From a Distant Star (23 page)

A few minutes later, when the receptionist answered the phone and announced, “Dr. Kessler says you can go on back,” I was ready to get this thing over with. I hoisted my backpack over my shoulder and Scout carried the cloth bag in front of him. The girl buzzed us through the door saying, “Down the hall, second door on the left.” Scout took my hand and led the way.

We walked down a hallway so wide we could have driven the van through it. The floor was a conventional beige tile, but the walls were made of ridged metal like a corrugated roof. I quietly asked Scout if he was picking up anyone’s thoughts and he shook his head. He reached out and tapped the wall as we walked past and it resounded with a dull thud. “This is like a barrier.”

We went a long way before we reached the first door on the left, which was closed. The second door, our destination, was wide open. I expected a lab or a manufacturing area, but this was just a small office. A young guy wearing a short-sleeved shirt and dress pants stood there waiting for us, and greeted us as soon as we walked in.

“You’re Lucas and Emma?” His skinny, white spaghetti arms surged forward to shake our hands and he got so close I could smell his coffee breath. “I’m Trent, Dr. Kessler’s assistant. He’ll be here in a minute. Please.” He gestured to two vinyl-padded chairs up next to the open doorway. “Just take a seat and he’ll be right with you.”

The room was small and furnished like an office in an 80s sitcom: tall plant in the corner, desk with a nameplate that said “Trent McCord,” fluorescent lights, and a large framed picture of autumn trees. A door on the far wall presumably went into Dr. Kessler’s office. I was starting to get a not-great feeling about all this waiting, but Scout hadn’t sounded the alarm, and really, what did I know? Maybe this was how it went when you showed up at a secret research facility without an appointment. We took our seats and Trent sat back behind his desk, facing us like he was the principal and we were students who’d violated the rules.

“It’s nice to see some new faces around here,” he said. “Are you from the area, or just visiting?”

I wasn’t feeling up to small talk. I leaned forward in my seat and asked, “So what exactly does Erickson Ryder do?”

“What do we do?” His face had a blank look like I’d asked a very complicated question.

“Yes. This is a research facility, right? So what is it you’re working on?”

“Oh.” His face relaxed. “Communications. We specialize in satellite communications, but we also—” His phone rang right at that moment and he held up an index finger while he answered. “Trent McCord answering for Dr. Kessler.” His eyes widened while listening to an angry squabble on the other end. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Scout nudged me and indicated the artwork on the wall. He whispered, “There are people watching us from behind the glass.” I studied the picture of an autumn landscape, a matted and framed
watercolor fronted by glass. The image did have a slight pixilated look to it. We were being watched through the picture? Like suspects in an interrogation room?

Trent continued his phone conversation. “Christy Carversen? No, Christy doesn’t work here anymore—”

Just as he said that, an older man burst into the room and grabbed the phone out of his hand. Right away, I noticed his surly expression and the way his face reddened around his thinning hairline.

“Who is this?” the man barked, as he pulled on his tie. A moment later, he said, “Dr. Carversen no longer works here. Furthermore, we don’t comment on our employees and we will not tolerate nuisance calls. If this persists, we will take legal action.”

The anger in his voice made me involuntarily rise to my feet and Scout, seeing me, did the same. Even Trent appeared startled at this turn of events, cringing like a cornered animal. The man slammed down the phone, smoothed his hair back and seemed to collect himself. He turned to us.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that bit of ugliness. We’ve been getting harassing phone calls.” He held out a hand, palm up. “You must be Lucas Walker and Emma Garson. I’m Dr. Kessler. It’s nice to meet you.”

I was shaking Dr. Kessler’s hand when I heard Scout say, very, very softly, “It’s time to go, Emma.”

I pulled back and looked straight at Scout. “Run,” I said, not even trying to keep my voice down. I grabbed his arm and we took off through the open doorway, going as fast as we could down the long hallway. I think at some point I stopped breathing and was running on pure adrenaline. Behind us, I heard men’s voices shouting.

“Stop!”

“Come back!”

“Make sure that door is secure!”

I wasn’t sure who was yelling. It could have been any number of people, but in the rush, all the voices sounded the same to me. It really didn’t make a difference. All that mattered was getting out of there. We tore down the hall, and I heard footsteps behind us, but I didn’t turn to look. By the time I reached the door, I was one step ahead of Scout. I tugged on the handle and my heart sank. Locked. Like an idiot, I pulled on it again, like it would work the second time, which it didn’t. The voices behind us were getting closer, and I made a quick decision.

“Stand clear,” I said to Scout as I rummaged around the bottom of my backpack, and he obeyed, stepping to one side of me. When I found Mrs. Kokesh’s handgun, I pulled it out, released the safety catch and aimed at the door. Boom!

I’d seen guns being used in movies and TV, but never even held one until Mrs. Kokesh gave me this one. I wasn’t prepared for the kickback and the smell that rose off it like something burning.

“They’ve got a gun!” one of the men yelled.

“Watch out, she’s got a gun!”

Time shifted and went in slow motion as several things happened at once. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scout jump behind me, raising his bag as he went, and at the same time, the door buzzed, signaling the lock was being released. I grabbed the handle and pushed it open, turning back to see a beam of light shooting toward me. Pencil-thin, it was as translucent and shimmery as the heat waves coming off a road on a hot summer day. Scout held the bag like a shield and it blocked the ray.

“Come on,” I yelled, going through the open door and reaching back to yank on Scout’s shirt. He followed, but paused to pull the door shut. “Just leave it!”

The girl in the lobby jumped up and frantically cried out, “What’s going on?” but we raced past her to the glass doors leading out to the parking lot and didn’t stop until we got to the van.

As we jumped into the van, I put the safety on the gun and tossed it and my backpack on the floor near Scout’s feet. Within seconds, I had the vehicle in drive and we had pulled out of our space.

My heart felt like it was in my mouth.
Ba thumpa thumpa thump
. “Are they following us? Look, quick. Are they back there?” Our tires squealed as we tore around the side of the lot toward the road.

Scout turned to look into his side mirror. “A few are standing and watching us go. Two of them are running after us.”

“How many of them in all?”

“Seven.”

I gulped and tried to breathe normally, but I felt like I couldn’t get enough air. “I can’t believe what just happened.”

“You can believe it,” Scout said. “It did happen.”

I kept an eye on the rearview mirror as we raced down the road, relieved to see that none of them were following us. I couldn’t believe how fast I got the van up to eighty miles an hour. Pretty impressive for a cargo van. One of Roy’s modifications had to be for speed. When we reached the Christmas tree farm, I pulled off the road onto a narrow dirt drive and, from there, drove between two rows of trees. We wouldn’t be visible from the road, but if they had helicopters or spy satellites, we were screwed. I shut off the engine and closed my eyes, talking myself through the crisis.
Breathe, Emma. Just breathe.
I could hear myself taking ragged breaths, trying not to cry. Finally, I felt like my lungs were back on track and my heart rate was steady.

Still, I sat like that until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Emma?” Scout said.

“What the hell was that thing?” I asked. “The laser thing they shot at us? What was that all about?”

“It was a stream of energy designed to short-circuit the human body,” he said. “I knew it was coming and used my pod to stop it.”
He held up the bag to show me a clean, circular hole in the fabric. Presumably, that’s what it would have done to one of us.

“But didn’t some of it hit you?” I asked.

“No. The pod is meant to absorb energy. That is what it does best.”

“Would it have killed us?”

“No, it would have just stopped us. For a long time.”

“Oh.” Like a Taser. I had another thought. “Why did that girl open the door for us?”

“One of the men called her to tell her
not
to open the door, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying because the gun was shooting. She got confused and opened it,” he explained.

“You picked that up from what she was thinking?”

“Yes. Fear is a very strong emotion, and she was very afraid.”

Poor thing
, I thought. Up until now, all she’d done was sign for packages. I said, “Lucky for us, I guess, that you can read minds.”

“So, Emma,” he said, “now what do we do?”

“Now we change the way the van looks and wait until the coast is clear.”

We got out and set to work. The locksmith covering did more to change the look of the vehicle than the other options, so now we were locksmiths and members of the Henderson family. Together, we managed to pull the sheeting down on both sides and secure the pieces in place. Rummaging around inside the van, I found some laminated nametags with various Henderson personas. I tossed one to Scout. “Hang onto this,” I said. “If we get stopped, put it on. If anyone asks, you’re John Henderson.”

“Okay,” he said, examining it front and back.

“And I’m Janette Henderson,” I said.

“So I should call you Janette Henderson?” His forehead wrinkled as he puzzled out this new development.

“No, you can still call me Emma. We’re only the Hendersons when other people are around. And don’t say Henderson, just call me Janette.”

“This is a very odd planet,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

I found an assortment of license plates and grabbed one to slot into the back. I took out the old one and replaced it, glad that Roy had planned for quick-changes.

The doors to the back of the van were open and Scout watched as I worked. “Look around and see if there’s more Henderson Locksmith stuff back there,” I said. I’d never had a take-charge personality, but here I was again, plotting and planning. I’d never thought of myself as a strong person, but now I knew it was only because I’d never been in a situation where I had to be strong. This was proof that I could bring it if I had to.

Scout rifled through a stack of stuff and held up two square signs displaying the Henderson logo and phone number. “What about these?”

“Good,” I said, taking them out of his hands and positioning one below each of the back windows. I stood back and admired our work. In a very short time, we’d transformed the look of the van right down to the license plates. Still, any van spotted on these quiet country roads was bound to raise suspicion.

“Emma?” Scout said, interrupting my thoughts. “Do we need any of this?” He held up two metal boxes. One was labeled “Universal Kit,” and the other said “Locksmith Certifications.”

“I don’t think so, but let me see.” I climbed into the van and examined the first box, opening it to see various metal rings holding bulky, odd-looking keys, along with directions for faking being a locksmith. The other box contained a stack of certificates that looked like diplomas. I was glad to see that Janette Henderson was included in the stack, and that she had completed the training and classes necessary to be considered a master locksmith. I felt oddly
proud of my alter ego. “Let’s just leave this here for now,” I said, shutting both boxes.

I rifled through another stack of boxes, noting that we were also equipped to impersonate dog groomers and a catering service, neither of which came with a fun prop like the plastic bug belonging to the exterminator business.

“What about this?” Scout asked, holding up a large glass jug with a screw-on top.

I took a look. It was about the size of a gallon of milk, but shaped like a wine jug. The kind that usually held cheap wine, judging from the beverages served at my Uncle Kevin’s family get-togethers. The liquid inside this particular jug was clear. I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but I unscrewed the lid and took a sniff. It was so strong, it burned my nostrils.

“This, my friend, is what you call moonshine. Where did you find it?”

He gestured to a milk crate sitting off to one side. I peered inside to see red plastic cups stacked in the corner of the container. Scout said, “There was a cloth covering it up.”

“I bet there was. They didn’t want anyone to see it.” I grabbed two cups and poured us each a small amount. “This might be our only chance to try moonshine ever.” I handed a cup to him and said, “Cheers.”

Scout put it up to his mouth and stopped, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “I must drink this?”

“You don’t have to drink it,” I said. “But
I’m
going to try it.” I took a small sip and, immediately, the overpowering taste made me want to spit it out, but I didn’t. Man, it was strong, and not in a good way. The roof of my mouth burned and my eyes went bigger than they ever had before. “Whoa,” I said. “It would take a lot to get used to drinking that.”

Scout put the cup up to his mouth and his expression changed to horror as he took a sip and coughed slightly, putting his fist up to his mouth. “Why would you want to get used to drinking it?”

“People like the feeling they get from the alcohol,” I said. “When you drink enough of it, you get drunk, and it makes the world seem like a better place.” I added. “Most of the time.”

“Why don’t the people just make the world a better place and then they wouldn’t need to get drunk?”

He had a point. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Emma? Don’t you think we should be doing something?” He looked out of the open van doors. A slight breeze brought the scent of fir trees. “They could find us here. They want to catch us. And they were thinking terrible things. They want to kill you.”