A glimmer of moonlight beckoned me forward as I crawled across the jagged rocks that lined the burrow. No, wrong word. This felt less like a bunny warren and more like I’d been buried alive. My hands and forearms were bruised, scraped, and cut by the time I reached the end, grateful to peer out and breathe the warm night air. I could hear the sound of rushing water and even see Arsenal Island, smack in the middle of the Mississippi River, the last stop before the Feral Zone.
The island glowed as though it generated its own sunshine via giant floodlights. In contrast, the bridge leading to the island was just a looming shadow over the water. The only illuminated area on my side of the river was the blacktopped landing pad next to the bridge’s entry gate. A spotlight swept across the jeeps and hovercopters parked to one side, and onto the rocky hill that led down to the river. When the spotlight arced back to zip along the base of the wall, I ducked into the hole again like a skittish rabbit.
Once the spotlight passed, I crept out onto the top of a bulldozed mountain of debris made up of earth, bricks, and chunks of cement mixed with broken glass, pipes, and roof shingles. A tetanus infection just waiting to happen. I perched on the rubble of what used to be the east side of Davenport. At the bottom, the bricks and cement chunks spilled onto a muddy patrol road, which meant that line guards could drive by in one of their open-topped jeeps at any moment.
I waited for the spotlight to move onto the hill again and picked my way down the wreckage, stepping as lightly as I could. Even so, rocks spilled down behind me. When I finally stepped onto the unpaved road, I found a length of pipe and jammed it into the foot of the rubble pile as a marker. Okay, orienteering, not a complete waste of time.
I paused to look back at the wall, so massive that it blocked out most of the night sky. A small thrill wound through me at seeing the Titan from this side — in person no less, not via toy hovercopter. Was it really just hours ago that I’d stood on Orlando’s roof hoping for a glimpse of the East? It felt like days ago, and yet I was still squeezed into Anna’s vest.
Her white vest, which in the moonlight may as well have been phosphorescent.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into wearing this,” I muttered and undid my ponytail so that my hair fell down my back in dark waves. My hair was thick and long but it didn’t hide the vest completely. “And I know you said don’t get it dirty, but … sorry.” I scooped up a handful of mud. Ew. How many germs were cupped in my palm? I couldn’t think about it. I smeared the mud over the exposed parts of the vest — grimacing the whole time — and then wiped my hands on my jeans and rubbed them down with more hand sanitizer.
Now what? I knew where I was supposed to go — Arsenal Island — but I didn’t dare just start walking. I slung off my messenger bag, unzipped it, and went through its contents more carefully than I had under Spurling’s watchful eye. The flashlight, the bandages, the iodine, the matches, the map, the machete — I didn’t even want to consider what I might need that for — and finally, a silver badge embossed with the words Line Patrol. I stuffed it all back into the bag except for the badge. What had Dad used this for? A single badge wouldn’t get him past a sentry. I flipped the badge over but there was nothing written on the back, just stiff black plastic.
Something glimmered in my peripheral view. I glanced across the road. A greenish glow had appeared on the ground at the base of a tree. I grabbed the messenger bag and jogged closer. The tree was leafless, dead. The crater next to it suggested an explosion. I reached out to touch the trunk, and my fingertips came back dusted with soot.
The skeleton tree, black as night.
This burnt hunk of wood was exactly how I’d pictured the skeleton tree in my dad’s stories. Maybe this blackened tree marked the start of a path as well. I’d just have to keep away from the harpy eggs….
All right, now I was getting loopy. Though it did make sense that my dad’s stories would come to mind now. When I was little, I always asked him to tell them when I was scared of the dark, or sad — two emotions I was definitely feeling right now.
In the time that I’d been standing there, the greenish light on the ground had grown brighter. I crouched. A fist-sized rock was nestled among the tree roots and glowing like a firefly. I reached for it, but then some glimmer of a memory made me snatch back my hand.
Of course this glow-in-the-dark rock wasn’t an exploding harpy egg from my dad’s stories. But what if it was something just as lethal? Like maybe a land mine? The rocky hill between here and the riverbank was probably covered with them. I backed onto the road. How weird that I may have just avoided death because of a coincidence: that real-life land mines and imaginary harpy eggs both cast a green glow.
My knees locked as realization dropped on me like a cartoon anvil. It was not a coincidence. The exploding eggs in my father’s stories were land mines. The burnt tree before me was the skeleton tree, black as night.
As the spotlight arced my way once more, I hurried back to the rubble pile and hunkered by a piece of a marble column. My mind spun. Why had my dad woven details from his life as a fetch into bedtime stories? Was Director Spurling right? Was he training me to be a fetch without telling me?
Not a chance. He’d never willingly let me do something this dangerous.
Whatever his motive, I wasn’t taking another step until I thought this through. Maybe there was a reason that his stories always began the same way. In a very tall tower, next to a very tall mountain, there lived a little girl who longed to have an adventure. One day when she was walking along the base of the mountain, she discovered a cavern that was so long and deep, it took her through the mountain to the other side.
When she stepped out of the cavern, she saw a river that was wide and wild. She also saw that across the river there was a magical forest just waiting to be explored. As she was about to make her way down to the riverbank, she heard a cry for help. Turning back, she saw that a sheep had gotten caught in an immense bramble bush at the foot of the mountain. Because the little girl had a kind heart, she helped the sheep free itself from the thorny brambles. This turned out to be a good thing, because the grateful sheep revealed that there was a secret way to get down to the riverbank. The sheep sat down on a boulder and, while using its own wool to knit a sweater, it told the little girl that she must look for the skeleton tree, black as night, which marked the start of the path. If she strayed from that path, she might step on a harpy egg. They looked just like rocks, the sheep warned, except for their faint green glow. If you so much as nudged a harpy egg, it would burst into flames.
The little girl followed the sheep’s instructions to the letter and made it safely down to the riverbank, only to discover that an army of silver robots guarded the only bridge across the river.
Up to this point in the story, the only detail my dad ever changed was the type of animal caught in the bramble bush. The animal’s warning about the path to the riverbank was always the same — look for the skeleton tree and watch out for the harpy eggs. But once the girl made it down to the riverbank safely, her methods for getting past the killer robots varied. Sometimes she’d seek out the wizard who lived with the robots and spent his days devising magic potions….
Wait. A wizard surrounded by silver guys. Silver, as in light gray uniforms, maybe?
Okay, Dad, got it. Dr. Solis and the line guards. Wow, that wasn’t even subtle.
I got to my feet. I didn’t need to take the story any further because I didn’t need to know all the ways that the little girl made it across the bridge and into the magical forest. I wasn’t going anywhere near the magical forest, aka the Feral Zone, even if that was where the little girl met the boy who lived all alone in a castle. He was wild and uncivilized and would say the rudest things imaginable, which, of course, delighted me when I was younger. Out of all of my dad’s characters, the wild boy was my favorite. But tonight, there would be no wild boy, no bridge crossing, and no magic forest for me. All I had to do was talk to the wizard. Dr. Solis, who was su
rrounded by killer robots. With Uzis. No problem.
I studied the rocky hill that lay between the road and the riverbank. I didn’t see any other green glowing spots on the slope below, but they were there for sure. If I couldn’t see the land mines, how was I supposed to avoid them? Too bad there were no talking animals around to give me advice. I crept closer and suddenly the land mine by the blackened tree lit up again. Had I activated it by moving?
No. The land mines wouldn’t glow in warning when you got close or quarantine breakers like me would just avoid them, making the mines pointless. However, the guards who set the mines would want to know where not to step….
I held out the patrol badge as far as I could without leaving the road. Not only did the glow by the tree intensify, but also, farther down the embankment, other rocks began to glow.
Thanks, Dad.
I zigzagged my way down the steep hill, steering clear of demolition wreckage, trees, and glowing harpy eggs. I headed for the landing pad next to the gated bridge. Of course, I still didn’t know how I was going to get across the bridge or find Dr. Solis once I was in the patrol camp. For some reason I’d pictured a patrol camp as a few rows of tents — an image that had nothing to do with reality. How did the word camp apply to what looked like a medieval town, complete with limestone buildings and a clock tower? But that was most definitely the line patrol camp. The rows of barracks on the south end of the island was one giveaway, the high chain link fence topped with razor wire another. And then there were the spotlights and watchtowers.
How was I supposed to snoop around such a brightly lit and highly guarded island?
Pounding footsteps sent me darting behind a tree. When I dared to peer out, I saw a man throw open the gate, leap off the end of the bridge, and bound down the gravel slope to the riverbank. He took cover in the shadows as three more people burst through the gate and ran onto the landing strip. They paused under a floodlight to scan the area. With their crew cuts and military fatigues — gray on gray camouflage to match the wall — they had to be line guards. Also known as killer robots. After a moment of whispering, they fanned out.
I didn’t dare hope that the fugitive hiding in the shadows below was my father. Though who else would be running from line guards? If that was my dad down there, he’d make a break for the tunnel at some point. I’d have my answer then. In the meantime, I was staying put.
The man stumbled along the dark riverbank and dropped behind a rubble pile, the remains of some demolished building. When he appeared on the other side of the rubble and started up the steep hill, hope rose in my chest.
No way. My father, here, now. That would be too lucky.
The three guards exchanged hand signals that didn’t take military training to figure out, and then two skidded down the gravel slope by the bridge. The tallest one jogged across the landing pad and disappeared behind a patch of scrubby bushes — gun in hand.
I had to see the fugitive’s face. I spotted him crouching behind a rock outcropping halfway up the slope. Below him, the two guards swept the riverbank with flashlights. The bushes off to my left rustled. The third guard was closing in fast. I tucked the badge into the front of my vest and scurried along the ridgeline until I was directly above the fugitive, which meant closer to the lit-up landing pad. Not good. I crouched in the shadows and waited for the man to do something — to make a run up the hill. But the seconds ticked by and he remained as still as an animal caught in the glare of headlights. The guards below gave up on the riverbank and turned their high-powered flashlights onto the hill, inching their way up. I couldn’t wait any longer. Scooting a little ways down the slope, I whispered, “Hey.”
The fugitive didn’t move.
“Hey,” I said a little louder.
He whipped around at the noise and rose, but his face remained shadowed. Just as I considered creeping down farther, I caught a flash of his eyes in the moonlight — yellow and bestial — and knew then, beyond all doubt, the man was not my father.
I wasn’t even sure he was human.
Fast-rising panic surged through me as I stared at the fugitive man crouched on the hill below. His yellow eyes glowed with hostility and I’d swear he was growling. Horrified, I shoved back, kicking earth to get away, but he lunged up the hill after me. I heaved my bag at him, hitting him squarely in the face. He stumbled back.
Turning, I scrambled up the steep slope, only to feel a steely grip clamp around my ankle. I cried out and clawed at the weeds, trying to get a handhold, but still the terrifying man dragged me to him. As I kicked at his hand, a hornet blew past my ear, its wings brushing my skin. The man released me with a roar. He slapped at his arm, which had somehow sprouted a dart. When he tore it out, another dart punctured his neck.
I crabbed backward up the hill, only to get hooked from behind and hauled to my feet. I whirled to run and slammed in to a wall of a boy. His badge and dog tag dangled against his chest, inches from my nose. A line guard.
He dragged me aside with a “Shh” and raised his gun. Mouth tight, he took aim, but before he could pull the trigger, the maniac on the slope toppled over. The guard exhaled slowly, and then turned a cold look on me, made even colder by the color of his irises — pale gray, the exact shade of the wall. “What are you doing over here?” he demanded.
I couldn’t speak. My brain had blown a circuit back at yellow eyes. Yellow.
“Who gave you permission to cross the —” The guard’s words cut off as his gaze swept over me. “Oh … got it. You’re one of the captain’s friends.”
I nodded dumbly. He could assume whatever he wanted as long as he let go of my arm so that I could put some serious distance between me and the groaning, yellow-eyed man.
“Stay here,” the guard ordered. “There’s no reason for them to see you.” He tipped his head toward the bottom of the hill, indicating the other two line guards, and then he lowered his voice. “They resent the brass enough as it is.”
He said it like he wasn’t one of them, though he sure looked like any other line guard — hair buzzed, expression brutal.
“Do not try to walk back without me. Understand?” He slid the dart gun into a thigh holster. “You’ll just get blown to pieces.”
Right, land mines. Nice scare tactic, jerk. I nodded again.
“Cruz,” a voice yelled from the riverbank. “Did you find Bangor?”
“I tranqed him. He’s down,” the guard at my side shouted back.
I jumped at the sound. I needed to get a grip, and fast.
“I’ll be right back,” the guard named Cruz whispered, then he picked his way down the slope.
One hippopotamus, two hippopotamus … With the patrol badge in hand, I dashed up the hill, watching for the telltale glow of the mines. On the rise, I paused, gasping, and ducked behind the same bush as before. Wait there so he could come back and arrest me? Yeah, right.
But Guardsman Cruz wasn’t going to forget about me. As soon as he got yellow-eyes under control, he’d be back. Some fetch I was! Spurling had warned me about the line guards. So had my dad — only he’d called them killer robots. Yet I’d managed to get nabbed within twenty minutes of coming east. And to top it off, I’d left my dad’s messenger bag on the hill next to the maniac. How stupid could I be? Very, obviously.
The other two guards hiked up the slope. With their backs to the bridge and the gate unguarded, this was my shot. Move, I told myself. Now! My legs didn’t obey.
“Over here,” Cruz called to the other two. He ran a hand over his bristling dark hair.
The flashlight beams bounced across the hill until they landed on the writhing maniac on the ground and set his drool glistening. Cruz glanced up the hill even though there was no way he could see much in the darkness. Still, I stayed down and turned off my dial. As much as I wanted to keep recording, I couldn’t risk someone spotting the tiny red light that indicated my dial was on.
When the other guards got close, Cruz asked, “How did he get infected?”
“How should I know?” said the stocky guard with biceps as thick as his thighs. “I was on gate duty and Bangor shows up.” He flung a hand toward the crumpled man. “Says the captain wants me. So, I go, right? I’m maybe twenty feet down the path and I hear the bolt slide open. I look back and Bangor’s yanking on the gate. That’s when I yelled for backup.”
The gate. Right. I redirected my attention to the bridge’s dark silhouette and crept several bushes closer to the landing strip. The hill wasn’t as steep here. Staying low, I dashed down the slope to the nearest jeep and crouched.
“Okay, he’s out,” I heard Cruz say as I snuck along the row of vehicles. When I reached the last one, I stole another look at the guards. Their eyes were locked on the man on the ground, now deathly still.
“He was on river patrol today,” said the third guard, whose blond crew cut looked like baby chick down. “They found a raft on the west bank. Maybe Bangor found the owner.”
“More like the owner found him,” said the stocky guard.
“Hey, maybe it’s not —” The blond guy shifted uncomfortably. “Maybe Bangor just cracked from the stress.”
Cruz dropped to a knee and touched the tranquilized man’s forehead. “Maybe.” Even from fifty feet away, I could hear the lack of conviction in his husky voice. “Take him to the infirmary.”
“Why? He’s turning,” the stocky guard said, his voice rising.
“Because the doctor is going to want to know what bit him.”
“We know what,” the guard snapped. “A feral.”
“Yeah, but which strain?” Cruz shot a glance up the hill — probably trying to check on me.
“Who cares?”
“Are you trying to find a cure?” Cruz got to his feet, which gave him the height advantage. “No? Then shut up and get him to Dr. Solis.”
Dr. Solis, the very person I was supposed to find. And maybe now that wouldn’t be such an impossible task. I could follow these guards right to him.