Doomed (44 page)

“Normal people aren’t direct representations of Gaia,” Theo says.

“The mother of the Titans?” I ask, confused. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“Mother Earth,” he corrects me. “Don’t you get it? Every creature we’ve fought has been an offspring of Gaia. Your
dad has us set up in an adversarial relationship with the earth, one in which she’s not only holding her own in most cases but also usually kicking our asses.”

His words strike me hard. Is that what we’ve become in my father’s eyes? Adversaries to the earth? I think back to the car ride to Hugoton, to how I was thinking that he had made us incredibly vulnerable, given us no way to protect ourselves.

Is that how he views the earth, then? How he sees Gaia? As this sentient being with no ability to protect herself from the whims and destructions of mankind, save the natural disasters that seem to dominate world news programs today?

If so, I see his point.

But how can he think that’s enough to justify what he’s done? That it’s enough to account for the mass death that we’ve seen or that’s yet to come? There has to be a better way. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it must exist. Because this—I look around at the world of the game—this is so not okay.

Theo’s avatar arrives at the market just in time to see the giant dangling upside down, his hundred hands already working to get himself out of the trap. Theo grabs the same knife I had earlier and uses it to split the giant open from chest to belly button.

Two down, one to go. And if I have my way, the boys can take care of that one. I have a bunch of numbers to find—six, to be exact.

I say as much to Theo and Eli and they agree, so I go running in the opposite direction from where I last saw the
giant. Who knows if the coordinates are over here or not, but I’m good with assuming that they are. Of course, if it will get me out of here, I’m also good with assuming the coordinates are in Siberia.

I head out to the huge market sign. As I round the corner, I glance back and see Eli and Theo in the process of wrapping the rope around the third giant. He falls to his knees. Now that I know they have him under control, I run outside, circling the sign again and again. I look up at it. Nothing. Look at it from the back, the front, both sides. Still nothing.

I’m about to give up and go look somewhere else when one last idea occurs to me. I scale the sign, slipping twice on my way up and skinning my arms on the sharp edges of the
M
. But when I finally make it to the top I see the numbers, set on top of the word MARKET: N 41°10’18”, W 105°51’48”.

I shoot a look at Theo and Eli in reality, wait for them to join me before pointing out the numbers to them. None of us says them out loud and none of us writes them down, because I know once we give the government what they want, they’re going to take everything. Seize control of the game and, more important, of us. And I don’t care what Lessing said back there about cooperation, I know very well that the second we’re no longer valuable to her, the three of us will get a one-way ticket to solitary confinement. And the world won’t get a second chance.

Working with the FBI must be what it feels like to get in bed with the devil. Which is crazy, because if you had asked me three hours ago, I would have told you that I was already in hell, dancing to my father’s tune. Suddenly
Dante’s Inferno
is making a lot more sense to me—there is more than one layer in hell, and the deeper I get into this thing, the farther down I spiral.

But good intentions will only get me so far, and when Lessing crosses to me, I know my time is up.

“You’ve found it,” she says, and it is in no way a question. “What do we need to do?”

I fumble for a lie, but Theo jumps in. “We need to find a way to get to Arizona,” he tells her.

For a second, I panic. Wonder how Theo could so misread what I’m thinking. I want to hide things from her, not invite her along for the journey.

“In the game?” Lessing asks incredulously.

“No. In real life.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

He gestures to the name emblazoned across the wall we’re standing in front of. Phoenix Designs.

And that’s when I know. Really know. We’re going to do it again. I’m not sure how, I’m not sure when, but we’re going to escape from the FBI.

The next morning, as we head out of Kansas, I wonder for the millionth time if Theo actually knows what he’s doing. They haven’t let the three of us be alone together since they first picked us up, but at least we have our backpacks again and we’re all riding in the back of the same SUV. We can’t talk much, but I take comfort in the fact that Eli and Theo are both where I can see them.

I did get a chance to look at the atlas. The coordinates we found, if I remember them correctly, are nowhere near Arizona. They lead to a spot in the middle of the wilderness outside of Cheyenne, Wyoming. That’s the next stop on this crazy-ass tour. But figuring out where to go isn’t the hard part. Finding a way to get there is.

Suddenly, the driver stomps on the brakes. Tires squeal and we spin out for a second before he manages to correct himself. I breathe a sigh of relief—the last thing we need is to be in another accident—but then someone slams into the
back bumper of our car. Seconds later, another car swerves in front of us and hits its brakes. We bang into its front bumper.

We’re stopped, totally caged in.

Lessing and the other driver both pull out guns, but a shotgun blast rips through the front windshield before they can so much as aim. The driver jerks, slams back against the seat in front of me, and then slumps over the steering wheel.

“Shit! Get down, Pandora.” Theo throws himself over me as another shot slams into the car.

I don’t bother answering, not that I can as my face is smashed into the upholstery and Theo is on top of my rib cage, both of which prevent me from drawing enough air to so much as utter a syllable.

Lessing fires off three shots from the front seat, and then I hear another shot, followed by a gurgling sound that sends chills through every part of my body. I’ve never heard a noise like that before and hope I never do again.

“What now?” Eli shouts.

Theo raises his head a little, looks around. I’m not sure what he sees, but suddenly he shoves the door open and climbs out of the car, yanking me with him. Eli slides after us and then we run. A few bullets fly past us, and I’m convinced we’re going to be shot in the back. But no more gunshots follow the initial few, and a quick look back tells me that we’re the last thing on our attackers’ minds. They were never after us, weren’t even after Lessing and the other agents, though it looks like they’ve managed to kill all of the ones in our convoy of five cars.

They want the gasoline
in
the cars.

I slow down a little as I watch a man squat next to one of the cars and place a jerrican under where the gas tank is. Then he sticks a knife into the tank, and I see gas start to drain into the can. It must not take long because in less than a minute, he’s up again and headed toward the next car.

There are other men milling around, guns in hand, but they, too, seem much more interested in the gas than in us. Still, Theo tugs on my wrist, hard, obviously displeased with the fact that I’m not keeping up.

We don’t stop until we get to a copse of trees pretty far from the road. Theo yanks me behind one of the large trunks, and I bend over, bracing my hands on my knees as I suck air into my starving lungs. We watch as they finish with the last of the cars, and then they all pile into the trucks that bracketed our SUV and are gone.

“So, that’s where we’ve been screwing up,” Eli cracks. “We’ve been stealing cars when we should have been stealing gasoline.” His voice shakes a little, and when I look at him, he’s staring back at the road. At the dead agents.

I want to scream. I wanted a way to get out of this latest mess, but I never wanted this. Not even when I realized what they had done to Theo and Eli while Lessing was interrogating me.

I look at Theo, who—for the first time—seems a little uncertain, like he’s not quite sure what we’re supposed to do now. Which means
I
have to know. And crying isn’t going to solve anything.

The next stop on this tour is Wyoming, so that’s where we’re going. Even if it kills me.

“We need to go back to the cars,” I tell them.

“They took the gas,” Eli answers.

“Yeah, but they didn’t open the doors, which means they didn’t take our stuff.” I’m not sure why they didn’t, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not now.

The walk back to the car seems a lot longer than our race away from it was. Once we get there, we scoop up our things from the cargo area where the agents put it, being careful not to look inside the car. “Where are we again?” I ask Theo.

“On Route Fifty-Six.” He pulls out the atlas, which is looking kind of raggedy after everything it’s been through, and flips to the road we’re on while I rummage in the back of the cargo area for extra supplies—water, food, flashlights, whatever we can find.

“So?” I ask. “Which way is Wyoming?”

Theo looks at his compass, then points to the right. “About five hundred miles that way.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started.”

We’ve been walking for miles when we finally come across a farmhouse. But when we knock on the front door, there’s no one home. Again. I swear, it’s like
The Vanishing
around here.

“Check the garage,” Eli says as he walks around the house to see if someone’s in the backyard. “Maybe there’s a car or something.”

I go with Theo to check things out, but there’s nothing there save a tool bench and a couple of bicycles. I’m about to suggest them as a mode of transportation when we hear
Eli shouting. We take off running. Or, to be more exact, Theo does. I do the best I can with my sore, bleeding heels, which isn’t great. More of a hop, limp, shuffle, really.

When I finally catch up to them, they’re standing in front of the barn, mouths agape as they stare inside. I approach slowly, not sure what to expect. A crazed farmer with a gun? A survivalist camp bent on killing all of us? The biker gang from Colorado back to get revenge?

Another week, in another life, those thoughts would have been absurd. But here, now, after the last few days, anything seems possible. At least until I look into the barn and realize it’s not a barn at all. It’s a hangar. An airplane hangar.

I turn to the guys, baffled by the excitement I see on their faces—at least until I remember that Theo built an airplane.

“Can you—”

“Yes.” His voice never wavers.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because if you aren’t, we can find another way. This really isn’t the only option.” Except it is, and I think all three of us know it by now. But neither of them is contradicting me, neither is telling me to rethink my comments, which means that they think I have reason to be concerned.

“How many times have you flown before?” I demand as Theo walks toward the small airplane, running his hand smoothly over its side.

“Enough to know how to get us out of this mess.”

“Okay.” I’m willing to concede the point. “But is it
enough to land the plane? From what I hear, taking off is the easy part.”

“I can do it.” His voice is resolute, his eyes steady on mine when he continues. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”

I nod. I’ve trusted him all along. Why should now be any different?

Theo climbs up on the airplane, pops open the pilot’s-side door, slips inside, and starts looking for something. I don’t know what it is until there’s a loud beeping sound and then the plane powers up.

“What are you doing?” I demand, scrambling into the seat next to him. “Are you ready to go already?”

He laughs. “I’ve got to check out the controls,” he tells me as he messes with a few switches in the front, then goes over every gauge on the plane.

“Does it have enough fuel?” Eli asks him.

“I think so. It should get us to Wyoming, but I don’t think it will get us much farther than the five hundred miles.”

I nod, resigned to our fate—at least for the next little while. “Do you need any help?” I ask, though I have no idea what I’d look for if he says yes.

In response, Theo smirks at me. I choose to take that as a no.

So as he does his thing, I settle into the plane’s small backseat. In theory, there is enough room for four people, but that’s only if they’re normal size. With Eli’s and Theo’s long legs and my own height issues, we’re lucky to cram three of us in here. I hope Theo knows the weight limit of this thing …

Eli and I talk uneasily as Theo finishes up his flight check, and then we’re ready to go. I think about all of the things that normally go into a flight—the ground support, air traffic controllers, the little guys with the orange sticks in their hands—and wonder how the hell we’re ever going to get into the air alive.

Theo doesn’t have the same doubts, though. He flips a few more switches, presses a couple of buttons, and then we’re inching our way out onto the tarmac (though it’s really more of a wide sidewalk).

“Ready?” Theo asks, after we’ve cleared the large barn doors.

“If I have to be,” I respond.

“You bet!” Eli crows. I glance at him and he actually looks excited. His green eyes have that daredevil glow they get just about every time we do something dangerous. For a brief moment, I wonder what I look like in times like this. Probably like I’m going to throw up.

And then it’s too late to worry or freak out. Way too late to change plans as we’re cruising down the runway at an alarmingly fast rate.

I clutch my armrests and close my eyes as the plane rattles and growls its way along before pulling away from the ground, lifting off. Into the air.

It’s an amazingly smooth takeoff. Maybe Theo knows what he’s doing, after all.

I start to settle back in my seat, start to breathe a little bit, when something suddenly occurs to me. “Hey! How do you know where we’re going? And if there will be a place to land when we get there?” The panic is back.