This Town Is Not All Right

by M. K. Krys

  “Of course I am. You don’t think I’d let you do it on your own, do you?”

  “Yes!” Beacon cheered, pumping a fist into the air. “Thank you, Dad.”

  Beacon stood up. Everleigh heaved an annoyed sigh and stood up, too.

  “I get the front seat for at least a month after this,” she said.

  Beacon beamed. “Operation Knockdown is underway.”

  “Operation Knockdown?” Everleigh raised her eyebrows.

  “It’s this thing we do,” Beacon said self-consciously. “For our club. You know, secret code names?”

  “What’s Knockout have to do with anything?” she said.

  “Knockdown. And I dunno.” He shrugged limply. “It just sounds cool. No one said you have to be in the club if you’re too cool for it.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Everleigh said. “Of course I’ll be in your dumb club. But we’re calling it Operation Sea Hammer.”

  16

  “Ready?” the twins’ dad said.

  Beacon and Everleigh were sitting in the back seat of the company van. Their hands were bound behind their backs with plastic snap ties that Beacon was more than a little disturbed to discover Donna just happened to have on hand.

  “Ready,” Beacon said.

  “I’ve been training for this my whole life.” Everleigh cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders.

  Beacon laughed, though it had a tinny quality. His heart was racing faster than their father was driving down the dusty dirt back roads of Driftwood Harbor.

  “It has to look real,” their dad said. “If they suspect anything, it’ll all be over before it’s even begun. I’m going to have to be rough with you. And mean.”

  They turned a corner, around an old tin house covered in rust, and the ocean came into view.

  The harbor was dark and eerily tranquil. Rusted fishing boats bobbed gently against the pier, the water smooth and flat as black glass. A single seagull cawed and swooped in the charcoal sky.

  “It might not look like it, but there are security cameras all over this place, and they’re monitored twenty-four seven,” their dad said. “The moment we get out of this car, you need to be on your A game.”

  He braked hard at the end of the grass embankment, sending Beacon and Everleigh lurching against their seat belts. Their headlights shone two darts of orange light across the soggy grass and the still, dark water of the ocean beyond.

  “Showtime,” he said.

  He swung open the door and climbed out of the van without bothering to turn off the engine. Then he opened the side door. His brows were sharper than the rocks at Deadman’s Wharf, and his jaw was set and rippling with fury.

  “I don’t want any trouble from you two, or you’ll regret it,” their dad said.

  Beacon stiffened, because he believed him. Everything about his dad was intense, honed, and dangerous, and for a moment, Beacon could see the man who worked for a top secret intelligence agency. He’d never seen his dad like this, and he was sure he never wanted to again.

  His dad leaned across the seat and shoved a rag into each of their mouths.

  Beacon’s eyes popped wide. That hadn’t been a part of the plan.

  Then he unbuckled their seat belts and grabbed Beacon and Everleigh by the collars of their shirts, hauling them upright, so that only the tips of their shoes touched the ground. Everleigh went straight into action, kicking and writhing and screaming against the rag in her mouth. Beacon had temporarily forgotten his role and jolted into action, too. As he fought, the fist holding the collar of his shirt twisted and tightened, cutting off airflow and making him gag.

  “This can be easy, or this can be hard,” their dad said. “Trust me, you won’t like the hard way.”

  A frisson of fear rippled up Beacon’s spine.

  It’s just acting, he told himself. He warned us about this.

  A fisherman in orange chest waders emerged from a small shed on the shore—the same fisherman as the night he’d been shot by Sheriff Nugent.

  Their dad gave him a small, curt nod, and the fisherman looked away quickly, scurrying off down the shore as if he were suddenly very busy.

  Was he an alien, too, Beacon wondered, or just complicit in the cover-up? Just how many residents of Driftwood Harbor were in on this thing?

  Beacon wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Their dad hauled the twins into the wooden shed. The moment the door closed behind them, a complicated digital panel sprang out of the rotted wood walls. He placed his hand over the handprint, and a red light scanned his palm. There was a slick beep, beep noise before the ground jolted and shuddered. And then it dropped. Beacon yelped as the shed hurtled down. Even Everleigh looked as if she were planning a full-scale retreat. Meanwhile, their dad stood with his hands clasped calmly behind his back, completely unruffled as they sped toward their death. Finally, the elevator slowed to a stop. There was an elegant ping, and the doors slid open soundlessly.

  The twins were led by their dad out into a large warehouse-like room. Beacon had been expecting dirt and worms, but the place was so bright white that he had to blink fast against the harsh glare in his eyes. It was hard to believe they were underground.

  A woman in a gray jumpsuit abruptly stopped pushing around a wet mop when she saw them. Her eyes bulged, and she scuttled away quickly, disappearing around a corner. In moments, there were thundering boots from down a distant hall, which grew louder each moment. Two, four, six armed guards ran into the room, with even more trailing in behind. They wore black helmets and black tactical vests over army-green military uniforms. Each of them carried big black guns up in front of their faces. Behind them, the janitor shrank against the wall with the mop clutched to her chest.

  “Malcom McCullough,” their dad said smoothly, flashing a badge from inside his jacket pocket. “Returning the AWOL participants. They’re wild and need containment fast.”

  The words made Beacon realize that he and his sister had frozen at the sight of the guns. Now, they redoubled their acting efforts, kicking and writhing until a guard pushed a gun into Beacon’s belly.

  “Shut up!” the guard growled in his ear, so roughly that spittle flew onto Beacon’s hot, clammy skin.

  Everleigh worked out her gag, spitting it on the floor. “Leave my brother alone!” she screamed.

  “I don’t think the guns are quite necessary,” their dad said.

  “We’ll decide that,” the guard barked back.

  “They’re A-one participants,” their dad said.

  The guards stilled, just a bit.

  “If so much as a hair is damaged on them, Victor will be furious,” their dad said.

  Reluctantly, the guard pulled the gun away from Beacon’s belly. “Let’s get moving,” he ordered.

  They were led out of the room, down a long white hall with no end in sight. A moving walkway, like the ones in airports, rolled slowly down the center of the tiled floor.

  The guards nudged the family onto it, and before they knew it, they were speeding down the hall. Beacon had assumed they would be taking a pod to the UFO, but after a while, he realized that this must be the tunnel Everleigh mentioned that led directly to the underwater craft.

  Everleigh kicked and squirmed.

  “Stay still!” a guard ordered.

  “Get your hands off me,” Everleigh snapped back. “Dad, how can you do this?”

  Tears glistened in the corners of her eyes.

  “I said shut up!” the guard ordered.

  “We’re your kids,” Everleigh continued, ignoring him. There was a thickness in her voice that didn’t seem like an act. “Your own kids. How could you rip us away from everything we’ve ever known? How could you leave Jasper behind, alone in the ground, halfway across the country?”

  “I’m doing this for you,” their dad replied calmly. “Yo
u’ll see that when you’re older.” He stared resolutely ahead.

  Finally, they reached the end of the hall. They stumbled off the conveyor. A set of big steel doors whizzed open; a man with a dark, bushy mustache and straight black hair that fell just above his ears stood framed in the doorway. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, revealing tanned arms covered in dark hair.

  “Victor!” one of the guards said in a high-pitched tone of surprise.

  A spike of fear went through Beacon.

  The man didn’t look particularly strong or fast, but Beacon had no trouble believing he was the fearsome leader of the Sovereign he’d heard so much about. He had a calculated air about him, the air of a man who had no doubt his orders would be carried out to a T.

  “Hello, Victor,” the kids’ dad said smoothly, stepping forward. A dozen safeties were removed from the guns and trained on him; he paused, but Victor made a gesture with his hand, and the guns returned to their former positions at the guards’ sides. Their dad straightened his tie and advanced.

  “They fell for it, just like you said they would,” he said.

  17

  All the blood drained from Beacon’s head.

  “How far did they get?” Victor asked.

  His dad’s lips quirked into a smug smile. “Old Danbury Road.”

  A riot of emotions ricocheted through Beacon’s body—shock, anger, hurt, confusion. He’d trusted his dad, but had he just been pretending to be on their side so he could get them to come back to the craft?

  “Not bad,” Victor said. “A little farther and we might have lost them. The state police are all over that county.”

  “I went as quickly as I could, but you know how fast and sneaky Off-Program participants can be,” their dad said.

  “Don’t I know it. These two are particularly misbehaved,” Victor said. “Nothing but problems.”

  Beacon glowered at his dad, resentment burning low and hot in his belly. They weren’t bad kids. He got all As (and okay, a few Bs). He stuck up for kids when they were being bullied. He volunteered at the nursing home sometimes, even though the smell of the cafeteria food made him want to puke. Sure, he sometimes forgot his manners; sure, he argued with his sister. But that didn’t mean he was bad.

  “You tricked us!” Everleigh cried.

  Beacon breathed hard and fast against the gag in his mouth. He didn’t know who or what to believe anymore. Was his dad on their side or not? He willed his dad to look at him, just once—to give him a tiny sign that he hadn’t betrayed them. But the man stared straight at Victor.

  “All right, let’s put them in Contam-A,” Victor said, nodding at the guards.

  “Contamination A?” their dad said. “Victor, I really think you should—”

  “Don’t tell him what he should do,” a guard said, shoving him roughly in the chest with the butt of his gun.

  The twins’ dad sent Victor an affronted look, as if he were expecting him to discipline the guard, but Victor said nothing.

  Beacon and Everleigh were shoved through the door. Their dad started to follow, but Victor held up a hand.

  “You can return to your command post for a debriefing,” Victor said meaningfully. “We want a full accounting of what happened when the kids got away.”

  “Oh. Of course,” their dad said.

  Beacon cast a glance back at his dad as he was being shepherded away, but the doors whooshed shut before he could make eye contact.

  The guards led Beacon and Everleigh through hall after hall. At first they passed busy office areas buzzing with people and noises and flashing electronic equipment, and then the place thinned out and it was only a handful of curious men and women in business suits who stared at them as they passed. Then the halls emptied entirely, and it was just the kids and their captors. Their footsteps echoed through the craft. Just how big was this thing?

  Abruptly, the end of the corridor loomed. They stopped in front of a set of silver doors. One of the guards scanned his badge over an electronic panel on the wall, and the doors slid open to a large white room. They stepped inside.

  There were no doors. No windows. No furniture or people. Just walls so bright, he could practically see his own reflection in them. Beacon didn’t get it. Where were the other prisoners? Where was the prison?

  Where was Arthur?

  Just as he had this thought, another guard punched something into another panel, and half a dozen cells shimmered into existence. Instead of bars, each cell was made up of clear glass that Beacon was certain would be shatterproof. There were three down either side of the room, with a wide corridor in between. He could see inside the cells to the plain metal bed frame and toilet in each one.

  They were all empty.

  One of the guards pointed his gun at the twins. Another cut the snap ties binding their arms, then ordered them to put their hands on their heads. They were searched roughly, and then Beacon was pushed into a cell. He whirled around just in time to see Everleigh shoved into a separate cell across the corridor from him. Panic overcame him. He rushed forward after the guard, but the cell door slid closed. He slammed his hands on the glass.

  “Don’t even think about trying anything funny,” one guard said, stabbing his finger at him. “And, Arthur?” he added, looking farther down the row of cells. “You try that trick again and you’re in for it. No going easy on you next time.”

  The guards stomped away and scanned their badges over the main panel. The doors swooshed open and closed again.

  They were alone.

  Beacon ran up to the glass and frantically searched the cells in the direction the guard had spoken. And there, in the farthest cell, tucked into the little space between the bed and the wall, was a boy. He was curled up so small and tight that Beacon hadn’t seen him before. His pale white skin hadn’t helped, either; he practically blended into the walls.

  “Arthur!” Beacon cried.

  The boy pushed his head up slowly, as if it took everything in him just to complete that one small act. The skin around his left eye was purple and swollen, and there was blood on the collar of the white jumpsuit he wore. If this was what “going easy on him” looked like, Beacon didn’t want to find out what happened when you made the guards mad.

  “Hey, Beacon,” Arthur said weakly.

  “What happened to you?” Beacon cried.

  Arthur’s fingers came up absently to his cheek. “Had a little disagreement with a guard’s fist.”

  Beacon set his jaw.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” he said.

  “Shhh!” Arthur hissed, casting a frantic glance at the doors. It was the most life Beacon had seen in him. He was glad. He’d been starting to worry that whatever the Sov had done to him was permanent.

  “Can you walk?” Beacon asked, quieter.

  “If I had to,” Arthur said.

  “Can you run?”

  Arthur didn’t answer.

  “Oh, what does it matter anyway?” Everleigh interrupted. She paced along the short walls of her cell.

  “What do you mean?” Beacon said. “The plan is still the same as before.” He shot a look at the door, then lowered his voice. “We’re still getting out of here.”

  “You really think Donna’s going to come through on her end?” Everleigh said, not bothering to keep quiet. “She’s obviously in league with Dad and the rest of the Sov. This was all just a trick to get us to walk back into this place. And it worked, because we’re fools.” She kicked the bed, then sucked air through her teeth when the steel frame didn’t budge.

  “He said it would be like this,” Beacon said, even though he’d been thinking the same thing. “He warned us.”

  “Yeah, well, his acting was a little too good, don’t you think? They fell for it? What was that all about?”

  “Would you guys please shut up!” Ar
thur cried.

  “I’m sure Dad wanted to make sure it looked legit,” Beacon said, lowering his voice again. “Maybe that’s how he got away from the ship in the first place when we stole that pod—by saying he was coming after us.”

  “Wait, you stole a pod?” Arthur asked. He sat up straighter.

  “I know, right?” Beacon grinned.

  “Or maybe he’s still brainwashed,” Everleigh said. “Think about it—who came up with the plan to come back here?”

  “I did,” Beacon said. And then he remembered. It had actually been their dad’s idea. He’d all but spelled it out for him.

  A great big pit opened up in Beacon’s stomach. It slapped the smile right off his face.

  “Uh, what are you doing?” Arthur asked, jolting Beacon from his thoughts. He was looking at Everleigh with alarm plastered all over his face.

  “Getting out of here,” Everleigh said.

  She reared back with all her might and kicked the glass wall. Her boot thudded hard against the clear glass, but it didn’t so much as shudder.

  She tried again. And again and again and again. She heaved her body against the wall like a linebacker charging an opponent. Then she jumped up onto the bed.

  “Don’t bother,” Arthur said. “I’ve already tried, and there’s no way out of here. You’re just going to make them mad.”

  Everleigh ignored him and stood on her toes, stretching up her arms and feeling along the ceiling for what, Beacon didn’t know.

  “He’ll help us,” Beacon said with conviction, even though his insides were roiling. “If Dad meant for us to get caught, then why did he bring us back to the inn? Why not just drive us right back to the elevator? Why did we hide in the garage from the sheriff? It might have been his idea to come back here, but I think—I know he’s on our side.”

  But Beacon’s surety began to dwindle after the first hour. That didn’t stop him from rattling off excuse after excuse for why no one was coming to their rescue: Dad must have been held up in that debriefing Victor mentioned. Donna was just running a little late. There must have been a snafu with her distraction plan—whatever it was. But it wouldn’t be too long now! Any minute now and they’d be saved!