Finn extricates himself from the net and rolls toward the border of woven nylon, which serves as a path. He hurries around and, seeing the bear rising up on its haunches, dives for Amanda, shaking the net. The bear falls again.
Together, Finn and Amanda roll for the far edge and escape across another rope bridge to a lookout beneath a shed roof. The golden bear is up on two legs like a human being, coming for them, dancing across the webbing.
“Overtaker,” Finn mumbles, recognizing sorcery when he sees it.
The golden is almost upon them. Finn pushes Amanda out of the way, stumbles backward, and is caught in the netting. The bear roars, lifts its ugly paw, armed with curving claws the size of kitchen knives—
And disappears.
Finn had shut his eyes before those claws took his face off, so when he opens them again and sees no bear, he’s thinking, This is what death is like: now you see me, now you don’t. He is somehow exactly where he was when the bear cleaved his head from his body. Amanda is exactly where she was too. He’s glad that he can still see Amanda, that heaven includes his friends. He looks around for Philby, for Willa, Charlene, and Maybeck. But it’s Amanda who remains with him, and that fact carries significance. His heart even skips a beat. Although he supposes that technically he no longer has a heart.
Amanda looks paralyzed, staring off into the sky as if tracking his spirit’s departure from his body. The thing is, he’s not up there; he’s down here, stuck in the net. Amanda isn’t looking into the sky; she’s looking at a twenty-foot-tall bear holding a golden bear by the scruff of its neck like a mama cat with her kitten. The River Run behemoth shakes her head at the golden and scrunches her face disapprovingly. The golden is all flailing paws and kicking legs.
Despite everything he’s seen over the years, Finn can’t believe that there’s really a slight grin on the River Run bear’s maw as she looks down at him and Amanda. But it’s there, all right.
Park guests are flocking to the River Run bear, who places the golden back on its perch—where it freezes in place, instantly—and tromps up the path to her place outside the attraction, where she also solidifies. There is applause, cheering, and—no matter that people can produce video of the event—no evidence it ever happened. Just the word of a few dozen tired park guests who claim to have witnessed the coolest show ever, yet another Disney rumor that will circulate for years in the lore of the Kingdom Keepers.
Amanda helps Finn out of the net and they quickly join the path again, moving away from the astonished crowd. Only then, as the terror of the past few minutes seeps out of her and her blue outline reappears, does her focus return to the strange sound they heard earlier.
“Do you hear it now?” Amanda says.
“Yeah, I do.”
“It doesn’t belong in the park, a sound like that.”
“No it doesn’t. What do you suppose it is?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like…summer…only deeper and louder.”
“Oh, dang! You’re right!” Finn says. “I hate it when you’re right!”
GRASSHOPPERS—BIG GRASSHOPPERS, the size of dogs. Park guests fleeing in all directions amid shrieks of terror while other visitors a comfortable distance away applaud and start shooting video. The contrast between what they see as life threatening and what they see as entertainment creates two distinct groups in the world of California Adventure: those running for their lives and those grabbing for their cameras.
At the front of the runners’ line are two people outlined in pulsing blue light: Finn and Amanda. Behind them, the grasshoppers seem to be multiplying. The insects don’t exactly run; they leap several yards at a time, bounding forward, wings fluttering and carrying them aloft, then skid down to the pavement, where they recover and leap again.
Ahead, the night sky is alive with color, with glowing rockets shooting up and slicing the darkness. It’s a sea of heads and bodies, camera flashes, and music that has gone virtually unheard.
“World of Color,” Finn says before Amanda can ask.
The attraction is the single biggest spectacle in both parks; it comprises twelve hundred pressurized fountains, lights, music, and dozens of lasers, all computerized. More than ten thousand guests crowd together to watch, forming a human doughnut around the pond where the show takes place.
Amanda looks back. “They’re closing fast! That’s Hopper in the lead. From A Bug’s Life. He’ll kill us!”
The lead grasshopper’s mandibles are the size of garden shears. They look like they can cut through anything, including a neck or an arm.
“All clear,” Finn reminds her, although his outline is sparking as much as Amanda’s. They are forced to push their way through the crowd. “We’re boxed in,” Finn says. “Cornered.”
Guests scream as Hopper and the other insects crash into the crowd. Finn and Amanda have a brief advantage; they’re tightly surrounded, and Hopper can’t see them.
“This way!” Amanda guides Finn toward Paradise Pier, then stops, reconsidering, and hurries toward a nearby food cart instead. “The umbrella!” she shouts. “Help me!”
The umbrella is made of sheet metal, one of four used to shield park guests from the blazing California sun. Amanda heaves its stem back and forth, wiggling it loose. Beside her Finn pitches in, but he’s suddenly encumbered by his grief, despondent and barely moving. Losing Wayne comes back to haunt him.
“Why?” he asks.
“I’m going to get us…” With a heroic heave, Amanda tears the umbrella loose. “Out of here! Bring it!”
Finn does as he’s told, moving mechanically. Amanda clears a path through the crowds. But Hopper and the grasshoppers are nearly upon them.
“We need to—”
“Hurry!” Amanda says.
Finn cradles the umbrella awkwardly, Amanda in the lead.
“Excuse us, part of the show!” Using a warm voice and a winning smile, she urges any intractable guests out of their way. Her blue outline continues to sputter. Finn’s is sporadic as well—they are vulnerable to attack. If Hopper and company catch up with them…
“Where are we—?”
“The fountain!” Amanda calls back. “Grasshoppers can’t swim. They hop on the water.”
Ahead, plumes of water explode in hundred-foot-high bursts. The scene depicts Buzz Lightyear and Emperor Zurg from Toy Story 2. Amanda flashes Finn a smile over her shoulder, encouraging him on. Finn follows unquestioningly, obediently.
“First Dillard, now Wayne,” he whispers.
“Not now, Finn!” she chastises. “Look out!”
A wet snap! from behind them sends Finn tumbling forward. Hopper is on his heels, mandibles snapping, trying to cut Finn in half.
“Faster!” Amanda calls.
Finn breaks out of his grief in time to swing the heavy umbrella at Hopper’s mug, knocking the insect over and exposing the grasshopper’s ribbed yellow belly. “Gross!”
Using one wing, Hopper rocks back up.
Amanda has carved out a path to the water. Before any curious Cast Members can reach her, she jumps the low guardrail and wades into the pool, Finn right behind.
Above them, Buzz and Zurg battle on a screen of misting water. Jets spout and music wails—until the chords are overpowered by screams.
A hundred or more giant grasshoppers have reached the pool’s raised wall. Guests scatter, crawling and running toward the exits.
Confused and angry, Security officers shout after Finn and Amanda. “Stop! Stay where you are! It’s not sa—”
One of the guards reaches for the radio at his waist, calling in to the control booth.
A life raft is hurled into the water by a Cast Member.
“They’re going to shut down the show!” Finn calls to Amanda through the thick mist.
“Hurry!”
Finn and Amanda can see the hundreds of valves beneath the surface of the pool. Amanda turns sideways, trying to work her way through the maze as water explodes in fire hose–like bursts all ar
ound them. A shooting stream knocks the umbrella from Finn’s hands. He bends to retrieve it and takes a blast to the stomach. Some of the water passes through his partial DHI; the rest knocks him over. He recovers the umbrella, holding it awkwardly so as to present the least amount of surface area, and carefully follows Amanda’s lead.
“Look!” Amanda points up. Three wraiths survey them from above.
But then, caught by a power fountain blast, two are gone.
“We’re cooked!” Finn said.
“No! Over here!” Amanda pulls Finn with her, grabs the umbrella, and carefully positions it top down, stem up.
The chaos in the viewing area scatters the Security team, buying Finn and Amanda more time. Amanda steps into the concave lens of the metal umbrella, holding on to the stem.
“Hurry!” she says.
“I’ll never give in!” Buzz Lightyear declares over the loudspeakers.
“Finn!” Amanda catches him by the wrist and pulls. Together, they hug the umbrella’s stem.
“To infinity and—”
Below them, the strongest blast of fountain water in the show goes off. The umbrella, and the partial DHIs along with it, is lifted ten stories—a hundred feet—in less than a second.
Fast as an eel, the remaining wraith stabs toward them through the mist.
Finn holds on, white-knuckled.
They peak out at one hundred and ten feet. The plume of water supporting the umbrella falters, and then stops. The wraith is six inches from Finn’s face.
Through squinted eyes, Finn sees Amanda’s hands let go of the umbrella.
Suddenly they are flying through the air at four hundred miles per hour, Amanda’s legs still wrapped around the umbrella’s stem. She has made an Amanda push, flying their umbrella-craft out of World of Color and over to Mickey’s Fun Wheel. The same push throws the wraith against the roof of Ariel’s Undersea Adventure, where it evaporates.
Amanda pulls Finn with her as she bails out of the umbrella, and they land together on the superstructure of Mickey’s Fun Wheel. She easily climbs into an empty car. The ride is stopped because of the show.
They are safe.
“You okay?” she asks, like they’d waited in line for their seats.
“No. Not now. Not ever.” Finn looks down at the fountain display, the thousands of guests, the symphony of color. In the chaos, the concern for two glowing kids is lost, and the show continues.
“We’re going to make it,” Amanda says.
“Not him.”
“Finn, listen to me. I’ve dealt with that kind of loss—and worse. Family. You think you’ll never get through it, but you will.”
“Not me. Not ever.”
“With the help of friends, you can. It took me a long time to figure that out.”
“Jess,” Finn whispers.
“Yes. Others, too. You can’t do this stuff alone. We think we can, but we can’t. Look, I’m just saying that I’m here. Okay? I’m here.”
She wraps an arm around him and pulls him close. It’s like holding a wounded puppy. Her eyes well with tears.
“It’s not fair,” she says. “It’ll never be fair.” She watches the show, still holding Finn’s head to her shoulder. “We wait it out here. No one saw us through all that water. We’re safe.” Does she sound like she’s trying to convince herself? “We’ll make our way back to the Plaza later, when everything’s shut down. Call Philby. He can return us.”
Finn says nothing. The Finn Whitman Amanda knew is gone—she can feel it through her hand, holding his shoulder. She can hear it in his voice. Gone, like a leaf lifted and carried off by the wind. She knows better than to try to call him back to her. There is no fob, no Return for where he’s gone.
Only time will tell who appears in his place.
FINN ATTENDS the morning meeting in the Crypt’s conference room with Joe, Brad, and the other Keepers. He sees them looking at him. Their mouths move—especially Joe’s—but all Finn hears are low rumbles and echoes, like someone speaking from the far end of a vast cave. He feels tears run down his cheeks and scrubs them away. He’s calm for a few minutes. Then the tears start again.
He wishes Amanda and Jess had not returned to Mrs. Nash’s, from where they’d been crossed over. They are as much a part of everything now as any of the Keepers.
Finn’s hand starts moving indiscriminately, pen on pad. He can’t recall whether or not Joe told him to do this, or if he’s making notes about the talk with Wayne of his own volition.
Mickey and Minnie homes “for their own sakes”
Sorcerer’s Cap, conductor’s baton
You don’t kidnap Mickey, you destroy him
Nearly all the magic along with him
Walt’s pen
It’s about time
“Time,” Finn says, breaking his silence.
Joe stops in the middle of a sentence and the room goes silent as everyone looks at Finn.
“Wayne said, ‘It’s about time.’ He wanted to make sure I got that. It was important. He kept shaking his watch at me to make sure I’d heard. He said the OTs destroyed Mickey. Not kidnapped, but destroyed. That’s the word he used.”
Brad and Joe exchange a look.
“What?” Philby asks. “What was that about?”
“What?” Joe says back to him. “We can’t show our surprise? Are we supposed to know everything? We’re on your side. We trust you guys. More importantly, we need you.”
Despite his words, there’s a palpable feeling of unease in the room, and all the Keepers feel it. Joe is trying to cover something up; Brad’s face reveals that too. These two have a secret they are unwilling to share.
More secrets. At the thought—and at the talk of Wayne—Finn sinks back toward despair; he tries desperately to kick for the surface, toward the light, but the cold and dark engulf him. Water leaks from his eyes. He’s drowning.
He barely hears Philby, who’s talking about the Keepers missing something, saying that Wayne is always five chess moves ahead of his nearest competitor or teammate, that the OTs’ raid on the Studio Archives precipitated everything—especially the theft of the binder. Philby reminds everyone that the wraiths were present again, just as they were during the raid on the Studio Archives, that there are no coincidences, that Wayne knew exactly what he was doing when he—
But he can’t say it. Maybe it’s because his heart won’t let him. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid that he’ll push his friend so deep that even the glow of the surface will disappear. Maybe, like Finn, he doesn’t believe it himself.
Wayne is full of tricks. Finn has been chanting this in his mind like a mantra, trying to convince himself that the man’s death was an illusion, a trick played at the highest level. But his heart tells him differently.
“The danger here,” Joe says, “is that by showing themselves as they have, the Overtakers are signaling that they aren’t afraid. They’re back in Disneyland, where they started. That gives them a lot more power than they had in Florida. The kind of brazen behavior we saw in Toontown does not bode well. They are following a plan, and there’s an endgame to that plan that none of us wants. With Wayne…with what happened to Wayne, they will believe they’ve…that they’ve gained the upper hand. Tipped the scales. We can expect more now, not less.”
“I miss home,” Willa says, drawing looks from everyone, some inquisitive, some disapproving, some sympathetic. “No one told us we’d be here this long. Why don’t you let us out? Why are we treated like prisoners?”
Underground, there’s a deep rumble the Keepers feel more than they hear: traffic. It never goes away here, never stops as it does late at night in Orlando. It’s the only sound, along with a whispering drone from the air-conditioning system. A ribbon tied to the vent wiggles like a kite tail in the artificial indoor breeze.
Joe doesn’t know what to say. He looks to Brad, who’s equally speechless.
“An enemy within,” Charlene says to Joe. “Until we solve that, you can’t or
don’t fully trust us. Am I right?”
Joe purses his lips.
“What aren’t you telling us?” Philby says. “Let’s face it, there’s something you’re keeping from us, and at this point…I mean, we all want to go home. It feels like we’ve been here forever. Nothing good is happening. It’s not like we’re helping.”
“Of course you are,” Joe says. “You all contribute!”
“Right,” Maybeck says. “Tell me how. We’ve been under attack since we got here.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this right now,” Joe says, as tactfully as possible, “but Wayne knew from the start that you all were the key to preserving the magic. The raid on the Studios…what happened in Toontown…Wayne reached out to Finn, knowing that he took a risk in doing so. He would never have done that if it weren’t important. Hugely important. Everything he said in that meeting is critical.” Joe is looking at Finn. “You need to reconstruct that conversation as accurately as possible.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Finn says sharply. He spins the note around and slides it in Joe’s direction.
Joe accepts it and reads. He says, “Thing is, no one knew about that meeting but you all. So how—”
“Not according to Storey,” Philby says, interrupting.
“Who?”
“That’s not important,” Philby says. “She told me that Security knew about Finn and Wayne. That means they had to be listening in somehow. Maybe they recorded the meeting? You guys have authority here, right? Get that tape. Give Finn a break. Who can remember every word of anything?”
Finn thanks Philby with his eyes. Philby nods.
Joe points to Brad, who types a note.
“We can’t make you stay,” Joe says. “Your participation is voluntary. Always. We appreciate everything you’re doing, but—”
“Come on!” Finn says, lifting his head, no longer trying to hide his sorrow. “You think we’re going to let her get away with what she did? What comes next is this: you start to trust us. We need the Return. We need Philby to be able to cross us over whenever necessary, even if we sometimes can’t explain why. And we need our software upgraded.”
Kingdom Keepers VII Page 28
