“You’ve never been inside a truck stop.” Rainbow stared at me.
“There aren’t any in my radius.” I trailed the aisles, touching a box of chocolates and a stuffed bear holding a Get Well Soon! card. “No stores at all. Well, the mini-golf course sells key chains in the sign-up office.”
“Christ.”
“Girl meets world.” I smiled crookedly. “Sorry. We should be hurrying. Let’s look for clothes.”
“You’d mentioned you couldn’t go beyond a mile, but—”
“Mile and a half,” I said, wincing at how the correction flopped out. That extra half mile meant West Asherton High and Franny’s Food, though. It meant an awful lot.
Rainbow was still staring. “I just hadn’t really thought about it yet.”
“Let’s look for . . .” My words faltered as I caught sight of a TV screen above the clerk. The news was playing on mute.
BIZARRE EVENTS IN PHILADELPHIA, the bottom of the screen read. It showed shaky footage of what had to be the rift, shot from at least two blocks away.
Hazel Four arriving in Philadelphia meant the rift had reached the city. Apparently, it hadn’t left yet.
The TV cut to a reporter interviewing bystanders near a massive green suspension bridge—the Walt Whitman Bridge, it had to be—with a crescent-shaped chunk of road missing. The edges were so clean the asphalt looked as though it had been excised by a scalpel. Below, the Delaware churned with debris.
This was the rift’s doing. My rift’s doing. Goose bumps crept across my skin. As much damage as the rift could do on an isolated West Ash farm, it’d be nothing compared to now, leaping around a city of more than a million inhabitants.
“Found something,” Rainbow called from deeper in the store. She held up an armful of hoodies from a discount bin. “I’ll handle checkout, yeah?”
Her lack of faith seemed justified; I’d probably just mess it up if I tried to pay. I was a newly sixteen-year-old girl who, until today, had never set foot outside a tiny circle of the world. I’d never been inside a store. I didn’t even own a wallet. What would I use a wallet for? At most, I slipped a dollar into the school vending machines or borrowed a credit card when Carolyn and I went to Franny’s or to the mini-golf course.
The Powers That Be had made a mistake about me.
There was no one in the world less suitable for saving it than I was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Even with our new eight-dollar hoodies (I ♥ NJ—none of us knew how they’d ended up in a Pennsylvania truck stop), the flight into the city was freezing. We huddled close for warmth, me at the front, partly shielded by Neven’s thick neck.
Philadelphia stretched out before us, a million tiny white-red-orange lights at the horizon. I ought to have kept my eyes closed to stop me from getting dizzy or frightened, but fascination won out. Below us, the tree-lined suburbs and fields around West Asherton made room for street grids and parking lots. The trees were black dots, the roads coiling snakes. I thought I’d recognize sights from the internet and TV—a statue maybe, an unusual building—but nothing looked familiar.
In some parts of the city, I could barely make out the people; in other parts, the streets were so brightly lit that it might as well have been daytime.
The flight passed like that: cold, distant, quiet. A news chopper tried to approach once, but Neven beat her wings faster, and it hadn’t kept up.
Finally, Neven lowered.
She’d said she could sense the rift’s state and direction, but couldn’t pin down specifics.
She didn’t need to. The chaos would lead the way.
Residential streets below us were being cordoned off. People turned their cars around, honking all the way. Pedestrians were let out past the police tape, many with phones to their ears or holding backpacks and children; other pedestrians edged closer to the cordoned-off zone, weaving through the people trying to escape. Cameras flashed. People pointed at the pavement beyond a line of police tape, where it looked as though something had crashed onto the sidewalk. It’d left a two-foot crater and fractured tiles all around.
Several vans were parked past the tape. Half looked like police vans, while the others were unmarked, black, and identical to those scattered on my lawn. MGA.
Between the chaos and the darkness, people didn’t spot Neven right away. Only when we got close did a few faces turn up. One officer saw us, gaped, and fumbled with his radio so badly he dropped it.
We flew past the blockade and toward another street being cordoned off a few blocks down. I couldn’t stop staring into the crowds below.
The world from high up looked like the streets you saw in movies—an establishing shot from above, some background noise. After that, you zoomed in on the main character and everything else faded.
Flying as low as we did now, close enough to make out individual faces, it turned out the background noise didn’t fade. It just got louder.
Before, the busiest place I’d experienced was the schoolyard. Even when kids were yelling, though, the world outside the school grounds was silent. Here, the din was constant. People calling questions at police, cars honking pointlessly, a roar from a bus two blocks away, distant music that sounded like Beyoncé.
And so many people. Dozens. Most of them adults. They wore heavy coats, shapeless hoodies, carried nondescript bags. Some barged toward the barricades, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, while others were being escorted out by police and had to shove their way to freedom.
“God, I love the city,” Rainbow said behind me. I couldn’t tell whether it was sarcasm.
“Tell me this isn’t normal.” My voice hitched.
“Nah. But it’s not far off.”
As we flew, more people turned, craning their necks and pointing. I caught a screeched word: “Dragon!”
I was glad to pass them by. These crowds weren’t so different from a rowdy lunch hour at school, I shouldn’t be this freaked out—but I was, and—
Focus.
We flew past another barricade. Row houses lined both sides of the street, with here and there a church or a telecom store. The fence around a small, square backyard was scorched black. On the roof of a shabby corner market, violins lay in shambles. Three MGA agents were loading a tarp-covered, bulky item into a van that looked stuffed full already. I shook the urge to help them by pointing out the violins.
A hundred yards ahead, a group of agents all faced the same direction, dressed in near-identical suits. Those in front formed a barrier with ballistic shields. Several black vans stood between us and the agents, the back doors open and drivers at the wheels. Ready to peel out if the agents were in danger.
And down the street—
The rift.
It stole my breath.
Few MGA experiments required being eye to eye with the rift. I’d seen it in the flesh—hovering inside a blank-walled hangar with observation windows on all sides—only a handful of times. The last time had been at least eighteen months ago.
“That’s gotta be it, huh?” Rainbow called as Neven started her descent.
The rift had grown.
Over my lifetime, it’d gotten maybe a foot bigger. Now it was easily the same length as one of the vans below. It shimmered above the pavement, its edges fizzing and crackling. Its interior distorted the street behind it, like looking through curved glass or agitated water. More than that: The rift’s interior amplified the street. Dull road markings turned neon yellow; brick homes shifted into the angry red of a laser light. All shuddering, wafting, jittering inside that frantic little slice of world.
I never thought I’d see the rift in a place like this.
(I never thought I’d be in a place like this.)
Sheets of paper fluttered from the rift. Letter-sized, blank. Some flew into agents’ faces, but most went overhead, dancing down the street.
As Neven swooped, I spotted a head of tangled blond hair. Couldn’t miss it. I saw that same hair in the mirror daily. Hazel Four
stood right behind one of the ballistics shields, and by her side . . . Was that Dad? He held one arm around her, tight enough for her to hunch under his grasp. He was talking to a nearby agent. His face was twisted into an uncharacteristic scowl, but the way he held her was protective. Fatherly.
Did he think she was me? Or did it not matter to him?
Hazel Four was crying. Silent, trembling. She didn’t take her eyes off the rift crackling a dozen feet before her.
“Move her closer!” someone shouted. “They’re detecting changes! It might be working!”
Another shout: “The dragon’s here!”
Several agents reached for their weapons. Neven veered sharply up, circling the area from a safe distance.
“What do we do?” I called at her.
“You tell me.”
I bit my lip, considering the situation. Agents gathered around Dad and Four. Past them, the rift sputtered. Fizzed.
And water came pouring out.
From one second to the next, it filled the rift whole, a waterfall yards wide and feet thick, gushing from the rift’s edges. It crashed to the ground, splashed up high, and flared out over the street in an eager rush.
Agents scattered. The formation at the front broke.
“Now!” I yelled at Neven. “Grab Four!”
However long this flow of transdimensional water would last, we could use the distraction.
Neven dove. Her wings snapped clean to her sides. Dad and two agents were ushering Four toward the vans, but other agents were in their way, and the water rushing all around them made movement difficult. Logs tumbled from the rift. Branches with fat green-blue leaves churned in the foam. I even saw glistening fish flash past.
The rift was dumping an entire river into the city. Already, the water reached the agents’ knees. They had to plant themselves on the ground with every step. Not everyone managed. The water had knocked down at least three agents, who were now getting dragged away, spinning and wild.
One of the agents holding Four spotted Neven as she dove. He braced himself against the pull of the water and aimed his weapon.
Then he crashed face-forward. The water sprayed up. Something had slammed into him from behind. Long-stretched, dark. A log? The impact sent it whirling through the billowing water.
Dad had just enough time to shove Four out of its path.
The log hit him instead. One end smacked into his chest. The roar of the water drowned out any sound the impact—or Dad—might have made.
He went down, and the water snatched him away.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“No!” I screamed.
Neven plucked a struggling Four from the water and landed on the roof of the nearby row houses. Red glided off her back to dash at Four.
“What’s happening?!” Four was shouting. “What are you—How is this—” She stared at us with panicky, uncomprehending eyes. Then she tore herself away and spun. “Dad!”
I searched for him in the rushing water. Waves crashed outward over the street, all furious spray and foam. Cold droplets hit my arms, even though we were two stories up.
The log that hit Dad had ended up stuck in a narrow V formed by the wall of a beauty salon and a van that’d crashed into it. No—it wasn’t a log. A canoe. Dad was half slumped over it. All I could see was a dark splotch on his face and black hair sticking to his skin. His face was above water, but only barely. He didn’t move except for when the waves pushed him.
“Dad!” Rainbow yelled.
“We have to leave,” Neven said. The rift was still spewing more water—more, more, wild and unruly. Another wave might tip over the van next to Dad. “Climb on my back.”
“No!” Four screeched. “What’s—My dad—”
“We’ll explain later!” Red said. “Trust us!”
Neven watched Four flatly. “Get on my back or I’ll carry you in my claws. Your choice.”
One of the agents who’d escorted Four was wading through the water. He’d spotted us on the roof, but scanned the street like he was looking for something else. Dad, maybe. He wasn’t even close.
None of the agents were.
“Neven!” I whirled on her. “You have to get Dad.”
“It’s not safe.”
“Get! Dad!” Tears filled my eyes.
“I don’t even have room—”
“Get him!”
“I can’t.” Her voice was so deliberate and slow, it made me want to scream. “There’s not enough space. I won’t fit.”
I bit down on my lip. Damn it, she was right. Maybe if she pulled away the busted van . . . No, that wouldn’t work. A streetlight held it in place. Wedging it loose would risk crushing Dad.
“What if we land on that van and you use your tail?”
She exhaled sharply. “On my back. Just you.”
I was barely sitting on her before Neven shot off. She dove low over the street and hovered. Nearby agents—the few who were still upright and hadn’t fled—struggled to approach us, weapons drawn. Debris carried along by the water slowed them down.
“Jump off,” Neven ordered. “Pull him into the open water. Then I’ll grab him.”
“I thought you were going to—”
“No telling how the van will shift if I land on it. Jump.”
I watched the street, frozen. I couldn’t do this. I’d screw it up. I’d risk endangering Dad. And maybe I’d be too slow, maybe the agents would catch us, I’d have failed before we even really started, I’d have caused Dad to . . .
I turned toward the agents far behind us. I bet they could do this. We should let—
“Hazel, don’t be a coward,” Neven snapped.
Coward?
But I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared for Dad.
“Hazel!”
I jolted from the frustration in Neven’s voice. I scrambled up, gauging the distance and depth of the water. Then—before I could change my mind—I jumped.
The cold of the water hit me hard. It was like being dipped in ice. The current tugged at my legs, almost knocking me over.
The Hazels up on the roof yelled in surprise. The agents waded closer. I wouldn’t have long. I extended my arms for balance and started moving toward Dad.
Above me, Neven veered upward. A claw scraped against the nearest brick building.
“Dad?” I panted, reaching for the canoe between us. The current was so strong I had to strain just to remain standing. “Dad!”
I braced myself, pulling at the canoe. It shifted. I slid past, holding the canoe to the side with one hand while my other fumbled to grab hold of Dad. His skin felt frozen.
I took his collar. Pulling him a few feet back into open water had to be enough for Neven to reach him.
An agent called out behind me, her voice barely audible in the roar from the waterfall still pouring from the rift: “Hazel!”
Sharply, I looked over my shoulder.
Agent Sanghani was crashing through the water with an outstretched arm. An agent I didn’t know followed her, one hand on his gun.
I chanced a look upward. Neven was circling us, but made no attempts to dive.
The agents weren’t shooting at her—yet. If Neven dove to pick up Dad and me, it’d look like an attack.
“Let us take my dad,” I pleaded with Sanghani. “He needs a hospital.” I struggled against the current, my back pressing the canoe against the building to keep it in place and pulling Dad along through the narrow space I’d created.
I’m sorry, I thought, Dad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry— This wouldn’t be happening if I’d stayed at the farm. The MGA would’ve calmly tracked the other Hazels, Neven would be out by herself or safely locked up, Dad would be home . . .
It couldn’t have been just this morning that he’d delivered an over-the-top breakfast in bed, complete with sixteen helium balloons.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something gleaming inside the canoe. A knife lay wedged under one seat. The blade was dark metal, short and curved, with
a hook at the tip. A string connected it to a leather sheath. For a fraction of a second, I considered picking it up. Maybe it’d keep the agents at a distance. The thought was preposterous, though—me, a knife?
The water was still crashing into me. My legs were shaking and numb, straining to keep me standing.
Giving in was so tempting. Every minute of actively keeping away from the MGA felt more wrong. They’d only ever helped. They’d sang me “Happy Birthday” at the gate that morning. Maybe they could keep Dad safe—
Could they? Their intact vans were out of reach. A chopper wouldn’t be able to land nearby. By the time the MGA got Dad into a vehicle, Neven could’ve already flown him to a hospital.
I swallowed. Mind made up, I reached behind me for the knife. For a second, I fumbled, then managed to loop the string around my wrist. The sheath dangled against my arm as I pointed the knife at the approaching agents. They froze.
“M-move away.” My hand shook. I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake. “The dragon’s gonna pick us up. She won’t hurt anyone. OK? Don’t shoot her.” Was that convincing enough? “You might hit the other—the other Hazels,” I reminded them. The agents couldn’t see from this distance that Neven’s back was empty, right? Had they seen the girls left behind on the roof, counted them?
“What are you doing?” Sanghani looked more baffled than scared.
I waded forward, waving frantically at Neven while holding the knife tightly enough to turn my knuckles white. The blade had looked dark before, but now the edge reflected the streetlights so brightly it shone.
“Stay back!” I yelled as Sanghani stepped closer. I pointed the knife at her. My voice had gone from high-pitched to outright shrill—I barely recognized it. Or myself. Screaming at an agent I’d lived alongside for years? Who’d never done me harm? Holding a knife to her?
I’m sorry I’m sorry this isn’t me—
“Your parents are worried,” Sanghani tried. “We’re worried.”
Last year, she’d kept watch outside school on Thursdays and Fridays. Once, I’d apologized for how boring her days must be; she’d smiled crookedly and said, This is worse for you than for us.
The Art of Saving the World Page 6