Текст книги "Everwild"
Автор книги: Neal Shusterman
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
The dog sensed her presence. Not entirely, but just enough for it to act edgy whenever Zin was in the room. Then the dog warmed to her. It would come near to where she was standing, and roll over, waiting to be scratched on the belly. So Zin would use her ripping hand to reach in and do it. When her hand came back with dog hair on it, she got the idea. If dog hair could come through, then why not the whole dog?
That family never knew what happened to their beloved pet. Probably figured coyotes got him or something. And now Zin had herself a much needed friend. She even changed his name. Since she was named after a flower, she named him after another plant. She chose the fast-growing kudzu, because of the way the dog had grown on her. She didn't even remember his real name anymore.
But that was a story she couldn't tell, because she knew in her heart how shameful it was. Well, what goes around comes around to bite you in the butt, and now it was time to make things right. But she didn't have to like it.
She did what the Ogre told her to do: She found a family. Not just any family, but one that was like the one Kudzu had come from. She found a wealthy family with two little kids, and Zin watched them long enough to know they were good people. She sat with them at dinner, ripping herself some corn on the cob when no one was looking. Then, when she was absolutely sure this was the right home, she went to get Kudzu and the Ogre.
Distant thunder rolled, low and ominous as they approached the house. Dark clouds filled the Eastern horizon. Zin felt much the same on the inside.
"Looks like they already have a dog," the Ogre said, as they stepped into the family's backyard. There was a doghouse in the yard, and two big bags of dried dog food leaned up against it.
"I put that there," Zin told him. She had ripped the doghouse and the food from a nearby pet store, and had crammed it all into the backyard earlier in the day. The family had seen it and was understandably confused. The children were convinced that this was all some sort of surprise–that somebody was about to give them a dog, and the parents tried to figure which friend or relative might do something like this.
"I hadda prepare them," Zin told the Ogre. "Because, if a dog just showed up in their yard, they'd probably just take him to the pound. But if he shows up along with all this other stuff, they'll know he's not just a stray. They'll know that someone meant to put him here, even if they don't know who."
"Good thinking," said the Ogre.
The family was inside now, maybe making calls to see who was playing pooch games with them. Zin held Kudzu for the longest time. He might have been a smart dog, but he had no idea what was coming.
"Maybe it won't work," Zin said. "A dog's not like a bunch of stupid flowers. Maybe something this big–this alive–can't get through."
"Maybe not, but there's only one way to know for sure."
She knew the Ogre would say that.
Zin spoke to Kudzu in hushed tones, saying all the things you say to someone when you know you're never going to see him again. Then finally the Ogre said, "It's time."
Zin grabbed Kudzu by the scruff of his neck with her ripping hand. "Sorry, boy," and she began to push him forward.
Cramming, which had been so hard at first, had become easier, just as the Ogre had said it would–but nothing could make this easy. It wasn't like picking a lock, it was like breaking into Fort Knox.
And to make it even worse, Kudzu began to whine and resist the second the portal began to open. "Help me!" Zin said, straining to force Kudzu forward. Now the Ogre pushed along with her, both of them straining with all their might. His snout was through, then his head, then his front legs. Kudzu let loose a mournful howl, the portal stretched around his haunches, and with a final push he was through, the portal healed closed, and Zin and the Ogre fell back, knocked down by the shock wave of the sealing portal.
Kudzu darted back and forth on the grass in front of them, confused and confounded by the change.
"Look!" the Ogre said. "He has no afterglow! Do you see? Do you see?" Kudzu was back in the living world! The browns of his fur were paler and out of focus, and his body was true flesh and bone. He leaped this way and that, searching for Zin, barking frantically. Some faint sense must have told him she was still there, but he couldn't find her and never would.
"He's alive!" the Ogre said, like some mad scientist. "He's alive!"
"I'm sorry, boy," Zin whimpered, "I'm so, so sorry... ." But she knew Kudzu couldn't hear her.
The family, hearing the barking dog, came out to the yard, and although it took a few minutes, it was the kids who won Kudzu over. They put their arms around his frightened neck.
"What's your name, boy?" the girl asked.
"It's Kudzu!" shouted Zin, but no one heard.
Thunder rolled, a little closer than before. The parents looked up at the threatening sky, and the boy said, "Let's call him Storm!"
And that finally closed the circle–because Zin suddenly remembered that Storm was his real name.
In a few moments, the dog's barks became whimpers, which soon gave way to nervous panting. It wasn't long until Kudzu/Storm lay down and rolled over, angling for a belly rub, which his new family was more than happy to provide.
Zin turned to the Ogre. "I hate you," she said, and she meant it with every bit of her being.
"You can hate me all you want," he told her. "But you've just shown your loyalty by putting your orders ahead of your personal feelings. That kind of loyalty is rewarded ... lieutenant." Then he reached forward with his chocolate-covered hand, and painted a fresh brown chevron on the sleeve of her uniform. Then he said something that put it all into focus for Zin, making her admire him almost as much as she hated him.
"I want you to remember what it took to push Kudzu into the living world," the Chocolate Ogre told her, "because very soon, that's exactly what you'll be doing to Mary Hightower."
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PART FIVE The Skinjacker Revelations In Tips for Taps, chapter 5, entitled "What You Don't Remember Can't Hurt You," Mary Hightower writes:
"Memory is a strange thing in Everlost. The Afterlight mind is like a toy box in a toddler's room. If a precious memory is taken out of the box to be pawed and fondled, chances are it won't get back into the box. Consequently the only way to hold on to a memory in Everlost is never to think about it."
CHAPTER 25 Lair of the Cat Woman
When it came to memory, Mary's observations didn't hold true for skinjackers. Unlike Nick, Allie never forgot her last name. It was Johnson.
With such a common last name, however, locating her parents in Memphis was not an easy matter. Her parents names were Adam and Andrea, so naturally they chose A names for their daughters. There were ten Adams, two Andreas, and more than a hundred A. Johnsons in the Memphis phone book. She had already determined that both their cell phone numbers had been disconnected, so Allie would have to skinjack someone, and start making cold calls.
It had to be done by skinjacking–she already knew that. She didn't know whether or not the "gravity" of home would apply here, but she didn't want to take the chance. Showing up at her family's new house and witnessing their lives moving forward without her might turn the ground to quicksand just as standing on her old doorstep had.
Besides, she had another compelling reason to skinjack. The Everlost wind. It was uncanny, and maddening–a gale force that only Afterlights could feel blasting off the Mississippi River. Five miles east of Memphis, where she and Milos had parted company, the wind was just a breeze, but the closer one came to the river, the more powerful the wind grew–and since Memphis rested right on the river's east bank, there was no way to escape it.
Allie skinjacked a tourist walking toward the river to see what this was all about. From within a fleshie, there seemed to be nothing unusual at all. The river appeared normal ... but then she made the mistake of peeling out of the tourist right by the riverbank. The wind caught her like a hurricane, whistling in her ears, scrambling her thoughts. She struggled against it, but in the end it lifted her off her feet, and tumbled her head over heels through building after building, until she was far enough away to find her balance again. In this city–and presumably anyplace on the east bank of the Mississippi–the only way to resist the wind was to skinjack.
Therefore negotiating Memphis required her to skinjack on a regular basis. It was a challenge, because Allie had never stayed fleshbound for long periods of time. The longest had been the recent drive with Milos, Moose, and Squirrel as they drove to Memphis in the bodies of a family. That had taken just a few hours, and Allie found that peeling out had been like trying to take off a wetsuit that was two sizes two small.
The task of finding and approaching her family would require a very specific kind of host, but who to choose? There were so many variables, Allie had to create herself a checklist of all the things that her host should, and should not be.
1) It had to be someone her parents would invite inside.
If she skinjacked a deliveryman, as she had done when she approached her old house in New Jersey, it wouldn't be good enough. With a deliveryman as her host, any encounter would be brief, and only over the threshold of the front door. What she needed was not just a way to get the door open, but a way to get through it.
2) It had to be someone they would feel comfortable talking with about the accident.
When she finally got inside their new home, she didn't want to talk about the weather and current events, she wanted to know how it all played out, and somehow give her parents, her sister, and maybe herself, some comfort and closure.
3) It had to be someone who would not be missed for multiple skinjackings.
If Allie was to use someone's body as a base of operations, it would be a nuisance if that person had a demanding job or a whole lot of personal responsibilities.
4) It had to be someone who would not notice the lost time themselves.
A suspicious fleshie was the worst kind of host. Best to choose someone who wouldn't be aware that something unusual was going on–or at least could come up with a logical explanation for the missing time.
With all these things to consider, Allie was undecided for days, shuttling from person to person, hiding within them, observing them, thinking she had the perfect host, but then changing her mind. Allie finally settled on a woman who lived alone, except for a multitude of cats that came and went through a pet door. By Allie's observations, the woman's life was simple, and predictable. Tending to the cats, watching TV, crocheting, taking an afternoon nap. No one bothered her, and she bothered no one else. She was the perfect host for a long-term project.
When the woman lay down for her nap at two o'clock the following afternoon, Allie skinjacked her, and her detective work began. The first few phone calls determined that none of the Adams and Andreas listed were her parents, so she went on to the countless A. Johnsons. The idea that one of her parents' live voices could be at the other end of any phone call made her borrowed heart race, but mostly she got answering machines, which was a relief each time. That first day all she did was make calls, but not a single A. Johnson had been her mother or her father, and what few Memphis relatives she knew by name must have been unlisted too.
After three hours of unsuccessful phone calls, Allie began to doubt everything. What if the people in New Jersey were wrong, and her parents didn't come to Memphis? What if her father died in the accident after all? Allie began to despair, and her own emotional turmoil began to wake the woman.
Losing control of a fleshie was like slipping on wet ice–once you lost control, it was hard to get it back, and Allie was slip-sliding like crazy. The woman awoke, took over her own body, and Allie quickly hid behind the woman's thoughts–which, without proper preparation, was like hiding behind window curtains. Now there was only a slim veil between her consciousness and Allie's–any powerful thought would reveal her presence, so she tried not to think at all.
–My my my–half past five long nap–my my my–how did I get into the kitchen–my my my–I didn't leave that phone book out did I–my my my–
Allie knew peeling out of the woman wouldn't be easy, having been in her for more than three hours, but she didn't want to linger inside her either. She peeled out while the woman was distracted, tending to the cats–but after three whole hours, this wasn't like peeling off a wet suit, it was more like ripping off a Band-Aid. It was sharp and shocking. The woman gasped and fell back into a chair, her hand on her chest. Then, when the woman caught her breath, she went around the house checking that all the locks were secure, as if she sensed an intruder. So much for not raising suspicion.
Now Allie was back in the wind–not strong enough to knock her off her feet, but disorienting nonetheless. She skinjacked someone driving through the neighborhood, then when she got to a more crowded street, she soul-surfed from car to car, until she was far enough away from the river that the wind was bearable. She spent the night knees-to-chest on a roadside deadspot the size of a basketball, considering what her next move should be.
It was somewhere around midnight that it struck Allie how amazingly stupid she had been! Her investigative technique was stuck in "Nancy Drew" mode, which might have been fine when the cat woman was her age, but not in this day and age. Allie should have been much more forward-thinking. This, after all, was the age of information. Why would anyone need a phone book when you had e-mail addresses?
Allie returned the following day to discover that the cat woman was cutting-edge. In her spare room, she had a laptop that picked up a neighbor's wireless network. Of course her Internet favorites list contained things like the Crocheting Club of America, but it was good to know that even the hopelessly old-fashioned and questionably batty could still be Web-savvy.
Now Allie had a plan. She waited until the woman took her afternoon nap, jacked her the instant the woman's head hit the pillow, and went straight for the laptop.
First Allie created a new e-mail address: catwomanjacker@yahoo.com. The question was, why would the cat woman have a reason to e-mail Allie's parents? Allie had the perfect solution. The cat woman bore a slight resemblance to Mrs. Wintuck, one of Allie's old teachers. Of course the hair was the wrong color and a little too straight, but that could be dealt with. Allie felt confident that this woman could pass for Mrs. Wintuck–at least when it came to her parents. So she composed an e-mail using both of her parents' e-mail addresses as recipients, marking it "urgent."
Mr. and Mrs. Johnson: I'm not sure if you'll remember me–my name is Sarah Wintuck, I was your daughter Allie's fourth-grade teacher. Having left New Jersey myself several years ago, I never heard about what happened to her until recently. I'm so terribly sorry. My heart goes out to you. I will be visiting Memphis all this week, and would love the opportunity to meet with you.
Allie thought for a moment, then added:
I have some fond memories of your daughter that I know she would have wanted me to share with you.
Sincerely,
Sarah Wintuck
Now there was nothing to do but wait.
Within five minutes the mailer-daemon sent back her father's e-mail as "undeliverable" and "nonexistent."
Allie's heart sank in the old woman's chest as she stared numbly at the screen. It was her mother who had relatives in Memphis. Could it be that her father died in the crash? She tried to dismiss the notion and see the glass as half-full. Her mother's e-mail was not bounced back. That was a positive sign.
She waited for a response from her mother, filling her time by tending to all those mewling cats who kept jumping up on the table, competing for her attention. By six o'clock no response had come, and Allie knew she couldn't stay much longer. She lay down on the bed, peeled out of the woman, and the shock of it jarred the woman awake. The cat woman bolted up in bed, then once more chastised herself for sleeping the day away, and checked all the locks again.
* * * The next day when the cat woman lay down for her nap, she set her alarm clock for one hour. It did no good, because the moment Allie skinjacked her, she turned the alarm off.
There was a single e-mail waiting for catwomanjacker@yahoo.com.
Allie felt the woman's body become lightheaded in nervous anticipation. She took slow, deep breaths, waited until the wave of dizziness passed, then Allie opened the e-mail.
Mrs. Wintuck: Thank you for your note. It would be wonderful to catch up with you. Anytime after five, any day this week would be fine. Perhaps you could come over for dinner. The address is 42 Springdale Street–let me know if you need directions, and when you'd like to stop by.
Sincerely,
Andrea Johnson
Allie pushed away from the computer so quickly, she nearly fell over backward in the chair. A cat jumped up on the laptop, opening several random windows. It must have hit the reply button as well, because the top window was an empty reply, just waiting for Allie to fill in the words.
Allie told her mother she would be there at six thirty tonight.
Then she went out to buy hair color and a curling iron.
CHAPTER 26 Home
The house did not look like a home her family should live in–but then, no home that didn't include Allie would seem right. As she approached the front door, she double-checked her dowdy clothes, and her newly styled hair–now auburn instead of the salt-and-pepper it had been. If she didn't know better, she really would think she was her fourth-grade teacher.
She stood at the front door for what felt like forever, reaching for the doorbell, then pulling her finger back, reaching, then pulling back, until finally she pulled back a little too late, and succeeded in ringing the bell anyway.
Footsteps from inside. The door opening. A familiar face. A little careworn, a little tired, but Allie still knew that face. After three years Allie was standing in front of her mother.
"Mrs. Wintuck, I'm glad you could make it."
Allie had to keep from hurling herself into her mother's arms. She had to remember she had a role to play. She was Allie pretending to be a cat woman pretending to be a teacher from New Jersey. "Please, call me Sarah," Allie said, and stepped into the house. The foyer opened right into the living room. All their old furniture was there, with a few new additions.
"Make yourself comfortable," her mother said. "Would you like something to drink?"
"Some water would be nice."
Her mother went off to get some water, and Allie went to work looking around the room, searching for any sign that her father was still part of this picture, but there was so much to take in, she didn't even know what she should be looking for. He was in photographs, but then so was she. A high school graduation picture sat on the mantel. It hadn't even occurred to Allie that her sister, April, would now be away at college. While time had stopped for Allie, everyone else's lives had moved on.
"I've ordered Chinese food," her mother said, coming back from the kitchen with some bottled water. "I hope you don't mind; I didn't get home from work in time to cook."
"That's perfectly all right, I'm just glad to be here."
"We're glad to have you."
We! Her mother said we! "So ... your husband ..."
"He's picking up the food on the way home. He should be here soon."
Allie practically collapsed into the sofa, full of sweet relief. So he had survived! If nothing else came from this meeting, at least she would have that! But then–what if it was a new husband? What if her mother had remarried? A sister in college, a new house–a lot can happen in three years. She had to know.
"Was he ... badly injured in the accident? I hope not." Allie clenched her toes, preparing for the worst of all possible news. Then her mother said.
"It was a difficult rehabilitation, but he pulled through."
Allie released her breath, not even realizing she had been holding it. She felt her face flush with relief. Her mother took it for thirst, and sat across from her, pouring the bottled water into a glass for her. As Allie reached for the glass, she saw that her hand–the cat woman's hand–was trembling, so Allie took the glass with her other hand instead.
"I must say, I was surprised to get your e-mail," her mother said.
"As soon as I heard you were here in Memphis, I knew I had to contact you. You know, Allie was one of my favorite students."
Her mother smiled slimly. "Really."
Allie searched her memory for a poignant moment to share. "I remember for Mother's Day, we had a poem that each student was supposed to paste into a card they were making–but Allie insisted on writing her own poem–and when it was done, half the class wanted to use her poem instead of the original one!"
Her mother looked at her incredulously. "I still have that card. And you're telling me you remember that?"
Actually, Allie remembered the poem itself, but realized that reciting it might be just a little too weird. "As I said, she was a favorite student."
"What else do you remember?" her mother asked. The tone of the question seemed just a little bit off. Allie didn't think much of it at the time.
"I remember ... I remember one day she came to school sad, because you and she had a fight that morning. Something about a neighborhood boy you didn't want her to spend time with. She never told you, but she was sorry– and you were right, he turned out to be a real creep."
Her mother furrowed her eyebrows. "That wasn't in fourth grade."
How stupid! thought Allie. Of course it wasn't. Allie found herself getting increasingly nervous, and as she did, that hand kept trembling more and more. "No, it wasn't," Allie said. "But sometimes Allie would confide in me, even years after she had left my class."
Whoo! Lucky save. Allie lifted the water to her mouth, and noticed that both her hands were trembling now.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes, yes, fine. Not to worry." Then the glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the hardwood floor. It was the blasted cat woman! Allie was losing control. How long had she been in her body now? Three hours? Four? Quickly she bent over to pick up the broken glass, but her hands were shaking too much. "How clumsy of me!"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it."
Now they were both on their knees picking up the broken glass, and when Allie looked to her mother, Allie found herself suddenly hissing through gritted teeth.
"Help me–she's stolen my body!"
Her mother just stared at her, not sure how to react. "What did you say?"
Allie was slipping on the ice again. The cat woman was not only awake, but she knew! Allie had to remain in control at all costs. She grappled with the woman inside her mind, forcing her down, and said, her voice a strange warble. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm prone to sudden outbursts. Tourette's Syndrome, you know. Some days are better than others."
Then came the blessed sound of a phone ringing.
"I should get that," Allie's mother said, a little coolly. "Leave the glass, I'll take care of it."
She crossed the room to pick up the phone, while Allie buried her face in her hands.
Stay out of this! she silently told the cat woman. You'll get your stupid body back!
–Who are you? What do you want from me?–
It's not your business! Allie bore down and pushed her deep again.
Her mother was on the phone now. Allie now sat on her shaking hands, and forced a fake smile as her mother turned back to her.
"Yes ... I see ..." her mother said into the phone. "Is that so? ... Don't worry, I'll take care of it... . I said don't worry ... I know ... me, too."
She hung up, and came back toward Allie, but she didn't sit down. "That was my husband," she said. "He just got off the phone with Sarah Wintuck, who's still teaching fourth grade in Cape May, New Jersey."
The slippery ice beneath Allie's feet became the edge of a glacier calving into the sea. She was in freefall now, and deep inside her the cat woman was screaming to be released.
"I don't know who you are, but I want you to leave," her mother said coldly.
"I ... I just ..." But what could she say? What could she tell her that would make any sense? "I have a message from your daughter!"
The hatred in her mother's eyes was so potent, Allie had to look away. "I want you out of my house!" she said. "Now!" And she didn't wait for her to leave. She grabbed Allie by her skinny cat woman arm, and pulled her toward the door. In a moment she was over the threshold again, outside the door, about to be hurled out of her parents' lives.
"Please!" Allie said.
"Help me!" shouted the cat woman.
"You think I don't know about you people!" said her mother. "You prey on people's hopes, telling them what they want to hear, and then you rob them blind! Well, you picked the wrong family to scam!"
Her mother's hand was on the door, ready to slam it, and Allie couldn't allow that. She had to say something to make her understand.
"They were arguing about the radio!"
And it stopped her mother cold. "What did you say?"
"When the accident happened, they were arguing about the radio–he turned it down, and she turned it back up. But it wasn't his fault! She wants you both to know that the accident wasn't his fault!"
Her mother's expression went from shock to horror to fury in the span of a single second, and then she said in a voice lethal with venom, "Whoever you are, I hope you rot in hell!" She slammed the door so hard it almost broke the jamb, and Allie could hear her bursting into tears on the other side.
Allie ran from the house, tears filling her own eyes, her whole body shaking, the cat woman fighting to get out, and there was a pain deep in her back, spreading down her arms.
This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to bring comfort to her parents, not anguish.
–Let me go!– screamed the cat woman, and Allie refused, taking out all her anger on her. If the woman had only stayed asleep–if she had only stayed quiet, Allie would have talked her way out of this. Things would have gone differently if she didn't have to fight the cat woman for control.
This is your fault!Allie screamed in her thoughts as she ran. You couldn't just let me do this! You couldn't just let it be! They were on a busy street now–a commercial street full of shops restaurants and cars. Plenty of people to skinjack. Allie tried to peel out, disgusted with the cat woman and her body–but she couldn't do it. She tugged and twisted, but it was as if she was glued to the cat woman's frame. She had stayed inside her too long!
–Get out of me!–
I'm trying!
The pain in her back was moving to her chest. It was intense, and it was hard to breathe. She shouldn't have run so fast. Not in this body. It suddenly dawned on her that the cat woman was having a heart attack–Allie had given her a heart attack, and now she was stuck with her in this feeble failing body!
–what have you done to me?– the cat woman wailed.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way.
She stumbled in the front door of a restaurant.
–what have you done?–Shut up! I'll get us out of this, Allie told her.
The maître d' looked at her in alarm. "Help me!" she said. It was all she could do to get the words out. "Heart." Restaurants did have emergency kits, didn't they?
The Maitre d' looked like a deer in headlights, then he glanced down at his reservation book as if the solution might be written there. He was useless.
Allie, with pain getting worse by the second, and darkness closing in around her, spied an electrical outlet on the wall. They used electricity to restart a failing heart, right? She grabbed a knife from a table, crumbled to her knees, and shoved the tip of the knife into the socket.
The electric shock sent Allie flying. She seemed to burst apart in all directions, and pull back together a dozen yards away. She fell to the ground and began to sink into the living world. She was herself again, and back in Everlost!
She stood, and turned to the cat woman being helped up to a sitting position. She looked bad, but not as bad as Allie thought she would. A waiter took her pulse, and seemed satisfied. Silverware in a socket wasn't the best way to jumpstart a heart, but at least it had worked.
"She stole me," the cat woman muttered. "She stole me... ."
"Just relax," the waiter said. "You're going to be fine."
Half the people in the restaurant had already dialed 911, and the wail of an approaching ambulance could already be heard. It was out of her hands now, so she soul-surfed out of the restaurant, into a passing car, then another, then another, and didn't stop until she was miles away.
* * * The joy of seeing her mother should have been enough to take away the sting of her reaction. After all, how could her mother react any other way? How could she trust a strange woman who had not only lied to her about her identity, but seemed to know secrets that no one but Allie could have known? Of course she would have been horrified!
But that didn't make it hurt any less. The fact that she had nearly killed a woman barely even registered in Allie's mind. All that mattered to her was home. She still hadn't seen her father–but she knew this craving for home was even deeper than that, because, like skinjacking itself, a little taste of home was not enough. Against all reason, she hungered for it. She needed more than just closure, she needed connection. Coming here was a mistake, but now that she had opened this Pandora's box, it couldn't be closed. The only way to close the lid was to step inside and pull the lid down like the lid of a coffin.
CHAPTER 27 Skinjacker's Lullaby
