I look where she’s pointing. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to see it, but it’s true—the glass wall continues up, over, almost impossible to detect.
She opens the double doors. “The common room,” she explains.
There’s a pool table, Ping-Pong, air hockey, a short row of VR consoles against one wall, and tall shelves with books and games. The other side is dominated by a TV pit surrounded by couches.
Corina gestures to a couch that faces the TV. “Have a seat,” she says. “You want a soda?”
I tell her I’m fine and she looks at me like my mom does when she doesn’t believe me.
Like my mom used to look at me.
I reach into my pocket for the key chain. I don’t want to pull it out in front of Corina, but touching it makes me feel better.
I settle onto the couch.
“You going to be okay for a minute?”
I nod.
“I’ll be right back.” She steps out another door and disappears.
I turn on the TV.
A kids’ cartoon I haven’t watched in years rises up out of the floor. I think about changing the channel, but instead I just turn the projection base so I’m looking at the faces instead of the backs of the characters. I turn the channel to see what else is on, but stop when it gets to the news. There’s nothing about my parents because this is Seattle and that’s Los Angeles, but I watch anyway, hoping. Instead they talk about President Castle’s push to get Live-Tech regulated. He says we shouldn’t have tools that can read our minds because it’s not moral, that only God should know our innermost thoughts, but the spokesman for Live-Tech says Castle doesn’t like Live-Tech because Sabazios donates to the other party’s candidates.
The whole thing makes me think about the Incursion and I switch back to the first channel.
I try and focus, suck in a breath and push it out, but it’s no use.
I’m so spun I can’t even track a cartoon.
I turn the TV off, wait for the images to descend back into the projector’s base, and go inside myself to find my Voice. Ever since the time at my house when she screamed at me to run, it’s been easier and easier to get down to where she is.
My Voice is right there on the edge of my regular mind like she’s expecting me:
“I’m your secret, scared boy.” She doesn’t sound like a regular human—her voice is too hollow and ghostly—but even so, right now she feels like a friend, and hearing her fills me with relief.
WAIT! I shout inside. WHO ARE YOU?
“Who am I?” she asks me back. “I’m your secret. Your girl Sly. Your friend in the Silly Juice.”
I DON’T UNDERSTAND.
“You will, scared boy.” She doesn’t get any quieter. “I’m your secret Sly Girl, on the sly, runaway. Don’t go telling people about me, boy—snitches and stitches.”
I’M NOT A SNITCH!
Silence. Her calling me a snitch pisses me off and I feel myself slipping back up to the surface against my will. When I return, Corina’s there. She’s standing over me, holding a pile of clothes and some bathroom stuff. “You alright?”
I’m your secret. I nod. “I think I’m just tired. It’s been a weird few days.” I can’t tell what I do when I’m down under the drain. I might make faces or talk out loud or something—I just don’t know.
Snitches and stitches . . .
I’m suddenly nervous I’ve given something away. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Because I wasn’t alright when I got here, and you’ve had more shit happen to you than I ever have.” She hands me a pile of clothes. “Here. The bathroom’s down that way on your right.”
“Towel?” I ask.
“On the counter. Go get cleaned up and then we’ll get you started.”
“Started on what?”
“You got a job to do, Alex Mata—just like me.” She raises an eyebrow. “So get your ass on it.” She smiles and gestures with her chin toward the door she just came through.
Her smile makes me feel better instantly.
I walk out and down a hallway. When I’m through the door I turn back to Corina. She’s looking at something on her hand. From here she looks like a little kid who should be watching cartoons with me. When I first saw her, I didn’t think about how old she was, but now I can see that she’s my age or maybe a little bit older than me.
Sixteen
Inside the shower, I start to scrub.
I’ve always been a “the water will get it” sort of showerer, focusing on my hair, face, and privates with the soap and letting the water run over the rest of me, but now I feel like I need to scrub off layers of skin all over. My skin is growing red and starting to hurt, but I can’t stop scrubbing. Each swipe leaves me feeling slightly better, which makes me want to scrub harder.
I want to scrub off my parents on the kitchen floor. I want to scrub away the bug that killed them. I want to scrub off the idea that I’m never going to be able to go back to my old life. I want to scrub off being wanted for murder.
Everybody thinks I murdered my parents. They all think I’m crazy. I can’t scrub that away. All the worries I had before seem so dumb compared to what’s happened.
I picture Auntie, suddenly alone. I can’t imagine what she thinks right now. Mousie thinks . . .
Mousie. Mayra. All of our street names now sound ridiculous. Three days ago, tossing up tags, skating, and playing guitar were the most important things in my life. It’s all so stupid.
Things for little kids who don’t know any better.
After the shower, I turn my attention to the clothes Corina gave me. There’s a pretty good pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, along with some boxer briefs and a pair of socks.
They’re all my size, and when I get my shoes back on, I feel okay. I pick up my dirty clothes and my hoodie but I don’t know what to do with them except carry them back out in my backpack.
There are people in the commons when I return. Corina’s there, but there also three older white guys.
They all look up from their conversation when I enter.
The oldest of the three stands up and offers me his hand. He’s over six feet with thick brown hair and gray eyes, big and intense like an owl’s. He’s thin, but even just looking at him, I can see his strength. He moves like a fighter, smooth and without waste.
I recognize him. I’ve seen him on the news and being interviewed. It’s Jeffrey Sabazios.
“Alex!” He smiles when he says my name, like we’re old friends. I take his hand and he grips mine firmly, shaking and not letting go. “I’m glad you’re finally here. And I’m so sorry about what happened to your parents.”
I nod, but I can’t think of what to say.
He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s still shaking my hand. “I’m Jeff and this is John Bishop.” He gestures at the guy next to him who’s smiling at me. John Bishop is baby-faced. He’s dressed nice, and is burly under his shirt, built like a wrestler, with not enough blond hair to cover his head all the way. “John’s my number one guy—he’s in charge of all aspects of the project here at the compound.”
I let what he just said fly past me because John is already moving in to say hi. “Good to have you on board, Alex. Again, sorry for what you’re going through.” His voice is surprisingly small and soft for his size.
Sabazios still has my hand, so I can only nod in John Bishop’s direction.
“And this”—Jeff continues on to the last guy—“is Richard Beeman, who runs the witness program.” Richard is younger—twentysomething.
Witness program? Before I can even wonder what the hell he’s talking about, Richard blushes and steps up to me. “It really is good to have you here, Alex.” He’s got a face that’s full of sharp edges, and his brown hair is tucked back into a short ponytail with free wisps that fall into his face when he stands. Hi
s smile is warm and reassuring. I smile back without meaning to.
Sabazios is still pumping my hand. “Normally, I don’t greet new witnesses on their first day, but Alex”—he nods his head like he’s just confirmed something he already knew—“you are a special case—we haven’t managed to recruit a one-fifty plus before and I have heard pretty amazing reports about what you’ll be able to do.”
“Okay,” I mumble as he finally drops my hand. One-fifty plus? I’m hoping that something will happen that I can understand.
“Alex.” Bishop steps in before I can ask what Sabazios means. “I know this is a big ask after everything you’ve been through, but we don’t have a lot of time.” He puts a hand on my shoulder and levels his head so he’s looking into my eyes. “We’re not exaggerating about the fate of the world being in the balance here.” He pauses, but doesn’t look away. “Do you have it in you to help us? To get right to work?”
I nod. I’m not weak.
He nods back, lets my shoulders go, smiles slightly. “Thank you. Your courage is impressive.”
Richard steps in, putting his hand protectively on my shoulder. “I think this is a little much for Alex right now.” He turns to me and continues. “We’ve all been excited to meet you.”
“Absolutely right. We’re glad to have you here.” Jeffrey Sabazios reaches out to shake my hand one more time, and when he lets it go, he nods to Richard, then turns to John Bishop. “There are some things we need to settle before I head to DC.”
Bishop nods lightly and follows Jeff as he steps back out onto the patio and disappears toward the way we came in.
Richard still has his hand on my shoulder. “You’re probably hungry.”
I start to say that I’m fine, but then I realize that he’s right. Burger King didn’t do it. I am hungry. Really hungry. I nod.
Richard smiles. “Let’s go feed you, then.”
Seventeen
Richard leads us out onto the patio and then through a second door. We step inside an enormous indoor gym that looks too big to be buried in the hillside you can see from the outside. There’s a basketball hoop at either end, painted hardwood in the middle, and a weight room on the other side of a glass wall beyond the far hoop. The gym is lit like daylight, which confuses me until I turn around and see that the entire wall around the door is a single enormous window.
“It’s a real window,” Corina says when she catches me looking stupidly at it. “You can see out of it, but the wall and the roof of the patio are made from the same stuff and nobody can see in—it just looks like a hill.”
Richard is already on the far side of the gym. “This way,” he says, and leaves through an open doorway.
I follow him into what looks like it might be a kitchen, but I don’t recognize any of the appliances. There’s no obvious stove or dishwasher, just a little drink fridge, but there are counters and a sink. Richard settles into a wooden chair at a dinette table that looks a lot like the one we have at home except that there’s something that looks like the Live-Tech design in the middle of it: A white pentagon filled with thousands of random gray dots that look like stars. Among the gray dots are three bright red ones that are connected with red lines to make a triangle.
Even with the design, the table’s the first almost-familiar thing I’ve seen in the house, and I want to hug it.
I sit down across from him, Corina on my side, and look around.
The same version of the Live-Tech design from the table is painted on the wall to our right, but huge.
I wait, but they don’t make any moves about getting us something to eat. “You said something about food?”
Richard nods. “Go check the box on the counter. Put your hand on the indentation. It’ll make you something.”
The box he’s talking about is one of the things that made me question whether this was a kitchen, because it doesn’t look like a kitchen thing. It looks like a cat carrier that somebody covered in aluminum foil. There are holes in the side and a glass panel that covers the main opening. On the side is a hand-shaped dent, so I put my hand in it. The interior lights up and I watch through the glass as a panel opens in the bottom of the box and a plate rises slowly up from somewhere.
Nozzles emerge from the top and sides, begin squirting goo, sculpting it, but they’re moving so fast back and forth across the plate that I can’t even really see them.
They work so fast, the goo spreads like ripples across the plate, like a muscleman’s abs.
I pull my hand away.
The nozzles slip back to where they came from, the plate rises slightly from the bottom. The flap in front moves out of the way, revealing a plate with what looks like two steaming hot pupusas covered in pickled cabbage. I sniff and I can smell the tortillas and cheese and chicharrón.
“The plate won’t be hot,” Richard advises from behind me. “The food should be something you like.”
It is.
The pupusas look exactly like the ones I used to order when we went to Atlacatl for dinner as a family. I’ve been ordering them since before I could even talk. It was Pete’s favorite restaurant when he was a little kid, so we used to go at least once a week. We haven’t gone as a family since Pete was killed, but I go on my own sometimes.
Went.
Mousie and me went last week. We ate pupusas just like these.
I wasn’t thinking about them when Richard asked if I wanted something to eat, but they really are the most familiar food I can think of.
Richard directs me to a drawer for silverware.
I reach in and grab a Hawaiian Punch from the drink fridge.
I carry it all back to the table in a daze and stare at my plate as I sit down.
“It’s cool,” Corina tells me. “Go ahead and eat—there’s nothing wrong with it.”
I nod and cut off a piece with my knife and fork and scrape some of the cabbage onto it.
It tastes perfect. I chew and swallow as best I can while my whole world begins to swim in memories and feelings. I can feel my eyes growing wet and my throat closing but I get it down.
They don’t say anything while I eat. I hurry to finish because being watched while I eat makes me feel rude.
When my plate’s clean, I set my fork down and look up.
“Are you ready?”
He doesn’t specify for what. I nod, shrug, nod. “Yeah.”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a portable projection square, placing it in the middle of the table. “Alex, I’m going to warn you that this won’t be easy, especially considering your last few days.”
I try not to show that he’s scaring me, but I end up scooting back in my chair a little bit anyway.
“Are you ready?”
“Sure.”
He touches the square and the light changes above it in the middle of the table, turns black, spreads out of focus, and then comes clear.
It’s a bug. I scramble backward, knocking over my chair, but the bug doesn’t move or react. The cape doesn’t split, none of the arms come out.
Corina’s hand lands on my arm. “It’s just a picture. It can’t hurt you.”
I look over at her, embarrassed. I can feel my face flushing so I turn and make myself look back up at the bug on the table. The bug is black—not like paint but black like empty darkness. It doesn’t reflect any light at all, so even though it’s within feet of me and spinning slowly, it’s hard to understand what I’m seeing. It was almost easier when one was . . .
Trying to picture that bug brings it all back, flashes of skin, blood. The dark. The bug crashes around in my head, a collection of images, each terrifying, none complete.
I look down at the table so they don’t see my eyes.
“This is a Locust. The Incursion theorists have taken to calling them bugs, but Locust is more accurate because they behave a lot like Locust
s. Do you know what Locusts do?”
I shake my head without taking my eyes off the table.
“They swarm. Millions of them descend at once on an area, consuming everything edible and then moving on, leaving a wasteland behind them. We have good reason to believe that the ‘Incursions,’ as people call them, are just the beginning—forward scouts if you will. If we don’t act fast, the whole swarm will come.”
I nod. I started looking at the thing when he was talking and now I can’t take my eyes off it. My fear forces me to know the thing. “What do they want with us?”
“I can show you.” He stands up. “I’ll be right back.” He reaches out to the little box and makes the bug disappear.
When it’s gone, I feel like I can breathe again. I turn toward Corina. She’s looking right at me. I smile at her and my face flushes a little. She smiles back shyly and looks away.
“How long have you been here?” I ask her eventually, just for something to say.
“About a year,” she says, shrugging. “It’s home now.”
“You said you were from Portland?” I try and picture anything I know about Portland, but I come up blank. “That’s Oregon, right?”
She looks at me, her face entirely neutral, gives me the dead-eye, and nods slowly. “Yeah.”
Richard comes back before I think of something else to say that isn’t completely stupid.
“Sorry,” he says. He holds up a thing for me to see. “I forgot this in my office.”
I can’t make sense of the thing he’s holding. It looks like a combination of a pair of binoculars and a gas mask. “What’s that?”
He holds it up to admire it. “This is one of my favorite toys, Alex. This is what’s called a tunneling telescope.” He sets it down next to me, leans in like he’s going to tell me a secret. “The Locusts aren’t the only aliens out there. We have an ally in our fight, and they’ve been giving us technological and strategic assistance. The tunneling telescope is one of our ally’s inventions, and it works on principles even I barely understand, but I can tell you this: it works.”
Strange Days Page 7