Hostage Run

by Andrew Klavan

  She drew a deep breath and lifted her head. She could see them now, dark masked figures moving out of the trees, their machine guns at the ready, pointed at her. Guns on every side.

  She bowed her head. She closed her eyes. She prayed.

  Quieted in her heart, she looked up. The killers were so close to her now, she could see their eyes, even in the dark. What dead things they were, those eyes. How full of darkness.

  When the first shot was fired, it was incomprehensible to her. She had never seen anything like it before. What blue streak of light flashes through the air like that? What makes such a weird whisking whoosh of a sound? What sort of weapon sets off such an explosion?

  She had no idea. All she knew was that the next instant there was utter chaos on every side of her. The masked killers were flying into the air like toys tossed off a blanket. The earth was erupting upward all around, clods of dirt exploding through the night. Another blue flash cut the dark, then another, each one making that same whoosh. Now the killers’ voices were shouting, screaming. The masked men were running in a panic, escaping back into the woods.

  Stunned, Molly turned, looked up—and saw the fighter craft hovering above the open roof of the barn. No mere drone, a full-fledged aircraft, and such an aircraft as she had never seen, as no one had ever seen in real life. It looked like something out of a science-fiction movie, an impossible multiwinged beast of a warship, firing its deadly blue rays as if from another world into this one.

  Now, as Molly stared openmouthed, the fighter edged forward over the barn. The air stirred all around her, making her hair blow wildly around her face. The fighter craft slowly lowered out of the darkness and settled gently onto the earth beside her.

  The cockpit sprang open and Molly’s cry of surprise and delight caught in her throat.

  Oh boy! she thought. Oh, boy oh boy!

  That face. How well she remembered the look on that face. That grin and those bright, fiery, triumphant eyes. It was the look of a football star after a victory. It was the look of a hometown hero in his moment of glory. It was the look of Number 12, the quarterback of her high school team. His aspect seemed strange, not wholly real, a sort of electronic presence, overbright and staticky on the surface of the night. But that didn’t matter. It was him, all the same. It was Number 12, all right, his old self. Cocky, hilarious, and so bright with spirit and life you had to love him.

  She had to love him, anyway.

  “Climb aboard, sweetheart,” Rick told her, still grinning. “I’m taking you out of here.”

  Molly felt Victor One stirring in her lap. Roused from unconsciousness by the blasts from the fighter, he managed to open his eyes a little. He managed to whisper up at her: “What . . .? What . . .?”

  Molly was still crying, but she was laughing now, too. “It’s Rick,” she said to him. “It’s Rick come to rescue us. Like a knight in shining armor.”

  Victor One smiled up at her weakly. “Love those,” he said.

  And he closed his eyes again.

  40. FINAL FANTASY

  RICK FLEW HIS fighter craft low over the Realm. His eyes scanned the surface, searching for a portal. He passed above the crash site of the great WarCraft. There was wreckage everywhere: flaming black metal debris, splintered blue-green trees, seared earth, fuming craters. A thick pall of smoke.

  Just as he flew to the edge of the central crater—the place where the main body of the WarCraft had landed—Rick spotted the floating purple diamond he was looking for: the way back to RL. He brought the fighter craft around in a broad half circle and slowly headed in for a landing.

  He had wanted to stay with Molly and Victor One, but he couldn’t. He had transported them out of the forest in his fighter craft, but then he had to leave them by the side of the road, waiting for the police cars that were already rushing to the scene. He wished he could have gone home with them, but it wasn’t possible. The timer on his hand was ticking down to zero, and his mind was beginning to dissolve, reality coming apart into pixels and a nauseating blur.

  Because even though he had broken through the Breach, he was still embedded in the Realm. He had flown his fighter into Real Life, but he was not real himself, not yet. The complex process his father had invented that would bring him out through the portal would also restore him to his real body where it lay in the glass coffin in the MindWar complex. Until he went through that process, he was not fully a part of RL. He had to return, alone, and find his way out.

  Now the fighter touched down. Rick stepped out of the cockpit. The Realm seemed dead to him at first. Nothing moving but the drifting smoke, the flickering fires, the rising sparks. No sound but the hiss of dying machinery and the crackle of flame.

  He glanced at his palm. His final minute was ticking away. The portal was only a few steps off. He would make it easily.

  Still, he stood there another moment. He looked over the scene of the disaster anxiously.

  He thought: Mariel.

  He knew she wasn’t dead. He could still feel her. He could feel her energy in the sword at his side. More than that, he could feel her presence inside him. If she were dead, he would know it. She was part of him somehow. He knew she was still alive.

  He hated to leave without seeing her, without telling her again that he would find her body in RL, that he would bring her out. So he hesitated, and after a moment, a noise reached him, a quiet sound that was almost drowned out by the snickering flames and the sizzling electronics all around him.

  It was the sound of water. A steady drip of it. Rick turned, searching for the source. There it was: in the midst of the gray smoke and the black burned-out woods, a little trail of silver was leaking from a broken vessel to form a puddle on the wounded ground.

  A small hope rising in him, Rick moved toward the gleam of silver. He peered into its surface.

  Sure enough, she traveled by water—and there she was.

  He saw her face floating just beneath the surface of the silver liquid. Already, he saw, age and exhaustion were creeping back into her features. Already, the energy that had revived her was leaking away. If he couldn’t come back here soon, she would sink back into that haggard decrepitude in which he’d first found her. She would be lost forever.

  He reached his hand down toward her. He opened his mouth to speak. He wanted to promise her he would return, swear that he would save her. But before he could say anything, she smiled at him very gently. She spoke very softly.

  She said, “Don’t be afraid.”

  And she faded away.

  Rick moved to the portal . . .

  LEVEL FIVE:

  AFTERMATH

  THIS TIME, THERE were no alarms. There was no one chasing him. The flash drive his father had given him had helped him hack into the compound’s security system. It had taught the system to regard Rick as a thing invisible, a non-threat. No one even knew he was there.

  Rick dragged himself through the air vents quickly. No Miss Ferris barking at him now. No security men chasing him. And Victor One was still in the hospital. There was no one to stop him. He smiled at the thought.

  He paused for a moment, catching his breath. He worked his phone out of his pocket and held it up in front of him. He checked the map his father had given him. He put the phone away and continued to drag himself through the vents.

  After another fifteen minutes or so, he found what he was looking for: he looked down and saw the room hidden at the heart of the MindWar compound. He could hear the refrigeration units humming. He could feel the chill seeping up to him through the grate.

  He brought out his Swiss army knife. He worked quickly to loosen the grate’s screws. He removed the grate and lowered himself down into the room.

  The room was small and windowless. The walls were painted black. A band of fluorescent lights ran around the base of them, bathing the place in a cool, dim, purple glare.

  And at the center of the room, there stood the two glass coffins.

  Rick approached them sl
owly, his heart beating hard. He had not been this nervous during the worst of it: out there in Realm space with the fighters escaping him and the tentacles closing in. Even then, he hadn’t been this tense.

  He reached the side of the first box and looked in. Through the swirling mist of refrigeration he saw the man lying inside. He was a small, broad-shouldered black man maybe a few years older than Rick. He had a round face under close-cropped hair. He was unconscious, but he was breathing steadily. One corner of Rick’s mouth turned up at the sight of him. He knew at once that this was Favian. It didn’t look like him exactly, but somehow Favian’s anxious, good-hearted, and resourceful personality was written on the man’s face.

  He lifted his eyes to the second coffin.

  Mariel.

  He stepped away from the sleeping Favian and moved to the other box. He tried to prepare his mind for what he would see: what she would look like here in RL. He drew a deep breath and then he looked down through the glass.

  Rick’s mouth opened in shock and his eyes went wide.

  He thought: But that’s impossible!

  READING GROUP GUIDE

  1. Molly’s father thinks religion is unscientific, while Rick’s father believes that science makes no sense without God. What do you think? Are the two compatible? If so, in what ways?

  2. Both Rick and Molly use prayer to gain strength during their trials and challenges. Have you turned to prayer when facing difficulties in your life? Do you think it has made a difference?

  3. At one point in the story Molly says that everyone has a conscience and can be reasoned with. Do you think this is true? What about the character Kurador? Do you think he has a conscience?

  4. Rick has a fiery temper that often lands him in trouble, but this quality has a positive side: it makes him immovable when he sets his mind to something, which served him well during his fight in the Realm. Can you think of any other character traits that may appear negative but can actually be qualities of strength?

  5. Both Rick and Molly develop feelings for their rescuers—Mariel and Victor One. When people undergo stressful or life-threatening experiences, do you think it is common for them to form a strong emotional attachment? Why? Can those feelings be real and lasting?

  6. At the end of Hostage Run Rick faces a tremendously difficult decision: save Molly or try to abort Kurador’s attack on Washington, DC? Do you think he made the right decision? Why or why not?

  7. Rick’s mother has faith in her husband even after he leaves the family under the suspicion that he is going to be with a former girlfriend. How do you develop that kind of trust and faith in another person? Do you have that kind of trust in anyone?

  8. Commander Mars is the very powerful man in charge of the MindWar Project. Do you think his power is corrupting him? How can a person possess a great amount of power without letting it corrupt them?

  9. Do you think there is a traitor within the ranks of the MindWar Project? If so, who is it and why do you believe this person could possibly be a traitor?

  10. What do you think about Lawrence Dial’s statement, “If you let your spirit get poisoned and dark . . . like all darkness it wants to turn you into itself”? Do you think evil is like that? What are some things you would want to avoid in order to keep darkness from invading your spirit? Do you think faith in God will protect your spirit from darkness?

  AN EXCERPT FROM

  THE LAST THING I REMEMBER

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Torture Room

  Suddenly I woke up strapped to a chair.

  “What . . .?” I whispered.

  Dazed, I looked around me. I was in a room with a concrete floor and cinder block walls. A single bare lightbulb hung glaring from a wire above me. Against the wall across from me was a set of white metal drawers. A tray was attached to it. There were instruments on the tray—awful instruments—blades and pincers and something that looked like a miniature version of those acetylene torches welders use. The instruments lay on a white cloth. The cloth was stained with blood.

  The sight of the blood jolted me into full consciousness. I tried to move my arms and legs. I couldn’t. That’s when I saw the straps. One on each wrist holding me to the chair’s metal arms. One on each ankle holding me to its metal legs. And there was blood here too. More blood. On the floor at my feet. On my white shirt, on my black slacks, on my arms. And there were bruises on my arms, dark purple bruises. And there were oozing burn marks on the backs of my hands.

  I hurt. I kind of just realized it all at once. My whole body ached and stung inside and out. My shirt was soaking wet. My skin felt clammy with sweat. My mouth tasted like dirt. I smelled like garbage.

  Have you ever had a nightmare, a really bad one, where you woke up and you could feel your heart hammering against the bed and you couldn’t catch your breath? Then, as you started to understand that the nightmare wasn’t real, that it was all a dream, your heart slowed down again and your breathing got deeper and you relaxed and thought, Whew, that sure seemed real.

  Well, this was exactly the opposite. I opened my eyes expecting to see my bedroom at home, my black-belt certificate, my trophies, my poster of The Lord of the Rings. Instead, I was in what should have been a nightmare, but wasn’t. It was real. And with every second, my heart beat harder. My breath came shorter. Panic flared up in me like a living flame.

  Where was I? Where was my room? Where were my parents? What was happening to me? How did I get here?

  Terrified, I racked my brain, trying to think, trying to figure it out, asking myself in the depths of my confusion and fear: what was the last thing I remembered . . .?

  The adventure continues in The Last Thing I Remember by Andrew Klavan.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PHOTO BY MEREDITH W. WALTER

  ANDREW KLAVAN is a bestselling, award-winning thriller novelist whose books have been made into major motion pictures. He broke into the YA scene with the bestselling Homelanders series, starting with The Last Thing I Remember. He is also a screenwriter and scripted the innovative movie-in-an-app Haunting Melissa.

  Website: www.andrewklavan.com

  Twitter: @andrewklavan

  Facebook: aklavan