Текст книги "Everwild"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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That night, Allie fell to what may have been the lowest point of her afterlife when she skinjacked a seven-year-old boy at one in the morning.

It had to be someone lighter and more nimble than her, because the only way into her parents' new home was to climb in through an upstairs window. She didn't know what she would do once she got in, all she knew was that she had to get in, and keep getting in until she could make her parents understand that she was not gone, she was right here, and wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon.

There was a tree in the front yard, and open windows upstairs. Her parents always kept the upstairs windows open on summer nights. The tree was a live oak–a knobby thing, with a double trunk full of random twisting limbs. It was a climbing tree–and although the limb leaning closest to the house was a slim one, Allie reasoned that a child who weighed less than fifty pounds wouldn't break the limb.

She trespassed in neighborhood homes, and finally found the perfect specimen a few blocks away. She didn't have to put the boy to sleep, because he was already in the deep kind of slumber that only young children can reach. She easily seized control, slipped on a pair of velcro SpiderMan shoes, and went downstairs and out into the night.

The moon was a scant sliver in the sky, a scimitar edge that seemed to slice the clouds that crossed its path. The streets were deserted, and no lights were on in Allie's parents' house. This boy was no stranger to climbing trees. Allie knew it the second she scuttled up the trunk. She relied on the boy's muscle memory to take her higher until she was on the branch that stretched toward the house and the open upstairs window. She climbed out toward the edge of the branch, and just as she reached toward the window the branch began to break.

Allie gripped on to the window ledge for all she was worth, and the boy hit the side of the house with a thunk. Had she been in her own body, she would not have been able to cling to the ledge, but there's a reason why small children can climb to high places. His body was so light, she was able to pull herself up, then, holding on with one hand, she thrust the other through the window screen, and tore the screen loose. It tumbled down into the yard, and Allie hauled herself through the window, into a bedroom.

By now a light had come on in the hallway–she could see it underneath the closed door–and she heard footsteps moving hurriedly toward the room, so she scrambled underneath the bed just as the door opened. From under the bed, she could see two bare feet entering the room. The feet of a man. Her father. He flicked on a light and the room around the bed became much too bright for comfort. Allie pulled herself as deep under the bed as she could get. Although Allie was wildly out of breath, and spiked with adrenaline, she slowed her breathing to make it as quiet as possible, and she watched her father's feet as he moved around the bed to the window. Allie could feel the boy's heart beating as far up as her eyeballs now, making her vision blurred and veiny with each beat.

"What was it?" said her mother, who was now standing at the threshold.

"Nothing," her father said. "The tree knocked down a window screen, that's all."

"I told you we should have had it trimmed." Then she added, "Are you sure that's all it was?"

"Come look for yourself."

Her mother crossed to the window. Allie heard the window being pulled closed. "I'm sorry," her mother said. "After that woman today, I'm a little spooked."

"There are crazies everywhere. But if it'll make you feel better, I'll see about getting that alarm system."

Her parents left the room, turning off the lights and closing the door. In a few moments Allie heard the complaint of springs as they climbed back into bed. Allie remained frozen for ten minutes, just in case they decided to come back in. Then finally she came out from under the bed and looked around. With nothing but a distant streetlight shining through the curtains, everything was cast in shades of gray. Even so, Allie recognized exactly what this room was.

This was her bedroom.

Or at least the Memphis version of it. It had been her bed she was hiding under, with her covers spread across it. There was the desk where she had once labored over homework, and on the walls were posters of bands whose music she hadn't heard for three years. It was like a museum. A shrine to her memory. What on earth had possessed her parents to do this? It would be one thing to keep her room in the old house, but to recreate it here? She didn't know what to think.

She reached out and took a teddy bear from a shelf. Allie secretly loved fluffy things, but being a nonfluffy girl, she never kept her stuffed animals the way nature intended; she always tweaked them somehow. This one was "Winnie the Punk," with Sharpie-drawn tattoos on his fur, and a safety pin through his eyebrow. The bear seemed larger than she remembered, but then she realized that it wasn't larger, she was just in a smaller body.

Allie clutched the bear to her chest, and felt herself becoming emotional. She blamed it on the boy's physiology– after all, little kids are quick to turn on the waterworks–but who was she kidding? These tears were all hers. She sat down, and let the tears flow gently and quietly.

Why had she come back here? Did she really think she could just walk into her parents house in the body of this boy, and talk to them? And yet she was already angling on ways to return tomorrow–perhaps in the body of someone selling alarm systems. Would that be her life now? Returning each day in a different body, pretending to be someone else, just so she could be near her parents?

She curled up on the bed clutching the bear–a remnant of a life that was lost. Then something happened that she wasn't expecting. She should have realized it could happen, because, after all, it was the middle of the night, and she was in the body of a small, exhausted child. As she held tightly on to the bear, her thoughts began to swim together, and in an instant, without warning, Allie fell asleep.

Allie awoke at 7:45 in the morning.

Unfortunately the boy she was skinjacking had woken up at 7:41. It's amazing what can happen within the span of four minutes.

"It's all right, don't worry–it will all be all right. We'll get you back home."

It was her mother's voice. She was in her mother's arms. They were rocking back and forth. She was out of breath, her vision was blurry, her chest was heaving, and a God-awful wailing sound was coming out of her. Allie's whole body was shivering with the force of her own sobs. What was going on here? Where was she? Who was she?

"I wanna go home," she heard a child's voice say. It was all nasal and stuffy so it came out "I wadda go hobe." Then she realized it was her own mouth speaking those words. All at once it came back to her–she was in the body of a boy she had skinjacked. She was in her parents' home, in her own room. Her mother was holding her, her father was standing nearby, phone in hand.

"I wadda go hobe!" the boy wailed again–he had no idea how he had gotten here. Then Allie realized a moment too late that she wasn't hiding behind his consciousness– she was out there in the open, right in the middle of his mind. Now that she was awake, the boy knew she was there, and he screamed in terror.

"Who are you?" the boy wailed. "Go away! Go away! Get out of here!" Allie's mother backed off, thinking he was talking to her. "I don't want you here! Get out of me!"

This was a bad situation that was only getting worse. The best Allie could hope for now was damage control. She struggled to seize the boy's body, and send him back to dreamland, but now that he knew she was there, he didn't go easily. He went kicking and screaming all the way, until finally his thoughts fell in upon themselves and he was unconscious.

Allie was in control, but the boy's body was still full of fear and heaving with sobs. She looked to her father who was holding the phone in one hand, and in his other hand ... in his other hand ...

... he had no other hand.

His left arm now ended just past the elbow. As Allie tried to process this, she saw that his left hand was shifting the phone in his palm, preparing to dial with his thumb. He was poised over the 9 button.

Calling 911 was definitely not part of Allie's damage control.

"You're calling the police?" Allie screeched, using the boy's wild state to her advantage. "I don't want the police! I don't I don't I don't!" She screamed as loudly as she could, and her father looked helpless.

"Put down the phone, Adam!" her mother ordered.

"All right, all right!" He dropped it on the desk like it was about to explode. "There, I've put it down."

Allie stopped screaming, and took a minute to calm the boy's body down, allowing her mother to hold her. Allie hugged her back, and took more comfort from it than her mother could possibly know. The convulsive sobs eased until they were nothing more than shallow sniffles. "Can you tell us your name?" Allie's father asked.

Allie did know his name, because if there's one thing that little kids fill every thought with, it's their identity.

"Danny," she said. "Danny Rozelli."

"Well, Danny," said Allie's mom, "I think you did a little bit of sleepwalking last night."

"Yeah," said Allie, "sleepwalking, yeah." She was always impressed by her mother's ability to be logical against all reason.

"Could you tell us where you live?" Allie's father asked.

She knew where Danny Rozelli lived, but wasn't ready to share that information, so she shook her head, and said, "Something street."

Her parents sighed in unison.

Allie looked at the stump of her father's arm. There were indentations in the skin that must have been from a prosthetic arm, but of course he hadn't had time to put it on before finding little Danny Rozelli screaming in their dead daughter's bed.

"How'd that happen?" Allie asked, realizing that a seven-year-old's lack of tact was an asset now.

Her father hesitated for a moment, then he said, "Car accident."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. Ouch."

Her father also had a scar on his forehead and cheek. So the accident had taken his right arm, and left him with scars. None of it was pleasant, but it could have been a whole lot worse. Then again, it was worse, because they had also lost a daughter.

Allie longed to tell them that they hadn't lost her at all– that she was right here in front of them, but she couldn't find a way to do that as the cat woman, and she couldn't as Danny Rozelli, either.

"Do you know your phone number, at least?" her mother asked. "We really should let someone know you're here– your parents must be worried sick."

Allie didn't have much sympathy for parents who would eventually get their child back. She didn't know the number anyway, and that was fine. She was finally here with her own parents, and they were treating her with love and kindness. This was the closest thing she might ever have to true family time with them.

"I'm hungry," she said. "Can I have something to eat?"

Her parents glanced to each other, her mother threw her gaze to the phone, her father nodded and he left the room. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was going to call the police from another room. Allie thought of throwing another hissy fit, but realized she couldn't stall the inevitable much longer. She would make the best of the time she had.

"Can I have Apple Jacks?" she asked. "Apple Jacks in strawberry milk?"

She could have sworn her mother turned a previously unknown shade of pale.

"Never mind," said Allie. "You probably don't have that."

"Actually," said her mother, "we do."

Her father rejoined them in the kitchen, giving a secret nod to his wife. He must have made the call. Allie figured they had about five minutes before the police arrived.

Allie savored every spoonful of her cereal while her parents sat with her at the kitchen table. She tried to trick herself into believing this was just a regular family breakfast.

"Sorry if they're a little stale," her mother said.

"No," said Allie, "they're fine."

"Our daughter liked Apple Jacks," her father said. "She liked them with strawberry milk, too."

"A lot of kids do," Allie told him–although she didn't know anyone else who ate them that way. She dipped the spoon into the pink milk and let the last applejack float in like a lone life preserver.

"More, please."

Her mother poured a second bowl. Allie pushed down the orange cereal circles with the back of her spoon, coating them with milk.

"I guess that was your daughter's room I was in, huh?"

Her mother nodded, but didn't meet her eyes.

"Something happened to her, didn't it?"

"Yes, Danny, something did," her father answered.

"You don't have to talk about it," Allie said, realizing this was going too far.

"No, that's okay–it was a long time ago," he said.

Not that long, Allie wanted to say, but instead she said, "I'll bet she loved you very much."

She should have left it there, but she could see a police cruiser pulling up to the curb outside, and then a second one. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now.

"Sometimes people go away," Allie told them. "They don't mean to, but they can't help it. It's nobody's fault. I'll bet if she could, she'd want to tell you that it's okay–that she's okay. I mean, people die, but that doesn't always mean they're gone."

Then her mother and father looked to each other, then back to Danny Rozelli with moist eyes, and her mother said, "Allie's not dead."

Allie grinned. It was so like her parents to see things that way. "Of course she's not. As long as you remember her, I guess she'll never really be dead."

"No," her father said. "We mean that she's still alive."

Allie slowly lowered her spoon into the bowl, staring at them. "Excuse me?"

"She's just asleep, Danny," her father said. "She's been asleep for a long, long time."

CHAPTER 28 The Sleep of the Dead

Comatose.

Nonresponsive.

Persistent vegetative state.

All complicated words used by medical specialists to label a patient who remains unconscious. You would think that the labels mean something–that doctors know exactly what's going on in the brain of a comatose patient. But the truth is, nobody really knows anything. A coma can actually mean a whole range of things, but at its heart, all it really means is that someone simply won't wake up.

Allie Johnson had suffered internal injuries and severe head trauma in a head-on collision. She flew through the windshield, into another boy who was on his way through his own windshield. Nick was, of course, killed instantly, but Allie was quite a fighter. Her heart continued to beat. It was beating as they rushed her to an emergency room. It was beating as they hooked her to a dozen different life-support machines. It was beating as they worked on her on an operating table for five hours to repair her massive wounds, and it was still beating after all the operations were done. Thanks to medical science, and a body that simply would not give up, Allie did not die. Although her wounds were severe, her damaged body eventually healed, and her brain still showed a hint of basic brainwave pattern, proving that she was not entirely brain-dead. Brain-dead would have been easy. It would have given everyone a reason to just throw in the towel. But now Allie's parents were both blessed, and cursed, with the smallest fraction of hope.

"I won't try to sugarcoat this for you," the doctor had told her parents several weeks into Allie's coma. "She could wake up tomorrow, she could wake up next month, next year, or she might never wake up at all–and even if she does, there's a good chance she won't be the girl you remember. Her brain might be too damaged for higher cognitive functions–right now we just don't know." Then, in that compassionate yet heartless way that doctors have, he told Allie's distraught parents this: "For your sake, I hope she either wakes up the same girl you knew, or dies very quickly."

But neither of those two things happened. And now in a hospital somewhere, in a room somewhere, in a bed somewhere, Allie Johnson lies asleep unable to wake up ...

... because her soul is in Everlost. In her book, You Don't Know Jack, Allie the Outcast gives this as her final word on skinjacking:

"There is a truth about skinjacking that I can't tell you, because it's not my place. I don't have the right. It's the reason why we can skinjack, why we don't forget things, and why we're different from every other Afterlight in Everlost. It's a truth that all skinjackers must learn for themselves– and if you are a skinjacker, then you will learn it, because the more you skinjack, the more you are driven toward it, like a salmon fighting a current to the head of a stream. I can only hope that once you do know the truth, you find the courage to face it."

CHAPTER 29 Teed for Two

Little Danny Rozelli was having a bad day. It began with waking up in a strange house, and now many hours later, things weren't getting any better. He was talking to himself, twisting and turning in bed–everything short of spinning his head around and vomiting pea soup. In the olden days, people would have said the boy was possessed, but modern science knew better. Danny was just sick. Very, very sick.

"Get out of me!"

–I can't!–

"Get out of me!"

–Just calm down!–

"Mom! Make her get out of me!"

–Will you stop saying things like that out loud! They already think you've gone crazy!–

Danny Rozelli was a willful little kid, who was still too teed off to be reasonable. He had already discovered the trick of thinking out loud. It gave him more power over his own body–it helped him to stay in control. Unfortunately, when you think out loud, people can hear you.

"Danny, honey, it's all right–everything's going to be all right." But clearly Danny's mother didn't believe this, because she turned to her husband and cried, "What do we do? What do we do?"

Allie fought against the boy, and regained control of his body long enough to say, "Nothing's wrong with me. Everything's fine," but Danny fought back, his body went into convulsions, and he wailed, "Make her LEAVE!"

It was all Allie's fault. If she hadn't fallen asleep in his body, and skinjacked him for seven whole hours, none of this would have happened.

She should have tried to peel out of him the second she woke up that morning in her parents' house, but no, instead she asked her parents to feed her, and over a bowl of Apple Jacks they told her that she was still alive.

Alive!

The news was such a sudden shock that it not only echoed in her own mind, it also woke Danny up, and he began fighting his way to the surface. She tried to run, but when she opened the front door, she ran right into the policeman standing there. In a second even more police cruisers were showing up–one of them bearing a distraught couple, who had woken up two blocks away to find their son missing. When Allie's father had called 911, the police had apparently put two and two together, and raced Danny's parents over for a family reunion.

At the time, Allie was still reeling from her own revelation. She was alive. Did that mean she could live again? Could she–dare she even think it–could she skinjack herself? Oblivious to what was going on, Danny's parents had smothered him with kisses, and the police had questioned Allie's parents as to how on earth the boy had turned up there. Allie didn't want to fight Danny, and once they were in the police cruiser, driving away, she tried over and over again to peel herself out of the boy. His body stiffened, his back arched, his eyes bulged, but Allie could not get out of his body, and his parents became more and more concerned with their son's strange behavior. As the police car pulled into the Rozelli's driveway, Allie finally realized the true cost of skinjacking someone for too long. She was now a permanent resident in Danny Rozelli's body.

But the worst was yet to come.

It was the element of surprise that gave a skinjacker the advantage. A person didn't know how to defend themselves against a skinjacking, or how to fight to retain control of his or her own body–especially against a seasoned skinjacker like Allie. But fleshies learn quickly. Each time Danny's spirit surfaced, he was stronger, more able to fight Allie from the inside out, and now, half a day later, the two of them were still battling at sunset, with neither one getting the upper hand. They were two evenly-matched spirits sealed into a single body, and it looked like they were going to stay that way for good.

"I'm fine!" Allie insisted, in control of Danny's mouth. "I'm fine, really." Unfortunately Danny had control of the rest of his head, and began banging it against the wall.

His mother began to wail, his father grabbed him and restrained him, and Allie withdrew, trying to figure out a new approach to this unhappy situation. She pulled way back, allowing Danny to have full control of himself, but not so far back that he could force her to sleep–for he had figured out that trick too. She waited as his body relaxed, his breathing slowed, and his father, who was still restraining him, loosened his grip.

"It's all right, Danny," he said. "We're going to get you help. I promise."

Danny, tears in his eyes, nodded. Allie waited a minute more, then pushed her thoughts forward in a faint whisper.

–Danny, please listen to me–

No! he thought back to her. No, no, no! But at least now he wasn't shouting it out loud.

–Bad things will happen if you don't listen to me–

He didn't answer her right away. Then he thought, What kind of bad things?

–They'll take you away from your parents and put you in a hospital–

No! My parents won't let anyone do that!

–What do you think they mean when they said they'll get you help?–

Danny didn't respond to that. Good. He was finally seeing reason.

–I didn't mean to get stuck in here, Danny, but I did, and we have to make the best of it. Now we have to be friends until I can figure out how to get out–

I don't want to be your friend! You're a girl! I don't want a girl in my head!

Great, thought Allie, that's what I get for skinjacking a seven-year-old.

I heard that! And now not even her thoughts were private. This was going to take a lot of getting used to.

–Think of me as your guardian angel, Danny–

You're an angel?

–Yes, I am– she told him, seizing onto the one idea that might make this whole thing work,–and if you want things to be okay, you have to pretend like it already is okay. You have to pretend like I'm not here–And then she made a decision.– I promise not to take over your body without your permission ... if you promise to calm down and act normal–

Okay, thought Danny, but if you start making me do girly things ...

"Danny, honey, talk to me," said his mother. "Tell me what's wrong."

Danny took a deep breath, and said, "Nothing, Mom. I'm okay now. I was ... I was having a bad dream, but it went away."

His mother hugged him. Allie was impressed that he pulled it off.– Very good– thought Allie.– They'll probably still take you to see doctors, but if you act normal, everything will be okay–

Will they give me shots?

–I don't think so–

Good, thought Danny, and then he asked her, Will you help me with my homework sometimes?

Sure, thought Allie. Why not. She tried to tell herself that she'd be okay with this–being a backseat driver to a second-grader, but the reality of it filled her with despair. Everlost was gone–she couldn't see it anymore, couldn't feel it. It was invisible to her, just as it was to Danny, or any 314other fleshie. She knew her body was out there somewhere, but she had no idea where to find it–and even if she did, she was still stuck inside this kid. Good going, Allie.

Don't be sad, Allie.

And so, for Danny's sake, she tried not to be.

CHAPTER 30 A Place on the Mantel

Five hundred miles northeast of Memphis, another skinjacker paced in the Hindenburg's Starboard Promenade.

"Patience, Milos," Mary said. "Patience is what we need right now."

"But why must I spend my days running petty skinjacking errands for Pugsy Capone? That is work for Moose and Squirrel, not for me!"

Mary took his hand. "You're doing it as a favor for me."

"Yes, but there is so much more I could do for you, if you let me! Please! Give me a task–something you think is impossible, and I will do it. I wish to show you how useful I can be for you." More than useful, Milos knew he needed to be indispensable–otherwise how would she ever see him as an equal?

"By serving, and keeping an eye on Pugsy, it frees Jill to catch crossing souls. She's bringing in two and three a day, thanks to you!"

"I could bring you more! And I do not need an amulet to do it!" Milos held her gaze for a moment, then paced away, realizing he had just opened a can of ants. Or was it worms? He could never get these English expressions correct.

"Is that so?" said Mary, slowly sauntering up to him. "And how might you accomplish that?"

He was so tempted to tell Mary the truth–he owed no loyalty to Jill after what she had done to him. He could tell Mary that Jill wasn't just catching souls as they crossed– no, her role was much more active than that–much more "hands-on." He wondered how Jill did the deed. Did she use a weapon, or did she do it with her fleshie's bare hands? The more Milos thought about it, the less he wanted to know.

"How would you save the children with no amulet to guide you?" Mary pressed. "Tell me, I'd like to know."

If he told Mary, he suspected it wouldn't just turn her against Jill–it would poison her against all skinjackers. If he brought down Jill, he'd bring down himself as well. It wasn't for Jill's sake that he kept her secret.

"Never mind," said Milos, deflating. "But I do wish you would let me do something special for you. Something that might truly earn your trust."

"I trust everyone until I'm given a reason not to," Mary told him, which was nice in theory, but ridiculous in practice– so Milos gave her a teasing grin.

"And how many reasons do I give you so far?"

Mary tried to suppress a smile, but failed miserably. "I've lost count."

"Well," said Milos, "maybe I am after something more than trust." He let the thought linger for a moment, then gave a slight, but courteous bow. "Now if you will excuse me, I have to get Pugsy some sports scores." He turned to go, but Mary wasn't quite done with him yet.

"You asked for an impossible task," she said. "Perhaps I can give you one."

Milos turned back to her, watching as she strode across the Promenade, peering down out of the angled windows, looking at the Afterlights in the court of honor. The children here now played games. The same games, day after day after day. "Things have certainly gotten better here since my arrival," she told Milos, "but Pugsy is really more of a hindrance than a help, don't you agree?"

Milos, who had no love of the Death Boss, said, "Of course I do."

"Well then, I want you to ... talk ... to Pugsy. I want you to persuade him to leave Chicago. Forever."

"I do not think this is possible," Milos told her. "He will never leave Chicago of his own free will."

Mary shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "Well, you said you wanted an impossible task; there it is."

Milos considered it. "Persuade him, you say ..."

"I'm certainly not suggesting anything unseemly... ."

"Of course not. You would never do such a thing." Milos came to the window beside her, "And if I succeed?"

"If you succeed," said Mary, "and Pugsy ceases to be a problem, you'll have better things to do than fetch his sports scores." Then she smiled. It wasn't her usual warm, welcoming smile. This time it seemed steeped in intrigue and design. "Tell me, have you ever been to the West, Milos?"

"No," he answered. "I have heard stories of skinjackers who jacked their way across the Mississippi, but they never returned. Are you planning an expedition?"

"If you accomplish the impossible," Mary told him. "Perhaps I will too."

Milos gently took her hand. "It is a pleasure to be in your service, Miss Hightower, Governess of the East, and soon to be West." Then he raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed the silken, glowing back of her hand. He knew he was being too bold, and if ever there was a moment she would throw him out, this would be it, but instead she slowly withdrew her hand, and said, "You, Milos, could be very dangerous."

To which he replied, "Is that an observation, or a request?"

That brought forth a laugh, but no answer. Perhaps because she was still undecided.

That night Pugsy Capone dined on lobster. There was always lobster, or steak, or good old Chicago Pizza since Mary became a part of his establishment. Her children diligently ventured out into the living world in search of crossed food, and her relationships with some fairly wellknown finders resulted in a trade surplus that kept Pugsy in the pink. Whatever he wanted, it was available. Even his own Chicago Afterlights were following suit, becoming busy bees, instead of lazy oafs.

"I've been thinking of declaring myself boss over Indianapolis, and then spreading East to Ohio," he had told Mary. "Whadaya think?"

319

"It sounds visionary," Mary had told him. "Stretch as far east as you like."

While he had been reluctant to join with her at first, he had to admit that they were an unstoppable team. The future was looking brighter than ever before. So when he was approached by Moose, who told him that a truck had arrived full of tributes and gifts from the Indianapolis Afterlights, foul play was the last thing he suspected.

As he crossed the midway with Moose, it didn't trouble him that his trio of bodyguards were nowhere to be found. He had come to rely on them less and less since security, and a need for six-fisted intimidation, had become less of a priority. He was caught off guard by the sack that was thrust over his head, and before he knew what was happening, his hands and feet were tied, and he was carried off.

He was dumped some time later on a wooden floor that creaked beneath him, and when the bag was ripped from his face, he was looking up at three Afterlights glowing in the dark night: It was the new skinjackers. All three of them.