reading David Cop-perfield. The red eyes loom suddenly over the bushes. Voice calling from the shadows: “Jack. It’s time. I’ve come for you. You can’t hide from me. Give up, Jack …”
“Jack?” Bang, bang. “Jack? Wake up.”
I open my eyes. Eko’s voice. Must be some mistake. Still pitch-dark out. Check watch. Four-thirty. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Get dressed. Breakfast is ready.”
24
Basic training. Only way to describe it. Who drafted me? Into what army? For what reason? Don’t ask. Just follow orders.
—0430 hours. Reveille is Eko pounding on my door. “Wake up, Jack.” I haul myself out of bed, imagining big breakfast. Eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Dream on, Jack.
—0500 hours. Breakfast is apple juice and granola.
“Where are we going so early?” I ask as I sip my juice.
“Running,” she replies. Great conversationalist.
“In darkness, in a marsh? What about alligators?”
She’s not amused. “Finish and let’s go.”
I finish last spoonful of granola. Stomach still empty.
—0550 hours. Running. In the gauzy darkness of early morning, with the stars still in the sky. We don’t just run. We sprint through knee-deep marsh water.
Can’t see where I’m going. Step on rocks that cut my feet. Bushes prick me. Spiderwebs glom onto my face.
Remember, I’m fast. And tough. Once gained three hundred and forty yards in a football game.
But Eko’s faster. How can a short girl generate such speed? Perfect form. Pumping arms drive piston-like knees. Never hits an obstacle. Does she have night vision?
By the time we splash through final murky channel and reach the spot where marsh becomes bay, all I want to do is sink down onto sand and puke up my granola.
Two orange kayaks waiting for us. Eko tugs one toward the water. She sees me on my knees. “What are you doing?”
“It’s called resting.”
“That’s your kayak.”
“Chill. Just give me two minutes.”
Sergeant Ninja Girl doesn’t chill. “Now,” she says.
—0700 hours. Kayak challenge.
Eko’s kayak shoots through the water, powered by controlled, splashless strokes. Pocahontas from the future.
I try to keep up. Exhausted from the run. Knees on fire. Spine rebelling. My paddle splashes in every direction.
She stops suddenly and points to a white bird overhead. “Cattle egret. They feed on the bugs that swarm around wild horses.” She beaches her kayak. Creeps up the steep bank.
I follow. So what is the big deal about cattle egrets?
Crest bank. Grassy field. Horses grazing. Never saw a wild horse before. Pretty special. Colors and movement. Muscular legs and tossing manes. Grays and blacks and browns. “One big family?” I ask.
“Harem. That’s the stallion.” She nods to one that is a little bigger than the rest. “Don’t get any closer.”
He’s looking our way. Caught our scent already. Eyes narrowing. A thousand pounds of hooves and testosterone.
I stop walking. Chill, harem master. I’m no threat.
Eko and I watch till the horses start to canter off. She follows them with her eyes. I sense the strong feelings from her, again. Awe. Yearning. Simmering anger.
The wild horses break into a gallop and thunder away through high grass in morning breeze. “Beautiful,” I say.
“Yes,” her voice a sigh. Then, embarrassed to have been caught showing emotion, she gruffly barks, “Let’s go.”
“What are we going to do next?” I ask.
“Fight,” she says.
—0900 hours. Combat drill.
Eko shows me a series of moves in slow motion. Sweeping kicks. Diving rolls. Spinning jumps. Snapping strikes. One flows into the next. She slows them all way down for me.
I try my best, but she’s never satisfied. “You’re just flapping your arms and your legs. Just using your body.”
“What else am I supposed to use?”
Eko launches herself off the ground, using a dive roll for propulsion. Lands in tree branch. Looks down at me.
I try same stunt. Abort takeoff. Crash-land in sand.
“You are our beacon of hope,” Eko informs me, shaking her head, “but you’re as graceful as a one-winged turkey.”
—1100 hours. Lunch. Pretty, secluded beach. I’m ravenous. Eko produces a little bag. One brick of Cheddar cheese for each of us. Green apple. Rice balls.
As we gulp down the rabbit food, I try to take advantage of our break in the day to get more answers. “You told me my mom’s name, and that she’s alive. What about my dad? Is he still alive? What does he do?”
Eko finishes her last rice ball. Stands. “We can’t talk about that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s time for you to clear your mind of all questions and worries.”
“Then there won’t be anything left,” I joke.
“Exactly,” she agrees. “That’s the goal.”
—1300 hours. Upside-down Zen.
“First, sit like this,” Eko says. She folds her legs into a position that would make a contortionist pop aspirins. Then she tilts her body and stands on her head.
“You’re kidding, right? I can’t do that.”
“Try,” she says.
I nearly dislocate every bone beneath my hips.
“Okay, just sit still and empty your mind.”
So I sit there, still and silent.
Emptying your mind turns out to be a very hard thing to do. Like willing yourself to fall asleep. The conscious act of trying to do it makes it nearly impossible.
Don’t think about food. But a nice rib steak and a baked potato sure would hit the spot.
Don’t think about sex. Wonder if P.J.’s with some other guy yet? She looked so hot at the Hadley pool last summer.
Surreptitious glance at Eko. She’s wearing a two-piece. Her eyes are half-shut. Her mind no doubt completely empty. She’s got the sensuality of a washing machine.
Uh-oh. Her eyes pop open. Hope she didn’t hear that.
“You have to try,” she says. “Sit up straight. Palms up, the backs of your hands on your knees. Breathe shallowly. Focus all of your concentration on a very simple task.”
“Like what?”
She draws a line in the sand. “Bend that line, grain of sand by grain.”
“You’re kidding, right? No one can do that.”
“I can,” she says.
“I’m not like you. I can’t do the things you can do.”
Out of the blue, Eko smiles. For the first time. After all my wisecracks and sarcasm failed, for some reason this get
s her. “You are so much more than I am,” she says.
An unexpectedly nice smile. But it doesn’t last long.
—1700 hours. Flying practice.
Crevice between the dunes. The afternoon breeze has picked up. Eko has me run, with my arms held out to full wingspan. Wind blasts sand in my face.
She sits on a rock and watches. “Feel the breeze. Let it take you. Steer with your whole body. Your legs, your trunk.”
I try for a few minutes. Feel ridiculous. “Enough, Eko. I’m not a bird, so don’t make fun of me.”
She comes down from the crevice. “I’m teaching you the most beautiful thing you’ll ever learn. Here, do it with me.” She extends her arms. Runs through the natural wind tunnel. Looks uncannily like a bird. Reminds me of when I first saw her, gliding down in black ninja robe. “Come, Jack,” she says, “fly with me.”
No girl has ever said that one to me before. So I try to fly with her.
—2000 hours. Dinner.
Stewed eggplant. Bowl of rice. Berries.
—2100 hours. Lights out.
Before I get into bed, I remember my nightmare and peer out the window. No death’s face lurking in shadows.
But wait! There’s a monster perched on the roof!
No, not a gargoyle. It’s Eko. Watching the starlight over the marsh. She looks terribly sad.
I resist an urge to call out to her. To join her. She’s not your friend, Jack. She lives deep inside herself. She beat you in the barn without mercy. She’s drilling you now without sympathy. She just doesn’t seem to care. Maybe she can’t care. Maybe she hasn’t got that bone in her body.
Follow her orders. Learn from her. But whatever you do, don’t get too close.
I fall into bed. Hungry. Tired. Aching. Not sure how many more of these days I can take. And what’s the point?
I’ll never learn to run in darkness.
I’ll never bend sand.
I’ll damn sure never fly.
25
“Why don’t you take off your clothes?” Eko asks.
We’re standing on a beach at seven in the morning. I’m covered with sweat and my chest is heaving. She looks fresh as a daisy. We just ran five miles through deep sand.
I’ve only been in basic training for a few days, but I can feel how much stronger I am. Toned. Cut. Recovery time way down. I may now be sweating and gasping a bit, but I pushed Eko on the last mile. We raced in, neck and neck.
