Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy)

by Cidney Swanson

  I caught another thought from Bridget Li. Tourist. Meant as the worst variety of insult.

  He appears to have departed, said Christian.

  I guess, I said. Let’s just go forward with our plan. I’ll keep my, uh, ears open for any sign of him returning.

  We passed through Bridget’s rock wall, which startled her, and then the three of us materialized within her kitchen.

  “I’m not dreaming this, am I?” murmured Bridget to herself. She gave her head one good shake and then crossed to a stack of cleaning rags. Moving these out of the way, she uncovered a small fire–safe. It looked like one in my dad’s office. I wondered briefly what he’d kept in ours, what had survived the fire.

  Bridget fumbled with the lock and opened the safe. Quickly, she passed us the money. “I’m going to stay here,” she said. “So I can keep an eye on things around town.”

  I told her the identity of the rude tourist.

  She nodded. “If he comes back, I’ll hear about it.”

  “Be careful around him,” I warned.

  She grinned. “I survived the Cultural Revolution in China. Well, I was a baby, but I survived, didn’t I? The Li family has always been fortunate.”

  Bridget made a call to have a car battery delivered directly to the bakery. “Joe’s Auto owes me,” she said.

  Once we had the battery, Christian and I said goodbye to Bridget and returned to Midpines.

  Gwyn and Sylvia were talking quietly when we arrived and came solid again. I took the battery, which was just crazy–heavy for such a small object. Crunching noisily through a thick layer of digger and sugar pine needles, I carried it out to my dad. He was fiddling under the hood of the truck. He pulled an old transistor radio from his pocket and turned it off, removing his earbuds.

  “You can have my old iPod, you know,” I said as he wrapped the earwires carefully around the piece of ancient technology.

  He shrugged. “I like the radio.”

  “You hear anything interesting?” I asked.

  He took the battery from me. “Boy, you’re getting strong, kiddo, just like your mom was.”

  I smiled.

  “I always told her she was strong enough to be a farmer,” he said, heaving the battery into place.

  “And she laughed at you,” I said, remembering their banter, “And said you were stubborn enough to be an artist.”

  He fiddled with things under the hood of the truck. “I did hear some interesting stuff on the radio, actually. More on Geneses International and that group of volunteers. Angel Corps, they’re calling them.”

  “What’s the news saying now?”

  “Same plague showed up in a neighboring country. Red Cross basically told ‘em, ‘Hey, be our guest,’ and let the Geneses volunteers go in first, like the Marines, you know.”

  “Weird,” I said.

  “You know, Sammy, I grew up with bullies like that racist who came knocking here earlier. We didn’t have all the stuff you kids get in schools now about tolerance and diversity.”

  Dad had finished with the battery and dropped the hood. The metallic reverberation echoed through the pines.

  “That guy got me thinking, remembering what high school used to be like if you were a Hispanic kid in an Anglo school. And then I got this really bad idea I couldn’t shake,” he said, walking to the driver’s seat. “Probably just your old man getting paranoid.” He shook his head. “I haven’t heard anyone use language like that in a long time.”

  He turned the key and the truck started up. We each made a thumbs up at the same time and then laughed together. I felt my heart swell.

  “I love you, Dad,” I shouted, over the roar of the truck.

  He grinned, his sun–browned face creasing along a thousand lines. He turned the engine off. “I love you, too, Sammy. Let’s go tell your step–mom we’re ready to roll.”

  We crunched back through the dense carpet of pine–needles to the little cabin.

  “Hey, Dad? You didn’t tell me your idea. The bad one you said you couldn’t shake.”

  He frowned, wiping his hands several times on his jeans before reaching for the door handle. “Yeah, it’s probably crazy.” He rested his hand on the handle. “But here’s the thing. There’s a deadly sickness in a tiny country in central Africa, and Geneses just happens to have a group of volunteers there? So, I wondered, if everyone running Geneses thinks like that racist who came here, what if the people at Geneses are the ones making everyone sick?”

  “Oh, no,” I whispered. “Oh, no!

  We entered the cabin, and I quickly shared what my dad said with Christian.

  “Wait a minute,” said Sylvia. “You think this Helmann–person is killing thousands of innocent people?”

  “We heard about it on a video he made,” I explained. “He plans to get rid of billions: the weak, the sick, and those he called the ‘inferior races.’”

  “A second Holocaust,” murmured my step–mother.

  I nodded.

  “We should go to the media with this,” said my dad, fumbling for his cell. “I’ve got the number for someone on Channel 2 News in here.”

  “I beg of you, Mon Seigneur Ruiz,” said Christian. “You will not live to see another day if you present yourself to the public in this manner.”

  “Christian’s right,” murmured Sylvia. “They want to find us.”

  “In any case, we need to talk to Sir Walter first,” I said. I looked to Christian. “What do you think? Does this constitute a cell–phone emergency?”

  Christian fixed his eyes upon the linoleum floor for several seconds. “I believe my father should be told of your father’s idea.”

  “Use my cell,” said Gwyn. “Someone’s probably monitoring all of yours.” She indicated me, Sylvia, and my dad.

  “What time is it in France?” I asked, preparing to call a number I’d memorized. For emergencies only.

  “Nine of the clock,” said Christian. “In the afternoon.”

  “Night,” corrected Gwyn.

  I dialed. The phone went straight to voicemail.

  “They’re not picking up,” I said.

  “Probably a dead battery,” Gwyn said.

  “Do not leave a messenger,” said Christian.

  “Message,” Gwyn corrected automatically.

  I hit “end.”

  “It is apparent to me what we must do,” said Christian. “Sir Walter instructed us to return to him should Helmann begin his apocalypse—what is the word in English?”

  “Apocalypse,” we all said together.

  “Then we’re going to France,” said Sylvia.

  Gwyn shook her head. “You’d have to use your passports to travel to France. Hans, plus maybe Helmann, will be tracking credit cards and passports for sure, watching for the Ruiz family to pop up somewhere,” she said.

  Christian frowned. “In which case, your arrival in France would mean certain death.”

  “What about fake passports?” I asked.

  “This isn’t the movies,” replied my dad. “You can’t just go to Fresno and get a fake passport.”

  Gwyn guffawed. “Well,” she said, “Not in the time frame you’re looking at, certainly. And not four of them for five–thousand dollars.”

  We all turned to look at her.

  “What? I saw it on the Crime Channel,” she said.

  “We have to go alone,” I said. “Me and Christian. It’s the only way.” The thought of returning to Will, of re–crossing that great divide—it made me almost giddy.

  “Young lady,” said my dad, “You are not getting on a plane. Someone wants to kill you, and Gwyn is right about your passport being a sure way to track your movement.”

  “We need not show our passports to travel,” said Christian.

  “We’ll catch a plane,” I said, “But we’ll do it invisibly.”

  Chapter Thirty–Two

  * * *

  KIDNAPPED

  · WILL ·

  As soon as we touched
down at Fresno Yosemite International, Sir Walter rented the fastest car Hertz had available.

  Mick was sleeping by the time we got close to Las Abuelitas. I spoke softly to Sir Walter. “I’m worried about someone seeing me and Mick when we’re supposed to be in France.”

  “I am in hopes your sister will agree to spend the afternoon hidden,” replied Sir Walter.

  Mickie woke up, rubbing her eyes as we drove slowly past Sam’s house. Only a skeleton remained—blackened and dead–looking. I wondered how it made Sam feel, her home gone like that. But mostly I wondered where she was now.

  “You got any sign of Chrétien on your, uh, radar?” asked my sister.

  Sir Walter shook his head.

  “How close do you have to be for it to work?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I have not thoroughly tested the limits. Perhaps a kilometer? Or two? Christian’s abilities exceed mine in this, however, such that he would be likely to notice me first.”

  I frowned. Sir Walter’s son, who was hanging somewhere with Sam, had me beat everywhere I looked. I kept the thought to myself.

  “We shall visit your home in case Sam and Christian thought to hide there,” Sir Walter said. “Unless you have a better idea?”

  Mickie shook her head.

  “I got nada,” I said. I was starting to think about how big the planet was. How Sam could be anywhere. How Bridget Li better have something for us.

  “I miss driving,” said my sister, tapping the window to indicate her Jeep as we pulled beside our old home. I thought of all the other things she must be missing: her garden, her collection of books, her safety.

  Sir Walter was the only one of us who got out to investigate, but the cabin was empty. I felt strange, staring at its familiar shape, and I had to turn away. Nothing about Las Abs was right without Sam here.

  Sir Walter returned to the car and asked Mickie if she’d mind hiding. “Perhaps your cabin would be comfortable?”

  “I don’t want to stay here,” she said. Turning to me, she smiled. “Put me in that wall you like. The Bakery rock wall. Bridget plays good music, so I won’t get bored.”

  Bridget Li’s café was slammed for business when we arrived. Well, when Sir Walter arrived: he had made me ripple invisible with Mickie back at our old cabin.

  We exited the rental car, and while Sir Walter went to speak with Bridget, I drifted to the bakery kitchen at the back of the café and placed Mick in the rock wall, trying hard not to think about when I’d first showed Sam how to ghost through solid things. Then I glided into the café, brushing through Sir Walter so he’d know I was back.

  Your sister is safe? he asked from inside my head.

  Yup, I wrote back.

  Madame Li has agreed to speak with me as soon as her daughter arrives for lunch and can confirm my identity, he said, taking a seat in the booth closest to the front door after placing a generous tip in the Cat Fund jar.

  Why don’t we just go upstairs and talk to Gwyn now? I asked.

  Madame Li’s daughter is, unfortunately, in school at the moment.

  Oh, right. I’d totally forgotten. School had continued without me. It made me feel strange. Adrift.

  The café inched past 12:15 PM, and students began milling around campus, a few crossing Main Street to eat at Las ABC.

  Ten minutes passed and Gwyn didn’t show.

  Bridget looked uncomfortably at Sir Walter a few times, but she didn’t make any moves to come talk to him in the midst of the lunch rush.

  After a couple of minutes, I saw him startle.

  I wrote, What?

  He didn’t respond; instead he looked super–alert.

  What? I wrote again.

  I thought I heard something, he said.

  Chrétien? I wrote.

  No, I thought I heard Hans, said Sir Walter. Very near. And very angry.

  At this moment, Bridget crossed over to us.

  “Listen,” she said. “I don’t know where Gwyn is, so how about you give me a good reason why I should trust you.”

  I’m checking the kitchen! I wrote, tearing off to maybe catch Hans off–guard behind the door.

  Sir Walter rose and dashed towards the back of the café as well, with Bridget following and heads turning.

  The kitchen was empty when I solidified. Seconds later, Sir Walter and Bridget entered.

  “Will?” She sounded pretty shocked and not sure where to put her attention: on me or Sir Walter.

  “This truly is Sir Walter,” I said to Bridget. To the Frenchman, I said, “Go check upstairs. I’ll try outside.”

  Sir Walter shook his head. “I hear him no more. It would be of no use to search. He could have fled in any direction.”

  “What’s going on?” demanded Bridget. “Is this about Sam?” She lowered her voice. “She was fine last night. In fact, she was on her way to France to see you.”

  My heart felt the wrong size and weight.

  A loud knock sounded on the door leading from the café to the kitchen. “Bridget? Everything okay?”

  “I’ll be right back,” Bridget said to us before exiting to reassure her customers.

  “Retrieve your sister,” said Sir Walter. “It appears we shall be returning to France.”

  I rippled invisible, feeling a moment’s doubt that I could find the edges of Mickie’s insubstantial body, but it wasn’t that hard. Invisible sister felt quite distinct from rock wall. I eased us out of the wall and into the center of the kitchen.

  We came solid just as Gwyn’s mom returned.

  The moment my sister had lungs and vocal chords again, she turned to me in panic. “Gwyn’s been kidnapped!”

  Chapter Thirty–Three

  * * *

  MESSAGES

  · SAM ·

  Christian and I located a non–stop flight out of San Francisco, but we had to pass six long hours in the airport before it departed. It was still faster than the connecting flights, so we waited. I thought about Sylvia and my dad, wondering how safe they’d be from Hans. Dad said they were going to New Mexico, far from family, and therefore, hopefully less traceable.

  Traveling on a trans–Atlantic flight while invisible was far, far nicer than traveling coach. Although, knowing that each mile brought me closer to Will, I think I would have been grinning from ear–to–ear even if I’d sat on one of those little flight attendant seats that flip down from the wall.

  When we landed in France, Christian and I went into the ladies washroom so that I could ripple solid for the phone call to Sir Walter, to figure out where to meet up. When I powered up my cell, I saw I had two messages. Both were from Gwyn’s number. Which was weird because she’d agreed we shouldn’t call each other except for really important stuff.

  “Hello, Miss Ruiz,” said a voice that made my spine tingle with fear. “As you may have surmised, Gwyn Li is no longer, ah, in control of her cell phone. Perhaps you would be so good as to check the attachment on the next message from this number? I’ve prepared a small video for your entertainment.”

  Christian came solid in the tiny bathroom stall. Luckily, European stalls had floor to ceiling doors.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said. “Do you need fresh air?”

  I choked back something—a sort of hysterical laughter that resembled crying. Then I took a slow breath. “No,” I said. “I need to see the next message.”

  It was a hostage video.

  Chapter Thirty–Four

  * * *

  PLANE TO CATCH

  · WILL ·

  “Hans was here,” Mickie said. “Well, first Gwyn came through the back door, and then Hans rippled solid in the middle of the room and asked her where Sam was, which she wouldn’t tell. I think Gwyn knew it was him. She told him she’d scream if he came any closer.” Mick’s face wrinkled in anxiety. “And then he said he dared her to scream because he’d have her invisible faster than she could make the noise. And then he said he hoped she liked France, because he was taking her to his Father’s castle. Ch
âteau something …”

  “Château Feu–froid,” said Sir Walter.

  Mick turned to him. “That was it. With all the ‘F’s’. Do you know where that is?”

  “I do, indeed,” said Sir Walter.

  “Take me there,” said Bridget, her voice all thin like she was barely keeping it together. “She’s my only child. She’s all I’ve got.”

  Sir Walter frowned and began pacing.

  I was dying inside, ‘cause Gwyn had been kidnapped, and that was awful, but we’d come all this way to find Sam, and she’d gone to France? I grabbed my head with my hands, ‘cause it honestly felt like it might explode.

  Sir Walter and Bridget argued and planned and my sister twirled a chunk of her hair like she could fix everything if she got it wrapped around her finger tight enough. Then they were back to talking about Sam again.

  “She must intend to discover us there,” said Sir Walter. He patted his jacket like he was searching himself for a concealed weapon. After a moment he brought out his cell phone. The one he never used.

  Sir Walter sighed heavily, running a hand slowly across his face. “Sam attempted to contact us.”

  “And you only now thought to check your cell?” I shouted.

  “Will!” My sister addressed me in a voice that said Chill, idiot. “Sam is presumably safe. Gwyn is not. Priorities. Got it?”

  I nodded. She was right. I needed to think straight.

  “I believe we all have a plane to catch,” said Sir Walter.

  Chapter Thirty–Five

  * * *

  CHTEAU FEU FROID

  · WILL ·

  As we approached the airport outside Tours, France, Sir Walter pulled his cell phone from a pocket. There weren’t any messages, and he tucked the device back inside his traveling coat.

  “She’s safe,” I kept mumbling to myself. “She’s safe.” The engine noise kept anyone from hearing me. I knew we had to get Gwyn to safety first, but worrying about Sam was killing me.