I tore off my mask. I could use the O energy to run faster.
And I felt it, the surge, and I ran. I ran for it with everything I had.
ALEX
69 MILES
Captain MCKinley pushed up on the control stick and the helicopter rose in the air. The air from the bombs rocked and buffeted the helicopter. He had to struggle with all his might to get it to lift.
But he did.
And we started off the roof against a steady BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
DEAN
DAY 15
I vaulted up the ladder, four rungs at a time.
I pulled myself onto the roof. Shouted, “Alex!”
I yelled with all my might, “Alex!”
ALEX
69 MILES
In a bomb blast I saw a figure on the edge of the roof. He was running at us.
“Look!” I shouted. “It’s my brother. It’s Dean!”
He was on the roof!
“What?” Captain McKinley shouted.
I grabbed his shoulder and pointed.
“That is my brother, Dean!”
“Copy. Setting down. Brace yourself!” Captain McKinley shouted, wrestling the control stick. He struggled to set the helicopter back down.
Dean came running to the chopper and I pushed the door open and fell out to the roof and then we were hugging!
“Dean! Dean! I found you.”
Then my brother put his head back and roared.
DEAN
DAY 15
I fought against the compounds. I tried to stay sane.
Niko tackled me, holding me down, and Alex took off his air mask and put it over me.
By then, Astrid and the kids and Jake were climbing onto the roof.
ALEX
69 MILES
“Get in now!” Captain MCKinley shouted.
No time for hellos.
He literally threw his kids in the back of the chopper.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, the bombs were getting closer.
DEAN
DAY 15
Astrid fumbled to strap the kids in.
Niko shoved me into a seat and strapped me down.
I was trying to breathe. Trying to become human again.
“Good to see you, Dean,” Niko said. His voice came digitally right into my Army air mask, right in my ear.
Alex made his way to me, crawling over the others.
“We got you,” my brother said. “We got you!”
ALEX
69 MILES
“Hold on!” Captain MCKinley shouted. He lifted the helicopter back into the air.
I clicked into the seat next to Dean as
BOOM! Searing winds hit us.
Captain McKinley wrestled the control stick, battling the winds for command of the helicopter.
BOOM! Another explosion to the right of us. The hot winds almost dashed us back down but he pulled up, up, up.
And then we were racing into the dark air. We were ahead of the bombs then and we got away from there, up into the black sky that was splintering now, shot through with sunlight and fire. And I held my brother’s hand.
EPILOGUE
DEAN
DAY 31
We deserve a happy ending. All of us do. And I think we’re going to get it. But I’m not exactly sure yet.
* * *
We’re lucky to be here in Quilchena. Yes, we sleep in rows on cots in giant tents. Yes, armed guards patrol the perimeter. And yes, we have next to no contact with the outside world. But some of the American containment camps are much worse.
We hear stories of refugees being locked in prisons and denied all rights. There are some crazy rumors floating around about medical experiments being performed on O types. The Canadians at least treat us like human beings. They’re polite and everything.
I feel bad for the poor Canadians. They had no idea what they were in for when they allowed refugees to be air-lifted here.
It turns out that the survivors of the Four Corners disaster, as they’re calling it on the news, are violent and unstable.
The first refugees they airlifted to Calgary and Vancouver started leaving the temporary housing and tearing through towns and cities—looting and rioting.
Now they have us all collected in containment camps and they’re negotiating with the American government to see what will happen to us. The Canadians should never have taken us in. Alex has a theory that they felt partially responsible for the chemical weapons program at NORAD because it’s a joint venture between the U.S. and Canada.
It’s one p.m., and normally at this time, all the refugees gather in the dining hall. After lunch, they let us watch TV for one hour. Any more than an hour, they’ve found that the refugees get too hostile and shaken up.
There are a few mini-tabs being passed around, but there’s less interest in them than you might think.
Alex got ahold of one and discovered that all the data’s gone. All our e-mails. Our photos. Texts. Contacts. Accounts. It’s all gone and we have no way to find our parents, because their accounts are gone, too.
It’s creepy being online—a few stupid sites are up, but mostly there are missing pages and endless redirects. It’s like the network has been struck with amnesia.
Alex has set up new accounts for us. If our parents are out there, they will find us. I have to believe that.
In the meantime, at two p.m., the guards post the most recent refugee listings and we all pour over the lists, searching for the names of the people we’ve lost.
They’re listed by zip code and then alphabetically.
I keep praying to see our parents: 80132 Grieder, James. Or 80132 Grieder, Leslie. But so far nothing.
No sign of Heyman, Lori, either. Or any of Astrid’s younger siblings.
Ulysses, incredibly, found his whole family. And they have agreed to legally adopt Max if his parents don’t show up. Max lives with them now and he loves it. Somehow, I feel certain that the Dominguez family will give him a more traditional and morally sound upbringing than Max’s biological parents.
They are in Tent G, which is all families with young children.
Mrs. McKinley lives there with the twins. The scene when Captain McKinley brought Caroline and Henry to their mom was joyous and heartbreaking and made everything—everything—worth it.
(Astrid reminds me of it every time I wake up shouting in the night. I still see Payton’s face after I shot him. And the pallet loader guy I cut to pieces.)
Captain McKinley had to return to duty. Mrs. McKinley took Chloe and Luna in out of the goodness of her heart. If we had to have Chloe with us in Tent J, I think I’d go nuts.
Mrs. McKinley and the kids sometimes take Luna on rounds through the infirmary. Luna has taken to the role of therapy dog like a pro. When people hold our face-licking, tail-wagging Luna and hear the story of how she got rescued, all the way from Monument, it seems to give them hope. Luna has sort of become the Quilchena mascot and no one is more proud of that than Chloe, who grooms Luna incessantly and walks her about eight times a day.
Captain McKinley told us he saw Mrs. Wooly at the Fort Lewis-McChord Air Force Base. Apparently when she saw him, she was so happy that he was alive and that we’d made it out safely that she first kissed him on the mouth and then insisted on buying him and everyone else in the canteen drinks all night long. She drank them all under the table, of course.
I can’t believe Mrs. Wooly made it. Hearing about the moment when Ulysses spotted her at DIA is one of my favorite parts of the story. Captain McKinley says she’s trying to get leave to come and visit us.
Alex, Astrid, Sahalia, Niko, and I live in Tent J. Tent J is basically for orphans age 8–17, but since I get to be with Alex and Astrid and Niko, I don’t feel like an orphan at all.
* * *
Today we’re not at the listings. Today we’re having a party.
Mrs. McKinley has made a picnic and requested permission for us all to go out on the community outdoor area on Hole 3. Everyone else is at th
e listings, so we have the whole green to ourselves.
It’s the twins’ birthday and they’re turning six.
It’s a beautiful day. There’s a pond on this hole—a water feature, I guess they call it. And behind it are trees blazing in gold and orange and chestnut brown. This is a very nice golf club here, that they’ve turned into a prison for us.
Mrs. McKinley has laid out a bedsheet as a picnic blanket and has clearly been saving her food and bartering so there can be treats for the kids. There’s a bag of potato chips (everyone is careful to only take one or two) AND a bag of Cheez Doodles AND somehow, she’s wrangled a package of chocolate-covered doughnuts. Pretty impressive.
Caroline and Henry are playing with their present—a soccer ball. Ulysses and Chloe join and they start playing a little game with two of Ulysses’s older brothers serving as goalies. Luna is running and barking and generally getting in the way.
The grown-ups sit on the parched grass and watch the game.
This feels almost like real life again.
Max is watching from a very comfortable position on the generous lap of Mrs. Dominguez. I can tell he’d like to join in, but his feet still aren’t a hundred percent yet. Mrs. Dominguez takes him to the clinic and waits on the long line with him every day so he can be seen. She’s been doing that with him for the two weeks since we got here.
Mrs. Dominguez is combing Max’s hair with her fingers and that cowlick of his just springs up every time. I bet she never thought she’d be the mother of a towhead.
“Where’d they get the ball, do you think?” Astrid says as she comes to stand beside me.
She puts her arm around my waist and I draw her into me.
Think I’ve gotten used to having her as my girlfriend?
I haven’t.
She glows in the sun. I don’t know whether it’s the pregnancy or if it’s just that I love her so stupidly much, but every time she comes near me, I basically have to shade my eyes, she’s so bright and beautiful.
But I’m not so shy around her anymore, which is good, and I don’t try to pretend to be anything I’m not.
I figure she knows who I am by now.
“The Captain must have smuggled it in,” I say, nodding toward the ball. “No way Mrs. McKinley could have bartered for it in here.”
Alex and Sahalia are sitting on the grass. They’re too far away for me to hear what they’re talking about, but Alex says something that makes Sahalia roll her eyes and punch him in the shoulder. Then they both laugh.
It’s weird. I don’t know what happened between them on the road. It’s not like they’re a couple, but they hang out almost every day. Sahalia watches Alex fix electronics that people bring to him and Alex hangs out while Sahalia roots through the charity bins for clothes. Her birthday’s coming up, too, and Alex has been bartering to get her a pair of black biker boots she’s coveting.
Right now Sahalia’s wearing white painter’s coveralls rolled up to the knee, with the sleeves cut off and a red bandanna tied around her waist.
She’s got flair, all right.
I feel Astrid go tense.
It’s Jake. Jake’s coming up the faded green hill with his dad.
He and his dad found each other the first day we arrived.
I’m jealous of him (because of his dad).
But that’s okay, because he’s jealous of me, too (because of Astrid).
We give each other a wide berth.
“Hey, y’all,” Jake calls out.
“Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!” the kids screech and yell. They abandon their game and run to him, tackling him. They all roll down the hill together in a big dog pile.
(You’d think Max would be feeling left out, but no, he just buries himself deeper into Mrs. Dominguez’s willing arms and lets himself be mothered and fussed over.)
“Now, where’d I put that present?” Jake says to the kids. He tickles Henry and then Caroline. “Is it under your neck? Maybe it’s here in your armpit!” The kids are all laughing.
Jake pulls out a package of Gummi bears and the kids go nuts. Gummi bears were no big deal back at the Greenway, where we had dozens of bags of them, but now that they’re scarce, the kids covet them.
“He’s doing better,” Astrid says.
“Yup,” I say.
I don’t tell her what Alex told me—Jake is on antidepressants and seeing a counselor.
Jake can tell her himself. They talk sometimes. She tries to explain why she chose me over him. He probably tries to persuade her to get back together with him.
But that’s not going to happen. Our plan is that the baby will call Jake “Daddy” and will call me “Dean” and that’s fine with me. I don’t need the title. I want the position.
“Hey! Hey, everyone,” Mrs. McKinley sings. “Is everyone here?”
“Where’s Niko?” Astrid asks me.
“Probably at the listings,” I say.
Niko’s the one who’s doing the worst out of all of us. He wanders around, not really engaging with anyone. He’s not been able to find any word of anyone from his family.
And he’s still mourning Josie.
He sketches sometimes, but he won’t show anyone the drawings.
“Gather around, please,” Mrs. McKinley calls to us.
Mrs. McKinley has put two birthday candles in the center of two of the tiny doughnuts. They share one thin paper plate.
Before she lights them, Mrs. McKinley pushes her long auburn hair out of her eyes. She looks just like the twins—wall-to-wall freckles, light blue-green eyes. She especially looks like them when she smiles and her eyes crinkle up in the corners.
“I just want to say thank you, for taking care of my babies. I will never stop being grateful to you kids. I owe you … I owe you everything,” and she stops because she’s so choked up.
I don’t know how we did it, actually. I don’t know how we managed to save them.
Alex and I take long walks during the outdoor period for Tent J. We do laps and we recount what happened to us in each other’s absence. There’s no older/younger between us anymore—we’re equals now.
We talk about the future.
We can’t believe we even have one.
Looking around our little circle, I wish that Niko was with us and I worry about him. I wish Brayden had made it. I will always regret the way that he died. And poor lost Josie—her last hours must have been horrible beyond what any of us could imagine.
I look at Mrs. McKinley and her grinning twins.
I look at Sahalia, who is still, somehow, cooler than the rest of us, and Chloe, who is still, somehow, a brat.
And at the brothers, Ulysses and Max, standing with the rest of the Dominguez family. I wish Batiste could be here to stand with them, for he’s also our family, but he’s in Calgary, we think. I bet Batiste thinks about us all the time.
I look at Jake and his dad, who are going to be okay in the end, I think.
And at my brother, Alex, who I will never, ever leave again.
And the beautiful Astrid, who I would kill for, and already have.
The gratitude I feel swells up and tears come into my eyes. But that’s okay, because as Henry and Caroline blow out their candles, everyone else is crying, too.
* * *
A figure is approaching over the hills and grass. It’s Niko and he’s running.
“Guys, guys!” he shouts, breathless. “Look!”
He holds up the front section of a printed newspaper. Printed papers have made a comeback with the interruption of the Network. We all pull in close to see.
A headline reads: CLOUDS OF WARFARE COMPOUNDS RUMORED ADRIFT
Reading that gives me a pit of cold dread in my stomach.
But that’s not what Niko’s so excited about.
He points to another, smaller headline: RIOTS AT UMO!
The slugline reads, Refugees rise in rebellion at the University of Missouri containment camp
Niko puts his finger on a full-color pictu
re.
It’s an old guy being protected from a guard wielding a nightstick.
“It’s Mr. Scietto!” Alex yells.
And next to him, shielding Mario Scietto from the blow, is a girl with her hair up in two giraffe bumps.
It’s Josie.
The girl in the picture is Josie!
“I’m going for her,” Niko says, eyes flashing between me and Jake and Alex.
“Who’s coming?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my editor and publisher, Jean Feiwel, for her guidance and encouragement. Holly West, thank you for knowing this manuscript backward and forward and for all your wonderful ideas. I am so glad I have the two of you on my side. I must also thank Dave Barrett, the Executive Managing Editor, for his patience, and the fantastic copyeditor, Anne Heausler, for her work on this novel.
Thanks to my agent, Susanna Einstein, for her support and excellent advice. I also feel lucky to have Stephen Moore, Kim Stenton, and Sandy Hodgman on my team.
Rich Deas, you have a great vision for the art of this series. Thank you. And thanks to KB, April, and Katie, for designing the jackets and interior elements of the books. Karen Frangipane and Ksenia Winnicki, thank you for helping to keep Monument 14 at play in the digital realm.
The series owes much of its success to the efforts of Angus Killick, Elizabeth Fithian, Allison Verost, Kate Lied, Kathryn Little, and the rest of the excellent Macmillan Children’s Group marketing and publicity departments. I have to say that touring with Allison, Kate, Elizabeth Mason, and Courtney Griffin was so outrageously fun, it’s hard to believe it was legal. Was it all legal? I’m not entirely sure. That stuff in Pensacola was pretty dodgy.
I’d like to thank composer Paul Libman for writing music for the songs “Get Up” and “Leave Me Be,” both of which you can hear at emmylaybourne.com. Thanks to Ava Anderson for rocking the vocals and to Uri Djemal at MadPan studios for recording and engineering these songs so beautifully.
Sky on Fire Page 18
