Lost in Babylon

  “Doesn’t that ever get boring?” Aly called out. “Making every shot?”

  Marco palmed the ball. “Yup. I’ll coach you instead, Brother Cass. For free. Right now. That’ll be a challenge.”

  Cass stood up. “Really? You would teach me?”

  “If you leave Leonard for a minute.” Marco threw the ball directly at Cass. It hit him square in the chest and knocked him over. “First rule, you have to use your hands. It’s not soccer.”

  “Not soccer,” Cass said. “Right.”

  Aly took my arm and led me to the tennis court, about twenty yards away. I looked over my shoulder at Cass. He was dribbling the basketball awkwardly toward the basket. Slapping it, really. But looking incredibly happy. Marco followed, pretending to guard him. “Williams charrrrges the net . . .” Marco called out. “He shoots . . . air ball!”

  “Cass looks like he’s enjoying this,” Aly said.

  I nodded. “Maybe he’s mapping out the geography of the basketball court.”

  “Marco is the ultimate cool brother,” Aly replied. “It must be tough for Cass. He gets so down on himself, not having a real family. You know, except us.”

  “Us and Leonard,” I said. As I went to my end of the court, Aly opened a fresh canister of tennis balls. “Serve it and swerve it,” I said.

  “What?” she said.

  I felt a sudden tug inside. The last time I’d played tennis was with my dad. When he wasn’t overseas on business, we’d play every weekend at the Belleville Rec Center. “Habit,” I said. “It’s what my dad and I say. He’s always trying to teach me how to do spins.”

  “My mom is a terrible player. She says she loses on purpose, because she likes to be the one who ends the game with perfect love. Which casts out all evil. She has a weird sense of humor.” Aly served the ball. “Do you still think of home a lot?”

  I hit it back sharply. Too sharply. It sailed just past the line. “Sorry. Yeah, I guess I do. Sometimes.”

  The truth was, I hadn’t been. Not consciously. Not while we were chasing a griffin in Greece and visiting Babylon. But the thoughts of home had built up in a dark corner of my brain. Every once in a while a mental light would flick on. Like when we went to Ohio. And here in the tennis court. I could see Dad hunched over at the base line, wearing his weird tennis hat with drooping white ear flaps. I could picture Mom, too, as if she’d never passed away. She was sneaking up behind him, lifting the flaps as if they were bunny ears . . .

  “Wake up, Jack!”

  Aly’s voice shocked me into reality. The ball whizzed past my ear, landing just inside the line. “Whoa. Can we do that one over?”

  “No,” Aly said with an are-you-kidding laugh. “Fifteen-love.”

  We volleyed back and forth, the rackets making a sharp mmmock! sound on contact.

  Mock! “My brother, Josh, is good,” Aly said. “He gave me lessons. Maybe you’ll meet him someday.”

  Mock! “Mom is the killer tennis player in our family,” I said. “Awesome serve.”

  Mock! “You never talk about her,” Aly said.

  Mock! “What?” I replied.

  Mock! “Your mom. You always talk about your dad. Did they split?”

  The ball sailed over the fence and into the jungle. I twirled my racket and watched it. “My mom died.”

  Aly looked mortified. “Sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I still think about her in the present tense, even though I was pretty little when it happened.”

  Aly was over on my side of the court now. “When what happened?” she asked gently, quickly adding, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I don’t mind,” I said. “My mom was a really good athlete. She liked to go on these exotic trips with her geologist friends. Dad didn’t like going so much. He’d stay home with me. That was before he had all these long business trips. Anyway, Mom spent months preparing for some hike in Antarctica. She was so excited. Dad and I were following her trek in the cold, through this awesome video feed, when a snowstorm hit . . . It was really bad. We could hear yelling. Then the yelling got drowned out by the wind. Dad says I started screaming, like I knew what was about to happen. The screen turned totally white . . . and then nothing . . .”

  As the memory came back, I realized why I never talked about this. It still hurt so much. When the image went black I felt like my entire body had snapped in two.

  Aly put a hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Jack . . .”

  “We lost the connection,” I said, looking away. “Later we found out that the team had wandered off course. They were near this huge, deep crevasse. They’d been warned not to go there, but their equipment failed. They . . . they never found her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Aly said.

  Her hand brushed down the side of my arm and touched my hand. I turned toward her. Her face wasn’t where I expected it to be. It was so close I could see the contours of a tear flowing down her cheek. Somehow I didn’t mind it.

  “Yo!” Something hard and rubbery smacked the side of my head and I jerked away. Marco was running toward us, through the gate. “Excuse me. Didn’t mean to break up your precious moment.”

  Aly scooped up the basketball and whipped it toward his face. Marco caught it easily and twirled it on the tip of his index finger. “Can you guys do this?”

  I stood there, dumbfounded, not really comprehending Marco’s request. Not really comprehending anything. “No,” Aly and I both said at the same time.

  Marco gave the ball another spin. “It’s amazingly easy. I’ll teach you. A clinic for G7W geeks! Hey, if Mr. Maps can improve, you can, too. . . .”

  “Helllllp!” A shout from Cass made the ball spill off Marco’s finger. He whirled around. Cass wasn’t on the court.

  “Brother Cass?” Marco muttered, taking off like a shot in the direction of Cass’s call.

  Dropping our rackets, we followed. Together we charged into the underbrush. “Cass!” I called out.

  We got about thirty feet when I saw Cass’s curly brown hair, threaded with leaves. He was stuck in a tangle of vines, thrashing his arms. “Leonard’s gone!” he cried.

  Marco ripped the vines off him. “Gone? That thing could barely move.”

  “Here, Leonard!” Cass shouted, looking around desperately.

  We fanned out into the jungle. The bushes were thick, the trees dense. Above us, birds cawed loudly. Aly and I gave each other a look. “I say we find another one and pretend it’s Leonard,” Aly said. “A healthier one.”

  “Um, we may not need to,” I said, gesturing back the way we’d come.

  Through the trees was a flash of red hair. Aly and I tiptoed closer. At the edge of the jungle, not far from where we’d started, was a park bench. It had probably once been in the open, but now it was nestled in the overgrown jungle.

  On the bench was a pair of massive shoulders and a hefty frame that made the bench sag in the middle. “Torquin?” I said.

  He turned. In one hand was a baby bottle. In the other was Leonard. “He took one ounce,” Torquin said.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” shouted Cass, barreling through the woods.

  “Didn’t want to bother game,” Torquin said. “Made formula.”

  Cass plopped himself down on the bench. “What kind of formula?”

  “Protein. Mashed-up bugs. Some scorpion. Syrup,” Torquin said, nuzzling the bottle into Leonard’s mouth. “Good stuff. I take every morning.”

  “I don’t believe this,” Marco said with a groan.

  “Does he like it?” Cass asked, smiling down at Leonard.

  “Yummers,” Torquin said. “I can keep? When you leave tomorrow?”

  We all looked at him blankly.

  “Oh. Forgot,” Torquin nodded. “Professor says Shelley will be ready tonight. Wheels up at daybreak.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  BACK IN BABYLON

  “YA . . . HMM-MMM-MMM . . . OHHHH . . .” The chopper was shakin
g as Torquin bounced along to some tune coming through a set of thick headphones.

  “Will you keep it still? We’re getting air sick!” Aly shouted from the backseat, where we were sitting.

  Torquin pulled one of the phones away. “Sorry. Favorite group. Wu Tang Clan.”

  In the copilot seat, Marco turned toward him. “Yo, Tork, do you do karaoke?”

  Torquin made a face, snapping the headphone back in place. “Japanese food gives heartburn.”

  Marco was laughing. I wished I could have his attitude. Aly’s hands were gripping the rests, her knuckles practically white. Cass looked like he was about to hurl. My eye was on the window, where I could see the distant speck of our second helicopter. That one contained Professor Bhegad, Nirvana, Fiddle—and in the cargo hold, Shelley. It was descending as fast as we were, down toward the camp on the Euphrates.

  Calm down, I told myself. I went over all the stuff we’d discussed at the KI:

  1. We would not be blamed for the earthquake. No one in Babylon would have a reason to make the connection between it and us.

  2. Shelley would be easy to activate. We would have to figure out how to get back into the Hanging Gardens.

  3. Our biggest challenges would be the animals and the guards. And Kranag, if he was still alive. Bhegad had given us all kinds of repellents, flashing devices, pepper spray, flammable liquid.

  Back at the KI, it had all sounded so optimistic. We’d accepted Numbers One and Two without question. Number Three had seemed like a minor inconvenience.

  Now, as we drew closer, I saw everything in a clearer, more realistic light.

  We were out of our minds.

  “Prepare for landing,” Torquin said.

  Below us, I could already see the sand being whipped up by our blades. On the banks of the Euphrates, the remaining members of the KI team were swarming out of the tents to greet us. We set down gently. As we climbed down and rushed toward the water, we ran a gauntlet of high fives, shouts of good luck, pats on the back.

  Professor Bhegad rushed into the midst of it all, with a tight smile and an impatient wave of the hands. “Let us save the big party for when Shelley returns. This is Journey Number Two. May it be the last.”

  “Try Journey Number Three for me,” Marco reminded him.

  “Yes, well,” Professor Bhegad said, “to the river, shall we?”

  A caravan of KI scientists walked with us to the water’s edge. It was all happening so fast. Aly, Cass, Marco, and I caught our breaths. My heart was thumping.

  “Be careful,” Torquin said.

  “Aren’t you coming with us?” I asked.

  Professor Bhegad answered for him. “We thought about it. It certainly was an option, now that we know it is possible to take along a non-Select. But we decided that you already have relationships with the Babylonians, and the introduction of someone new, with no knowledge of the language or culture, might arouse suspicion.”

  “In other words, you are on your own,” Torquin said. He did not look disappointed.

  Nirvana presented a backpack to Marco. “Inside this is a heavy-duty, ziplocked plastic bag,” she said, “with your four slave tunics, sandals, and Shelley.”

  I peeked inside. Shelley had been folded up into a curved trapezoid.

  “Go directly to the Hanging Gardens and deploy Shelley immediately,” Bhegad instructed us. “It has been designed so that even a Torquin can activate it.”

  “Simple tap,” Torquin said, poking Professor Bhegad so hard that he stumbled away.

  “Perhaps with not so much . . . verve.” Bhegad removed his glasses, wiping them on his shirt. “As for the method of approaching the Loculus, I will leave that to you. So if everything is ready . . . Godspeed, my children.”

  Cass turned to Torquin. “Take good care of Leonard,” he said.

  “Like he was my own son, but a lizard,” Torquin said. He put one of his fleshy hands on my shoulder, another on Cass’s. “Have fun. Chisel us a postcard.”

  He snorted and wheezed in his Torquinian version of a laugh, and I knew he’d been practicing the joke all day.

  I turned toward the Euphrates. Aly squeezed my hand briefly. I checked my pocket and felt the outline of a small hand mirror. It was a present I’d made my mom in second grade, lacquered on the back with a photo of her, Dad, and me playing in the snow. Since my conversation with Aly on the tennis court, I’d decided I wanted it with me at all times. Seeing the photo gave me hope and strength.

  We ran until the water was too deep. I closed my eyes and jumped.

  “Haaaa!” Marco yelled, tumbling out of the river on the Ancient Babylon side. He reached in and pulled Cass ashore. “Getting better at figuring where to come out!”

  Cass was gasping for breath. “I don’t know . . . how many more times . . . I will be able to do this.”

  Aly and I swam to the bank. The trip through the portal had been smooth. Much quicker than the last time. Marco was right. We were getting good at this.

  I sat on a rock to catch my breath. It was dark but the moon was bright, and it took me a moment to remember that even though we’d been gone four days, only a little more than an hour had passed in Ancient Babylon.

  Marco was running around, collecting rocks the size of his biceps. He pushed each one into the sand until the rocks formed a large lambda shape. “I know Brother Cass can memorize this stuff, but ordinary Immortals like me need a marker.” Marco paused to look proudly at his handiwork, then began pulling the uniforms out of his pack. “Okay, campers, remember the drill. We find Daria and tell her how important this mission is. How we are trying to help the rebels by preserving Babylon. We talk her into going to the royal gardens with us. We wear some kind of disguise. We’re her cousins who don’t speak Aramaic. If Crag-face is gone, we’re in. If he’s not, we get him with the darts and then go for the Loculus. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.”

  “That is such a dumb expression,” Aly said.

  Cass, Marco, and I walked off behind a dense thicket to change into the tunics. I folded my clothes up and put them in a pile. At the last minute, I fished out the mirror and took a long look at the photo. Carved into the wood below it was my happy birthday message. Dad had inscribed the back of the photo, and over time his message had started to bleed through.

  Martin, Anne, and Jack—Happy McKinleys!

  Marco was looking off into the bushes. “So. Guys. You get a head start. I’ll follow. I—I think I just ate too much for lunch.”

  “You have got to be kidding,” Aly said. “Again? What’s with you?”

  “What do you mean, again?” Marco asked.

  “This happened at the palace,” Aly said. “The time shift affects your digestive system and no one else’s.”

  “I’m human, all right?” Marco said. “Just go. Now. Trust me, you guys won’t want to be downwind of me for about a hundred yards.”

  “Good point,” Cass said.

  We bolted. Marco was Marco.

  It was a short trek out of the wooded area and onto the side of a large field of grain. The moon had sunk toward the horizon, and the sky had a predawn glow. I caught the comfy whiff of a wood-burning fireplace, which reminded me of home—until I realized it may have been the lingering scent of Kranag’s destroyed cottage.

  Even in the dim moonlight I could see signs of the earthquake damage we’d caused—gullies running through the field, cracked earth, a wooden hut caved in on one side. People were running in and out of the city via the moat bridge, under the watchful eye of the tower guards.

  We fell in with the crowd and snuck through the gate. I’m not sure if the tower guards saw our faces or not, but there was more than enough chaos to keep them busy.

  The streets of the outer city were still damp. Some roofs had been blown off, and carts lay broken and abandoned. In and out of alleyways, people chased animals that had run loose during the storm. We trudged for about a half hour before we reached the higher gate—the one to the inner city and Etemenanki, t
he Tower of Babel. The air had the silvery glow of early morning now, and I was starting to worry about Marco. “Should we wait here for Superman?” I asked.

  “He probably took a shortcut,” Cass said. “I bet he’s at the cottage already.”

  Aly nodded. “Any reason to gloat.”

  The rising sun showed a market in chaos, with people passing buckets of water. The souk stand where the guards had eaten lamb earlier was a smoldering pile of charred wood. I hoped desperately that no one had been hurt. I felt guilty. We’d caused this.

  The burning smell hurt my eyes as we walked up the sloped street toward Etemenanki. I thought we might be stopped at the entrance to Ká-Dingir-rá, the palace grounds. But to our relief, the guards nodded politely as we entered. Aly led the way, charging up the street. Cass and I nearly collided with three wardum children who ran out of an alleyway chasing some kind of bird that looked like a chicken.

  Aly stopped short at the corner to the road that led to our guest house. She held up a finger and mouthed, “Wait!”

  We came up beside her carefully. Up the road, a clutch of soldiers had gathered out front of the guest house, with Daria in their midst. Marco was nowhere to be seen.

  Daria caught a glimpse of us and shook her head in a way that meant stay away. We backed down the road, out of sight of the house. Quickly I led us into the alley where the little kids had emerged. “I don’t like this,” Cass said. “Those guards were mad. We’re fugitives. We caused mass destruction!”

  “They don’t know we did it,” Aly reminded him.

  “Right, but they know we escaped,” Cass said.

  I spotted a blur coming around the street corner. Daria’s face peered out of a shawl. She waved. She ran to us, her features taut with concern. “Where is Marco?” she asked.

  “He went to the bathroom,” Cass said.

  “He is taking bath?” Daria asked.