by Dan Rix
But the screen stayed lit.
My home screen, drenching me in blue light. To my utter disbelief, the battery indicator glowed a solid white. A full charge.
I checked the other status icons—zero bars of service, Wi-Fi and 4G network grayed out, 9:12 a.m. on the clock.
It must have gotten out of sync.
But I had my cell phone back. I had light! To prove the point, I panned it around the room, chasing the encroaching shadows back to the corners. Maybe the world was coming back online.
Out of curiosity, I checked my text messages. Nothing new had come in. I tapped on the most recent string, which opened to a yellow text bubble
Megan: Is everything okay? Your mom looked pissed.
No other messages. When had she sent this? I glanced at the date.
October 2.
My eyebrows pinched together. The message was two weeks old. What about all her other messages? She and I had texted each other millions of times since then.
And why hadn’t I ever gotten this message? What was she talking about? My mom never got pissed.
I referred to the other texts from the string, trying to piece it together. That was the night we’d gotten invisible and crashed Tina Wilkes’s party.
It seemed like ages ago.
We’d come home, and . . . it was all coming back now . . . my mom had told Megan she couldn’t spend the night, even though she spent the night every Friday, because—why couldn’t Megan spend the night?
Because Major Rod Connor of the Air Force Security Forces had been waiting for me.
That was why.
Megan must have sent this text after she left. So why hadn’t I gotten it? And why did the string end there? Had something happened to my phone that night?
Mulling it over, I rolled my shoulders back and corrected my posture—I’d been slouching over the phone.
And then it hit me.
To sneak my phone into Tina’s party unseen, I’d wrapped it in dark matter, which I hadn’t been able to get off. The next day, the phone had vanished, Megan had called it like fifty times, and . . . and then dark matter had texted me from my phone number.
The memory rushed back with a shiver.
Dark matter had taken my phone. I’d gone without it for a few days. But the phone had come back, hadn’t it? I took my eyes off the screen and blinked into the darkness, and then, in a flash, I had the answer. An icy chill prickled down my spine.
Yes . . . a phone had come back.
But not this phone. This phone hadn’t received a single text since that night, because this phone had been stuck right here the whole time, sitting in this dead world for two weeks while a fake phone took its place on Earth.
That was why this phone still worked.
It was the only real thing in this place. Like me.
I couldn’t fall back asleep. I had to eat, I had to drink. Or else I would die.
My smartphone’s screen swept over the shelves in the pantry, glinting off strands of spiderweb. Boxes of cereal, bags of pasta, cans of beans . . . I settled on the beans.
Maybe, being encased in metal, they’d fared better than the perishable goods. The can opener bit into the can, and I poured the kidney beans into a bowl. I grabbed a spoon, wiping the dust off on my tank top.
The first spoonful slopped into my mouth. I swished it around a bit. They tasted like beans, but I couldn’t tell. I’d never liked kidney beans. I swallowed.
The beans went down . . . and stayed down. No argument so far. I took another bite. Maybe I just had to get used to eating this stuff. I kept going, but each swallow took a little more effort than the last.
My stomach began to fight it.
I paused, staring down at the dark rim of my bowl, trying not to cry. I picked out a single bean and squished it between my thumb and forefinger, noting its chalky texture.
Something wrong with it.
I propped up my cell phone to give me light and peered in close, turning it over in my fingers. There was something on the skin—a network of tiny black lines, like veins, a spiderweb pattern. No, not veins. I leaned closer. Cracks.
A network of tiny hairline cracks.
I squeezed, and the bean split open, spilling an inky black powder over my fingertips. I sucked in a startled breath. Oh God, I’d eaten these things. Morbidly determined now, I rubbed it between my fingers, and the rest of the bean skin eroded into a fine, crumbly dust.
I sniffed my hand, and a little cough escaped my lungs.
It was ash.
The beans were made of ash.
I ran to the bathroom and barfed up everything I’d eaten.
Maybe I could get cell phone reception on the roof.
My dad’s extension ladder clanged against the gutter, shattering the unearthly silence. I clutched the aluminum rungs and climbed toward the night sky, determined to exhaust every last hope before I gave up.
At the top rung, I clambered onto the roof and stood up on shaky legs, jerking my arms to balance.
Gripping the asphalt tiles for support, I crawled up to the highest point on the ridgeline, where a 360-degree view of the blacked out city took shape before me. My pulse hiked at the sight.
A panorama of black palm trees, gabled roofs, and shadowy streets sprawled in every direction. A city of darkness. Not one single light. I took it all in, the air like ice in my lungs. My gaze rose to the starry sky.
No blinking airplanes.
There was no one out there.
But I had to try.
I fished my cell phone out of my pocket and raised it over my head, holding my breath as I watched the service bars, praying for at least one. I just needed one.
I got zero.
My lungs deflated. I tried the call anyway—9-1-1—and pressed the phone to my cheek. Maybe I was right on the edge of a network. Plus I’d heard stories of emergency calls going through even without a signal. Apparently, they got special treatment.
It didn’t ring. When I pulled the screen away, the screen displayed the error, Mobile network not available.
Well, I’d kind of been expecting that.
But what if I got even higher? Like, really high? I looked to the north, and my gaze rose to the shadowy peaks of the coastal mountain range, looming ominously over the city. At night, their outline was barely visible.
The Santa Ynez Mountains.
No way. I’d die from exhaustion trying to reach the top.
I needed food and water.
Beaten yet again, I sat down on the roof’s ridge and reluctantly powered down my smartphone. Better to conserve batteries. I might need the device later.
Later? What later?
If I didn’t find drinkable water soon—like, within twenty-four hours soon—I would die. Simple as that. I was running on empty. With its full charge, the phone would outlast me.
I turned it over it my hands, thinking back to how it had gotten here. How I had gotten here. The phone proved that dark matter was the culprit. Somehow, it had swallowed me and dumped me here in this underworld made of ash.
The voice in my head had been curiously absent lately.
Finally got what it wanted, I supposed—me.
I sighed and lay on my back, shifting to get comfortable on the coarse asphalt tiles. The roof ridge dug into my spine. Low on the horizon, a spiral-shaped smear of stars caught my eye. Too faint to really make out, like one of those fuzzy patches of the Milky Way.
I looked for familiar constellations.
I only knew the Big Dipper, though, and I didn’t see it. I let my eyes close.
My smartphone.
As I ran my fingers over the case, a disquieting thought nagged at the back of my mind. My phone had been sitting here gatheri
ng dust, and I had been none the wiser, because dark matter had replaced it with a fake phone—a fake phone that looked like my phone and acted like my phone and connected to the network like my phone but wasn’t my phone.
And it wasn’t the first time that had happened.
Dark matter had replaced Ashley with a fake, too.
Chapter 7
My eyelids sprang open. Food and water . . . I knew where to find them!
I scrambled off the roof and teetered down the ladder, sending it crashing down behind me as I ran toward my bike. I’d been so stupid not to realize earlier.
The Lacroixs’ house, the food wrappers in Ashley’s bedroom—that bedroom had been lived in. All the clues fit.
Ashley must had gotten stuck here too.
And she’d brought supplies.
I hauled the bike into the street and took off toward the Mesa, riding by starlight. The wind rose to a fierce whistle in my ears. I pedaled harder, salivating at the prospect of juice boxes and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
I flew through one abandoned intersection after another and plunged straight down the throat of a back alleyway, riding blindly. Too excited to feel scared.
If Ashley had gotten stuck here, then obviously she had figured out how to escape, and I could too . . . unless, of course, she was still here. The thought set my heart racing. If she was still here, then she could still be alive . . . the real one. One possibility after another tumbled through my brain, each more exhilarating than the last.
Ahead of me, that spiral smear of stars bobbed above the trees like a will-o’-the-wisp, tugging at my gaze. For some reason, my perception of it kept changing, like my brain couldn’t quite process that particular patch of stars . . . almost like the sky there was distorted. It vanished behind a row of house, and my attention went back to riding.
The bike careened onto Ashley’s front lawn, and I leapt off and ran to the front door, already raising my fist to knock. But the dark, lifeless windows made me hesitate. Too dark.
Maybe I should wait until morning.
As I stood there, uncertain, the chilly night clung to my bare shoulders and seeped deeper into my lungs with each anxious breath. My stomach throbbed painfully.
I had to eat.
It couldn’t wait until morning. I had to eat now.
I knocked quietly, and waited. No one stirred inside the house. No one home. Like earlier.
I pushed the door open a crack, swallowed hard, and croaked, “Ashley?”
No reply.
Under my palm, the door squeaked open a little more, the crack widened. A rogue shiver shook its way out of me, trailing goosebumps. Just a house, Leona. Deep breaths. I stepped into the foyer, plunging into crypt-like blackness. My throat tightened in panic, as if I’d jumped into cold water. Instinctively, my hand shot up to probe the space in front of me.
The blinds snuffed out all starlight, leaving darkness so thick it clouded my eyes, poured down my lungs, suffocated me. Scarcely breathing, I slid out my cell phone and panned a trembling cone of light in front of me.
To the right, a living room opened up like a huge cavern. Just a hint of the outlines of walls. Ahead, stairs climbed to the upper story, ascending into a murky realm beyond the reach of my light. The beam swept to the left.
Two beady eyes stared back at me.
A gasp rose in my throat before the phone illuminated the rest of a china cabinet, crystal tumblers and porcelain tea cups glinting in the greenish glow.
Just a house.
“Hell . . . hello?” My scratchy voice skittered out into the darkness.
The eerie silence stretched on.
No one home.
I tiptoed up the stairs, jerking the phone left and right. Shadows peeled back from the risers and shrank against the wall. At last the hallway came into view at the top, plunging even deeper into the gloom. A floorboard depressed under my foot, and an ill-tempered groan echoed through the quiet house.
I froze.
The night whispered in my ear, prickling the back of my neck. I shouldn’t have come here. Whatever lurked in this house, I didn’t want it to hear me, I didn’t want it to know I was here.
I didn’t want to know it was here.
A talon of fear slid down my back. I had murdered Ashley Lacroix. Twice. I had hidden her body. This was her house.
I wasn’t welcome here.
As I strained to make out her bedroom door through the shadows, another twinge of fright took hold. That invisible thing that had come after me . . . it had assumed Ashley’s shape. Maybe I hadn’t really killed it. Maybe it was lurking here in this very house, in her house, watching me, hunting me . . . standing right in front of me even now.
I raked my hands through the air in panic. Nothing.
I backed against the wall and gaped out at the blackness, my pulse like thunder. Racing breaths tore in and out of my lungs. I should have put on dark matter before I came here. This was crazy, this was suicide.
No, that crap was done. No more invisibility, no more Ashley. I was alone. The house was empty.
Come on, just grab the food and go.
Gripping the smartphone, I advanced up the hallway, bracing myself to be cut down any moment by an invisible knife.
The attack never came.
My fingers closed around her doorknob, which twisted under my sweaty palm. The door screeched open into her bedroom. Before I could hesitate, I lunged inside and jerked the phone around madly.
There, crouching by the door ready to pounce—no, just the mouse cage. My wrist twitched frantically, pivoting the beam to eke out each hiding spot. Lying in the shadows under the bed.
Just shoeboxes.
Standing like a statue inside the closet.
Just a big ski jacket.
The room was empty . . . and just as I’d left it yesterday. A mess of candy wrappers and junk food. Whoever, whatever had lived here had long since departed. I did one more pass through. Finally satisfied, I propped my cell phone on her bureau. Its ghostly glow cast my shadow about the room, startling me before I forced myself to relax.
Stop it. You’re jumping at your own shadow.
Down to business. On hands and knees, I dug through the junk, shaking the empty juice cartons. A splash in one. I pounced on it and clamped my mouth around the straw, sucking in a mouthful of sugary liquid. My taste buds shivered with pure joy. Grape.
I yanked out the straw and tilted the box above my head, squeezing the last splash into my mouth. Then I swallowed.
The moment of truth.
A warm glow pooled in my stomach.
Real . . . it was real! I tore open the cardboard juice box and licked the insides clean. I went for the next one. Another splash of syrup. Each juice box contained a mouthful, and there were tons of them!
I followed the line of spent cartons to a pile along the wall, and almost fainted with joy.
There were at least a dozen juice boxes. All unopened, their straws still folded neatly in plastic pouches glued to the side.
I sucked down four of them before the sugar rush hit me, making me hyper and euphoric. A result of high blood sugar, meaning the glucose had hit my bloodstream. More proof this was all real.
Food next.
My fingers closed on a Pringles tube, empty. I tilted it back and dumped the crumbs into my mouth. Sour Cream & Onion. So good.
Peanut butter. I’d seen peanut butter around here. Mouth watering, I plowed through the mess, knocking aside candy wrappers until I seized the jar. In my hand, its weight was immensely satisfying. Still half full.
That had to be like a billion calories.
Using a torn-open juice box as a spoon, I sat cross-legged against the bed and dug out a heaping glob, which I shoveled into my
mouth.
And I was officially in heaven.
Once I’d gorged myself on peanut butter, chip crumbs, and grape juice, I could finally focus on other things. Like searching the house for answers and taking inventory. Someone had been here. Either Ashley, or someone else.
Clearly, they’d long since departed.
Using the cell phone light, I consolidated all the crumbs into a single bag and nudged the rest of the trash into the corner. Among the pile, I discovered a full King Size package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups.
Dessert.
Licking the chocolate off my fingers, I began opening the bureau drawers with my elbow. Socks, underwear, jeans—to my disappointment, nothing but clothes.
What was I even looking for?
Something to explain all this. Clues. A way to get out of here. A message she might have left behind.
A diary.
Something like a diary. Where would she keep a diary? On a whim, I felt along the back corners of the drawers and slid my palms under the clothes. Just to check.
I hid stuff at the back of my underwear drawer.
Sure enough, the edge of a piece of paper brushed my fingertip—a crinkled photograph, wedged in the crack between the bottom and back panel. I pulled it out and held it under the cell phone.
Younger versions of Ashley and Emory Lacroix grinned up at me, arms slung awkwardly around each other’s shoulders. Pinholes riddled the top of the picture. A photo she used to cherish.
Seeing it sent a strange twinge through my heart.
A scratching noise pricked my ears from behind me. I whipped around and swung the flashlight beam into the corners. The noise cut off.
Nothing there.
Probably just a squashed chip bag unraveling.
I returned the forgotten photo to the back of the drawer and continued my search. The closet yielded more clothes, and a plastic bin full of old toys.
