Homicidal Aliens and Other Disappointments (21 page)

“I was able to throw someone with my mind,” I admit reluctantly.

“You stand right there,” he says.

He walks about ten paces away, picking up rocks along the way. He turns around and throws a pebble at me. It hits me right in the forehead.

“Hey!”

He throws another pebble, a little larger this time, and I block it with my hand.

“Thing that holds large body of water
you
!” I shout.

“Thing that holds water? Pathetic cursing. You must have really loved your mother.”

“Just stop throwing rocks. This is stupid.”

“Bigger one coming.”

I bat it away, but it cuts my hand. “Ow.”

“Stop resisting, Warrior Boy,” Running Bird says.

“I’m warning you,” I say.

“Big one coming.”

He throws a rock about the size of a baseball. I see it come at me, fast. Too fast to knock it away with my hand. And so I do what he’s wanted me to do all along: I block it with my mind. Then I slice it into four pieces and send them flying back at Running Bird. He curses as they hit him with deadly accuracy. Well, not deadly, but hard enough to cause him a little pain and, I hope, discourage further rock throwing.

“You can’t keep denying it, Jesse,” Running Bird says. I don’t think he’s ever used my real name before. That scares me almost as much as what he says next: “You
are
the Chosen One.”

At dinner I don’t say anything to my friends about my little talk with Running Bird. Because even though I still don’t totally believe in the Warrior Spirit, I can’t deny it feels like something beyond me is helping me, some higher power.

Sam joins us at dinner. She brings along three other girls who she says can do a decent job of flying the alien ships. “They’ll be coming with us to Denver tomorrow,” she says. “I thought you all should meet one another.”

I’ve been so distracted by my talk with Running Bird that I’ve totally forgotten about tonight’s mission. “Doc is okay with this plan?” I ask doubtfully.

“I haven’t been able to talk to him,” Sam admits. “The healer won’t let anyone in his tent.”

“Marta won’t even let me in,” Catlin says. “She says she’s been taking care of Doc for years and she doesn’t need any girl’s help.”

“But you’re better than she is,” I say.

Catlin shrugs. “She’s possessive about Doc. She’s not that way about any of her other patients. Maybe I’ll try again when we get back.”

“We’ll just have to go ahead as if Doc approves,” Sam says. “I’ll talk to him before the mission to Denver.”

The sun is nearly down, and Sam says it’s time to get going.

The three girls are a little angry they don’t get to go on this mission, but Sam manages their egos by saying, “You three are too important for this. Tonight is nothing. Tomorrow is the big day. Get yourselves ready for tomorrow.”

They aren’t happy about it, but her explanation sends them off to their table. We start off down the trail to the ski lodge.

“You guys, wait!” Zack calls, panting as he runs down the trail.

“No way, Zack,” I tell him before he launches into his plea. “Not this time. You’re still recovering from the last mission. Besides, your sister would kill me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “Running Bird sent me to come get you. All of you. Dylan’s called a special meeting because Doc is sick.”

Sam frowns. “What’s this meeting all about?”

“Dylan wants to take control of New America. No election. He says his father’s too sick. Running Bird says you guys need to be at the meeting.”

Sam swears. We follow Zack back up the mountain and get to the meeting as Dylan and Running Bird take the stage. Dylan sees us, and I can feel his surprise and frustration.

Dylan wants to talk right away, but Running Bird says that the meeting must begin with a prayer, that all meetings need to begin with thanks to the gods for another day.

I can feel the frustration in Dylan intensify.

After the prayer, Dylan gets right to the point. “My father has been sick for a long time. Most of you know he’s had one heart attack. He suffered another yesterday. The healer is with him now, and she will update us when she knows more. But even if he survives, the responsibility of being the leader of New America is too much for him. You all know my father. He won’t say he can’t do it. He’d rather kill himself trying. Look, it’s time he took care of himself for once. I am ready to take over for the good of New America. I’m ready to do what I was raised to do. Let me.”

Then one of his sidekicks stands up. No, not one of his sidekicks. Lauren. Lauren stands up. “I nominate Dylan for provisional president until we can get to the caves and hold a legal election.”

There’s a lot of mental mumbling. Dylan raises his hand for silence. “Lauren has helped me see that we are one house now, the House of New America. We are the future. Let me lead us to a place where we can survive. Let me lead you into the future.”

Lauren speaks again. “I’ve heard some people say that the next leader of New America should be Jesse because he has these powers that we’ve never seen before. He can kill just like the aliens can! But there is more to being a leader than being a good fighter. Jesse is my friend, and he is many good things, but Jesse is not a leader. He’s wrong about staying and fighting. I see that now. There are too many of them. Jesse will get you killed. It’s that simple.”

Wow,
I think. She’s good. She’s a powerful ally. I should have told her I knew she would be. I should have told her that I would have been proud to lead with her if I’d wanted to lead. I should have told her a lot of things.

Dylan tells the crowd that he will lead them to safety. He orders them to pack up.

Running Bird holds up his massive arms. The crowd noise dies away. “Not so fast,” he says. “New America is a democracy. Leadership positions are not automatically inherited. Even in the House of Jupiter, you could not just appoint yourself. We must wait for Doc to get better.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Lauren says.

“Either way,” Dylan says, “I’ll only be acting president. There will be an election eventually. But now we need to move out.”

“I say we vote!” Sam shouts.

I hear a lot of people agree immediately. Some disagree. Then others chime in, agreeing. Like old America, there’s a lot of difference of opinion.

Dylan takes his seat with a pinched look of annoyance on his face, and Lauren takes her seat next to him. They both shoot daggers at Sam — well, figurative ones.

Dylan wants to be king. He plans on it. Lauren probably does believe there will be elections later, but there won’t be. Once Dylan becomes the head of New America, he’ll stay the head. He’ll rule this little kingdom and wait for a chance to expand it. He’ll be a terrible king, like one of those tyrants. Unfair. Selfish. Eventually paranoid and murderous. I see Dylan clearly.

“I nominate Running Bird!” I shout.

And the old son-without-a-mother actually looks surprised. For once he doesn’t know what to say. I enjoy that. A lot.

“I second the nomination,” Catlin says quickly.

“Third,” Sam says.

Dylan is indignant. I can tell that he expected someone to nominate me, and that after Lauren’s rousing speech, it’d be no contest. But Running Bird has more supporters among the crowd than Dylan is prepared for.

Dylan stands up, and the confused chatter of the crowd quiets. “I can see that people are confused,” he says. “Perhaps now is not the time to be voting. We should wait until we have the report from Marta. Hold the election in a few days, after people think it over.”

This sounds reasonable, which makes me suspicious.

“Doc is still our leader,” Running Bird says. “Let there be no more talk of voting for a new leader until that is no longer true.”

The meeting breaks up. The sudden shift by Dylan worries me.

“What’s he up to?” Catlin says.

“Nothing good,” Sam says.

I’m pretty sure she’s right, but what about Lauren? I’m angry with her, but I know she wouldn’t do anything to hurt New Americans. He’s fooled her. He must be very good to fool her. This worries me even more.

Sam, Michael, Catlin, and I head back down the mountain to the red barn. Everyone seems eager to talk about anything other than what just happened at the meeting. So Michael and Sam start discussing how some people are so poor at breaking up that they drive old girlfriends into the arms of first-class jerks.

“I didn’t break up with her,” I point out.

“Dude, you knocked her out and left with another girl,” Michael says — and not for the first or even the tenth time. More in the twenty range.

I’m glad it’s dark and I can’t see Catlin’s face and she can’t see mine.

“I’d call that a bad breaker-upper,” Sam says.

I turn to Michael. “I suppose you’re a good breaker-upper.”

“I’m excellent. My friends used to all come to me for advice. It’s all in the tone of voice. Of course, I never knocked anyone out. I’m not sure even I could smooth that over.”

“I didn’t knock her out to break up with her! I did it because I was trying to save
you.
We all make mistakes.”

“Even though you’re probably the worst breaker-upper ever,” Sam says as though I never said a word, “I think her joining Team Dylan is going too far.”

“She didn’t join Team Dylan because I broke up with her. And I didn’t even break up with her.” The conversation is too reminiscent of ones I’ve had with Running Bird. “Anyway, Lauren’s right about me. I’m not leader material. But Dylan, he’s, he’s —”

“A sociopath,” Sam says.

“A sociopath?” I say doubtfully.

“Charming boy,” she says. “Nice smile. Smart. Just don’t let your sister or your daughter or your dog near him.”

“Dog?” Michael says.

“A girl got the better of him once. Made him look foolish. Next week her dog died. Poisoned. Poor thing had been fed fishhooks in hamburger. That dog loved hamburger.”

I can see the dog writhing on the floor, see Sam see him, and see her drop to her knees and hold the dog and cry as she snaps his neck.

“She could never prove Dylan had done it, of course, but she knew what he’d done. Old Yeller was his name. Stupid name. I loved that dog.”

She stares straight ahead. I know that look. Holding yourself still because you’re afraid any movement will be too much.

“He almost did it,” I say. “He almost just took over.”

“Running Bird is powerful, but everyone knows he’s cracked up before,” Sam says. “They won’t trust him. Even I’d worry he couldn’t take the pressures of leading us. This isn’t just Sunday picnics and house politics. It’s war.”

We’re all quiet. We know she’s right.

“I need to tell Lauren about Dylan,” I say. “She needs to know.”

“Maybe I should tell her,” Michael says. He’s probably right. She’s more likely to listen to him than me.

“Tell her,” Sam says, “but don’t expect her to believe you. Dylan is good at getting people, especially girls, to do what he wants. He’s hard to expose. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

We fly to Santa Fe, Catlin and me in one ship and Michael and Sam in another.

It’s on the way there that I have a premonition, a bad feeling. I do a scan and ask Catlin to do one, but neither of us feels anything. Nothing.