Doc Harrison and the Masks of Galleon Read online

“Doc, please, don’t do this,” Meeka says.

  I force myself to peer inside. She’s still there.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The girls join me and keep low, their gazes scanning the rooftops for snipers.

  “We need to go before they spot us,” Meeka says, refusing to look inside the car.

  “I know,” I answer.

  “She was… she was like our mother,” Steffanie adds, her voice cracking.

  “That’s just her body in there,” Meeka says. “It’s not her. Come on...”

  Meeka can’t deal with this now, and I don’t blame her. I saw the car and just reacted without considering how we’d feel. I should’ve pretended I didn’t see it, because now it’s all coming back—and it just hurts so much.

  “Guys, this is Doctor Valaria.”

  “Sun, water, sand,” she says, lifting her goggles.

  “It’s an old greeting,” Keane explains. “It means I’m glad to enjoy life with you. People used to say it a long time ago, before the bombs.”

  We had asked “Val” to treat one of Mama Grren’s cubs who had been injured during our escape from the Palladium. Sadly, the cub died, but Val was there when Julie overdosed on mirage. Were it not for her help, Julie would’ve died.

  We all loved Val, especially Tommy. She was around his age, and there was some serious flirting. I’d never seen him look so happy.

  And then a sniper’s bullet ended it all.

  We were devastated. Even worse, she died without passing on her immortal, and we left her inside that car.

  What can I say? Val was a pure soul who put others first, making her the perfect doctor. Maybe some day we can give her a proper burial.

  I was glad to enjoy life with you. Sun, water, sand.

  * * *

  Within minutes we reach the pockmarked road that’ll lead us out of the city and toward the Highlands.

  Meeka says we can’t use the grren tunnels because they’re a maze and we don’t have Brave or Mama Grren to guide us through. We’d get lost and waste huge amounts of time.

  The tradeoff is we’ll be out in the open, and if the nomads decide to send patrols this far out, there’s a chance we could be spotted. No choice now, though.

  As we pedal, the sky grows darker, the rain more intense. Steffanie drifts back to me and says, “It’s weird.”

  “What?”

  “No shooters back in the city.”

  “Maybe they didn’t see us.”

  “They don’t miss anything,” she answers.

  “They why didn’t they shoot?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know.”

  “Did you see them?” I ask.

  “You don’t see them until it’s too late.”

  “Well, maybe we look different. Vests… helmets...”

  “That’s not it. We don’t look that strange.”

  Now I shrug. “Maybe it’s just luck. So don’t question it.”

  She shakes her head vigorously. “Not luck.”

  “Then what?”

  “Something’s wrong.” She glances over her shoulder.

  “You think we’re being followed?”

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  “But something’s wrong?”

  “Yeah…”

  Okay, so while Steffanie’s got “a bad feeling about this,” I already feel badly enough. “Just stay positive, all right?”

  I pedal ahead and slip behind Meeka, who’s now hauling major butt, cutting tight lines around holes and cracks and steering close to abandoned cars, using them as shields from the wind and rain.

  More pink lightning turns the sky into a shattered mirror, and I can’t help but look up—

  Searching for those masks.

  * * *

  Three hours later, I’m so soaked, so tired, and so full of mud and sand that I’m ready to collapse.

  This is the moment that Tommy talks about, the moment that separates those who can from those who dream.

  “What’s your mantra, son?”

  “My what?”

  “Your mantra. That thing you tell yourself to get through the pain.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, you best get one. You’re gonna need it.”

  I buckle down, keep pedaling, and think about my mantra. Maybe trying to think of a mantra will actually distract me from the pain, so I won’t really need one anyway.

  We’ve reached the foothills and cliffs lying just outside the Highlands and the valley where the grren live.

  Strangely enough (although I won’t jinx us by questioning it) we finished this leg of our journey without encountering another soul. Blame it on the weather.

  And now the bad news: we’re only half way to the forest where the rumms hid their cars. If the gravity isn’t slowing us down, the storm is.

  * * *

  What feels like three days later but might be just an hour, we struggle across a slope leading toward a more rocky cliff, with the rain slashing across our path. Just then, a chill rushes up my spine and fans across my shoulders.

  I glance off to my left—

  Where the great walls of the Palladium rise from the mist and gloom. This “sanctuary” as Ms. Martha once called it, seems larger now, with collections of domes and buildings shaped like AA batteries standing somewhere behind the soaring walls. While I was there, I only visited a small part of the complex and ancient aqueduct hidden deep below. I chance another look, and lights begin to appear like embers on a burning log. Someone’s down there, all right…

  As we pedal farther, I’m struck by a powerful feeling—like I’ve been to this cliff before.

  “Hold up!”

  “What now?” Meeka hollers back at me.

  I climb off my bike, lay it down in the mud, and then shift along the cliff, stop, and whirl around.

  “I’ve been to this exact spot, but not in my body.”

  “In your persona?” she asks.

  “No, in something my father called a trrune.”

  “You saw what?” Steffanie asks, wiping a glob of mud from her cheek.

  “He picked up a trrune,” Meeka says. “When was this?”

  “When Solomon took Julie.”

  Meeka looks impressed. “Not many people can do that.”

  “Yeah, so I think they were here. Standing right here. And I think Tommy put some binoculars in one of our packs. Can you check for me?”

  “Why?” asks Meeka.

  “Just do it.”

  With the rain splattering all around us, we drop our packs, and Meeka finds our pair of binoculars.

  I take a seat on my pack and have a look, rolling the dial to zoom in on the Palladium.

  Despite the rain, I still catch glimpses of the guards posted along the wall top stations and have a clean view of the enormous main gates.

  “Julie could be out there,” I say.

  “Can I have look?” Steffanie says.

  I hand her the binoculars and glance over at Meeka, who’s looking up, allowing the rain to wash off her face.

  Lightning flashes dangerously close, followed by a crack of thunder so loud that Meeka screams and dives into my arms. We tumble into the mud and roll down the hillside a few meters until I wind up on top of her.

  That doesn’t last long. She wrenches me over, and now she sits on top of me, dripping mud in my face. “That scared the hell out of me.”

  I start laughing. “I’ve never heard you scream like that.”

  She looks wounded. “Like what?”

  “Like a girl.”

  She snorts, wipes mud from her shoulders, then slaps it across my cheeks.

  But I don’t care.

  Before it gets any more awkward, she climbs off.

  We hike back up to Steffanie, who’s staring more seriously through the binoculars.

  “Got something?” I ask.

  “Let’s go, guys,” Meeka says. “They’re counting on us.”

  Steffanie holds up a hand. “Wait.”
>
  I crouch down next to her. “What?”

  She faces me, utterly confused. “Maybe I’m wrong, but you’d better have a look.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After researching it online, Keane tells us he’s ready. Let’s do this.

  “Hi, there, my name’s Keane, not that you care.”

  “Actually I do care,” says the Starbucks barista.

  “Really?” he asks.

  She winks. “Yeah, I need it for your cup.”

  “Oh, that’s excellent.”

  And then he just stands there, staring at her nose piercing and gauge earrings that are no wider than the company’s suggested ten millimeters (I know this because Julie once applied there and was telling me about the dress code).

  I elbow Keane. “Order.”

  “So, uh, yes, I would like a no-whip white chocolate mocha with five pumps and an extra shot of espresso. Oh, can you make that skinny?”

  “Sure. What size?”

  For a second, Keane looks stunned.

  But then he remembers. “Uh, venti please.”

  The barista gives him a funny look, and then says, “That’ll be right up.”

  I look at Julie.

  She looks at me.

  Damn, he did his research.

  “So I’m thinking about acting,” Keane tells another barista standing at the cash register. “I read about some stuff going on at Universal.”

  “That’s cool,” says the barista, a kid with dull eyes and a scraggly beard.

  Again, this memory is happening in my head while I’m up here on the cliff, but it feels like more than a memory, like Keane’s directing part of it himself.

  And now I break the memory and think about a question: “Keane, are you there?”

  “I think so, Doc? What the hell?”

  “Is this is a connection?”

  “I don’t know! It’s insane! It’s like being around each other all this time started to wake up something.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Maybe something in our wreaths.”

  “Or maybe that trrune thing is more powerful than your Dad knows. Maybe you’re connected to me, even though I’m on Earth and you’re on Flora and we’re both on the drugs. Plus, you saw Julie’s persona. And now I can see that you’re on this cliff. That’s no accident.”

  “I guess not. Okay, I need to go now.”

  “Doc, this is weird.”

  “I know, bro. We’ll figure it out.”

  I stare through the binoculars and hold my breath.

  The Palladium’s gigantic main gates swing open, and out rolls two vehicles that resemble dune buggies jammed with nomads.

  I zoom in tighter on the occupants.

  Most have shaven heads, even the women. No goggles or scarves or desert samurai robes.

  One shirtless guy stands on the back seat, clutching a roll bar and gazing into the distance like a lookout on a pirate ship. He’s got a rifle slung across his back—

  But what really gets me is the black tattoo covering most of his chest: a capital Q with a slash mark through it.

  With a start, I raise the binoculars to the wall and zoom in on the face of one guard. I get tighter on his forehead. The image is a bit blurry… but clear enough. He’s got the scar.

  “Those aren’t nomads,” I gasp. “They’re despers.”

  “What?” Meeka cries, and then rips the binoculars from my hands.

  I glance at Steffanie. “You know what’s going on?”

  “We heard the nomads controlled the Palladium. That’s what Keane told us.”

  “Then what’re these guys doing there?”

  She frowns. “I’m not sure.”

  “Would nomads hire them?” I ask.

  She lifts a brow. “Seriously? They’re all psycho.”

  “Maybe the less psycho ones?”

  “You mean like Landry and Boonwalla?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer, their names punching me in the chest. “Just like them.”

  “Maybe…”

  “Or maybe the despers are running the show.”

  Steffanie shakes her head. “No way, unless…”

  “Unless the nomads vanished,” finishes Meeka.

  “Maybe they did,” I say.

  “And that’s why the city’s empty,” Steffanie adds, growing excited, as though we’re putting it all together. “The despers heard the Palladium was empty, so they moved in after the nomads were taken.”

  “Taken where?” I ask.

  “Well, they didn’t go to Florida on vacation,” Meeka says. “We know that.”

  “They’re with the others,” Steffanie says.

  “Who were taken on Earth?” asks Meeka.

  “Yeah.” Steffanie narrows her gaze in thought. “This… this is all just crazy.”

  Meeka nods. “Hey, guys. Scary thought: what if everyone’s gone?”

  “Everyone?” Steffanie asks.

  “I mean everyone who had a wreath that works. Even the animals. Every living thing with a wreath just picked up and taken away.”

  “Why?” I ask. “And who did it?”

  “Who knows?” Meeka answers. “Maybe Solomon. Maybe the Masks of Galleon.”

  “No, no, no,” says Steffanie. “They’re still people here.”

  “Yeah, despers,” I say.

  “Shut up!” Steffanie’s lip quivers. She’s obviously worried about her girlfriend Pace.

  Meeka steals another look through the binoculars. “We need to go. They might’ve spotted us. That’s why they sent out the buckets.”

  “Buckets?” I ask.

  “Vehicles, cars, you know,” she answers. “Time to roll.”

  Steffanie closes her eyes and tenses. “Nope, we still can’t jump. “Back to the bikes.”

  We mount up, and there’s a huge sense of urgency to our pedaling as we slosh across the foothills. It’s like the harder we pedal, the closer we’ll get to some answers.

  Again, I find myself glancing over my shoulder, wondering if the despers are gaining on us.

  And again, I lift my gaze to the rainy sky, chilled by the idea that a mask could form.

  Still, I’d like to see one in person. We have no idea what we’re dealing with. We’re like Colonial Marines who prefer a straight up fight to a bug hunt.

  * * *

  After a half hour of mashing pedals in wet clothes against stronger gravity, we’re forced to take another break about halfway up a fairly steep slope. There’s more clay here than rocks, and the sound of rushing water, like from a brook or a stream, rises from somewhere above us.

  We unstrap and remove our backpacks and set them down beside us.

  “This is tough,” I say while digging out my canteen and a granola bar.

  “So what’s your plan when get up there?” Meeka asks, cracking open a Coke.

  “Don’t worry.”

  “So what is it?” Steffanie asks, opening a small bag of mini pretzels.

  I raise my palms. “Guys, we’ll be fine.”

  Meeka gives me a little smile, suggesting she’s entertained by the answer but not buying it. “So you got no plan.”

  “I have a plan.”

  Of course I don’t. But I’m motivated. I wish I wasn’t one of those “night before it’s due” type of guys, but honestly, I’ve done some of my best work at the very last minute.

  “Doc, if we can’t jump and connect with the grren, we need to do something else.”

  “I know, I know…”

  Just then the ground rumbles.

  And that hiss of rushing water reaches a crescendo.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  Meeka bolts to her feet and looks up the mountain.

  Her mouth opens.

  But she can’t talk.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was inappropriate, I know, but one time I was at the mall with Ira Drazen and Ricardo Hernandez, and they dared me to squeeze a woman’s boob.

  Well, not a real woman’s boo
b. It was on a mannequin. In Macy’s. Right in the middle of the store.

  So yeah, I got caught.

  One of those ladies from the make-up counter rushed over. You know the ones with the painted-on eyebrows and who smell like perfume factories? Yeah, her.

  She even called security, who called Grace.

  How much does that suck?

  They said if I did it again, they’d ban me forever from the mall. I’d be a loser on the “no buy” list.

  Grace argued with the woman for overreacting to a bunch of adolescent boys doing stupid things.

  That night, my father gave me a ridiculous lecture about how inappropriate behavior leads to more serious offenses—

  Because, as we all know, fondling mannequins is a gateway crime leading to a life of behind bars, where there’s nothing to do but lift weights and get religious tattoos.

  Later on in the evening, Julie sent me a text. She said she heard about “my arrest” and that if I wanted to touch a real boob all I had to do was ask.

  Of course she wasn’t serious. She was just torturing me in more ways than one.

  And I shouldn’t have shown that text to Ira and Ricardo, because they told her.

  Those fools. I wanted to smack them. And no surprise, Julie was furious and screamed, “I hope you never touch a real girl’s boob!” She said it like an ancient curse that could never be broken.

  And I can see her right now, saying it to me again, but she’s got those eyes, those empty white mannequin’s eyes that seem to call to me…

  And they’re the last thing I see before a torrential wave of mud knocks me over and sweeps me down the slope.

  Didn’t my father discuss Flora’s weather in his lecture? The severe issues of flash flooding and mudslides around the Highlands during the rainy season? I’ll get back to you on that. So basically this is Typhoon Lagoon if you add in a billion pounds of mud and drunken cast members working the ride controls.

  I can’t see a thing. Just tumbling. Arms and legs thrashing about. In fact, my body’s a raft being ripped down rapids of wet cement. I can’t breathe. Not sure how deep I am. My heels hit something solid, and I kick off. My head bursts up from the mud. I gulp air for a second before I’m knocked onto my side and back into the ooze.

  I’m still blind. My ears are plugged with mud, everything dull and muted, just the sensation of the cold, wet clay on my face… my neck… my hands.