“And disrupt the ceremony? Maybe.”
He dropped his head and shook it in disbelief.
“And then what?” I said.
“I don’t know. If there’s enough confusion, maybe Tank could sneak in from backstage. Maybe he could free Sridhar and get him out of there.”
“And maybe pigs can fly,” the professor said.
I looked down at the stage. The clouds were over the students’ heads and pulsing brighter. The kids were beginning to open their mouths.
“We have to do something,” Andi said. “Does anyone have a better idea?”
We didn’t.
“All right, then. Tank, you come with me.” He nodded and they headed for the back door to the hallway circling the arena.
I looked at the professor. He leaned against the wall, as noncommittal as ever. I turned back to the control board and Shaved Head. Andi’s plan was iffy at best. It wouldn’t hurt to have a backup.
I headed for the board.
There was a four-foot wall around it. The closer I got, the more Shaved Head looked big and impressive. But I had a few impressive attributes of my own.
Once I got there, I tugged down on my V-neck, making sure my attributes were visible.
“Psst!” I whispered. “Hey!”
He glanced up from the board.
I smiled and leaned forward, making sure I had his full attention. He crossed to me.
“Can I watch?” I whispered.
He frowned.
I motioned him closer and whispered into his ear. “I really think it’s hot the way you run all this stuff.” He looked at me. I nodded and mouthed, Really hot. He broke into a smile that had most of his teeth.
I reached for the little gate separating us. “Can I watch?”
He hesitated.
I smiled, tugged at my shirt again. He opened the gate.
Happy to show off his manly prowess, he returned to work. Happy to find an external hard drive, I slammed it into the back of his head. He slid to the floor. No one noticed—except the professor, who almost looked impressed.
I turned to the board with all its switches and blinking lights. Where to begin?
Up on stage, Andi had slipped beside the last choir member and was singing her little heart out. You couldn’t hear her, but you could see the choir staring. Slick too. No one was happy.
The professor arrived and pushed open the gate to join me.
I nodded to the stage. “How’s she doing?”
He listened and shook his head. “Not enough.”
I motioned to the board. “Plan B?”
He nodded. “Shut her down.”
“Any idea how?”
He didn’t have a clue. Well, except for Shaved Head’s Jamba Juice. The one he picked up (Tropical Fruit, I believe) and poured over the board.
It was like the Fourth of July—lights and sparks everywhere. And not just the board. The whole auditorium went dark. When the emergency lights came on, one of the security guards spotted us and took off up the steps.
“Now what?” the professor said.
My solution wasn’t as original as his but probably just as effective.
“Run!”
CHAPTER
10
I went for one back door. The professor took the other. By the time I circled around and got to the stage, things had definitely changed. For starters, the clouds were shorting out. The images kept repeating themselves, floating from the pipe to the students, from the pipe to the students. The choir had quit singing and the audience was anything but happy.
“A hoax?” someone yelled. “This is all a hoax?”
Another shouted, “We’ve been watching a light show?”
Of course, Slick did his best to fix things. “Please, we’re currently having some technical difficulties.” And all the teachers, about a dozen in the front row, were on their feet trying to quiet everyone.
Cowboy had unstrapped Sridhar and was holding off the other guard. “Please. I don’t want to hurt you,” he kept saying. “We’ll just be takin’ this boy and be on our way.”
I moved to the kid and helped him to his feet.
“What happened?” he mumbled. “What’s going on?”
Slick spotted us. “Stop them!”
“You two best be going, Miss Brenda,” Cowboy said.
I looked into the auditorium and saw the other guard coming for us.
“What about—”
“I’ll be there in a jiffy. Me and the fellas just need a little talk.”
I looked over to see Andi waving from the side exit. “Over here!”
The kid and I started toward her. The lights flickered again. The crowd had grown even more restless and was getting to their feet.
“My child wasted two years of her life here?”
“A fraud. This is all a fraud!”
“You’ll be hearing from my lawyers.”
“I am a lawyer!”
Slick and the teachers definitely had their hands full. Still, he managed to shout at us, “I’ve engaged the security field, so you’re going nowhere!”
We joined Andi and stepped into the hallway as Slick repeated, “I said you’re going no—”
The door slammed shut behind us.
We crossed the hallway and opened the exit door. The yard was in front of us. The gate forty feet away.
“Now what?” I said.
“We followed a spiral,” Andi said.
“What?”
“Last night, we circled the building. We followed a spiral path to this location.”
“A path we can’t see without those special glasses.” I turned to the kid. “Unless you got them now.”
He shook his head.
“Wait a minute!” Andi said. “That pattern you drew of the numbers? The one identical to the creamer in the professor’s coffee. Do you have it?”
I pulled the envelope from my pocket and handed it to her.
“Yes!” she cried.
“What?”
“The route.”
“That’s no route. It’s numbers and dates. You said so yourself.”
“And it’s the route.”
“It can’t be both.”
“Maybe not in three dimensions. But if Trenton is correct about multiple dimensions, then of course it is.”
“Of course?”
“Multiple dimensions function at multiple levels. Therefore, they should have multiple meanings. They must have multiple meanings.” She pointed where the arc of the number met the circle. “If this is our current location, we must follow this exact route back to the gate.”
It made no sense to me. So what else was new?
The door opened. Lots of noise came from inside as Cowboy stepped out.
“The guards?” I asked. “They cool?”
“They’ll be a little cranky when they wake up, but yes ma’am, everything’s good.”
“And the professor?” Andi said.
“Right behind me.”
“Let’s go, then.” Andi held out the diagram as we headed into the yard. We’d gone about twenty feet when the professor showed up at the door.
“Wait for me!” he yelled.
“The path!” Andi shouted. “Avoid the field by following our path.”
The old guy froze. Guess he didn’t want an encore of last night’s performance.
I saw where we’d been. “Keep going,” I said. “I’ll go back and get him.”
“Stay on the path,” Andi repeated.
I nodded. When I arrived, the professor was his usual sunny self. “I hope she knows where she’s going.”
The lights in the building beside us flickered.
“What did you do?” I said.
“There was some extra Jamba Juice.”
“And?”
“I found the main circuit room.”
We headed after the others. We got about halfway when the door flew open and both security guards piled out.
“Let’s
move.” I grabbed the professor’s arm and pulled him along faster.
“Be careful,” he groused. “Stay on the path! Careful!”
The guards gained on us. The fact they didn’t drag around a whiny windbag made it easier. That, and their John Lennon glasses.
Andi, Cowboy, and the kid reached the gate. We were just feet behind them when I suddenly thought of baby Monique. Only now she wasn’t a baby. She was the same age she’d be today. They had her locked in some dark room. A closet. And she was sobbing. Her face streaked with tears. All alone.
It was only a thought, but so real I had to gasp, “Monique . . .”
Over her tears I heard another voice. Old and white: “You’ll stay in there until you wash all those dishes.”
“Momma?” she cried. But not for them. For me. “Momma!”
I could barely catch my breath. “Monique, is that—”
“No!” The professor yelled. I looked up to see him grab his head. “Not again! Somebody help me!”
“They changed the security field!” Andi shouted.
“Momma . . .” More images flickered. Sharper. Clearer. Monique stood barefoot in a cold, wet cellar. She was shivering. Hard. Her arms raised. To me! “Momma? Momma, help me!”
“Oh, baby—”
“Grab my hand, Professor!” Andi shouted. “Grab my—”
“I can’t remember!” he cried. “I don’t—”
“Grab my hand!”
“Miss Brenda!” Cowboy yelled.
I blinked. Saw Cowboy reaching for me. He was six feet away. The professor was beside me, doubled over.
“Miss Brenda!”
I fought off Monique’s image long enough to grab the professor by the waist.
“Help me!” he cried. “Help—”
It took all my strength, but I flung him past me. He stumbled out of the field and into Andi’s arms.
“Momma!”
I spun back to Monique.
“Momma, it hurts. Momma, they’re hurting me! Momma—”
“Miss Brenda!”
I tried focusing on Cowboy’s voice, pushing her out of my mind. But I couldn’t. How could I, when what I feared most was happening right in front of me?
CHAPTER
11
Father, please . . . please, forgive me!” Monique huddled in the corner of a fancy bedroom. Stuffed animals. Canopy bed. Everything pink and frilly. “I’m sorry, please . . .”
A human tub of lard stood over her, belt in hand.
“It was an accident, I—”
Slap. He hit her hard across the face. I felt the sting on my own. I grabbed my cheek and staggered forward. “Monique!”
“I’ll teach you to respect my property.”
Slap!
“Miss Brenda!” Cowboy’s voice was far away. “Think of somethin’ good!”
Now Monique was looking out a window. Rain streaked it. Her face was wet with tears. Outside, the Brady Bunch loaded their brats into a van, preparing to drive away.
“Momma . . .” She choked out the word. “Momma, where are you?”
I stood at the door, tears in my own eyes. “Right here, baby. I’m right here.”
“Fight it, girl!” The professor’s voice called. “It’s an illusion—fight it!”
He was right. I concentrated with all I had to push her out of my head.
The image flickered.
I tried harder.
She disappeared.
I turned around and saw Andi, eight feet away, reaching for me. “Hurry!”
I started forward, two, three steps before I heard, “Momma . . .”
She sounded so real. So lost. I knew I shouldn’t, but I had to.
“Miss Brenda!”
I turned and there she was. So alone. So frightened.
“Oh, baby.” I started forward. “Momma’s right here.”
“Brenda!”
I was nearly there. Stretching out my arms. Suddenly her face darkened, twisted into rage. “Stay back!”
“Baby—”
“I hate you!”
I slowed. “Sweetheart, I—”
“I hate you! I’ll always hate you!”
I stopped.
She kept shouting. “You gave me away! To strangers, you gave me away!”
“No, I—”
“Like garbage! You threw me away!”
“Miss Brenda?”
I closed my eyes. Trying to force her out of my mind.
“And now I have to suffer. My whole life I’m suffering.”
But the harder I tried, the stronger she became.
“It’s your fault. It’s all your fault!”
I heard Sridhar’s voice, faint. “You cannot remove it. You must replace it!”
“Think of somethin’ good, Miss Brenda. Replace it with somethin’ good.”
“You’ve ruined me. You’ve ruined everything!”
“Somethin’ good.”
“I hate you!” The words punched me in the gut. “I hate everything about you!”
“Think of somethin’ good!”
I thought of her delivery, back in the hospital. Not the pain, but afterward.
“A girl, Ms. Barnick. ” The doctor smiled down at me. “A beautiful baby girl.”
I remembered her tiny weight when they put her on my belly. Her warmth. The crying, the squirming. She was a part of me, but more. Another human. Completely me, completely different.
“You gave me away . . .” Her voice began to fade.
I thought of her eyes. Those puffy slits squinting against the light. People say newborns can’t focus, but she saw me. She opened them and looked right at me. And we connected. Mother and child. My heart swelled.
“Miss Brenda!”
I turned to see Cowboy and the others motioning to me.
“Hurry!”
I took a step toward them, still seeing my baby, still hearing her cry. Another step. The crying stopped for an instant and she smiled. At me. Another step. I was smiling, too, my heart bursting . . . as I took the final step and fell into Cowboy’s arms.
“You okay?” he asked.
The memory faded. I nodded and he helped me to my feet.
Suddenly Sridhar screamed. I turned around to see the kid grabbing the back of his neck and doubling over.
“Did you honestly think you could leave that easily?”
I turned and saw Slick standing in the middle of the field, glasses on, definitely not happy. He pressed a small remote in his hand. The kid dropped to his knees, shrieking in pain.
“And without even saying good-bye?”
“Stop it!” Andi yelled. “You’re killing him. You’re killing him!”
“He should be so lucky.”
CHAPTER
12
Please—” The kid gasped.
Slick showed no mercy. “You’re the first, did you know that? The only graduate to ever refuse induction.”
Lights from another building flickered, then went out.
“You think we wouldn’t make an example of you?”
“I’ll . . . come back. I’ll—”
“It’s a little late for that.” He cranked up whatever gizmo he had in his hand. The kid cried out, curling into a ball, trying to breathe.
“Stop it!” Andi yelled.
“He’s just a boy!” Cowboy shouted.
Slick ignored them. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?”
“Release him,” the professor called. “Release the boy and we will go.”
Slick broke out laughing. “Go? Oh, you’ll go, all right. But trust me, you won’t be leaving. Not this war.”
“War?” Andi shouted. “What war?”
“Do you think you four were brought together by accident? Are you really so naïve as to think there are not greater forces at work here?”
“What are—”
“Please . . .” the kid whimpered, gasping.
“You’ll not succeed. They’re too powerful. You m
ay have won the battle but the war has barely be—”
He was cut off by a muffled explosion at one end of the auditorium and a small puff of smoke rising. At the same time, the kid groaned and seemed to relax. Apparently the pain had stopped.
Slick wasn’t so lucky. “Ahh!” He doubled over. “No!”
We traded looks.
“The security field?” Andi asked.
The professor frowned. “It must be shorting out.”
“No! No . . .”
Cowboy shook his head. “I don’t think—”
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked!” Slick cried. “I’ve—” He began to stagger. “No!” He threw up his arms, slapping away at something no one could see. “No!”
“Those are some ugly fears,” I said.
He fell to his knees and began choking, gagging.
“Them ain’t fears, Miss Brenda.”
“Stop this!” A different voice sounded. It came from Slick, but it was deep, guttural. “Stop this at once!”
Slick’s normal voice came back, pleading. “No . . . don’t—”
“Stop!” The other voice started cussing. Worse than me on a bad day.
Slick’s hands shot to his face. He began scratching at it, clawing until it was covered in blood. He spun back to us, his eyes wild. “Help me! Help—”
“Shut up!” the deeper voice yelled. “You are a failure!”
“No! No, I did every—” He screamed and threw himself on the ground, where he began to writhe.
“That’s enough!” Cowboy shouted. We turned to him. Before any of us could stop him, he stepped back into the field.
“Tank!” Andi called.
“Ain’t nobody deserves that,” he said, and kept walking forward.
“Cowboy!”
He kept right on going. You could tell he was hurting. His back was to us, but you could tell something real bad was running through his head. He stumbled, almost lost his balance.
“Tank!”
But he kept pushing forward. The air over the yard crackled like electricity. For the briefest second it filled with sparks.
Cowboy staggered, but kept right on walking.
It happened again, crackling louder and longer. Sparks, like glitter, filled the air.
I turned to Andi, but she didn’t have a clue.
“He’s overloading it!” the professor yelled.
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