by Brandon Mull
Roman looked furious. “If you don’t give us the guidestone—”
“Do what you want to them,” Trevor said. “That’s your business. Mine is winning.”
Before Roman could reply, Trevor turned and streaked away at top speed.
*****
As Trevor sprinted away from the trailer, he hoped he had made a good choice. He doubted they would hurt Claire. The Tanks were strong, but they were kids. They weren’t out for blood. If the guy with the stone they wanted ran off, there would be nobody to threaten and no reason to hold hostages.
As he dashed away, Trevor heard Roman shouting something, the words unintelligibly slow. It didn’t matter what he said. By stopping to listen, he would give them a reason to keep harassing Claire. By pretending that he didn’t care, he would decrease her value as a hostage and hopefully make her safer.
If he kept hurrying, the Racers should win, which was probably for the best. Trevor had taken some time to think it through while the Tanks were in the mobile home. He had firmly concluded that he would have more luck backstabbing the other Racers than Summer would have betraying the Tanks.
Using his maximum speed, Trevor ran past the trailers, distantly aware of how slowly the rest of the world was moving. Water leaked from a spigot, dripping as if gravity had almost ceased. A few small birds took flight in slow motion, startled by his rapid approach. Everything but him seemed restrained by some invisible force, while he was free to run like normal.
Except the running was making him much more tired than any natural sprint. As the arched DEVIL’S SHADOW entryway came into view, his head started to pound and his lungs burned. It felt as though he had sprinted ten times as far as he had actually run. The day had grown inexplicably hotter, and his mouth was suddenly parched.
Trevor shifted down to normal race mode and reduced his sprint to a jog. All he had to do was make it to the car. His burst of super speed meant he was well ahead of the Tanks.
Even in normal race mode, moving at a jog almost felt like too much. He knew through practice how much running at top speed sapped his energy. Adrenalized by the need to escape the Tanks, he had stayed at top speed for longer than ever before. He had known that overdoing it could wipe him out, but fear and excitement had driven him to push the limits.
Even at this slower pace, his legs felt rubbery, his head remained sore, and his heart was drumming like a hummingbird’s. He began to get dizzy. Wouldn’t that be great if he fainted?
Trevor slowed to a quick walk. In race mode, this would still be like a normal run, and his time at top speed had given him a huge head start. A glance back showed nobody following him yet—not Paige, Hailey, or any Tanks.
It was probably best if Paige and Hailey stayed with Claire. They could help her get back to Arcadeland and find the medical care she needed. Had she really broken her leg falling off the porch? It was possible. She had fallen hard.
All Trevor had to do was make it to the car. Then he could rest while the driver sped away. The Tanks would try to pursue him, but with his lead, hopefully they would never catch up. If they did, he would be rested and could escape on foot.
Trevor dropped to his knees and dry heaved. The need hit urgently, leaving him no chance to resist. He briefly wondered how this would look to an observer, watching somebody violently gag in fast motion.
Trevor staggered back to his feet. His muscles remained fatigued, his head woozy. Would it help if he left race mode altogether? But then his walk really would be just a walk. He couldn’t risk the Tanks catching up. Race mode had never tired him much more than normal mode. It was the speediest mode that really drained him.
Beyond the arched entrance, Trevor stopped in his tracks. Both cars were still waiting out front. But his was upside down.
What had happened? The Tanks must have flipped it over before they followed the Racers into the trailer park. Was that allowed? He supposed there had been no rules against it.
His driver stood outside the flipped vehicle, leaning against it. He saw Trevor looking and shrugged, hands raised helplessly.
Would the other driver take him? It was worth a try. Motivated by desperation, Trevor picked up his pace and trotted to the car that had brought the Tanks. When he reached the driver’s door, he shifted back into normal mode so they could converse.
The driver, a Middle-Eastern man with a scruffy beard, rolled down the window. “Yes?”
“Would you take me back to Arcadeland?” Trevor panted.
“I’m their driver,” the man said. “Not yours. Overturning your car was a dirty trick, but so it goes.”
“I could pay you,” Trevor tried.
With his wrists still on the steering wheel, the driver raised his hands. “I’ve already been paid. I accepted the job. I’m sorry.”
Trevor slumped. His body remained unusually exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep.
What if he sabotaged this car? Let the air out of the tires or something? Would the driver prevent him? Maybe.
Trevor looked back at the trailer park to see all four of the Tanks racing into view, sprinting at their best speed. He shifted back into race mode. He could run off and try to lose them in the wilderness. But he had wrecked his endurance. The thought of running made bile rise in his throat. His head was throbbing a little less, but it still hurt.
Trevor knew from Summer that the Tanks tired slowly. They weren’t fast like a Racer, but they would keep coming. Running at top speed was no longer an option. How long could he last in race mode? Could he get far enough ahead of the Tanks to lose them before he collapsed? If he got away, they’d try to head him off back at Arcadeland.
He turned and started running into the field beside the dirt road. It was worth a try. His legs gave out with no warning, and he sprawled in the brush. The ground swayed as if he were at sea. He lay still for a moment, spitting out dirt and smelling dry weeds.
He couldn’t let them win. So what if his worthless teammates had stacked the odds against him? So what if the Tanks had sabotaged his car? He still had super speed. He would find a way to keep going.
Trevor got up and tried to run. His legs felt leaden. He shuffled along like an old guy who had lost his cane. Still, he kept moving.
Roman came alongside him on one side, Derek on the other. A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. Only then did Trevor realize he was no longer in race mode. When had he slipped out of it? When he had fallen? It was hard to be sure.
Trevor stopped, his legs wobbly, and held out the guidestone on his palm. Roman claimed it and shoved him to the ground. Trevor felt no desire to rise.
Chapter Sixteen
The Resistance
Nate awoke to the sound of somebody tapping on his window with a coin. It took only a moment for him to realize that it must be an emergency. After kicking off his covers, Nate crossed to the window to find Summer outside.
He opened it. “What’s up?”
“We got the map,” Summer said. “The Racers lost. I’m worried about Trevor.”
“What time is it?” Nate wondered.
“After midnight.”
“Let me get dressed and I’ll come down.”
Summer nodded and walked carefully away from the window, shingles groaning and splitting under her augmented weight. She jumped off the roof and plummeted out of sight.
Nate changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then added a light jacket. He put on his shoes and glided out the window and down to Summer.
“What happened to Trevor?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Summer said. “We were out at some trailer park getting the map to the Protector, which turned out to be a little round rock called the guidestone.”
“Okay.”
“Trevor had the stone,” she said. “He almost beat us singlehandedly, even though his teammates messed up. But I guess he ran at his top speed for too long and wiped himself out. We didn’t get much chance to talk. Anyhow, we got the stone back from him. Both clubs h
ad gone to the trailer park in cars. We had flipped the Racers’ car upside down to mess them up, but then we flipped it back once we had the guidestone, so the driver could take them home. The car was busted up, but it still worked.”
“Then what?”
“One of the Racers tried to steal the guidestone back, but Roman held tight, and she hurt her wrist. By the end, Paige had a sprained wrist and Claire had injured her leg pretty bad. It took the fight out of them. They went back in their car. But Trevor refused. He just took off into a field.”
“Probably smart,” Nate said. “Pigeon disappeared after his club lost.”
“Right,” Summer said. “But Trevor still hasn’t shown up at his house.”
“Wait, when did you guys turn in the guidestone?”
“Around eight o’clock. Afterward, I kept looking for Trevor. I just came here from his house. I’m worried he won’t ever show up. And I’m worried that we’re getting too deep into this without solving anything. I keep waiting for a chance to sneak into the secret parts of Arcadeland, and that chance keeps not coming. We lost Pigeon. We’re no closer to finding John. We can’t let Jonas White get Uweya.”
Nate patted her shoulder. “Maybe we should go talk farther away. I don’t want to wake up my parents.”
She looked at him like he was being ridiculous. “Haven’t you noticed?”
“What?”
“Our parents are all zombified. It’s just like with Mrs. White. They can’t get enough of that nacho cheese. He’s been targeting them with taco carts—Arcadeland Taco Fiesta. My dad brought some of their food home tonight.”
Nate thought about it. He’d been generally avoiding his family, partly because he’d been busy at the training center, and partly because he didn’t want them placing limits on his excursions. Nobody had raised a complaint about the long hours he’d been away. When he had spoken with them, they had been calm and easygoing. “I should have known,” he said.
“He’s had my dad in a daze for a couple of days,” Summer said. “Just one more reason we need to take him down.”
Nate nodded. “You want to go look for Trevor? Or should we wait at his house? How far away were you?”
“It was a pretty far drive,” Summer said. “Almost an hour. But as a Racer, he should have been back by now. I think we should talk to Mr. Stott.”
“That’s a good idea. We’ve gotten out of touch with him. So, you guys are going to be Racer Tanks?”
“Huh? Because we earned the racecar stamp?”
Nate held out his hand. “They have a lady who can blend two stamps so they work together. We’re all Jet Subs now. I can hardly imagine going up against Racer Tanks.”
Summer raised her eyebrows. “Don’t let my teammates get ahold of you. They play rough.”
“I believe you.”
“Will they be able to blend all four stamps?” Summer wondered.
“The lady told us she could barely handle two,” Nate replied. “I guess that’s the limit. You’ll find out about it when you go in to refresh your stamp.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Summer said. “Did you and Lindy meet with the Battiatos?”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “There’s no news on Pigeon. Nothing new at all, really.”
They walked to the candy shop and went to the back door. A light was on, so Nate knocked gently. Mr. Stott answered a moment later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate in one hand, eyes anxious as he glanced beyond them into the night. “Come inside,” he urged. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Mr. Stott closed the door behind them.
“We’re worried about Trevor,” Summer said.
Mr. Stott raised the mug. “I’m less worried now.”
“He’s here?” Nate asked.
Mr. Stott motioned with the mug for them to follow him. He led them up to the apartment, where Lindy greeted them. “This is turning into a party,” she said.
“Where’s Trevor?” Summer asked.
“He’s in my sanctum,” Mr. Stott said.
“Your sanctum?” Nate asked.
“The heart of my lair,” Mr. Stott explained. “The most protected space. Magically, it’s cut off from the rest of the universe. He may have to stay put for a while.”
“Jonas White shouldn’t be able to reach him there,” Lindy added. “Even the simulacrum shouldn’t work.”
“Shouldn’t or can’t?” Nate checked.
Mr. Stott rubbed the side of his beard. “It would require a massive amount of skill and energy to overwhelm the barriers that protect my sanctum, but it is possible.”
“Can we see him?” Summer asked.
“Sure,” Mr. Stott said. He led them down a short hall to a modest room. Trevor sat on the edge of a futon.
“Hey, guys,” Trevor said, brightening as Nate and Summer entered. “You’re up late.”
“How long have you been here?” Summer asked.
Trevor glanced over at a clock. “About four hours.”
“You got here quickly,” Summer said. “You ran?”
“Part of the way,” Trevor said. “Not a lot. I took it easy at first. I needed some time to recover from pushing too hard back at the trailer park. Once I was feeling good, I used my speed to sneak into the back of a pickup truck.”
“Couldn’t you have just run the whole way?” Nate asked.
“In theory, I guess,” Trevor said. “But even though to you guys I go super fast, to me I’m still moving at my normal speed. A long run is still tiring and boring. We must have been at least thirty miles from here. That’s a long way to jog.”
“So you used your speed to secretly hitch rides,” Summer said.
“Pretty much,” Trevor said. “Then I bailed when the cars went the wrong way. If I use my top speed, I’m faster than cars on the freeway. But I can only keep it up in short bursts, or it wipes me out.”
“He took a risk,” Mr. Stott said. “Until Trevor reached this sanctum, Jonas might have used the simulacrum to harm him at any time. Apparently Jonas didn’t figure out that Trevor was on the run until after he found sanctuary here.”
“So now he has to stay?” Nate asked.
“Or he risks magical retaliation,” Mr. Stott said. “To exit this sanctum would leave him exposed.”
“I’m worried that I’ll get the rest of you in trouble,” Trevor said. “If they track me here, it’ll mean problems for Mr. Stott. And Jonas knows I was involved with Nate, Lindy, and Summer. He’ll be watching all of us more carefully.”
“It’s a risk I’m happy to take,” Mr. Stott said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Nate said. “I’d much rather take a little more heat than have you vanish like Pigeon.”
“I worry about Pigeon too,” Trevor said with frustration. “If I had let myself get caught, maybe I could have found him and helped him.”
“More likely you’d just be in the same trouble as him,” Lindy said.
“I’m worried about how far Jonas is getting in this search for Uweya,” Summer said. “I helped take a map from a family that has guarded it for a long time. They seemed really worried about what would happen if Jonas found Uweya.”
“I haven’t been able to learn much about Uweya,” Mr. Stott said. “I’ve consulted all of my usual resources, but there is almost no information about what it does or how it can be found. Jonas must have gone to great lengths to learn anything about it.”
“I felt bad about taking the Gate from the Hermit,” Nate said. “If all of this adds up to Jonas getting Uweya, I think we’re doomed.”
“What’s your next mission?” Mr. Stott asked.
“Probably to get the Protector,” Summer said. “The map we got will supposedly lead us to it.”
“What is the Protector?” Mr. Stott inquired.
“I don’t really know,” Summer said.
“They’ll tell us more when we get the mission,” Nate guessed.
“Only two clubs left,” Mr. Stott mused. “That would lead me to assume you are app
roaching the end of the treasure hunt.”
“It feels that way,” Summer said. “As far as we know, the next challenge after getting the Protector could be to find Uweya.”
“Or you might just be gathering the tools Jonas needs,” Mr. Stott speculated. “He may not involve the clubs in retrieving the actual prize.”
“We need to start fighting back before it’s too late,” Nate said. “But how? With those wax statues, Jonas can take us down whenever he wants!”
“Watch for opportunities,” Mr. Stott advised. “I’m working on a project that might be of service. I just hope I can finish it in time.”
“New candy?” Nate said hopefully.
Mr. Stott nodded. “Something that might help you get around without Jonas using the simulacra against you.”
“Has the Flatman seen anything useful?” Nate wondered, referring to the mutant that Mr. Stott kept floating in a shallow aquarium of formaldehyde. The Flatman had offered some useful predictions back when they were dealing with Belinda White.
“He has been silent of late,” Mr. Stott said. “His activity has always been unpredictable. For now, your best bet is to keep playing along. I’ll keep working on my new treat. But stay vigilant! Remember the Battiatos if you need backup. We need to find John and Mozag. And, at all cost, we need to keep Jonas White from obtaining Uweya.”
*****
Pigeon leapt to his feet when his cell door opened. Cleon looked in, wearing a red vest over a white shirt. “You want that shower?”
Pigeon had not yet left his cell. Living underground without windows, he found it tricky to judge how much time had passed. He estimated it had been more than a day. Whenever a meal was brought he asked for a shower. Until now, his keepers had not acknowledged his requests.
“Really?” Pigeon asked.
Cleon hooked a thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. “Nobody likes a smelly kid.”
“Great,” Pigeon said, wishing he felt less flustered by the opportunity. He was no fan of Cleon, but it was refreshing to see a familiar face. Pigeon had no prior association with either of the men who had brought his meals. “Do I have to wear handcuffs?”