by Rysa Walker
So . . . that will leave four guards overnight?
Yes. One stays up in the house most of the time because down here he gets the clusterphobia, although he doesn’t tell the other Fudds that. Another is Ashley. She is always on bottom floor where they keep Caleb—
you remember him, the boy who told you to run at The Warren? And the other two Fudds, Kokot and Hlupák, float between the floors. Kokot is usually at the monitor so he can watch everything. Well, except me. I sent him a little message about watching me.
The memory of Jaden calling her a Peeping Tomasina runs through my mind, even though I try to stop it. But she laughs.
I can’t help what I see. It’s like locker room or painting in the gallery. This one, though, he has nasty thoughts, like Lucas. We were glad that you and the dead girls killed Lucas. Why do you call them Furies?
Maria’s stream-of-consciousness style of speaking is making me a little crazy, although I guess it could be my own stream-of-consciousness running through her head?
Sorry. This happens because . . . too much info. Hard to stay on the topic when new thoughts come in, you know? Maybe we kill Kokot and Hlupák too, like the Furies did with Lucas?
No. Our goal is to get out of here without killing anyone.
You have misplaced sense of justice. These are not good Fudds. Well, except Ashley. She has to act bad sometimes, though. Otherwise they kick her out, and she has reasons to stay. But the rest are bad.
If it makes you feel any better, I doubt that the security people Magda is sending in are going to be worried about keeping things nonviolent.
Pfft. Her security men, they won’t get here in time. The snow will stop them. You already know that. I see it in your head.
Okay. Fine. Can you give me a tally of how many people are being held inside? And how many of them will leave with us without a fight?
All of us will go. Every one.
Her absolute certainty worries me a little. I mean, it’s nice that we won’t have to evade any of the adepts, but Maria seems so certain that leaving with us is an unadulterated good, and I’m far from convinced that Sandalford will be a permanent safe haven. I don’t want Maria or any of them to be under the illusion that this move will signal the end of their problems.
This new place we’re taking you isn’t perfect. There are guards, and—
This place is peklo na zemi. A hell pit in the ground. I think even Snoop would go, but he will not be here to decide. The zloduch keeps Snoop on short chain in case he picks up some bit of info on his little radio.
It takes me a moment to realize she means his mind reading. Her tone is dismissive. I’m not sure whether it’s because she doesn’t think this Snoop Dogg’s gift is useful or because the kid is colluding with Cregg, and she doesn’t pause long enough for me to ask.
All of us will trade this hole for your not-perfect place. I see the picture in your mind, you know. It has sunlight. And Jaden isn’t only one who sees things from the future—we have our own Fiver in here. There will be more of us soon, and we will gather at that sunny place in your head. We will be strong and ready to fight the bears when the time comes.
There are entire pockets of that speech that I don’t understand, but Maria seems to be getting annoyed with me, so I don’t push for clarification. I really don’t want to piss off the girl who will be, for all intents and purposes, command central of this entire mission.
I’m not pissed off. But we have been waiting for you to show up, almost from time we arrived here. We have been planning this escape on our own. So yes, if you want, I will tell the others about your . . . concerns. But I know that we will all go with you.
Okay. I believe you. How many total?
There’s a long pause. I can almost hear her tallying up on her fingers.
Fourteen of us, and Ashley.
What ages? How many little ones? And what can they do? Are there any that are especially . . . volatile? I mean, other than Caleb?
Caleb is youngest and the most trouble. Not his fault. Too little. Too strong. Ashley will sedate him. Three Peepers, but none as good as me, and none who can also send. They only see. Two seekers . . . people who find stuff. Two movers. One is strong, really strong. The other is . . . meh. One person like your sexy Fudd and the zloduch who can push minds, but this one can only do a little. One Zippo, but he can control it. Also we have two Fivers—seers, I guess you’d call them. Like Jaden. And one blocker, she’s only eight—
What do you mean, a blocker?
A signal blocker. Like you do sometimes, except she is always blocking. Can turn it off for a few moments, but not long. And then Bree. She is next youngest to Caleb, but you know what she does.
Hunter perks up at his sister’s name. He’s ready for us to stop talking so that he can finally speak to her. But Maria puts the brakes on.
No, no, no. That is a very bad idea. You will not be able to hide that you are . . . passed on. Your sister will see it in your head. And maybe then she wouldn’t fight so hard to get out of here to safety. You don’t want that, do you? You can’t be alive, but you want her to stay alive, no? You will talk to her soon, once she is safe and warm and we have a chance to let her know what’s happened to you.
Hunter doesn’t respond to Maria but simply slides to the back, trying to fend off a fresh wave of grief. Logically, Hunter has known that he’s dead for some time. But a little part of him has been clinging to the irrational hope that if he could just find Bree, everything would change. That it would be a magical reset button, and they’d both go back home to their mom and brother and everything would be okay.
Maria’s words were the pin that burst his fantasy bubble. If we’re lucky enough to rescue Bree, he’ll be able to tell her good-bye and know that she’s safe, but that’s the extent of Hunter’s happy ending. And without her brother, Bree’s happy ending will be bittersweet, at best.
Lyon Mountain, New York
December 21, 2019, 4:15 p.m.
I dump two cans of chicken noodle soup into a pot at Taylor’s request. She still insists that she and Deo both have the flu. On the few occasions that Deo has been awake long enough to talk coherently during the past two days, he’s also said it’s the flu.
Or maybe it’s strep. Or tonsillitis. Definitely not a relapse. Taylor took a photo of his throat, and yes, it does look red.
I’d be more convinced if not for the fact that the air in the room feels . . . charged, so full of that ozone smell that Aaron and I can’t even get close. It doesn’t appear to affect Taylor—in fact, she says that Deo gets that ozone smell any time he sweats. Since I don’t want to follow that line of inquiry any further, I drop it. I have no idea how this works, so yeah, I suppose simply running a fever could be increasing the ozone odor instead of being a sign that he’s relapsed.
I’d also be more convinced if I thought Taylor was actually sick. Despite dosing both herself and Deo with NyQuil and refusing to eat anything other than soup, she looks healthy. But I can’t fault her. She seems determined to create a reality where they are both sick with the flu by the sheer force of her will.
She promised to watch Deo’s temperature carefully. If his fever tops 105, we’re getting him to a hospital, regardless of what is causing the spike.
Magda’s security team was due to arrive at the airport in Plattsburgh an hour ago. That would have put them here by five o’clock at the latest, at which point we were supposed to go over the logistics for tonight’s operation with them. But their flight still hasn’t left JFK.
As late as last night, the local weather service continued to insist that this storm would veer south. I think it did—but it’s a much larger system than they’d predicted. They’ve gotten six inches in New York City, and while both airports are still open, there are significant delays. Flurries began here around two p.m., when we had our last chat with Magda before she left for the airport in London. They’re reporting three inches on the ground at Plattsburgh, and it’s coming down steadily, so
I’m doubtful that Magda’s plane will be able to land. That means we’re going to have a whole bunch of adepts crammed into this RV by eleven p.m. tonight. And it’s entirely possible that the RV, like the planes, will also be snowbound.
Aaron comes up behind me and massages my shoulders. “We need to get into place. You know, just in case they don’t make it on time.”
I laugh at the sarcasm oozing from his last line. Magda may doubt the accuracy of my flash-forwards, but the rest of us know better.
Still, I have to say it.
“We could postpone. Tell Maria to hold off. Wait until the security team arrives. Even if it means dealing with two extra guards.”
“Except it also means Graham Cregg,” Aaron reminds me. “What if he forces Magda’s security team to turn their guns on us? And even if that Snoop kid isn’t sharing critical information—and I have to admit I’m not entirely convinced on that point—he could be a liability, too.”
“I know, but maybe we could . . .”
There’s no point in finishing the statement, so I don’t. We’re going in tonight, without Magda’s team. After all, I’ve already seen it happen.
Forty minutes later, we back the RV into the long unpaved drive we scouted out when we were here day before yesterday. It stretches for over half a mile through the woods, and will cut about a half mile off the distance we have to hike through the snow. Driving a camper in reverse, even in a straight line, is not an easy task, however. It takes Aaron nearly fifteen minutes to back the trailer to the very end.
We toyed with the idea of just parking on the main road, but someone might be concerned enough to phone the police if they see seventeen people, mostly kids, stumbling out of the woods and into an RV. This gets us as close to the house as possible, without driving straight to it, and it seems like the safest option overall.
Aaron and I spent several hours in the woods near here yesterday, working out a plan with Maria, Ashley, and the others, using Maria as our go-between. I wanted to challenge Ashley, to ask why she followed Cregg’s orders and pulled Daniel’s life support. Daniel was adamant that this wasn’t the time or the place. Personally, I wanted a little more assurance that Ashley is on our side, that she’s not planning to rat us out to Cregg, before we included her in the plan, but Daniel’s right—I saw Ashley walking out with us. If she turns traitor, it will be after we escape.
Of course, after the escape is exactly when she turned traitor last time.
The plan we worked out with Maria isn’t complicated. Our optimal window to act is between ten and ten thirty at night. Ten is lockdown for the adepts. Once everything is quiet, the second-floor guard, who Maria calls Kokot, usually goes down to chat with Ashley. This job has cost him his girlfriend, and he seems to think Ashley should be her replacement. Ashley disagrees. She has happily agreed to deal with Kokot, leaving the other two guards to us.
The second guard, Hlupák, usually takes a bathroom break between ten and ten fifteen before he scans the monitors to make sure that the adepts are actually in their beds. Once he’s in the toilet, Bree will put out the power, disabling the lights and the monitoring system. That will momentarily disorient both the guards and the adepts, but the adepts will know it’s coming.
This is the one part that worries Hunter. Bree is terrified of the dark, and she’ll be alone in a pitch-dark room, without even a night-light, until Ashley unlocks her door. But Bree assured Maria that she can do it. That she will do it.
The first blackout won’t last long—a backup generator located behind the house will kick in quickly. From what we’ve read in the online manual, there’s a timer and then an engine crank cycle, giving us maybe a minute and a half to reach the generator and disable it. The manual suggests that we should be able to simply cut it off, but I’m guessing something goes wrong there, and that’s when we’ll have to use Hunter’s ability. I remember my right hand throbbing in the vision. It wasn’t debilitating, but it wasn’t fun, either. My only question is why I would use my dominant hand, instead of my left, for something where either hand would do.
Maria insists that everything will run like clockwork on her end. She knows the guards. She knows the adepts. She knows their patterns of behavior, how they think and react. And she can send us whatever intel she picks up.
The problem is that she can only monitor one mind at a time, two, if she really pushes it. That means she’ll have to skip around rapid fire as she monitors the guards, Ashley, and the adepts. Plus, she’ll be “off-line” briefly whenever she’s relaying information to us. So, while having Maria as our eyes and ears inside The Pit is an incredible advantage, it’s not foolproof.
I reheat some of the soup, which is long since cold. Aaron and I manage to get down a few bites, but we’re both too nervous to really eat. Magda calls as we’re clearing the dishes away. She is still a few hours out, but her security team has landed in Plattsburgh, where they are currently waiting on the two four-by-four passenger vans she reserved. They expect to reach the campground by nine thirty. Nine forty-five at the latest.
“We’re already in place,” Aaron says. “I’ll send you a location pin.”
There’s a long silence, and then she says, “You are not to enter that property prior to the security team’s arrival, even if they are delayed. There’s absolutely no reason we cannot wait until midnight or whenever the team arrives to do this. I’ll let you know when my plane lands.”
He gives her a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” and shoves the phone back into his pocket.
“So,” he says, “what’s your guess? Road closure between here and Plattsburgh? Or maybe the company won’t rent vehicles in this weather?”
“I’m guessing road closure. The other one is a problem that Magda could make go away by throwing money at it.”
We wake Taylor, who does look kind of ill at this point, to let her know we’re leaving. Deo doesn’t budge. His fever seems to be holding steady around 103, sometimes spiking a bit higher when the Tylenol starts to wear off, so while I’m worried, I’ve stepped down a notch from frantic to mild panic.
When Taylor joins us in the main cabin, Aaron says, “Okay, I’m rerouting my calls to your number. So you’re now Magda’s point person. If her security people ever show up, give them our GPS coordinates from your phone. And . . . remember. Drive the trailer back and forth, at least halfway down the path, every half hour, to keep it clear of snow. It would be better if you can go all the way to the end.”
She glares at him. “Don’t push your luck. And don’t blame me if you come back and find the damn RV tipped over.”
Aaron spent several hours this morning showing Taylor how to use the snowplow and drive the RV in reverse. She’s going to have to keep the path at least partially clear, otherwise we might not be able to move the trailer at all, even with the snowplow.
We’re about to head out the door when Taylor calls us back. She gives Aaron a tight hug. “Be careful.”
I’m surprised when she pulls me into a hug as well. “You, too. And not just because you’re carrying my other brother.”
“Lovely,” Aaron says. “You make it sound like she’s pregnant.”
My legs sink to midcalf in the snow when we step outside. The hike to the ridge overlooking The Pit took a little over five minutes last time, but it takes us nearly three times as long tonight. It’s not just the snow, which is coming down in big, fat flakes. This time we’re also dragging Taylor’s sleds with our backpacks stuffed with winter jackets, weapons, and assorted gear.
We finally reach the tree line at nine fifteen, and Aaron pulls the binoculars out. As soon as he raises them to his eyes, he curses and lowers them again.
“What’s wrong?”
“The van is still there.”
“Okay, so . . . maybe his appointment was canceled?”
Aaron scans downhill again. “Nope. It wasn’t canceled. They just decided not to drive.”
He hands me the binoculars. Sure enough, the van is still there
. The helicopter, however, is missing.
“It won’t matter, though. Right? They can’t fly in the snow.”
“Not when it’s snowing, or at least not when it’s snowing heavily.” He glances up at the clouds. A snowflake catches on his eyelash, and he brushes it away. “But you said the sky was almost clear in the vision. They can definitely land on snow, and it would only take, what? An hour and a half to fly back from Albany. If that.”
I sigh. “Well, Magda was wrong. It looks like there is a reason we can’t wait until midnight.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Lyon Mountain, New York
December 21, 2019, 9:37 p.m.
Aaron takes a seat on his sled. I join him for a few minutes, and we wait for Maria to contact us. But it’s not even ten minutes before I’m up again, pacing. I need something to do. We’ve already packed our jacket pockets with wrist restraints, pepper spray, duct tape, hydrogel burn pads, and a roll of gauze. All that’s left is waiting.
I hate waiting.
It’s partly my own nerves. But it’s also Hunter’s nerves. And Daniel’s. Daniel has kept a fairly low profile for the past few days, storing up his energy, and now he’s a bit more like the caged-tiger version that paced around my head just after I picked him up. Even Jaden seems on edge, but it’s not the same as the other two. He’s more . . . disinterested. As though he’s watching a movie.
Hey, I’m interested. Like I said before, I need to see how this part ends. Be nice to see Maria and the rest of them get out of there.
But . . . after that?
I’m thinkin’ maybe after that I need to catch up with my mom. I can take it on faith that you guys will eventually make those bastards pay for all this.
“You okay?” Aaron asks.
“Yeah. It’s not Maria yet. Just chatter inside my head. And nerves. I’m not cut out for this spy stuff.”
Aaron smiles. “Relax. I’m not picking up any vibes. I think these guards might just be in it for the paycheck.”
“Or maybe that’s only the one on the top floor.” I sit down next to him, huddling closer for warmth. “You said you had a tough time reading what was going on in The Warren. And I doubt it was anywhere near as heavily reinforced as a missile silo.”