Kingdom Keepers VI (9781423179214) (3 page)

H
AVING FAINTED WHEN SHE'D SEEN
the gaping gash in her leg, Jess felt the warm salt spray across her face. Warm as the sunshine that pelted down. Which was technically impossible, as it was currently nighttime. But dreams—especially Jess's dreams—were unconventional and surprisingly convincing. Only in a dream could you be absolutely sure something was happening that was not.

A warm breeze was happening. Sunshine was happen
ing. But then it was dark again, and there was something
soft and squishy beneath her feet: sand. Sharp twigs belong
ing to bushes and shrubs scratched her calves.

Sand. Prickly shrubs. The sound of the ocean, or was
it wind? She followed a group of dark shapes. Not kids.
Adults. Five? Four? They stopped periodically as if to listen
for anyone following. Like her. She stopped, matching them.
Stayed low. Alert.

Rocks and shadows. A cave. The others followed the
leader—a woman.

Jess followed, running the long way around to avoid
being seen. She crept up to the slanting corner of the cave's
opening, where a huge gray rock formed the ceiling, and sand
the floor. The rock was smooth. Paper wasp hives hung from
the rock like warts. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them. A few
wasps flew to and from the nests, their tiny legs dangling
like landing gear.

Jess stayed hunched as she crawled inside. The group
ahead of her was after something. They were hunting.

And now she was hunting them.

* * *

Finn awoke in one of the few interior staterooms that had not been booked for the cruise. Storey Ming had made it available, so the Keepers had somewhere to sleep when crossed-over as holograms. Ever since his own mom's loyalty had come into question, he'd been bunking in with Philby. But here, there was no one. He reached for the Wave Phone and saw a text message was waiting.

r u there?


It had been sent from Storey Ming's stateroom phone.

here


It took several long seconds for a new message to appear. Anxious seconds.

j in trouble. deck 4. willa ok?


Finn felt thickheaded, like he'd had no sleep. It took him a moment to process “j” as “Jess.” His feet were already moving as he texted:

on way


He knocked on the stateroom door where he expected to find the returned Willa. Looked in both directions. Some passengers, but no stewards or crew members. He knocked louder, and the door opened. Willa heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of Finn.

“Oh, it's you!” She opened the door. Finn rushed inside.

“Hurry. Jess is in trouble.”

“Where?” Willa asked.

“Deck four. Starboard.”

“Where we jumped.”

“Yeah.”

“The hyenas?”

“Way ahead of you,” Finn said.

“Don't be such a jerk, okay?” Willa was in his face, up on her toes. “For one thing: you are
never
way ahead of me.” She trembled there, about to lose her balance.

Finn nodded. “Point taken.”

“We nearly drowned,” she said.

“Sort of.”

“Close enough for me.”

“I got us out of it,” Finn said.

“You?”

“Sorry…
We
got us out of it.”

“Better.”

“I may have spoken the Triton Code,” he added. “Twice.”

It took Willa a moment to allow herself to grin. “And I thank you for that,” she said.

“No charge.”

“Jess,” she said, reminding them both of their mission.

“Yes. And quickly.”

* * *

As one of the five prettiest girls in ninth grade, if you counted Marsha Coleman—and it was hard not to—Charlene had the attention not only of most juniors but even a few seniors as well. She was “popular,” which often translated to “hot.” She was checked out in the hallways. To girls who were jealous of her, she was an object of derision, the recipient of far too many text messages; and she even received a few anonymous gifts from time to time, not all of which were appropriate.

She had a lot to be thankful for—but at the same time, not so much. Boys wanted to get to know her, but not in a way she had any interest in. She kept tabs on a couple of them, but the more she learned, the less she liked.

Except when it came to Terry Maybeck and Finn Whitman, two of her fellow Keepers. Terry, who wasn't exactly Calvin Klein eye candy. Terry, who considered himself to be God's gift to girls. Terry, who came
from a broken home, had few close friends, and worked every day after school to help his aunt Jelly. Terry, who Charlene couldn't stop thinking about. She'd been warned about falling for the bad boys. No one could put Terry in that category. Not bad, just different. An artist. Someone who wasn't afraid to express himself.

As a cheerleader and freshman starter on the school gymnastics team, Charlene was expected to date athletes.
Varsity athletes. Her friends were constantly trying to match her with Kaden Keller, the star soccer player, or Josh Brewer—or any boy with a number on his back. But while she liked them as friends, even good friends, the jocks didn't satisfy her romantic ideals. She wanted someone thoughtful, funny, interesting, and interested in things other than the obvious stuff boys were always interested in.

She glanced over at Maybeck, wondering once again if he fit any of her requirements. And if not, then why was she always thinking about him?

“Keep up!” he hissed at her.

“You look like a psycho in a hospital ward,” she said.

“The costume was handy. Okay? Or should I be running around in a towel?”

That hardly brought her mind back to business.

The trick was to look like you were walking while moving close to the speed of running. The
Disney
Dream
was more than three football fields in length. Getting from amidships to the bow, and moving from Deck 4 to Deck 1, one covered a good distance.

“Storey's going to meet us,” Maybeck said, checking his phone.

“Because?” They were stride-for-stride in the port side
Deck 4 hallway, the Buena Vista Theatre to their right.

“She has the all-access crew-member card,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” said Charlene. She'd had about enough of everyone's fascination with Storey Ming. She appreciated the help, but not the noise.

They reached Deck 1. Despite the added distance she'd had to cover from Deck 14, Storey Ming had arrived first. Without introduction, she said, “I can
get the Hit Man's trolley—that's what we call Mr.
Mop, ‘the Hit Man'—but it'll only have one suit. Two at the most. There must be others in Costume—Laundry—which won't be too hard to get, but it'll
take a few minutes. So what da ya want to do?”

“I'll take the trolley,” Maybeck said. “That way, when the real guy comes looking for it, we can stall
him. Charlie will hang here and wait for you.” He addressed Charlene. “You'll get the other suits up
to us.”

Charlene nodded.

“You'll need to wear a suit,” Storey cautioned. “If Uncle Bob sees you on video with the trolley, he'll know something's up. We all know the Hit Man, and he's
not you.”

“Okay. So go. We gotta hurry!”

Storey took off through the Crew Only door that led to the I-95 corridor.

“How is this possibly going to work out for Jess?” Charlene asked softly.

“You'll see,” Maybeck said.

“And what about you?” she said. “If you're caught in that suit… If you're stealing—”

“Borrowing!”

“—gear that belongs to the crew…they'll throw you off the ship.”

“We gotta do what we gotta do,” he said. “If they take Jess into the ship hospital, she'll end up in SBS, and then we're
all
in a big-time jam.”

“You're going to look stupid in that suit.”

“Me? Seriously? I don't think so.”

* * *

The Hit Man's suit was made of clothlike disposable paper. There were four suits on the mop cart, not the two that Storey had predicted. Paper hoods and heavy-duty gloves as well. Only a single set of goggles. The suits closed up the back with Velcro: they were one-size-fits-all. While Storey was off attempting to collect additional goggles, Charlene and Maybeck arrived at the Deck 4 promenade in the ill-fitting suits.

“Finn,” Charlene said excitedly. “Willa!”

The spare protein spill suit went to Jess's hologram. The group collected around her as a visual barrier while Amanda and Willa helped her into it.

“She can hang on to the cart,” Maybeck suggested.

“We'll get her to one of the empty rooms,” Philby said, “and treat her there.”

Maybeck worked the gloves awkwardly to get a spray bottle and cloth from the cart. “I'm going after the other wounded.”

“Someone else was bitten?” Finn said.

Philby answered. “Maybeck hit a hyena with a javelin. Stuck him pretty good. Left a trail.” He pointed toward the bow.

“I'm with you,” Finn said, claiming the fourth suit.

“Then you'll man the defibrillator,” Maybeck said, indicating the emergency box mounted to the ship's wall.

Finn, already on the bench struggling into the last suit, looked puzzled. The girls almost had Jess into hers.

“We need some kind of weapon,” Maybeck said. “I'm taking the shuffleboard spear, but a homemade Taser wouldn't hurt.”

“I'm supposed to paddle them?” Finn said.

“You're supposed to shock the one that stole the Return.”

“It's not the Return,” Finn said. “It's a thumb drive from the Overtakers' server.”

“Their hologram data,” Philby said as all eyes turned to him for an explanation. “If we can get that drive back, even if the OTs launch another server, I can write a search-and-replace program that will effectively shut down their DHIs. Each time they try to cross over, the network will reject the data. They'll never get projected.”

Finn glanced over at the defibrillator. “Philby, you're going to have to tell me how to work that thing.”

* * *

Dressed in the white paper coveralls, hood, and rubber gloves, Finn carried the defib kit with the red broken heart on the side. Maybeck held a spray bottle, rag, and the blood-tipped shuffleboard cue handle. At each spot of spilled blood they paused to spray disinfectant and wipe the area clean. They quickly approached the bow, where the promenade entered a metal tunnel and continued to port, creating a jogging loop used by runners and walkers.

They worked quickly, not wanting to lose the trail. But at the same time, they had to look the part. They couldn't pass up blood spills.

As they entered the tunnel, Finn felt a shiver.

“You smell that?” he said.

* * *

Greg Luowski had done as he'd been told. As the biggest boy in his class since second grade, Greg didn't take orders easily. They were to him as vinegar was to oil, or water to fire. To say Greg challenged authority was to give him too much credit. He was more of a bumper car at an amusement park; he went in the direction he was pushed, crashing and forcing his way, rarely mindful of the consequences. He'd been recruited by the Overtakers through a YouTube video someone had e-mailed him. He didn't remember clearly what had happened after that, but his eyes were green now—not that his mother noticed; she didn't notice anything about her son—and instead of being told
not
to make trouble for other kids, he was encouraged to do so.

Ordered, if he was honest about it—which he
was not.

He got cool stuff in return, like a Disney cruise. Even if he'd sneaked aboard and was currently a stowaway. So what? He was still on the ship, wasn't he?

So when the order came to stop the hyena, when he was authorized to use the Taser he'd been given, Greg jumped at the opportunity. How cool to shoot off a stun gun! He'd only seen it done once, in the back of a ceramics shop. This big lady had fallen to the floor like the stuffing had come out of her.

Greg knew there'd be nothing to it. Aim. Fire. Big deal.

But then things changed. Then this new world of his began to fray at the edges. There were limits, even for Greg Luowski.

And what these people were asking him—
ordering
him to do…

For the first time since becoming an OTK, Greg Luowski felt like a rat in a maze, looking for a way out.

Any
way.

* * *

The smell was at once metallic and dangerous; it struck a primeval chord in Finn that told him to run.

“I'm not liking this,” he said.

“I hear you.”

“Maybe we should turn around.”

“We need that thumb drive,” Maybeck reminded him.

“I'm the one who got it in the first place,” Finn said, wiping up the spot Maybeck had sprayed. The quantity of spilled blood had increased. Neither boy mentioned it, but neither missed it either.