Qualify (90 page)

“Wait!” I say worriedly, while George gives me an intense, equally worried look. “You do have enough points, right, Gee?”

“Oh, yeah, tons. Two hundred-sixteen as of this morning.” Gordie talks with his mouth full then swallows the rest of the granola.

“So, if you give your sister about sixty points, that should be enough—”

“I can give her more, like a hundred.”

“No!” both George and I say at once. “Don’t screw up your own score. That’s too risky.”

“Okay, sixty then.”

And Gordie says, “Transfer, sixty points to Grace Lark.”

His token and Gracie’s both flash.

“Done,” Gordie says.

“Thanks!” Gracie mutters with a smile, and reaches across to board-hug Gordie. He skillfully evades her.

“Phew. . . .” I exhale a long-held breath. “I guess that’s settled then—”

“
Terra Patria!”

The insane shouts come from about a hundred feet ahead, from the general direction in the middle, right underneath the surface escape chute. They are followed in a split second by a horrible
sound
.

The mega-cavern is rocked by a great explosion.

Thousands of teens scream all around us—above, below, everywhere.

I cringe and close my eyes, while Logan suddenly hurls himself on top of me, covering me bodily from the impact of flying rocks, debris, supply packs, people falling, more screams, general chaos. . . .

The whole world seems to be swaying, rotating, as we barely hold on—as everyone around us latches on to their wobbling, spinning out, scattering hoverboards, or hangs by their hands, dangling in the air.

“Oh my God! Go, go! Go! Just go!”

George is yelling at the tangled mess that’s me and Logan, and we get our bearings, and then there’s what looks like an opening directly overhead.

“Everyone, go! Get the hell out!”

Dawn is pulling Laronda back up onto her hoverboard. Gracie is lying flat on hers, while Gordie is already above us, and he is yelling something in an incomprehensible voice, while the side of his face is bleeding.

“Up! Up! Go! Go!”

“What happened?” I gasp out, while Logan rights us, then transfers himself back on his own board that is floating next to mine.

In answer he cusses, then says, “Goddamn lowlife terrorists! No time! Go, Gwen, we have to get out of here! Rise,
now!
I’m right behind you!”

“Okay!” I scream. And then, “Gracie! George!”

I have no idea what is happening.

The earth is shaking around us, and it feels like the deep rumbling of an earthquake as cavern walls start collapsing far out along the edges.

I grab Gracie by her shirt, as she is reeling, and scream at her. ‘Gracie! Sing! You have to go! Up!”

And then I sing my own command to rise, while screaming people and objects fly all around me, and picking up speed I hurtle upward.

Toward the ceiling, and the opening to the surface chute.

Toward the distant sky.

Chapter 54

T
he volcanic walls of the narrow vertical chute tunnel are pressing in around me, and there is no light, except the distant flickering shadows from other people’s flashlights far up overhead, and the receding white glow of the huge cavern below.

It occurs to me to pull out my own flashlight that still has a faint amount of charge left in the battery. The flashlight casts an erratic, sickly yellow glow on the walls of the chute around me, as I rise and rise . . . up, up, up . . . angling my board at a slightly elevated position on a 30 degree slope, nose up, as I straddle it.

“Logan!” I cry out a few moments later. “Gracie? You there?”

“I’m here!” I hear Logan’s strong voice coming from directly below me. “Keep going!”

And then a few seconds later, I hear Gracie reply.

“Watch for a hard curve up ahead!” The voice belongs to George.

Oh, thank the lord! George is here, is okay!

For the next few minutes we yell out things in the near-dark, just to hear each other’s voices, just to know we’re all still
there
.

The curves are wicked. The chute branches here and there, so that it is so easy to run head on into a wall or rock incline. I sing new hover commands every few seconds to correct for the changes in direction and movement.

This crazy vertical roller coaster ride goes on and on for interminable moments. . . .

At last, about fifteen minutes later, the chute tunnel straightens out and we are inside a long and wide concrete tube that rises like an arrow straight up, piercing the Atlantic Ocean.

With the end to the old volcanic portion of the chute, the rise becomes easy, and we all pick up speed.

The air whistles around us as the boards meet wind resistance. I have no idea how fast I am going now, but it’s
fast
, and the rounded tube walls of concrete blur into a streak around me.

The air is still frigid cold, but there’s a new freshness to it, as the musty depths of the earth are left behind.

I close my eyes momentarily, reeling with exhaustion and remember that I am supposed to be afraid of heights and that I suffer from vertigo.

It is gone now.

The stunning realization comes to me—the fact that I am no longer bothered by height, by any of this at all, that
fear
has receded because of so many other things taking its place. . . .

And just as I realize it, I suddenly burst through, out of the great tube chute, and into a great wide expanse of sky, filled with golden light. . . .

And orange sunset.

I soar up heavenward, my eyes blinking in the sudden radiance, my lungs bursting with the fresh, clean, balmy air. Dots of Candidates on hoverboards fill the sky all around me, like rising distant birds.
Or maybe
, it occurs to me in a silly flash, we are Halloween Witches, riding crazy brooms, straddling the boards in black silhouette against the sunset.

I let out a wild laugh, followed by a scream of exultation.

“Gracie! Logan! George! Gordie!” I scream out names, and laugh, like I am insane.

And then I turn my head and look higher up in the direction of the Eastern darker portion of sky, and see the hundreds of Atlantean shuttles.

I
n the same instant I see right below me, Blayne is flying next to Gracie, and she is clutching him by the hands and barely hanging on to her own board with her legs.

“Gracie, what happened? Are you okay?” I yell, as the happy drunken joy deflates from me, just like that.

Gracie sobs and makes little terrified noises, while Blayne voice-commands both their hoverboards to hover in place and then nods to me. “She’s okay, I got her. She spun out, started to fall just now, as we were flying out of the tube, but I grabbed her mid-flight. Remember, Grip of Friendship?”

“Oh my God! Blayne,
thank you!
” I exclaim, but he just nods at me tiredly, and sort of disengages himself from Gracie’s desperately clutching grasp. I see his blue eyes flash with some kind of quiet satisfaction as he then rises up and speeds away toward the distant hovering shuttles.

“See you on the flip side!” he yells in our wake.

I turn to Gracie, and hold her, silently, as together we rise up to the shuttles, right behind him. Gordie is soaring overhead, and George, just a few feet below.

A
t the door of the nearest transport shuttle, an Atlantean stands with a faint smile. He passes a scanner over my ID token, then Gracie’s. They both flash a bright yellow and red light, respectively.

“Qualified,” he tells us. “And, Qualified. Proceed inside.”

I pause, breathing deeply, in utter serene disbelief . . . while Gracie lets out a tiny scream of joy.

Gordie is already inside, seconds ahead of us. He is leaning from the hatch opening, grinning widely, waiting for us. “I Qualified!” he announces. And then Gordie just laughs.

I turn back, and see George, as he hovers before the shuttle entrance, coming in for his turn. There’s a strange solemn look on George’s face.

“Hurry up!” I tell him.

George nods. And then he floats toward the Atlantean who scans his green ID token.

There’s a brief flash of green.

And then the light goes out and George’s ID token goes dark.

I freeze.

The Atlantean looks at George, and his faint smile changes to a blank look with just a shadow of sorrow. “I am very sorry,” he says. “Not Qualified.”

“
What?”
I cry.

Behind me Gracie and Gordie’s voices have gone out.

There is wind and perfect silence.

“Yeah,” George says, breaking that silence. “Yeah . . . I didn’t think I would.”

“But—this has to be a mistake!” I stutter. “You—you are here, you made it! Your score is great! What’s going on?”

“It’s your
team
score,” the Atlantean says softly. “Unfortunately it is below the minimum.”

“What? No!
No!
” Now I am crying, big sloppy sobs and fat tears running down my ugly mess of mud-covered face.

George sighs. “Most of Team B died in that cavern. I suspected this would happen. Too many of us gone, not enough for the team average. . . . The only reason I even bothered to continue this far here was to make sure you guys were all okay, that you got loaded in safely—”

“
No!”

I stand and bawl, hearing Gracie also crying behind me, while George hovers silently at the entrance, looking at us.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Really.”

In that moment Logan arrives, and his expression is serious as he pauses there and hovers next to George. He does not appear surprised that I’m bawling, doesn’t need to ask why. . . .

The Atlantean passes the scanner over Logan’s red token. It flashes and remains lit. “Qualified, proceed inside,” the Atlantean says, nodding at him, almost with relief.

Logan gets off the board and steps onto the shuttle. He then holds me silently as I shake with weeping, and only acknowledge his own glorious moment of Qualification with a nod and a pitiful grimace that is trying to be a smile.

“
George!”
I cry, freeing myself from Logan momentarily, like a crazed maniac. And then I hurl myself at George, pulling him in, drawing him to me and smashing my face hard against the front of his dirty wet uniform shirt as he leans in tight against me.

We remain stilled this way for a few long seconds, while Candidates crowd the entrance.

“You need to make room for others, sorry,” the Atlantean tells us.

“Just one more second! One more
stupid tiny
second! It’s my
brother!
” I cry, holding George’s shirt, his arm, his shoulder.

“Okay, but say your goodbyes on that side of this door. Move back and make some room for other people to pass,” the Atlantean says.

I let go and move back, to now let Gracie bawl all over him. Gordie moves forward and presses his brother on the shoulder, and just leaves his hand there.

Finally George disengages from all of us. His eyes are moist, but he grins, and it’s the familiar, wily, Cheshire-Cat George-smile, and it’s painted bright by the orange sunset.

“Hey, hey, now! Listen, I’ll be okay!” he says, getting back on the hoverboard. “Mom and Dad will be glad to see me, and honestly, I think we’ll manage somehow! Screw the blasted asteroid, it’ll all be okay in the end!”

“No, George! I am
not
letting you
die
here, I don’t accept this!”

“Come on, Gee Two, no one’s dying here, you’ll see—in a couple of hours they’ll send a bunch of ships or choppers to pick us up and take us back home—”

“That’s not what I mean!” I scream.

But George is starting to move away, singing the hover command to descend, and now he is two, three, five, fifteen feet away, painted bright orange gold . . . a magic wizard flying on a hoverboard broom in the sunset.

“I love you!” I scream, and my knuckles bite against my mouth.

And then, for one crazy moment, George spreads his arms wide and starts to sing on top of his lungs:

When that I was and a little tiny boy,

With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,

A foolish thing was but a toy,

For the rain it raineth every day.

It’s the fool’s song. . . . A song we all know, something that Mom used to sing both with a harp accompaniment and a cappella, and we kids joined her in harmony. It’s music from Shakespeare, of all things, “Feste’s Song” from
Twelfth Night
. Only the Lark family would sing something like that and not bat an eyelid.