Rogue (35 page)

The lead Maker pointed a hand at them and spoke in a grinding, completely indecipherable tongue. Its voice was punishingly loud, like a dinosaur scratching its talons on a blackboard, echoing off all the surfaces around them. The roommates covered their ears as they moved. The Maker finished its threat and waited for a reaction—presumably groveling and abject surrender. Instead Nick stepped forward, grinned, and gave it a friendly wave.

“And a very pleasant BUENOS NACHOS to you, too, lady!”

The Maker seemed baffled by this response, tilting its head to look at him like a dog hearing an unfamiliar sound. Nick turned a few somersaults to catch up with the others, while Dave walked straight to the edge of the base and shouted, “Remember me?”

He raised his sidearm and fired a beam of light that hit the Maker's iron mask and pinged off. Enraged, the Maker raised the crooked metallic stick it was carrying, pointed it at him, and fired a blue ball of blindingly fast energy from its tip.

Dave instantly transformed into his twenty-foot angelic self, raised his gleaming gold-white sword, and deflected the blue ball of energy away harmlessly. The Maker stared at him, furious.

“Get a load of him,” said Nick, staring at Dave.

Will and Ajay pulled Nick around the back edge of the right arc.

“I'm cutting the hole now,” said Will, flicking on the Carver. “Ajay, blow the charges.”

“What about Dave?” he asked.

“Don't worry about him,” said Will. “He's dead.”

All seven Makers simultaneously raised staves and sticks and fired various kinds and colors of vicious charges at Dave. He held up his sword, shouted something, and a bubble of light appeared all around him. All their energy bolts ricocheted off the bubble and blew up wherever they landed, including a yellow one that hit the base and sent the roommates ducking for cover.

Will pointed the Carver at the air: Ajay pushed the plunger. The charges all around the bracket at the bottom of the left arc detonated—not an overly impressive explosion, given the size of the arcs—but one that sent a hail of rivets and shrapnel at the Makers, plunking a few of them, which irritated them further.

A moment later the thick plate of the bracket fell off and hit the metal base with a resounding clang. The entire left arc wobbled, ever so slightly.

Will took his finger off the trigger of the Carver and stopped to look at the arc. They waited. The archway continued to wobble, swaying a little bit more forward and backward each time, which slowly pried apart the rivets joining the arcs up top. They heard the metal groaning but the arc still didn't topple.

“Come on,” said Ajay. “I worked out all the physics. That should have supplied more than enough propulsive force.”

Another wobble back and forth but the arc still didn't fall. Will switched off the Carver.

“Give it a push,” he said to Elise. “Forward.”

Elise and Ajay ran around the back of the arcs into position. He pointed out the precise spot on the arc that she needed to hit. She took in a series of deep breaths, getting ready to unleash a blast.

“You'll have to time it just right,” said Ajay, looking up at the swaying structure. “At the apex of the forward lean. I'll say when.”

The lead Maker raised its metallic stick again and gave an order in that terrible voice to the forces behind him. As one, the entire army started running forward across the fields toward the arcs, raising their voices in a single deafening shout.

“There they go again,” said Nick.

“WHAT A BUNCH OF IDIOTS,” said Jericho.

Dave jumped down from the base to the ground in front of the Makers—who all raised their sticks again to attack him—but before they could get off another round, he plunged his sword into the ground, creating a massive shock wave that sent out lines of explosive force in every direction. The ground erupted along every one of those lines, under the Makers and their army, blowing massive numbers of them up into the air.

“Now!” shouted Ajay.

Elise let loose a concentrated blast of sound at the wobbling arc as it teetered forward, applying just enough power to push it past the tipping point.

At that moment, one of the lines of force from Dave's sword slammed into the base of the left arc, nudging it backward. That countered the vector forces pushing the arc forward and kicked the bottom of its base backward as the top tumbled. The left side pulled the right side along with it and now they both cascaded down, the entire structure coming apart at its seams as gravity applied an accelerator.

The arcs crashed down into the field, falling past the Makers and dropping onto the heart of the advancing army. Will saw the largest intact section of the arc fall directly onto Hobbes, who stopped just long enough to look up and register what was about to happen. The concussion as the arcs hit the ground created a shock wave that sent the Makers and their serpent mounts tumbling into the air again. Dust, dirt, debris rose up and obliterated Will's view of the field with a massive plume. Everything in the field—including Dave—disappeared.

“OH, NO,” said Jericho.

Will saw where he was looking and took off ahead of the others, reaching them almost instantly. Under a constant shower of dust, gravel, and small stones, Elise and Ajay were both lying on the ground behind the sheared-off base.

Will threw himself to the ground beside them. He couldn't tell where they'd been hit, but they were both lying still—bruised and bleeding in a number of places—and neither of them appeared to be breathing.

The worst thing, by far, was this: Their voices were gone from his head. Stilled. He couldn't hear or find them.

He didn't know what to do. He felt like the arc had landed on him. He couldn't tell how much time went by.

“That thing,” said Jericho, who was standing over him now, in human form. “That thing in your pack.”

“What thing?”

“The disc,” said Nick, who was suddenly standing next to Jericho.

Will looked at his pack, beside him on the ground. The words made no sense—he didn't even know what they meant—but he picked up the pack and emptied it on the ground.

He saw the disc hit the dirt and remembered. Round, silver, six inches across.

The disc he'd taken from Franklin's display case. The healing disc.

He picked it up, turned it around, looking for some kind of switch. Why hadn't he taken the time to ask the old man how it worked?

He pressed it as hard as he could with both hands and the thing hummed to life, pulsing with energy. Then he looked down at both his friends, cold and inert, lying a few feet apart.

Franklin's voice echoed in his head:
“It's astonishingly effective at repairing human tissue at the cellular level. They work only once but fortunately they're not difficult to produce.”

“What are you waiting for?” asked Nick.

“It's no good,” said Will.

“Why, what are you talking about?” said Jericho. “Use the damn thing.”

“It only works once,” he said; then he looked up at them. “Who do I use it on?”

Neither of them knew what to say.

“Ajay,” said Brooke.

She knelt down next to him. Calm and clear, she looked him directly in the eye.

“Use it on Ajay, Will,” she said.

Solemnly focused, Brooke laid both of her hands on Elise, cradling her head. Unsure of how to make it function, Will laid the disc on Ajay's chest. He felt the thing fill with energy, then distribute it out into Ajay's body. He directed his mind into the disc and let his intuition guide him, moving the disc around to the various injury sites—there were quite a few—and waiting for feedback from the disc to guide him on how to deploy it.

It took minutes, not seconds, and he knew it was a race against time. He blinked on the Grid and watched the energy moving into and through Ajay, fighting the injuries, winning some battles, failing others. He paid particular interest to Ajay's head, knowing that he was watching him fight for his life.

When he sensed the disc was running out of juice, Will added some of his own, any way he knew how and a few he just guessed at. He looked up, desperate, and his urgency got through to the others. Jericho knelt beside him and laid his hands on Ajay as well, and then Nick did the same, and then he realized Brooke was there, placing her hands on top of theirs, and Elise was stirring behind her on the ground, breathing again, color returning to her face.

Just then the disc went dark and cold in his hands. Out of power. Will tossed it aside. Everyone stopped. For a long moment, Ajay still looked lifeless…and then he took a breath and opened his eyes and saw his friends looking down at him.

“I can't even begin to tell you how interesting that was,” said Ajay.

Dave appeared beside them, back in human form again, battered and bruised and limping.

“Bloodied and beaten but these drongos are resilient, I gotta give 'em that. They're regrouping, and they're pretty sauced about it—Skizzers, mate, don't tell me you didn't cut the hole yet!”

Will tossed him the Carver. “Knock yourself out.”

Dave switched on the Carver. Will pulled Ajay into his arms and held him for a while and by then Nick had gently carried Elise over to him. When Will put his arms around her and felt the warmth of her body and caught the scent of her hair, he didn't think he'd ever be able to let go.

He saw Brooke over Elise's shoulder, sobbing and saying how sorry she was to anyone around her. Mostly Nick, who was holding her—in a forgiving way—and who was apparently the only one interested in listening.

Standing nearby—standing guard—Jericho took out a handkerchief. He apparently had something in his eye.

WILL'S RULES FOR LIVING #18:

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE. AND SOME FRIENDS YOU CAN TRUST. AND A LITTLE LUCK DOESN'T HURT EITHER.

August 31

Dear Dad,

I've been meaning to write you for way too long now. I don't know where you are, obviously, so I don't know if you'll ever see this, but should you ever find it, or if it finds its way to you, I wanted you to know what happened.

I know the whole story now. Why you ran from the Center, the reasons you hid me, why we lived the way we did, and why you never told me the truth. I was angry and confused about it a lot of the time, growing up. I got pretty good at hiding my feelings then, but I'm sure you must have sensed it. Then again, you also had plenty of reasons not to call me on it.

I felt even more messed up about it when I found out who you really are. All I can say now is, after getting to know your father, Franklin—I can't bring myself to call him my grandfather—I don't think I would have done anything differently myself. You did the best you could in a crazy situation.

After they took you in Ojai, I saw you only that one time at the Crag—when he was using you to get me to do what he wanted, just as he was using me to do the same to you. I don't even know if you saw me then. And I haven't seen you since. But I'm choosing to believe you're still alive, somewhere, just like I did after the plane crash.

Hope is the last thing you can afford to lose, right? I think that was one of the best Rules you gave me. Thanks for those, by the way. They really got me through, more than you'll ever know.

I've got a great group of friends here—really “talented” ones, like I am, in a lot of different ways, but you know all about that. It's not the talents that make them special, although that certainly makes all of us unusual. It's not random bits of bizarre DNA that make them great, either. It's the content of their characters.

For instance: They could've used a hundred excuses to back down when I asked for their help, but they never hesitated. We took the fight right to Franklin, the Knights, and the Makers before they could do any more damage. Turned out we had to go into the Never-Was to finish that job, and we tore it up one side and down the other. No brag, just fact. Those creeps won't be making any more runs at our side of the fence for a long time.

When we came back out—five weeks ago now—nothing was how we expected it to be. Franklin had told me that if I used the Carver, we'd come back into our world only a second or so after we'd left. Like most everything else in his life, he got that one wrong, too.

Almost ten days had gone by. Franklin was long gone, and so were all of his Knights cronies on campus, including the man who owned the Crag, Stan Haxley. Nobody's seen or heard from any of them since.

We had another group of friends cover for us while we were in the Never-Was. A traveling troupe of pro wrestlers that my buddy Nick found. One of them was “talented,” too—turns out he's the son of a guy you used to know as Jolly Nepsted, the boys' locker room attendant at the Center. I'm guessing you probably know his story; he was one of the first Paladins, in Franklin's group way back when. Anyway, reuniting Nepsted—who'd become a friend of ours—with his son…well, when we saw how that turned out, it made everything else we had to go through seem worthwhile.

There was a knock at the door. Nick stuck his head in.

“Dude, we're waiting for you,” he said. “Dinner at the Rathskeller, and Ajay's buying. He just cashed his first check for one of those gizmotrons he cooked up in the lab. And Coach is coming, too. I just heard from him.”

“Give me five minutes,” said Will, chewing on the end of his pen.

“And get this: Coach is bringing his
wife.
”

“Coach is
married
?”

“Who knew?”

“I can't even picture it. All right, get out of here, let me finish—”

“Five minutes, you promise?”

“Yes!” Will tossed a barrage of throw cushions at the door—without using his hands.

“Don't make me send Elise in after you,” said Nick, then closed the door.

Will started writing again.

It's hard to say what's going to happen next. First semester of our junior year starts next week. The good news is, as far as we know, nobody else on the Center's staff or faculty seems to have been mixed up with the Knights. The few kids we knew were involved either already graduated or suddenly “transferred” over the summer. Or so we're told.

That includes Brooke, our roommate whose parents were long-time Knights, but Headmaster Rourke has stepped up to the plate big-time in her case. Brooke's father, the former ambassador, has suddenly been called to some distant, undisclosed location on “diplomatic assignment”—and if you believe that, I'd like to sell you shares in this new thing I've invented called the Internet. Mr. Rourke has arranged for Brooke to be “studying in Europe” while her family's away, which means stashing her out of the Knights' reach so they can't put her brain through another wash cycle. She'd pretty much come out of that tailspin since we got back, I'm happy to report. If the Knights have any desire to live, they'd better not mess with her again.

Which leads me to admit that we don't completely know how much trouble might still be left out there. The Center seems safe for now, and we're bonded for life, my friends and me. I'm good with that. While we're here, we're keeping an eye out for other “talented” individuals who come along. There could be a lot more of them out there—Franklin kept the Prophecy program going for at least six years that we know about—and we think the Center still has all those kids on their radar.

Another knock at the door and Ajay stuck his head in—his even bigger head, which seemed to have grown another hat size since they'd returned.

“I've been experiencing some fascinating insights about a great number of subjects,” said Ajay. “One of which I'd like to share with you, if you have a moment.”

“Ajay, everybody's bugging me to get ready to go out.” Then Will saw how disappointed he looked. “All right, lay it on me.”

“Write this down so you don't forget it.”

“Okay, okay.”

Then Will wrote down what Ajay told him, word for word.

“Now, did anyone mention to you that I'm buying dinner?” Ajay asked.

“Yes. Nick.”

“The money was deposited this afternoon directly to an offshore account I've created.” Ajay grinned.

“Why offshore?”

“My father calls it ‘walking around money.' A rainy day fund, completely untraceable. So you may rest assured, Will, that whatever good deed we next decide to undertake, as a result of my newly inspired tinkering, we will have at our disposal, as Nick would say, a crap-ton of capital. Sorry, I won't keep you another moment.”

Ajay left and closed the door.

In the meantime, we're keeping it all on the down-low around here. We like the idea of just being regular students for a while. None of us really knows how that feels, after all.

By the way, I'm writing down my own rules now. I think that's something you encouraged me to do, right? Someday I hope I get a chance to show 'em to you, Dad. I'm not giving up on that. If I've learned anything from my friend Dave—I'll try to explain him someday, but that'll take a while—it's this:

WILL'S RULES FOR LIVING #19:

DON'T EVER GIVE UP ON ANYBODY.

Something dropped heavily onto Will's desk. Startled, he looked over from the bed where he was propped against the headboard. He got up and walked over to see what it was.

A pair of dark glasses was lying there. Wayfarers, sleek and metallic. And next to them a key—a really strange-looking key, gleaming silver, crooked and old-fashioned, like one you might use on a castle door.

With it was a note, the size of a formal invitation, on creamy white stock with a gold band around the margins—real gold, it seemed. When he picked it up, he heard Dave's voice as the following words appeared on the paper:

Dear Will: As mop-up operations in the n-w near completion, I am delighted to inform you that, after a thorough review of your recent performance by the Hierarchy's executive committee, you have been promoted to level one clearance, effective immediately.

Cheers, mate, you're a Wayfarer.

Your pal, Dave

P.S. As I may have mentioned, first perk of the job is you get to pick your vehicle. Choose carefully!

Will tried on the glasses, and then picked up the key.

The door flew open with a powerful gust of wind, blowing everything in the room around like in a storm. Will had to brace himself to keep from losing his balance—

And the next thing he knew, Elise was in his arms, wearing her sly grin, looking and feeling and smelling better than anyone had a right to, and as the wind abated, she kissed him softly on the cheek.

“Everybody's waiting,” she said, and then kissed him for real. “What's the holdup, West?”

“Tell the gang we'll be a little late for dinner.” He kissed her back. “We'll meet 'em at the restaurant.”

“What did you have in mind?” Her eyes narrowed playfully.

Will held up the key and grinned.

“We're going for a ride.”

WILL'S RULES FOR LIVING #20:

(from Ajay) It is our rarest possession, more precious than any treasure from nature, God, or man. It cannot be bought, sold, traded, or stolen. You only have so much of it, and you never know when it will run out, so you mustn't waste it or just let it pass or, heaven forbid, ever try to kill it.

I
T IS TIME.
S
PEND YOUR TIME WISELY.
F
OR IF YOU CAN MASTER THIS ONE SIMPLE AND ELUSIVE SKILL, MY FRIEND, YOU WILL FULLY AND TRULY BE ALIVE
.