Island of the Sun (7 page)

Minutes. Minutes. Minutes.

Then Luke spoke into his headset again and announced, “We're up.”

Consuelo
moved with purpose then, gathering speed in her charge down the length of the runway, until her nose lifted up, and then her feet lifted up, and they were airborne once again. No bullets followed them into the sky. Only the fading light of the city behind and beneath them as its smoggy exhalations choked off its glow.

“We're twelve hours out from Juliaca, Peru,” Luke said. “That's the nearest airport to Lake Titicaca I dare land at. You all might as well settle in.”

Eleanor sighed again, but this time in relief. They had managed to escape from the G.E.T. twice now, which gave her hope that perhaps it wasn't crazy after all to think that they could do this. She turned a smile toward her mom, an unspoken attempt to make up with her for getting angry before. But her mom didn't smile back.

“What's wrong?” Eleanor asked. “We made it.”

Her mom's gesture was part shaking her head and part shrug.

“What is it?” Eleanor asked.

“It's just—” She paused and lowered her voice. “It's the Concentrators. We know so little.”

Eleanor dropped her voice too. “We're figuring it out.”

“But we still don't really understand what they are. How they work. How they do what they do.”

“Well, we know how to shut them down,” Eleanor said. “If they're all like the last one, then I can . . .” But she trailed off when she saw the expression on her mother's face—the wrinkled brow, the frown, the worried eyes. That look of mistrust, and confusion, and perhaps even fear.

“Sweetie,” her mom said, “at some point we're going to have to really talk about that.”

“About what?” Eleanor asked.

“What you did.”

Eleanor's defenses rose as quickly as her anger. “And what did I do?”

“I don't like—” Her mom looked up at the cabin ceiling. “I don't like to think of you . . .
connecting
with the Concentrator. It feels like I'm letting you put yourself at risk when we don't—”

“I'm not at risk.”

“You say that, but—”

“I'm not,” Eleanor said. “It worked just fine, didn't it? I'm fine.”

Her mom said nothing.

“I'm
fine
,” Eleanor repeated.

“It seems so, yes.”

“Seems so?” Eleanor unbuckled so she could spin sideways in her seat and lean away from her mom. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

Her mom held up her hands in front of her, empty palms upward. “Nothing, sweetie. I didn't mean anything—”

“Why don't you just say it?” They were still speaking in hushed voices, and while Eleanor didn't think the others could hear them, she almost didn't care. “You think there's something wrong with me. You think I'm some kind of freak.”

“No, I do not, and I've never thought that.”

“Then why do you look at me like that?” Eleanor said. “Why do you treat me like one?” She faced forward again, slamming her back hard into the seat, and shook her head. “You know,” she said, as if to herself, when she wanted her mom to hear every single word. “I know we haven't always gotten along, but things were going good. I went into the Arctic. I saved your life. We were good. Better than we've been in a long time. But then I saved the day again by shutting down a big alien tree, and the truth comes out. My mom thinks I'm a freak. My mom—”

“Would you stop saying that? I do not think you're a freak.”

“Then what is it?”

“Eleanor, you said you
talked
to that thing.”

Eleanor nodded defiantly. “That's what I did. I talked to it.”

“But that's the thing, sweetie.”

“What is?”

“Communication is a two-way street. When you talk to someone . . .” Her mom's voice grew quiet. Serious. “Usually they talk back.”

T
HERE WEREN'T MANY PLACES ON A CARGO PLANE
E
LEANOR
could go to find privacy, except for the cargo hold itself. So that was where she went. It was noisy, and chilly, and dark except for the weak glow of an angry little red lightbulb. It reminded her of the last time she'd been in there, when she'd stowed away on Luke's plane back in Phoenix. That was before she knew anything about the Concentrators, or the rogue planet. Back when she worried she could lose her mom forever to the ice.

Eleanor sat down on the cold metal floor, the cargo bay's empty mesh cages running down from the ceiling around her.

The thing was, she knew her mom was partly right. The Concentrator
had
talked back. Eleanor had felt it in her mind, and that sensation had not been a pleasant one. But she had kept it in check, and then taken control, mentally stomping on the squirming, alien intelligence within the device.

No one else had seemed capable of doing that. No one else had the connection. Eleanor didn't know why that was, but she believed that meant it was up to her to stop all the Concentrators and save the earth. Did that make Eleanor a freak?

Maybe.

Probably.

But she had always felt a bit like a freak. The way her mom and everyone looked at her now wasn't really so different from the way Jenna and Claire had looked at her when she'd almost gone sledding off the third story of their school. If Eleanor was honest with herself, that look had always hurt. She never let it stop her, but it hurt.

The hatch opened behind her, and Eleanor turned to see Finn come through from the cabin.

“You okay?” he asked.

Eleanor turned away. “Fine.”

He shut the hatch and came to sit down beside her. “I heard what you were saying to your mom.”

Their argument must have been louder than Eleanor had thought. But she wasn't sure she wanted to talk about any of that with Finn.

“I know how you feel,” he said. “Well, I think I do. I mean, I've never talked to an alien tree or anything. But I know how you feel.”

Eleanor turned to look at him. “How?” she asked, not really expecting an answer that would satisfy her, but curious about what he'd say.

“Lots of ways, actually.” He leaned back and spread his arms a little. “I mean, my dad is black and my mom is white. My mom's side of the family, they all look like her. Red hair and freckles. People would look at Julian and me, and they'd assume we're refugees, kids that my mom just adopted, since we were never with my dad. And that's another thing. I know there are lots of kids with divorced parents, but it's still hard. It still makes you feel different.”

“I don't even know who my dad
is
,” Eleanor said.

Finn looked at her but didn't ask the question that was obviously on his mind.

“My mom went to a clinic,” Eleanor said, answering it. “My dad was an ‘anonymous donor.'” She used air quotes.

Finn was silent a moment. “Have you ever wanted to find him?”

“No,” Eleanor said, and she truly hadn't. Maybe if she'd ever felt like there was something missing in her life, she would have. But Uncle Jack had made sure she never felt that way.

Finn nodded and looked down at his boots. “I think that's why Julian wants to go live with my dad. Or part of the reason. My mom's family doesn't exactly like my dad, since he wasn't really there for my mom, and sometimes I think they just see him when they look at us.” He sat back suddenly. “They're not racist or anything. It's just . . . I don't know.”

“I get it,” Eleanor said, realizing that of course she wasn't the only one who knew how it felt to be different. To be an outsider. “What about you? You don't want to live with your dad?”

“I don't know where I want to be,” he said. “My dad and me don't really get along.”

“How come?” Eleanor asked. Finn and Dr. Powers certainly seemed more alike than Dr. Powers and Julian did.

Finn shrugged. “I think he just likes Julian more. It's like an oldest-son thing.”

“I'm sure he loves you both,” Eleanor said, and cringed at how she sounded.

“Yeah, sure,” Finn said. “But that's different from liking.”

Eleanor nodded. She knew her mom loved her, too, but there had definitely been times when she wasn't sure if her mom liked her very much.

“It's cold out here,” Finn said, looking around. “Are you okay?”

“I'm okay,” Eleanor said.

“Okay,” he said, and got to his feet. “I think I'm going to go back inside.”

“Okay,” Eleanor said. “I'll come too, in a minute.”

Finn nodded and returned to the passenger cabin through the hatch. Eleanor sat for a moment longer on the hard floor, alone, thinking about all the ways she was different from her mom. Her mom was so cautious and worried all the time. Her mom didn't have a sense of humor about anything. If Eleanor ever wanted to do anything exciting, or have any fun, or got a cool new idea, her mom would be there to find the one problem with it and point it out with a big red marker, which was exactly what she was doing now.

Eleanor didn't want to hear about the problems. Maybe it was risky for her to connect with the Concentrators, but wasn't saving the earth worth it? They were on their way to Peru, and they would find the Concentrator, and then Eleanor would shut it down. She could do that, and that was the plan, even if her mom wasn't convinced.

Eleanor decided to let it go for now. She was tired and her butt hurt from sitting on the cargo bay floor. So she rose to her feet, brushed herself off, and returned to the passenger cabin. But instead of going back to her seat next to her mom, she went to the empty third row behind Finn, flipped up the armrests, and stretched out across all three seats to sleep.

“H
ey,” a voice said.

Eleanor opened her eyes. Finn was leaning over the seats in front of her.

“We're landing,” he said. “You might want to buckle in.” Then he turned back around and sat down in his seat.

Eleanor sat up and rubbed her eyes. They'd flown through the night, and somehow, she'd slept the entire flight. But she realized it was the first chance she'd had for a good, long sleep since everything had happened with Skinner. That already felt like ages ago, even though it had only been a few days.

She thought about buckling in where she was but found the sleep had improved her mood considerably, so she got up and went up to the front row, where she sat in her old seat, next to her mom.

“You were out cold,” her mom said.

“Yeah,” Eleanor said. “Did you sleep?”

Her mom nodded. “But not as long as you.” Then she leaned in to whisper, “Or Betty.”

Eleanor glanced casually across the aisle, where Betty slept upright in her seat, her head craned backward, mouth gaping open, breathing not quite heavy enough to be considered a snore. Eleanor looked at her mom, who smiled, and then they leaned together over a shared, suppressed laugh.

From the window, Eleanor could see the landscape below them, a wide green plain turned over to crops in the same way the land outside Mexico City had been, though not quite as large, with a few gentle hills rising up as if billowed from below, an unhurried river curling back and forth, and a wide ribbon of dark blue laid along the horizon.

“Before the Freeze,” Dr. Powers said, “this part of the Altiplano was basically a desert, if you can believe it.”

“Is that Lake Titicaca up there?” Eleanor asked.

“I believe so,” her mom said. “It's still twenty or thirty miles from here.”

“Do you think the G.E.T. are here?” Finn asked.

“Based on what we've seen,” Dr. Powers said, “we should probably assume they are.”

Consuelo
dipped suddenly, startling Betty awake with a snort, and their descent became more rapid, the ground rushing up to them. Eleanor felt light in
her seat and leaned back against the headrest until their wheels touched the runway and the plane gave a subtle bounce before settling into its heavy landing.

“That could have been smoother,” Julian muttered.

“I heard that!” Luke said from the cockpit. “I can show you rough next time if you want it, kid.”

“No, thank you,” Finn said.

They taxied to the airport terminal, which appeared new, and still under construction in places. There wasn't an available hangar, so Luke had to park
Consuelo
out in the open at the edge of the airfield, next to a couple of other planes. They packed up a few supplies, some food, and the Sync communication device, with all its data and files on the Concentrator and the ley lines. As they left the plane and crossed the tarmac under a rather sharp sun, Eleanor was surprised to find herself very quickly out of breath.

“It's the elevation,” Dr. Powers said. “The air is thinner, so your body isn't getting as much oxygen as it's used to. Some people even get altitude sickness.”

“What's that?” Betty asked, panting.

“A condition with some potentially dangerous neurological effects,” Dr. Powers said. “Especially if you don't get to a lower elevation quickly.”

It seemed they had more than the G.E.T. to worry about.

From the airport, they split up into two taxis and headed into town. Juliaca was a curious mix of new and old architecture, of people with money who had come recently to find a refuge from the Freeze and those who had lived there before and had no money at all. Many of the poorer houses were built of nothing more than bricks and mud, their brown walls crowned with shards of broken glass bottles. The newer buildings gleamed in white stucco, villas with colorful roofs and trim around their windows and doors. Their taxis passed banks, office buildings, and street markets with tented storefronts stacked with enormous bags of chilies, spices, and a rainbow of produce Eleanor had never seen before. She stopped counting the numerous churches they passed and instead focused on spotting any signs of the G.E.T.

“What's with the guinea pigs?” Julian asked.

Eleanor had seen them, too, caged in front of some of the stores and running around people's yards. Big furry loaves, larger than any guinea pigs she'd ever seen.

“They are for eating,” their cabdriver said. He was a slight man, wearing a knit cap that covered his ears and a coarsely woven blue sweater. “Delicious!” he said, and kissed his fingertips like a cartoon chef.

“Oh, my goodness,” Eleanor's mom said, covering her mouth.

“What?” Julian said. “I'd try it.”

Eleanor figured she would, too, if it were put in front of her, but it would probably take a little effort to get her mentally from
pet
to
food
.

“I think they're reserved for special occasions,” Dr. Powers said from the front seat. “So we likely won't have the opportunity.”

“Yes, special,” the driver said, nodding enthusiastically.

Since they needed a boat, Dr. Powers asked to be taken to a tour guide office, and the cabs dropped them at a square near the middle of town. It boasted the most impressive church Eleanor had seen thus far, with a high bell tower and an arched entry carved with saints. There were a couple of nice-looking hotels, a central fountain, and trees surrounded by knee-high wrought iron fences. A building labeled
Turismo
occupied a prominent place on the square's far side.

“I'm not sure how to go about this,” Dr. Powers said.

“Not exactly the man with a plan, are you, doc?” Luke said. Eleanor suspected he sounded gruff because, unlike the rest of them, he hadn't just slept for most of the flight.

“You're free to charge right in there,” Dr. Powers said. “We'll all wait here and listen for the police sirens.”

Luke chewed on a mouthful of air.

“We don't know how widely the G.E.T. has circulated our descriptions,” Dr. Powers said. “With the UN involved, we might be wanted by Interpol, at this point. We also don't know if the G.E.T. is aware of the Concentrator presumably located somewhere near here. We
do
know they tracked us as far as Mexico City. As I said before, we need to assume they might have inferred where we would be heading next.”

His logic made Eleanor want to look over her shoulder.

“Let me go in, then,” Betty said. “I wasn't listed on that first terrorist bulletin. The G.E.T. has probably figured out by now I've joined up with you, but maybe word hasn't made it this far south yet.”

“She's right,” Eleanor's mom said. “That seems our best chance.”

“Could we just try to explore on our own?” Eleanor asked.

“I think that would only draw more attention to us,” Eleanor's mom said. “We don't know the area. Our best chance is to try to blend in like tourists.”

“Tourists.” Julian snorted. “Can you believe there are still tourists?”

“All right,” said Dr. Powers. “Betty, go in and see if you can hire a boat to take us around Lake Titicaca,
specifically the area around the Isla del Sol.”

That was the location marked on Johann von Albrecht's map, the nexus of several ley lines, which they all hoped meant the presence of another Concentrator.

“But if anything feels off,” Luke said, “get out of there.”

“Will do,” Betty said, and gave a casual salute before turning away from them and striding confidently across the square. Eleanor watched her with both admiration and nervousness, and they all milled around and waited.

The men and women in the square walked by in business suits, some of the men in plain white button-down shirts with no ties and dark slacks. A few of the women wore what seemed to be more traditional clothing: long woolen skirts, blouses, and sweaters, with colorful shawls around their shoulders, knotted in front at their necks, and little round bowler hats, their dark hair in braids. Some of the locals took note of Eleanor and the others, staring as they passed them by, but with nothing beyond mild curiosity, it seemed.