One Wish Away (21 page)

“Lyra, you're a horrible liar. Telling your dad nothing is wrong isn't going to cut it.”

I reach out and grab for his hand. It's warm even though I'm the one under the covers. Even after all the hell my mother put him through for being in my house, he came back.

“I saw the car again,” I say without looking at him, focusing on his fingers as they move around mine. Moments later and he still hasn't said anything so I lift my eyes.

“The red one?”

“Yes.”

“You're sure it was
the
red one?”

“I saw the pink bunny.”

“Whoever it is, isn't being very discreet.”

I shake my head a little; my fleece blankets rub against my cheek.

“Did your dad see it?”

“No.”

“You have to tell him, Lyra.” His eyes are wet.

Don't cry. Please don't cry.

Because the dam holding back my tears has a crack in it, and it's waiting for any excuse to burst. If he even lets one tear fall that's going to be the last drop in my reservoir to set the whole thing loose.

“Hey, it's going to be okay.” Darren's fingers release from mine and his thumb finds my cheek. Sneaky little buggers are getting out.

“Slide over.”

After Darren gets situated I move back to his shoulder and wrap my arm around his stomach. I fit perfectly here.

He rubs my hair and whispers, “Everything will be all right. There's a reasonable explanation. The guy in the car is probably just curious. Wants some answers to what goes on behind SEAD's doors.”

Darren is right. Whether the person in the red Porsche is curious or dangerous,
someone
has taken an interest in him, or us, and Dad has a right to know. He
needs
to know. I just hope he believes me.

Yes, they might think I'm paranoid. Going crazy. But my career at SEAD isn't as important as my father.

I take in a deep breath to try and relax. Another tear escapes my eye and soaks into his shirt. I shouldn't have gotten him involved with the Cricket Project. I wonder what they did to Carl's informant. I can't imagine they left him alone, unharmed.

Darren shifts slightly and I grab onto him tighter. He knows too much.

And I would die if anything happened to him.

It's late. I lean over Darren to get a look at the clock. 12:57am. For whatever reason I feel like now's a good time to take a shower.

And tell my dad about the Porsche Stalker.

But first I look out the window to see if my mother's car is in the driveway. It isn't. Where is she?

I grab my PJs and head to the shower. Things seem clearer with the warm water running over my tense muscles and the steam fogging the mirror.

I jump out, wrap a towel around my hair and rush back to my bedroom. Darren is still sound asleep, his mouth open to my star-studded ceiling.

My printer makes a slight hum as it spits out the picture of the red Porsche with the pink bunny decal and the arm of a man leaning against it. It's slim proof, but at least tangible evidence I can show Dad. He'll know I'm not only going off my gut.

Okay. Big inhale. I unwind the towel from my hair and throw it on my bedroom floor. I skim over Darren again and tap the blanket over his foot.
Wish me luck
.

The blue glow from the TV confirms my suspicion. Dad fell asleep with the Weather Channel on. He says its good background noise for reading and judging by the journals and textbooks littering the floor around the couch, that's exactly what he did.

I stand on the last stair for a good minute, watching him sleep. He's so proud of the work he's accomplished. I'm sure he's happy about all the good it's done but what matters to him is that he made it happen. Let everyone else make the decisions. He'll make sure it always works.

Science is everything. And everything else will work itself out.

My feet don't make a sound as I walk over the carpet to his side. Most of the books covering the living room floor are on energy. A few astronomy journals.

He looks peaceful. Happy. The
Annual Review of Earth and Planetary Sciences
resting open on his larger stomach.

I'll wait until morning to tell him.

I take a few steps back and a silhouette in the window above the couch catches my eye. A small scream escapes before I can squelch it and I spin to find Darren standing on the bottom stair, his hands up in apology.

“What's going on?” Dad asks as he clears his throat and forces himself to sit up. “Everything okay?”

“Uh…yeah…I'm feeling much better.”

Dad nods and looks at Darren. “Did he convince you to tell me what's bothering you?”

My dad is oblivious to most of the earthly world around him, but apparently he knows me better than I give him credit for.

“There's something I need to tell you.”

He slides to the end of the couch and gestures for me to come closer. “I'm all ears, kiddo. What's up?”

He doesn't touch me, but I feel the energy coming from Darren who's moved to hover over my right shoulder.

I hold out the sheet of paper and as he reaches to grab it I say, “There's a red Porsche that's been—”

“Breaking news,” the late night weather reporter says and we all turn to look. “There are reports of a number of bombings at area hotels in Las Vegas. It seems to be a planned attack as all occurred within minutes of each other. Early investigation suggests terrorists. We do not know —”

The TV flickers and our local news station comes up on the screen.

“We're not going to get all the information from the Weather Channel,” Dad mumbles as he throws the remote back on the couch.

Now Darren's hand finds mine and my father moves to stand next to me.
Thirty Hotel Bombings and Counting
flashes across the bottom of the screen as scenes of catastrophe play one after the other.

“This seems to be an attack aimed solely at hotels. Since the Izmailovo Hotel in Moscow and the Sands Cotai Central in Cotai Strip, Macau have fallen, it is apparent the target is not only the US.”

My jaw is hanging open, my breath shallow.

“They're going after the largest hotels in the world,” Dad whispers and clasps his hand on my shoulder. Remnants of Disney World hotels, the colors gone and magic crumbled, move across the screen. Horrified people, traumatized children.

Vegas, Orlando, Morocco, Winchester, Tokyo, Honolulu, Antalya. Names of cities. Names of hotels. The lists go on and on as the reporter sits at her desk, trying to convey the continuing catastrophe.

A mother, two children in her arms, limps away from a Disney Resort. Her babies are shrieking and she's crying. Those around her are trying their best to help but they're not in much better shape than she is.

Someone has to help them.

“Dad.” His eyes are transfixed on the television. “Dad!” Finally they focus on me. “We can help them. We can undo this.”

Dad's eyebrows pinch together. I can't tell if he's only looking at me or if he's seeing me too. But after a few seconds he shakes his head and sprints for the kitchen.

“I have to get to the lab!”

As if on cue his cell rings.

“Hello? Yes, I just saw. Horrific. Yes. Yes. I'm grabbing my keys right now.”

I tear up the stairs, throw on jeans and sprint back down while putting my tank top on at the same time. When I reach the bottom again I realize Darren is standing there. I'm too numb to be embarrassed about the fact he most definitely witnessed me running down the stairs in my bra and jeans.

“You should go,” I tell him, thinking about what would happen if my mother were to return.

“Yeah.”

Dad comes around the corner. “Lyra, you're not coming.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you're staying here.”

I turn back to Darren and give him a quick kiss on the lips. “Be careful.”

“I should be saying that to you,” he says, an eyebrow raised to my father.

Dad runs out the door. I go to follow him and am stopped by a hand around my arm.

“Darren! I'll be careful. I promise. I have to go.”

His eyes are wide, scared. “They're going to do something big, Lyra. Something really big. Make sure they don't do something stupid. When people are terrified they don't think.”

He moves closer, heat radiating from his chest. “You need to think for them.”

He kisses me and I linger for a split second, desperately needing another. But he lets go of my arm and I practically fall over as I stumble my way out of the house in a half walk, half run. The car engine is churning, garage door rising. I open the passenger door and jump in while he's backing out.

“Lyra. You're not coming,” Dad says, but he doesn't stop the car. When it comes to authority, he's a bit of a pushover.

Which makes me wonder what the government is going to force him to do.

We pull out of the driveway and I catch a glimpse of Darren in the front window of my house. His words resonate in my head.

Think for them
.

Somehow, with the best scientists in the world and the White House on the line, I doubt anyone will even consider what I have to say.

Dad turns on the radio and the news correspondent tells us the hotel count is up to sixty-one. So far they all fall within the top hundred of the largest hotels on the planet. Every hotel around the globe is being evacuated. No leads so far, but terrorists are suspected.

I don't bother to look for the red car. Who cares if we're being followed?

The SEAD guards take one look at the two of us and wave us through, the gate already halfway open by the time we stop our car.

I try to tell myself that a wish upon a star can fix this. But it doesn't change the fact that right now people are dying.

Yes, we can wipe that away, but it sickens me to think about the people in this world who inflict this kind of horror.

And we're just putting a Band-Aid over it.

The car is in park for only a second before my father and I jump out and sprint for the entrance. We don't sign in. I don't even bother to grab my lab coat from the closet.

The door is wide open, and the conference room is full of people. Bennett is finishing off the last of a large cup of coffee.

“We got here as fast as we could,” Dad mumbles as he lowers his head and practically pushes me to the back of the room. I fall into a chair as Secretary Morgan closes the door. I hadn't even seen him standing there.

“We haven't been here long. Half hour, tops.”

“We're discussing our options, David,” Aunt Stephanie says, acknowledging me with a nod.

Dad looks from my aunt to Morgan, so the Secretary speaks again.

“The White House says this is an organized terrorist attack. Unfortunately, we've heard this all too often as of late.” He takes a breath. “We have the power to prevent it from happening again.”

I freeze in my seat. What does
that
mean? I'm fairly certain we can't wish to get rid of all terrorists.

“What do you have in mind, Secretary Morgan?” Bennett asks.

“The White House believes we need to take drastic measures to ensure they can't take root anymore. We go to war with the countries they take refuge with. We stop their attacks when we can. But it's not enough. We're not getting in deep enough. We're not attacking the core of the problem.”

My knuckles are white on my chair. I really want to reach over and grab my dad's hand. Or better yet, have him reach over and grab mine.

“We will wish for the countries that harbor these terrorists to become territories of the United States. The countries and their citizens will be better off if we protect them and give them structure.”

Most around the table nod, never taking their eyes off the Secretary. Some look apprehensive and whisper to the person in the seat next to them. Bennett doesn't move anything but his eyes. I would whisper to someone if I thought anyone cared to hear what I have to say.

Aunt Stephanie looks around the room and then asks, “What will the history before the wish be? We should specify that so we know what will happen in the new reality.”

“I'm sorry, Dr. Altair. I don't follow.”

Aunt Stephanie clears her throat. “How did these countries become United States territories?”

“War,” the Secretary says. “We won and they became our territory.”

His eyes are searching, but we all know the decision is already made. He's not asking us for our opinion, just wondering if we can get it done. Some around the table have already pulled up the algorithms, their fingers fast on the keys.

Don't they understand that we still aren't very exact at predicting the effects of all this?

“Does anyone around the room take issue with this idea?” Secretary Morgan asks, urgency in his tone.

I sit up straighter, my stomach churning. Where's Iris? That's why it's so quiet in here. Iris is usually the person who speaks her mind when the rest of us are afraid to.

Iris isn't here.

I bite my lip.

I recall the discussion I had with Secretary Morgan, before the AIDS wish. He said he wanted people to challenge him. He said he wanted discussion.

I swallow back the bile surging its way up my throat and rip my hands from the armrests, forcing them to rest on the table. “Doesn't it seem wrong that we're deciding who wins a war that probably killed people? A war that never happened? And the winner is us?”

Every head turns to look at me. Every chair squeaks, moans. I'm certain no one is breathing and the silence booms in my ears.

“What do you propose we do, Lyra?” Secretary Morgan asks, his fists digging into the table. I try to remind myself he said he wants this.

“I-I was assuming we'd unwish it. Go back in time a few hours and alert everyone there's a bomb. Get rid of the bombs and avoid disaster.”