The Bridge to Never Land (15 page)

“Wait!” she giggled. “I’m not driving. Who’s driving?”

Sarah and Aidan were also feeling giddy, but having been there before, they were a bit more aware of what was happening. They found the fact that nobody was driving the van somewhat troubling. Aidan looked out the side window. For a moment he saw nothing but night sky. Then a tree passed by. Underneath the van.

“Sarah,” he said. “I think you used a little too much.”

Armstrong was following the police van, three cars back, when he heard car horns blasting and brakes screeching. Then he saw the van.

Flying.

He stared, openmouthed, as the van rose gracefully above the traffic and soared over a tree. Armstrong lowered his window and stuck his head out to watch it. That was when he rear-ended the car in front of him, which had just rear-ended the patrol car following the van, which had smashed into another civilian car whose driver had also been mesmerized by the flying van.

The crash popped his hood open. Armstrong cursed, shut
off the engine, and jumped out of the Escalade. He looked at the sky and picked out the van, still moving away but descending slowly.

In front of him, the cops were scrambling out of their wrecked patrol car. They were yelling at each other, shouting into their radios, pointing at the flying van. In the distance Armstrong heard sirens. His eyes again went to the van disappearing into the night sky. His brain struggled to process what he had just seen. He knew two things right away. One was that this was no longer an ordinary missing-kids case. The other was that he wasn’t going away until he found out exactly what it was.

The police van was drifting slowly back to earth, but the three officers were not at all concerned. The female in front—Janine—was continuing her floating flirtation with Tommy in back. The third cop was still upside down; at the moment he was singing what sounded like “The Climb” by Miley Cyrus. He did not notice when Aidan leaned forward and unclipped the key ring from his belt.

The van was now about fifty feet off the ground, angling gently downward toward a park. Aidan and Sarah unfastened their seatbelts, slid open the van door, and eased themselves out. Floating now, they held onto the van and worked their way around to the back. Sarah opened the door; J.D., still
inverted, was smiling at them.

“Hey!” he said, as if he were sitting in his office, as opposed to shackled in a flying police van. “Isn’t this great?”

“Terrific,” said Aidan, working the key into J.D.’s handcuffs. “Come on,” he said, pulling J.D. out. “Sarah, get his other arm.”

Holding J.D. on both sides, Aidan and Sarah pushed off from the back of the van. It continued its gentle downward path as the three of them soared upward.

“This is really great!” J.D. exclaimed. “Where are we going?”

Sarah and Aidan looked back. In the distance they saw flashing police lights as more patrol cars converged on the accident scene, sirens whooping.

Aidan looked at Sarah. “Where are we going?” he said.

“I have no idea,” said Sarah.

“I love the way we always have a plan,” said Aidan.

“Just look at that full moon!” said J.D.

In western Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, a farmer, having finished his nightly rounds, closed the barn door. He started back toward the house and had almost reached it when he stopped, listening. From the west he heard a deep whooshing sound, like a strong wind. But the night was still.

The sound was closer now, and louder. The farmer moved
away from the house so he would have an unobstructed view to the west. He froze when he saw it clearly by the full moon—a black cloud, low to the ground, coming fast. But what kind of cloud moved like that, or made such a noise?

The farmer wanted to run—a reaction that embarrassed him, as he prided himself on being a tough man, and a man of common sense. He willed himself to hold still as the cloud came closer, closer…

Birds. He could see now that it was birds. Ravens, they looked like—huge ones. So many of them. They swept over him, blotting out the moon, the beat of their wings now a roar. In a minute they were at the far end of his land, and then they were gone. The farmer stood absolutely still.

The door to the house opened. The farmer’s wife came outside and saw him standing motionless in the moonlight.

“Jake?” she said. “That noise…what was that?”

“Birds,” he said.

“Birds? Birds made all that noise?”

“Yes.”

He was still looking at the sky. She watched him for a few moments. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

CHAPTER 20

T
HEY FLEW AS FAR AND AS FAST
as they could, Sarah and Aidan doing the steering, trying to avoid lights, J.D. between them, still feeling quite relaxed. They passed over what looked like a river, although J.D., acting as aerial tour guide, informed them that it was actually a long, narrow, winding lake called Lake Carnegie. About a mile later the starstuff began to wear off, and they gently descended into a dense stand of trees.

The landing was not a thing of beauty. They bumped into some branches on the way down, dislodging J.D., who turned a slow, midair cartwheel before tumbling to the ground.

“Are you okay?” said Sarah, alighting next to him.

“I think so,” said J.D., sitting up.

Aidan landed next to Sarah. “Where are we?” he said.

“The Plainsboro Preserve,” said J.D. “It’s a nature reserve. There’s a reservoir over that way.”

“Great,” said Aidan. “We have nature and water. Now all
we need is food, shelter, and, oh yeah, some way to stop everybody in the world from looking for us. I mean, we made the police van fly. Then
we
flew. We’re gonna be all over the news.”

“In which case,” said Sarah, “Ombra will definitely find out.”

“Not to mention that the police will be very unhappy with us,” said Aidan.

“Especially me,” said J.D., who was feeling less euphoric now that he was on the ground. “The cops think I kidnapped you.”

Sarah crouched next to him. “Listen,” she said. “We can get you out of this. You go back, turn yourself in to the police. Then we call them from a pay phone and explain that you never did anything wrong, that it was all our idea. They’d have to believe us, because you surrendered and we’re still running.”

J.D. stared at the ground, then looked at Sarah.

“Nope,” he said. “I’m…okay. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…I’m a Starcatcher. We can sort it out with the police when this is all over. But right now we need to figure out what to do about the starstuff so this Ombra dude doesn’t get hold of it.”

Sarah touched J.D.’s arm. “If you saw him,” said Aidan, “I don’t think the word
dude
would come to mind.”

There was no response from Sarah or J.D., who were
looking into each other’s eyes. Sarah realized that her hand was still on his arm. She quickly dropped it.

“Okay,” she said. “We need to get away from here. The police are going to be looking for us.”

“Not to mention Shadow Dude,” said Aidan.

“Is there a train station around here?” said Sarah.

“Bad idea,” said Aidan. “They’ll be watching the train stations and airports.”

“Then what?” said Sarah.

“We need a car,” said Aidan. He looked around the woods. “Although I don’t see any at the moment.”

“I know somebody who might be able to help us,” said J.D.

“Who?” said Sarah.

“A retired physics professor, Allen Macpherson, old family friend. He kind of mentored me when I joined the Princeton faculty. He lives in Monmouth Junction, not too far from here.”

“You trust him?” said Aidan.

“Yup,” said J.D. “He was really tight with my granddad and dad. Besides, we don’t have a lot of choices.”

“All right, then,” said Sarah, getting to her feet.

“Which way?”

“North,” said J.D., also rising.

“Which way is north?” said Aidan.

“That way,” said J.D. “I hope.”

An hour and a half later, after some meandering, they came to a modest house in an older subdivision. J.D. rang the bell; a minute later, the porch light came on, and the door was opened by a gaunt, elderly, white-haired man in pajamas.

“Hello, J.D.,” he said, giving no indication that he was surprised by the visit.

“Hello, Mac,” said J.D. “Sorry about the late hour.”

Mac waved away the apology. “Since Eleanor died,” he said, “I hardly sleep anyway. Come in.”

Inside, J.D. introduced Aidan and Sarah to Mac. There was an uncomfortable pause, then J.D. said, “Mac, I need to ask a favor.”

Mac looked at him, waiting.

“I was wondering if I could borrow a car.”

“All right,” said Mac.

“Really?” said J.D.

“Yes. I never use Eleanor’s car anyway. I’ve been meaning to sell it. I barely use my own.”

“But…I mean, aren’t you curious about why I need it?”

“I assume you need it to get away from the police.”

J.D.’s mouth fell open. “You know?”

Mac gestured toward the TV. “You were the top story on the eleven o’clock news. They’ve been showing photos of all three of you. And, of course, the flying police van.”

“Oh, no,” said Aidan.

“Oh, yes. There’s video from somebody’s cell phone. There are all kinds of theories about what happened. Some of them are quite entertaining, from a physics standpoint; one involves a giant magnet. The police are very interested in speaking with the three of you. I suspect others will be as well.”

J.D. looked troubled. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved with this, Mac,” he said. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I know more than you might think,” said Mac. “Over the years, your grandfather did me the honor of seeking my advice in certain matters, and I flatter myself in thinking that I may have been of some help to your…organization. I’m more than happy to help you now.”

“So,” said Sarah. “You know…you know about…”

“I know it wasn’t a giant magnet,” said Mac.

“Mac,” said J.D. “I don’t know what to say.”

“No need to say anything,” said Mac. “I’ll get the keys to Eleanor’s car.” He left the room, returning a minute later with a set of car keys, which he handed to J.D. “I just hope it starts,” he said. “Not that it’s any of my business, but do you know where you’re going?”

J.D., Sarah, and Aidan exchanged blank looks.

“We haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said J.D. “Mainly we need to get somewhere safe, away from here, where we can figure out our next move.”

“How about a cabin in North Carolina?” said Mac.

“What?”

“We bought it when I retired. Haven’t been there in a while. Another thing I’ve been meaning to sell. I’ll go get the keys.”

Ten minutes later, with the help of jumper cables, Eleanor’s car—an ancient green Volvo—was running. J.D. was at the wheel, with Sarah in the shotgun seat and Aidan in the back. J.D. rolled down the window.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he said.

“Just stay safe,” said Mac. “You need anything, get in touch. You remember my e-mail address?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, then. Better get moving.”

J.D. put the car in gear and eased it out of the driveway and onto the street. As they drove away, Aidan and Sarah looked back at the fading figure of Mac, watching them, looking frail and ghostly in his white pajamas.

“I can’t believe that old guy has e-mail,” said Aidan.

“That old guy,” said J.D., “helped invent the Internet.”

The sergeant had stepped outside the Princeton police station for a few minutes to stretch his legs. It had been a very long, very strange night—a flying police vehicle, for heaven’s sake. And the night was not going to end any time soon, with calls coming in from all over, including Washington, D.C.

The FBI
, he thought.
That’s all we need
.

He walked a couple of blocks, then stopped under a streetlight to look at his watch. He sighed; time to get back.

A bird landed on the sidewalk next to him. The sergeant didn’t know what kind it was, but it was black, and unusually large. It also seemed unusually bold, for a bird—it stood only a few feet away from him, apparently unafraid.

A second bird landed on the sidewalk. A third. The sergeant heard a rustling noise overhead. He looked up and gasped; the roof of the two-story building he stood next to was lined with birds, hundreds of them.

Feeling both nervous and foolish—
they’re just birds
—he turned to walk back toward the station. He had taken only a couple of steps when he heard the furious beating of wings followed by a rushing sound. Suddenly, the sidewalk was covered with the black birds, swarming onto his shadow. He felt an awful chill creeping up through his body. He wanted to run, wanted to scream. But his legs would no longer move, and no sound came from his mouth. He fought to keep his wits about him—
don’t panic
—but it was as if his very ability to think was being sucked out of him.

And then there was only one thought left:
Obey.

Slowly, he trudged back toward the station.

Sam Cleavy worked a cash toll booth on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It was a boring job, but it had become less boring thanks to the advent of live TV streamed onto smart phones. Sam basically spent his days watching TV while taking tolls. He was very good at both.

When the old green Volvo came through his booth, he had already seen the driver’s face dozens of times on TV—it was the kidnapper, the one involved in the crazy story about the flying police van. Sam recognized the two kids, too; they didn’t look like they were afraid of the kidnapper, but they were definitely the ones on TV.

Sam handed the kidnapper his change, then reached down to press a red button used to photograph the license plate of the car currently in his bay. As soon as the car pulled away, he picked up the phone and called his supervisor.

Then he went back to watching TV.