Michael Vey 2

by Richard Paul Evans

  I knew it would be just a matter of time before the Elgen came looking for me outside the compound. I had to get to the meeting point as quickly as possible. Forgetting my ankle, I started to run and nearly fell. I didn’t want my friends to have to wait for me. But they were traveling with wounded as well, so I might not hold them back too much.

  I hurried on, concealed in the darkness of the jungle but close enough to keep my eye on the fence for navigation. The last thing I wanted to do was get lost in the jungle. I was glad I had given Taylor the GPS. At least I didn’t have to worry about everyone else getting lost.

  I had limped along for about a half hour when I heard the sound of approaching helicopters. As they got closer I heard another noise that I couldn’t distinguish until I saw the fire. The helicopters were burning the forest with flamethrowers.

  In spite of my pain, I started moving faster, heading deeper into the jungle. But they kept coming as if they knew exactly where I was. How did they find me? Then I remembered the el-readers, like the handheld one they had caught me with in the mechanical room. With the Elgen’s love for technology I had no doubt that they had developed bigger, more powerful el-readers that had a range of hundreds of yards.

  The sound of the rotors just got louder, and it didn’t matter how deep I was in the jungle, how dark the night, or how thick the canopy, they were clearly following me. Then I heard the blast of the flames again, this time followed by the screeching of birds and monkeys. A black jaguar ran past me.

  Thirty feet in front of me was an orange-yellow wall of fire, taking out everything in its path and clearing a smoldering swath in the jungle nearly twenty feet wide. Then I heard the blast of a flamethrower behind me as well.

  Huddled in the trees, I couldn’t tell how many helicopters there were—at least three. They were flying in circles around me, cutting back the jungle with their flames—the circle closing in on me until the heat was intense enough that it was hard to breathe. They didn’t have to burn me—they could just suck all the oxygen out of the area and suffocate me. Smoke and fumes stung my eyes and throat and I was covered with ash. Within minutes they had left me in a small circle of trees, an island in an inferno of fire and soot. Then one of the helicopters broke off and hovered directly over me. A voice boomed out from its amplifier.

  “You can’t escape, Vey. We have you surrounded. If you run we’ll open fire. You have five seconds to step out from the canopy or we’ll burn you alive.”

  I said nothing, weighing my chances of running through the charred and burning swath to the jungle beyond without getting mowed down by their machine guns. But really, there was no point to it. They’d just find me again.

  “One. Two . . .”

  “Okay!” I shouted. “I’m coming out.”

  I limped out into the smoldering black clearing, my arms raised, my body illuminated by their spotlights. There were four helicopters, bobbing above me in the night like they were on strings. One was directly over me, maybe just fifty feet above the tops of the trees, another was to my left, and the other two were slowly circling, their spotlights and machine guns all pointing at me.

  The voice said, “Get on your knees.”

  I looked at the steaming ground, then slowly knelt down.

  The helicopter to my left began to descend when it suddenly started to wobble. It yawed violently to one side, veering directly into the path of another helicopter. Their blades collided and both helicopters exploded.

  Then the third and fourth helicopters dropped to the ground. I sprang to my feet and, ignoring the pain in my ankle, sprinted out of the way as one of the helicopters fell just twenty yards from where I had been kneeling and burst into flames.

  I looked back only once to see the clearing completely engulfed in fire, then ran headlong into the jungle as fast as I could.

  “Wherever you are, Tanner,” I said, “thank you.”

  My friends are close. Close enough at least to drop the helicopters. Not that that knowledge did me much good. I was utterly lost. In fleeing the helicopters I had run even deeper into the jungle. I had no idea how far I was from the meeting point or even what direction to walk in. If I were Ostin I could look at the stars and figure it out, but I wasn’t Ostin and, even if I were, under the thick canopy, I couldn’t even see the stars. I had to somehow find my bearings. If I could get above the canopy I could find the compound and head back toward the fence. My ankle was throbbing now, and I hopped on one foot until I found a tall, lichen-covered tree hung with vines as thick as rope. I tested one of the larger vines, and it easily held me, so I began to climb.

  I was tired and weak and the climbing was difficult, but I continued on, knowing that the Electroclan was nearby. Monkeys and birds screeched around me as I invaded their domain. A black-and-white monkey about the size of a squirrel jumped on my head. It started pulling at my ears so I pulsed a little, and it shrieked and jumped off, scolding me as it swung to a nearby limb.

  It took me about a half hour to make it to the emergent level above the canopy. I was panting and drenched with sweat, but the air was cooler and fresh and I sucked it in like water. The velvet night sky was brilliant with stars and, for the first time since I’d come, I realized that it wasn’t the same sky we saw at home. There was no Big or Little Dipper down here, no North Star. In this part of the world they looked to the Southern Cross.

  From my vantage point I could see for miles around in all directions. I could see the moon reflecting off the river, winding through the jungle like a snake through grass.

  On the opposite side of the valley the Elgen compound was still dark, lit only by sporadic fires. Smoke was billowing into the sky. This made me unspeakably happy.

  I found the electric fence. Its yellow warning lights were dead but I could see the moon glisten off its metal lines. I had gone farther into the forest than I had thought, and I could now see that I was at least a quarter mile from the fence and a couple of miles from what I guessed to be our meeting place.

  As I looked out over the compound I saw them coming. Shadows. They were everywhere. There were more than a thousand of them, silently moving toward the jungle. The guards had been sent out to find us.

  I quickly climbed back down below the canopy, afraid that my glow might have given me away. I had no doubt that they were equipped with el-readers and night vision goggles. My optimism vanished, replaced with dread. I couldn’t go to our meeting place even if I could find it. The meeting place. My mother was there. Raúl could guide them through the jungle. Had the rest of the Electroclan already caught up to them? Had Ian seen the Shadows coming?

  A few minutes later I heard something crashing through the foliage below me. As I turned to see what it was, I heard a gunshot and something smashed against the tree less than three feet from my head, splintering wood around me. Then I saw the brilliant green flash of laser pointers on my body. Three Elgen guards had their guns trained on me. “Come down from the tree!” one shouted. “Or we’ll shoot you down!”

  I had no doubt they would, though I wondered if I would be better off taking the bullet here. Hatch would not be so merciful. But the rest of the Electroclan was somewhere nearby and they had to have heard the gunshot. They could take out these three. “All right,” I said. “I’m coming.”

  My back was to them as I climbed down the tree. I was afraid. Part of me expected a bullet at any second. When I reached the ground I put my hands in the air and slowly turned around. “Don’t shoot.”

  To my surprise, all three guards were lying facedown on the ground, motionless. I couldn’t figure out what had happened. I hadn’t heard a thing. I looked around but couldn’t see anyone.

  I knelt down next to one of the men and saw a small, feathered dart stuck in his neck. I swallowed as I slowly looked up. Just yards away from me, concealed in the darkness, were at least a dozen Amazon tribesmen. The lower halves of their faces were painted bloodred, and the upper halves, just above their noses, were painted black, making them l
ook like they wore masks. They wore simple loincloths and headdresses of freshly plaited leaves, perfect camouflage for the jungle. They were armed with blow darts and spears.

  I slowly stood. I had no idea what to do. If they had wanted to kill me, they could have easily done it as I climbed down the tree, just as they had the three Elgen guards. I remembered what Jaime had said about the tribes—that they hated the Elgen. White devils, they called them. Maybe the tribesmen were still trying to figure out what I was. If the Elgen were hunting me, maybe they would think I was good. You know, my enemy’s enemy is my friend.

  One of the natives approached me. His face was painted like the others’, and he wore a chest plate made of bamboo laced together with dyed twine and a necklace with jaguar claws and bird talons. There were bones through his nose and ears. He slowly reached out and cautiously touched me, probably intrigued by my glow. For a second it crossed my mind that if I gave him a small shock, he might think I was a god or something, but I decided it was too risky. I had clearly watched too many movies.

  He took my hands and crossed them at my wrists, then another one of the natives stepped forward and tied them together with twine. I could have easily dropped them both, but I was sure that I would answer for it with a dozen poison darts and arrows.

  One of them made a peculiar clicking noise with his tongue and the rest began mimicking him, then they started off, leading me deeper into the black jungle. Even in the darkness they knew where they were going. We walked all night. My ankle throbbed with pain, and a few times I had to stop, which was met with a lot of shouting and shoving. It took a great deal of self-control not to shock them.

  After hiking for miles through the dense terrain, we finally stopped at a village on a cliff overlooking the river. It was still dark and I guessed it was probably around four in the morning. I was moving on sheer adrenaline.

  In spite of the hour, there was a great deal of excitement at my arrival, and even children, about two dozen of them, ran out to look at me. Old, gray-haired men came from their huts, their bodies painted in white and red. The women were also painted and wore layers of bright blue beads around their necks.

  From what I could see, the village consisted of about thirty thatch-roofed huts. The tribesmen led me to an elderly man who, from the natives’ gestures, I guessed was a person of authority—a chief or shaman. His face was painted white with a few black lines and his gray hair was cut short. He also had a bone through his nose. He wore a necklace made of piranha jaws and a headdress made from brightly colored parrot feathers. He looked me over, touched me, then said, “Shr ta.”

  His pronouncement was met with a loud whoop from the tribesmen.

  “Pei ta dau fangdz chyu. Ma shang,” the old man said.

  “Ma shang,” they echoed.

  “Chyu,” my guard said to me.

  “Chew what?” I said. “I don’t speak cannibal.”

  The man grabbed my arm, and I was taken to a small hut and my hands were untied. As I rubbed my wrists the guard said, “Chyu. Chyu.” I looked at him blankly, and he pushed me inside the hut. “Schwei jau,” he said.

  “I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” I said.

  He pointed to a large fur on the ground and closed his eyes. “Schwei jau.”

  “Sleep,” I said. “I can do that. Gladly.”

  I sat down on the fur. The bed was on a dirt floor covered by mats made of woven leaves. It wasn’t any worse than the Elgen’s prison cot. In spite of my fear, I immediately fell asleep.

  * * *

  At daylight, I opened my eyes to an elderly man with a bone sticking through his nose, staring into my face. I jumped back.

  He laughed.

  “You think that’s funny?” I said. “How would you like a shock? We’ll see how funny that is.” I was pretty angry, and I felt at ease to speak my mind because I was certain they couldn’t understand me.

  The man stared at me for another moment, then he made a clicking noise and left my hut. I sat up on the fur, reminded of my ankle. After last night’s hike it was swollen to almost twice its size. I rubbed it for a minute, then lay back down. My mind was reeling. What was going to happen? My mother used to say, “Better the devil you know than the one you don’t.” I finally understood what she meant. At least, with the Elgen, I knew what they wanted. I had no idea what these people were about. For all I knew I was their main entrée for dinner tonight.

  I wondered about my mother and the rest of the Electroclan. Had they made it to the pickup point? Were they still waiting for me? No, they couldn’t be. Not with the guards searching for us.

  A few minutes later an older woman walked into my hut. She carried a wooden bowl with something inside that resembled a greenish-brown oatmeal, which she handed to me along with a gourd filled with water. I drank thirstily, then, using my fingers, tried the food in the bowl. It tasted unlike anything I had ever eaten before. It wasn’t all bad and I told myself it was some kind of fruit, but it could have been smashed bug larvae or monkey brains for all I knew. The woman then knelt down by my feet and took my sprained ankle in her hands and began rubbing it. I took this as a good sign, as I doubted they would spring for massages for people they planned to eat. Or maybe this was just how they tenderized their meat.

  Nearly an hour later two young tribesmen came into the hut. I thought I recognized them from the night before, but from the way they were painted, I couldn’t tell. They said something to the woman, and she stopped rubbing my ankle and stood. I looked at my ankle. The swelling had gone down considerably. “Thank you,” I said to her. The woman didn’t look at me as she left but said, “Buyong she,” and walked out.

  “Jan chi lai!” the older of the two shouted at me. I guessed that he was telling me to stand. I lifted myself up, slowly putting weight on my bad foot, testing it. My ankle had improved. Not enough that I could outrun anyone, but I had never considered that an option anyway. In the jungle I was definitely at a disadvantage.

  The men escorted me back out into the center of the village. The old man, Mr. Important Guy, was standing in the exact same place he had been the night before. He was waiting for me.

  “Womun dai ta,” one of the tribesmen said to him.

  “Ta yo mei yo schwei jau,” the important guy said.

  “Schwei le.”

  “Yo mei yo ting chi tade ren?”

  “Mei yo.”

  I listened to them banter for a while, then finally I said, “Listen, if you’re going to eat me, you’re not going to like the way I taste.”

  To my surprise the men stopped talking. The old man’s face twisted with a peculiar expression, then he started to laugh.

  “I’m not your enemy,” I said. “I just want to go home.”

  The old man stopped laughing. He looked at me for a long time, his dark gray eyes locked onto mine. Then he said in perfectly clear English, “Michael Vey. That is not your path. You are not going home.”

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  RICHARD PAUL EVANS

  is the #1 international bestselling author of Michael Vey: The Prisoner of Cell 25, The Christmas Box, and nineteen consecutive New York Times bestsellers. He is also the winner of the American Mothers Book Award and two first-place Storytelling World Awards.

  Join the Electroclan! Follow Michael Vey and the entire Electroclan at: MICHAELVEY.
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  Author photo by Debra MacFarlane

  Jacket illustration copyright © 2012 by Matt Kohr

  SIMON PULSE • SIMON & SCHUSTER, NEW YORK

  MERCURY INK, NEW YORK

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  ALSO BY RICHARD PAUL EVANS

  MICHAEL VEY

  THE PRISONER OF CELL 25

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  First Simon Pulse/Mercury Ink hardcover edition August 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Richard Paul Evans

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