Storm

by D. J. MacHale

  “Give me one of the charges, Tucker,” Tori demanded.

  I reached into the bag, pulled out the remaining two disks, and gave her one. I stuck the other into my back pocket and tossed the pack. However this was going to play out, we were going to be in it together.

  Kent had gone back to Olivia. He sat on the tarmac with her head in his lap.

  In spite of Olivia’s quirkiness and dangerous games, I really had liked her. We’d only known each other since the beginning of summer, but her sense of humor and constant quest for fun made it one of the best summers ever. Once the trouble began, in spite of her constant complaints, when put to the test she always rose to the occasion. She cared for Tori when she was shot. She ran down a Retro plane that was about to blow us away. She saved Kent from being killed in the casino. And in the end she gave up her life to save mine. When all was said and done, Olivia may have been the strongest one of us all.

  Not that it mattered anymore, but her sacrifice proved she wasn’t a Retro.

  “I’m sorry, Kent,” I said. “I cared about Olivia too.”

  As badly as I felt for Kent, I was angry with him for not letting me process my own feelings about Olivia’s death and her sacrifice. But it wasn’t the time to fight that fight.

  “Go,” he said while keeping his eyes on Olivia’s serene face. “Set the charges and run. But don’t come back here. If I see you again, I’ll kill you myself.”

  I knew Kent was speaking from a dark, raw place, but his words still rocked me.

  “Then Olivia will have died for nothing,” Tori scolded.

  Kent reacted as if stung.

  “She shouldn’t have been here at all,” he said with anger. “If he hadn’t bullied her into it, she’d still be alive. I won’t forget that.”

  “Neither will I,” I said. “Try to save your anger for the Retros.”

  “I will,” he declared. “And when they’re done, I’m coming for you.”

  “Take Olivia back to the dune buggies,” Tori said. “We’ll meet you there.”

  “Don’t,” Kent said and turned his back. “I mean it.”

  His anger aside, there was a good possibility that we would never see Kent Berringer again. I’m sorry to say that I didn’t like the guy. His family’s wealth made him act as though he was better than everyone else, especially those who worked for them, like my father and me. He never missed a chance to put somebody down or show off. We had been thrust together because of the quarantine and then the war. We never would have been friends otherwise. But still, we had been through more together than most close friends.

  All of that made it hard to believe that he was a Retro infiltrator. It was beginning to look as though Granger was dead wrong.

  I felt horrible that Olivia was dead, and I felt bad for Kent. I truly believed that he loved her. I understood his anger toward me. I wished we could have made peace before going our own ways.

  It had come to this: Quinn was dead. Jon was a dead traitor. Olivia died to save my life. And Kent had checked out.

  Tori and I were the last ones still fighting.

  Maybe that’s the way it was supposed to be.

  An explosion rocked the tarmac. It was far away but unmistakable. It was followed by another, and another.

  “The first team,” Tori said. “Their charges are going off.”

  The sound came from the far side of the base. It was the spot where the initial teams were told to infiltrate. The explosions kept coming, roughly a minute apart as the detonators wound down to zero. Small clouds of smoke drifted up in the distance. It was satisfying to know that each explosion meant another plane wouldn’t fly. Things were going exactly as planned—except with us.

  The giant plane in the hangar made destroying the small planes seem like a waste of time.

  Another pilot ran down the ramp of the massive plane and joined the first. The two hurried out of the hangar toward the sound of the explosions.

  This was our chance.

  We took off on a dead run for the hangar.

  Explosions continued to erupt in the distance as the destruction spread. The Chiefs’ plan was working perfectly. The noose had tightened around Area 51.

  A fire alarm sounded, and the roar of emergency trucks racing toward trouble could be heard in the distance. That meant there actually were some people manning the base. They must have been maintenance people because they sure weren’t concerned with security.

  Until then.

  As we ran for the brightly lit hangar, I scanned back and forth, looking for an armed soldier, or another pilot, or a firefighter, or anybody who might try to stop us.

  “We should put these on opposite sides of the underbelly,” Tori said, breathless.

  “No,” I countered. “I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m going on board.”

  Tori didn’t argue. We were past debating anything.

  We entered the hangar and stopped only a few feet from the beast. The giant plane loomed over us, looking far bigger than it did from outside. We stood together gazing up at the behemoth in wonder and fear.

  “It really is the angel of death,” Tori whispered.

  “So let’s kill it.”

  We headed for the ramp. Before stepping up, I looked back at Tori to suggest she take out her gun. I needn’t have bothered. She already had it out. She gave me a nod of confidence that I sorely needed. I took a deep, nervous breath and climbed up.

  The ramp brought us into the belly of the plane. It was a cavernous cargo bay, which meant the plane was used to transport large items . . . when it wasn’t wiping out civilizations. The skeleton of the plane was visible, along with the supports and joints. This was a practical vehicle. It wasn’t built for comfort. The entire structure looked like it was made of the same black composite material as the outside skin.

  Ahead, toward the nose of the plane, was a closed hatch that looked as if it would lead to the cockpit. Since the two pilots were gone, I didn’t worry about anybody being there. Just the same, I put my finger to my lips as a warning for Tori to be quiet.

  There were a couple of jump seats along the bulkhead, but this plane wasn’t designed for transporting people. On one side of the enormous bay was a large silver canister the size of a hot-water tank. I’d seen the miniature version before. It looked exactly like the devices we had seen in the wreckage of the fallen planes.

  It was the laser weapon.

  “This isn’t good,” I said.

  Tori shook her head with awe.

  My fear about what this plane could do was justified. This weapon was far bigger and probably way more powerful than the ones carried in the fighters. When the smaller planes fired on Tori’s father’s boat and killed Quinn, it took the combined light beams from three different planes to create a single, intense ray of energy that was strong enough to disintegrate the boat. And Quinn.

  I had to believe that the bad boy on this giant craft didn’t need any help.

  I pulled out the explosive disk and nudged Tori to do the same.

  “Put yours in the middle of that thing,” I said, pointing to the weapon. “Fix it low so it won’t be obvious.”

  “What about yours?” she asked.

  “I’ll find someplace where it will do the most damage.”

  Tori went to the weapon to lay her charge while I scanned the craft for something that looked like an engine. I skirted the hatch opening at the top of the ramp and went for the tail. These weren’t ordinary planes with traditional jet engines. Instead of the roar that comes from fuel-burning turbines, these planes emitted oddly pleasant musical notes. What kind of engine did that? What did it look like?

  The hold was as wide as it was long. This was no sleek, streamlined aircraft. It was shaped more like a sci-fi flying saucer than an aerodynamically efficient jet. But these things could move and maneuver way better than any conventional jet. They could take off and land vertically, hover in pla
ce, and launch in an instant, all while firing their weapons.

  I walked to the rear to see a silver-metallic cabinet that ran the width of the craft. It came up to my waist and was four feet deep with a flat surface. It was sealed. There was no way to see what was inside. I tentatively reached out, put my palm on the top—and quickly pulled it back.

  The surface was warm. My hand tingled. Whatever was inside was active. It may have been the engine, or the fuel supply, or the powerful weapon that worked during the day firing bursts of destructive energy for all I knew. Whatever it was, it was an integral part of the plane. It was as good a place as any to set my charge.

  I pulled the disk out of my pocket, peeled off the protective layer to reveal the glue side, and fixed it to the dead center of the cabinet near the deck.

  “What is that thing?” Tori asked as she joined me.

  “I’m hoping it’s the engine.”

  I programmed in the code and entered it, then reset my stopwatch to zero.

  In thirty minutes the plane would be crippled.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Tori said.

  She got no argument from me. We started for the front of the plane . . .

  . . . as one of the pilots charged up the ramp.

  We froze. If he turned around, he’d see us and we’d be done.

  The guy was in too big of a hurry to do anything but sprint to the hatch at the front of the plane. When he opened it, I caught a quick glimpse of a high-tech console with multiple computer screens. It had to be the cockpit. The pilot jumped inside and slammed the hatch behind him.

  “We gotta go, now,” I said and pulled Tori toward the ramp.

  A high-pitched whine filled the cargo area as the ramp began to lift back into the plane.

  “No!” Tori cried.

  We dove for the rapidly shrinking exit . . . too late. The ramp had become a hatch that sealed the plane with a solid, sucking sound.

  We were trapped on board.

  “Look around for a release lever,” I urged.

  We began a frantic search for an emergency release that would blow open the hatch.

  We came up empty.

  Tori whispered, “It’s okay. Relax. We’ve got half an hour. By then we’ll find a way to get—”

  The plane lurched.

  We were moving.

  I heard the musical notes. They were coming from the sealed locker at the rear of the plane. At least I was right about one thing: That was the engine. There was a slight tremor that told us we were under power. There was another bump and the unmistakable sway that meant we were airborne. A mechanical humming followed, which must have been the landing tripod retracting. The plane lurched again. We were moving, which made it difficult to stand upright. Without windows, we had no visual reference to tell us which way we were going or how fast.

  “The cockpit,” I said. “Get your gun.”

  She gave me a quick, nervous look but shook it off and pulled out the Glock. We managed to stumble our way toward the hatch. Tori stood with her feet planted and the gun stabilized with both hands while I went for the small handle. She gave me a quick “ready” nod. I reached for the handle . . .

  . . . and we were both thrown to the deck.

  The plane had accelerated so quickly that we had no time to brace ourselves. We were climbing, fast. Tori and I were thrown to the deck and had trouble sitting up under the g-force caused by the acceleration.

  “The seats!” I called out.

  We struggled against the pressure of acceleration to crawl to the jump seats that were lined up against the fuselage on the opposite side of the craft from the laser weapon. We had almost gotten there . . . when the floor disappeared.

  Tori squealed with terror, and I think I shouted too.

  It took a second for me to realize that the floor hadn’t actually vanished but had become transparent. It was horrifying to see the ground fall away as we quickly rose into the night sky. The deck was just as solid as before. It was just . . . invisible.

  I tried not to look down as we pulled ourselves up and onto the jump seats. As soon as I planted my butt in the seat, a soft plastic strap automatically appeared and lashed me in. Same thing happened to Tori. It was yet another example of the advanced technology that these planes possessed.

  Tori and I held hands for strength and gazed down between our feet to witness the sea of black planes on the ground as we rose above the airfield. Many of them had billows of smoke spewing from their damaged fuselages, the handiwork of the saboteurs.

  “It’s not enough,” I said.

  “What isn’t?”

  “The Chiefs guessed that there were seven hundred planes. There have to be three times that number. Even if every charge cripples a plane, the Retros will still have a massive fleet.”

  Tori stared at the ground far below and shook her head. “And one monster plane that can do more damage than any of them.”

  The runways grew small very quickly as we moved not only higher, but also away from Area 51.

  “Are we going into space?” Tori asked numbly.

  It sure seemed like it. This plane was definitely something out of science fiction. We sailed high over the desert with nothing but the faint sound of the musical notes to tell us we were under power. It was about as comfortable a flight as could be, other than the disturbing sensation of looking down at a floor that wasn’t there . . .

  . . . and knowing we’d been shanghaied by the enemy.

  “We’ve got to do something,” Tori said. “You know they’re not just taking this monster out for a joyride.”

  That’s when it hit me.

  “I was right,” I announced. “Look.”

  I pointed to the ground to see that we had already left the desert. Though it was dark, I could make out buildings and homes. I saw a dark racetrack and many industrial buildings.

  “About what?” Tori asked.

  “We’re headed for Las Vegas,” I said solemnly.

  Sure enough, the darkened buildings of the Las Vegas Strip came into view. I could make out the sprawling hotels, the Stratosphere Tower, and even the Statue of Liberty lying on its side.

  A loud hum came from the silver canister across from us. The nefarious weapon had come to life. A bright beam of light shot from underneath the plane. It looked very much like the multiple beams of light that had joined together to kill my friend, only far more intense. It was a sight I hoped I’d never have to witness again. It made my heart ache . . . and my blood boil.

  The powerful beam hit the Venetian hotel, with its canals and gondolas. The entire structure lit up—and disappeared. All that was left was a deep, empty sand pit. The lagoon, the bridges, the tower, the buildings were all gone in seconds.

  “Like Portland,” Tori said with a quivering voice.

  The beam focused on the hotels across the street with the same result. The huge hotels lit up and were gone. The pirate ships in the fake lagoon disappeared. The fake volcano vanished. Every last man-made structure evaporated.

  There was no escaping this purge.

  I hoped that Charlotte had evacuated in time.

  I hoped that everyone had evacuated in time.

  The plane hovered over the hotel with the fake Roman Colosseum theater where the survivors had met to prepare for the raid. Seconds later it was gone, along with every last statue, fountain, and building. In seconds the terrain was returned to the way it had looked hundreds of years before.

  “They’re sweeping it all away,” Tori said. “They knew exactly where the survivors were hiding, thanks to Jon.”

  I fumbled around the jump seat, looking for a way to release the safety strap.

  “What are you doing?” Tori asked.

  “Trying to get out of here.”

  “To do what?”

  “Las Vegas is done,” I said. “I’m more worried about the next stop.”

  “Los Angeles,” she said, breathless.

  “This is how they’re going to finish the jo
b. They could easily fly this monster over every major city and do exactly what they’re doing to Las Vegas. Hell, they could probably do it all in one night.”

  She let that horror sink in, then said, “The bombs. Could we detonate them faster?”

  “I don’t know how,” I said.

  I fumbled with my hand under the seat until I found a lever. I pressed it and the safety straps instantly retracted. I found Tori’s lever and released her too.

  “What do we do, Tucker?” Tori asked.

  I looked to the hatch up front. There seemed to be only one choice.

  “We hijack the plane,” I replied.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The ground sped by far below.

  The massive Retro plane was finished with Las Vegas and was moving on, probably to Los Angeles, where it would complete its murderous sweep of that city. From there, who knew?

  According to my stopwatch, only five minutes had gone by since I had set the charge to try to damage the big plane. That’s all the time it took to delete Las Vegas, and at the speed we were traveling, it would only be a few minutes before Los Angeles was in range.

  “The pilot has no idea we’re here,” I whispered to Tori. “We’ll surprise him and force him to land at gunpoint.”

  “What if he won’t?”

  “Shoot him,” I replied. “Hit his leg or his arm or anything that’ll tell him we’re serious. You okay with that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It was hard to believe we had been hardened to the point of calmly talking about shooting people, but if the choice was between winging somebody in the leg or watching as thousands of people were obliterated, it was a no-brainer.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Tori took a nervous breath and nodded.

  I hurried forward toward the hatch door. It was an unnerving sensation to walk across the transparent floor as the ground flew by beneath us. Once I was there, I turned back to Tori.

  She raised the gun.

  I reached for the handle, gave her a small nod, and yanked the door open.

  I hadn’t planned on doing what I did. I was acting totally out of instinct. I started screaming wildly, hoping it would add to the shock of our arrival.