Flying (30 page)
Authors: Carrie Jones
I have so many more questions, like if I have any more abilities that will manifest (he has no clue, but possibly). If I will get an acid tongue (he doesn't know), and how my dad would ever agree to this, and where he is now, and if the aliens have figured out who I am now (he doesn't know, he doesn't know, and again, he doesn't know).
He stops my questions with his deep voice. “Mana, the threat isn't over. We think that the machine that chip is meant to activate still exists and that there are parts of it scattered throughout the world. We hadn't destroyed the chip because Pierce thought we could use it somehow to track down the other pieces, as well as the aliens who were masterminding this plot. Turned out that was a bad call.”
He makes a little scoffing noise, as if he is ashamed to admit he was stupid.
“But they don't have the chip,” I say, turning to stare at his worried, cranky face.
“I know you destroyed it, but I'll bet they're already working on producing another one. In order to be safe, to be really safe, we have to find and destroy the other parts of the machine, go after the aliens who are trying to kill us all.”
I think about this for a second, and then just say it. “I brought the chip.”
He twitches. “What?”
I pull it out of my pocket. I had put it in a Ziploc bag to keep it safe. I hold the bag by the edges and it just dangles there. “I brought the chip.”
“But it's⦔
“I honestly cannot believe you thought I would really destroy it. I'm not that stupid. If it's something my mom spent all that time trying to protect, I'm not just going to throw it in a freaking Coke can.” I'm only half kidding. The other half is annoyed. “People have no faith in cheerleaders.”
“People have no faith in anything.” He smiles really slowly.
“Except processed cheese. I think people have faith in processed cheese. And Spam. And Snopes. And the Internet.”
He doesn't respond, just leans across the desk. We stand there for a second, staring at each other, and suddenly everything becomes awkward and I sort of cough. And he straightens up and takes a step backwards, and I go, “Well⦔
“Well what?” He pulls out a gun.
“You're going to shoot me?”
“Put the chip on the floor, Mana.”
“No.”
“Mana, I am not kidding around. Put the chip on the floor.”
“No. You need it. You said you need it to find the other parts of the machine.”
“We'll find them the hard way.” He pulls the trigger. The roar of the gun is massive and deafening. I gasp, but there is no time to move, to do anything, to think. And then the bag in my hand is gone. The thing is obliterated.
“You shot the chip!”
“It needs to be gone. I can't believe you trusted me like that.”
“I did not trust you,” I say. “I thought you were going to shoot me.”
“You ⦠you ⦠are risky, and amazing, and⦔ He flusters around like he is going to swear at me, but instead all the tension leaves his body and he says, “How about you help me find the other parts? Just till your mom's okay. I don't work well without a partner.”
“You're lying,” I blurt.
“What?”
“You're just trying to keep an eye on me, or protect me. But this is not about you being lonely without a partner. You are not the sort of man who gets lonely.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Does it really matter why?”
“No. It doesn't matter at all.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
When I finally get back home, Lyle's waiting for me in the hospital. He's bent over his iPhone, watching some sort of grainy UFO footage on YouTube. There are white lights in the sky. I wonder if it's real. My mother is still unconscious, still in the bed. Monitors beep to tell us she is alive.
My feet are soft as I step into the room, but he hears me anyway.
“Mana?” His voice is a whisper. He puts his phone on a nightstand, next to a bottle of water, and stands up. His eyes are big and brown and soft. I rush into his arms, hug him tightly to me, and his arms encircle me without hesitating. He smells like minty soap, even in here, where everything smells like hospital.
“I missed you,” I whisper.
“I missed you too.” He breaks our hug the tiniest of bits and gazes down into my face. “So, judging from your texts, we're going to save the world, huh?”
Watching his face, which I know so well, I say, “You decided?”
“Yes.” He smiles and grabs his coat, shrugs it on. It's not leather. It's a dark overcoat, long. He puts his arm around my shoulders. “But you have to swear not to have any coffee.”
“Not even one tiny sip?” I tease.
He yanks open the door and turns to flash me a heart-stopping smile. “And don't even think about ordering a Coke.”
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I would like to acknowledge and shout out my gratitude to the following people who make my life and this book possible:
The Earth, because without you, there's no any of us. I'm sorry we treat you so poorly. Thank you for letting us live and die on you anyway.
All my high school friends who used to look at the night sky with me and imagine weird thingsâand kind of believe themâand freak ourselves out. This means Jackie Shriver, Joe Tullgren, Karin Raymond, Chris LaSalle, David LaFleur, Brandon Constant, Shawn Young, and Christine Allard Bristol. Thank you all for making me weird.
Melissa Frain, the editor who has so much patience she can't be human. Thank you for making this book possible and being so out of this world in a good way. Many thanks to the rest of the intergalactic Tor team, including (but not limited to) Amy Stapp, Kathleen Doherty, Ali Fisher, Seth Lerner, and Linda Quinton! Thank you for flying this book into the world and being such stable bases that I'd recruit you into any cheerleading team, any time.
Edward Necarsulmer IV, for always waving the pom-poms, even when I am out in space, floating aimlessly, which is a lot.
Dwight Swanson, for his invaluable contributions to this book and for his ability to double-dog dare, so I had to put him in here even though he didn't actually do anything.
Mike, Lynne, and Grayson Staggs, for being the best kind of new friends possible and for creating instant community among so many people. And to everyone at poker. Because ⦠poker.
Steve and Jenna Boucher, who have volunteered to be family since I have lost so much of my own.
Nicole Ouellette, Maryanne Mattson, Lori Bartlett, and Laura Ludwig Hamor, for their exceptional kindnesses.
I have lost my mom and my dad since my last book, and the support and love of people like the ones listed above, plus the Bar Harbor Fire Department, have meant a great deal to me.
So, the most thanks go to Emily Ciciotte and Shaun Farrar, for being my gravitational pulls and spotters. Without you two, the me that I am would be lost to space. I love you.
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Carrie Jones
is the
New York Times
and internationally bestselling author of the Need series, as well as
After Obsession
with Steven E. Wedel. She is a distinguished alum of Vermont College's MFA program, and a part-time police dispatcher in Maine. She blogs about her dogs, cops, and a bit about writing, too. You can visit her on her Web site
www.carriejones.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.
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CONTENTS
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
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FLYING
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Copyright © 2016 by Carrie Jones
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All rights reserved.
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Cover photograph by Brandon Hill
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Cover design by Faceout Studio/Jeff Miller
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A Tor Teen Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
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ISBN 978-0-7653-3657-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-4668-2849-0 (e-book)
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e-ISBN 9781466828490
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Our e-books may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by e-mail at
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First Edition: July 2016