Matt Archer: Blade's Edge (14 page)

Dude, this guy was nothing if not thorough.

Finally he said, “All right, back to the station.”

Huh, I must’ve passed. Cool. Shaking my head, I got into the car and started back the way we came.

When we pulled up to the intersection near the station, I dutifully flipped on my right blinker, glad to have the formalities over and done. Then a tingling built at the base of my neck. My pulse quickened and the wintry sun seemed way too bright all of a sudden.

Oh, man. Not now.

Mentally cursing the knife-spirit, I held myself in check, thinking this was a really crappy time for a power surge. The light turned green. I started forward, hands slick on the wheel, fighting an urge to gun it so I could duck into the bathroom at the station to shake off the rush.

We were halfway through the right turn when the knife-spirit screeched in my head.

Stop!

Her scream coincided with the sound of brakes and tires squealing.

I looked over my shoulder and saw, too late, the semi barreling through the red light, coming straight at us.

Before I knew what I was doing, I flung the car in reverse.

I stomped on the gas pedal and laid tread. A car had pulled up right behind us, so I turned the wheel hard and jumped the curb, landing us on the corner gas station’s front lawn. We came to rest when my Honda’s trunk hit a light pole. The examiner gurgled something as we were tossed around in whiplash central. I didn’t have time to worry about it.

The semi kept coming. In the seconds it took for me to get out of its way, the stupid truck had hit a FedEx delivery van dead on. The van tipped over, sending boxes flying. Cars were backing up all over the place, trying to escape the rain of home deliveries.

Then the semi jackknifed.

The trailer, still obeying general rules of physics, dragged the semi sideways as it slid down the street, headed for our corner.

“Hang on,” I shouted. I put the car in drive and turned the wheel hard to the right.

We rocketed off the curb, into the street. Everything moved in slow motion.

At light speed.

Faster,
the knife commanded.

Beat the truck, yes. Like racing a freight train at a crossroads.

We’d cleared the intersection by twenty feet when there was a crunch and a loud clang. I checked my mirror. The semi’s trailer had struck the same light pole that ate my Honda and the stupid pole had collapsed on top of the trailer. I pulled over to the curb, parked correctly, cut the engine, then laid my head on the steering wheel feeling like I would puke. Less than fifteen seconds had ticked by, but it felt like hours. What a way to end my driver’s exam, surviving a major traffic accident.

I sat up and asked my examiner, “Sir, you okay?”

He nodded, then made more notes on his clipboard before tearing off the top sheet of paper and handing it to me with shaking hands.

Marked in big red letters at the top of the exam form was “Pass, 100%.”

I cracked up, and so did he.

Turned out my driving examiner’s name was Don, and he calmly told the police the semi had run the light and how I avoided getting us creamed. They told us the truck’s brakes failed, so the driver couldn’t stop. The FedEx guy and another driver had to be taken to the hospital for concussions or broken bones, but miraculously, no one else was hurt bad enough to warrant an ambulance ride.

Mom arrived with another police officer a few minutes later, her eyebrows scrunched in worry. When she got a load of the mess on the street, she wailed, “Oh, sweetheart!”

“I’m fine, Mom. The Honda’ll need some work, though.”

Don stepped forward to shake her hand. “Your son’s a very good driver. Excellent reflexes—I’ve never seen the like. You don’t have to worry about him being on the roads.”

Mom shot me a look. “Yes, Matt’s full of surprises. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

After insisting the EMTs take a second look at me, Mom let the police drive us home to pick up her car so she could take me to school. Not how I planned on arriving at Greenhill—in Mom’s minivan—but the Honda had to be towed from the scene. I’d made it back toward the end of lunch, so there wouldn’t be much time to catch Ella or Will to tell them the news. Hands in my pockets, I hurried through the cold, skittering on the salted sidewalk. The warning bell rang as I cleared the front door, and students packed the hall on their way to class.

The sight of the crowd threw me off-balance. My heart hadn’t completely slowed down from the accident and now it sped up more. The knife-spirit buzzed along my nerves, and the hallway seemed turned up to maximum volume as I struggled toward my locker. Fluorescent lights blazed down on my head, glinting off the shiny floor, and pain drove through my temples. I barely reached my locker door before it all went dark.

I’m in a cave. Dim and musty. Tainted. Someone moans nearby. Ramirez lies curled up on the floor around the corner, his body wrapped around his right arm. He clutches his knife, and his fingers are bruised.

I hurry to him, knowing I have to get him out. Then he’s gone and I’m alone. I spin around, seeing nothing, but knowing I’m being watched.

The passageway goes pitch black. I stumble forward, sensing something at my back. It wants to hurt me, and my skin crawls. No, it doesn’t want to hurt me…it wants to own me, use me.

In the distance, Mamie screams.

They took her! I run toward the noise, tripping on the uneven floor, feeling my way.

I heard the whispers now. They were after me. They had Ramirez and my sister and they wanted me.

I swung out blindly. So what if I couldn’t see, I wouldn’t let them take us.

A few people yelled. It didn’t matter because I still couldn’t see anything in the dark, so I kept fighting.

I landed a punch on something metal, then on flesh. More shouts. My vision started to come back. I was stuck in a crowd of shadows, trying to fight my out.

A dark form broke away from the rest and slammed me to the floor. I kicked at it, trying to get up, get away. The shadow pinned my arms, then sat on me.

In a quiet, calm voice, Will said, “Dude, you need to chill.”

The anger flowed away, and I stopped struggling.

“Where am I?” I blinked a few times to clear my eyes and saw lots of shoes.

Oh, God, I was at school, wasn’t I? Lying on the floor with my cheek pressed hard against the floor. It was dirty, the tracks of hundreds of shoes melting into a thin layer of grime that smeared against my face.

“Just calm down,” Will murmured. Louder, he said, “Nothing to see here, peeps. Off to class you go.”

The shoes shuffled away. I heard a little laughter and a lot of whispering as Will stood up.

“I hit anyone?” I asked, struggling to my feet. I was so dizzy, I wobbled and put a hand on my locker to keep from falling. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life. Or it would’ve been if the fear hadn’t been so real.

“You clipped Adam, but he didn’t make a big thing about it. He was trying to help you.” Will sighed. “A few people probably think you’re on meth, what with the hallucinations and the brawling with invisible monsters. That’s the only damage.”

“What’s happening to me?” I asked. “Am I going crazy?”

“Did something happen to jack you up?”

“Yeah.” Footsteps pounded down the hallway, heading our direction. “But I’ll have to tell you later because here comes Mr. Nolton.”

Our vice principal—tall, thin and always looking like he ate a lemon only seconds before—pointed at me. “Mr. Archer, let’s go.”

I followed, still confused as to whether I’d had some kind of mental break or if a vision had interrupted my regular daily programming. I hoped it was a vision, giving me some clue about Ramirez’s whereabouts. And let’s face it, I didn’t want to be crazy, either.

Mr. Nolton took me by the arm and marched me down the hall, leading me to the Principal’s office. I’d been promised suspension if I got in trouble at school again.

Some birthday present.

Mrs. Stevens leaned back in her leather desk chair, staring at me with laser-like eyes. I bowed my head to avoid her gaze. Her office had been repainted a moss green since last year, but the big metal desk, the threadbare carpet, and framed certificates on the walls were all exactly the same. Per usual, she didn’t say anything for the first few minutes, and this was after letting me sit in the chair outside her office, being glared at by the school secretary, for nearly half an hour. Our principal liked to let miscreants stew in their own juices, kinda like cops confronting a criminal. Except she was better at it.

She coughed and I looked up. Her soft, brown hair, shot through with gray, contrasted with the stiff posture and the disbelieving expression. Uh oh, I’d really screwed up this time.

“Am I suspended?” I croaked, and my throat constricted with a hint of tears. How pathetic—going from uncontrollable killing machine to whiny loser in five flat. “’Cause I don’t know what happened to me, honest. I’m not on drugs…it’s just…I’ve had a bad day.”

Mrs. Stevens nodded slowly. “I spoke with your mother. I’m very sorry about your car accident, and I’m thankful you weren’t hurt.”

Pity…pity was good. Maybe I could talk my way out of this mess.

Then she tossed me a live grenade.

“Matt…” She paused, looking torn about something. “What’s this about the Green Berets?”

Oh, crap, what had Mom done? I sat there with no clue what I was supposed to say, so I fell back to the usual—cover story.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am.”

“Oh, I think you do.” Mrs. Stevens gave me another one of her piercing stares. “When someone named Sergeant Davis shows up in my office with affidavits and clearance agreements for me to sign, I’m pretty sure I can trust the information.”

Stick-in-the-butt Davis had come to my school? And he’d been promoted to Sergeant? What was going on?

“When was this?” I asked, trying to keep the confusion out of my voice.

“Right after the holidays. He came at your mother’s behest.” Mrs. Stevens’ lips twitched in an almost-smile. “I got the feeling Sergeant Davis wasn’t thrilled to meet with me, but your mother insisted upon some…conditions to your so-called employment with the military. One was that I be aware of the situation so I could monitor you for stress.”

“Why?” I asked, stunned.

“Your mother is very worried about you. She thought you might be having a tough time adjusting at school after your, um, missions.” Mrs. Stevens laughed nervously. It was the first time I’d ever seen her rattled. “I spoke with your uncle and a man named Colonel Black. They explained everything to the extent they could, then I had to sign a pile of papers an inch thick certifying I’d keep this information to myself.” She nodded at me. “You’re pretty important to them.”

Yeah, but not important enough to tell me they were worried I would become the Greenhill High freak show. Or that they’d discussed it with my principal. They
told
Mrs. Stevens and didn’t even think to let me know? Mom was still keeping secrets from me and it pissed me off. I shrank down in my seat, trying to stay calm.

Mrs. Stevens gave me a look of real sympathy. “Matt, I’m not going to suspend you. Not today, anyway.”

I went limp. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ah, not so fast. I have conditions of my own.”

Always a catch. “Okay.”

“If you start feeling…stressed like this again, for whatever reason, you are to report to my office.” Her face softened. “Maybe I could help you work through any problems you might be having before you lash out in the hallway again.”

Great, she thought I was nuts, too. Not wanting her to change her mind about the suspension, I said, “I will. Promise.”

“Good. There are only two periods left in the day. Given the circumstances, perhaps you should go home early. I’ve already asked your mother to come get you.”

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” I stood and gathered up my backpack.

As I opened her office door, she said, “And Matt? Happy birthday.”