Nightmare Academy (21 page)

“He twisted everything we said,” Elisha lamented as she and Elijah walked across the field together.

“He's good with speeches, have you noticed? When things start getting too illogical for him to argue, he starts working on everyone's feelings so nobody's thinking anymore.”

“And now we're the intolerant bigots and know-it-alls.”

“And nobody's really thought everything through. Very handy.”

“And very dangerous. Elijah, I'm all for investigating, but we're losing what friends we may have had, and I don't know what's going to keep these kids from doing . . . something worse.”

A voice called from behind them, “Hey! Jerry!”

Oh-oh. It was Rory, the big guy from last night.
Oh, please,
Lord, don't let him be looking for a fight.
Elijah tried to keep his face from showing what he was thinking.

Rory didn't stop to talk, but just passed by as he handed Elijah a note. “Somebody wants to talk to you.” He kept going without looking back.

“Well, I'm glad
somebody
does,” Elisha complained.

Elijah read the note. “It's from Mr. Booker.”

The note, in Booker's handwriting, included a rough map showing Elijah where to find the plain, unmarked door in back of the office building. Elijah reported to that door immediately and gave it a gentle knock.

“Come in,” came Booker's voice from inside.

Elijah opened the door and stepped into a small tool room. There were garden tools—shovels, rakes, hoes, picks, axes—hanging on the walls, a wheelbarrow, some sacks of fertilizer, and a small workbench with some hammers, screwdrivers, and a vise. Mr. Booker was standing there, an elbow on the workbench, looking at him. He seemed entirely out of place in here. Elijah remained by the door and left it ajar.

“Come in, Jerry, and close the door.”

“Why am I here, Mr. Booker?”

Booker smiled understandingly. “No need for concern, Jerry. This meeting is off the record and totally nonthreatening, I assure you.”

Elijah found a rake and let the handle drop through the gap in the door, preventing it from closing. Then he remained where he was. “Go ahead.”

With a resigned smile, Booker began. “So you've gotten to know Rory”

“Not the way I'd like to.”

Elijah remained by the door
and left it ajar.

“Well, it was Rory who recommended you. He was very impressed with your martial arts skills last night.”

“Recommended me for what?”

Booker tried to look relaxed, propping one foot on the fertilizer sacks. “You're a bright fellow, a clear thinker, not flighty. A good student, too. Very resourceful, and even courageous. I've been giving it some thought, and I've decided to offer you a very special privilege.

“As you've observed, things are getting out of hand: the raids, the violence, the looting, and I'm sure plenty of other things we have yet to discover. Jerry, I'm sure you understand, when any society is threatened with disorder, firm measures must be taken. The evil has to be contained.”

“I thought you didn't believe in evil.”

He chuckled. “It's just a convenient term I'm using for, shall we say, disruptive, undesirable behavior? When people can't be trusted to control their behavior, then someone else has to do the controlling. That's what police departments are for; security guards; metal detectors. Well, I am in need of policemen. I need to know what the kids are thinking, what trouble might be brewing so it can be dealt with. I may even need some brute force to contain disruptions.”

“So you want me to be a cop?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And a . . . an informant?”

Booker weighed Elijah's choice of words and finally agreed with a nod. “But I have no illusions. Loyalty comes at a price, like anything else.” He reached into his blazer pocket, pulled out his wallet, and produced two twenty-dollar bills, laying them on the workbench. “Would it be worth, perhaps, forty dollars—forty
real
dollars—per day, plus a pipeline to all the KMs you might need? I can also see to it that other privileges make themselves available.”

“And who would I be working for? You?”

“For me, and indirectly, the academy You won't be alone, of course. I've already hired some others among the student body, Rory being one of them.”

“To be what? Hired thugs?”

He laughed. “Well, you make it sound so sinister. But think of the advantages, the main one being order on the campus. No more terrible disruptions, no more lootings, no more injuries.” He looked at Elijah a moment, and then raised an eyebrow as he said in a softer voice, “And the advantage for you personally.”

“Which is?”

“You would be connected with someone in power. I can make things happen. I can change the game to your advantage.” He leaned closer to Elijah, exhilarated with his own sales pitch. “You've seen me and the others pass through that gate every evening. My boy, inside that gate is where the power is.”

Elijah paraphrased one of Booker's pet slogans. “It's all about power, and you have it.”

“Exactly.”

Elijah ran his teeth over his lower lip and then said, “You're really scary, you know that?”

Booker seemed flattered. “Fear works.”

“Especially if you have spies and head-breakers working for you.”

“A good general must have an army.”

“The same goes for an emperor, or a dictator, or a führer. That's the scary part. What you're after is control, am I right? You're trying to contain evil.”

“Admittedly”

“But if you don't believe in truth, or right and wrong, then who's going to contain you?” He put his hand on the doorknob.

"Eighty
dollars a day!” Booker dug out two more twenties.

Elijah shook his head in wonder. “Mr. Booker, it's like you and I are from different planets or something. For you, it's all power and money. For me, it's God. It's Truth. I could never work for you. But thanks for your consideration.”

He went out the door, politely closing it after him.

Elijah and Elisha showed up for Mr. Booker's afternoon class several minutes early—not that they were eager to get there; they just didn't want to risk being late. They'd already had one face-to-face with him, and now, after that little meeting in the tool room, there couldn't be much goodwill left between them.

BAM!
The door burst open right at the top of the hour and Booker entered the room. All eyes went forward. The sudden hush announced him as loudly as any trumpet fanfare.

“Pass your homework to the front!”

One-page assignments were passed forward, desk to desk, to the front. Elisha received the pages from her row, stacking them neatly in front of her. How some of these kids found the time to write anything was a bit of a mystery. One look at the stack told her some didn't.

“Give them here,” Booker ordered, and all the front-row students handed them over. Booker took them in hand without looking at them. His eyes were doing a slow sweep of the class, ray-gunning every kid one at a time.

Elijah could see most of the class from where he sat, and knew what Mr. Booker was noticing.
Oh, boy,
he thought,
here it
comes.

After a long, chilling moment, Booker crossed his arms and announced in a very dark tone, “You can be certain that you have made a very grave mistake.”

Heads pivoted about. Guilt was everywhere.

“Tonya! Where is your
white
blouse?”

Tonya was wearing a ragged denim shirt under her burgundy blazer. “Stolen, sir.”

“Samuel? Your white shirt and your tie?”

“Stolen.”

“Stolen,
sir,”
Booker barked.

“Sir,” Samuel replied.

“Marvin! You aren't even wearing your shoes!”

“Uh . . . can't find 'em, sir.”

Booker scanned the room one more time. Out of some twenty-plus students, only six or seven had a complete uniform. The rest were wearing whatever pieces they had left, horribly mismatched with street clothes. By God's grace, Marcy—oh, her name was
Cher
now—and Elisha had avoided the first raid, so they still looked sharp. Elijah and Warren had complete uniforms, but only because they'd decked Rory and his two buddies before they could loot their rooms. Brett's wardrobe was apparently unscathed.