The Kidnapped Army

by Shiloh White

  ✽✽✽

  At the last second, they slammed into the side of the staircase; blowing apart a chunk of it— and shaking the rest of it like a tremor. The only thing that told me I didn't get blown away with it was the blood I tasted in my mouth. I'd been knocked to the ground by the impact and bit my lip.

  I pulled my face off the steps in time to see Mikey and Jamie struggle to their feet. Then a second tremor shook the staircase, and Jamie lost his footing. Mikey reached out to catch him, but Jamie missed his hand and his foot slid back, over the side of the staircase.

  I tried forcing myself to move so I could catch him with my paint whip, but my body wouldn't respond to the pain I was in. Thankfully, Woodstock could still move. He ran past me up the stairs and dove to catch Jamie's arm just before he fell. Woodstock pulled him back up onto the steps, and Mikey and Chug ran down to join them.

  “You guys okay?” Chug called out.

  “Barely,” Woodstock said.

  I rolled onto my back and forced myself to sit up. The tornadoes took out a giant chunk of the steps right below me. A few feet a little higher...and I'd be gone. We would all be gone.

  “Most of the Abandoned...were right behind us.” Chug said.

  “I'll find them,” Woodstock said. “I'll make sure they make it back to the dome."

  My adrenaline started to wane, so I felt the bump on my lip get bigger But the pain woke me up enough to get back on my feet.

  “And where's Justin?” I asked Woodstock.

  “We got split up fast.” he sighed. His voice was filled with guilt. “I...don't know what happened to him.”

  I went to bite my lip as a habit, and got a mouthful of fresh blood instead. He said those words the way someone might say I don't know if he survived. And at this point, he might as well have.

  All the extra time our reinforcements bought us was gone. Most of those reinforcements had been thrown across the room now. And it was my fault. Jamie almost dying was my fault. They wanted to fight, and I let them. A lump started to grow in my throat. I couldn't risk them any longer.

  “Chug,” I said, “If you can still Zone-Hop, then I want you to get the other Abandoned out of here. Mikey can help you. Take Jamie with you guys."

  “What?” Mikey asked. “We're not leaving you alone."

  “There's no time to worry about that.” I said.

  “What about you?” Chug asked. I gripped my paint whip tight and swallowed the lump in my throat.

  “Look, you two. Disorder's tornadoes are already moving. If you don't go, he'll suck in all of our friends."

  Chug's eyes searched me for any other path to take, but I wouldn't give it to him.

  “Don't die, Lucy,” he finally said. Then he let Jamie climb out of Woodstock's grip and onto his back before glancing back at me.

  “Dying is lame,” Jamie added.

  I nodded and held up my paint whip to assure both of them. Chug shook his head at me and disappeared a gray portal. Mikey ran back down the stairs, looking for the nearest Agent.

  I turned to face Woodstock, and the look on his face told me he already knew what I was planning.

  “You can't fight her army alone,” he said.

  “I can't Zone-Hop,” I told him. “I can't save you guys. Fighting is the only thing I can do. Besides, Disorder knocked some of them out too. I can reach Dart.” I gestured at the Agents on the steps above. Plenty of them were unconscious, from Disorder or from our own efforts. There were plenty more still, rising back to their feet or carefully coming down the steps to drive us away.

  The look on Woodstock's face made it seem like he was trying really hard to believe me.

  “You're serious about saving them.” he said.

  I nodded. “Can you help me by Zone-Hopping them away?"

  “Okay.” He looked like he wanted to say more, but instead, grabbed the nearest Agent and Zone-Hopped away, leaving me to face the rest of the Headmistress' army by myself.

  52. Don’t Save Me, Save Him!

  For the first minute, it was eerily quiet.

  Don't get me wrong. The Agents were fully conscious now, and a lot of them were screaming as they charged me. The Headmistress cackled and shouted orders at her army, and of course, the sounds of the building falling apart thanks to Disorder added to the noise. But seconds ago—and basically every time I fought—there were others beside me. It covered the sound of my own heartbeat, which now served as a huge reminder that I actually was fighting for my life.

  And that was hard.

  The closest Agent jumped from a few stairs up, putting his foot out to meet my face. I side-stepped him and flicked my paint whip around his leg, then launched him even higher into the air.

  Two Agents came at me and I flung my paint whip at the one further away. It wrapped around his ankle, and I yanked him toward me. He smacked into the back of the second Agent and they both went tumbling down the stairs. I couldn't help but crack a smile. (Cruel? Maybe. But you had to be there. It was a little funny. And it kept me from going crazy.)

  Unfortunately, the Headmistress didn't find it as funny. She yelled out an order that sent seven Agents sprinting down the stairs at once—how they didn't trip was beyond me—and another wave right behind them. I barely had time to wipe the sweat off my paintbrush hand before they were on top of me. Literally.

  Then Woodstock's voice filled my ears: “Duck, mija!"

  I followed directions and saw him leap over me, slamming into two more Agents with his forearms. They fell to the ground and he picked them back up, both limp in his grip.

  “Thanks.” I said. “Can you get that guy before he hits the ground?”

  Woodstock grimaced at me, but still took off down the stairs after him.

  I turned back to the fight just in time to get punched in the face. The force knocked me to my knees and black spots started to dot my vision.

  “Don't tell me that's all it takes to put you down, girl.”

  I shook the spots out of my eyes and got back to my feet. Standing in front of me with fists raised was Mr. Smug. He smirked at me, and then launched another punch. I scrambled to dodge it. The tip of his knuckles brushed past my cheek and drove down into the step next to me, leaving a crater as wide—and almost as deep—as a broken table leg.

  “You plan to fight back today?” he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

  That punch was no joke. He was ready to kill me. And if he connected, he definitely would have. More Agents crowded around us, eliminating any chances of me dodging again. Fighting was my only option.

  I flicked my whip at him, but he was able to move way quicker than me in this small space. He lunged past my whip and threw a quick punch, hitting me in the cheek. It wasn't as strong as the first one, but it still hurt.

  It hurt a lot.

  He's toying with you. He already knows you're not winning this fight.

  I pulled back my whip, hoping to take out his leg out, but he turned and stepped on the paint, snapping it under his foot. I stumbled back with the half still connected to my brush, but the Agents behind me shoved me back to my feet—and toward Mr. Smug.

  This can't be happening. Not now. My Handle is my anchor, right? So why am I falling?

  Mr. Smug kicked out my foot, sending my knees to connect with the hard stairs.

  “You're just toying with me,” I scowled. “Why?”

  He chuckled—smugly, of course—and pointed up at the Headmistress.

  “She's toying with you,” he said. “Stole your friend. Killed the other one. And now you're gonna die here alone, under her thumb. She's won."

  I looked up at the Headmistress again and she was staring back at me. A red grin spread across her face, despite all the literal chaos around her. She did win. Which meant I was going to lose. To this woman who had raised Disorder, stepping on—and smacking around—any of these Agents to get there. It was all about achieving her goal. She had no care for anyone around her. Not the Agents I flung in the air. Not the D
epression Force. Not Dart...Not even her own son.

  I felt so bad for Woodstock. He was right to fear his mom. Part of me didn't even want to believe this woman could've brought him into existence. I might have been about to die here, but it gave me a twinge of ironic peace knowing that compared to this lady, my mom wasn't that bad.

  That peace grew until it flooded my whole body. I closed my eyes, and felt like I'd just walked into an air-conditioned room. Then the chilly feeling gathered up into my paintbrush arm. I felt rejuvenated—and my hand felt really cold. I peeked one eye open and saw that the remaining paint on the brush was slowly covering my hand. The weirdest part was, I didn't tell it to, and I had no clue how to make it stop.

  Either I was going crazy, or my Handle was working with me again. On it's own. Was this what Halsey meant? I figured it was worth finding out.

  “You know,” I said, looking up at Mr. Smug, “I'd much rather be killed by her than work for her."

  “Shut up,” he said. “You're going to be dead soon, but it doesn't mean I can't still hurt you."

  I chuckled and rose to one knee.

  “That scared of what I have to say? I mean it when I'd rather be dead. Did you see her swatting the Agents I flung into the sky? Like they were no more than bugs. I think she even enjoyed it."

  “I said shut up!” Mr. Smug yelled, and came at me with his fist. I lifted my hand to meet his and the yellow paint absorbed the blow, sucking his hand into my grip with a sickening POP!

  “What the—” Mr. Smug tried to pull his hand free, but the yellow paint turned to glue form, keeping a tight hold on him.

  “Should've listened to me,” I told him. “That woman really doesn't care about any of you. Unfortunately, you're not real high on my list either. “

  With every crumb of energy in me, I raised my paint whip—and Mr. Smug—above my head. Thankfully, it changed from glue to its normal consistency, stretching out far above my head. Then I brought it down hard on the other Agents around him.

  The yellow paint splattered everywhere, sending globs of it into the Agents' chests and pushing them over the edge of the steps. The luckier ones got a splatter of paint at their feet, which glued them in place. For a second, I just took it all in. Then I looked down at my paint whip.

  “Where was that power when that jerk snapped my whip?"

  But I was pretty sure I knew the answer. Halsey said my Handle was like an anchor, but my emotions were like a whirlpool. The reason my Handle kept screwing up—it was my fault. My anger at my mother. But now that I saw her differently...I didn't want to say I forgave her, but I at least owed her an apology for taking everything out on her—

  “All of you, go kill that Topsider!” The Headmistress' voice boomed from the stage. The rest of the Agents standing around her all ran down the stairs at once.

  If I make it through this, I thought, I'll give Mom that apology the second I get back.

  My Handle seemed to like that promise. The first wave of Agents to reach me all got smacked aside by my whip. It seemed to guide my hand and lead the rest of my body up the stairs—and it felt natural. The Headmistress barked orders at one group of Agents after the next, but I didn't care. This peace was overwhelming.

  And it wasn't like that overwhelming power I felt against Damian. It was different. Then, the power was in control. This time, I had faith in my Handle, and in my own strength.

  It wasn't about fighting for the hope to win any more. Every Agent that came towards me, I knew I could beat. I was fighting because I needed to get Dart out of here. I needed to get Scott back to Halsey. I needed to stop Disorder from rising.

  I need to get back to my mom.

  During the fight, I felt deep thoughts being dredged up from somewhere, but this one stuck. With each swing of my whip, the words I would tell her swirled and formed in my head. I wondered if maybe my Handle was the one pulling the thoughts out.

  Either way, it was clear to me now that my mother was a human being. She made a mistake, and I treated her like a monster for it. I needed to tell her that.

  I jumped and swung my brush in the air, knocking aside the last two Agents not smart enough to run away. The Headmistress screamed in frustration.

  While she searched for any other cavalry to throw at me, I took a second to breathe and refill my paint whip. Then I climbed up the rest of the stairs to my friend.

  “Dart, are you there?” I asked. “It's your friend Lucy. We need to get out of here."

  Dart winced, like I just told him something unbelievable. Friends? I have no friends! His face seemed to say. He clutched the side of his head and growled in pain.

  “Get away from my general!” the Headmistress shouted. She jumped down from her throne, looking ready to squash me. “All this time I ignored it, but if you want something done right, there's just no trusting a child to do it."

  I wasn't sure how, but her entire body seemed to grow another two feet. She swatted her giant hand at me, ready to leave me nothing but a scrape on her Academy stage, but someone shoved me aside and the large whoosh of her hand passed over me.

  “You okay, kid?"

  I turned to see who shoved me, and Justin was standing

  I nodded.

  “I think.” I told him. “We just need to get to Scott and Dart and—"

  “Woodstock grabbed Scott while you fought. He and the others are below somewhere, grabbing the rest. But we need to get out of here. No time for the other guy."

  “Wait, what?”

  “YOU?!” the Headmistress' voice shook with anger. I glanced up and saw her looking down at her son with a different expression of madness altogether. “I thought I killed you!”

  The Headmistress ran over to us, each heel digging into the ground behind her.

  “Time to go.” Justin said. Then without a warning, he grabbed my arm and we stretched into darkness.

  ✽✽✽

  “You gotta let me go!” I screamed. “He was right there!” I pulled against Justin's arms and almost got free, until Woodstock joined him, sealing my arms in a tight grip.

  “Lucy,” he said, his voice an odd mixture of calm and irritation, “just look.”

  Unable to move without a shock of pain going to either arm, I took his advice and looked out over what used to be the Academy's assembly hall. At the back of the room, five other dark tempest clouds had broken through the right-hand side of the room, matching the set on the other side. These clouds had already arched over and begun digging into the ground.

  Damian's words echoed in my mind. He said this Zone was going to be a stepping stone.

  He didn't mean that as a figure of speech. Disorder was literally using this Anchor Zone to crawl and pry his way out of his prison. Those dark tendrils weren't tornadoes or tempest clouds at all.

  They were fingers. Giant, smoke-infused fingers.

  The breath flew out of my lungs when I realized that this was the actual size of Disorder. For the first time since we got here, the reality of how in over our heads we were really hit me.

  “This is really...” I dropped my head.

  “Yeah,” Justin said, “it's really happening, and we really need to go right now."

  But the fact that we were alive right now made me want to keep fighting. Justin was back, and I didn't see Chug, so they probably got everyone to the dome already.

  “I told Woodstock we have to fight until the Zone comes down. Everyone else is safe. If you Zone-Hop me back up there, I can—

  “It's impossible.” Justin argued. “We're not making it through all that.”

  Looking a little closer at the rest of the room, I discerned just what all that was. Disorder's tornado-fingers tore all over the ground, creating holes all over the room. Big pieces of the ceiling were falling everywhere, crashing into rubble below. In addition, the stairway had suffered a lot more from the battle than I thought.

  The Headmistress' shrieked. Thanks to her giant body, her voice projected across the room, even with all th
e chaos. “Protect me, general!” she ordered Dart. He looked around at everything coming down, and just continued to stand next to her. As stupid a plan it was, she finally caught on to what was really happening. Disorder wasn't here for her.

  “You see?” Justin said to me.

  “It changes nothing,” I told him, still pulling against his hold. “We can still escape with him. We just have to grab him!"

  “There's no time, mija,” Woodstock said. “We're already waiting long enough for Chug—"

  “There he is!” Justin said.

  Chug hurried over with a little boy I recognized from the sidewalk back at De Mentoria. Rodrigo, the last boy to get kidnapped. Chug's eyes bounced from Justin to Woodstock, then down to me.

  “What's going on?” he asked.

  “We've got to go,” Justin explained, ignoring his question, “otherwise we're getting sucked by Disorder along with him. I'm sorry, but your friend's gone.”

  He pulled me backwards, towards the dome. I kicked and flailed, refusing to leave Dart behind. Behind me, I heard the slightest of sniffling from Woodstock.

  “Not yet he's not.” Chug said, setting down Rodrigo's arm.

  “What? Are you crazy?” Justin asked.

  “I'm sick of them taking people from me. They're not getting Dart.”

  Then he turned and ran back into the chaos, changing to smoke-mode to avoid the falling debris.

  53. Yes.

  (See Chapter 42)

  “Chug!” I screamed. A surge of energy passed through me—or maybe Woodstock and Justin just were as shocked as I was—and I pulled free of their grip.

  I ran toward him, climbing a pile of rubble to get a better view. Somehow, he knocked Dart unconscious. Then I saw that The Headmistress looked like she was losing her sanity, and made no effort to help her general, which probably helped. Chug struggled to load Dart onto his shoulder, then slowly Zone-Hopped into a gray portal. Only, he didn't appear by us.

  Down at the end of the flight of stairs, Chug tumbled back into existence, letting go of Dart. I figured he was almost out of energy and he was just going as fast as he could. Then I saw that Dart was moving. Chug lost control because he was waking up. I ran to go help him, but the Headmistress slammed her fists into the top of the stairway, sending an avalanche of rubble down at both of them.