But they couldn’t hurt me. Unless the Yeerks fired directly on top of me, I was safe.
For two hours anyway.
I burrowed deeper into the sand. The flea’s instincts weren’t hard to control. Basically it has only two: Find blood. Eat. And once it figured out there wasn’t any blood in this little sandpile, the flea brain was pretty quiet.
My own brain, however, was on overload.
I’d been running and running and fighting and running and mostly screwing things up since …
Since when? How long had it been since I’d casually drifted above the airport, watching for a top-secret shipment? Years, it seemed. Another lifetime. Somebody else’s lifetime.
But it couldn’t have been more than a few hours. Twelve maybe? Fourteen? Fourteen horrible hours?
Horrible. Right.
Horrible is getting to school and finding out you left your homework on the bus, your boyfriend is dumping you, and your socks don’t match. This was beyond horrible. This was …
There wasn’t even a word for it.
An image pushed itself into my head. Two Hork-Bajir, staring at me in helpless terror as they tumbled backward from the cargo hold. Their screams echoed through my brain.
They didn’t deserve it. Yeah, Hork-Bajir look like death on two legs, but without a Yeerk in their heads, they’re a simple species, innocent and trusting. And those blades? To a Hork-Bajir, a free Hork-Bajir, they serve one purpose: to strip bark from trees. For food. Hork-Bajir are vegetarians. Gentle, nature-loving vegetarians.
And I’d killed four of them in less than a day.
The two in the cabin of the plane had been an accident. I hadn’t actually pulled the trigger on the first one, and I’d only meant to stun the second. Still, if I hadn’t been there, they’d be alive. And what about the two Hork-Bajir in the cargo hold? Not an accident. I had meant to kill them, and I did.
Just like I’d meant to kill the Taxxon.
I could almost hear Rachel: “Puh-leaze, Cassie. Taxxons are willing Controllers and pure cannibals. That pilot would’ve gobbled up his own splattered guts if he’d had a mouth left to do it with. Don’t waste your sympathy. Or your guilt. Somebody had to die, you or him, and you chose him. End of story.”
Yeah, the end of a story that shouldn’t have started.
If I’d made even one good decision, one smart move, in the last twelve or fourteen or however many hours, none of this would have happened.
Bald Spot wouldn’t have gone nuts. The Marines wouldn’t have started shooting. I would have bailed when Jake gave orders to abort the mission. And I wouldn’t have fallen unconscious in the cargo hold of a plane, left with no choice but to kill or be killed.
I’m not trying to be some kind of martyr, or say that I’m always a screwup. I’m not. In my world, making hard choices is part of the deal. Sometimes I’m right, sometimes I’m wrong. Sometimes I just can’t tell, even when the mission is over and we’ve all come out alive, at least.
Leave the Animorphs. Come back. Trust Aftran, the Yeerk. Trust her again. Take responsibility for the never-ending, always unfolding consequences of those decisions. Say, no, I can’t be part of this mission, can’t be part of a mass killing of innocent people no matter what the ultimate goal, I won’t. Get involved anyway, commit acts maybe much worse. Why? To save some lives, not others. A choice. There’s always a choice.
And if I’d made other, smarter choices this time, I’d be home now, taking care of sick animals in my parents’ barn.
Well, at least that was one thing I didn’t have to worry about. My parents wouldn’t know I was gone. The Chee would be covering for me, like they usually did.
Jake had probably alerted them as soon as he saw I was missing. Now one of the Chee was projecting a holographic image of me so real my own parents wouldn’t notice the difference. The Chee was eating my meals, going to my classes, helping my dad with the animals.
Kissing my parents good night.
And also doing my algebra homework, so there was a tiny up side.
Meanwhile, I was a flea, hiding in the dirt. And I didn’t even know where.
I had to get home.
I wanted my parents. I wanted my farm.
I missed Jake. And Rachel. Tobias and Ax. Even Marco.
The Chee couldn’t cover for me forever. Could they?
My two hours were probably up. I demorphed. Slowly. Cautiously.
Night had fallen. Above me all I could see were stars and a full moon sitting low in the sky. No Bug fighters. No stalled-out airplanes. No gym teacher gunning for me with an elephant rifle.
I stood and peeked over the edge of the ravine. Nothing. A wide flat stretch of nothing.
“Okay.” I brushed sand from my hair. “This is good. I don’t know where I am, but apparently the Yeerks don’t, either. Definite improvement. I can work with this.” I stared across what looked like an endless desert. “I think.”
I grabbed hold of a root and pulled myself from the ravine. I crouched low, half expecting an army of Hork-Bajir to appear out of the darkness.
That’s when I heard the voice, right in my ear: “They’re gone.”
“AAAHHH!”
“AAAHHH!”
“Gggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
I screamed.
He screamed.
His dog flattened himself against the ground in front of his master and let out a low growl.
I crept backward in the dirt.
“It’s okay, Tjala.” The kid reached out to scratch the dog’s neck. He glanced up at me, then lowered his eyes. “He won’t bite you,” he said.
The kid was about my age, maybe older. It was hard to tell in the moonlight. He’d been sitting between a big rock and a clump of bushes, and I’d practically landed in his lap when I’d climbed out of the ravine. His skin was dark, darker than mine. He dissolved into the night shadows.
I glanced around. What else was lurking in the dark?
“No worries,” he said. “We are alone.”
I glanced around again, not sure whether or not to believe him. “Man,” I said. “You scared me.”
“I scared you?” He laughed. His dark curls bobbed. The dog’s ears twitched. “That’s funny.”
“Yeah. Hysterical.” I pulled myself out of the dirt and started to brush off my clothes. I peeked up at the kid and caught him staring at my leotard.
He looked quickly away.
I glanced down. Okay, so the thing was in shreds. Rachel would be thrilled. She’d get to take me shopping for a new one when I got home.
If I got home. I looked up. “Um —”
The kid smiled. “You’ll be needing some help.”
“Uh, yeah.”
What was it with him? It was like he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, and a little shy, but also confident. Like he knew what needed to be done and was willing do it. Kind of like … Jake.
I shook my head. No, nothing like Jake.
“Yeah, I could use some help. I’m sort of —” Gee, how was I going to explain suddenly appearing out of nowhere? “Lost.”
“Lost.” He laughed again. “The bird-girl who can change into a bug is lost. No worries. Now you’re found.” He climbed to his feet. “I’m Yami and I’ll be your guide for the evening.” He smiled. “I like to say that. One of my uncles is a tour guide at Uluru.”
Yami turned and loped off along the creek bank. Tjala the dog trotted behind him.
“I’m Cassie,” I hollered after them. “And thanks. I think.”
I ran to catch up before I lost them both in the dark. I stumbled about as I followed them through the scrub, trying to keep my bare feet on the soft sand and away from rocks and sticks and prickly clumps of grass.
Yami was barefoot, too, but his skinny legs rambled along with a natural grace. Tjala bounded along at his side. He was a sturdy little dog, not more than a half-grown pup, with dark speckles all over his coat and sharp ears that perked up at every rustle and birdcall.
We walked in
silence for a few moments.
“So,” I finally said. “You saw all that back there, huh? The bird? The flea?”
Yami nodded. “And the funny airplane.” He shook his head. “Many planes fly over, but I’ve never seen one like that before, chasing birds and blowing holes in the ground. It was a surprise.”
The Bug fighter. A surprise. Yeah, you could call it that.
I tripped over a scruffy bush. “But the bird changing to a girl, then to a flea, then back to a girl again? That wasn’t a surprise?”
Yami gave me a little sideways smile. “No.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Okay, maybe a little. But — ”
He stopped suddenly and held his arm out at his side. I almost ran into it.
“ — but not a lot. This is why.”
He lowered his arm. I caught my breath. The flat desert floor had come to an abrupt end. We were standing at the edge of a crescent-shaped cliff.
Tjala’s ears twitched.
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“Ssssh.” Yami held his hand on Tjala’s back to keep him still. “Stay.”
The dry creek bed ended at the edge of the cliff. I peeked over. The full moon was reflected below. The cliff walls dropped straight down to a pool of water.
“It’s a sacred place,” said Yami. “A spring, created by our spirit ancestors. They made the water and the cliff and all the caves along the cliff. And when they finished, they changed themselves into rocks and mountains and trees and stars and all the things on Earth and in the sky.” He gave me his one-shoulder shrug and flashed a grin. “And maybe fleas, too. Who knows?”
Tjala stood at the edge of the cliff dead still, every muscle tensed. His ears pitched forward.
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
“No, Tjala. Stay.” Yami scratched Tjala’s head. He looked at me and motioned toward something below.
I followed his gaze. The moonlight fell on a herd of large animals grazing in the grass along the water’s edge. Some were hunched over, eating. Some stood upright on their huge back legs, almost like humans, their long ears twitching. One of the smaller ones, a baby, turned and leaped into its mother’s pouch.
“Okay,” I said. “This is not South Dakota.”
“South Dakota?” Yami gave me a funny look. “You are lost.”
No kidding. I gazed down at the herd of kangaroos. Lost in Australia. About as far away from home as I could get without leaving the planet.
But the kangaroos! I stared at them. They were such an odd combination of parts: the face of a deer, the ears of a rabbit, the long, long tail of a rat stretching out behind them on the ground.
When they bent over to eat, they were an awkward tangle of tail and legs, their big furry rumps higher than their heads. When they stood, they held their smaller front legs at their sides, like a human.
And somehow all the odd and curious parts came together in a magnificent whole.
“I didn’t know they were so big,” I whispered.
“These are reds,” said Yami. “Taller than my grandfather. This mob grazes here often.”
“Mob?”
Yami shrugged. “A bunch of ’roos. A mob.”
I nodded. A mob. I couldn’t take my eyes off them.
And neither could Tjala.
“Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.”
The kangaroos stopped grazing and looked up.
“Stay, Tjala.”
Tjala turned his head toward Yami, then back toward the kangaroos. One of the bigger ones leaped. Its huge back feet thumped against the grass.
Tjala bounded along the edge of the cliff and scrambled down where the land began sloping toward the plain below.
“No!” Yami raced after him. I followed.
The kangaroos bolted. They didn’t stampede like cattle. They hopped in all different directions, zigzagging across the grass, their hind feet thundering over the ground.
Tjala leaped onto the grassy plain and ran in circles around the ’roos, nipping at their legs. The kangaroos kicked and swiped at him with their claws.
Yami climbed down a gully that cut through the side of the steep hill. I followed, stumbling around boulders and tripping over gnarled roots.
The mob had scattered. Tjala was still chasing one of the big ’roos. It kicked at him, leaning back on its thick tail and raking Tjala’s nose with its hind claws.
Tjala howled.
The kangaroo leaped into the water. Tjala splashed in after it.
“No!” Yami ran toward the spring. “Come back, Tjala!”
The pup splashed about in the shallow water near the shore. He looked at Yami, then back at the water, torn between obeying his master and chasing the kangaroo.
Yami slapped his knees. “Tjala! Come!”
Tjala gave the ’roo one last longing look, then turned and bounded toward Yami. He nearly wagged himself in half as Yami knelt down to scratch his neck.
The kangaroo swam to the far shore. It hopped a short distance away, then turned back to look at us. It watched us for a moment, then turned again and hopped off into the night.
“It seems okay,” I said. “I don’t think Tjala hurt it.”
“I wasn’t worried about the ’roo.” Yami laughed and fell over backward as Tjala leaped up to lick his face. “I was worried about Tjala. That big boomer would have killed him.”
“Really?”
Yami patted Tjala’s back. “I have seen a big boomer drown two dingoes this way. He led them into the deep water and held their heads under. Two wild dingoes at one time.”
Yami climbed to his feet and started off across the grass. Tjala started to follow, then stopped. His ears perked up.
I listened. A rustling and thumping.
Yami listened, too, then nodded and loped off toward the sound. Tjala and I followed.
We found a female kangaroo — a doe, Yami called it — caught in a woven fence. One of her hind legs was pushed between the wires. She held her head up and back as she kicked and clawed. Her joey peeked out of her pouch. Ducked down inside when it saw us.
Yami held Tjala still while I crept up behind the kangaroo.
“Take great care,” he said. “Keep far from her claws.”
The kangaroo twisted and kicked. She whipped her head around. Her eyes held a wild, frantic look.
“Shhhhh,” I said. “You’re going to be okay.”
I pressed my hand against her tail. She thrashed once more, then fell into the acquiring trance.
I had to work fast. One of her back claws was caught in the woven wire. Her kicking had wrapped several more wires around her leg. I stretched a strand of wire to untangle it.
The joey poked his nose out of the pouch and looked up at me.
“Hey, little guy,” I said. “Your mama’s going to be free in a second.”
I pulled the last wire from her claw, then backed away.
The mother kangaroo lifted her head. Her ears twitched. She sniffed her joey, then rolled to her feet and bounded off.
Bummmph. Bummmph. Bummmph.
She stopped under a stand of knotted trees and turned. She stood upright, watching me. Her long ears flicked. Then she turned again and hopped away.
Yami smiled, his sideways smile. “You have a special way with kangaroos,” he said. “Maybe the bird-girl wants to change into a ’roo next time instead of a flea?”
He laughed. I laughed, too. Yami thought turning into a kangaroo was a pretty funny joke.
I didn’t tell him the joke was now entirely possible.
“HAHAHAHA!”
A booming laugh burrowed into my dreams.
I opened my eyes, closed them, then opened them again. The sun blazed across a sea of red sand.
Red sand. Oh, yeah. Australia.
I could still hear the laugh, and the sound of voices. I lifted my head. I was lying on a hard wooden bench on Yami’s porch. Someone had rolled up a blanket and slipped it under my head, and now my neck was molded around it. My shoulder was numb where it had been jutting into the w
ood.
It had to be morning, early morning, but the air was already so thick with heat I could barely move through it. I swung my legs over the side of the bench and sat up.
I remembered following Yami to his family’s outpost. No, not outpost. Outstation. That’s what he’d called it, an outstation. I remembered waiting on the bench while Yami went to find his mother. I remembered resting my head on my arm when I leaned over to pet Tjala.
And that’s all I remembered. Until now.
The talking and laughing were coming from outside. I wiped the sleep from my eyes and stood up. I had to find Yami and see if I could use his phone. I had to get home. Somehow.
At the very least, I had to get out of here. The Yeerks would be back, and I couldn’t put Yami and his family in more danger than I already had.
Yami’s house was a small stone rectangle, low to the ground, with a metal roof that extended out on all four sides to form a porch. Nearby I could see a couple of other houses and a little silver camper.
Yami was sitting with a bunch of other people, his family, I guessed, inside a lean-to made of branches. They fell silent when they saw me walking toward them across the sand.
Oh, no, had my leotard — ? I glanced down.
Thank goodness. It was filthy, torn, and sticky with sweat, but it still covered all the important parts.
Tjala bounded from the lean-to and raced toward me across the sand. He wagged and wiggled and licked my hand, then turned and ran back to the lean-to. I followed.
When I reached the lean-to, Yami gave me a quick half smile and motioned his head toward an old man sitting in the center. “My grandfather wants to meet you,” he said.
The man unfolded his legs and stood up. He wore a sleeveless workshirt and dusty jeans. His hair was a tangle of gray curls, tamed slightly by a red headband, and his face looked like it had been carved from seasoned wood, with a broad, curving nose and a forehead that jutted out so far it hid his eyes completely.
He swayed. One leg almost buckled under him. Yami reached for his arm and held him till he regained his balance.
The old man studied me. The wind lifted his long, grizzled beard.
And then he smiled, a smile like Yami’s that filled his entire face. He took my hand in his and clasped it softly. He nodded and laughed, a deep booming laugh. The laugh that had woken me up.