by B. C. Tweedt
But in the next moment, the other would shout back. YOU CAN’T STOP IT! Even if you do, you and your friends will be hunted down and killed. And worst of all. You will never – never – find out where your dad is.
“No. Don’t call. Nothing is going to happen,” he reassured them, faking a smile. “We should get back to camp.”
He was trying to buy himself time to think. There has to be a solution! I have to save everybody. I have to! And not just the ones at the fair, but Dad as well. I have to save them all. And I don’t have much time.
Greyson glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes until the speech. That’s when they’ll do it.
Bouncing on his toes, Jarryd suddenly pulled Greyson to the side. “Dude,” he whispered to Greyson alone. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know. We can’t do anything,” he whispered, frustrated with himself. “You heard him. If we tell anyone or mess anything up, he’s going to kill all of our friends and family.” And my father will never be found. But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t tell Jarryd or anyone else what Emory had whispered about his father. The boys would think he was just being selfish. Besides, it didn’t matter. It would only complicate things. They didn’t need to know. “You’ve seen his army. He could do it.”
“Yeah. So we just let him kill everyone here?”
“We don’t know he’s going to do that.” Greyson’s chin dropped as he descended into thought. Deep down, somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, nipping at his conscience, something was pushing him to forget about the attack. Let it happen. Let Emory get what he wants so I can get what I want. And Greyson knew what Emory wanted. He’d said it himself. “He’s not the one we’re looking for.”
Greyson wasn’t the kid he was looking for. But someone else was. Emory wants Sam.
“What else would they have that army for?” Jarryd whispered a little too loudly, eyeing his brother and Liam who were impatiently waiting by the bench. Jarryd lowered his voice to a husk. “And the torches? And all those guns?”
Greyson couldn’t tell Jarryd they wanted Sam. Jarryd and Liam knew he didn’t like Sam, and they’d accuse him of wanting the terrorists to take Sam away. But Greyson hadn’t really thought of it until now. Sure, it would be convenient to have him gone, but he wouldn’t wish his fate on anybody. Besides, Sam was valuable. They wouldn’t hurt him. They’d have to fight through his bodyguards to get him, and as hostage, he’d let them bargain and negotiate with the governor. He’d be a trade to give them something they really wanted.
And then something struck him. A thought that scared him, sending a cold shiver down his arms, like he felt when he was caught doing something wrong. But it’s good, he thought. It could be a solution. It could actually work.
Sam would be Greyson’s trade as well. He’d let Emory have him if it meant he could possibly have his father.
“Greyson? We can’t let him do this.”
Greyson flung up his hands. “Do what? You know what he’s going to do, Jarryd? He’s going to kidnap the governor,” he lied. “The tiki-torches are fireworks, or smoke bombs – a distraction. They’ll nab him and use him as ransom. Okay? One guy? Is that so bad?”
Jarryd drew back in surprise. His eyes were as wide as quarters and his breath had locked on inhale. “Yeah! It is.”
“Ugh!” Greyson swung away out of frustration and then turned back with an angry whisper. “We can’t stop it okay? What am I supposed to do, huh? Tell me if you know. What? Either we all die, or strangers die. I vote for strangers.”
Greyson pulled away from Jarryd and marched down the concourse in the direction of the campgrounds. He couldn’t look at Jarryd anymore. Tears had begun to form in his eyes and he couldn’t let them see how weak he was. Leaders are supposed to know what to do and do it with confidence, not waver between two lose-lose scenarios and cry about it.
He sniffed and wiped at this nose.
“Greyson.”
Greyson stopped but didn’t turn around. He watched his feet.
“Greyson,” Jarryd repeated, walking up to him from behind. “Remember Morris. Didn’t that seem impossible? But we still tried. You said that we have to do the good we know we should do, no matter how hard. And it was frickin’ hard!”
A scorching array of thoughts battled for his attention, demanding his allegiance and his voice. He wanted to say one thing, but another fought it down.
“What is good?” erupted from his throat. He whipped around to Jarryd and found Nick and Liam had joined him. “Huh? Who says what good is?”
“You sound like him.”
Greyson ignored Jarryd’s comment and pointed at him. “You say it’s to sacrifice ourselves and everyone we love for strangers.” He pointed his finger at his own chest. “What if I say it’s to protect those we love? Huh? Who’s to say I’m wrong in letting this happen? Living to fight another day?”
Liam and Nick’s faces were pictures of confusion. An awkward pause stiffened the group allowing Greyson’s quivering lip to take the attention. Gradually the volume of the passersby’s conversations and laughter began to melt the tension and Greyson’s face lost its shade of red. The sun still beat upon their necks and scalps, but a cooler breeze had begun to blow through the trees lining the wide street.
After a deep sigh, Jarryd’s shoulders slumped and then shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, surrendering. “Fine.”
“Then it’s settled,” Greyson said, finally, calming the group. “We are going to get out of here. Get everyone we know out. But they can’t know why.”
“W-w-why c-can’t we know?”
“Because…because…”
Greyson had paused, watching Nick’s face drop into fright.
“Guys?” Nick said, finally.
Greyson and Jarryd turned to match Nick’s gaze. Six kids were standing outside the security building, in a straight line, all looking directly at them like they wanted to start the war early.
Liam gulped. “W-we should g-g-go.”
“Did…did they catch you?”
Jarryd and Greyson shared a solemn look. What should they say?
“Uh…” Greyson started.
“Dude,” Jarryd interrupted. “Just tell them. We have to. They won’t tell.”
Nick and Liam shared uncomfortable looks paired with nervous glances at the group of angry-looking Plurb children. “Tell us what?”
-------------------------
Every seat was filled. Even the space in the back between the rows of seats and the metal barricades was filled by those willing to stand the entire time. Stoic men in suits were patting the spectators down as they came in, checking for weapons. Even a canine unit was patrolling the line of citizens waiting to gain entrance to the speech.
“This is crazy. People really love your dad,” Sydney said, glancing between the curtains again. “Is it always so crowded?”
Sam nodded. “Ever since Morris. He’s been pretty bold about fighting terrorism and people like how he’s working to keep us safe.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy.”
“I think so, too.”
Sam eyed his father, who was on the other side of the stage, going through his notes with a speechwriter.
“Do you know the other candidates and their families?” Sydney asked.
“A little. We’ve met and shook hands and all. But it’s hard when you know they don’t like my dad.”
“I bet. Those jerks.”
They laughed.
“Are the other candidates giving speeches, too, today? At the fair?” Sydney was remembering what Greyson had said about Nick’s theory.
“Maybe? I know there are three others here today. It’s like a record or something. It’s the whole thing about Iowa being the first caucus state and a swing state. The nomination and the election could both come down to this one state. So this is a good place to hang with people, try and look normal and act friendly.”
“But when you get home, you let out your weird, mean s
ide?”
Sam crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue at her. “Like that?”
They laughed again, until they got hushed by one of the stagehands. They apologized and laughed under their breath.
Sam was normal enough, especially for someone who could be world famous in a year or so. He could be ‘First Son’. And then what would that make her? ‘First Son’s Friend’?
She scratched her nose and snuck a look at his eyes. What would it be like to date him?
He caught her look and smiled.
Nah. She couldn’t think of it yet; she was too close with Greyson. But someday. If she and Greyson didn’t work out – she could be ‘First Son’s Girlfriend’.
-------------------
They were running. Not literally – that would draw too much attention – but they were on a quick march toward the speech and away from the intimidating teenagers who were in casual pursuit. When Greyson had seen the group of Plurbs, a sudden, sad realization had hit him.
He couldn’t save everybody. But he could save those most important to him.
His father was first. And to do that, he had to keep anyone from playing the hero and stopping the attack. His mom was next, but she wouldn’t come to the speech when there was research to do. She was safe for now. And then there was Sydney, the most at-risk. She was already at the speech, right next to the target and in the crosshairs. He would have to get her out, and soon.
“What time is it?” he asked the group, picking up the pace as they swerved in and out of other strolling pedestrians.
Nick looked at his watch. “3:42. Do you think they’ll strike at four?” he asked. “In eighteen minutes?”
The boys shrugged. They were still struck dumb by the revelation of another impending attack. Liam and Nick had understandably panicked and bombarded them with questions, but Greyson had kept them controlled. “We can’t stop it,” he’d said. “Just tell your parents the speech is too full and that you’ll meet them in the campgrounds. Whatever happens, don’t tell them the truth and don’t let them near the speech.” And then he had thought of Sydney.
He whipped out his cell phone, eyeing the clicker, which had been returned to his bag. He paused on the text message screen, giving the clicker a second take. It could be a way out, if Emory was honest about keeping it set to warn the FBI. More than likely it was only set to warn the terrorists he’d gone bad on his deal.
If it still signaled the FBI, he needed Kip now more than he would ever need him. But that’s what Kip wanted, isn’t it? For me to call on him just as the bait was taken. He would jerk at the bobber and Kip would have his fish hooked.
A part of Greyson didn’t want Kip or the FBI to get Emory just out of spite. This bait had a chance to escape the hook and laugh in the fisherman’s face. If the FBI was willing to use him like that, they deserved to fail. Besides, if Emory really did have eyes in the FBI – he couldn’t trust anyone.
Who was good here? The FBI using kids as bait? The government taking away freedoms? The Plurbs about to kill and kidnap? How was he supposed to know what to do?
“Greyson? We need to get coffee on a stick for you or something?”
“Nah. No, I’m cool,” he said, picking up the pace. “Just thinking.”
“Then what do we do?”
He took a glance back at the Plurbs, who had matched their pace. “Just a second.”
“We don’t have many of those left!”
He backed out of the text message screen and dialed Sydney.
---------------------
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and glanced at the very unflattering picture of Greyson she had taken on the ride to the fair. His eyes were half open and his mouth partially yelling, “Stop!” She smiled, but put the phone away. They had to be quiet backstage or be at risk of another hushing by the stagehand.
She turned to Sam, who had donned a smart looking suit and a patriotic tie. He was chewing three pieces of gum at once, working his jaw until it hurt.
“This works my jaw muscles. Every politician does it.”
“Really?” Sydney laughed.
“No. But they should!” He added another piece. “And it gets my saliva glands working. Don’t want them to dry up on stage.”
Sydney walked over to him and reached out her hand. “Give me a piece.”
He chewed even louder next to her as he shrugged. “I’m out.”
“No way.”
“Way. But you can have some of mine.” He reached into his hunk of gum and pulled out a long stretch of pink. A chunk snapped free and he held it out to her.
She smirked. “That’s pretty disgusting. It would be like chewing your saliva.”
Sam shook the thread of gum in front of her face. “It’s okay. I do it all the time.”
Sydney’s phone vibrated again, this time for a text message. Pulling it out, she peeked at the sender. It was from Greyson. Maybe he is in trouble.
A curious thought popped into her mind. She could ignore it. He was probably just jealous and wanted her to abandon the speech to join his little escapade. And then there was Sam and the dangling gum. There was not much of a better bonding experience than sharing saliva. He swung it before her eyes, left and right. Yes or no. Greyson or Sam. Greyson or Sam.
Suddenly her conscience barked at her.
“Gotta get this,” she said suddenly, pushing Sam’s arm away and pulling out her phone.
The message scared her.
Get out of the fair right NOW. Don’t tell ANY 1
ANYTHNG. Just go + call me.
She put her phone down and Sam was staring at her. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
“I-I…I just got to go. I can’t explain. I’m sorry.”
Looking for the nearest exit, she headed down the narrow hall.
“But. You’ll miss the speech…”
She turned back to him, speaking rapidly as she sped toward the exit. “Sorry, Sam. I’ll catch up with you after.”
Ufff!
She had run into something. A man. He grabbed her shoulders. “Hey.” It was Agent Murray.
Sydney straightened her hair and blew out a sigh of relief. “You scared me.”
“Sorry, Sydney.”
“I got to go.”
“Hold on. You can’t.” Agent Murray let go of her shoulders and called Sam over. His eyes had lost their calm, stoic exterior. Their new look scared her. It was never good when the Secret Service was scared.
“What’s wrong? Why can’t I go?” she asked.
The bulky guard put his finger to his lips to quiet them both as his eyes scanned the hallway. “It’s too dangerous.”
Sydney swung her head to Sam who stopped mid-chew on his gum.
“What? What’s going on?”
Agent Murray’s eyes seemed to penetrate her own as he thought about what to say. “Your friend Greyson? He might have been on to something.”
-------------------
Greyson stared at his phone until the message appeared. He squinted, trying to read it through the glare of the sun and the bobbing of his quick retreat.
Agent Murray says too dangerous to leave.
R u ok?
The group of boys tried to peer over his moving shoulders at the phone. “He won’t let her leave?” Jarryd asked. “Does he know what’s going on?”
Greyson mentally slapped himself. The Secret Service is in on it. I suspected it and I let her go with him.
Now what could he do? How would he get her out without upsetting the terrorists’ plan?
He would have to sneak her out.
“We’ve got to go faster, Greyson,” Nick urged. “They’re catching us.”
The group of kids had begun to spread out around them, mixing in with the rolling crowds around them. They had to move, or they’d be boxed in.
He glanced at Nick’s watch. “Just keep going. Don’t run. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. We can’t mess this up.”
“What will
they do to us?” Jarryd asked.
“I don’t know!”
As they approached the busier portion of the concourse, the noise of the crowd began to drown out their steps, and the sun seemed even hotter with so many bodies around. A thin trail of sweat came off Greyson’s temples and trickled to his cheek. But he ignored it, glaring at Everett’s son with the intensity of the sun.
The Plurb leader smirked at them through passing pedestrians, but broke the glaring contest to watch a news van further down the concourse, closer to the center of the fair. Greyson followed his gaze and found the news van through the crowds. When he saw it, he had to stop. The other boys stumbled into him and shouted something, but Greyson was fixated.
The news van was growing. Or at least something like a huge vine was growing from an opening in its back. Like a beanstalk sprouting from the dirt, a large antenna rose to the second story of the nearest building. None of the surrounding pedestrians seem worried, but Greyson had seen that image before.
He snapped to his cell phone.
Don’t trust him. I’m coming to u.
Be rdy to run.
He reread the message as he sent it. It might scare her, but she had to be ready. And besides, their cell phones were about to be useless.
-----------------
Something’s wrong.
It had been a gradual realization for Kip. First, Greyson’s text hadn’t sat well with him. Second, his GPS signal had suddenly moved half a mile from the last time he’d checked. Finally, when he had left with Greyson’s mother toward the speech, already running late, a suspicious man had stepped out on the path ahead of them. Then it had all clicked.
He’d been stupid. Distracted! Watching Greyson was his only mission, and now, perhaps he had been caught sleeping while the fish took the bait.
The man had stepped out from between two RVs into the middle of the dirt path twenty paces ahead of them, walking in their same direction. Besides being alone, he seemed a normal young man; but he was wearing a jacket. Normally, wearing a jacket was not evidence of wrongdoing, but in this heat and when the subject’s chest was abnormally bulky compared to his face and neck, there was a good chance it was concealing body armor. Or weapons.