Doc Harrison and the Masks of Galleon

by Peter Telep

  A few open their mouths, and fangs unfold past their jaws. Others blast streams of water through four nostrils, sounding like outboard motors.

  Meanwhile, armored tails whip out above them, drawing spirals six feet in the air.

  These things…

  These “driffs”…

  These sea turtles on steroids are about two feet across and smell really weird, like breathing into an empty bag of Cheetos.

  Joshua closes his eyes and raises his palms toward them—

  And just like that, as if reacting to Joshua’s movements, two more clouds appear on either side of the first, only these glow the bright green of personas as they bend and weave, perfectly mimicking the main group.

  Joshua bows his head and says, “Thank you, my friends.”

  It seems that he’s reached out and connected to them. He brought them here. He made some kind of deal. But what?

  The two clouds of personas blast toward us and then form a single group that funnels toward the pier.

  They slow as they get closer, pairing up to swim side-by-side. And then… a miracle.

  “Are you serious?” I ask, my mouth falling open.

  The others arrive and gather around me.

  We gaze in wonder as thousands of personas jam their shells together. The personas clack like falling dominoes, the sound rippling off into the distance.

  Beneath these personas, the driffs themselves dart back and forth in a frenzy, as though admiring the bridge they’ve just constructed—a shimmering bridge about ten feet wide and rushing off into forever.

  “They can hold our weight and even the grren,” Joshua says. “But we’ll spread out to make it easier for them.”

  “Why can’t we just ride on their backs and let them carry us to Brandalynn?” I ask.

  “Well to start, they’re just too small and too slow for us,” he answers. “And trust me when I say you don’t want your legs dangling in that water. This is the safest and fastest way to Brandalynn. We’ll be okay.”

  “Uh, I’m not riding on that,” Keane says. “I like roads that aren’t alive.”

  I lift my chin at the bridge. “That’s the only way home.”

  He sighs. “All right. Starbucks white chocolate mocha? Here I come.”

  Joshua faces the group and raises his hands. “The driffs are concerned. We have to promise that no matter what happens, we’ll control our fear. Remember, our fear attracts their enemies, so we must be careful. If in doubt, use your poets. You’re stronger than you know.”

  Keane’s face turns pale, and he’s beginning to look sick.

  Joshua clutches his shoulders. “All is well. This driffs assure me this will work… but we must remain calm.”

  Keane takes a huge breath and finally nods.

  Joshua releases his him and turns back for his bike. “I’ll lead us out. Docherty, you and your friends stay close. The rest of you? Keep an eye out behind us, all right?”

  The others nod, shake fists, and report that they’re ready.

  “Looks pretty flat,” Steffanie says, gliding up beside me and flicking her gaze toward the bridge.

  “Yeah, but check it out,” Keane says. “It’s bobbing up and down. Real slow. But you can see it. There’s only so much they can do to keep it stable.”

  “We’re not scared,” I say. “We can’t be.”

  He smiles sarcastically. “Why should I be worried? I’m an excellent swimmer.”

  “Are you serious?” Meeka asks, “You’re the worst—

  I glare at her: don’t remind him!

  “I meant to say you’re the best rider I know,” she finishes.

  “Hell yeah, I am,” Keane answers.

  I nod, and we bump fists.

  Just then, Joshua waves and points forward.

  We glide down the edge of the pier, into water about a foot deep, and then thump up and onto the bridge of personas, which feels like riding across cobblestones.

  I steal a look over my shoulder at the long line of cyclists, about seventeen or eighteen in all, spaced about three bike lengths apart. A few tiny personas float near their handlebars as people use their poets to check their feelings.

  Beyond them, Grandpa and his pack trot along, one after the other, grunting as they occasionally slide across a shell. Joshua has warned them, too, to control their emotions, and he says they’re a lot better at it than we are.

  I’m on Meeka’s wheel, with Keane behind me, and then Steffanie, Hedera, and Rattle.

  One of Joshua’s people volunteered to ride Blink’s tandem bike since he can’t jump and use his eyes. Blink’s in the back, with a girl slightly older than him at the handlebars.

  Our bridge of gleaming shells drifts slightly to the right, and our tires feel mushy, like they’re losing air, but that’s just the driffs adjusting to the current.

  More clouds begin to move in, and off to the east, rain already draws black slash marks across the sky.

  I’m starting to calm down, and that’s awesome. It’s easy to lose yourself in the rhythm of pedaling and the drone of tires tapping out random beats. Still, just as I fade off, Meeka cuts her wheel and pushes a little harder as the bridge rises and settles back down. I come out of the saddle for a short kick, catch up, and then return to the line.

  If you keep your head low and focus on the rider in front of you, you’re good. It’s like riding on any other road.

  But if you look around, then it gets weird.

  We’re riding bikes across a gigantic sea—

  And pretty much anything could happen.

  For example, the driffs could decide they don’t like us anymore, and suddenly we’re going swimming—which is bad news, because the port’s way behind us now.

  Despite being a decent swimmer, I’d never make it. Keane, of course, wouldn’t have a prayer.

  But I can’t think about that. It’s all happy thoughts now. And there’s so much to be happy about:

  My father has until sundown to turn himself into a Mask of Galleon and become a monster who abducts people.

  Otherwise he’s dead.

  My stepmother, who’s already dying of cancer, has been captured. She came here, and all I wanted was for her to see something amazing and gorgeous.

  But now she could die in a prison.

  And who knows what happened to Julie. Apparently, she’s been blocking her father and trying to warn us. But I keep hearing Meeka’s voice in my head asking, why should we trust her? Maybe she’s just baiting us into a trap.

  And then there’s Tommy—

  Poor Tommy, who never deserved any of this. He would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat to save us. Honor, courage, and commitment. No joke.

  And Solomon took him.

  Happy thoughts?

  I don’t think so. But I’m not scared, either. I’m so angry that I… I don’t know what.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  We pedal for another two hours through stretches of mist that thicken into a dense fog. The floating bridge of personas glows even brighter while behind us, the path dims and eventually fades out. The personas back there jump to the front, rebuilding the bridge so it continues, unbroken—

  Until now.

  It’s getting darker ahead, the water like a sloppily drawn chessboard of shadows.

  The bridge has disappeared.

  “We’re okay,” Keane mutters. “We’re okay.” I glance back. He’s touched his poet, and the miniature persona floating over his handlebars looks terrified.

  “Dude, you need to control that,” I warn him.

  “I’m trying!”

  Joshua raises his fist.

  The caravan comes to a halt.

  Swinging his bike around, Joshua frowns.

  The breeze picks up. The fog begins to clear.

  And there, just behind him, the sky becomes visible.

  Wait, no. It’s all metal. The fog dissipates a little more.

  And now we see it:

  An enormous wall rising over on
e hundred feet above the sea and casting us in its dim shadow. I can’t tell how thick it is, maybe as fat as a skyscraper.

  Patches have been bolted all over its surfaces, with more extensive repairs rising like darker-colored pickets in a fence. Near the waterline, black stains and blue furry stuff grow up the sides, creeping across streaks of rust and more patches.

  Several panels off to our left have been smashed outward from the other side. While the metal buckled, it still held. Something wanted out of there.

  Something huge.

  Directly in front of us lies the gate itself: a pair of scarred and battered doors that I assume slide apart, allowing great ships to pass through. They remind me of the entrance to some ancient steampunk castle, with dented metal hoses and conduits and duct work running up their sides.

  Off to our right lies a much smaller gate, and beside it, an even smaller one that I’m guessing we’ll use.

  “Five hundred years ago they started building this wall,” Joshua explains. “Because some who live here won’t listen to reason.”

  “How far is it to Brandalynn,” I ask.

  “Several more hours past the gate.”

  “We’re heading south, right?” Meeka asks Joshua.

  “Correct.”

  “So Brandalynn can’t be on Larkspur. That much I know, because it’s a lot farther away than that.”

  “You’re right.”

  “But there’s nothing else out there.”

  Joshua smiles knowingly. “Of course there isn’t.” He turns to me. “I’d like a word with you and your friends, the ones protected by Wrrambien. Off your bikes, and come close.”

  We huddle around Joshua like football players, and for a few seconds, his gaze drifts from me to Keane to Meeka to Steffanie, and finally… to Blink. “Your ability to jump might return before we reach Brandalynn, and that means you’ll be vulnerable. Once he senses that your wreath is active, he’ll strike. We’ll try to block him, but it’s already putting a huge strain on us… So you need to be ready.”

  “Ready how?” Keane asks, looking toward Steffanie. “Do we sing that song?”

  Joshua lifts his brows. “No, no, that’s just an old nursery rhyme that’s been around for generations. You don’t sing that song. You act upon it.”

  “So what do we do?” I ask.

  “If you know you can jump, go to the Hood and connect with at least two more.”

  “What if no one’s there?” Meeka asks. “What if the masks already took everyone?”

  “They haven’t,” Joshua says.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Because I’ve been to the Hood. And because the masks always attack in small, concentrated waves. The effort drains them the same way jumping into our personas drains our wreaths. After each attack, they need to recover. As far as we know, they’ve only attacked Centennial, not the rest of the planet.”

  “All right, so we go to the Hood and connect with at least two more,” I repeat.

  “Your connection protects you from the masks and from Solomon. He can’t take you if you’re connected with each other. It requires too much energy.”

  “No worries,” Keane says. “I’m all over that.”

  “Good,” Joshua says. “And the younger members of my caravan will wait for you there in the Hood.” Joshua looks to me and makes a face. “Is there a problem, Docherty?”

  Damn, I was hoping he wouldn’t notice. “No, I’m good.”

  “Oh, wait a second,” Meeka begins. “He’s not much of a multitasker. I mean he can’t ride his bike and jump at the same time.”

  “Why not?” Joshua asks.

  I shrug. “I’ve only done it once.”

  “And it worked?”

  “Yeah, but I was pretty motivated.”

  Motivated as in Julie was dying and I needed to save her. I controlled my body and my persona at the same time, doing the split-screen TV thing in my mind.

  But multitasking is extremely difficult, at least for me, and I’m not sure I can do it again.

  Joshua hardens his gaze on me. “You’ll be fine.”

  I shrug and look to the others.

  They don’t believe Joshua.

  And neither do I.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Out near the gate, Joshua removes a waterproof panel and types in a code given to him by my father, whose government clearance allowed him access to the gates. Thankfully, the code still works.

  After twin booms and a series of vibrations that shake the bridge, the doors screech apart like they haven’t been opened in years. After a few seconds, they clang to a stop, leaving a cloud of mold and metal flakes in their wake.

  A dark tunnel about thirty feet long lies in front of us, and the water flows through it like a river.

  With a nod from Joshua, the driff personas jump forward to rebuild the bridge. As they do, shadows like shapes in geometry class appear on the walls to connect, break apart, and reconnect in the pale green light. Joshua says the gate system has a solar-powered backup unit for critical systems, but we still need the glowing driffs to find our way through the darkness.

  “As soon as we get out, you pedal as fast as you can!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the tunnel.

  “You okay, Doc?” Keane asks from behind me.

  “Yeah,” I lie, too scared to check my poet.

  Yes, I’m supposed to use the flower to keep my fear in check, but now I’m afraid of the results. Awesome.

  “Don’t worry if something happens,” Meeka calls back. “I got you.”

  “No way,” I tell her. “I’m not letting you save me again.”

  We brace ourselves as we exit the tunnel—

  And ride smack into another wall of fog.

  “What was that?” Keane asks.

  “Don’t mess with me,” I warn him.

  “I’m not. I heard something in the water.”

  I try to pick out sounds above the drone of our bike tires, but it’s impossible, so I don’t know how he did it. Only Blink could hear something now. I’d like to ask him, but he’s too far down the line.

  “All right, let’s pick it up,” Joshua orders, leaning forward, into his bars and dropping his heels.

  We surge ahead, and within seconds my heart’s slamming into my ribs. I should’ve done more exercise back on Earth because now I’m stiff and fighting for breath and sweating like a triathlete.

  The first barrage of thunder strikes a few seconds later, rumbling across the bridge and straight through my chest.

  Joshua slows a bit and gazes across the drifting waves of fog, as though troubled by this.

  Another round of thunderclaps hits even closer. The personas beneath us jolt and toss us around before settling down.

  The sky grows quiet for a few seconds, and there’s only the sound of our wheels—

  But then a gust of wind strikes out of nowhere, knocking me sideways toward the edge of the bridge. My front wheel comes within inches of touching the water before I jerk the handlebars and steer forward.

  Keane mutters something about the weather, and then he starts singing—and no it’s not the nursery rhyme Steffanie recited. I’m surprised he remembers the song. It was playing on the car radio one day and must’ve made a big impression on him. I immediately join in: “I’m on the highway to hell… on the highway to hell…”

  We bob our heads and keep singing to distract ourselves… and I bet if I checked my poet right now, it’d be smiling—even though the wind’s howling and sea water sprays in our eyes. We wrestle with our handlebars to keep straight lines, but we keep on rocking.

  “Hey, Doc?” Keane hollers.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to know something. It’s just… no matter what happens to us—

  “It’s okay, Keane. You don’t have to say anything.”

  “No, really, I do. I should be lying on the couch and eating nachos and playing games.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s all my fault...
”

  “Technically Julie dumped me here, but now I’m kind of glad she did. I guess what I want to say is you’re a good guy, Doc. I hope I can help. But when this is over—”

  “I know, I know, right back to Earth.”

  The fog flickers as though it’s electrified. And then… another clash of thunder makes everyone scream and duck.

  Joshua rides faster, and even Meeka’s struggling to hold his wheel.

  I fight to catch up with her, but a gap forms between us, and it’s widening by the second.

  I’m about to launch up, out of the saddle, when we blast out of the fog—

  And glimpse the entire sea in one sweeping view.

  I’d say it’s breathtaking, but I’ve already lost my breath from pedaling.

  A pink blanket of water stretches off in all directions, with creases and wrinkles painted in deep purples. The sky’s a gray sheet lowering toward the horizon, with pale blue lightning sewing across the edges. A Storm coming.

  And then, rolling in about a hundred feet away…

  Is the first wave.

  Six feet tall. Not huge, but not exactly small, either.

  It’s being trailed by another. And another.

  And dozens more.

  “Really?” Meeka asks. “Is he serious?”

  “Ride them out!” Joshua cries.

  Meeka touches her poet, and a persona glistens above her handlebars. It’s too small for me to read its expression.

  I fire up mine. My face looks peeled back in terror, like I’m riding the Incredible Hulk coaster at Islands of Adventure, the one that made me throw up.

  Okay, I got this. I just need to focus on the bridge and all those waves. They’re not so bad. Tommy would call them “whoop-de-dos” or moguls, basically a series of hills you climb on a mountain or motocross bike.

  But who am I kidding? They’re not really hills, and we’re on a floating bridge of sea creatures that could fall apart at any second.

  It’s true. The driffs can only jump in front of us, lock together, and keep creating the bridge. They’re forced to ride the waves themselves.

  I tuck in my elbows and concentrate on the shells just in front of my wheel.

  The first wave slips beneath us, and the bridge rises fast, but then three… two… one… we’re down the other side and gliding toward the next wave.