Seven Wonders Book 3 (6 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

M
ONGOLIA

“H
OW CAN YOU
be sure?” Aly picked up the binoculars and tried to scan the shore, but it was too dark to see anything.

I was shaking. “The walk. The way she moved her head when she took off that bandanna. Her eyes . . .”

“You could see all that?” Aly asked.

“I could see enough,” I said.

Aly let out a deep breath. “So it's true. The photo was real.”

“Which is a good thing, Jack,” Cass said. “Even if you don't think so now. You have to have faith that you'll meet her. That things will work out.”

“A mom who faked her own death.” I whirled around at him, angrier than I ever thought I'd be. “Who didn't care enough to be in touch for six years. Who's part of a team of killers and liars. How will that work out?”

“A mom who's alive, when you thought she wasn't,” Cass said softly.

I backed off, taking a deep breath. I'd seen Cass's parents in a newspaper photo that Cass had kept in his backpack. The headline read “Mattipack Crime-Spree Couple Caught!” The mug shots showed two scowling people with bloated, angry faces.

“How do you have faith?” I asked. “Have you . . . have you ever tried to get in touch with your mom and dad?”

Cass nodded. “I called the prison a couple of years ago. It was weird. Mom couldn't believe it was me. I talked a lot, but she didn't say much. Just listened. When our time was up, I could hear that she was crying. She said ‘Love you, Cassius'—and then, click.”

“Cassius?” Aly said.

“From Shakespeare. The play
Julius Caesar
. Cassius is the guy who has a ‘lean and hungry look.' They named me after him, I guess. How bad can they really be if they read Shakespeare?”

“
Romeo and Juliet
,” Torquin growled. “Very sad.”

Cass leaned forward. “I'm not giving up on them, whether they're innocent or not—which, by the way, I think they are. You can't give up on getting your mom back either, Jack. You have to believe that. Maybe she was brainwashed. Maybe she's trying to escape. Or she's secretly a spy for the government. Maybe she's stealing information to save our lives and sabotage the Massa.”

“Have you ever thought of being a writer?” Aly asked. “You have a good imagination.”

Cass shrugged. “Ask me again when we're on the other side of fourteen.”

For a pessimist, Cass was sounding pretty optimistic. Staring out the window, I let his words sink in. I wanted to be optimistic, too. But as I watched the island disappear behind the clouds, I felt like it was pulling my heart with it.

“I need to tell my dad,” I murmured. “He needs to know about Mom. He thinks she's dead.”

“Jack, you know we can't contact the outside world,” Aly said. “We've talked about this a million times. Your dad will send people to get us. It's too risky.”

“It was risky,” I said, “back when we didn't want anyone to discover the island. But it's too late for that. The KI is destroyed.”

“Not destroyed,” Torquin said. “Fiddle still there. With others.”

“A rebel band,” Aly said.

“A bunch of injured geeks in a cave,” I said.

“Hey, they know the territory,” Cass said. “The Massa don't. It's a big, confusing place to newcomers. And the Massa also don't have a Cass to help them expertly etagivan.”

I sat back. Cass had a point. The Massa may have taken the compound, but they didn't have the whole area yet. There was a chance we could return with the Loculi. If Professor Bhegad and Dr. Bradley could keep us alive that long.

“Look, the rebels may be hidden for now, but what about us?” I said. “We have no place to hide. No support on the ground. We need that. I can swear my dad to secrecy. He helps run companies. He knows lots of people, and he's crazy smart. Besides . . .”

I stopped myself. I wasn't going to say I miss him. Even though I felt it.

“Jack has a point,” Cass said. “Where else could we possibly go?”

“Maybe Disney World?” Torquin mumbled.

“What if your dad tries to blow the whistle?” Aly said. “If my parents find out, they will stop at nothing to get me back. They don't know I have a death sentence. They won't believe it.”

“Not sure . . . trust . . .” Bhegad spoke up, his voice heavy and labored. “Your father . . . me . . .”

“Dad will keep this a secret from the other parents,” I said. “Is that what you're worried about, Professor? I promise. It'll be just us and him. No one else. Until we finish the quest. I know this.”

Cass and Aly exchanged a look. After a long minute, they both nodded. Professor Bhegad was shaking his head, eyes wide. I couldn't be sure if he was offering an opinion or just trembling.

“Use this,” Torquin said, handing his phone over his shoulder. “Low enough altitude for signal. But not for long. Hurry.”

“I'll text him,” I said.

“Call him,” Aly said. “He won't recognize the number. He might think it's a fake. He's got to hear your voice.”

I took the phone. My fingers shook. The last time I spoke to Dad, I was home in Indiana and he was in Singapore. I'd made a total mess in the house. Then I went to school and never saw him again.

I tapped out the number, held the phone to my ear, and waited.

Beep
.

At the sound, I nearly dropped the phone. After the fourth ring, a familiar voice chirped: “This is Martin McKinley of McKinley Enterprises. Sorry I can't take your call. So . . . you know what to do!”

My mouth was dry. I swallowed hard. “Hey, Dad? It's me. Um . . . I just wanted to . . .”

Click
.

I took the phone from my ear. “It hung up!”

“You weren't loud enough,” Aly said. “It didn't pick up any sound. Try again—and speak up!”

As I held my thumb over the phone, it beeped. I nearly dropped it again. On the screen were the words
MCKINLEY, M.

Shaking, I held it to my ear. “H-hello?”

“Jack?” I could hear Dad breathing on the other end. “Jack, is that really you?”

I nodded. I thought I was going to pass out.

“He can't see you nod!” Aly whispered. “Say something.”

About a billion words were stuck in my throat, all trying to elbow each other aside. “Yes,” was all I could manage.

He didn't answer, and I thought he'd hung up.

“Keep going,” Aly urged.

“Sorry about the living room!” I blurted out. “And the bedroom. And the fact that Vanessa quit.”

Dad's voice was choked. “Dear lord . . . it is you. Where are you, Jack?”

“I—I don't know,” I said. “I mean, I'm on a plane. With friends. But we need to get away from some people. Somewhere remote.”

“Not too remote!” Torquin barked. “Need lots of fuel. Won't be enough.”

“Why?” Dad replied. “Who are you getting away from? Who was that speaking?”

“Our pilot, Torquin,” I said. “Dad, please. I'll explain everything later. You have to help us. Where are you?”

“Mongolia,” he replied. “I can meet you here.”

“Mongolia?” I took the phone from my ear and put it on speaker.

“Far,” Torquin replied. “Very very very far.”

“It's a small, private airport!” Dad's voice called out. “North of Ulaanbaatar.”

“Can we make it?” I asked Torquin.

He shrugged. “No choice.”

“Okay, Dad,” I said into the phone. “Can you give Torquin directions?”

“Turkin?” Dad said. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Red Beard was accessing the route settings on a console world map. “Name Torquin,” he said.

 

Seven hours later, Slippy was above the clouds, but they were a blur. Everyone but Torquin and me had fallen asleep, but now Cass's face was plastered to the window.

“Can you tell where we are?” I asked.

Cass shrugged. “We're traveling about Mach 2, twice the speed of sound. Which means if I told you where we were, by the end of the sentence we'd be somewhere else. But I saw some desert. Maybe the Gobi. Which means we're close. Ask Torquin.”

As I rubbed my eyes, I noticed Torquin's brow was beaded with sweat, his knuckles white on the controls. “Close,” he said.

I glanced at the fuel gauge, which was nearly on empty. I looked at Aly and Cass. She was awake now, and her eyes were fixed on the gauge.

“Um, Torquin?” I said. “About that fuel indicator? When my dad's car hits E, there's, like, thirty miles before the gas runs out. So, we're going to be all right. Right?”

“No,” Torquin said. Sweat was dripping from his arm.

“What do you mean, no?” Aly snapped.

“Opposite of yes,” Torquin said. “Cutting engine. Now. Will save fuel.”

“Will kill lives!” Aly said. “You can't just glide!”

“Will turn it on when closer,” Torquin replied.

From behind us, Dr. Bradley spoke up. “Oh, dear heavens, why didn't we just land in Russia?”

“Next time,” Torquin said.

The plane went silent. We took an abrupt downward dip, hurtling through the clouds. Torquin began calling flight instructions into his headset.

Professor Bhegad let out a moan of pain. I felt Aly's hand clutching my arm. Below us stretched a green plain surrounded by mountains. A stampeding herd of horses sent up dust clouds, their shadows long in the morning sun, their manes flowing behind them. If we weren't about to die, they would have been beautiful. In the distance, covered by a ceiling of gray, was a sprawling city surrounded by plumes of smoke.

Torquin's phone, which was now resting in a cup holder, began to buzz. He reached over to grab it but his hand was shaking. It clattered to the floor and I scooped it up myself.

My dad's name showed on caller ID. I put it to my ear. “Dad!” I shouted. “Do you see us?”

“You're coming in too low!” he shouted. “What is your pilot doing?”

Torquin took the phone from my hand. “Mayday!” he bellowed. “Low fuel. Mayday!”

He flicked a switch, turning the engine back on. The plane juddered hard, as if we'd flown into a solid fist. From the rear, Professor Bhegad cried out loudly.

I could feel us nosing upward. In the distance was a compound of low glass buildings.

“The runway is clear!” Dad's voice was shouting. “You're coming in short!”

“Do it, Slippy . . .” Torquin said. “Do it!”

The roaring engine sputtered weakly, then died.

We hit hard. My knee jammed into my chest. Beneath us was a noise like a thousand cars, flattened, dragged, scraping across the ground. It was punctuated by panicked screams—Cass, Aly, Dr. Bradley, everyone except Torquin. We whipped abruptly right and left. Rocks slammed into the windshield.

I heard the deep ripping of metal and felt a sharp jolt. Looking out the window I saw the wing break off like ice from a roof.

The plane tipped sharply upward. We were going to roll over. I struggled to turn toward Aly and Cass, to see them one last time. But my head slammed forward into the back of the pilot's seat and everything went black.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D
EATH
I
S
C
OLD

T
HE MANGLED STEEL
vanishes. The field is blackness. I hear nothing but a distant whoosh.

If I am dead, then death is cold.

The darkness gives way to an emerging dream light, and I am on a rocky cliff over a vast sea. The wind lashes my face and I struggle to walk. My chest is bloody, my arms and legs weak, my face chapped and burned. I shiver, huddling into myself.

Is this the Dream again?

I don't think so. Gone is the smoke-dark green of ancient Atlantis, the bitter lushness of the air, the raging fire, steep canyon slopes—the recurring scene that has been with me for years.

Now I feel salt water in the air, and my arm aches from the weight of . . . what?

I look down, forcing myself to see. My arms are tightly clutching an orb. But not like the two I know: not warm and golden like the Loculus of Invisibility, nor luminous and white like the Loculus of Flight.

It is dense and deeply blue, almost black. It will not hide me from an enemy or save me from a fall.

What good is it?

As I breathe I gain strength. I move faster. Someone is chasing me and gaining ground.

In the distance is a majestic building, shadowed by the setting sun. I am filled with joy. I have not seen it complete. A man is waiting there for me. He looks relieved to see me but fearful of whatever is behind me.

But as he steps forward, the earth shakes.

I stop.

He is running now, yelling to me. His arms are outstretched. But I do not let go. Despite the acrid smell arising from the earth, twining into my nostrils.

The stench of death.