Freefly (25 page)

“It’s a wonder you can take people down the way you do,” I say, wishing she could transfer some of that power to me.

“Yeah, a real wonder,” she mutters.

“I’m glad you can take care of yourself.”

“Too bad I’m supposed to kill people.”

This silences me.  We continue walking past closed storefronts with names like Surfing Stuff and Seaside Tees.  Soon, the boardwalk begins to fill with morning joggers, who lope past us, glazed in sweat.  A few of the stores’ doors spring open, too, sending the aromas of coffee and baking pizza into the air.  It must be about ten o’clock.  I notice that many of the joggers stare at us, some of them craning their necks to look at us after we’ve passed. 

“Sammie,” I say, starting to feel nervous.  “Have you noticed
—
”

“Yup.”

We walk faster.  The boardwalk becomes even fuller, as families head toward the beach with towels and folding chairs under their arms.  These people stare at us, too, wide-eyed and whispering.  My face begins to feel hot.  Just as I’m about to suggest to Sammie that we get out of here, a hand grasps my shoulder and spins me around. 

“Damien Savage?” says the man.  He’s older, and wears a Hawaiin shirt over green swim trunks.

Sammie grabs his arm and twists.  His back hits the boards with a deafening
thud! 
There’s a gasp from the crowd around us.

“How do you know him?” Sammie yells.

The man cowers, but says nothing.

Sammie jumps toward him, causing him to yelp.  “
How do you know him?
”

He thrusts a rolled-up newspaper at her.  She grabs it and unrolls it.  I rush to her side.  On the front page, the newspaper reads
WANTED:  FLYING TEENAGERS.  NO HOAX. 
Beneath the headline, my senior photo takes up most of the page, along with a smaller, blurrier photo of Sammie and me floating in my school’s cafeteria. 

I gape at Sammie.  She grasps my wrist and yanks me toward the water, and we take off at a sprint.  Behind us, the crowd begins to scream.  I glance back.  A large circle has converged around the fallen man, and, terrifyingly, a small group races after us.

“Sammie!” I yell.

“Hold on!” she says. 

The cool breeze slams into the back of my neck, and we lift off the ground.  The screams become even louder behind us.  I look back to see a whole line of people staring up at us, holding out their cell phones.  I jerk my face away from them.  Sammie and I shoot over the water, then tilt upwards.  The rushing air feels good against my face, though Sammie whimpers beside me.  I turn and see her clutching her forehead with both hands.

“You okay?” I say.

She says nothing, though we continue to climb.  Soon, we level off and begin to fly horizontally over the choppy water.  Sammie swerves us back toward the coast, so that we follow its jagged outline once again.  She lowers her hands from her face.  Her eyes are filled with tears. 

“This is really bad,” she says, her voice barely audible over the wind.

“It’s...it’s okay.”

“You know what this means, right?  For you:  hiding.  As in never showing your face in public again.  As for me...”  She turns away and says nothing, though her face conveys her fear.  The boss. 

“What’s going to happen?”

“I really don’t know.”

We fly on, past the same boardwalks and coastal highways we saw last night.  I don’t know where she is taking me, and frankly, I don’t have the nerve to ask.  My stomach feels sloshy, my throat like there is a lump of sand inside it.  I’m more worried about Sammie than I am about myself.  Being a hermit I can handle; it’s what I’ve always been, really.  But what will happen to her?  What if she’s starved, tortured, kept under wraps for months on end?  Naturally, because it seems to be the defining feature of my life, there will be nothing I can do. 

We fly for about an hour and a half.  A city looms ahead, but there are no distinctive buildings I can pick out.  It’s low and complicated, flanked by a green hills.  Then I pick out a strange red structure sitting in the hills.  It’s the Tower.  We must be approaching...Reading.

“Sammie?”

She doesn’t look at me.  “I’m going to leave you with a friend.  When I come back, and I don’t know when that’ll be, I’m going to take you out of the country.  Lay low.  Cover your face when you go out.  No logging into your email or Facelook accounts.  No calling your house.  And swear to me you won’t come looking for me.” 
“Sammie
—
”

“
Swear it.
”

I bite my lip.  “I swear.”

We drop into an alley, hard.  It takes all I have not to crash onto the cement, and I have to catch Sammie by the arms to keep her from doing so.  She still doesn’t look at me, but plows toward the street. 

“Go right,” she says as we round onto the sidewalk.  There are few people outside, though Sammie ducks her head into her shoulder.  I lower my face, afraid of another incident like at the boardwalk.  A car squeals in the distance.  Sammie shoves me toward a doorway, and I have only a moment to glimpse the letters etched onto the glass window:  Taylor’s Coffeehouse. 

It’s a quaint little place, with small metal tables and air so thick with coffee that my nostrils burn.  Sammie hustles me to the front counter, where a young-looking man with brown hair and glasses meets us with a smile, before his face morphs into concern. 

“Sammie, what’s wrong?” he says. 

“I don’t have time to explain,” she says.  “But I need you to hide my friend in your back room.  I don’t know for how long.”

The man’s eyes flick to my face, then back to Sammie’s.  “What is this about?”

She thrusts the newspaper from the boardwalk at him, and he pushes his glasses further up his nose to read it.

“I don’t understand,” he murmurs.

“It’s true,” she says.  “And now there’s a lot of people after us, and I don’t know where else to go.”  She gazes at him, looking on the verge of tears.  “Please.”

He stares at her for a long moment, before gesturing for us to come behind the counter.  As we do, he puts his hands on the wall
—
at least I think it’s the wall.  Closer scrutiny reveals the thinnest black line running through it, forming the border of what may be a tall, narrow door.  Sure enough, the wood slides away, revealing another room.  An even stronger scent of coffee crashes into me.  Sammie pushes me inside and follows me in.  There’s a tinkling of bells
—
the front door opening, I presume
—
and the man slams the panel shut behind us. 

Finally, after avoiding my gaze for our entire voyage here, Sammie whirls to face me.  Her features are ignited with panic.  She grasps both my hands. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

“Please stop saying sorry.”

“I can’t
—
”

My lips crush into hers
—
unexpectedly, desperately.  At first her body tenses against mine, but then she relaxes into me and kisses me back.  I can feel her fingers weaving in my hair, and my hands move to the small of her back.  Something crashes
—
metal on metal
—
from outside the small, coffee-filled room, and we wrench apart. 

Sammie clutches my arm, her body tense beside mine.  We stare at the blank wooden panel.  There are a few more crashes, like the metal tables are being toppled over, followed by a scream.  Then, there is silence. 

The panel slides open.  I gasp. 

“Found ya!” says Michael Thorne.  He has a black eye, and one of his arms hangs in a sling, but he is very much alive
—
and so are the thirteen or fourteen other guys who storm into the room.  Two men grab me by the arms, and I yelp.  Sammie disappears behind a jumble of black suits, though I can hear the sounds of a struggle.  Then, many guns click.  A circle of men holding weapons surrounds Sammie.  She turns round and round. 

“Enough,” says Michael Thorne.  He hobbles further into the room.  “The guns are set to electric shock, my dear.  Move another muscle, and you will experience lightning.”  He lets out a long, cruel laugh.  Though I can only see him from behind, I can imagine the grin spreading over his face. 

Sammie’s eyes dart to me.  "Don't kill him!"

Thorne spins to face me, and I no longer have to imagine his grin.  "Kill him?"  He takes several slow steps in my direction, his eyes roving over me.  "Haven't you seen the papers?  He can
fly.
"

Neither Sammie nor I say anything to negate him.  Her cry rings in my ears: 
Don't kill him. 
I hadn't realized that was on the table. 

Thorne spins back around.  "You almost killed
me,
you know"

"She should have!" I snap.

Thorne chuckles.  "Yes, it would have been advantageous to her if she had, wouldn't it?  But she isn't exactly known for making smart decisions.  Taking you here, for instance.  So close to her…place of business." 

Sammie's eyes widen. 

"Surprised we figured it out?" Thorne says in a triumphant tone.  "It wasn't hard, after seeing your little display on the airplane, and having pinned you in Reading.  Plus, there is the matter of your…family history."

Thorne lets his words hang in the air.  Sammie's eyes move to me, before she casts them down.  Her face has gone a ghostly white. 

"I see you haven't told him," Thorne says.  He whirls to face me, his mouth morphing into a half-snarl, half-smile.  "Here’s a riddle for you, my boy.  A girl exposes her flying powers to a packed school cafeteria.  You and she are on the run from everyone.  And she insists not on fleeing to someplace safe, but, instead, on returning to the criminals of the Reading Tower.  The question is...why?  Can you figure it out?”

I stare at him, saying nothing.

"Loyalty," Thorne snaps. 

"That's not true!" Sammie says.

"The leader of the company is your father, is it not?" Thorne says.

Her face falls.  She doesn’t meet my eyes.

"
What?
" I say. 

"Shocked?"  Thorne gives me a wide grin. 

Sammie launches toward him with fury in her eyes.  Instantly, eight wires blast at her chest.  She convulses with electricity and sinks to the floor.

CHAPTER 10

Damien

I find myself in another jet, much like the one I was shoved into when I was kidnapped from my high school.  Clouds puff past the windows.  I am belted into a chair, my hands strapped to both armrests.  Seated all around me, the men in suits say nothing, staring straight ahead, occasionally glancing at Sammie.  She is strapped into a seat on the other side of the jet, her head lolling to the side.  The electric shocks have knocked her unconscious.  Though I should be panicked out of my mind, I cannot bring myself to feel anything.  Instead, the scene at the coffeehouse replays in my mind.  Is Sammie’s boss really her father?  If so, is the reason she must return to the criminals a sense of loyalty to him?  It doesn’t seem right.  Whenever Sammie spoke of the criminals, only fear overtook her expression, never commitment or loyalty.  But how else can Sammie’s need to return to Reading be explained?  I feel completely confused, and also betrayed:  she told me she didn’t know what had become of her family.  I know we have lied and kept secrets from each other before, but this strikes me as a particularly large omission.