155 The scene flashed back, another channel on the TV: the "my mother falling to her death" show. I saw her fall, slow-motion.
I saw the Bug fighter roaring past.
Could it have reached her?
No. Impossible.
"Nice try, Rachel," I said.
She shrugged. "I'm telling you what I saw. I wouldn't lie."
"Sure you would," I said. "Pity. Charity. Make Marco feel better."
"No. Because it won't make you feel better. It wouldn't be pity or charity. I wouldn't be doing you a favor. You've cried and yelled and hated yourself. It's bad, but if she's dead at least it would be over. If she's alive . . ."
I didn't say anything. She sighed and got up to leave. She touched the doorknob and I said, "Rachel? I was going to do it. Then I wasn't. I was trying to kill her. And save her. What do you do?"
"Do?"
"What do you do when you have to make a decision, and each choice is horrible? What would you do, Rachel? If it was your mom or dad or sisters. What would you do, Xena?"
"Me?" She sighed. "I guess I'd hope that someone would come along and take that decision away from me."
156 "Like Jake did to me."
"Yeah."
"What if she isn't dead? What if she really did survive? Oh, God, what if there's a next time?"
Rachel came back and sat beside me on the bed. She didn't hug me. Rachel's not a hugger. But she sat there with me.
"One battle at a time, Marco. One battle at a time."
Not much of an answer. But the only answer I had.
"Try the movie channel," Rachel said.
I aimed the remote control.
157 Don't miss
Animorphs
#31 The Conspiracy
I came around the corner after school and saw a taxi parked out in front of my house.
My mother shot across the porch, suitcase banging against her knees, and hurried down the sidewalk to the cab.
What the. . . ?
My mom didn't take cabs. Nobody around here did.
Everybody had cars.
"Mom!" I yelled, jogging over. "What happened?"
Because something had definitely happened.
I mean, I've seen my mom sniffle at Save the Children infomercials and Hallmark cards, but I can't remember the last time I ever saw her really cry.
But she was crying now.
Something must have happened to Tom.
Or to my dad.
158 My knees went weak and wobbly.
Funny, how even when your whole life has shifted into a daily Twilight Zone episode, there are still some things that can make you panic.
"I left you a note on the fridge, Jake," she said, hefting her suitcase into the trunk and slamming it shut. "My flight leaves in an hour and the traffic -"
"Mom, what happened?" I blurted.
My voice was high and shrill, not exactly the voice of a fearless leader, as Marco would have pointed out, had he been there.
"Oh." She blinked away fresh tears. "Grandpa G died. His housekeeper Mrs. Molloy found him this morning. I'm meeting your grandparents and we're driving out to Grandpa G's cabin to make the funeral arrangements."
"Grandpa G's dead?" I echoed, trying to wade through the emotions whirling around in my head.
Grandpa G. Not Tom. Not my father.
"Yes. His poor heart just gave out," she said.
"You're going to the cabin?" I said. "What about us?"
"You'll be coming out as soon as your father clears his work schedule," she said, touching my shoulder, forcing a brief smile, and sliding into the back seat. "He'll tell you about it. Everything
159 will be fine. Make sure your suit is clean. I'll call when I get to Grandma's. I gotta go, honey."
She slammed the door and waved.
I watched as the cab disappeared around the corner.
Now what?
I headed into the house. Checked the scrawled note stuck under an apple magnet on the fridge.
Yeah. Grandpa G was dead.
According to Mrs. Molloy, who'd talked to the doctor, his heart had stopped while he was putting jelly on a slice of toast. He'd never even gotten a chance to eat it.
I shivered.
I'd cared about Grandpa G and now he was gone, and my family was smaller.
I didn't like that.
The kitchen door burst open. Tom stormed into the room.
"And I'm telling you, Dad, I can't go!" he snapped, tossing his books onto the table and scowling at me. "What're you looking at?"
"You're home early," I said, surprised.
My father plodded in, weary, harassed, and closed the door behind him.
"So are you," I said, glancing from him to Tom. "Did Mom tell you guys about Grandpa G?"
160 "Yes," my father said. "I was hoping to get here in time to take her to the airport but the traffic was terrible. I saw Tom walking home and picked him up."
"Did you know we're supposed to go out to the cabin?" Tom demanded, glaring at me like it was somehow my fault.
"Uh, yeah," I said cautiously, trying to figure out what his problem was. "So?"
"So, Tom's already informed me that he doesn't want to leave his friends to attend his great-grandfather's funeral," my father said, looking at Tom, not me. "However, he doesn't have a choice. We're going. All of us."
"When?" I said, feeling like I was missing something important. It was there but I just couldn't grab it.
"We're driving up Saturday morning," my father said.
"Dad, I can't," Tom insisted. "The Sharing's expecting me to help out this weekend. I gave them my word!"
"Well, you'll just have to explain that something more important came up," my father said. "I thought The Sharing was about promoting family values, right? Well, we're going to pay our respects to Grandpa G as a family."
"Dad, you don't understand!" Tom argued desperately.
161 Why was Tom so dead set against going out to the lake?
Okay, so it was boring. Grandpa G's cabin was the only house on the lake. His closest neighbor had been Mrs. Molloy and she lived seven miles away, halfway to town.
The only other house around was an old, abandoned hunting lodge across the lake.
No cable. No Taco Bell. No streetlights or crowds.
No movies. No malls . . .
No Sharing. No Yeerks . . .
"Uh, Dad?" I said. "How long are we staying?"
"It depends on the funeral. I'll write notes so you'll be excused from school through Tuesday of next week -"
"What?" Tom's eyes bulged in shock. "Tuesday? Dad, no way! Four days? I can't stay away for four days!"
"You can and you will," my father said, losing patience. "We're going as a family and that's final."
Tom's throat worked. His hands clenched into fists.
And for one, brief second I had the crazy thought that he was going to attack my father.
And oh man, even though I couldn't morph in front of them, I could feel the surge of adrenaline that came right before a fight.
162 Three, maybe four days. The maximum time a Yeerk can last without a trip to a Yeerk pool is three days. Four days without Kandrona rays and the Yeerk in Tom's head would starve.
Starve, Yeerk. Starve.
"It won't be that bad, Tom," I heard myself pipe up. "The lake's nice, remember?"
It broke the stalemate.
Tom looked at me. "You're an idiot, you know that?"
He was playing his role as condescending big brother. I was playing my role, too.
Starve, Yeerk. Die in agony, die screaming, Yeerk.
"Shut up," I said. "I'm not the one who's being a big baby about leaving."
I said it to annoy him and to bring us back to the rhythm we knew, the kind of normal sniping I could handle.
Because the hatred in Tom's eyes when he'd looked at my father had scared me.
And the hatred that had flared up in me, the hatred of the Yeerk, the sick thrill of anticipati
ng its pain, had scared me, too.
"That's because you have no life," Tom sneered.
"Oh right, and you do?" I shot back.
"More than you'll ever know," he said darkly, distracted now.
163 "Enough," my father said. "I'm going to change. When I get back we'll order pizza. How does that sound?"
"I'm not hungry," Tom muttered, staring at the floor.
I wasn't either but my father was looking at me expectantly, so I said, "Pizza, I'm there."
My father nodded, satisfied, and left.
I gave my brother a look of sympathy, making peace. "Maybe you can get out of it, someway."
I had to fight to keep the sneer off my face. Or maybe, Yeerk, your cover is falling apart, maybe you'll have to choose between keeping Tom and keeping your filthy life. "Shut up," Tom said absentmindedly. The Yeerk had no use for me, no interest in me. I was dismissed. Irrelevant.
I turned and blasted out into the backyard, my mind already buzzing with the possibilities.
Tom's Yeerk was trapped. Under pressure. Squeezed. It wasn't ready for this turn of events. Didn't know how to play it out. Didn't know what to do.
An opportunity? Maybe. Yeah, maybe.
Die, Yeerk.
K. A. Applegate, The Reunion
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