by M. K. Krys
“Drop him,” Beacon told Galen. “He’s our friend.”
“How do we know we can trust him?” Galen asked.
“He’s immune to the antidote,” Everleigh said.
“Immune?” Galen said.
“Yeah. I’m immune, too,” Arthur piped up eagerly.
Galen frowned. “How is that possible? I’ve never heard of that before.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, actually,” Arthur said. “I’ve always assumed the antidote didn’t work on me because my brain is wired differently from my epilepsy. If that’s true, then there’s got to be other people who are immune, too. Like maybe anyone who is neurodivergent is immune?”
“Cool theory. I’d love to discuss it not hanging in the air!” Nixon said.
Beacon nodded at Galen, and he released his hold on the Gold Star.
Nixon oofed as he hit the ground. He pushed himself up and brushed leaves off his pants, his eyes shooting daggers at Galen.
“Are you okay?” Everleigh asked.
“I’m fine.”
“So are you?” Arthur asked.
“Am I what?” Nixon said.
“Neurodivergent,” Arthur said, like it should have been obvious.
“I would have thought you’d know the answer to that already,” Nixon said. “You know, since you read my file. But yeah.” He shrugged. “I’ve apparently got ADHD.” He rolled his eyes, like it was stupid, even as his cheeks turned red.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about, man,” Beacon said, at the same time as Arthur said, “I knew it! About my theory, not about you having ADHD. This makes so much sense! Man, that’s a big flaw in their system. There are tons of neurodivergent people. Way more than anyone realizes.”
“Glad we sorted all that out,” Nixon said. “Now on to the bigger issue. What the heck is wrong with all of you? What are you doing back here? I risked my butt to get you out of that ship, and now you’re skulking around the middle of the town square? You were about two seconds away from being spotted.”
“Our dad is being held prisoner,” Beacon explained.
“No, he’s not,” Nixon said irritably. “I told you, I’ve searched every inch of the ship, and he isn’t there.”
“Not on the ship,” Everleigh said. “Someplace else.”
Galen made throat-cutting gestures, but Beacon said, “The Sov have an on-land base.”
Nixon snorted. “No they don’t. I would know about something like that.”
“Maybe you’d know more if you hadn’t hung up on us,” Everleigh said.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this out here,” Beacon said, looking around warily.
“This wouldn’t be a problem if we’d gone to my grams’s house,” Arthur said. “It’s way closer.”
“Your grams?” Nixon said.
Beacon didn’t miss the odd note in Nixon’s voice. Neither did Arthur.
“What happened to her?” Arthur said. “Is she—did she . . . ?” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“She’s alive. It’s not that,” Nixon said. He tugged at his shirt collar. “She’s just . . . sick.”
“Sick? What do you mean?” Arthur said urgently.
“I don’t know,” Nixon said. “They said she had a stroke, but no one’s seen her in a while. Nurse Allen does everything for her. I think she lives there now. I tried to go over once with flowers, but Nurse Allen said she wasn’t in a condition for visitors. I’ve been thinking it might be a cover. The Sov know Arthur would want to contact his grandma, so it makes sense they would keep tabs on her 24-7 to try to catch you guys.”
“How do you know she isn’t really sick?” Arthur said.
“I don’t,” Nixon said.
Arthur looked out at the forest. It was clear he was imagining running through it, straight to his grandma’s house.
“It’s not safe to go there right now,” Beacon said. “What if Nixon is right? It could be a trap.”
Nixon looked over his shoulder. “I have to get back. It’s getting dark, and they’re going to notice I’ve been gone.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and disappeared into the forest.
Arthur’s throat bobbed.
Beacon didn’t know what to say. He wanted to offer Arthur a word of comfort, but he remembered what it was like after Jasper died, all the empty platitudes and advice he’d received, and how he hadn’t wanted any of that. He just wanted someone to be there. To listen if he wanted to talk. To sit with him in his pain. So Beacon just squeezed Arthur’s shoulder.
“Let’s get inside,” Beacon said. “It isn’t safe out here.”
When no one argued, he led the way to the inn, climbed the front steps, and knocked on the door. No answer.
“Try the handle,” Everleigh said.
Beacon expected to meet resistance, but the door creaked open. The sound echoed through the high rafters. The kids exchanged a glance before they entered. Inside, they were met with familiar knotted wood paneling and overstuffed couches. The logs in the stone hearth were cold, and the smell of baking that usually permeated the inn was missing. It was clear no one had been here for quite some time.
“Where do you think she is?” Beacon said.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Everleigh said. “She’s in that prison. She must have been captured the night we tried to break Arthur out.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Beacon said. “We didn’t see her on that surveillance footage. They could be keeping her somewhere else. Or maybe she got away.”
Or maybe she’s dead.
“Well, she hasn’t been here recently.” Everleigh ran a finger over a glass-topped table, leaving a clear streak in the dust.
Galen walked around, his boots thumping loudly on the creaking hardwood floors. He pulled back a curtain and looked outside, then turned to face the others.
“We’ll stay here,” he announced. “It’s off the beaten track, it’s big enough for all of us, and we’ve got a good view of the road so we can see if anyone is coming; that way we’ll have a bit of a head start if we need to run.”
Beacon glanced at the others. Everleigh had that familiar look on her face, like she wanted to argue but couldn’t think of any good counterpoints. She shrugged haughtily, then walked into the kitchen and started digging through the fridge. Arthur just crossed his arms.
“I guess that’s decided,” Beacon said.
“Food is going to be a problem,” Everleigh said. “Everything in the fridge is rotten.”
“I can handle groceries,” Galen said.
“You can?” Beacon said.
“How?” Everleigh spun around with her hand still gripping the fridge. “Oh my God. You’re going to transform, aren’t you? That’s how you’ve been getting by on the streets. You transform into, like, a baker so you can walk into the bakery and take bread!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Galen said. “It would take way too much energy to do that every time I needed groceries.”
“Then what do you do? We saw inside your wallet. We know you’re loaded.”
Galen shrugged. “I hack,” he said defensively.
“You mean you steal?” Everleigh said.
“Only from major corporations,” Galen said. “Nothing anything would ever notice.”
“Well, I guess that makes it okay, then,” Arthur said.
“You can starve if you’d feel better about it,” Galen shot back.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Beacon said. “We have a bigger problem. How are we getting Dad out of that prison?”
Saying it out loud made a sinking feeling come over him. Getting to Driftwood Harbor had felt like such an emergency, but now that they were actually here, it seemed crazy that they hadn’t made a plan before they came; it was as if they they’d jumped off a diving board without checking to see if
there was water in the pool first.
“We need to figure out a way to get into that base,” Beacon said. “Any ideas?”
No one spoke.
“This is a brainstorming session,” Beacon said. “No reason to be shy. No idea is a bad idea.”
“We could blow up the prison,” Everleigh said.
“Except that idea,” Beacon said. “That’s a bad idea.”
“I don’t mean the whole place,” Everleigh said. “Just, like, blow a hole in the side so people can get out.”
“Any other ideas?” Beacon said. “Anything a little less likely to get everyone in the prison killed?”
He looked at Arthur, hoping he would pipe up with one of his genius ideas, but he was sullenly staring into the middle distance. Probably thinking about his grandma.
“Maybe we can we dig our way in,” Everleigh said, “like that old movie where the prisoners dig a tunnel under their cell to freedom.”
“I like that,” Beacon said. “Would take a thousand years and probably kill our backs, but less conspicuous.”
“What about the sewer system?” Galen said. “Instead of digging our way in, we could go in using the already-established drainage systems in place. I could try to find building plans online so we’d know where to locate the underground pipes.”
“That’s an amazing idea!” Beacon said. “What do you think, Arthur?”
He turned to his friend. Arthur swallowed, but he didn’t reply.
“Arthur?” Beacon asked. “Are you okay?”
“You look all weird and pale,” Everleigh said.
Arthur mopped the sweat from his forehead.
“Maybe you should sit down.” Beacon pulled out a chair at the kitchen table.
Arthur took a step toward the chair. Then his eyes rolled back in his head. Beacon had just enough time to jump across the room before Arthur went down. The boy was as thin as a garden rake, but he was all dead weight as he collapsed on top of Beacon. With a great effort, Beacon wriggled out from under him and pushed himself up. Arthur jerked and twitched on the tile, his eyes glazed and vacant.
“What’s happening to him?” Everleigh said, fluttering anxiously over him. “Is this because of his grandma?”
“What would his grandma have to do with this?” Galen said.
“I don’t know! Like a panic attack or something?” Everleigh said.
“His lips are blue and he’s foaming at the mouth,” Galen said. “I don’t think it’s a panic attack.”
Beacon wanted to call the adult in the situation, someone who could handle this, but there was no one. They needed to do something. He needed to think.
“I think it’s a seizure,” Beacon said. “He has epilepsy. It’s normally controlled by medication, but he wouldn’t have been taking it since we left Driftwood Harbor.”
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t realized this sooner. This must have been why Arthur hadn’t been eating, why he was sweaty and shaky all the time. He was having drug withdrawal symptoms. And now his medications were fully out of his system. There was nothing to prevent him from having a seizure.
“What do we do?” Everleigh said.
“We need to turn him on his side,” Beacon said. “Make sure he doesn’t swallow his tongue or breathe in his own puke.” That’s what Arthur had said the teachers did for him when he had a seizure at school. “It’s okay so long as it doesn’t last over five minutes.”
“How long has it been now?” Galen asked.
“I don’t know,” Beacon said. It felt like forever. “We need his medications.”
“Awesome,” Everleigh said. “I need a jet pack and a monkey butler, while we’re making a wish list.”
“We can get it from his grandma’s house,” Beacon said.
“I’ll come with you,” Galen announced.
Beacon nodded. “Everleigh, stay with Arthur.”
“What? No! I don’t know what to do. What if he stops breathing?” Everleigh sent a panicked look at Arthur.
“He won’t,” Beacon said. “But . . . if he does, call 911.”
Their mission to save their dad would be over, but what other choice did they have?
Everleigh swallowed hard.
“Let’s go,” Beacon said to Galen.
They ran into the living room. Galen peeked out of the curtains. In the short time they’d been inside, the sun had sunk below the trees, casting the forest into shadow.
“Should we bring weapons?” Beacon said.
“Your weapons will be useless against the Sov and their guards. We just have to be fast. It looks clear.” He turned to Beacon. “Let’s do this.”
They ran out of the front door, and down the long, twisting driveway of Blackwater Lookout. Through a frosty meadow and over a babbling creek. Past a run-down cemetery full of broken gravestones, and into the shadowy forest. They didn’t stop until Arthur’s house shone through the trees. They crouched down next to a poplar tree, gasping for breath. The house was tiny, but right now, it loomed in the dark like a giant. The front porch light flickered on and off, and shadows lurked in the windows. Arthur’s grandma’s car was the only vehicle in the driveway, but that didn’t mean the place was safe.
“His bedroom is at the back of the house,” Beacon said. “Let’s try the window.”
They tiptoed around to the back of the house. The grass was damp, and Beacon’s shoes squelched with each step. When he got to Arthur’s room, he flattened his palms on the glass and pushed up, but the window didn’t budge. It was locked.
They scurried to the next window and peered inside. Arthur’s grandma lay on the bed. Her puff of white hair was fanned out on the pillow, and a crocheted blanket was pulled up under her chin. A sheen of sweat glistened on her deeply wrinkled skin, and her mouth hung open just the slightest bit. It was hard to tell if she was sick, or just sleeping.
She shifted in the bed, and Beacon ducked quickly, moving to the next window. He got lucky: It was already open an inch. Beacon shoved the pane up, then pushed aside the gauzy seashell curtains. Moonlight glinted off a pink porcelain tub and matching sink.
“Give me a boost,” Beacon whispered. Galen laced his fingers together and boosted him up with a little too much force. Beacon flew through the window, toppling over the ledge and onto the toilet with a clatter.
“Sorry!” Galen whispered from outside.
Beacon could barely hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears. He swallowed hard and cocked his ear to the doorway, waiting for any sign that someone was coming. But nothing happened.
He blew out a slow breath and pushed himself up. If he was lucky, Arthur’s medications would be here.
He opened the medicine cabinet and squinted inside, but all he could find were Q-tips and Vaseline. He tried the drawers under the sink next—curlers, hairbrushes, toothpaste. No medication. He was going to have to go deeper into the house.
He peered out of the bathroom door. Beacon had been here a few times before, but the dark made everything seem sinister. The once-cheerful floral couches now looked straight out of a horror movie. Shadows lurked behind a teak cabinet full of porcelain dolls, and in the corner, a grandfather clock ticked away the seconds like a bomb about to detonate.
He wanted nothing more than to get out of this place. But then he thought of Arthur, and he steeled himself.
He tiptoed down the hall, cringing when the old floor creaked under his weight. But he made it all the way to Arthur’s bedroom without incident. He quietly closed the door behind him.
If it weren’t for the neatly made twin bed, Arthur’s room could have been confused with a science lab. The pine desk against the wall was overflowing with beakers, test tubes, circuit boards, and even an old-school microscope like the one they used during science class. Pushed into one corner of the room was a big metal drum with a bare
lightbulb sticking out of its top. The prototype for the ARD—the alien radiofrequency detector. Beacon smiled, remembering how Arthur had called this room his “headquarters.”
He found the medication in the first place he checked, inside Arthur’s bedside table. He silently thanked Arthur for being so organized. He squinted at the different pill bottles—Keppra, Lorazepam, and a bunch of others he couldn’t even begin to pronounce. Beacon didn’t know which ones were important, so he grabbed Arthur’s beat-up JanSport backpack from the foot of his bed, pulled out the textbooks, and dumped all the pill bottles inside.
Now he just needed to get out of here.
A howl rang through the night. It sounded vaguely like a wolf, enough to hopefully fool anyone who heard it, but Beacon knew it was Galen. He froze. There was only one reason Galen would be so obvious—if he were trying to warn him that someone was here.
Beacon pushed up the window, just as footsteps thundered down the hall. Panic flared through him. The window was small. He would have to contort his body to squeeze out. There wouldn’t be time. He made a split-second decision and dashed across the room into the closet. He pulled the door closed just as the bedroom door burst open.
He watched through the slats as Nurse Allen stepped inside.
She was a good head taller than any woman he’d ever met before. Despite her size, everything about her was sharp, from the wide-set shoulders under her scrub top to the dark hair that curled under her pointed chin. Even her expression looked as if it could cut through glass. The last time he’d seen her, her veiny hands had been clasped around the antidote syringe.
Beacon’s heart raced so hard he was sure Nurse Allen and everyone else in Driftwood Harbor could hear it, but she didn’t turn. She stared at the window, her eyes narrowed. He knew she was doing the mental calculations on if she’d left it open.
Beacon crossed his fingers and prayed, Please just go to bed, please just go to bed. But Nurse Allen spun on her heel, and her eyes zeroed in on the closet.
He was caught.