“Hey! There’s another passenger.”
“Stop the bus!”
“Let her on!”
The bus jolted to a stop and the door swung open with a whoosh. After Carly climbed the steps and handed her ticket to the driver, he said, “That was a close one. You almost didn’t make it, little lady.”
“I know. Thanks for stopping,” she said. A smattering of applause came from the other passengers, but she didn’t smile.
As she walked toward me, I said, “Oh, Carly, what have you done?”
“I got in the car to drive home, but I just couldn’t do it, Russ. I’m sorry.”
The bus was moving now. There was no turning back. I jabbed a thumb toward the back. “Let’s sit down.”
Toward the back we found two aisle seats, one in front of the other. Before I could say anything, Carly handed a sheet of paper back to me. I unfolded it and saw, in her scribbled handwriting: Don’t say anything. I think there might be some of them on the bus. She must have written this ahead of time. Maybe when she was in line at the ticket counter? How did her mind work? It was a mystery to me.
And so, because we didn’t know who might be listening, we traveled in silence, the thrumming of the bus providing a soothing backdrop for the passengers who buried themselves in their own world—reading, listening to iPods, staring out the window. Only a few people talked, thankfully, and none of them to us. I looked around, but if there were any Associates on board, I couldn’t pick them out. Carly coming along was a big mistake. I knew that and yet I understood. I couldn’t have gone home either. The not knowing would have killed me, and it had to be even worse for her. Frank was my slightly annoying, sometimes endearing nephew. For Carly, Frank was her one and only child.
We were heading south, about an hour into the drive, when a plume of dark smoke on the road ahead got everyone’s attention. The bus slowed to a crawl before coming to a complete stop. Around us, every lane of the expressway was stopped, making the interstate look like a long, narrow parking lot. Passengers unbuckled their seat belts to get a better view. Those riding closest to the front yelled commentary to those of us in back. “There’s an overturned semi,” one guy called out. “And it’s smoking up a storm.”
Worried voices began speculating. Why would it be smoking? “I hope it doesn’t explode,” said the lady with the Kit Kat bar. “If that happens we’re all goners.”
The bus driver got on the PA system to tell everyone to stay calm. He was going to be in touch with his superiors at Greyhound and we’d be back on course in no time.
As Carly and I exchanged worried looks, my phone went off. The number on the display read “Private.” I showed it to Carly, who said, “Answer it.”
“Hello?”
The voice, thick, deep, and distorted, was the same as the message on Carly’s cell. “Get off the bus. Walk to the top of the exit ramp and wait.” Almost a growl. I started to ask for more information, but a sharp click indicated the call was over. I motioned to Carly. “This is our stop. We’re getting off.” Unquestioningly, she followed me down the aisle.
When we got to the front, I told the driver, “We need to get off here.”
He regarded me with wide eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, we need to get out.”
He threw his arms up like I can’t believe this guy, and chuckled. “That’s rich. Sorry, son. Not going to happen.”
“I’m serious,” I said. “We really need to get off the bus. It’s an emergency.”
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don’t think you’re getting it. I would never let a passenger out in the middle of the expressway. Company policy. There are liability issues.”
Carly pushed ahead of me. “I need to go outside. I feel sick. I think I’m going to throw up.” She leaned over him and made a face like she was going to yak right on him.
Reflexively, he shoved her aside with an outstretched arm. “Lady, there’s a bathroom in back. Throw up there.”
“Get your hands off me!” Carly said.
“You need to take your seat.” His face was turning red. And then, under his breath, “I really don’t need this right now.”
She turned to me and, through clenched teeth, said, “Zap him, Russ.”
Earlier she’d told me never to use my powers in front of other people. Now she wanted me to shoot electricity in front of a busload of people. That was Carly for you. Impulsive, my mom always said. Carly just didn’t always think things through.
I shook my head. I had a better idea. I put my hand on the bus driver’s shoulder, and just like I’d infused healing energy on previous occasions, I now tried to use mind control. I’d never done this before, but something told me I could. “Sir, you need to open the door right now.”
He didn’t respond for a moment, but his body relaxed. I felt his shoulder loosen, and I knew something was happening.
I said, “Listen carefully. I’m telling you that you need to open the door for us.”
His eyes became vacant as my thoughts became his thoughts. “I need to open the door right now?” he asked.
“Yes, please. And then, after we’re through, close the door behind us and resume doing whatever it is you’d usually do under the circumstances.”
And just like that, he reached for the button and the door swung opened. “Thank you for riding with Greyhound. Have a pleasant day,” he said, nearly robotically.
Carly and I rushed down the stairs. Behind us on the bus I heard a woman yell, “Hey, how come they get to go?” Then the door swung shut and we were out in the middle of the interstate.
“We really didn’t need the theatrics, Carly,” I said, pulling her sleeve.
“Where are we going now?”
I gestured beyond the accident scene. “To the top of the exit ramp, just like the man said.”
The entire roadway was at a standstill. We wove our way around idling vehicles, inhaling exhaust and getting stares from the occupants of the stopped cars. When we approached the overturned semi, we veered to the far right shoulder. I didn’t see a fire or any human beings, but smoke surrounded us and I could feel the heat. “Is this a real accident, do you think?” Carly asked. “Or was it staged for us?”
“I don’t know.” We plunged through the smoke and came out the other side, coughing and choking. “It’s real smoke, anyway,” I said.
Carly pulled a water bottle out of her purse and took a swig. When she handed the bottle to me, I took a swallow as well and then splashed a handful on my face to ease my stinging eyes. We continued on to the exit ramp, one hundred yards past the accident site. Climbing the hill alongside the ramp, we made our way up. At the top was a quiet two-lane country highway. And parked by the other side of the highway was a white cargo van.
“I think that’s our ride,” I said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
I expected two men in suits to leap out and toss us bodily into the back of the van, but that didn’t happen.
When we approached, two women wearing jeans, T-shirts, and sunglasses ambled out of the van and greeted us with smiles. They were Associates, I assumed. Both had dark hair, were slim, and were, I’d even say, on the attractive side, although too old for me. They could have been friends of Carly’s, which I think, in retrospect, was the point. They were trying not to intimidate me. “Russ Becker?” one said, but I think the question was only a formality. I definitely got the impression they recognized me.
We crossed the highway. “That’s me. I’m Russ Becker.”
“You were supposed to come alone,” the second one said, lowering her shades to give Carly a long stare. She sounded disapproving, but not angry.
“Actually, the message didn’t specifically say to come alone,” I said. “We can play it back for you if you want.”
Carly said, “You have my son. Where is he?” Her voice had a harsh, ragged edge to it, and even though I understood what she was going through I winced, afraid she was going to screw this thing up and we’d never
ever get to Frank.
“Frank is fine. He’s not upset at all. He’s waiting for you.” This from the first one. With their sunglasses on they looked unnervingly alike, but I now thought of this one as the “nice” one. Whether or not either of them was nice remained to be seen. Probably not, since they were part of an organization which kidnapped little boys and killed teenagers.
“You’re going to take us to him?” I asked, and when the first one nodded, I added, “Well, then let’s go.”
One of the women got in to drive, while the other motioned for us to follow her around to the back of the van. She opened the door to reveal an area with two bucket seats. There was a wall at the far end, making this space completely separate from the driver and passenger compartment up front. “It’s a short drive,” she said. “I hope you’ll find it comfortable.”
Carly glared at her before climbing in; I followed her in. “How long will it take?” I asked, but she slammed the doors shut and didn’t answer.
I noticed the lack of windows in the back and the fact that the door we’d just entered couldn’t be opened from the inside. Track lighting on the floor gave us enough illumination to see each other. The rest of the space around us was bare, as far as I could tell.
“They didn’t pat us down for weapons,” I said. “That’s good.”
“You’re the weapon,” she said, running her fingers through her hair. “They can’t take that away.”
“And they didn’t make a big deal out of you coming along.” I was trying to look on the bright side.
“No,” she said, thoughtfully. “It was like they sort of expected it. They put up the pretense of being irritated that you didn’t come alone, and then you pointed out that the message didn’t specifically say that, and they let it drop.”
“Do you think we’re being watched and listened to right now?”
“Yes,” Carly said. “I think they know everything. Everything we say and do. There’s no getting around it.” She spoke to the emptiness of the van. “Frank is a good boy. If you’ve hurt him, I hope you all rot in hell.” She got a Kleenex out of her purse and dabbed at her eyes.
When the van started moving, we put on our seat belts, riding in silence for the next few minutes. Carly looked grim and exhausted. I wasn’t sure if it was the ordeal or the lighting, but she’d never looked worse. “What if they don’t take us to Frank?” she said, in a low voice. “What if he’s not even…”
Her voice cracked with emotion. She couldn’t finish the sentence, so I did. “He’s not dead, Carly. We’re going to get him and take him home. He’ll be sleeping in his own bed tonight.”
“What if they want you to stay? Like, as a trade for Frank?”
“Then I’ll stay.”
“No, Russ, you can’t do that.” The expression on her face was one of horror. “You have no idea what you’re saying. You don’t know what they’re capable of.”
“I’m starting to get a clue.”
She buried her head in her hands. “I can’t even imagine a way this can end well.”
I said, “Carly, don’t borrow trouble. There’s no point in worrying about anything just yet.”
The van went over a bump and made a turn, then started accelerating. If I had to guess, I’d say we were back on the expressway now. The quiet was unnerving. I never realized how much I relied on music to fill the driving void until I didn’t have it.
“How is it you were you able to do that to the bus driver?” Carly asked. “Getting him to change his mind like that.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. I mean, I just suddenly felt like I could get inside his brain and get him to do what I wanted. I was pretty sure I could do it, actually. It felt like—you know how it is when you get a growth spurt and without even trying you suddenly realize you can now reach the top shelf in the pantry closet, the one where Dad keeps the candy bars?”
“Yeah. I mean no. I never got that tall; I still can’t reach that shelf.”
I grinned. “Okay, bad comparison.”
“I understand what you’re saying. But why are you suddenly getting all these extra abilities? I thought each person just got one.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there are actual rules that come with this.”
We were quiet for a time, staring at the place where there would be windows, if there were any. Like being in a paddy wagon, I thought. Not that I’d ever been in one, I just knew about it from the movies.
Carly said, “So Dad keeps candy bars on the top shelf?”
I nodded. “Yeah. He’s got a stash. I found it in seventh grade.”
She twisted her hands in worry. “I wonder what Mom and Dad are doing right now.”
I didn’t know for sure, but I could imagine them finishing up dinner, then rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, exchanging small talk about the weather and the annoyances of their work day. My mom would be saying how nice it was that I was staying at Carly’s to help Frank with his project for school. For years she’d yearned for Carly and I to become closer. How ironic that this is what it took.
My phone went off, startling me. I’d felt cut off from the world, completely forgetting both of us still had our phones. Carly’s eyebrows rose questioningly as I answered. “Hello?”
“Russ?” I hadn’t recognized the number, but I knew the voice even though it was slightly different from the version I heard inside my mind during our evening talks.
“Nadia!” Despite the fact that we were in the middle of the most depressing drive of my life, I couldn’t help myself—I was happy to hear from her. It was like unexpectedly running into a friend while visiting another country.
She got right to the point. “Mallory told me you left school early. Is everything okay?”
I hesitated, remembering Carly’s opinion that we were being watched. “Just a minute.” I made a pretense of covering the phone and said to Carly, “Hey, Carly, it’s my friend Nadia.” I went back to the phone. “Yep, everything’s fine. I’m just hanging out with my sister.”
Nadia was perceptive. She knew I didn’t normally hang out with Carly, and she understood that I couldn’t tell her what was actually going on. “Oh great,” she said, playing along. “I was a little concerned, but it sounds like everything’s fine.”
“Yep, all good.”
Nadia said, “Okay, well I hate to cut this short, but I have a ton of homework to do. Talk to you later.”
“Take it easy,” I said, signing off. And then to Carly, “She had homework to do.”
To Carly’s credit, she didn’t question the phone call any further, although she did look puzzled. “Maybe I should call Mom and Dad,” she said.
“No, you’ll just make them suspicious. If they haven’t called us, everything’s okay. Let it go.”
A minute or so later, Nadia was in my head. I heard her say: What in the hell is happening to you? I felt her energy all around us, but Carly didn’t seem to notice it. I got the impression Nadia was a radio frequency only I could hear.
How did you find me? I asked, incredulous. It was all the more amazing considering we were on the move in an unmarked van, and I didn’t even know where we were.
Nadia sounded gleeful. I used my Russ tracker!
Seriously?
Seriously, no. I have no idea how I found you. I just thought about you and here I am. What’s going on?
I filled her in on everything that had happened from the time I left Mr. Specter’s class until now. It had only been a few hours, but it felt like a lifetime.
When I finished, Nadia said, What do you think they want?
I don’t know. We’ll find out, I guess.
Do you want me to stick around?
She had to ask? Just having her around made everything better. I would have wrapped myself in her energy if I could have. Smiling, I said, Yes, if you can.
You’re in luck. I’m grounded until I’m eighteen, so it turns out I’ve got plenty of time and nowhere else to
go. Count me in. I’m along for the ride.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
I could tell when the van had left the expressway and switched to side streets, and from there I noted a slowdown that meant we were approaching our final destination. I’d heard of people trapped in trunks of cars who figured out where they were going based on the sound of the road and by keeping track of turns, but I hadn’t really been paying attention. Frankly, I had no idea where we were or how far we’d come. Neither Carly nor I had thought to look at the time when we left the bus, so I couldn’t use that as a guide either. Eight hundred hours of watching crime shows on TV and I still came up with nothing. Worst hostage ever.
When the van jolted to a stop, Carly’s eyes got wide. “We’re here,” she said.
I knew it was either the end of everything or just the beginning.
Through it all, I sensed Nadia’s reassuring presence. At least, if they killed us, I thought, she could bear witness.
Muffled voices came from outside the van, and I sensed that our lady drivers were joined by others—men from the sound of it. The back doors to the van swung open, and both Carly and I blinked from the sudden light. The van was inside what looked like a big warehouse. Again, shades of the movies. These guys might be menacing, but they weren’t all that original. A half dozen people clustered around the opened doors: the two women who drove us, and four men dressed more formally in button-down shirts and dark pants, not a tie in the bunch, but they still resembled the men in the suits we’d encountered driving Mallory home. All six looked to be about Carly’s age. And all of them stared at me like I was the most interesting specimen in the zoo.
“Mr. Becker?” one of the men said.
“Yes?” I said.
“I think we’ve covered this,” Carly snapped. “He’s Russ Becker. I’m Carly Becker. You’re the Associates, and you have my son Frank. We want him back.” As always, Carly was not about to pave the way with diplomacy. She was never one to do things the easy way.
“Thank you for coming,” the same guy said, completely ignoring my sister’s angry outburst. “We appreciate it.”
Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 Page 21