Текст книги "Everwild"

Автор книги: Neal Shusterman

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In the store was a tattooed man buying beer. He was a skinjacking possibility, but only as a last resort. The cashier was a tired-looking old woman, whose joints were probably already aching from the weather, and wouldn't appreciate being thrust out into the rain. Allie was beginning to fear she'd have to settle for the tattooed guy, but then a woman hurried inside, wearing one of those hideous plastic rain ponchos the color of a traffic cone.

"Wet enough for ya, Wanda?" said the old woman behind the counter.

"Don't mind it; seen worse," Wanda said.

"I hear ya!"

Allie had no idea what had brought Wanda to a convenience store in this weather, but frankly she didn't care. Allie stepped inside her without a second thought, sliding in smooth and easy.

–Rolling rolling–how long them dogs been rolling–long enough to give me gas–or worse–I shouldn't go near those things, no sir–

She experienced the usual moment of disorientation, filled with the static of Wanda's thoughts, and then Allie flipped that mental switch that sent Wanda off to dreamland. Instantly Allie knew why Wanda was here. She was hungry–famished–it seemed fleshies were always hungry, and Allie liked it that way! Now in complete control of the woman, Allie looked toward the hot dogs rolling on the stainless steel poles of the industrial cooker. She had already been thinking about them, hadn't she?

"I'll have a cheese dog, please," Allie said.

The old woman was happy to oblige. "How's Sam these days?"

"Fine, fine," said Allie–and getting bold, she added, "You know Sam–I can't pry him away from the TV."

The old woman laughed. "So he watches television now?"

"Uh ... yeah. Well, weekends mostly. You know–the games."

The old woman laughed. "Don't that beat all, a dog that watches sports!"

Allie felt her borrowed face flush, and she decided that less is more when it came to living-world conversation. She thanked the woman for the hot dog, paid with some cash from her purse, and downed the hot dog in three bites. Then she headed outside to the main event.

The rain!

It drummed against her poncho, teasing her, daring her to pull back her hood, and she did, closing her eyes and turning up her face to receive it. In an instant her hair was drenched, and rivers of rain ran down her cheeks. It was all she remembered it was! She opened her mouth and felt the drops on her tongue, but it still wasn't enough, so she grabbed the poncho, and pulled it off, exposing her flower-print blouse to the rain. She was drenched, she was chilled, and it was wonderful! All caution had been lost in this glorious moment–she didn't care who saw her, or how wet she got. Wanda would not catch her death of cold. She'd be soaked and confused, but in the end, Wanda would have the benefit of that warm fire to dry her off, as she sat beside Sam, the TV-watching dog.

Allie twirled in the rain, laughing, and dizzy... . But then, as the rain began to let up, the guilt began to set in. She had used Wanda to satisfy her own selfish desire. How could she have done that? She had to end this now, and get back to Mikey. Somewhere in her rain dance, she had dropped the poncho, and it had blown to the feet of the gas station attendant, a dozen yards away, who picked it up, and came toward her.

"Looks like you dropped this," he said.

"I'm sorry," Allie said. "I got a little carried away."

"Nothing wrong with that. Not at all, not at all." He handed her back the poncho, smiling a lopsided smile that Allie could swear she'd seen before. "Not from around here, are you?" he asked.

Only now did Allie notice that he was just as wet as she, and didn't seem to care. "Yes, I am," Allie said, figuring that Wanda must live nearby.

His smile got wider. More crooked. "Right, right, but I'm not talking about the fleshie," he said. "I'm talking about you."

Then his hand thrust out and grabbed Allie's wrist– grabbed it hard. It hurt–maybe more than it should have because it was the first time in a very long time Allie had felt pain. Fleshie? Did he say fleshie? Then that must mean ... She ripped herself from his grasp, and turned to run, but then found herself running right into a drenched man in a business suit–a man with beady eyes colder than the rain. "First a candy bar, then a hot dog," he said. "Always hungry, aren't you!"

All at once Allie knew where she had seen these two before. It wasn't their faces she recognized–because the faces were different–but their presence was the same. This was the old man and the little boy she had run into in the last town. But they had never been a little boy or an old man, any more than she had been the chubby girl eating a snickers bar. They were skinjackers!

The "businessman" pushed her painfully back against the gas pump, jarring loose the nozzle, which clattered to the ground. "Looks like we've finally caught up with Jackin' Jill!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't lie to us!" And his grip on her shoulders got tighter.

Well, they weren't the only ones who could use flesh to their advantage. Pain was a two-way street. She lifted her knee sharply, nailing the "businessman" where it counts. His cold eyes went wide, and he doubled over in pain, yowling. Then, as the "gas station attendant" reached for her, she grabbed the gas hose, and swung the nozzle at his head. It connected with his jaw, spinning him around.

Wasting no time, she peeled herself out of Wanda, returning to Everlost. The two men were on the ground now, and Allie could see the skinjackers inside them beginning to squirm their way out. They must have been spying on her the other day when she jumped into the Snickers girl. If they had been there to watch her skinjack, and saw her peel out, too, it would be easy to follow Allie all the way here, jacking these two men as soon as she took over Wanda.

Well, Wanda and those poor men would have to sort this out for themselves, because Allie wasn't about to stand there and wait to be attacked again. She turned and ran to the dock, where Mikey was waiting.

Mikey, however, was having his own problems. He had hopped off the horse right after Allie had left, and as soon as she was out of view, he began to practice changing again.

It took a minute or two to gain enough focus to do it– especially with the rain, which was an unpleasant distraction. Just as before, he trained all of his attention on his right hand–this time trying to force the growth of a sixth finger. It worked! The finger sprouted right between his thumb and index finger, growing to be just as long as his pinky– but then kept on growing. Soon it was as long as his index finger–and still it didn't stop. No big deal, he thought. He just needed to regain his focus. He started this, so he could stop it. But then a seventh finger began to grow next to his pinky–and an eighth sprouted from his palm.

Changing himself, it seemed, was becoming easier and easier. The problem was stopping the process of mutation, and reversing it.

Now the knuckles of his fingers were growing fingers of their own, like branches of a tree. There were too many to count. Beginning to panic, he put all of his focus into reining it in. He looked at his hand, imagining his will to be a relentless wave washing across his many misbegotten fingers. The growth finally slowed and stopped. He sent forth his will in a second wave, hoping–praying–that the extra fingers would shrivel and disappear, for how could he face Allie like this? Slowly the many fingers began to shrink.

So focused was Mikey on his current plight that he never noticed the sudden absence of the horse.

Shiloh the Famous Diving Horse was a loyal, if not entirely intelligent, animal. Only one thing was stronger than its loyalty: its desire to perform the death-defying, crowd-pleasing high dive. This was the creature's grand purpose. It had performed this feat before cheering crowds for most of its life on Atlantic City's Steel Pier, and had continued to do so in Everlost, until the day Mikey McGill climbed on its back to escape a marauding mob.

The steel pier was far away now ... however, the dock that extended into the lake looked very much like a pier. The sight of it filled the horse's spirit. True, there was no highdive platform. True, there was no tank to land in–but there certainly was water! Although Shiloh's time with Allie and Mikey had been somewhat entertaining, when the chance to perform one final leap presented itself, how could any self-respecting high-diving horse resist?

And so, by the time Mikey had gotten his hand back down to the usual number of fingers, the horse was already barreling at full gallop down the dock.

Mikey ran after it the moment he saw it, but it was no use. By the time he reached the dock, the horse was already nearing the end, and showed no signs of slowing down. Still, Mikey raced after it, hoping that the creature would come to its senses before hurling itself into oblivion.

The horse, however, was of a single mind. It reached the end of the dock, released a whinny of pure joy, and launched itself gleefully off the end. It hit the water, passed into the lake, and kept plummeting downward. In a moment it hit lake bottom, and passed into the earth, where it began its long journey toward the center of the Earth.

Deep down in its equine mind, the horse knew that there was no return, but that was all right, for it also knew that this was the greatest high dive of all!

Far above, Mikey McGill finally reached the end of the dock, stomping and cursing like a child having a tantrum, nearly sinking through the wood of the pier. The horse was gone without leaving as much as a ripple in the living-world water to mark its passage.

"Mikey!"

And of course this would be the moment Allie would choose to return! Mikey knew she had seen the whole thing–it was there in the panicked look on her face.

"I'll go after it!" Mikey told her. "I'll dive down after it and bring it back!" But even as he said it, he knew it wouldn't work. Yes, he had ridden the horse out of the earth once before, but such a feat required a certain passion he no longer had. The monster within him had been tamed, but domestication came with a cost. Surely he still had the power to pull himself out of the depths, but he doubted he could do it on horseback.

Mikey had no way of knowing that Allie's troubled look had little to do with the horse. She had run from the gas station so quickly, she actually felt out of breath–a sensation that was technically impossible for an Afterlight, and yet still she felt it. When she saw the horse go off the dock, her heart sank. First for the loss of Shiloh, and second, because with him went their only chance for a quick escape.

She tried to get Mikey's attention, but he still blustered like the storm clouds above. "Stupid horse!"

"Forget about that! We've got a bigger problem." She grabbed him and forced him to look at her. "Skinjackers."

"Huh?"

"Two of them! They've been following us–we've got to get out of here!" But as she turned, she realized it was too late. The two skinjackers were at the foot of the dock, stalking toward them. Allie had not seen them in their true form–she had only seen the hosts they had inhabited. In a way it was easier to face them in the living world, where everything was limited by the simple rules of flesh and bone.

Even though she had never actually seen their faces, she knew which was which. The skinjacker to the right was tall and thin, with a puffy, rodentlike face. He had knobby knees and elbows–too knobby, actually–exaggerated like his skewed grin, which practically stretched all the way to his right ear.

"Well, well," he said. "Jackin' Jill has a friend!"

The other skinjacker was in a blue and white football uniform, and his face was little more than a pair of unpleasant eyes in a football helmet. He was big–the kind of kid who was destined to be a linebacker whether he was good at the sport or not. Now, after what must have been a very bad game for him, he was stuck as a permanent linebacker in Everlost. When he spoke, his words came out slurred and slobbery, due to the fact that he also had a mouth guard stuck perpetually between his teeth.

"Wait a shecond," he said. "That'sh not Jackin' Jill!"

"It is! It is!" said the skinny one. "She just made herself look different, that's all!"

"She can't do shumthing like that, can she?"

Allie leaned over to Mikey and whispered in his ear. "We'll run on the count of three."

To which Mikey responded, "I don't run. And neither do you."

He was right about that. But seeing other skinjackers– it had shaken her even more than she realized. "Okay," she said. "We'll fight them." Then she thought about how she had been pushed against the gas pump. "But the football player's mine."

Both Allie and Mikey prepared themselves for the battle, but before it could begin, someone else showed up on the scene. A fleshie came running onto the dock. A teenaged, leather-clad punk with spiky hair that defied the rain. But in an instant the wet spikes resolved into dry curls, and the face became a little less angular. It took a moment for Allie to realize what was happening. A third skinjacker had arrived, and he had just peeled out of his host. He wore a striped T-shirt that was a little too tight for his muscular frame, and he was old by Everlost standards. Seventeen maybe. While the punk-fleshie toddled off in confusion, the third skinjacker grabbed the gangly kid and the football player.

"What do you think you are doing!" he demanded. He had an accent that Allie couldn't quite place at first.

"It's Jackin' Jill!" said the gangly one, weakly.

"Does she look like Jackin' Jill to you?" the third skinjacker said. The accent was definitely Eastern European. If Allie had to guess, she would say it was Russian.

The football player wasn't sure whether to shake his head or to nod, so he did a little bit of both. It made him look like a bobblehead doll. "When we shaw her jack the fat girl back in Virginia, we weren't closhe enough to shee her faish."

"Yeah, Yeah," said the other one, "and when she peeled out we had to hang way back, so we still didn't see her face then, either."

The Russian kid heaved a heavy, resigned sigh, then he turned to Allie and Mikey, apologetically. "This is my fault," he said. "When they told me they found a skinjacker, I told them to keep their eyes on you. Now I realize I should have done it myself." He let go of the other two, and took a step forward. "I am Milos–and you have already met Moose and Squirrel."

He threw an angry look at his cohorts, and Moose pushed Squirrel, nearly launching him off the side of the dock. "It was hish fault!" Squirrel pushed him back, but it wasn't nearly as effective.

"You have some nerve spying on us at all!" Mikey said.

"Please, forgive me," Milos said calmly, "but we have had some ... bad experiences, and they thought you were someone else."

"They attacked me," Allie said. "I had to hurt a couple of fleshies because of them." Mikey looked at them, furious, and clenched his fists. "They attacked you?"

"I assure you this will not happen again." The third skinjacker turned to Moose and Squirrel. "Your behavior was unacceptable. Apologize!"

The two looked down like kids in the principal's office.

"Sorry," said Squirrel.

"Yeah, shorry," said Moose.

Allie shook her head. "Sometimes sorry's not enough."

"Then," said Milos with a slight bow, "allow me to make it up to you." He held his hand out in an open-palmed gesture, as if he expected Allie to place her hand in his. She didn't.

"You can make it up to us," said Mikey, "by getting lost."

Milos remained calm and smooth. "But have you not longed for the company of other skinjackers?" he asked Mikey. "Surely we can put all this behind us and start again."

Apparently Milos just assumed that Mikey was also a skinjacker. Mikey didn't say anything to correct him, so Allie kept quiet about it as well.

"We're fine on our own," Mikey said.

Although Allie knew they didn't need Milos's help, and certainly had no desire to spend quality time with Moose and Squirrel, there was something enticing about Milos. He was civilized and sane–she could see it in his eyes–curious eyes that were blue, speckled with white, like a sky dotted with clouds. It would be a relief having another skinjacker to talk to–someone who could understand what it was like. "We're on our way to Memphis," Allie told him, and Mikey looked at her, incredulous.

Milos smiled. "Then allow us to accompany you. At least part of the way."

"No!" said Mikey.

Allie gently took Mikey's hand, holding it to reassure him–and also to make it clear to Milos that the two of them were together in every way that mattered.

"You can travel with us for a little while," Allie said. "I'm Allie. This is Mikey."

Moose gasped. "Allie the Outcasht?"

Mikey grabbed him by his face guard, pulled him close and growled in his face. "That's right. Touch her again and you'll wish you never died."

"Yesh shir," said Moose.

"Now," said Milos, "I suggest we get off this dock before we sink right through it." He gestured for Allie to take the lead, which she did–and although she never let go of Mikey's hand, she couldn't help but appreciate Milos's suave manner. Most of the boys she had met in Everlost were wild to the point of being feral. Allie never considered herself a lady, but for once it was nice to be treated like one. In her book Further Reasons for Caution, Mary Hightower has this to say about roving bands of skinjackers:

"While a single skinjacker is trouble enough, a group of wild skinjackers is a frightening prospect, indeed. These Afterlights caught between two worlds are to be pitied and feared, for the madness of flesh has infected their minds. If word reaches you of skinjackers in your area, it is best for all involved to steer clear of them, and report the sighting to an authority."

CHAPTER 9 Good Stewards

While Moose and Squirrel might have been the poster children illustrating Mary's point about "wild skinjackers," they were marginally civilized under Milos's guidance.

"They are not so bad," Milos told Mikey and Allie. "Or should I say, I have seen much worse."

The rain had given way to broken clouds, and they continued to follow the road around the lake. Mikey was sullen, and didn't talk much, and Moose and Squirrel, always lingering a dozen paces behind, snickered over their own private jokes. Milos, however was full of conversation for the newcomers. Allie supposed that, having had no one but Moose and Squirrel to talk to, he was starved for intelligent conversation. Milos told them that they had traveled as a group for several years. The "Deadlies" they called themselves. There were four– Milos, Moose, Squirrel, and a girl they called Jackin' Jill. Jill, however, was gone, and Milos didn't say any more about it. Allie found it all interesting, but Mikey kept making exasperated sounds, as if listening to Milos was like torture.

"Mikey, you're being rude," Allie told him after a particularly loud groan.

"Sorry," said Mikey, although it sounded more like a curse than an apology.

Milos continued the tale of his afterlife, unoffended. As Allie suspected, Milos had come from Russia. "Russian-born, but American-dead," as he put it. His family had moved to America from St. Petersburg. Milos had been hanging out with friends on the roof of his apartment building, and had fallen off.

"It was a stupid way to go," Milos said.

Mikey scoffed. "My sister and I got hit by a train," he said. "We all die in stupid ways, and this is a stupid conversation." He picked up his pace, leaving them, and the conversation, behind. Allie thought to apologize to Milos for Mikey's behavior, but she was tired of making excuses for him. Anyway, Milos was a good sport about it.

"I would have gone into the light if I could," Milos told Allie. "But the light would not take me. It would just keep throwing me back."

This surprised Allie. Not even Mary, in her various volumes on Everlost lore, never mentioned anyone reaching the end of the tunnel, only to be denied admittance.

"Are you sure?" Allie asked. "Maybe you just never reached the light."

"I suppose your friend would say the light didn't like me and spit me out." Allie laughed. "Well, I suppose you're an acquired taste." She looked toward Mikey. He was twenty yards ahead of them, striding with an impatient pace. His hands were in his pockets, his shoulders high, and he looked to the ground. Even when they were together he seemed to be alone in some fundamental way. It saddened her.

"It's because we are skinjackers," Milos said. "The light won't take us. It would have been the same for you and your friend, had you made it as far as the light." Allie cast her gaze down, wondering how long they could keep secret the fact that Mikey could not skinjack. Then it suddenly struck her what Milos had just said. How major it was–how important it was.

"Milos ... if skinjackers can't go into the light, then that explains why my coin never gets hot, doesn't it?"

Milos nodded. "I have seen others find passage into the next place, but never skinjackers," he said. "You could say our money is no good."

"So are you saying ... we'll never leave Everlost?"

"Of coursh we'll leave," said Moose, eavesdropping with Squirrel, right behind them. "We'll leave when we can't Shkinjack anymore."

"Yeah, yeah," said Squirrel. "So we gotta jack when the jackin' is good!"

It had never occurred to Allie that skinjacking could be temporary. "How long?"

"As long as it takes," Milos said.

"As long as what takes?"

Moose and Squirrel looked to each other and laughed, but Milos threw them an angry glance, and they fell silent. "The length of your natural life span," Milos said. "That is how long you can skinjack."

For Allie this was a revelation. It cast everything in a new light. She had been so worried that she would feel compelled to take her coin and move on after finding her family, but if she was stuck in Everlost for the length of her natural life, then her coin wouldn't work. She wasn't going anywhere. She thought about telling Mikey, but decided to keep it to herself. If he was going to act all antisocial, then there were things he deserved not to know.

"What do you mean by 'the length of our natural lives?'" she asked Milos. "Do you mean the time we would have died if we had died of natural causes?"

Milos gave the slightest of shrugs. "Something like that, yes."

Allie sensed there was more to it, but that was all Milos said on the matter. She would have pushed further, but at that moment, they had come around a bend in the road, and saw the interstate in the distance. "Excellent," Milos said. "From here it will be easy."

He picked up the pace with Moose and Squirrel. As they passed Mikey, Milos gave him a friendly clap on the back, which just made Mikey pull his shoulders in even tighter.

Allie caught up with Mikey. "You could make the best of this," Allie said, "instead of being so unpleasant."

"I don't like this," he grumbled."I don't like him. He's much too friendly."

"You lost the right to be a judge of character when you became the McGill."

"So when do I get it back?" "You don't," Allie told him, intentionally flip. "I do all the judging, and I say Milos's character is acceptable."

Mikey grumbled something under his breath, and Allie nudged him. "You're just mad because he's handsome and charming."

Mikey wouldn't look her in the eye. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

The interstate exit was the only one for miles, and around it were clustered fast food chains, gas stations, and uninviting motels. Cars from dozens of states flowed on and off the interstate in an endless stream.

Milos surveyed the scene, then turned to Moose and Squirrel. "You check the south side of the highway; we shall check the north."

Moose and Squirrel obediently trotted across the highway, ignoring the traffic whooshing through them.

"Would you mind telling us what we're looking for?" asked Mikey.

"Family of five," Milos said, as if it was obvious, "or, if not a family, then five people traveling together."

"I don't understand," said Allie.

Milos looked at her and shook his head. "You have much to learn about skinjacking." He turned to look at the Burger King parking lot in front of them. "We shall skinjack five people in the same car," he explained. "Then we drive to Memphis."

Allie was appalled, and didn't try to hide it. "Is that how you travel? By ripping people out of their lives?"

"This is one way we travel, yes," said Milos, matter-offactly.

"That's terrible!"

Milos looked at her, a bit stunned by her response. "We do not harm them–and they get their bodies back when we are done."

"Yes, but hundreds of miles away from where they started, never knowing how or why." Allie looked at a family leaving the Burger King. She wondered where they might be going. She wondered what it would be like to be traveling to one place, only to find yourself somewhere else entirely. "People have plans!" Allie insisted. "It's one thing to borrow, it's another to steal."

Milos smiled at her, and crossed his arms. "So Allie the Outcast has a conscience."

Allie couldn't tell whether he was impressed or mocking her.

Mikey, who had been happy to watch them argue, now stepped between them. "Forget it, Allie, let him skinjack whoever he wants–we don't need to go with him." And then Mikey added, quietly so only Allie could hear, "It's not going to work for us anyway, if you know what I mean... ."

But Allie found herself too irritated by Milos's smug expression to back down now. "All I'm saying is we have a responsibility. We have to be ... good stewards."

This time Mikey stepped right in front of her, eclipsing her view of Milos completely. "Let's just go, okay?"

Milos took a step around Mikey, back into her view. "Perhaps my time in Everlost has made me callous," he said. "Maybe we should give more care to those we skinjack. So then, as a good steward, how would you suggest we proceed?" Allie looked to the interstate. "Let's take the time to find a family of five that's already going to Memphis."

Mikey threw up his hands. "You're forgetting one thing!" he said angrily. "I can't skinjack!"

Allie found herself speechless–in her frustration she had ignored the single fact that made their skinjacking jaunt an impossibility. When she turned, she saw Moose and Squirrel standing there dumbstruck as well.

"Did he jusht shay he can't shkinjack?" asked Moose, pointing at Mikey.

Mikey turned on Moose as bitterly as the McGill would have. "What's wrong?" shouted Mikey. "Can't hear through that stinking helmet? Maybe I'll rip it off along with your head and shout down your neck!"

Allie grabbed Mikey's arm and held him firmly. It was enough to ratchet him down to a simmer.

Milos didn't say anything, he just stroked his chin, pondering the change in circumstance.

Squirrel looked at Allie, confused. "So why are you even with him if he can't skinjack, huh, huh?"

"There are more important things than skinjacking," Mikey snapped.

Squirrel shook his head. "No there's not."