Philby had never seen her in this particular state before—like a teakettle boiling over. Wayne had said that a friend would turn his back and betray them. He hadn’t mentioned mothers.
He closed the laptop and handed it to her, feeling like a traitor. Maybe that was it, he thought: Maybe I am the traitor Wayne warned us about.
* * *
“Guard!” Finn hated to put Pluto at risk, but the dog seemed their best chance to get out of this with all their limbs intact.
“Higher ground,” Amanda said. “It’s the best defensive position.”
“Move slowly,” Finn said.
They backed up, taking small steps, never taking their eyes off the alligators. Pluto saw them, but held his ground.
“Good dog!” Finn called out.
They slowly worked up the hill, reaching a path.
Amanda said, “Did you know that alligators can run thirty-five miles per hour?”
“TMI,” Finn said.
“If we turn and run—” Amanda proposed.
“—they’ll have us for breakfast,” Finn said, completing her sentence for her. “I’m thinking: Scratch’s Mine.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“It will force them into single file. They’ll have to switch directions, which slows them down. If we hurry, we get out the other end of the tunnel ahead of them, at which point we head uphill, which is not what they’ll instinctively think. By the time they figure it out—if they figure it out—we’re gone.”
“What if we just made a run for it? For Minnie? The raft?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll put you onto the raft. That works,” Finn said.
“Me? What about you?” she said.
“I…The thing is, after everything we’ve figured out…Philby, me, the others. You and Jess. I need to check this place out,” he said. “The pirate, Stitch, the alligators. It just doesn’t add up.”
“Then I’m not going.”
“You should.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“I can do this alone,” he said.
“Keepers work in pairs,” she said.
Technically, she was not a Keeper. But it seemed like the wrong time to remind her. He thought maybe that was her point.
She said, “What if I, you know, used my…What if I pushed?”
“You’re mostly DHI at the moment.”
“Actually, I’m barely DHI. Trust me, I feel much more human than hologram. What if, once we’re inside the mine, I could push the gators, and we could run for Minnie? Being inside the mine will concentrate the push. I wouldn’t need much for it to work. We could tell Minnie to leave without us. The gators might be fooled, and think we’d left.”
“We’d be trapped here,” he reminded.
“So we’d tell her to hang on the other side and wait for our signal.”
It seemed like the best way to get the gators off their trail, but a plan not without risk. If Minnie had to abandon the raft…
He said, “I guess if the push works, we go for it. If not, we’ll rethink.”
“On three?”
“No. Let’s just keep backing up. When they reach the path, we make our move,” he said.
“What about Pluto?” she asked.
“He’s a dog. He’ll figure it out.”
The two backed up slowly. The alligators slithered forward. Pluto retreated. Step by step, they all moved in a choreographed manner.
“Ready…” Finn whispered.
“Set…” she said.
The first alligator—Louis—placed his paw on the path.
Finn and Amanda turned and ran.
* * *
With her arms and legs wrapped around the pipe like a koala bear hugging a tree, Charlene slid down another three feet, finally stopped by a junction clamp. The temperature in the main building was warm, as were some of the pipes she touched. The turbines screamed in a high-pitched whine. Half-deaf, she didn’t hear the sound of flapping wings, didn’t sense the attack until it was upon her: a shadow sweeping across her face.
Charlene ducked, and swung out with her left arm, catching a bird’s wing. It struck a pipe and fell, feathers fluttering.
A second jay dive-bombed and sank its small talons into her scalp, tearing loose two large clumps of hair. Charlene cried out. Her scalp was bleeding. She sought a toehold but missed, catching herself at the last second. Now a third jay, wings tucked, came at her like a missile. She swung her arm like a baseball bat and sent it into the outfield. The bird struck the wall and was knocked unconscious.
It tumbled and landed atop one of the turbines with a thunk.
The voices stopped. Only the whine of the turbines persisted. The jay that had torn her hair out cawed and dove once more. Charlene deftly switched pipes, dropped lower, and switched back, using the elbow in the bigger pipe to shield her.
A glowing image appeared on the floor below. Maybeck? she wondered. Fearing it might not be, she adjusted to the far side of the pipe, putting an intersection of steel and PVC between her and the glow.
Charlene was looking down on a head of dark hair surrounded by a crown. The Evil Queen. Charlene reared back as the Queen looked up. A diving blue jay suddenly altered course and flew past Charlene—the Queen had redirected it. It landed on an electrical conduit below. The wounded jay atop the turbine managed to fly off.
The jays cawed furiously.
Over the roar of the turbines, a woman’s low voice shouted, “Hurry up! There’s no time to waste!”
Charlene moved quickly lower, down the pipes, using clamps and valves as toeholds. With speed and agility she descended, desperate to overhear more of what was being said.
How she regretted having separated from Maybeck. They could be working together; worse, Maybeck was something of a wild horse without a bit or bridle when left on his own.
She slid down the final few feet of pipe, arriving onto the facility floor—concrete with a thick layer of gray epoxy paint. She settled herself and dared to look past the pipe she hid behind.
Directly in front of her were more pipes and machinery. Just past these was a walkway designated by wide lines of bright yellow paint, one side of which was a concrete wall with windows looking in on a control room, the door to which was propped open, its center glass pane broken; cubes of safety glass littered the floor. Inside, she saw a bald guy in a chair, who looked either asleep or dead. There was a redheaded woman in a similar condition next to him. Cruella De Vil, the Evil Queen. And a…kid! Charlene could only see the back of his head—he was hunched over a computer—but there was no mistaking him for anything but a teenager. She couldn’t see his face.
Charlene was distracted by movement to her right—the jays flying like jets in formation. They banked right and disappeared behind the machinery. Something moved in the shadows, escaping.
Maybeck.
The Evil Queen sensed Maybeck and abruptly turned around. She and Maybeck were on opposite sides of a cinder block wall.
Charlene ducked behind the pipe, her back to its warmth. She had no way to warn Maybeck, no way to monitor what was happening. Then, overhead, a blue flash—the jays diving for Maybeck again.
She heard a series of caws. Maybeck shouting.
Then, the Evil Queen growling, “Bring him to me!”
* * *
It took Philby time to settle down. He’d never seen his mother quite like that. She’d stayed a few feet behind him and had marched him to his room like he was a convict. He’d wanted to ask her for the computer back but thought she’d have probably hit him with it—definitely not worth the risk.
His bedside clock read 12:51.
He couldn’t leave his friends stuck in Epcot and the Cogeneration Facility as DHIs. He needed Web access—and he needed it now. He possessed a dirty secret: a fifth DHI had been added to the Queen’s growing team. He’d spotted the addition in the log—it was still rocking him with aftershocks.
Mind racing, he thought of his father’s desktop Mac
in his study. The trouble was, his study was an extra bedroom, and to get to it Philby would have to pass his parents’ bedroom. He doubted his mother would actually kill him, but he knew that to be caught was not an option.
Philby paced his room, frustrated and guilt-ridden. He stopped and looked at the lowered shade and thought about Hugo attacking him. His world was upside down: friends were enemies; family members were enemies. His only friends were asleep in their beds and would never wake up until and unless he Returned them. The success or failure of their attempt to free Amanda fell onto him. Their survival fell onto him.
Was he really supposed to just climb into bed and go to sleep?
As if!
He sneaked down the hall on tiptoe, a shaft of yellow light playing from his parents’ bedroom. His mother would be propped up in bed reading. He knew how difficult it was for her to get back to sleep. If he moved too quickly, she’d spot him. The trick was to slip by incredibly slowly, back to the wall so he could watch her. If she moved even a tweak, he’d jump across and she wouldn’t know if she’d seen him or not.
Step by step, his back to the opposite wall of the hallway, Philby edged into and through the patch of yellow light. He was right out where his mother could have seen him, but she never raised her head. At last—it seemed like several minutes—he was back into shadow and out of her sight.
He made it to the study door, and turned the handle incredibly gently to avoid her hearing.
Locked!
He didn’t know the door could be locked. He stared at it in disbelief.
“Not a chance,” she said.
He startled and nearly screamed. Didn’t dare turn around, but finally gathered the courage. She was in her pajamas, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.
“That you would even try this is such a disappointment. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking of my friends. I’m thinking of that time I was caught in the Syndrome and how awful it was on you and Dad. The hospital. Nothing working. They are counting on me.” He was a grown boy, he reminded himself, fighting back the tears. Embarrassed by them. “Do you know what that feels like?”
“I think I might have a slight idea. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be a mother? To love another so, so much that you can’t breathe?”
“I cannot let them down. I will not let them down. I don’t care what the consequences are. It has nothing to do with Disney. Nothing to do with magic or entertainment. It’s about friendship, Mom. It’s about being reliable and responsible and all the stuff you and Dad preach but never let me live.”
He watched her nostrils flare, which was not a good sign. Most times, that was the signal the time bomb was ticking. But her eyes glassed over and her lips trembled and she moved toward him.
“You’re such a good boy,” she said, her arms outstretched. “I am so proud of you.”
“You…what?”
She embraced him in a way he’d never felt before. More than a hug. It felt like she might never let go.
“You’re so grown-up.”
“Mom?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I was only thinking of myself. It makes me…I get so scared for you and the others. I never want to lose you. I’d never, ever, forgive myself.”
“But that’s exactly—”
“Yes,” she said. “I know. I understand.”
“You do? Seriously?”
“I want to help. I want to know everything. Everything, you understand?”
He nodded.
“Go on. Do whatever it is you need to do. I’ll be along in a minute. I want to turn off the light so we don’t wake your father.”
* * *
“How’s it going?”
Jeannie Puckett’s grating voice. Jess had nodded off while sitting with her back to the wall next to the bunk bed. She blinked repeatedly while orienting herself. She immediately realized the impact of the dream she’d just been living. She reached for her diary.
“Give me a few minutes,” she said, her pen already at work.
She drew the picture in her head, allowing it to flow out of her hand rather than force it onto the page. It was almost as if the pen were alive and she was there only to keep it upright. Something miraculous transpired between her hand and the paper, a power far beyond anything she would lay claim to.
Lines appeared, like a gate or maybe the teeth of a comb. Shadows. Behind the teeth of the comb were bookshelves, or perhaps a bench. The pen kept moving. Jess looked for what was there, what was coming. A box—no, a window—in the center of the wall between the bookshelves. Or were the bookshelves church pews? Was the window really a frame hanging on the wall? Not bookshelves at all, but a cot or a bunk. A priest laying on the bunk. No, a woman. A bench on the floor between the bunks. They were bunks. Not a comb, but prison bars.
Her pen stopped. The woman sat up from the bunk and stood and crossed the far corner of the jail cell standing in the corner.
Jess tried to quickly sketch the woman in four postures—sitting, standing, crossing the room, standing in the far corner.
A woman in robes.
Maleficent. Smirking, but quickly losing it so that her emotions were unreadable.
The smirk lingered in Jess’s mind. She tried to sketch it. Couldn’t get it right.
Something else…something bothering her. Something about the way Maleficent had crossed the cell. What was it?
“Look at that!” It was Jeannie again.
It broke the moment. The images on the diary page were static again. Fixed. Unmoving. Jess worked to finish what little she could envision. She would have to get it to Philby by e-mail—and e-mail was a risk in Mrs. Nash’s house, like everything else that could possibly be fun.
Jeannie rushed to Amanda’s side. “LOOK AT THAT! What’s it mean?”
Jess collected herself and looked up.
Amanda’s arms were still by her side but her hands had moved, palms toward the foot of the bed. They were jerking ever so slightly like a crossing guard signaling a stop on the corner.
“She hasn’t done anything like this. Right? This is like totally new. Right? So what’s it mean?” Jeannie asked.
Jess shook her head.
“I have no idea,” she said. But in fact, she had a pretty good idea. She’d seen Amanda do that before. She’d even worked with Amanda so she could learn how to control it.
* * *
Standing twenty feet down in the mine, palms outstretched, Amanda scooped the air as if cupping water, and then threw her arms forward and pushed the water out in front of her as the alligators entered.
They lifted off the ground, their feet paddling the air. She pushed again, and the already levitated alligators sailed out of the mine tunnel.
“Come, boy!” she heard Finn cry out.
Pluto had been caught in the push as well. He’d traveled about ten feet and had fallen, sprawled on all fours.
“Run!” Finn cried.
The mine shaft angled sharply left. The alligators had recovered quickly, now only a few feet behind Pluto, who trailed Amanda.
“Go! Go! Go!” Finn shouted.
The tunnel straightened out but the floor tipped left, off level.
Amanda tripped. Finn stopped and turned to help her up.
SNAP! An alligator’s jaw nearly caught his foot.
Amanda spun and pushed.
The alligator lifted and flew like it had been caught by a hurricane. It collided with the others. Three white bellies flashed in the dark, rocketing away from the two kids.
With one final turn, they reached the mouth of the mine shaft and popped outside.
“You go uphill,” Finn said. “Hide up there. I’ll meet you.” He turned and ran. Looking back, seeing her hesitate, he said, “Up!”
Amanda turned around and started climbing up a rocky incline.
Finn, with Pluto briefly by his side, hurried along the path, only a matter of yards from Huck’s Landing. Pluto, seemin
g to understand their role, held back, waiting for the alligators.
Finn reached Minnie and the raft, already pushing her off as he explained, “Head across to the other side and wait for our signal. We need to trick the alligators!”
Minnie nodded and threw a lever forward. The raft began to pull away.
Finn ducked back up the path past Potter’s Mill, looking down in time to see Pluto flying through the air and just catching the raft with his front paws. Minnie lunged and pulled him on board.
The three alligators didn’t hesitate for a second. With the raft motoring away, they slithered into the dark waters and were gone, lost in swirling flashes of green, scaly tails.
* * *
The boy in the chair of the power plant control room spun around, and Charlene nearly shrieked with what she saw. This was no Disney villain. It was just a boy. A regular teenage boy, if you discounted the shimmering green outline that contained him. By the look of him, based on Philby’s description, she already knew his name: Hugo Montcliff.
The scope and ramifications of what she saw so overwhelmed her that she intentionally avoided thinking about it. On the one hand, this felt like the end of the world; on the other, Maybeck had been captured and there was no time to contemplate what it all meant for the Keepers.
Hugo was in the control room, throwing switches and spinning dials. He barked out an order, sounding like a grown-up.
“Not yet, sonny! Hold off a minute!” With a sweep of her hand, the Evil Queen, outside the control room, transfigured the three blue jays into gorillas. They stood well over five feet tall and were pure muscle and teeth. They obeyed her command—“Bring him to me!”—springing into action and surrounding Maybeck.
Charlene searched for something—anything—resembling a weapon: a hose; a steam valve? There had to be some way to help Maybeck.
Hugo called out again. The sound generated by the machinery altered pitch, groaning lower. Charlene felt it in her teeth.
The holograms, including her own, sputtered and dimmed. Red lights flashed on the wall like those from a police car.
Charlene moved closer, now near enough to see through the Queen, almost like an X-ray. In the Queen’s translucent right hand, she held the fob—the Return. The device appeared solid, seemingly unaffected by the loss of electric power.
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