There is none.
I glance up and see my own terrified reflection.
I press harder, banging with my fist but I hear only the hollow echo of my efforts reverberated back through the salty water.
I need to breathe!
Then suddenly through the thick sheet of glass, I see someone. Walking above the surface. I bang again, hoping to capture his attention.
He leans over and peers down at me. I see his eyes. They are cold. Ruthless. They send an explosion of tingles down my already tingling body.
‘Alixter, I think that’s enough,’ I hear a vaguely familiar, muffled voice call from somewhere behind him.
He stands up. His movement sharp. Chilling. ‘No,’ he responds callously. ‘She’s not ready.’
I make one last vain attempt to break through the glass but it’s too thick.
I open my mouth to scream and water floods my lungs.
I wake up gasping for breath. Choking.
The familiar surroundings of room 302 blur in and out of focus as sweat drips into my eyes.
This is my second dream.
30
FOUND
The sun is bright in the sky when I awake. It filters through the blinds on the windows, lighting up the entire room. It’s probably midmorning by now. I wonder how long I’ve been sleeping.
I stretch and glance around me. As I take in the small tables and chairs, the colourful walls and my makeshift bed on the floor, the events of last night come racing back to me.
The small silver hard drive.
The memories.
The truth.
That’s when I realize that Zen is gone. And so is the gun.
‘Don’t move!’ I hear someone yell. I immediately recognize the voice as Zen’s. It’s coming from just outside the door. ‘Who are you!?’
I leap to my feet and run, kicking the door out. It flies off the hinges and clatters to the ground on the other side.
Zen jumps slightly at the noise but then regains focus. He’s holding the gun at arm’s length. Pointing it at someone down the hallway.
I follow the direction of his aim and gasp when my eyes land on Cody, cowering against the wall. His eyes are shut tight. His body is shaking.
‘Zen!’ I scream, running to Cody. ‘What are you doing? Put the gun down!’
‘Sera,’ Zen starts to argue.
But I don’t let him finish. I flash him the most menacing look I can muster. ‘Put. It. Down. Now.’
Reluctantly Zen lowers his arms. The gun comes to rest against his thigh. ‘Sera,’ he tries again. ‘You can’t trust anyone.’
I sigh. ‘And you can’t distrust everyone. This is Cody. He’s my thirteen-year-old foster-brother. I assure you, he’s harmless.’
I reach out and touch Cody lightly on the back. He jumps. ‘It’s OK,’ I tell him.
But that doesn’t seem to reassure him at all. Instead I watch his eyes grow very wide.
‘Who the hell are you?’ he demands. ‘Why are you kicking down doors and hanging out with people who carry guns and . . .’ His breathing quickens to the point where he can no longer speak.
I try to touch him again but he jerks away. ‘Cody, relax.’
‘Ask him how he found you,’ Zen yells from down the hall. He’s started to pace.
Cody looks uneasily from me to Zen, then back at me. ‘I went through your search history. On my laptop. I saw that you Googled this address.’
‘You left it on the computer?’ Zen screams. ‘For anyone to find?’
The stress of having to pacify both of these boys is fraying my nerves. I hold up my hand to attempt to quiet Zen. ‘Please.’ Then I turn back to Cody.
‘My parents totally freaked out when they woke up and you were gone,’ Cody explains. ‘They had to call Social Services and tell them you were missing. My parents blamed me. They assumed I had helped you run away again. Even though I swore I knew nothing. But of course they didn’t believe me. I guess I have a track record now.’
I lower my head. ‘I’m sorry about that, Cody. I really am.’
He shrugs. ‘Whatever. I went through your room looking for clues, thinking that if I could find out where you were and bring you back, I could clear my name.’
‘She’s not going back there.’ Zen’s voice is firm and protective.
I shoot him another pleading glance and he bows his head and falls quiet again.
Cody eyes the gun, still grasped firmly in Zen’s hand. Then he looks back to me. ‘What is going on here? Who is that?’
‘That’s Zen,’ I explain. ‘He’s . . . a friend. From my past.’
Cody snorts. ‘Some friend. What is he doing with a semiautomatic weapon?’
I bite my lip as I struggle to find an answer. An answer that will make sense but that won’t put Cody in any danger. I finally decide on, ‘It’s complicated. Zen is just being extra-careful.’
Cody’s eyebrows rise. ‘Does this have anything to do with the people who came to the house looking for you this morning?’
In an instant, Zen is by my side, glaring down at poor Cody. ‘What people?’ he demands.
I push against Zen’s chest, urging him to take a step back and give Cody some room to breathe. He obliges. But his ominous glower never falters. ‘What people?’ he asks again.
I step between them and try again to put my hand on Cody’s shoulder. This time, thankfully, he doesn’t flinch. ‘Who was looking for me?’ I ask, careful to keep my voice much calmer and gentler than Zen’s.
‘I don’t know,’ Cody admits. ‘I was already heading out the door when they arrived. I just heard them say they were scientists and that they wanted to talk to you.’
Zen and I exchange a look. We both know what this means.
He’s right. I can’t go back there.
‘Did they follow you?’ Zen asks.
Cody shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so.’ He looks at me again, pleading with his eyes. ‘Violet, what’s going on? Are you in trouble? Did you do something illegal?’
I sigh. ‘I can’t explain. I’m sorry. I don’t even have the entire story myself. I just know that I’m in danger and I can’t stay here. I have to leave town. If I tell you anything more than that, it will only put you in danger as well. And I can’t do that. I’ve already caused you and your family enough trouble. Please tell your parents that I’m sorry.’ I can feel tears spring to my eyes. I blink them away. ‘And thank you.’
I face Zen, taking control of the situation for once. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
‘Wait!’ Cody calls. ‘Maybe I can help you somehow.’
I turn back and smile. He looks so scared. Yet so eager. ‘Thank you, Cody. But you can’t help. The best thing you can do for us is go home and tell your parents and whoever else comes to the house that you don’t know where I am and that you haven’t seen me.’
‘But—’ Cody tries to argue.
‘Please,’ I stop him. ‘Please just go home.’
‘If you’re in trouble I want to help.’
I shake my head sadly. ‘Cody, there’s nothing you can—’
‘Actually –’ Zen steps up beside me – ‘there might be something he can help us with.’
Cody’s eyes light up. I think it’s partly out of fear of Zen and partly out of anticipation of what he might say.
I shoot Zen a disapproving stare. ‘What?’
Zen looks hopefully from me to Cody. ‘We could really use a car.’
31
DRIVEN
I watch as Cody carefully steps over several unconscious bodies lying on the floor, bending down to examine each of their faces. The scene in front of me is a frightful one. The family room of this unfamiliar house that Cody has brought us to is covered in plastic bags, food crumbs, aluminum cans, various items of clothing, and, most unnerving of all . . . people.
They look dead.
And I’m instantly reminded of the water.
Waking up in a salty wasteland. Surrounded by a
n ocean full of dead airline passengers.
And I realize I still don’t know how I ended up among them.
I still don’t know a lot of things.
But for the first time since I woke up on that floating piece of debris, I am optimistic that my questions will finally be answered.
I suck in a sharp breath. ‘Are they dead?’ I ask, afraid of what the response might be.
But all I hear is laughter. Cody’s laughter. ‘Dead?’ he repeats. ‘No. Just passed out.’
‘Deactivated?’ I clarify, remembering the strange device that Rio showed me.
Cody laughs again. This time even Zen joins in. But his laughter is much more scornful in nature.
‘Sure,’ Cody allows. ‘Deactivated. Drinking all night will do that to you.’
I glance around the room again. ‘Drinking?’
‘Yeah. You know, alcohol.’ Cody crouches down and peeks behind a red square pillow that’s covering the face of one of the inert bodies. I steal a glance as well. The young man looks to be the same age as Zen. He has longish brown hair that appears to be acting as some kind of trap because it has several bright orange pieces of food stuck to it. As soon as the pillow is removed, he groans at the sudden blast of daylight and clumsily reaches up to pull his hair over his eyes.
His hand lands on one of the orange objects and, without opening his eyes, he picks it from his hair and pops it in his mouth, chewing languidly.
Cody rolls his eyes. ‘A friend told me his older brother was coming to a party here last night.’ He walks over to a person lying on a nearby couch and leans over to peer at his face, grimacing slightly at what he sees. ‘And from the looks of it, it was a big one.’
He stands up and turns to me, taking in my puzzled expression. ‘Lemme guess. You don’t remember alcohol either?’
I look to Zen for help but he just flashes a quick smile that I can’t interpret. ‘No,’ I admit. ‘I don’t. What is it?’
‘It’s a substance that makes you act like a total dickhead,’ Cody explains.
I open my mouth to ask what that is, but Zen jumps in. ‘It’s slang for someone who is mean or rude.’
‘Or in high school,’ Cody says with a shrug. He stoops to pick up one of the empty aluminum cans that’s been crushed in the middle. ‘See?’ he says, brandishing it towards me. ‘This is beer. A very common form of alcohol. Some people drink it to relax. While others –’ he motions towards the handful of deactivated teenagers – ‘like these jerkwads, drink it to become even bigger jerkwads.’
‘I’m getting the feeling you don’t like these people,’ Zen remarks.
Cody steps over another body and tilts his head to get a look at her face. ‘How’d you guess?’
I glance down and instantly recognize the girl Cody is standing over. It’s Lacey, from the dressing room at the mall. And she’s wearing the very skirt I saw her holding when she disappeared into the stall with her friends.
But for some reason, she’s not wearing a shirt with it. Just the skirt, a white belt – presumably the one her friend recommended – and a bra.
I shake my head in bemusement, wondering if I’ll ever understand normal teenagers.
‘Are you looking for someone in particular?’ I ask Cody.
‘Yeah,’ he mumbles, his tone becoming instantly more hostile. He lifts the brim of a baseball cap off a person who’s asleep on the dining-room table and calls out, ‘Aha! Here he is.’
‘Who?’ I ask, making my way over and studying the guy’s features. He doesn’t look familiar.
‘Trevor Stoltz. The biggest jerkwad of them all. And also the richest.’
Cody leans in close to Trevor’s face and then grimaces, as though he’s just smelt something extremely unpleasant. ‘Not so tough now, are you, Trevor?’ He pronounces the name with unmistakable disgust.
‘I’m sorry,’ Zen says, taking a step forward. ‘But how exactly is this going to help us get a car?’
Cody’s tongue hangs out of his mouth as he concentrates hard on digging his hand deep into the pocket of Trevor’s jeans. Trevor doesn’t even flinch. Apparently alcohol is a very strong deactivator.
A moment later he withdraws a set of keys and dangles them high in the air. ‘Trevor Stoltz’s very expensive and very fast Porsche. A gift from Daddy. His favourite pastime is to chase middle-schoolers down the street in it.’
I look from Zen to Cody. ‘Are you sure about this?’
Cody just shrugs. ‘The guy has been tormenting me for years. He owes me one.’
Zen and I follow Cody out of the sleeping house. The driveway is filled with cars but it’s easy to spot the one that goes with these keys. I don’t even know what a Porsche is, but the bright red, sporty-looking vehicle parked crookedly on the lawn immediately jumps out at me. It’s the only one I would describe as ‘expensive and fast’. The thing just looks fast.
Zen jabs at a button on the keys and the headlights of the car flash. He hurries to the driver’s-side door and yanks it open, plopping down in the seat. He sticks the key in the ignition and then his entire body sags in disappointment.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘This is a manual transmission. I don’t know how to drive this.’ Zen closes his eyes, then bangs his hand against the steering wheel.
I touch his arm. ‘It’s OK. We’ll figure something out. Maybe we can find another car somewhere.’
He shakes his head. ‘No, there’s no time.’ He swiftly reaches across the console and opens a compartment on the passenger side. ‘You’ll have to drive.’
‘Me?’ I ask, watching in horror as he pulls out a shiny, rectangular booklet.
He hands it to me and gets out of the car, gesturing to the now-empty driver’s seat. ‘Come on. Get behind the wheel. Hurry.’
I’m completely perplexed by his directive but I reluctantly grip the booklet in my hand and lower myself into the driver’s seat while Zen runs around to the passenger side.
‘But,’ I protest as soon as he sits down, ‘I don’t know how to drive.’
He nods towards the book in my hand. ‘Not yet anyway.’
I stare at him in bewilderment. ‘What are you talking about?’
Cody sticks his head in my open door. ‘What’s the matter? Why aren’t you guys leaving?’
Zen holds up a hand to quiet him. ‘It’s fine. She’s just getting a little crash course in driving.’
I toss the booklet into Zen’s lap as though it was red-hot and burning my skin. ‘No. I’ve never driven before.’
‘Sera,’ he warns, handing it back, ‘it’s the quickest way to get out of here. It’ll take too long for me to figure out how to drive a stick shift. You can learn in a matter of seconds.’
‘Sera?’ Cody repeats. ‘Is that your real name?’
I shrug. ‘I suppose so.’
He nods approvingly. ‘I like it.’
Zen groans. ‘That’s very nice but we really don’t have time for this. Sera, just read it!’
‘But,’ I protest again, flipping through the booklet from beginning to end. The pages fan by in a blur. There are over three hundred of them. ‘It’s going to take me hours to read this. Let alone understand it all. I can’t simply—’
I freeze, my voice coming to a dead halt. The booklet drops into my lap as an explosion of images crashes into my mind, shaking my entire body.
I don’t know how it’s possible but I suddenly know exactly what to do. My limbs act entirely on their own. My right foot thrusts down hard on the brake while my left foot depresses the clutch.
Wait a minute, what’s a clutch?
The voice in my head answers before I even finish asking the question.
It’s the pedal that engages the transmission.
My arms move next. Without my brain even having to tell them what to do. My left hand grasps the steering wheel while my right hand turns the key in the ignition and swiftly manoeuvres the gearshift into first gear.
Terrified by my involuntary a
ctions, I throw both my hands in the air and pull my feet from the pedals. The car jerks violently, tossing my head back into the seat, and the engine sputters and stalls.
Cody jumps out of the way. ‘Whoa!’
‘What was that?’ I ask, my voice and hands trembling.
Zen smirks. ‘You read the owner’s manual.’
I peer down at the glossy book in my lap and shake my head. ‘No. I didn’t.’
‘She didn’t.’ Cody backs me up. ‘I saw it. She only flipped through it.’
Zen chuckles softly to himself. ‘Trust me, you read it.’
‘He’s right.’ I point at Cody. ‘I only flipped through it.’
‘How many pages are in it?’ Zen asks, raising his eyebrows as though he’s challenging me.
I feel my throat constrict. ‘322.’
Cody snorts. ‘Well, that’s easy.’ He reaches in through the still-open door and grabs the booklet from my lap. ‘The pages are obviously numbered . . .’ But his voice trails off as he flips to the end and his mouth falls open.
I grab the book back from him. ‘What?’ I glance at the last page and immediately understand Cody’s reaction.
To my astonishment, the number 322 isn’t written on the bottom corner. Instead, the number 10-18 is written.
The book is labelled in sections. And subsections.
Not in pages.
‘How did you know there are 322 pages in there?’ Cody asks.
‘I counted them,’ I reply softly.
‘No one can count that fast,’ Cody argues.
Zen remains quiet, waiting for the realization to hit me. And even though it’s starting to sink in, I still can’t bring myself to believe it.
‘That’s impossible,’ I argue feebly. ‘There’s no way I can read something just by glancing at it for a split second.’
‘Like it’s impossible for you to speak multiple foreign languages and add large sums in your head and—’
‘OK!’ I say, wanting nothing more than for him to stop talking. ‘I get it.’ I reengage the clutch and brake, and turn the key in the ignition again, desperate for the sound of the engine to drown out Zen’s voice . . . and my own thoughts. ‘Let’s get out of here.’