Black Water

by D. J. MacHale

  “Bobby!” Mark and Courtney shouted. They ran to him and threw their arms around him in fear and relief.

  “What happened?” Bobby demanded, all business.

  Mark and Courtney were both supercharged with adrenaline. “It was Saint Dane!” Courtney shouted. “His hair burned! It was horrible!”

  “He said the rules have ch-changed, Bobby,” Mark stuttered. “What did he m-mean?”

  Bobby took a step back from them. Mark and Courtney sensed his tension.

  “What did you do?” Bobby demanded. It sounded like he was scolding them.

  “Do?” Courtney said. “We didn’t do anything!”

  Mark and Courtney focused on Bobby. He was wearing rags. His feet were bare, his hair was a mess, and he had a coating of dirt all over his body. He didn’t smell so hot either.

  “What happened to you?” Mark asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Bobby shot back. He was just as charged up as they were. “Did you activate the flume?”

  Mark and Courtney looked to each other. Mark said, “Uh, I g-guess so. I said ‘Eelong’—”

  “No!” Bobby said in anguish.

  “What’s the matter?” Courtney asked. “We’re not Travelers. We can’t control the flume.”

  “Things have changed,” Bobby shouted. “Saint Dane’s power is growing. He’s got his first territory. It’s all about changing the nature of things.”

  “So . . . that means we can use the flumes?” Courtney asked.

  “Don’t!” Bobby demanded. “It’ll just make things worse.”

  Mark remembered something. He ran back to the door of the root cellar and picked up the bag Saint Dane had thrown at them. “He said this was for you,” Mark said, handing the bag to Bobby.

  Bobby took it like it was the last thing in the world he wanted. He turned the rotten bag upside down, and something fell onto the floor. Courtney screamed. Mark took a step back in shock. Bobby stood firm, staring at the floor, his jaw muscles clenching. Lying at his feet was a human hand. It was large and dark skinned. As gruesome as this was, there was something else about it that made it nearly unbearable to look at. On one finger, was a Traveler ring.

  “Gunny,” Bobby whispered. It was the severed hand of the

  Traveler from First Earth, Vincent “Gunny” VanDyke. Bobby took a brave breath, picked up the hand, and jammed it into the bag.

  “Bobby, what’s happening?” Courtney asked.

  “You’ll know when I send my journal,” he said. He turned back and ran into the mouth of the flume, clutching the bag with Gunny’s hand in it. “Eelong!” he called out. The flume sprang back to life.

  “Is Gunny all right?” Mark asked, nearly in tears.

  “He’s alive,” Bobby said. “But I don’t know for how long.”

  “Tell us what to do!” Courtney pleaded.

  “Nothing,” Bobby answered. “Wait for my journal. And whatever you do, do not activate the flume. That’s exactly what Saint Dane wants. It’s not the way things were meant to be.”

  With a final flash of light and jumble of notes, Bobby was swept into the flume, leaving his two friends alone to begin their careers as acolytes.

  It wasn’t a very good beginning.

  SECOND EARTH

  Four months had passed since that incredible, frightening episode in the basement of the Sherwood house.

  Mark Dimond and Courtney Chetwynde had done exactly what Bobby told them to do. Nothing. They stayed away from the flume and waited for the arrival of another journal. They waited. And waited. And waited some more. Mark found himself staring at his ring, willing it to activate. He so desperately wanted a sign that being an acolyte meant more than sitting around like a load, pretending all was normal. A few times he called Tom Dorney to see if he had gotten any messages from other acolytes. Dorney’s answer was always the same: “Nope.” No detail. No chitchat. Just “Nope.” Dorney was a man of few words. To Mark, he was a man of one word. “Nope.”

  Mark went to the safe-deposit box at the National Bank of Stony Brook, where Bobby’s journals were securely kept. He sat by himself for an entire day, reading them all, reliving the incredible journey that his best friend had been on for the last year and a half. So much had changed since that winter night when Bobby left Stony Brook with his uncle Press to discover that he was a Traveler, and that his destiny was to protect the territories of Halla.

  The same night Bobby left, his family disappeared. Any record that they had ever existed disappeared right along with them. More importantly, the curtain was pulled back on the incredible truth that the universe didn’t function the way everyone thought. Bobby’s journals explained how every time, every place, every person and every thing that had ever existed, still did exist. It was called Halla. Halla was made up of ten territories that were connected by tunnels called flumes that only the Travelers could use. But the most frightening truth contained in the journals was that an evil Traveler named Saint Dane was doing his best to destroy Halla. Saint Dane would travel to a territory that was about to reach a critical point in its history, and do all that he could to push events the wrong way and send the territory into chaos. It was up to Bobby and the other Travelers to stop him. They had been pretty successful, too. Denduron, Cloral, First Earth—all victories over Saint Dane and his evil plots.

  But then came Veelox.

  Veelox was a territory doomed to crumble because people chose to live in Lifelight, the wonderful, virtual-reality world created by a supercomputer, instead of in real life. It marked Saint Dane’s first victory over Bobby and the Travelers. Mark worried that the toppling of Veelox meant Saint Dane had even more power than before. He worried that the rules had changed and that the demon would now be more difficult to defeat. He worried that the battle would soon come to Second Earth. He worried that this was the beginning of the end for Halla. Mark worried a lot. He was good at it.

  And on top of it all, Mark and Courtney were now acolytes. Up to this point their job had been to read Bobby’s journals and keep them safe. Basically they had been librarians. Now they were in it. Being acolytes meant they would support any Travelers who came to Second Earth and help them blend in with the local culture. They were psyched and ready for the challenge. Finally, they had the chance to take an active role in helping Bobby.

  But in spite of all these exciting and scary developments, it turned out that there was nothing for them to do. Mark felt like an anxious racehorse stuck in a gate that wouldn’t open. He’d walk through the halls of Davis Gregory High, where he was a sophomore, look at the other kids, and think, Do they know the danger we’re all in? Do they have any clue that I’m one of the few people in Halla who is trying to protect them? The answer was, of course, no. To the other kids at school, Mark Dimond was nothing more than a nervous brainiac who ate too many carrots and didn’t wash his unkempt, greasy black hair often enough. Guys like Mark were like wallpaper . . . always hanging around but totally invisible.

  Things weren’t going much better for Courtney. Life had changed drastically for her since entering high school. Courtney had always been the girl who had it all going on. She was pretty, with waist-length brown hair and deep gray eyes. She had lots of friends and, most notably, kicked butt in every sport she played. Courtney was a legend. It didn’t matter what sport either: soccer, volleyball, softball, track . . . She even wanted to play football, but the rules wouldn’t allow it. But since coming to Davis Gregory High, things had changed. Courtney wasn’t the best anymore. Maybe it was because the other girls caught up. Maybe it was because she never had to try very hard, and it was paying off for those who did. Or maybe it was because she had lost something intangible. The spark. The magic. Whatever. The result was that Courtney looked bad. In soccer she was demoted from varsity to JV and then quit the team. That was big. Courtney never quit anything. Ever. But she quit soccer. She sought refuge in volleyball, her favorite sport. But things weren’t any better. Courtney didn’t even make the team. She got cu
t. Cut! Courtney had never been cut. It was humiliating. At first the other kids were happy to see the queen dethroned, but after a while they started feeling bad for her. Courtney didn’t want pity. That was the worst.

  If there was one word you could use to describe Courtney Chetwynde, it was “confident.” But that confidence was taking a severe beating, and she was starting to question herself. It affected the rest of her life too. Her grades took a nosedive; she stopped hanging with her best friends; and she fought with her parents. She hated their constant, worried looks that silently asked, “What’s wrong with you?” The frustrating truth was, she didn’t know. It was eating her up.

  But Courtney wasn’t totally self-absorbed. She knew her troubles were puny compared to the bigger dangers lurking about. Bobby Pendragon, the guy she’d had a crush on since she was four years old, was flying around the universe battling an evil demon who wanted nothing less than the destruction of everything. Courtney realized that on a scale of one to ten where ten was the worst, getting cut from volleyball was around negative forty. Knowing this, Courtney felt guilty when she worried about her own little problems. But she couldn’t help it, which made her feel worse. She couldn’t control events in Halla; she could only deal with her own life . . . and she wasn’t dealing so well.

  Mark and Courtney were an odd couple. Under normal circumstances they would never have been on each others’ radar. Shy nerds didn’t hang with awesome jock girls. It was one of the realities of high school. But these two were joined by their friendship with Bobby. They knew Saint Dane had to be stopped and were prepared to do whatever it took to help their friend. But after months of being acolytes, they hadn’t done a single thing that had anything to do with life outside of boring old Stony Brook, Connecticut.

  It was making them absolutely, totally crazy.

  The only thing that kept Mark from going off the deep end was the Sci-Clops science club at school. The summer before, Mark had designed and built a battling robot for the state science fair. He won first prize and got an invitation to join the prestigious club. Mark wasn’t used to being rewarded for doing something that was usually considered geek territory, so he welcomed the chance. Mark found that Sci-Clops was full of brilliant students who shared his curiosity about the world around them. A Sci-Clops meeting was a minivacation from the relentless social pressure of high school. It also helped get his mind off the imminent destruction of the universe.

  Four months to the day after they saw Bobby and Saint Dane at the flume, Mark anxiously watched the clock tick toward the end of the school day. Mr. Pike, the teacher who led Sci-Clops, promised that a special guest would be speaking that day, and Mark was dying to know who it might be. When the bell rang, he gathered his books and walked quickly toward the science wing. He hurried across the student center, entered the science wing, and was halfway up the back stairwell when his day began to unravel.

  Standing on the landing, smoking a cigarette, was Andy Mitchell.

  “Hey, Dimond,” Mitchell wheezed. “Smoke?”

  “Hate” is a strong word. The word “hate” shouldn’t be used lightly. Mark hated Andy Mitchell. From the time they were little, Mitchell bullied Mark. It was the classic scenario: smart nerd vs. pathetic loser. Mark would stress over taking alternate routes around school to avoid crossing paths with him. Encounters invariably ended up with a punch in the arm, or an Indian burn or, as they got older, the threat of serious violence. Their relationship came to a head when Mitchell stole Bobby’s Traveler journals. Mark and Courtney cleverly got them back and nearly got Mitchell arrested in the process. Having finally beaten Mitchell gave Mark a bit more confidence in dealing with the imbecile, but he still preferred not to.

  Mark ignored Mitchell and walked past him up the stairs. He fully expected Mitchell to grab him for some obligatory noogie-type humiliation. Instead Mitchell stubbed out his cigarette and followed. Mark stopped and whipped him a look.

  “What do you want?” Mark demanded.

  “Nothin’,” Mitchell answered while pushing his greasy blond hair out of his eyes. Mark could smell the cigarettes on his breath. Gross. He turned and started up the stairs again. Mitchell followed. Mark stopped and spun back.

  “What?” he demanded.

  “What ‘what’?” Mitchell asked innocently. “I ain’t doing nothing!”

  “You’re following me. Why? You gonna shove me in a locker or ask for money or . . . or . . .”

  “I’m going to the Sci-Clops meeting,” Mitchell answered.

  On the list of answers Mark expected, this was below last. It was so far from last, it was in another state. Mark stared in shock, waiting for a punch line that didn’t come.

  “You’re going to the Sci-Clops meeting?” Mark asked. “Why? We going to experiment on you?”

  “That’s real funny,” Mitchell snarled. “Pike asked me to join.”

  If Mark didn’t grab on to the railing, he would have fallen down the stairs. Had he heard right? Was the dreaded Andy Mitchell, professional ignoramus, truly asked to join the elite science club? Andy Mitchell was a moron, and that was paying him a compliment. Mr. Pike must have gotten Andy Mitchell mixed up with somebody else. Sci-Clops was made up of science brains who had dreams of attending MIT. Andy Mitchell was a lamebrain who dreamed about being old enough to buy beer and getting a tattoo. Mark concluded that it had to be a mistake.

  “Oh, okay,” Mark said, trying not to laugh. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your first meeting.”

  “They’ll wait,” Andy snapped back snottily.

  The two continued up the stairs to the physics floor. Mark couldn’t wait to see Mitchell’s reaction when the mistake was discovered. Wishing total humiliation for someone wasn’t exactly noble, but after the years of havoc Andy Mitchell rained down on the dweebs of Stony Brook, he deserved it. When they entered Mr. Pike’s classroom, most of the Sci-Clops members were already sitting and waiting to begin. They were a precise bunch. Mark took a seat in the back of the room because he was still one of the newer members. Unlike the bus where the cool kids sat in back, in Sci-Clops the senior members sat right up front. It was one of the many things Mark liked about the club. Andy Mitchell, on the other hand, chose a seat in the first row like he owned the place. Mark loved it. He couldn’t wait until Mr. Pike called him out. It was every dweeb’s dream come true. Twenty against one. An excellent nerd vs. turd ratio.

  Mr. Pike walked to the front of the class. He was a pleasant-looking guy who Mark figured was in his thirties, with longish hair that was starting to go gray. “Exciting day today, guys,” he began.

  Mark hoped he would have opened up by kicking Andy Mitchell’s butt out of the room. But he was willing to wait. He knew it would only be a matter of time.

  “We’re going to be talking about the creation of a new polymer material that is unique because of its extreme flexibility and tensile strength.”

  Tensile strength? Mark wasn’t exactly sure what that was. The only tensile he knew about was the kind you put on Christmas trees. Whenever Mark wasn’t sure about something at a meeting, he’d nod and pretend to understand. That was okay; he liked learning new things. The trick was not to look like an idiot and try to figure it out as they went along.

  “Our guest today has been conducting some groundbreaking experiments in this field, and I, for one, am very excited that he’s here to share his findings. So let’s get right to it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you . . . Andy Mitchell.”

  Mark sat bolt upright and let out an involuntary “Huh!” Nobody heard him. They were too busy applauding. He watched in shock as Andy Mitchell stood in front of the group and started digging into his backpack. Mark’s brain wouldn’t accept this. He looked around, expecting to see some guy in a suit and tie jump out with a microphone and shout, “Surprise! Candid Camera!”

  Andy Mitchell coughed into his hand, then brushed his long greasy hair out of his face with the same hand.

  Mark nearly puked.

 
; Andy said, “I ain’t great at giving speeches. I only know what I know.”

  Mark wanted to jump to his feet and shout, “Nothing! He knows nothing! He’s an idiot!”

  But instead, the other members shouted encouragement. “Don’t worry about it. We’re cool here. Just be yourself.”

  Mark was on the hairy edge of a scream. Most of the Sci-Clops members were juniors and seniors, so he figured they didn’t know Andy Mitchell. But they were going to get to know him real fast. Mark was sure this charade would end as quickly as it began.

  Mr. Pike announced, “Andy is a sophomore here, but he attends science classes in a special program at the University of Connecticut.”

  “You guys wouldn’t know me,” Andy explained. “Except for science, I’m not all that smart. You won’t see me in any of your AP courses.”

  The members chuckled knowingly.

  Mark squeezed the desk in anger. They liked him! They thought he was clever! This can’t be happening! Andy Mitchell smart? Attending college science courses and researching subjects Mark never even heard of? Bantering with the Sci-Clops crowd? Mark had heard people say: “I thought I was dreaming,” but always thought it was just a saying. He never thought anyone could really think they were dreaming. But right then, Mark seriously wondered if he was in dreamland.

  Andy Mitchell reached into his backpack and pulled out a small, soft silver bag that looked like the kind of bag his mother used to put things in the freezer. “This is what I’ve been working on,” he explained. “Looks like a regular old bag, right? It ain’t.” He grabbed the bag with two hands and pulled. The silver bag stretched out as wide as his arms would reach.

  The kids gasped.

  “The thing is,” Andy said with a slight strain in his voice from the exertion, “even though it goes way out, it’s still real strong. I could probably put a piano in here and it wouldn’t break.”

  The only thing that was close to breaking was Mark. His mind locked. His mouth hung open. If anybody looked at him, they’d call for an ambulance. The kids of Sci-Clops applauded. Andy beamed. Mark didn’t think he could take any more . . . .