No Passengers Beyond This Point (22 page)

Pamela manages reverse now, but it isn’t pretty. She stops and starts, jerking her way out of the parking lot, and then zips forward, so fast, her hat flies off.

Before I can stop her, Mouse darts out. She snatches the hat and something else that’s fallen too. A purse or fanny pack maybe? But when Mouse returns, I see it’s the wrist screen. Mouse hands it to me.

India really liked hers—she was so secretive about it, though. I have no idea how it works. I’m about to put it in my pocket—we don’t really have time to mess with this right now—when suddenly the screen lights up with a face I recognize, but don’t know very well. It’s a man about my father’s age with a short red beard, red curly hair, and kind blue eyes.

Uncle Red.

“Finn.” Uncle Red smiles as if he wants to say something important but doesn’t know how to start. “I don’t have kids. I didn’t know myself how much I wanted them till I started talking to your mother about you all moving up here. It means a lot to me to have this chance to be a part of your lives.

“I’m looking forward to you and your sisters living up here more than I’ve looked forward to anything in a good long while . . . and I’ve been trying to figure out how to make you feel welcome. Got a hoop up already. The regulation kind. Your mom let me know you were particular. Talked to the school about getting you on the team too. The coach said he might have a spot . . .”

“Finn! Finn!” Mouse shouts. “C’mon! We’ve got to go.”

When I look up, I see three Falling Bird security guys in their midnight blue uniforms running toward us.

I
’ve gotten pretty far, but now I’m not sure whether to stay on the main road, which is smoother, so I can get the cart going full speed, or go on the side roads, where I’ll have to go slower because of the bumps.

I’ve just decided to play it safe and take the side road when the radio buzzes.

“Two-oh-two, come in two-oh-two.”

My eyes find the registration for the cart while still holding tight to the steering wheel. The road is full of potholes. It’s hard to keep in control bouncing over them. The registration has that girl Pamela’s picture and the vehicle number 202. Pamela was really into that Jack dude on my wrist screen. I wonder if she even called in her missing cart. I’m guessing she didn’t. Should I answer and pretend to be her?

I grab the radio, take a deep breath, and push the receiver button. “This is two-oh-two,” I say.

“Francine here. Our board is showing you’re taking the vehicle out of your designated area.”

“Oh yeah, um . . . I’m having mechanical difficulties . . . with the brakes . . . they aren’t, um, working.” Screwed to the dashboard of the cart is the same brass plate that is in the feather cabs.
Property of FB,
it says.

“And you didn’t call in?” Francine’s tone is suddenly suspicious.

“I’m going too fast. Can’t take my hands off the wheel.”

“Oh, of course.” Francine’s voice softens. “I’ll patch in Mechanical Group,” she says.

Wait. What did Chuck’s note say? Wasn’t he talking about that dispatcher dude? “Is Sparky there? He’s helped me with this, um, problem before,” I say.

“This isn’t Sparky’s area, Pamela. You should know that,” Francine snaps.

Oh great. I blew that. How am I going to get her to put Sparky on?

What would a Falling Bird person do, I wonder, and then all of a sudden I know. I clear my throat. “Code eight-one-seven-two, Francine. Type two mechanical problems go to Sparky,” I bluff, and then I hold my breath.

“Eight-one-seven-two. Who even
reads
the eight thousands?” Francine grumbles.

“Rules are important, Francine,” I tell her.

“All right, all right. I catch your drift. I’ll put him through, though there are probably three people in all of Falling Bird who have read the eight-thousand codes.”

Mom, if you could only see me now. Mouse is not your only smart daughter!

“Sparky here.” A man’s voice comes on as my cart hits a rut, jerks left, and teeters precariously, almost flipping over.

I gasp.

“Sure you don’t want me to call Mechanical Group?” Francine’s voice again. Man, does she have to stick her nose in everything?

“Sparky, the brakes don’t work. Remember how you helped me with this before?”

“I’ll give you three minutes, then I’m patching in Mechanical,” Francine says.

Her radio clicks off. I take a deep breath. “Sparky,” I whisper. “I’m India Tompkins. Chuck said you would help me.”

The line crackles with static. I hold my breath.

“Pamela, yes. Been tracking you and the others. Slip it in neutral, pull the emergency, and give the accelerator a whack from the side. Remember how we did it before?”

He’s covering for me. He’s going to help.

“I’m with you, Pamela,” he says.

“Where are the others?” I ask as I maneuver the cart around a huge pothole and over a rocky patch, the steering wheel vibrating in my hands.

“Don’t panic. Get the vehicle under control, then you can double back.”

Double back? Wait. Is this a trick? Chuck said to trust this guy, and Chuck stuck his neck out for us. But still, double back?

“For the others?” I whisper.

“Yes,” he says. “It’s not far. If you can’t unjam the brake system, we’ll have someone meet you at the border crossing.”

“At the border crossing?”

The line clicks on again and Francine is back. “Status, please?” she demands.

“We got the situation under control here, Francine.”

“If you got the problem solved, why are you still on the horn? I’m patching in Mechanical.”

“On the horn, Francine? You been skipping CA again?”

“Sorry, sorry, on the
line,
” she answers.

“Mechanical Group.” A new voice breaks into the line. “I understand two-oh-two is having a problem with the braking system.”

“Uh-huh,” I say, “the pedal was stuck. But I think I got it now. Sparky figured it out.”

“All righty. Got you headed home on our screen too. Be sure to fill out Form one-one-five-one when you return. We’ll get that vehicle serviced ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” I say as I see the border station and a knot of people up ahead.

Ohmygod . . . it’s Mouse and Finn and a dog—hey, didn’t Mouse say we needed a dog?—and uh-oh, three security guys. That can’t be good.

“Help! Help! Help!” I toot the horn, jam my hand on it. “I can’t stop this thing!” I shout, heading straight for them, my foot hovering over the brake pedal.

When they see me coming they scatter. Finn, Mouse, the dog, and one security guy on one side, the other two uniforms on the other.

I turn toward Finn and Mouse, then pounce on the brakes. “GET IN!” I shout, and Mouse and Finn dive into the back, the dog leaping after them.

It takes the tall security guy a second to realize what’s happening, but I have the pedal to the metal by then.

He’s running, though, and he must be some kind of distance runner, because boy is he fast. “That’s Falling Bird property!” he shouts.

“Faster!” Mouse yells.

The cart vibrates like a coffee grinder. “I’m trying!” I shout. But with two more people and a dog on board it just won’t go as fast as it did.

I try my best to steer around the potholes. Between the extra weight and the rough road, the security guy is gaining on us. His long arm grabs the backseat, dragging our cart until it is hardly moving at all.

But the dog sees him now. Her teeth bared, her hackles up, she dives for his hand.

Surprised, the tall guard lets go and our cart shoots forward, unencumbered again.

“Way to go, India! Yay, Boom!” Finn and Mouse cheer as the radio buzzes urgently now and there’s a distant sound of choppers in the air.

“India! India!” Mouse shouts through the buzzing, whirring noise. “Don’t ever leave us again.”

I
NDIA! India came back and she brought Bing, just like Finn said she would. I want to hug her in the big Mommy way, but she is busy driving the mini car with no doors. She’s wearing her hair up in Chuck’s driver’s cap and she has on his jacket too, only it says
Travels with Ed
. Who is Ed?

She doesn’t have her driver’s license yet. She’s not old enough. That’s why those Marvins got mad. India is a good driver, though. India is good at everything. She is a perfect big sister. Except all the time she isn’t.

Bing, India, Finn, Boom. I count on my fingers. All we need now is Mommy!

The black box is how we get to Mommy. Chuck said. We have to find the box before the helicopters land. I hear them up in the sky.

“Mouse!” India shouts. “Ask Bing where to find the black box.”

Bing? She wants to know what Bing thinks?

I ask Bing and he tells me too. Does India really want to hear what Bing has to say?

“India, you got to promise to believe him,” I shout.

“I will, Mouse. I promise.”

“What about Mommy’s ring? You didn’t believe him about that.”

She is silent. Just driving. “Yeah, I did, Mouse. Who do you think put the ring back for Maddy?”

I try to puzzle this out. It makes no sense to me, so Bing has to explain it. “Sometimes,” Bing says, “people get more mad at you when you’re right than when you’re wrong.”

“India, don’t be mad anymore, okay, please, India, please?”

“I’m not, Mouse. I couldn’t be mad at Maddy, so I got mad at you. I’m sorry. I won’t let that happen again.”

“India?”

“Yeah, Mouse.”

I look down at my clock. “If we don’t see Mommy again, will you be my mommy? I don’t want a stranger mom, even if she’s nice.”

“Mouse, look at me.” India is holding the wheel so tightly her hands are white. The air blows her hat off now as the helicopters land. “We’re going to do this. We’ll get back to Mommy. But I need your help. Do you know how we can find the black box?”

“Bing says to ask Finn’s little screen.”

“What little screen?” India’s eyes dart back to Finn.

Finn slips it out of his pocket.

“No way! I can’t believe you have a wrist screen!” India shouts.

“How do I make it work? It doesn’t do what I want it to,” he says.

“It calls up what you want the most. Just look into it and think about the black box.”

Finn’s face is whiter than his arms. He whisks the hair out of his eyes and looks into the tiny screen. “Where’s the black box? The black box?” he says.

Nothing happens.

“What does the black box mean to you?” India asks Finn. “Why do you want it?”

Finn looks at India like she’s crazy, but he puts his mouth close to the screen and says, “Inside the black box is my own room, my own bed, my basketball, my mom, a hot shower, chocolate chip cookies, my playlist, my future, and Uncle Red.”

Suddenly the screen lights up with a picture as clear as our TV. It shows a bright orange box in a junkyard.

“India, it’s orange!” I yell so she can hear.

“It’s okay, Mouse,” Finn says. “I saw a program once. The black box is always orange.”

“Where is it?” India shouts

“In a junk pile,” Finn answers.

“Ask it where.”

“How will it know?” I ask as the screen starts to talk like Jimmy’s mommy’s car when we went on that field trip. “Prepare to turn left,” the voice in the little screen says.

“It has a GPS!” Finn shouts.

Helicopters have landed near us, but the screen is in Finn’s hand. It’s telling us where to go.