Everwild (6 page)

Nick could see the intensity of their stares. It was a look that spoke of first strikes against intruders. These kids had a communal instinct for self-preservation that left no room for compassion.

“If they want a fight, they'll get one,” said Johnnie-O.

Charlie looked at him, worried, and Nick gripped Charlie's shoulder to ease his mind, leaving behind a brown handprint. Johnnie-O might think with his fists, but Nick knew better than to provoke a fight here. More and more kids flooded the street around them. Then, when it seemed that every Afterlight in Atlanta had come out of hiding, Nick said, “Stop the train.”

Charlie turned to him, and Nick swore that his afterglow grew a little pale. “You're kidding, right?”

“Dead serious.”

Charlie gripped the brake lever, but made no move to stop the train, for his fear would not allow it. “But look— they're keeping out of our way. If we just keep moving, we'll make it through, doncha think?”

“Who says I want to make it through?”

Charlie shook his head, as if trying to shake off the thought. “You can't be thinking of giving them all coins! There's not enough in the world!”

But that wasn't true; the bucket was never empty. Still, it wouldn't be a good idea to start making kids disappear. The mob would get confused and frightened. The mob would attack. Nick, however, had another reason for making a pit stop here.

“Trust me,” Nick said, although he wasn't really sure he trusted himself. Still, Charlie sighed and pulled on the brake. The steam engine came to a wheezing, shuddering halt.

“Now what?” asked Johnnie-O.

Nick reached for the door. “I'll be right back.”

Johnnie-O stepped in front of him. “I'm going with you.”

“No … . Your hands might scare them.”

Johnnie-O smirked. “And your face won't?”

He had a point. “Okay,” said Nick, “but you've got to lose that scowl. I want you to smile like an idiot. Can you do that?”

Johnnie-O took a deep breath and smiled like the best of idiots. He did it so well, it was scary. Probably scary enough for the kids outside to throw bricks. So Nick pulled Johnnie-O aside and whispered to him. “Actually, I'm more worried about Charlie panicking. It might be a good idea to keep an eye on him.”

The grin left Johnnie-O's face, and he nodded, accepting this new security detail. “On second thought,” he said loudly, “maybe I'll stay here and keep my buddy Charlie company.”

Charlie seemed relieved to know he wasn't being left alone.

Nick opened the door and stepped down from the engine. Around him the Afterlights of Atlanta backed away, cautious and guarded. He didn't know whether they had heard of the so-called Chocolate Ogre, but even if they hadn't, seeing a face such as his gave him a psychological advantage. A kind of authority of the uncanny.

“Who's in charge here?” Nick asked them.

No one answered right away.

“C'mon—a group this big has to have someone in charge.”

There were murmurs in the crowd, and then someone spoke, Nick couldn't be sure who it was. “You mean in charge of
us
, or all Atlanta?”

Interesting,
thought Nick. That meant that there was some sort of structure here. Maybe even a government.

“When I say in charge, I mean in charge,” he answered.

The crowd murmured again, and once the murmurs had died down, Nick said, “I'll be waiting.” Then he strode back to the train, and prepared for a meeting with the eminent ruler of Atlanta.

They kept Nick waiting in the parlor car for more than an hour. It could have been intentional, or it simply could have taken that long to retrieve the kid in charge. Nick gave them the benefit of the doubt. The kid who finally climbed into the parlor car was a tall and gangly African-American Afterlight, about sixteen or so. The torn, shabby clothes he wore made Nick wonder if perhaps he had been a slave when he was alive, and yet there was a confidence to his stride that bristled with powerful independence. Whatever this boy had been forced to endure in life, he had certainly risen above it here.

He looked Nick over and said, “What's wrong with your face?”

Apparently stories of the Chocolate Ogre had not reached Atlanta after all. He didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. Either way, he didn't feel like answering
the question. “Please sit down,” he said. “Let's talk.”

The Afterlight introduced himself as Isaiah. He didn't offer to shake Nick's hand.

“Tell me about Atlanta,” Nick said. “How many of you are there?”

Apparently Nick wasn't the only one reluctant to give answers. Isaiah crossed his arms. “First tell me about your train,” he said. “I've never seen an Everlost train before.”

“My train is my business.”

“Well, maybe it won't be your train anymore.”

Nick wasn't sure whether this was an actual threat, or just a show of force. He decided to match Isaiah's confidence measure for measure.

“You won't take my train.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because,” said Nick, “if you meant to steal it from me, you would have done it already. Besides, you don't strike me as the type. I think you're honorable. I think that's how you got to be in charge here. You probably overthrew some bully, and had everyone's support, because the kids here trusted you.”

Isaiah smiled. “I took down a whole lot of bullies, actually.” He didn't let the smile linger for long. “Honorable or not, you're trespassing.”

“It's not trespassing if we stop the train, and ask for permission to pass.” Isaiah was not impressed, so Nick added. “Besides, I have something you need.”

“And what might that be?”

“News of the world,” Nick told him. “News from the north.”

“I didn't think there
was
a north in Everlost,” Isaiah said. “And anyway, whatever happens there don't matter to us.”

Nick kept silent, waiting for Isaiah's curiosity to kick in. Finally Isaiah said, “What kind of news.”

“Have you heard of Mary, the Sky Witch?”

Isaiah shrugged. “Sure I have—but it's just a story, everyone knows it's not true.”

“That's where you're wrong.” Then Nick told him everything he knew about Mary. How she had kept hundreds of younger kids from finding the light, and leaving Everlost. How Nick had freed them himself, right under her nose … and how she was now gathering more Afterlights to mother, to pamper, to trap. This time, however, he had reason to believe that Mary was building herself an army.

“Did you give them coins?” Isaiah asked. “Is that how you freed them?”

“You know about the coins?”

Isaiah nodded. “We all had them once, but lost them, or tossed them. Most of the kids here don't know what they're for, but some of us do.” He became thoughtful for a moment. “I'd like to think we'll find them again. When we're truly ready to move on.”

“Maybe there's a whole bucketful waiting for you.” And that's all Nick said about it. Something told him that freeing the kids of Atlanta was best left for another day.

“There may come a time when everyone in Everlost will have to take sides,” Nick told Isaiah. “Can I count on you if I need you?”

“If there's a side to choose, I'll choose it when the time comes,” Isaiah said, keeping a stern poker face. “But right
now, you can count on me to let you pass through Atlanta safely.”

Nick nodded respectfully. “Thank you.”

Isaiah prepared to rise, thinking their meeting of the minds was over—but Nick wasn't quite done.

“One more thing,” Nick said. “Because I've heard rumors … Maybe you could tell me if they're true.”

Isaiah smiled. It was unguarded, uncalculated. It was genuine. “So what would you like to know?”

Nick cleared his throat, and tried to figure the best way to word the question. In the end he decided to just be direct.

“What do you know about ‘The Ripper'?”

Isaiah's expression was stony. He took a moment before answering as if he had to control some emotion before allowing himself to speak. “I know what they say about him. Not sure if I believe it all, but I don't want to find out.”

“Tell me what they say.”

Isaiah gripped the arms of his chair as he spoke. “They call him Zach the Ripper. They say he was a bad seed when he was alive, and even worse afterward. Evil to the core, and dumb as a post. They say he hates the living so much, he reaches into the living world and pulls their hearts right out of their bodies.”

“Ecto-ripping!” Nick said, not sure whether he was more amazed or horrified.

“They say he can pull anything out of the living world and into Everlost … but that kind of ability, it can make a person crazy.”

Nick nodded. He had known a spirit called the Haunter.
Ecto-ripping was just one of his powers. He might have been insane, or simply corrupted by his power from the inside out. Regardless, he was darkly evil, and had imprisoned Nick in a brine-filled barrel, where he might have stayed until the end of time, had things been different. The thought of facing another Afterlight like the Haunter made him shiver.

“There's more,” Isaiah said, but then he hesitated, as if he was afraid to even speak it aloud. “People say the Ripper can also reach right inside an Afterlight, and pull stuff out, too. And when he does, the wound doesn't heal … and whatever he takes … it don't grow back.”

“That's impossible.” Nick knew enough about Everlost to know Afterlight “flesh” wasn't like living flesh at all. Wounds were bloodless, and zipped closed instantly. “You can't
hurt
an Afterlight.”

“Maybe it's just a story,” said Isaiah. “But maybe not.”

Was Nick crazy to be searching for a spirit such as this? Probably. But on the other hand, Mary was building herself an army, and what did he have? Johnnie-O and Charlie? If he were ever to face Mary again, he would need powerful allies by his side to help balance the odds.

Allies … and Allie.

He wondered where Allie was now. Of course he wanted to see her again—but he had also spent a lot of time thinking about her skinjacking skill. What an amazing power that was! And terrifying, too. Or at least it
would
be, in the wrong hands. Thank goodness Allie was a decent girl with a conscience— because her skill could really make a difference in a battle against Mary.

But Nick had to admit, with a heavy heart, that there
was no guarantee he'd ever see Allie again. Which meant he had to find other kids with unique powers to stand against Mary.

“Tell me where to find the Ripper,” Nick said to Isaiah.

Isaiah sighed, and told Nick where the Ripper was rumored to be. “Like I said, it may just be a story—no guarantee he'll be there.”

Then they shook hands. “I hope to see you again,” Nick said.

Isaiah couldn't look him in the eye. “You won't,” he said. “Because if you find the Ripper, you're never coming back.”

The tracks ended.

They didn't end at the ghost of some grand terminal—they just stopped. Whoever built them must have ripped them out of the living world even before the rail line was completed. Charlie pulled on the brake just in time, and the train squealed to a reluctant stop, just a dozen yards before the tracks vanished. “Lucky I saw it!” Charlie said. “If we went off the end, this whole train woulda sunk, with us still in it.”

Charlie etched the end of the line on the map he was making on the engine bulkhead. “There was a spur that went off west, maybe twenty, thirty miles back. We could back her up and see where that track goes… .”

“Maybe later,” Nick told him, and turned to Johnnie-O. “We'll walk the rest of the way.”

Johnnie-O did not seem pleased. “Rest of the way where?”

Nick didn't answer him. “Charlie, you stay with the train.” He thought for a moment, then added, “You'll wait for us, right?”

“Sure … unless those Atlanta kids show up.”

Nick nodded his understanding, and he and Johnnie-O went south, pushing through dense living-world brush that tickled their insides as they walked.

In time they came to a two-lane highway that ran east and west, cutting through the flat, forested Florida terrain. Nick turned east, and they followed the road, which was easier to walk on than the marshy earth.

“Are you ever gonna tell me where we're going?” Johnnie-O finally asked.

Nick didn't look at him. “We follow this road east until we reach the shore.”

“Why?” asked Johnnie-O. “You want me to be your bodyguard and all, then I got a right to know why we're doing this.”

“I never said you were my bodyguard. If you don't want to come you don't have to.”

“Why can't you just answer the question?”

Nick stopped and turned to him, thinking about how much he should say, if anything. “When did you die?” Nick asked him.

“What's that got to do with anything?”

“It just does.”

Johnnie-O looked down, shuffling his feet. “I can't exactly remember.”

“What
do
you remember?”

Johnnie took some time to rustle up what memories he could. “When I died,
The Whistler
was my favorite radio show,” he said.

Radio
, thought Nick. That would probably place Johnnie-O in the 1930s, maybe '40s.

“The place we're going is part of my history, but part of your future—and anything I tell you will just make you ask more questions that I don't want to answer.”

Nick turned and continued walking.

“I'm really starting not to like you,” Johnnie-O said. “Not that I ever liked you to begin with.” But still he followed Nick east.