An object hollowed and containing many small objects, said Sir Walter.
Can we grab it into solid form, you think? I wrote.
I shall attempt it, he said.
Sir Walter dropped his hand from me, which I noticed this time, and a moment later, he appeared in solid form, arms around a large Styrofoam box that looked very similar to the box delivered to Pfeffer’s office in Rome.
Coming solid, I knelt to lift the lid, confident I’d find the same packets of dry ice cooling tiny vials.
“What do you make of this?” I asked, peering into the fogged interior.
As Sir Walter knelt beside me, a phone rang from inside one of his pockets.
A phone that only two people had the number for.
A phone that was only to be called in case of absolute emergency.
“It is your sister,” said Sir Walter, examining the caller ID.
Chapter Twenty–Nine
* * *
NOTHING WORTH HEARING
· SAM ·
The young man stood smiling on the porch, looking as though he’d very much like to come inside.
Which I’m sure he would have.
“I’m a reporter from the Bee,” he lied, flipping through a notepad. “Like I said, I’d really love the chance to interview the family about the fire. Anything to do with David Ruiz is big news down in the valley …”
Bridget scowled at the young man. “I don’t know who said they’d be here.”
The man from Geneses flipped through his notes. “Ah, one of the officers on the scene …”
“Officer Phong?” asked Bridget, substituting the name of Officer Thao’s little brother.
She thinks fast, I said to Christian.
“That’s the one,” lied the man. “I remember it ‘cause it rhymed with ‘ping–pong.’”
“Yeah, well, Officer Phong must’ve misunderstood. I’m down here cleaning the place out with my daughter so the family can come here, but they aren’t here yet. The cabin is a mess right now. They went down to a hotel in Fresno. Or maybe it was Merced.”
“It was Hanford, Ma,” said Gwyn. “Wasn’t it?” She picked up a broom leaning in one corner and began sweeping the floor.
Bridget shrugged. “One of those three. Take your pick.”
The man leaned in. “Are you sure they’re not here? I don’t want to bother them. I just want a few minutes to ask some questions.” He paused. “I’m not an idiot. You’ve got three cars parked out front.”
Bridget laughed. “Yeah, well, I dare you to start that red truck. My last renter left it for dead.”
“The blue truck’s mine,” said Gwyn. “Ma’s driving makes me get car sick.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my driving,” snapped Bridget.
“Unless you like to keep your breakfast inside your stomach,” retorted Gwyn, turning back to sweep the floor.
“Okay,” said the man with the Brooks, “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your valuable time.” He held his hand out to shake Bridget’s. “Sorry to disturb.” I saw a flash of something in his other hand. As he shook hands with Gwyn’s mom, he reached up with the other hand and, covering her mouth, he puffed an inhaler in one of her nostrils as she inhaled to cry out.
But before Bridget could get any sound out, she sagged and then collapsed.
“Miss,” said the man in an alarmed voice. “Miss, your mom seems to have fainted.”
I had to save her! Could I take this guy on, I wondered? I had to try.
Do nothing! Christian’s voice commanded. I beseech you!
“Can you help me get her to the couch? Maybe some water?” suggested Hans’ employee.
Christian! They’re in danger! I called out, itching to ripple solid and attack Brooks–man.
Wait—please, Mademoiselle! If he means to do more than search the dwelling, we will attack together!
As Gwyn rushed to get a cloth wet, the man reached around and squirted the same thing in Gwyn’s nose, catching her as she collapsed. He set her on the couch and then dashed to the back bedroom, shoving the bed across the room, opening and slamming the closet door. He darted to the bathroom, threw the shower curtain to one side, checked a linen cupboard.
Exiting the back of the house, he cursed and sprinted back through the front door, punching buttons on a cell as he ran.
Wait and listen, called Christian, sensing the part of me that strained to come solid.
“They’re not in Midpines,” said the man. “The truck is the same make as the spic’s truck, but it belongs to the chinks, apparently. They said the family got a hotel room for the night, but they acted like complete retards arguing over where, exactly. I’ve got Hanford, Merced or Fresno.”
The man from Geneses nodded one more time. “I’m on it.” He drove off.
I rippled solid with Sylvia in my arms. “Christian, you follow him—I’ll stay and help here.”
“Following that imbecile would accomplish nothing,” said Christian as he came solid with my father beside the couch. “We already know his purpose: he wishes to locate you.”
“That was an example of a Geneses employee?” asked my dad. His quiet voice told me just how angry he felt at the moment.
“Yeah,” I said, rubbing Gwyn’s hands. “That’s Geneses for you. We’re all racial inferiors here except for maybe Christian.”
Bridget shook her head once and opened her eyes, looking confused.
“Did I miss something?” asked Gwyn, eyes fluttering.
“Nothing worth hearing,” I said, reaching my arms around to hug her.
“We need to get out of here,” said my dad. “I want Sam safe from that … that poor excuse for a human being.”
“We need cash,” said Sylvia.
“And a battery,” said my dad.
“For which we need cash,” said Sylvia. “Not credit cards. They’re too easy to trace.”
“I’ve got five–thousand in cash back in the bakery,” said Bridget. “That’s more than Mrs. Gutierrez at the bank could probably come up with on such short notice. And I don’t think you want to stick around Las Abuelitas even one more day.”
“Definitely not,” I agreed. “But we can’t take your money.”
“You have five–thousand in cash sitting in our home?” asked Gwyn, crossing her arms over her chest.
Her mom nodded.
“God, you are so Chinese, Ma. Have you not heard of banks?”
“It’s for emergencies,” said Bridget.
“Yeah, well I had an emergency need for jeans last week, and you said we were broke.”
“That wasn’t an emergency,” snapped her mom.
“You’re crazy, Ma, you know that? Seriously, when exactly do you think you’re going to need that much money?” Gwyn shook her head.
“Today,” said Bridget, smiling smugly.
Gwyn opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind. And then changed it again. “That was pretty smart of you, Ma.”
“We can’t take your money, Bridget,” I repeated.
Sylvia raised her eyebrows. “We can and we will. Dave’s truck is yours ‘til we can pay you back.”
Bridget nodded her approval.
“Excellent,” said Gwyn. “That’s worth what, thirty–thou’?”
No one responded.
Gwyn shook her head. “Am I the only one who’s seen Crazy Chuck’s Chevy Circus commercials?”
Sylvia turned, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
“It will take me an hour and a half to get there and back,” said Bridget. “Longer, if you want me to pick up a battery.”
“I don’t like staying here that long,” said Sylvia. “All the roads out of here take us close to Merced or Fresno and the sooner we clear those areas, the better.”
“Not all roads,” said my dad.
“Tioga Pass is closed, Dave. It’s January. We have to go west to leave the area.”
“I know some back roads to the valley,” said my
dad.
“I’m so sorry,” said Bridget. “I wasn’t thinking of how I’d boxed you in by saying what I did about hotels.”
“You were brilliant,” said Sylvia, smiling. “I could never have thought on my feet like that.”
“You may well have saved their lives,” said Christian. “Do not perspire upon things of small importance.”
Gwyn stared at him. “Did you mean to say, ‘don’t sweat the small stuff’? ‘Cause, dude, that was some creative use of English.”
Suddenly, I remembered something. “Christian, how long did it take you when you brought me back from Geneses two weeks ago?”
He drew his brows together. “Perhaps the half of one hour?”
“That’s what I thought!” I said smiling. “It took me over two hours. Pretty much what it would take speeding by car.”
“I am unusually swift when incorporeal,” said Christian.
“I’ll say!” I agreed. I turned to everyone else. “Christian can take Bridget to get the money and the battery. He can get there in less than a quarter of the time it would take by car.”
However, Christian point–blank refused to leave my side. (“I swore an oath to my father, and I will uphold my oath.”) So the three of us, Christian, Bridget and myself, rippled and traveled together. Christian explained that we’d all be able to move at his speed so long as we touched.
Following a crazy–fast zip through the foothills, we approached Las Abs. As we arrived, I caught an echo of an emotionally–charged thought that came from Bridget’s mind.
New car.
Well, if anyone would recognize an unusual car in Las Abs, that person would be Bridget.
I looked both directions, curious what she’d seen. I found the new car, and my blood froze. Driving slowly along Main Street I spotted a small sports car that I knew very well. I’d ridden inside it last year.
It’s Hans! I cried out to Christian.
Chapter Thirty
* * *
WEIGHT OF THE ATLANTIC
· WILL ·
“I think you should come back right away,” said my sister. Her voice, crackling over the connection, was plenty loud for both of us to hear.
“Are you unwell, Mademoiselle?” asked Sir Walter. “Are you in danger?”
“It’s not me,” said Mick. “It’s … those people we don’t like. They’re doing … things we don’t like. And you need to come look at it now.”
My heart hammered as I rippled back solid and grabbed the phone. “Mick? What is it? Is it—” My voice cracked. I couldn’t make myself ask about Sam by name.
“It’s not about her,” said my sister. “It’s something else. Can you come back, like, now?”
“Sure,” I said.
Before I’d hit “end,” Sir Walter had rippled away to hide the Styrofoam box once more. Then he came solid and reached for my arm. Together we vanished and raced like a silent wind back to the tiny house.
My sister sat hunched over Sir Walter’s computer. When we solidified in the room, she waved us over. “Geneses is up to something. I mean, it all looks nice on the surface. They come out looking like saints, really, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”
Sir Walter and I read the news headlines about an outbreak of deadly plague within a small central African country. Volunteers connected to Geneses International had taken the point on trying to contain and cure the disease.
“Please tell me this group of volunteers doesn’t have a name related to heavenly beings,” I murmured.
“The media are calling them Angel Corps, you know, like Mercy Corps or Peace Corps,” replied my sister.
“Oh, no,” I said.
Sir Walter brought a hand across his face.
Between us, we caught Mickie up on what we’d discovered in Montpellier.
“If Helmann is using the Angel Corps to ‘help’ victims of disease,” said Mickie, “I think we can expect massive casualties.”
“Like the video,” I said.
“Mademoiselle, would you please search for other instances of this disease? In other locations?” Sir Walter’s right hand clenched and unclenched. I’d never seen him nervous, but maybe this was what it looked like.
My sister bounced around on several news sites, repeatedly closing pop–up notifications. The disease seemed to be contained within the one country for now. But I started thinking about California’s diverse population, just full of people–groups Helmann would like to eliminate. Not Sam, not Sam, please, not Sam …
“What does Geneses’ official site report?” asked Sir Walter.
Mickie opened a new window and we waited for the Geneses page to load. When it came up, there was just some crap about how proud the company was of its brave volunteers, and how the Angel Corps would have every advantage of immunological technology Geneses could provide.
A new pop–up covered part of the article, and my sister quickly closed it.
“Wait,” I said, “What was that? Something on central California?”
“Just an interest group on berry farming. It’s very active today. I’m part of a couple of groups that I thought might help me keep tabs on Sam and her family,” explained my sister.
“Oh,” I said, returning my attention to the article on Geneses’ home page.
Sir Walter tapped the screen. “Bring it back,” he said. “The notification.”
Mickie tapped her fingers across the keyboard. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Usually it’s just complaints about LA taking farm water or something.”
But when the chat group site opened, it was full of entries featuring the name “Dave Ruiz.” Sam’s dad.
“Oh, no,” murmured my sister. “How did you guess?”
“Our enemy rarely strikes upon only one front,” said Sir Walter.
As we read through the posts, I felt every one of those six–thousand miles between Sam and me.
“Everyone’s talking about Sam’s house!” cried my sister, reading faster than me. “It burned to the ground.”
The weight of that distance gathered and settled in my chest.
“Sam’s dad is big news in farming circles,” continued my sister. “His name comes up all the time on some of these chat sites.”
“Click upon the linking article,” said Sir Walter.
There it was, in the Fresno Bee. An article on berry–grower David Ruiz and the tragic blaze that left him homeless.
How much did all the water in the Atlantic weigh, I wondered? It rushed in behind the six–thousand miles, filling my lungs with a crushing load.
“Sit down,” murmured my sister.
I sank into the chair beside her.
My sister took my hand as she scanned the screen. “The former occupants are unavailable for comment, blah, blah, blah, several eyewitnesses saw the family safely outside the house while the fire department was there.” My sister gave my hand a quick squeeze.
I heard a pounding surf roaring in my ears.
Sam would be okay. She had to be okay.
“This news article is insufficient,” said Sir Walter. “Return to the chat forum, please, Mademoiselle.” His voice sounded thin.
My sister wiped her eyes with the back of one sleeve. “Here’s something,” she said. “Everyone wants to interview Dave Ruiz about the fire, but no one can find him or Sylvia. Or Sam. Here’s something else. Bridget Li’s name is popping up.” My sister ran a finger down the screen, reading silently.
I wanted to read, but my eyes kept going out of focus with tears: the wide Atlantic was leaking out of me.
“Bridget’s saying she doesn’t know anything.” My sister let out a short laugh. “Reporters are swarming Las ABC, and Gwyn’s telling them to buy a coffee or get the hell out of the café.”
“We have to go,” I said. With the ocean roaring in my ears, the words sounded small and far away, like someone else had spoken them.
“Indeed,” said Sir Walter. “I would be willing to gamble that Madame Li knows the truth of th
eir location. And when we are closer to Chrétien, I shall be able to communicate with him from within our minds,” he said.
Mick looked up. “Really?”
Sir Walter nodded. “Let us prepare to leave.”
“Thanks, man,” I choked out.
As Sir Walter turned, I saw a face so pinched with grief that I forgot about the weight of the ocean upon my chest. I’m not much of a hugger, but I threw my arms around the old man.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said. Only I wasn’t sure of anything.
We rippled to travel back to Nice, at my sister’s suggestion. I felt grateful to her, knowing how rippling made her feel sick. From Nice, Sir Walter chartered a private jet to get us to California.
The worst part of it all was how we couldn’t communicate with Sam. Her home phone number wasn’t working, for obvious reasons, and Sir Walter wouldn’t try her cell.
“If she has been … detained by our enemies, I do not wish to alert them as to her connection with us,” he said.
Mickie reached over to take my hand.
“I’m fine,” I lied, closing my eyes, wishing I could sleep to pass the time faster. But I had too much adrenaline pumping through me. I tried to get comfortable. The leather seat felt slippery and cold and too big, like no matter how I sat, I couldn’t anchor myself to it properly.
I looked out the window; the vast ocean looked immeasurable. Staring at it made me feel like we weren’t really moving at all, like we’d never reach the next continent.
Mile after slow mile, the engines droned, until the noise started making me a little crazy. At some point, Sir Walter offered me special headphones. But then it was too quiet. I threw the headphones down and let the engine–noise fill my head.
Chapter Thirty–One
* * *
APOCALYPSE
· SAM ·
You are certain it is Hans? Christian asked from inside my head.
I’m sure, I replied. I rode in that car with him last fall.
As we watched, Hans pulled his car into a sharp reverse, in the middle of Main Street, and peeled out, leaving dark stripes upon grayed asphalt as he drove out of town.
Unfurl (The Ripple Trilogy) Page 16