Текст книги "Everfound"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

CHAPTER 15

Memory Makes the Man

Moose and Squirrel waited a good long time after the Neon Nightmares left before dredging up the nerve to come down from the mansion roof. Around them other kids were coming out of hiding as well—but just a handful.

“Where’s Mary?” the refugees all asked. “She didn’t go down, did she? Please don’t say that she went down.”

“They got her,” Moose informed them. “The Neons got her and took her away, coffin and all.” Which made the kids as miserable as if she had sunk.

Milos, however, was relieved—but it didn’t temper his anger. “Are you two idiots going to help me or not?” Moose and Squirrel hurried to him, making all sorts of excuses, but Milos would have none of it. “You are both cowards! Now go get the kids that are left, and get this train off of me.”

Moose and Squirrel went to gather the Afterlights who had hidden but had not run away. When Moose and Squirrel took a final head count, their number was forty-three.

“Forty-three?” wailed Milos from beneath the empty sleeping car. “How can there be only forty-three?”

“Most of ’em got scared off,” said Squirrel.

“Fine. Get them to push this thing off of me.”

But try as they might, forty-three Afterlights were not enough to leverage a train car off the tracks.

“That shucks,” said Moose. “Sho what do we do now?”

As Milos struggled to find a solution to his dilemma, he began to smell something. It was faint at first, barely perceptible but growing. It was sweet, and reminded Milos of childhood; something pleasant in the midst of this most unpleasant circumstance. Then all at once he realized that this particular aroma was not a good thing at all.

“Do you schmell that?” said Moose.

“It’s chocolate! It’s chocolate,” said Squirrel. “What do we do?”

By now other kids were scattering, terrified, knowing what that smell meant.

“No! No!” Milos shouted to them. “Stand your ground.”

“Easy for you to say,” shouted one of the escaping kids. “You can’t move.”

To their credit, Moose and Squirrel did not abandon Milos, although they probably both would have wet themselves, had they been alive.

The smell of chocolate quickly grew and became overpowering—intoxicating. Milos could not see anything from his angle, but Moose and Squirrel could, and what they saw made them quiver. The creature came lumbering down the tracks from the northeast, looking like some sort of swamp thing, but dripping chocolate instead of slime. Allie had told them that the Chocolate Ogre was just a boy—and that the monster legend was created by Mary to keep her children fearful, but this oozing spirit appeared every bit the monster that Mary had said it was.

The Chocolate Ogre strode forward at a steady pace along the track, the erie ploosh, ploosh, ploosh of his footsteps would have been comical if the sight of him wasn’t so terrifying. He arrived at the breeched sleeping car, and looked at Moose, then at Squirrel, perhaps for an explanation.

“We didn’t do it!” said Moose.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Squirrel, “it was like this when we got here!”

The Ogre looked at Milos, then back to Moose and Squirrel. “I’m looking for Allie. Do you know her? Do you know where I could find her?” His voice, although slobbery and thick, was not exactly the voice of a monster.

“She’s not here, she’s not here,” wailed Squirrel.

“Quiet!” yelled Milos. Even though he could barely move, he had a handle on the situation. The Ogre had never met them—he had no idea who they were! And so, Milos, using his friendliest voice, said, “We don’t know anyone by that name, but maybe we could help you find her.”

“Will you really help me?” asked the Ogre, overjoyed at the prospect.

To Milos he sounded like a very small child, innocent and trusting. This was not the way Allie had ever described Nick—but then, she hadn’t described him as this freak of fudge either. Perhaps some of him was lost in transformation.

“Mikey said she’d be on a train,” the Ogre said.

“Mikey?” said Moose.

“Do you know him?” asked the Ogre.

“Yeah, yeah,” chimed in Squirrel. “He’s . . . uh . . . uh . . . he’s our best friend!”

“Really? He’s mine too!” said the Ogre.

“And a friend of Mikey’s is a friend of ours,” said Milos. Then he added, “Of course, friends do not let other friends stay stuck beneath trains, do they?”

“No,” said the Ogre. “I guess not.”

“And I’ve heard that the Chocolate Ogre is as strong as a hundred Afterlights.”

“You’ve heard that?” The Ogre was a bit confused.

“Of course!” said Milos. “Why, people have seen you lift entire buildings with your bare hands.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really—so lifting a train should be easy for you.”

Milos did not know all the physical laws of Everlost—but he knew that physical strength had nothing to do with muscles. Afterlights had no actual muscles, just the memory of them. In Everlost you are what you remember—and if memory makes the man, perhaps Milos could plant a false memory of superhuman strength within the Chocolate Ogre’s mind. . . .

“I can pick up a train?” the Ogre asked.

“Sure you can! You could juggle train cars if you wanted to.”

“Hmmm. I’d need three to do that.”

Then the Chocolate Ogre knelt down, grunted like a weight lifter, and in one swift move, lifted the train car off of Milos, hoisting it high above his head.

“What should I do with it?” asked the Ogre.

“How far can you throw it?” asked Moose.

“A mile, I’ll bet,” said Squirrel.

The Ogre thought about it. “I don’t think so, but maybe to those bushes over there.” Then he let it go and sure enough, he threw it exactly as far as he believed he could. It landed in a copse of living-world tumbleweeds, scattering the Afterlights who were hiding behind it, then the sleeping car slowly began to sink into the ground.

Now that Milos was free, he took a moment to study the Ogre, looking into those murky eyes sunken into that mess of a face. This once-human creature seemed lost in a fundamental way. Well, thought Milos, finders keepers! Milos reached his arm out and shook the Ogre’s hand heartily. His whole hand was enveloped in chocolate. “My name is Milos. This is Moose and Squirrel. You are one of us now.”

“I’m . . . I’m . . .” The Ogre searched his thoughts and finally said, “I’m Nick.”

When Milos pulled back his hand, it was covered in chocolate. In a world where food was rarely seen, the sight of chocolate was tempting. He didn’t need to eat—no one in Everlost needed to eat, but that didn’t stop the craving for food—especially something as uniquely satisfying as a taste of chocolate. Milos couldn’t help himself. He licked the chocolate from his hand, and it was absolutely delicious! No wonder the Ogre was able to gather followers. He may not have had Mary’s beauty or vision, but he was a virtual fountain of the thing kids most wanted!

Milos turned and called out to the brush around him. “Come out, all of you!” he said. “The Chocolate Ogre is on our side now. He’s going to help us.”

Bit by bit, the frightened Afterlights cautiously came out of hiding.

“Come see what he has for you,” Milos said. “It is a peace offering and he gives it freely!”

They came forward, and dozens upon dozens of hands reached toward the Ogre, touching his shoulder, his arm, and even his face, taking little bits of him away. One taste of the chocolate was enough to win most of them over.

“But, but . . . Mary told us he was a monster,” said one of the reluctant ones.

“He was,” said Milos being careful to choose his words just right. “But it was Mary’s dream to rehabilitate him, and to make him see her way. Now her dream has come true.”

“Mary . . . ,” said the Chocolate Ogre. He looked off, searching his sopping sweet memory of a mind. “I loved Mary,” he said. This next part came out as a question. “And . . . Mary loved . . . me?”

Milos stood with his mouth open. Moose and Squirrel were wise enough to stay quiet and waited to see how Milos would handle it.

“Yes,” Milos finally said. “Yes. Mary loves all of us, and we all love her.”

The Chocolate Ogre shook his head “No, this was different. . . .” And as Milos watched, it seemed that his features began to look clearer and more defined, less like a thing, and more like a person. Even his voice sounded less slippery. “Yes, we were in love.”

Then Milos let out a calculated laugh and Moose and Squirrel took the cue to laugh as well, until Milos put up his hand to silence them, and became very, very serious.

“Loss of memory is not a thing to laugh at,” Milos said. “All Afterlights must face it. I am truly sorry, and I hope you will forgive me. But you see, Mary has only one love—one soulmate in Everlost . . . and that would be me.”

The Ogre said nothing at first, and Milos didn’t give him any time to think it through. “In all the stories I have heard about the Chocolate Ogre, no one ever mentions Mary—but there is a girl to whom the Ogre is devoted. Let’s see, what was her name again?” Milos pretended to think for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Jill! That’s it—her name is Jackin’ Jill.”

“Jill?” The Ogre took in the lie, and his face began to lose some of its form again, his identity moving away from the boy once known as Nick.

“Yes, you love Jill,” Milos insisted, “and you long to wrap your arms around her, and smother her in chocolate, and sink with her down to the center of the earth.”

“And . . . and this Jill . . . she loves me?”

“More than anything,” said Moose.

Squirrel snickered. “Yeah, yeah, a match made in heaven.” The Chocolate Ogre’s muddy eyes now darted back and forth between the three of them in confusion.

“Do whatever I tell you,” said Milos, “and we will make sure you find Jackin’ Jill, the girl you love.”

The Chocolate Ogre sighed, resigned, and Milos turned to the gathered kids, who still reveled in the tiny taste of chocolate they all just had. “We will track down our attackers and bring Mary back,” Milos told them. “I promise you this.”

“But there are so many of them,” said one fearful Afterlight. “And they have weapons.”

Milos waved the worry away. “Who needs weapons when we have the Chocolate Ogre on our side?”

“Wait,” said the Ogre, trying to remember something. “What about . . . uh . . . what about . . . Allie?”

To which Milos replied, “Allie who?”

The Chocolate Ogre opened his mouth as if to say something—as if there was something he was supposed to remember—someone he was supposed to find. But whatever memory he was trying to save, it sank into the mire of his mind just as the sleeping car sank into the earth.

In her book My Struggle: The Quest for a Perfect World, Mary Hightower expresses her feelings on “lost souls.”

“I believe every wayward Afterlight can be rehabilitated. It begins with the purging of living memory, and ends with the joyous discovery of one’s perfect day, to be relived forevermore. On occasion we can find powers we never knew we had—all the more reason to leave behind as many memories as we can!”

CHAPTER 16

Wurlitzer

There is a vortex in south Texas.

A place that exists both in the living world and in Everlost that is rife with unpredictable supernatural properties. It is much like the Intolerable Nexus of Extremes in Memphis—also known as Graceland—the vortex which accelerated the transmutation of Nick into chocolate. It is similar to the Orlando Frost Vortex, a curious spot that exists underneath a huge faux castle and will cryogenically freeze any Afterlight that stands there.

But to say any one vortex is like another is misleading. All vortices are unique in their effects—and the Vortex of the Aggravated Martyr—also known as the Alamo—had the power to give any army garrisoned there courage. A ridiculous amount of courage. The Neon Nightmares were not much of a fighting force until they chose to live at the Alamo—and although they numbered only a hundred and ten, their courage gave them a boldness that made them seem like twice as many. It was the type of courage that in the living world would get counties, TV shows, and knives named after you, particularly when that courage got you killed.

Due to the fact that the Alamo was a living-world tourist attraction, the place was often very crowded—especially during the day. Such a place is maddening for Afterlights—mobs of flesh-filled bodies walking through you was irritating enough in a normal spot of Everlost—but in a vortex where the two worlds kissed each other, an Afterlight can actually feel the passage of a fleshie, and fleshies can hear, feel, and sometimes even see Afterlights within a vortex—which accounts for various ghost sightings around the living world.

And so, the Neon Nightmares decided it was best if they bunked in the secret part of the Alamo where no one ever went.

The basement.

In the living world, tour guides will tell you that it doesn’t exist. Indeed, Texans may mock you at the mere suggestion. But the truth is, there is a series of tunnels beneath the Alamo connecting chambers and storerooms in a secret cellar that has crossed into Everlost. It was here, beneath the vortex, that the Neon Nightmares called home.

Avalon led their captives to the secret passage behind the paperweight shelves in the gift shop, then down narrow stone stairs. The stairs gave way to a low tunnel that finally opened up into a large, dim chamber filled with bedrolls; a common room where most activities took place. The sleeping Interlights were carried off down a winding corridor to be stored elsewhere until they woke up, but Avalon had the bearers of the glass coffin lay it before him, so he could have a good long look at the girl inside.

“What’s her name?” he asked Jix, and shouted, “Answer me!” before Jix could open his mouth, so that anything Jix said would sound as if he were responding to Avalon’s demand, rather than his question.

“Mary Hightower, the Eastern Witch,” Jix said, and the Neons all murmered to themselves, already building Mary’s powerful mystique in their minds.

Seeing the Neons’ reaction, Avalon said, “She belongs to me now. When she awakes she will be my personal servant,” although Jix suspected it would be the other way around. Avalon told the pallbearers to take her away with the other sleeping Interlights, dismissing her as if she were completely unimportant—but clearly she was already sparking the imagination of the Neons, whose eyes followed the coffin until it was down the hallway and out of sight.

The Neons had far less respect for Jix and Jill, who had their hands tied behind their backs, and were repeatedly taunted and prodded.

“Funny war paint you got,” they said to Jix.

“It’s not paint,” he proudly told them. “I am a son of the jaguar gods.”

“Stop that,” Jill whispered to him. “The ‘jaguar god’ stuff is getting old.”

Jix whispered back, “If only one in five believe me, that’s more than twenty who’ll be afraid to fight me when we try to escape.”

Jix looked around to see if there might be an escape route. There were several other doorways, leading to other rooms, or tunnels. Until he knew where they led, there was no sense trying to run. At the far end of the room, Jix noticed a large object covered by a flowery quilt. It was about four feet high with a rounded top. He couldn’t imagine what it might be.

“We have two coins!” Avalon announced to his warriors, tapping his shirt pocket to make sure they were still there. The Neons cheered. Then Avalon gave Jix and Jill an unpleasant Oreo smile. “If it was up to me, I’d lock you both in the old storeroom and forget about you for a year or two—but it ain’t my decision to make.”

“I thought you were the leader,” Jix said.

Avalon shook his head. “No, I’m the high priest.”

Jill gave him her best diminishing look. “You don’t look like much of a priest.”

Avalon made a sudden move as if to slap her with the back of his hand, but he didn’t do it. He was only trying to make her flinch. Jill, however, never flinched at anything.

Then Jix locked eyes with him and said very calmly, “If you hit her, I will open my mouth wide enough to swallow you whole, force you through my bowels, then out my other end.”

Avalon scowled at him. “You can’t do that.”

“Try me,” Jix said. Avalon backed off, then angrily stormed away, and Jix winked at Jill. “One in five.”

They watched as the rest of the Neons stood at attention and Avalon went toward the blanket-covered object in the front of the room.

“What is it?” Jill whispered.

“An altar, I think,” said Jix. Then Avalon got down on his knees, and the minute he did all the others knelt as well.

“On your knees!” ordered one of the guards, forcing Jix and Jill down.

Then Avalon removed the blanket.

There were many unusual objects in Everlost, with unusual properties. While there were things that had crossed that had made Jix raise an eyebrow, there was nothing as strange as the object beneath the blanket. He wasn’t surprised that it had crossed—what was bizarre was how it was being used.

The object was an old-fashioned jukebox. Jix had seen them before in the restaurants and bars that tourists visited. The old ones used small vinyl records to play music; the new ones had CDs or digital files, but still were made to look old. This was the real thing: a classic round-topped machine built in the 1950s with lots of chrome and neon—red, yellow, and green—the same colors as their war paint.

“Now I’ve seen everything,” said Jill, and one of the guards shook her. “No talking once Wurlitzer is revealed!”

The device, which did bear the company name “Wurlitzer” sat patiently waiting for someone to select a song. But of course, the songs were not free.

“Mighty Wurlitzer, we beseech thee,” chanted Avalon. “Answer us what we ask.”

“Oh, brother,” mumbled Jill, and was shaken again.

Avalon deposited an Everlost coin into the slot. It rattled down into the machine’s mechanism and jangled as it dropped into the coin box. Then he asked his question. “What shall we do with these two prisoners?” Then he pressed a selection button.

Wurlitzer whirred and spun through a number of records.

“How fair is it,” Jix said to his guard, “if he gets to choose the song?”

“Don’t matter what he chooses. Wurlitzer’s got a mind of its own.”

The jukebox finally settled on a song, and through its little window, Jix could see a 45 vinyl record lifted up and dropped on the turntable. The needle moved toward it, the record popped and clicked, and an old crooner’s voice began to sing:

“Please release me, let me go . . .”

The crowd breathed a singular moan and Avalon turned to them. “Silence!” he shouted, as pompously as he could. “Wurlitzer has spoken.”

The guards immediately removed Jix’s and Jill’s bonds.

“I’m glad Wurlitzer didn’t play ‘Fly Me to the Moon,’” said Jill.

As the song continued, Avalon came up to both of them. “I suppose Wurlitzer doesn’t care about keeping you until we get your stupid bucket of coins,” he said. “You’re not important enough to him.”

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Jill asked snidely.

“Shows how little you know,” Avalon said. “For your information Wurlitzer can be a boy or a girl. It all depends on who’s singing.”

When the song ended, Avalon covered the jukebox and the warriors went about their normal business of entertaining themselves much the way Mary’s children had—but the Neons’ games and conversations were wilder and ruder.

Avalon, resigned to Wurlitzer’s decree, said, “All right then, you’re free to go.”

And to Jill’s absolute horror Jix said, “I prefer to stay.”

“What?!”

“You go if you want,” Jix told her. “I want to learn the way of Wurlitzer.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“I don’t joke like that.”

Avalon smiled broadly, exposing what looked like railroad tracks in mud. “You want to be one of us?”

Jix didn’t answer, but Avalon took his silence as acceptance. “All right, then! You won’t regret it.” He looked back at the blanket-covered jukebox. “See? There was a reason why Wurlitzer chose to let you go. It was because he knew you would stay.” He looked at Jill, in mild disgust, then pointed to one of the guards. “You—take her upstairs and throw her out.”

“No!” said Jill, clearly furious at Jix. “I guess I can stay for a while. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere better to go, right?”

“All right then,” said Avalon. “But you don’t get war paint until you prove yourself worthy.”

Jackin’ Jill was not a good girl. She was not a nice girl. In life she had been a constant source of trouble to her family, and was even more trouble as a skinjacker. She always thought her parents would see her coma as a blessing to them, and wondered why they hadn’t just pulled the plug years ago.

Whether or not her sociopathic streak was hardwired or was a reaction to the harsh realities around her, she didn’t know and didn’t care. She liked doing bad stuff. She was bad. That’s what she was always told, and so she had embraced it.

Reaping souls from the living had begun as a way of maintaining status in the inner circle. First in Pugsy Capone’s Chicago, and then for Mary—dear, sweet, goody-two-shoes Mary Hightower, who loved all children, and wanted to protect her widdle babies from the big bad world, by having Jill reap them into Everlost.

Jill didn’t know why she enjoyed reaping. All she knew was that there was an exhilaration in doing something so horribly wrong, and yet being rewarded for it. She would never admit that she had mixed feelings about it. She was good at it, and when her conscience tried to rear its ugly head, she would smack it back down, reminding herself that her only worth was in what she could do.

And then along came this feline freak, who cut through all of it every time he opened his lousy mouth, and made her see herself in a new light. Jix called her a huntress—and said that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing evil. All she had to do was leave the path she was on, and find a better, nobler path for her tendencies. No one had ever suggested that there could be anything remotely redeeming about her. Did he really believe it?

Jill cornered Jix in a saddle room where half the saddles were crumbling to dust and the other half had crossed into Everlost. It was just one of many hidden chambers in the old Alamo tunnels.

“What were you thinking?” she demanded, pushing him against the wall. “You want to stay here with these nut jobs?”

Although Jill thought she caught him by surprise, Jix had actually seen her coming. He could have dodged her, but he let her rough him up. She needed to get it out of her system, and besides it was the first physical contact they’d had.

“If we left, they would have Mary,” he told her.

“Why do you care about Mary?”

Jix pulled away from her, spun her around, and put her in a firm, yet tender headlock. “There are things you don’t know about me,” he told her.

Jill struggled, but he knew it was only for show. She could have gotten out of his grip if she had wanted to.

“What? That you’re on a mission from the jaguar gods?”

“Close,” said Jix, “because His Excellency does think of himself as a god.”

“His Excellency? I thought you were alone.”

“I never actually said that. You just assumed.” Now the struggle was for real and so he let her go.

“I gave up my coin to save you! You owe me the truth.”

“Very well,” Jix said. “But not now. There are too many others who can hear us.” And sure enough, a few Neons passed by the saddle room, taking note of them.

Jill nodded her reluctant acceptance. “I really hate you, you know that?” Then she stormed away.

In truth there were several reasons for Jix to stay. Bringing Mary to the king was just one of them. But there was also something about this jukebox which caught in his mind. Only a fool would worship a ridiculous machine—and while the Neons weren’t the smartest, they had been able to avoid detection and resist being conquered by His Excellency. Did the jukebox have something to do with that? Was their devotion to this machine based on something real?

Jix knew there were signs in Everlost. Signs that truly pointed to something beyond all of this. The most obvious ones were the coins: objects which were from neither the living world nor from Everlost, and had the ability to transport a soul to the next world, whatever that might be.

And then there were the fortune cookies—which they knew about even on the Yucatan peninsula, although they were harder to come across there. Everyone knew how in Everlost, all fortunes were true. Each one provided actual guidance, speaking to every Afterlight individually.

There was one time Jix had been sent to scout out a band of Afterlights that had been gathering newcomers in Mexico City with hopes of raising an Everlost Aztec Empire at Tenochtitlan. Thanks to Jix’s help, His Excellency conquered them. Jix was rewarded with one of the king’s own personal fortune cookies. Not just an ordinary one, but one coated in white chocolate—and those were supposed to contain the most powerful fortunes in all of Everlost.

Jix’s fortune had read, “You will free them.”

When His Excellency had asked what it said, Jix told him “The jaguar gods smile on you.” It was the only time Jix had ever lied to the king. That fortune was always at the back of Jix’s mind and he often wondered who it was he was meant to free.

When it came to the jukebox, it also said exactly what needed to be said—so in that sense, it was not all that different from the fortune cookies.