Flying (25 page)

“Total concentration-camp-genocide scenario,” Seppie says.

Mrs. Stephenson pulls the gun away from Seppie's head a little bit. I guess she figures Seppie is a sympathizer and not as much of a threat. People never think cheerleaders are much of a threat.

“You're sympathizing with her?” I ask Seppie, making my voice angry.

“No.” Seppie shrugs. “She's an ass and she has crap taste in music. She made me listen to show tunes in the car. Show tunes! God. But I can see where she's coming from.”

She never shuts up, does she?
Mrs. Stephenson says in my head. I force myself not to react. I can't give away that I hear her thoughts. Why can't I hear Lyle's? Or did I? Was he telling me not to trust himself when he had been knocked out? Maybe his subconscious reached out to me, tried to warn me, even though his own conscious self didn't know what was going on.

I have to focus. I inhale, try to still myself, and ask, “Mrs. Stephenson? I get what you're saying, seriously. But I don't understand why that makes it okay for you to hold a gun to Seppie's head.”

“Mana. You don't understand how serious this is.”

“Oh, really? I don't? I saw a guy die today. Someone shot at me. My whole house is wrecked. My mom is missing. She's probably dead, you know,
and
my dad is missing, and now you're telling me
I don't understand this is serious
?” I'm shrieking. I swallow down the extra words I want to yell. My shoulders shudder from the weight of it. “Do not tell me I don't get it. I am not stupid, okay?”

The caribou closest to us gives up his grass hunt. He lifts his long neck and examines us, slowly moving, watching the craziness, I guess.

“We are aliens.” Mrs. Stephenson sighs. “Because of this, we're not safe, Mana. Not just because of the chip. Because of your mother and her little partner, because of the Men in Black, because of human ignorance and fear and the inferior and pathetic nature of your species.” She rolls her eyes—not literally, although with aliens, who knows what they can do. “Your mother is part of the genocide. Don't you know what she does?”

“No,” I say, lying. I know what they do. I just want to hear her say it.

“They hunt aliens down and kill them or contain them, locking them up forever. What gives them the right? Why should we have to hide ourselves to live on this world? Why should we have to play by human rules?”

“Because it's our world,” Seppie says, sounding pretty pissed off.

“It's about sharing. When we came here, we thought we could share.”

“Then maybe you should leave.” Seppie gives me an expression like
Can you believe this lady?

“We don't want to leave. This planet is lovely. It's situated in a peaceful part of the galaxy with a minimum of threats, isolated. It's adorable. An adorable planet.” She glares at me. “But your mother wants us gone.”

“But you're an alien and she didn't do anything to you,” I protest.

“Your mother didn't know my nature.”

That's why Pierce didn't want me to tell China that I could hear thoughts, I bet. She didn't want him to know I was an alien. She wasn't setting me up, I don't think. She was protecting me. But is it really possible that I could be one and my mom wouldn't know? I am so confused, so ridiculously confused.

“Why is Pierce safe from getting locked up, then?” I ask.

“Because she helps them. They trust her. She's been here for centuries, so they don't deem her a threat.”

There's something she's not telling me. Her thoughts are blocked. My instincts tell me that means she is lying somehow.

“And my mom? My mom would hunt you and Mr. Stephenson and Lyle?”

“Yes. Yes, she would. She doesn't care that we're neighbors, Mana. She just wants us gone.”

My head whirls. “I cannot believe Lyle is an alien.”

“Oh, I can,” Seppie teases. “I mean, he does have those freaky eyebrows and he runs so fast, really fast, without even sweating most of the time, and you do remember … the eyebrows.”

“Shut up.”

She gives me this look. Her face says,
Just hold it together. One more sec. Hang on.

I know that look from doing planks at practice. I know that look because Seppie is my best friend. And yet, that look is not helping me out.

I start hyperventilating. I know! I know! I've gone through all this stuff, all this horrible, horrible stuff, and it's only now that I am engaging in total freak-out behavior. There has got to be a reason for this breathing issue, this anxiety and fear, but I don't know what it is. I just don't know.

Well. Yes I do.

I wheeze in and out, trying to get enough breath.

“He”—wheeze—“can't”—wheeze—“be”—wheeze—“an alien.”

Gasp.

Gasp.

Wheeze.

“Oh, crap,” Seppie says, jamming Mrs. Stephenson with her elbow. “She's hyperventilating. You've made her hyperventilate, Mrs. Stephenson.”

Mrs. Stephenson's eyes go all big and shocked. She starts striding toward me. “Mana, breathe slowly. Big breaths. In and out. In and out.”

I glance up at Seppie. She's a good distance away from Mrs. Stephenson all of a sudden. I try to will her to run. She does not. Instead, she starts walking toward me, too. Without stopping to think about it, I reach out and snatch Mrs. Stephenson's gun arm. She's so shocked that she actually drops the weapon in the snow. I dive for it.

“Run, Seppie!” I am screaming it the best I can, but I'm hyperventilating, so I'm not so sure how it's going. “Seppie! Run!”

I grab for the gun. Gasp. It feels like my lungs are broken, like my heart is broken. Gasp.

“Mana…” Mrs. Stephenson's voice, coming from a long, long way away. It's a plea and a hope.

And then the world goes white.

 

CHAPTER 18

Seppie shakes me into consciousness, jiggling my hands, shoving my shoulders back and forth. “Mana, baby. You've got to stop with the hyperventilating routine.”

“I can't help it. Too much emotional stress. And my heart was beating so-o-o ridiculously fast; it was painful,” I say, rolling my head on my neck, trying to stretch out the muscles. I must have fallen weird. Then I remember what's happening. “Mrs. Stephenson!”

I sit up with Seppie's help.

“I took care of her.” She shrugs. “All that karate stuff since kindergarten actually paid off.”

Mrs. Stephenson is sprawled on the ground. “Is she…?”

“Dead?” Seppie gets all offended. “No. I don't kill idiots. I just knock them out. But maybe I would have if she wasn't Lyle's freaking mother. You know she put a gun to my head? That takes a lot of nerve.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Tell me about it.” She takes me by my shoulders, stares into my eyes, and I stare back into hers. We are connected, best friends. The brown of her eyes is so deep and familiar. She's a tough cookie, Seppie. And I can trust her. I know I can trust her.

“It's all so weird. And what about my dad? Where is he? And how can my mom be an alien hunter? And Lyle is an alien.”

She points over her shoulder. “See that hut over there? There's a space heater and some grain in there.”

“So?”

“There's also some duct tape.” She laughs, but a painful laugh—the kind of laugh you do when you really want to cry. “I think we should tie her up while you fill me in on what the hell is going on. Good?”

I nod. “Good.” Then I throw my arms around her and say, “I am so glad you're here.”

“Don't know how to kidnap your neighbor without me, huh?”

*   *   *

After we've dragged Mrs. Stephenson over to the shack and turned on the space heater, I fill Seppie in on the whole China/Mom thing.

“Is he hot?” she asks.

“Seppie!”

“Well, he should be. All alien hunters should be hot.”

“My mom was an alien hunter.”

“Is. Don't make her past tense.” I swallow hard. Seppie puts her arm around my shoulders. “Don't stress. We'll find her, okay? Your dad, too.”

I nod.

I think I love the space heater. I keep turning around in front of it, its coils glowing a ghoulish orange, while Mrs. Stephenson sits in the chair with the duct tape over her mouth and around her wrists and ankles.

“You tied her up pretty well,” I say. “You think it'll hold?”

“It's duct tape. Remember when we duct taped the principal on the wall during Spirit Day? It held his body weight, and he's, like, two hundred pounds.”

“Easily,” I say. Mrs. Stephenson's eyes are still closed. “She will wake up sometime though, right?”

“Right.” Seppie blows on her hands. “So, can you explain to me what's happening here?”

I chew on my fingernail. They're all totally broken at this point—like that matters, though, when you're dealing with aliens and kidnappings. Quickly, I get Seppie up to speed with what's been happening.

She shakes her head, amazed. “Wow.”

“I know, right? This is what we've been dealing with.”

“You're amazing. That's a lot to deal with.”

I shrug off the compliment, but it kind of makes me feel good inside. “I am totally confused about the Men in Black, by the way. Are they government workers? Humans? Aliens? Alien sympathizers? I think China said they were part of the government. But they ransacked my house. If my mom was a rogue former agent, that would make sense, but not them working with Dakota, who is most definitely an alien. But were they even working with Dakota?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa … Captain Hotness is an alien?”

“He was the acid-spitting alien,” I say.

“Did that make him hotter or less hot?”

“Way less hot.”

She stares at my fingernails, holding my hand in hers. Then she curls my fingers under, like it's too painful for her to gaze at a hand in need of a manicure. “Does it matter what the chip does and what it's connected to?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't think it matters. Whatever it is, it's dangerous and it sucks.”

Mrs. Stephenson twitches in her sleep. We don't say anything for a second. The space heater whirls warmth toward us.

Finally, Seppie says, “So, where do you think your mom put it?”

“No clue. I mean, we don't think she'd have it on her person because that would be dangerous. That means she stashed it somewhere simple, but somewhere nobody would expect. The best place to hide things is out in the open, right? The hardest target to acquire is a moving target—”

All of a sudden I get it. I mean, I finally get it. I smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. “Oh my God. I am such an idiot.”

“I tell you that all the time.”

“Shut up.”

I rip open my backpack. I pull out my assignment book and my extra body shield for cheering. And then I get to the container of pretzels. I point to the happy penguin sticker on it. “See this?”

“The penguin sticker? Cute.”

“I know. But this is a
new
sticker. My mom put it on there the day she disappeared.”

Seppie's eyes squint and she moves closer.

“I think she hid it behind the sticker.”

We both stare at Mrs. Stephenson. She hasn't moved, except for the earlier twitching. The heater makes a popping, sizzling noise. It's getting toastier in here.

“Do you want to unpeel it?” Seppie whispers. I put one of my fingernails underneath the sticker. It hits something hard. I pull the sticker away, and there it is. A tiny, circular, black piece of metal plops into my hand. The symbol I saw at Pierce's compound is emblazoned on the side. It doesn't look exactly like a chip to me, honestly, but it definitely is something.

“Holy—” Seppie starts.

“Crap.” I finish. “Holy freaking crap.”

We stare at each other. We turn to peek at Mrs. Stephenson. Still out.

“What do we do?” Seppie whispers.

I close my fingers around the little piece of salvation. “We get my mom back.”

 

CHAPTER 19

I know that Lyle and China are at the animal refuge, staking out the place, hidden over by the monkey house. I also know that China probably put a tracking device on my clothes and in my backpack and another one in my cell phone, because that's what any good covert agent would do.

“I have got to ditch this stuff,” I say, tossing them down. I slip the chip in the front pocket of my jeans and check for tracking devices in my clothes.

Seppie breathes in through her nose. I know this because her nostrils flare. “You're just going to leave that stuff here?”

“Kind of.”

“That's littering.”

“Dude, the fate of the world is at stake.”

“If we destroy the environment, we destroy the world,” she says, pretty freaking adamantly.

I squat down near Mrs. Stephenson, who has started to moan a little bit. “We'll take her cell, instead.”

Seppie's hands go to her hips and she straightens up like we're in a performance cheer. The judges are so into posture. She scrutinizes me down on the floor and says, all argumentative, “And you don't want Lyle and the China guy to know what we're doing because…”

“Because China might just want the chip. That might be his priority, not my mom. He's such a soldier, he would sacrifice her for the quote-greater good unquote. I know he would. Plus, he said not to trust anybody, not even him.”

“Cold.” Seppie has a way with words. She means China's attitude is cold, but it makes me think of Mrs. Stephenson, who is unconscious on the floor.

I find Mrs. Stephenson's cell phone in her jacket pocket, stash it in my own, and say, “We should move the heater closer.”

Seppie lifts up the heater by the top handle and says bitterly, “Of course. We don't want Mrs. Abductor to freeze to death.”