Trapped (Here Trilogy) (12 page)

I pressed the pedal harder and we lifted off, defying gravity. With my foot holding steady on the gas, I peeked out my window, stunned to find we were already fifty feet above the mess, and everyone on ground was frozen. I counted hundreds of uniformed officers of various kinds, and interwoven everywhere were men and women in black. They were frozen in groups, with big German Shepherds, baring frozen black batons; my heart leapt as I saw several frozen behind bushes or on little cliffs above the road. I’d seen enough movies to know those were snipers.

We floated higher, faster, gliding forward on an extraterrestrial cloud, and I noticed the southern end of the road block. Spikes jutted from the asphalt, just a few feet in front of a silver family van.

Beyond that, three more SUVs, and more spikes. Lots more spikes. And in the sky, some ways in front of us, a military-style helicopter, its massive blades sprawled out around it.

I glanced at Nick, afraid of the helicopter—when we un-froze things, the chopper would still be patrolling the road in front of us—but when I saw him, I felt even more afraid. He was shaking, his skin bleach white except his lips, which looked faintly blueish purple. His hand, which had at some point dropped mine, curled around the armrest, and as I watched, a brilliant red line trailed from his lip down his chin. His jaw was locked, and he was tugging air in through his nose. His eyes squeezed shut and he grunted. I reached out for him on instinct, but when my fingers connected with his wrist, his skin burned.

“No,” he gritted, but it came out half groan.

I glanced at Vera. “Can't you help him?”

“Not if you don't press the pedal, idiot.”

I looked down, horrified to find my foot had forgotten to do its job—and we were starting to fall.

I pushed it to the floor, hoping to make our cloud-bubble move faster, get farther ahead of the traffic stop. We were passing the helicopter when Nick's eyes peeked open, and I saw his gaze shoot to it. I looked, too. I could see the pilot, hands frozen around the stick. Nick made the grunt-groan sound again, and Vera said, “Geez, you're weak.” She sighed, and a second later we jumped forward—half a mile at least. After the next half second we were on the road, the bubble disappearing as the cars around us snapped back into motion.

Nick slumped forward; the seatbelt caught him, but his head rolled to one side, his coppery waves blowing in the air from the vents.

“OH MY GOD!”

I lunged for Nick, and Vera snatched my arm. “Drive.”

“Is he
dead
?”

“Am I wrong about the function of human eyes?”

I looked him over and immediately noticed his trembling hands, grasping onto his khakis.

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

His eyes opened slowly, and when I saw how exhausted he looked, I almost hugged him, but I got a glimpse at Vera's face, watching me intently, and for some reason I decided to take his hand instead. I brought the fingertips to my lips and kissed them.

“Thanks for getting us through that.”

“He wouldn't have made it without me,” Vera grumbled. “I’m still helping, in fact, and I’m growing tired. Could you please just drive? So melodramatic.”

Nick's eyes opened again, so weakly they actually rolled back into his head as he whispered, “I'm fine.”

I felt sick. The bleeding from his mouth, it reminded me of...

No. Not going there.

“Just keep driving?” My voice trembled as I glanced at Vera in the rear-view, immediately wondering why I'd asked Vera for instructions.

To my surprise, she muttered, “Yes, Einstein.”

I bit my own lip until I tasted blood, and sped toward Denver.

Nick slept for almost three hours, and the entire time, I worried myself sick. His pale skin, the blood that stained the fine lines of his lips, the web of damaged blood vessels I knew lay behind his eyelids... These were things that would always mess me up, because they reminded me of Dad.

For the first time in months, I let whys gnaw at me, and as I drove, I remembered something Bree's mom had told me, in a corner between two giant tables of flowers at my dad's visitation.

“Milo, it’s okay to be mad at God.”

So since then, a few times, when I'd really needed a release I couldn't get another way, I'd taken the Volvo out around our land and screamed my anger out.

I did it again now, inside my head, demanding to know why Nick was an alien and I was human, why my life had turned out so shit-tacular so far, why things were so crazy and so HARD, and why it had to hurt so much. I wanted to scream the way I did when I was alone in my car, and since I couldn't, something unexpected happened: Tears started streaming down my face.

I turned the music up—the truck had satellite radio, so I found a station that played music from the ’00s—and I pushed the truck as fast as I could get it to go, glancing at Nick, loving him, hating the sight of his body slouched and still, wondering if it would look like that when—if!—
when
he left.

He would leave! I knew he would. But still, I tortured myself with hope that he might stay.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past
.

I had read that line the day he found me. And now the words stirred in me a bitter war between refusal and surrender.

Right at that moment, when my heart felt like it might crack open, Vera leaned up, handing me a tissue. I was so shocked, I nearly drove off the road. But then she shook Nick's shoulder, and his eyes opened, and that was all I cared about.

Still leaning between our two seats, Vera watched him hawkishly, and when his eyes found mine and his hand folded over mine, her brows narrowed and she sat back, looking stricken in a way I didn't understand.

I squeezed Nick's fingers and looked at his face. It was better. He was better.

“How are you feeling?” I murmured.

He sat up straighter, blinking heavily. “We're just past Casper?”

“How did you know?”

“GPS.” His lips curved up, like it was an old joke, and he squeezed my hand. “You okay?” he asked, his voice raspy with sleep.

I nodded, and he turned to Vera. “Thank you for helping.”

She nodded, silent for once as she hunched over what I thought might be a book.

“Anything happen?” Nick asked me.

I glanced in the rear-view, but Vera didn't look up, so I said, “No. We passed one state trooper but they didn't even slow down.”

“What about the chopper?”

Now Vera's head tilted up, and she answered him in her quiet, pretty voice; it was a crisp, clean voice—one that might have reminded me of a machine, were she not raising it so often. “You successfully distracted their instruments,” she said. “I double checked when you lost consciousness.”

“Good,” Nick murmured. He stared out at the thin road, a dark ribbon cutting through the grassy, hilly terrain; I stroked my fingers over the top of his hand. I loved him so much right then, I would have done anything to change the way things were. My longing overwhelmed me, so at first, when Nick spoke softly, I didn't catch his words.

“What did you say?” I asked, blinking at him.

His eyes were guilty, his face grave. “Nothing.”

I watched his brows draw together, and a troubled look took over his face. His clenched his jaw for a long moment, and then whatever sadness had him in its claws released him. His shoulders relaxed. He glanced behind him and asked casually, “Anything else, Vera?”

She didn't look up from her book as she slowly shook her head.

“Are we ready for a party?” Nick asked with fake enthusiasm.

“Heck yeah,” I said, equally unenthusiastic.

“I want to smoke some of cousin West’s pot.” That was Vera. I spun around so fast I almost hit a Honda we'd come upon.

I laughed, and I caught the world's smallest, close-lipped smile before Vera sat up straighter and snapped, “Don't laugh at me, human. I could crush you with a thought.”

I glanced at Nick, who rolled his eyes.

“Easy on the charm, Vera. Save it for the college boys.”

THE NEXT FOUR hours were strangely cozy. Nick and I switched seats about a quarter to five, and he swung into a fast-food joint for dinner. He and I ate our burgers while listening to the '90s hits I'd bopped to in kindergarten, and Vera just kept whipping through what turned out to be a book of Sudoku, munching on her burger and fries as she gripped her pen with greasy fingers. We took lots of pictures with the disposable camera, too, and even Vera agreed to be photographed once.

We were passed by three more state troopers, and every time I held my breath, but Nick would tweak their radars, and they'd either flash their lights and speed away, driving even faster than we were, or they'd pull someone over, and we'd leave them behind.

“What about the truck!” I asked, when we were about an hour outside Denver. It had just occurred to me, “How come no one’s noticed it?”

“It looks different, remember?”

“Oh, duh. And how exactly did you do that?”

His brows arched. “A slightly inaccurate explanation would be that I changed the way it appears on the light spectrum.”

“What about those molecular detection things? What if we come across more of those.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “We can manage it.”

“If you're sure,” I said quietly.

“Milo, trust me on this: There's not anything on this planet that can overpower Vera and me.”

I wanted to be reassured, but I couldn't. He had been a little alarmed himself, right? What was with the sudden confidence?

Vera
. He had mentioned them in the same sentence, like they were a team. She did seem to be warming up to…everything.

But even she, with the top-shelf faux body, seemed tired by their exertion.

I'm sure my nervousness must have been all over my face, because Nick squeezed my hand. “Milo, no one is going to hurt you. You're my mission. I won't rest until you're out of danger.”

I glanced into the rear view and found Vera's head tipped back against her headrest. She looked asleep, so I whispered, “Can you tell me what happened with that bubble-shadow thing from earlier?”

“The alternate universe?”

I nodded, feeling slightly nauseated at the surreality of that.

“Vera made it, and it was my job to move it. A bigger job than I could handle, I guess.” He gazed at me for a moment, then thumped my fingers. “I'm sorry I upset you.”

“How do you know you did?”

“Just do.” His hand squeezed mine, and he looked at me with that sad, drawn look again. “I'm so sorry, Milo.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This whole situation…it just sucks.” I dropped my voice a notch, glancing back at Vera's sleeping form. “There’s no outcome that doesn’t make me feel…really bad.”

He shook his head, his wavy, coppery hair dark in the dim glow from our headlights. “This will get better. I'm working on deleting you from everywhere they’ve got you. We'll get information from this cousin of yours, and we'll figure out what to do next.”

“What about Vera?” I dared whisper.

“I think she likes it here,” he joked.

“And your…‘The Rest’? The gold? Nick, I can’t stand to think of something happening to you. I just can’t.”

“Then don’t.” He caressed my temple, smoothing back my hair.

“I'm worried about my mom,” I said, nearly choking on the words.

“They won’t hurt her. They’re just using her.”

I nodded, but I still felt like crying. I imagined the aroma of her home-made perfume and the smell of her molding clay. I remembered the way her slim arms squeezed me in a hug, and how her eyes looked clear and accepting as they listened to me talk about my day. Sure, things had been strained between us since she'd thrown herself into Dad's work, but she was still my mom, and I would never stop needing her.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and breathed deeply as I focused on the road. When I had myself together, I glanced at Nick, who was giving me a small, sad smile.

I gave him a small smile back. “Will you be able to get us to Market Street?”

“Can you tell me the name of the building?”

I told him the name of the building—The Edge, where I’d mailed West a birthday card a few months back—and too soon, we were exiting I-25, driving by the Denver Children’s Museum, which I remembered from childhood field trips; past store fronts and parking lots and gas stations and fast food places. I was struggling to figure out which day of the week it was, but things were happening here in downtown Denver. I worried every dark-colored SUV or car was the FBI.