by B. C. Tweedt
He didn’t want to hear it. He was waiting for the word ‘fight’. Whenever it came, he knew just what to do.
“And if you’re her friend, I’ll be your friend, too.”
Sam was playing with his mind. He was a politician’s son. He knew how words could be weapons. To distract with the mouth as the hands do the dirty work. But Greyson wouldn’t be deceived.
“Fight!”
Sam threw down his stick and stuck both hands out to his sides, face upward in a sacrificial manner.
Greyson stopped short with his jab. Sam was defenseless – his stomach, crotch, and face were all appealing targets – but how could he hit a defenseless person? “What are you doing?” he hissed.
“Asking for peace,” Sam said, lowering his eyes to look at him.
Racing thoughts shot through Greyson’s mind. He couldn’t read this kid. Is he really asking for peace? Does he really want to be friends?
He looked to Sydney and to Kip for any help. Sydney was smiling and Kip was shaking his head, just as confused as he was.
Finally, glancing back at Sam and at the referee, he knew there was only one option. The rest he could figure out later.
“Fine. Friends. But just so you know. There can only be one winner.”
And with that, he jacked Sam upside the face and watched his body spin to the inflatable floor with a limp bounce.
The crowd gasped and, after a moment’s hesitation, the referee grabbed Greyson’s hand to raise it in victory. Greyson quickly handed the ref his stick and dove down to Sam. He was groaning at the edge of the stage, still stunned from the blow. Extending his hand, Greyson offered him help. With his eyes struggling to focus, Sam took it and together they walked from the stage.
When they had returned to solid ground, Sydney smacked Greyson. “How could you do that?”
He laughed. In love and war… “What? Win?”
She scoffed as he pulled his helmet off, replacing it with his red hat. “No, smack a defenseless person in the head.”
“He wasn’t defenseless. He had a helmet.”
Sam removed his helmet and threw it with the other used helmets. “My head’s still spinning.”
Greyson held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three. But you should stop twirling them. It’s hard to count.”
They all laughed until Agent Murray stooped down to look in his eyes. Sydney and Greyson shared a concerned look, but Agent Murray smiled. He checked out okay. Greyson sighed a sigh of relief. If I’d given him a concussion, what would Agent Murray have done to me? Would Kip have come to my rescue?
Where was Kip? He glanced around and found him talking on his cell. It looked like the call was important.
“That was a jerk move, Greyson,” Sydney sighed.
Sam butted in. “No, it was cool, Sydney. I would have done the same thing. There can only be one winner.”
He winked at Greyson, and for the first time, he thought he might have felt something other than hatred for the boy. Greyson smiled.
“Nolan.”
Greyson turned to Kip. “Yeah?”
“That was your mother. She thinks she’s on to something back at camp. I’m going to join her. Stay with Agent Murray at all times. Buzz me if you need anything. If you’re not back before 4pm, I’ll find you with my gun. Got it?”
Kip seemed so urgent Greyson couldn’t think of anything to say. “Sure. Got it.”
“Sapere Aude.” With that, Kip jogged off in the direction of camp. Greyson watched, astonished at the quick turn of events. ‘Never leave his sight’ one moment, ‘see you at 4’ the next?
“She’s on to something?” Sydney asked. “What’s that mean?”
“I don’t know.” Greyson’s phone buzzed again inside his pack. He’d forgotten. “Excuse me.”
He turned from them, walked a short distance, and checked his messages.
Nik thinx pubes atakking 2day cuz 4 canidits speeking.
Pube kids getting closr. Herry bak!
“Sydney!”
Sydney left Sam and rushed over. “What’s wrong?”
He quickly explained to her how the twins had been staking out the Security Building and Nick’s theory about Pluribus’ intentions. She soaked it all in.
“So…you’re going to raid the Security Building? Even after what Kip said to us last night?”
“I…I don’t know. We have to. If we find out anything at all we’ll call in the big guns.”
“Why don’t you call them in now – have them check it out?”
“Because. We know the security is in on it. And remember the cops at Morris? It must be a normal part of their plan to infiltrate the good guys.”
“What about Kip? The FBI?”
“I’ve got him on speed dial with this clicker. But he’s helping my mom right now and we’re in a rush. Plus, I just promised him I’m staying out of it. If he finds out I’ve been lying…”
“Right. Well, how about the Secret Service?”
Greyson thought for a moment and almost smacked himself for missing it. “Right. Of course. They’d be the first to want to stop it!”
“Let’s ask him.”
They called Agent Murray over, and when they had filled him in, he calmed them with adult reassurances. “We are well aware of the possibility, and Secret Service has already been assigned to two of the candidates. It’s our job to secure the locations well in advance, and the Security Building has already been secured and re-secured several times. I’ve seen to it, and I can assure you it is safe.”
“But why would they allow kids putting up torches to go in there?”
Agent Murray sighed and attempted a smile. “Kid. Listen. The Security Building has many uses. One being to secure things – especially things with fuel inside of them that they don’t want the public to mess around with. The Security Building is one of only a few places where the public is not allowed. Make sense?”
Greyson nodded, searching for any more possibilities. He wasn’t fully convinced, but maybe he should be. The Secret Service should have things well under control. They had many agents, experience, tools, and weapons that no twelve-year-old could have. Their lives were dedicated to keeping places safe. Maybe he should take Kip’s advice and just leave it to the adults. Let it go.
“Yeah. I guess.”
“Good. Now, people are paranoid enough. Don’t go telling everyone there’s going to be some attack or sneaking around in private property; that’s only going to feed the paranoia and get you in big trouble.”
Leaving them with a warning stare as fear-inducing as a principal’s, Agent Murray returned to his post by Sam.
“Well, we better go check on the twins and make sure they don’t do anything stupid,” Greyson said to Sydney.
“You don’t trust him, do you?”
Greyson let a grin pull at his lip. She could read him well. “Not enough.”
Sydney grinned back. “So you’re still going to check it out.”
“Yeah. Well, we are. You’re going with us.”
Sydney sighed. “I’m going to sit this one out.”
Greyson couldn’t believe it. “Really? But coming with me is your thing!” He glanced over at Sam, who was patiently waiting by Agent Murray. “Because of him?”
“I told him I’d be at his dad’s speech. It’s in less than an hour.”
“We’ll be in and out.”
“But what if you’re not?”
“Then you miss the speech! Big deal!”
Sydney drew back, away from his shouting. They stood, thinking without speaking for a long pause. She was being dumb, but it didn’t give him an excuse to yell.
“Sorry. You know what? I guess it’s best you stay out of the way, anyway. Just tell Sam and Agent Murray I’m going to catch up with Kip.”
He turned from her and started toward his destination.
“Greyson.” She took a step toward him, but stopped short. They exchanged a linger
ing look, as if they were about to say a long goodbye. “See ya.”
A shared excitement crossed between their eyes, a common love for adventure and friendship attempting to unite them again. They smiled with hints of regret in both.
“See ya.” He dashed away, looking back only once, but catching her eyes for a last goodbye wave.
---------------
“Where are they?” Greyson asked, rushing up to the twins.
Jarryd and Nick threw Greyson his State Fair shirt, with the word “Legendary” in bold italics scrawled across the front. “They’re coming,” Nick warned. “Liam’s been following them for us. He says they’ve planted the last torch.”
Greyson changed shirts behind a large, box air-conditioner in an alley out of view of the Security Building. “So, it’s now or never,” Greyson whispered. “The window’s about to close. Where’s Sammy?”
“Horseshoes championship. What window?”
Greyson set his jaw, nodding to himself. “We’re going in.”
Jarryd’s eyes grew wide. “In? After the Plurbs?”
“Why?” Nick wasn’t as excited. “What about Kip? We have to let him know about their plan!”
“No. He won’t believe us. Agent Murray didn’t believe us when we told him. Kip said he wouldn’t have brought me here if the fair was unsafe; he says his job is to keep me safe. If I tell him I doubt him one more time, without any proof, well. If we tell Kip, all we do is go home.”
Nick sighed, thinking, but then gave a nod of approval. “Okay. We prove it to him.”
“What about, Sydney?” Jarryd asked.
“With Sam.”
The twins nodded, catching the disappointment in his voice. “So it’s just us.”
The three boys looked at each other and Greyson leaned in, bringing the twins in for a huddle. “Forget about her. Nick, you’re going to stay on watch. If we aren’t out in thirty minutes, call 911 and Kip. Tell Liam to watch you from a distance. If they catch on to you, he’ll call 911.”
“Got it. Good idea.”
“Hold on,” Jarryd whispered. “You want me to go in there with you?”
“Yeah.”
“Sweet! How are we doing it?”
Greyson smiled, looking back over his shoulder as the pack of Plurbs rounded the corner to the main concourse.
“We’re walking through the door. Right behind them.”
Jarryd’s face froze. “What?”
“That’s right. We’re dressed like them. We’re almost the same age. And if we act confident enough, the dumb guards won’t think to count.”
His face was still frozen, his big front teeth shaking a bit underneath his upper lip. “They’ll catch us for sure! And quarantine us in the building, right above the mass graves. Maybe they’ll experiment on us with their virus before releasing it on the public. Maybe –”
“Jarryd. I have a lot of things in this pack of mine. Need these?”
Greyson held up two ball bearings. He handed them to Jarryd and he rolled them in his palm.
“Balls?” Jarryd’s smile returned. “Okay, okay. Got it. I have balls. I can do this.”
Greyson gave him a fist pound, put the balls back in his pack, and turned to Nick. “Take my hat. The front kid would recognize it.” He handed it to Nick and turned again to the Plurbs. They were almost to the Security Building. If they were to join them from behind, they’d have to make their move now.
“Ready, Jarryd?”
“Ready.”
“Be confident. Act like they do. If we get caught, I expect you to have a good story.”
“Got it.”
Greyson watched the group carefully, hiding behind the corner of the brick building. Suddenly his nerves caught up to him. He’d been so busy reassuring Jarryd that he forgot how scared he was. This wasn’t a walk in the park – especially if his suspicions were right.
One part of his brain told him he was wrong. The Secret Service had checked it out. He had no evidence. But another part of his brain urged him to go forward. Even if it wasn’t some mass Pluribus plot, the kid at the front was still a Plurb who was buddy-buddy with a few cops. He had to find out what he was doing in the Security Building. The Secret Service may have checked out the building, but they could have missed the kid. It would be wrong to ignore his gut here and to give in to the fear that threw excuse after excuse at him.
Dare to be wise. He had to do right, even if it was hard – and even if he seemed to run toward trouble like Snakeskin had said. That was the daring part.
And for the wise part, he reached down to his fanny pack and pulled out the GPS clicker. Rubbing his thumb over the button reassured him. He was only one click away from help. This was not going to be a repeat of Morris.
And yes, it was his job. His dad had given it to him. Do what’s right. It was a command.
When the group of chatting kids passed, the boys took a deep breath.
Now or never.
Chapter 14
Greyson and Jarryd sped around the corner, quickly catching up to the last of the six kids – a redheaded girl about Sydney’s height, but in Greyson’s opinion, much less attractive. Dangling from her side was a thick, coiled bullwhip. The rest in the group were boys – a short, shaggy-haired one, a tall, black haired one, a thicker one with buzzed hair, and another short one with glasses. Obviously, the tallest boy in front was the leader. The rest of the group was laughing as he continued a story.
“And then the crowd started pushing me, you know? Yelling stupid things about freedom, all while trying to stop me from freely saying what I wanted to say. Hypocrites!”
The boy in front glanced back at the group, and Greyson turned his cheek to him; thankfully the boy’s focus was mainly on the door ahead.
The group approached the door and Greyson’s heart skipped a beat. Who knows what’s behind that door? What will we do when inside? Will there be a place to hide? Will we even get inside?
We’ll find out soon enough…
The guards had seen the group approaching and swiped the card-reader. The lock buzzed and the closest guard opened the door, sweeping his eyes across the group. Greyson’s face grew hot and he forgot to breathe.
Confidence. Confidence.
Breathing out, Greyson forced a smile and patted Jarryd on the shoulder, pretending to laugh at the boy’s story with the rest of the group. Jarryd returned the favor, laughing and avoiding eye contact with the guards.
They passed by them, through the doorway, and onto white tile floor. Greyson could feel the strong hand grasp his shoulder from behind, but it never came. The door swung shut behind them and buzzed locked.
He wanted to stop, to take in his surroundings, to plan their next step, but the group would not stop. They kept up their chipper chitchat, ignoring the happenings of the room around them.
But Greyson and Jarryd could not ignore them. The large room was riddled with long, foldout tables and chairs that were now askew. They showed evidence of use, with parts of tiki-torches laying in piles and fragments and papers spread around as if a tiny tornado had passed through, whipping them about the room. There were only a few people walking about, and they were oddly dressed for security. One middle-aged man wore coveralls, a woman who may have been his wife was in a faded floral dress, and a few other men were in jeans and t-shirts. And all of them were packing things in boxes or raveling electric cords that had once been connected to computer monitors that were being carried out the back door to an unmarked moving truck.
It really could have been a volunteer operation for decorating for the upcoming parade. The people certainly don’t look like terrorists.
Shoot!
He snapped to a stop, an inch from the heels of the redhead. The group had stopped at the elevator to the right and he had nearly toppled into them. Luckily they were still engaged in conversation. But without the movement, Jarryd and Greyson suddenly felt exposed.
Greyson slowly bent his knees, lowering himself just slightly under
the ponytail of the redhead. Jarryd followed suit. Together they glanced down the hallway. There were open rooms ahead, but there was no way they could get past the group without being seen. And the empty tables behind them would not provide enough cover from the adults still packing up. There was nothing they could do except stay close and pray.
“It’s like these people don’t know what’s happening all around them,” the boy continued. “They’re blind or stupid. Or both!”
Ding!
The elevator doors swooshed open and the group herded in. Jarryd and Greyson were close behind, curling around the redhead as close as possible, staying short and quiet. They managed to sneak to the corner, sucking in the quietist gasps of air they could, trying not to bump into anyone despite the close quarters.
This is not good. They are too close. Where are they going? Don’t panic. Don’t panic!
The doors closed. Surrounded by enemies, it was like they were naked, squeezed, and being watched at all times. Their eyes shone like polished marbles, and their hearts seemed to betray their silence with drum-like beats against their ribs.
The boy swiped a card of his own over the card-reader next to the floor buttons. He held it against the reader even as he spoke. “Do they seriously think America is immune to what has happened all throughout history? Don’t all empires crumble from within?”
The Plurb boy was lecturing the rest like a teacher. He spoke with bitterness and passion. But he could have only been fourteen or fifteen years old. His Plurb-speak had to have been inherited. Are his parents here? Are all these kids with their parents?
Greyson glanced at the floor numbers. They had been on the first floor and the light for ‘B’ lit up and faded. The elevator continued humming even lower. But there was no lower floor. ‘B’ was supposed to be the last floor, but the teen at the front kept his card over the reader and watched the same floor lights. Somehow, the elevator kept going for a few more seconds until it slowed to a stop. When the teen pocketed his card, Greyson glanced at Jarryd.
They were below the basement. Nothing good was kept beneath a basement.
Graves, Jarryd mouthed.