The screen goes up when we start heading down toward Las Vegas, and we go back to the chairs and stare out all the windows. I point out the things I recognize—the Luxor pyramid and the Stratosphere—I tell him about going up there with my mom when I was a kid. Talking about it makes me a little bit emotional, but he doesn’t say anything.
A car meets us when the plane stops, and Claudia says that it’s going to take us to our residence. I’m expecting a regular hotel on the strip, but when the car finally pulls out of traffic, it’s into a driveway that takes us under the front of a mall and then out the other side of it and drops us at a double-door entrance that looks way too small for the building it’s attached to.
The car door is opened by a black guy in a suit and tie who greets us by name and tells us that we’re in Sabazios’s personal suite. He takes our bags and points us to the front desk through the double door where there’s a white guy looking at us. When the desk guy sees me look at him, he smiles, gestures for us to come inside.
He gives us each a key card and points us to the elevator. I go to swipe my card but Damon beats me to it. He smiles at me.
“Dick,” I say, but I’m smiling, too.
When the elevator door opens, I’m expecting a hallway, but there isn’t one. It opens right into the living room of an enormous apartment.
“Jesus,” Damon mutters.
I look around again. “This is all for us?”
The desk guy laughs. “Mr. Sabazios was very clear that you two should be given full access.” He points at a box on the wall. “My name is Michael, and if you need anything, just press the button on the box and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
I nod, barely looking at him. The wall across from us is all windows and we’re looking out at the tops of all the buildings at New York-New York and above the whole strip. The mountains in the distance are lit red with the sunset and the whole place feels like a magical kingdom. “Thanks.”
“I’ll let you two get settled.”
When the elevator door closes, we both stand still for a moment, but then Damon jogs over to the couch and dumps his bag on it before walking around to the partial wall that separates the kitchen and dining area from the living area.
He says something, but I can’t hear him. He’s too far away.
I take off in the other direction and find three bedrooms, each with its own enormous bathroom. I choose the one where the bathroom has a wall of windows across from the tub because it’s the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. I dump my backpack on the desk and flop down on the bed, which is bigger than my whole bedroom was at home.
Damon steps into the doorway a moment later. “You asshole, you took the only one with windows in the bathroom.”
I laugh. “I left you the one with the hot tub, though.”
“There’s one with a hot tub?”
I point down the hallway. “Last one.”
He nods. “Alright, then.” He takes his bag down the hall, but comes back a minute later and stands there.
“What?”
He shrugs. “You tell me, bro.” Then: “It wasn’t my glide that landed us here.”
I think about it. I actually don’t know anything except that I’m supposed to be in the convention center sometime before lunch tomorrow.
I sit up. “I don’t think it’s until tomorrow. We’re free tonight.” I freeze. “We don’t have any money.” It’s been so long since I’ve needed any I didn’t even think about it until right now. “How are we supposed to—“
But Damon’s holding up an envelope. Our names are written on it in black marker. He wags it and then dips inside and pulls out a small stack of hundred-dollar bills. “I think we’re set.”
I hop off the bed and go to inspect the envelope and the money. He hands it to me. “A thousand dollars. Ten hundreds. We each take five.”
I nod and count off five, put them in my pocket, then rethink things and redistribute two to my sock, one to my left pocket and two to my right. Damon watches me, then does the same thing with his five.
We eat at the Hard Rock and spend hours just walking around, looking at New York, Paris, the MGM, the Monte Carlo, and the Luxor. People are everywhere. It’s loud and crowded and dirty and it smells like booze and smoke and it’s enthralling. Damon’s focused on playing at the tables, but he’s not twenty-one and neither am I. When we try at the MGM, we get booted before we can even sit because we can’t show ID. The best we can do is play slots at New York, but that’s only fun for a little while when I realize I’ve dumped $200 into them and it’s only been an hour.
Eventually we head back to the apartment, but not before Damon manages to convince a guy to buy us a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
Back in the apartment, Damon makes us Jack and Cokes and we sit in the living room drinking them, staring out at the world and talking.
He hasn’t seen his daughter in two years. He came to the compound because they promised him money to take care of her forever. He sends money home every week, but he can’t tell them where he is or where it comes from.
The more we drink, the sadder and angrier he becomes.
I tell him about my parents, about Pete. I tell him that everybody thinks I did it, and how it makes me feel. I get angry, too.
But we’re angry with the world, not with each other.
Forty
When I wake up, the clock on the bed stand says it’s just after nine. My head hurts a little, but my mouth tastes awful. It takes me a minute to reassemble last night, and when I do, I realize something huge.
There’s nobody watching me here. I can get news from home. I can call my Tía, or Julio.
After I shower, I go to get dressed. I check out the clothes that Bishop gave me, expecting something special, but they’re almost exactly like what I would wear anyways—black pants, white shirt, black shoes. I make a snap decision to wear them instead of my own clothes, just in case. Damon’s still asleep, which is perfect because it means I can leave without having to explain myself.
I’ll bring him back some breakfast.
Down in the lobby, I ask the guy if there’s a game café somewhere nearby. He looks one up and gives me directions. He offers to get me a car, but I tell him I’m fine to walk and set off.
It’s hot out, but it’s not horrible. The sun is bright, the skies are clear, and there’s a wind blowing through which makes everything feel better than it should. The walk takes nearly an hour, and by the time I get there, I’m sweaty and hot, but the place sells cold drinks and food. I order and get a game station for a half an hour.
I don’t play any games, though. I open the browser instead. There’s nothing new about my parents. There’s no new entries on the LA Times Homicide Report.
I check back on the email I sent to the reporter. It takes me a while to remember my password, but when I do a single new email shows up in the inbox.
It’s from her.
I click on it.
Alejandro,
I am glad you reached out to me. I let Juana that you’ve been in touch, and she’s very happy to know you’re safe. I am very interested in hearing about what you saw, and where and how you’ve been living. Please write back and tell me what happened at your house that night, and maybe give me some details about where you’ve been since.
I can make sure your side of the story gets told, but not until I know it.
Sarah Campbell
I read the email twice and think about what to do. I don’t know what I can and can’t say to her. I want to tell the truth about what happened, but I don’t want to compromise what we’re doing at the compound, either.
Sarah,
The Locust was there when I came home. It had already killed my parents. I didn’t see it at first and then when I did, it was like I was looking at a black hole. It came after me but it wouldn’t come close because I had Liv
e-Tech. I ran away and I’ve been living in a safe place, doing really good things. Bad things are coming, but I’m with people working hard to make sure we’re safe. Pay attention to Jeffrey Sabazios—he’s going to save us all.
I’ll tell you more when I can.
Alex
And then I send it even though I don’t think she’ll believe me.
When the inbox reappears, it’s not empty like it should be, though. There’s a new email there.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Keep Ur Bags Packed
Even though it’s cool in the café, I feel like I’m sweating again because that email shouldn’t be there. Nobody should know about this email address.
I hold my breath as I click.
Hey Plugzer,
Keep clothes in your backpack and make sure the picture stays there. Ur gonna need it when you run.
Cassandra
Oh yeah, bring your girlfriend, too. Sybil says she’s important.
I read it twice because the first time it doesn’t make any sense. They know my name.
Cassandra.
I reply: Who is this? It’s hard to type it clearly because my fingers aren’t working. I mess it up three times before I get it right and send it.
Then I stare at the inbox, waiting, but the clock in the corner of the screen says it’s nearly noon, and I feel like I’ve got to get back or I might miss my moment.
“Fuck you, then.” It’s stupid, but saying it out loud makes me feel better about signing off.
I walk out of the café and into the sun. It’s bright and it makes me squint. By the time I’m at the corner, I wish I hadn’t eaten at all, because I remember what my Voice said before I got the patch.
I’m gonna have to run away again.
I buy a cheap pod and screen at the 7-Eleven across the street, and a card for a hundred minutes of talk time. I set it up as I walk and when it’s ready I dial my Tía’s number.
When it starts to ring I panic. I don’t know what I’m going to say. I don’t know what she thinks. I don’t want to cry.
“Hello?”
She sounds old, like she did on TV. Weak, afraid. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I stop walking.
“Hello? Who is this?” Then: “Alex?” Her voice is scared, hopeful.
“Hi, Auntie.” It’s mostly breath.
“Alex?”
“I’m okay. I didn’t kill them. I love you. It was an Incursion, like I told you. I’m safe. Everything is okay and I’m going to prove I didn’t kill them so I can come home, but I can’t do it right now, but I will.”
She’s crying. “Alex, Alex . . . you need to come home.” She says it like it’s the most important thing in the world. “You need to talk to the police, Alex. You need to tell them what happened, that you weren’t right.”
My vision goes dark when she says that. “I didn’t . . .” I can’t think. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.”
“I know, mijo. You weren’t yourself. You need to come home.”
“NO!” I’m shouting, but I don’t care. “It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it. It was an alien, it was a Locust, and they’re going to come for all of us if I don’t help stop them. I’m saving the world and you don’t even believe me.” It all comes out in a tumble and I don’t know what to do or say next.
We’re both silent for a moment, then: “Okay, mijo. It’s like you say. Come home, please? I need you here.” Then: “Alex . . . please?”
I can’t say anything now. My voice is gone, disappeared from me like hope. I listen for a moment longer, then hang up.
I was going to call Julio, too, but I’m not going to anymore. There’s nothing to say. Nobody there will believe me until it’s too late.
They won’t believe me unless we fail.
I start walking back to the hotel.
I may not be able to go home, but I have another home to go to. The compound is a home. I have a family there. It’s not what I had, but it’s what I have now and it’s good enough. Corina’s there. Paul. Richard. Even Damon.
Keep clothes in your backpack. At least for now.
Run away, boy. Not yet, though.
I’m so caught up in my own hopelessness that I don’t even notice how far I’m going and when I turn up toward the Strip I walk smack into a crowd of people waiting outside a service door. They’re all wearing black pants and white shirts like me.
“Have your ID out and ready when the door opens,” says a suited man standing on the loading dock above us. “Hand it to the agent as you walk in. Make sure the contents of your pockets are in the plastic bags being circulated. When you’ve had your ID checked, you will hand the bag—which will include your pod and screen, along with your wallet and any personal effects you may be carrying—to the agent standing at the interior entrance door in front of the metal detector. You will receive your bag back at the end of your shift.” He pauses. “Questions?”
Nobody has any but me. I turn to the woman standing next to me. She’s older, with brittle blond hair. Heavyset. “This is the catering crew, right? For the MtLA thing?”
She turns to me, looks down. “Yes.” She has a thick accent. Maybe Russian or something.
“Thanks.”
Somehow, without knowing, I ended up at the right place, wearing the right thing at the right time. I remember how I felt when I first looked at the bus ticket in LA and it all suddenly seems way too big for my mind to cope with.
We line up, walk inside. The agent looks at my ID, then scans it. I hold my breath until the green light blinks. “Hand your bag to the next agent,” he says as he reaches for the next person’s ID.
Once inside, we’re given black vests, ponytail holders, and assignments. I’m a busser. They point me to the water station and set me to work filling pitchers with ice and water.
Then there’s an announcement. Diners are on their way.
I grab a pitcher, stand by the water table, and watch the door.
Seeing Jordan Castle is like seeing an old friend. I want to wave, to jump up and shout so she sees me. I want to hug her and tell her that everything’s going to be alright, that we’re all working hard to combat Abaddon. I want to tell her that she really will help save the world, but I can’t.
I won’t. I know I won’t because I didn’t.
She sits down. Julia, Jordan’s chaperone, remains standing, eyes on her screen.
She says something to Jordan and scurries away. Even as she leaves the table, I feel myself moving, walking toward Jordan from her blind side, pitcher held out.
I’m at her table now. Even though she’s sitting and I’m standing, I can tell that she’s tall, taller than I am, taller than I realized from the inside. This is why she thinks I’m short. “Water?” I hear myself say.
She turns, surprised, looks at me.
We stare at each other, and then I’m looking into her, trying to see if I can see myself up on my perch.
My mouth opens. I say my piece. I watch her face as I talk, and her eyes go wide.
Her color disappears.
Abaddon is real.
And then the rest of the crowd enters and I walk away without looking back. I pour a few more glasses of water, then walk back to the kitchen, through it, and back outside.
I have to leave my wallet there, but there’s nothing in it of substance. Nothing that says anything about me.
Forty-One
It’s already dark out when we get back to the compound, but Corina’s waiting for us at the end of the Long Hall anyways. I’m so busy working to keep the email I got in Vegas off the psychic wallpaper that when she hugs me I almost give us away because I’m so happy to see her.
“Welcome back, guys.” She leaves my hug and steps into Damon’s. I can’t tell what he thinks, but I make sure to step out of th
e hallway and onto the patio before turning around to watch them.
Paul comes out from the commons, sees me, and waves. “How was the sun?”
“Hot.”
“Must’ve been nice,” he says, then pulls me in for a hug. It’s good to see him. It’s good to be home. “I barely remember the sun.”
“I’m glad to be back here in the great gray gloomy, anyways.” The email didn’t say anything about Paul.
“You sure are,” he says and smiles. “I bet you’re hungry, too.” He tugs at my sleeve. “I’ll debrief you in the kitchen.”
There’s somebody new at the table—a kid, younger than me and smaller. He eyes us when we come in. He looks scared and I don’t like him on sight.
“Billy, this is Alex,” Paul tells him. “Alex, this is Billy Williams—he just started this morning.”
“Hey,” I say to him before I walk over to the cat carrier. I don’t want to be mean, but for some reason the kid bothers me.
“Alex is a very nice boy who is just tired from a long trip,” Paul says behind me. “Pay him no mind.”
I start to get mad at Paul, but I can’t. He’s right. It just feels weird having things be different here. It needed to stay the same.
Back at the table with a burrito, I tell Paul what I can about the trip, which isn’t much. Billy watches us talk and I start to feel bad for him because I remember what it was like when I first started, so I ask him some questions.
He’s from Idaho. His mom and dad died and he went into foster. He’s seventeen, which surprises me because he looks twelve.
I tell him about my folks and then we talk about LA for a while because he’s always wanted to go there.
By the time we go to bed I’m feeling really good about everything and the warnings from the email and my Voice feel distant and wrong, like things that I can ignore.
But I still fall asleep thinking about how my aunt sounded on the phone.
Forty-Two
It’s my day off. I’m alone in my room, biding my time.
People suspect that Corina and I have something special happening. Paul and Damon both make jokes about it, sometimes when Richard’s barely out of earshot. What sucks the most, though, is that even though we’re together we can’t really be alone. It really can’t be much of a partnership when we can’t even talk, and there are only so many special secret looks we can share across a room without seeming like weirdos.
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