THE SPECIAL ONES
ONLY THE RIGHTEOUS WILL PREVAIL
THE END IS VERY NEAR
Eider’s hands began to tremble. She closed the binder, then turned to face Teacher’s strange machinery. She had no better name for it. Just an assemblage of wires, dials, switches, and speakers. Like Finch’s radio, but bigger.
Like a great big radio.
Eider looked more closely. She saw a microphone—she’d read about them in World Book M. The Music section, which Teacher hadn’t removed.
Her heart pounded. Microphones were for talking into. They made your voice louder. They amplified what you said, so others could hear it—if they were sitting in front of you. Or far away, maybe. If you wanted to broadcast your voice.
BECAUSE THE END IS VERY NEAR.
UNLESS…NOBODY WILL BE SAFE.
…THE SPECIAL ONES. WHEN THE DANGER ARRIVES…
“It was Teacher,” Eider said. “The whole time.”
Suddenly, her knees stopped working. She collapsed into Teacher’s chair, which was even more uncomfortable than it looked.
No wonder the voice on the radio had sounded familiar. It’d been Teacher’s voice, with ants running through it. Teacher, talking about the end of the world. They hadn’t been hearing Other People—they’d been hearing Teacher.
But that meant Teacher had been talking to Other People.
Eider had thought plenty about the people broadcasting. She’d never considered the people listening. Gathered around radios of their own.
Maybe even right now.
She flipped the switch at the base of the microphone. A red light came on. She leaned forward until her mouth was an inch from the dusty black metal.
“Hello,” she mouthed without any sound. “I am at the desert ranch….”
“Anybody out there?” she mouthed.
“I’m right here,” she mouthed. “I exist.”
She cleared her throat to speak for real. But…what if Teacher had her own radio? What if she was listening this minute?
A flash of fear stabbed Eider’s middle. She stood so quickly, the chair fell over with a clatter. She backed into the bookcase, terrified the sound would summon Teacher. But nothing happened. Because Teacher was far away.
When Eider could breathe again, she bent down to right the toppled chair. As she stood, she noticed a framed photo on Teacher’s desk.
The frame was shimmery silver. There were people in the photo: a family. A kid and two parents. Eider didn’t know the man parent.
But the woman parent was Teacher.
Astonished, Eider leaned in closer. The photo was very old, it seemed. Teacher’s hair had color to it, and her face was unlined. But it was definitely Teacher.
Had Teacher had a family?
It didn’t make any sense. None at all. And yet…
Eider shook her head, so overwhelmed she could barely think. But she knew she had to leave. She paused long enough to switch off the microphone, and to lock the office door behind her.
Then she ran for the shelter.
EIDER HAMMERED BOTH FISTS ON THE SHELTER DOOR. From inside, she heard nothing. Her frantic pounding was probably scaring the other kids to bits.
“It’s me,” she said. She glanced over her shoulder—no sign of the van. The gate was still closed and locked. She raised her voice. “It’s Eider!”
Nothing.
“You guys, the danger isn’t real! Nobody’s out here but me. Teacher and Nurse drove away in the van.”
Still nothing. How much time did she have left? Then she heard voices inside. After another moment, the door opened a crack.
It was Jay. “You’re okay!” he said.
Eider was startled by the relief in his voice. “Yes,” she said. “No—I’m not. I mean, I’m not hurt. But I need to talk to you guys. I need to show you what I found.”
Avis shoved Jay aside. “Where?”
“In Teacher’s office.”
There was a collective gasp from inside the shelter. “You were in Teacher’s office?” Avis exclaimed. Eider couldn’t help pausing a moment to glare. Avis had known the whole plan, after all—she’d even been part of it.
“What did you find?” Finch asked.
Eider slipped inside the shelter and closed the door behind her. After being alone outside, she felt claustrophobic in the small, confined space. “I found…” She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. “I found a microphone.”
Everybody stared at her. “So?” Jay said.
Eider ignored him, staring right at Finch. “And other stuff. Broadcasting stuff. The voice on the radio—it was Teacher.”
Finch’s expression showed only disbelief. “I don’t think…” Then he paused, realization slowly dawning on his face. “An antenna.”
“Huh?”
“The spike. It’s an antenna.”
“Like on a bug?” Jay asked.
“What? No, not like on a bug. An antenna for sending out radio signals. I can’t believe I never realized it before.”
“That’s why she was so angry about your radio,” Eider said. “She wasn’t worried about us getting messages from Beyond. She was worried about us hearing her. You know she lies to us—”
“To you,” Avis interrupted.
“If she’d lie to me, she’d lie to you too. And she has. She’s lied to all of us—and I have proof right here.” Eider pulled out the World Book pages and unfolded them. “They were in a folder in Teacher’s office. Every single page she removed, I’ll bet.”
“Why are you so sure they were removed?” Avis asked. “How do you know they didn’t just fall out or something?”
“They didn’t just fall out. They were taken out on purpose. Look at them.”
“Adoption?” Linnet read. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure,” Eider said, “but look: Siblings. That’s brothers and sisters. Teacher didn’t like us to talk about those. And War! The first page of it, anyway. We haven’t gotten to World Book W, but of course that section would be missing….”
“What are you saying?” Avis asked.
“I’m saying Teacher removed the pages on purpose. She wants to control what we learn and what we don’t learn. What we know and what we don’t know. Like our old books—they were there, too.”
“All the books?” Finch asked.
“Yep. She took them away. Just like—just like Robin.”
Jay laughed, a little too loudly. “You know Robin wasn’t—”
“Stop it, Jay!” Linnet exclaimed. “Robin was real. You know she was real. We all know.”
Tears filled Eider’s eyes as she glanced around the circle. Slight nods from everyone. First Linnet and Finch. Then Avis. And finally, Jay.
“So you’ve known this whole time,” Eider said. “That Teacher lies. That she keeps things from us.”
“From you,” Avis said.
“Avis! Think! Why would Teacher and Nurse keep things from me and not the rest of you? Why am I so special—or not special?”
Nobody had an answer. They were all special. They were all not special. The same way they’d always been.
“But why?” Linnet asked. “Why would Teacher lie to us?”
“Because…” Eider began.
Everybody was staring at her. She stared back, glanced from kid to kid, the same way Teacher did. Finch’s hair looked even paler. Linnet’s cheeks were wet with tears. Jay’s big shoulders heaved with emotion. Avis’s expression was hard to read, but she looked scared. They all did.
And that’s when Eider said it. Her most secret hope—her biggest fear. She stood up straight, took a deep breath, and said it out loud.
“Because the world hasn’t ended.”
Linnet gasped.
“Huh?” Jay said. “What?”
“What do you mean?” Finch said.
“Teacher told us the world’s ended everywhere but the desert ranch,” Eider explained. “But it’s the opposite. The world hasn’t ended anywhere e
lse. Only here.”
She considered opening the shelter door and dramatically sweeping her hands across the desert sameness. But it probably wasn’t the smartest idea right now.
“How do we know for sure?” Finch asked.
Eider liked that he’d said “we.” “It’s the only explanation that makes sense. The more you think about it—”
“No it doesn’t,” Avis interrupted. “It doesn’t make any sense at all. Why lie to us about something so huge like that? For our whole entire lives? Why keep us here if the world still exists, with all the good stuff in it? What’s the point?”
“I don’t—”
“And why train us to be leaders? Why all these lessons, especially Extrasensory? All that talk about us being special? And our abilities? Are you saying Teacher’s been lying about that too?”
“I don’t think Teacher is lying about everything, necessarily,” Eider said. “I think…she does want us to be leaders. But leaders who listen to her. Leaders who do what she wants.”
There was a moment of silence.
“What do we do?” Linnet asked softly.
All of a sudden, Eider felt weary. She collapsed onto a cushion, her back against the shelter wall. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know.”
By the time Nurse opened the door, the crickets were beginning to sing. “Top o’ the evening to you, kiddos,” he said. “Just a drill. Nothing to worry about.”
Nobody said anything.
“Bobcat got your tongues?” Nurse waited a moment longer, then squinted at them. “Well, now you’ve got me worried. Is anything the matter?”
Linnet spoke up before Eider could. “We’re just tired.”
“Ah.” Nurse nodded. “Drills are enough to make anybody tired. But they’re so very important.”
“Where do you go during drills, anyway?” Jay asked. “You and Teacher?”
Eider looked at him sharply. But Nurse just chuckled. “What do you mean?” he said. “We don’t go anywhere.”
“I just mean, how do you stay safe? If there’s a danger, but you’re not in the shelter with us?”
“Don’t worry about us, silly goose.” He patted Jay’s head. “How about we get some dinner in you, kiddos? Double portions, since you skipped your lunch. Then you can scamper off to bed for some quality slumber.”
Eider hadn’t expected a better answer than that, but it angered her just the same. She saw the same feeling reflected in the other kids’ eyes.
As they headed back to the dining area, Eider trailed behind. She hadn’t eaten since lunch, but she wasn’t hungry.
All of a sudden, she heard a rustling.
A white bird flew overhead. It had a curved neck, a hooked beak, and broad white wings. It flew in silence, but Eider could still hear it: the whisper of wind under its feathers, lifting it through the sky.
She tipped back her head to watch it. Where was it going? Had it come from the sea? The dead sea Eider had seen? The memory seemed so far away now, like an illustration in her fairytale book. Almost as far away as Robin.
But one thing was certain: The bird had come from Beyond. And Beyond was where it was headed.
Eider squinched her eyes shut. Breathed in, breathed out. She imagined what it would feel like to lift up, spread her wings, and ride the wind. To soar. Not the way Teacher meant, but literally.
All she had were her feet.
She opened her eyes and looked at them.
Eider had told the other kids to meet at the slabs that night. She hadn’t known who would come, though. Maybe Finch. Or Jay, who never wanted anyone to think he was scared.
But they’d all come. Every single one.
The five of them sat atop the same slab, legs crossed, looking inward. Teacher would have liked that, Eider thought.
“What could we possibly do?” Avis was asking.
“How about using Teacher’s broadcasting equipment?” Finch suggested. “Maybe we could break back in and broadcast a message—”
“How would we know anybody heard it, though?” Eider asked.
Avis rested her elbow on Jay’s shoulder. He blushed instantly. “Worse,” she said, “what if we got caught?”
Finch shrugged. “Anything’s going to have some risk.”
“Maybe one of us could sneak into the van,” Jay said, trying to rub the pink from his cheeks. “Lie down in the backseat and wait. And then, whenever it stops, climb out and run.”
“But it could take forever for them to drive anywhere,” Finch said. “You might suffocate. Or get heatstroke.”
Jay frowned. “I didn’t say me.”
“And anyway, run to where?” Avis asked. “And how would we get back, if we found some sort of help? Does anybody know where we actually are?”
“Camp Douglas,” Eider said.
“Huh?” Avis said.
“Never mind. But we’re not that far from the sea.”
“If we were so close, wouldn’t we smell it?”
“I think I do, sometimes,” Linnet said.
Eider turned to her. “You do?”
Linnet nodded shyly, and Eider smiled. She wished she’d given the younger girl’s friendship more of a chance. They’d had so much time, tucked away from the world. Locked away.
Linnet didn’t deserve that. Robin hadn’t, either. None of them did.
“I’ll run away and get help,” Eider said. “Myself.”
Four pairs of eyes stared at her.
“How?” Jay asked. “In the van?”
“On foot.”
“But what about rattlesnakes?” Linnet asked.
“I’ll be careful. Much more careful than last time….”
The other kids tried to talk Eider out of it. But it was the best plan they had. Eider had ventured Beyond the fence—not once, but many times. She’d been all the way to the sea. Most importantly, she had determination.
And, like one of Finch’s grins, it spread.
Even after they had finished planning, the kids remained at the slabs for hours. Discussing where they’d go, if the whole wide world existed. What they’d do when they got there. What delicious things they’d eat and drink. Who they’d become. They talked until the first gray light of dawn brightened the horizon—the very same horizon Eider and Robin had set out to find, years ago, before their world had ended.
When the kids finally crept back to their trailers, Eider couldn’t help noticing the look on Avis’s face. Avis didn’t really believe it. Not only about Teacher’s lies. But that Eider was going to go at all.
It didn’t matter. Eider believed in herself.
She believed in Robin.
And she believed in the other kids, too.
EIDER HAD JUST DRIFTED OFF when she woke to banging. At first, she thought it was the Handyman again, patching up another part of the fence.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Except this sound was way too close.
Then a voice: “You have ten seconds.”
Eider sat up in bed, blinking. Ten seconds until what? In their own beds, Avis and Linnet looked just as bewildered.
The door opened. “Put on your boots and come outside,” Teacher said.
The three girls glanced at each other, then scrambled to pull on their boots. Eider swallowed hard. What was going on? Did Teacher know they’d met last night? Had one of the boys told on them?
Outside, the desert sameness was the delicate pink of sunrise. The wind had picked up since they’d gone to bed. Teacher stood next to the Handyman, the mean dog bouncing frantically on the other end of his leash.
Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof
“Look for anything out of the ordinary,” Teacher told the Handyman. “Anything that clearly doesn’t belong to them.”
The Handyman looped the mean dog’s leash around the door handle. Then he disappeared inside their trailer. Right away, they heard banging and thumping, like all their belongings were being overturned.
Teacher faced the girls. Her expression was unread
able, but her voice was edged in razors. “Go wait with the boys in the classroom. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Beside her, Eider felt Linnet tremble. She put an arm around her. “Let’s go.”
“But what if he finds it?” Linnet whispered as the girls hurried away. “The piece with the flowers?”
“The piece?” Eider repeated, Then she realized Linnet meant the ceramic shard. “Oh, Linnet. Don’t worry. I’m sure that’s not what they’re looking for.”
“Or the marker? I—”
“I’ll bet she knows about her office,” Avis said, stepping in front of them. “I’ll bet you messed up something, and now we’re all going to get in trouble.”
“I didn’t mess up anything!”
Eider knew she’d been careful, leaving everything just as she’d found it. Except for the three World Book pages she’d taken, and there was no way Teacher could have noticed those. But then again—where were they?
The boys were already in the classroom, too nervous to sit. “Finch,” Eider whispered urgently. “Where are the pages? Did you leave them in the trailer?”
Finch shook his head. “I—”
“Shhh!” Avis said. “She’s coming.”
Sometimes, Teacher looked old and weary. Like she carried the weight of the end of the world on her shoulders. Other times, she looked strong and commanding. Like every single word she said had the power to fill a room.
As she stepped through the door of the classroom, she was both. Weary. But powerful.
“I’m extremely disappointed in you all,” she said. “Not just disappointed—I’m saddened. Ashamed. I told you how important it is not to sneak, not to keep secrets. I trusted you to tell me the truth. And you didn’t.
“Does anybody have anything to say?”
All the kids were rigid, silent. Then came a knock at the door.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
“Come in,” Teacher said.
Eider hoped it would be Nurse. His loopy presence seemed to defuse tense situations. But it was the Handyman, carrying a sack. At least he’d left the mean dog outside, though Eider could still hear it.
Woofwoofwoofwoofwoof
“Found a few things.” The Handyman reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of dingy fabric scraps, dumping them on the table. “Inside the redhead’s pillowcase.”
Race the Night Page 13