The Undertakers (22 page)

I did that to him,
I thought, and in that moment, I hated myself.

“Catch you later,” Tom said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

And then I was alone in the Infirmary.

The Gift

I lay back on the bed, feeling utterly miserable.

My solo war against Booth had gotten one friend hurt and possibly killed another. It had also alienated Tom and forced the Undertakers to abandon their headquarters.

On the other hand, I
had
rescued Amy.

But no, I hadn't even done that, had I? I'd
tried
to rescue her but had only ended up getting myself knocked unconscious. In truth it was Sharyn and the Angels who'd saved Amy.

Guilt warred with sadness, grief with regret, until I wasn't sure what I was feeling.

Worst of all, Helene was in trouble, but nobody even believed she was alive. And I was stuck in this Infirmary with a broken arm.

I wiggled my fingers again.

Except it didn't
feel
broken.

I strained against the splints, turning my wrist experimentally. Nothing. No pain at all.

Frowning, I examined the wrapping. It was just an elastic bandage. I'd worn one like it back when I'd hurt my knee playing soccer. That one had been secured with a little silver clip. This one was simply knotted.

Once again, acting more from gut instinct than reason, I worked at the knot until it came free. The stretched bandage loosened immediately, whipping around my arm so fast that it actually slapped me in the face. Then two wooden sticks—paint stirrers, I saw—tumbled to the blanket.

I extended my elbow, ready for a shock of pain.

Nope.

If my arm really was broken, then it was a funny kind of broken!

I sat up on the cot, waiting for my head to throb. It didn't. I waited to feel dizzy or nauseated. Again, nothing. I felt fine—better than fine. Energetic.

I remembered the golden woman.

Did she…heal me?

It was a crazy idea, but what other explanation was there? Of course, in order to heal me, she'd
have
to be real. But how could I know for sure one way or the other?

Quite suddenly I recalled the gift she'd given me, and I looked excitedly down at my pillow. Could there really be something under there? Only one way to find out. I reached one hand under the thin foam cushion and felt around.

Nothing.

Then—something.

I pulled it out.

A pocketknife.

I gasped.

It wasn't Tom's. For one thing, this one was gold instead of silver and had eight buttons instead of six. For another thing, Tom's pocketknife lay in a cardboard box under my cot, along with my shoes and backpack. Apparently the Chief hadn't been angry enough to demand it back.

Not that I needed it anymore. It seemed that I now had one of my own.

But what kind of angel goes around handing out pocketknives?

I tapped the
1
button. There was the familiar lock pick. The
2
button was my old friend, the Taser. I tapped the
3
button. Out sprang a balanced throwing blade, just like on Tom's knife. Then the
4
button. Again, just like the other knife: a screwdriver. The
5
button too. Pressing
6
produced the flashlight.

That left the two new buttons.

Hope neither of these turns the knife into a hand grenade!

Feeling both excited and a little foolish, I tapped the
7
button. A little cylinder about the size of a quarter popped out one end. I studied it, frowning, then pulled it close to one eye, closing the other.

It was a telescope.

How it worked was beyond me. But there was no denying that it worked extremely well. There was a dial on the side of the cylinder, and when I rolled it, the magnification increased. At its highest, I could clearly spot the cobwebs that laced the ceiling of the Big Room, high overhead.

Cool!

I tapped
7
again, and the cylinder retracted.

Then I looked at the
8
button.

What's the worst that could happen?

I pushed it.

The lights went out.

Uh-oh.

I sat in breathless silence as, beyond the Infirmary's walls, kids exploded into cries of alarm. Somebody called out fearfully, “Is it them? Is it them?” Then after half a chaotic minute, Tom's strong voice boomed out—calm but urgent—“Listen up! I want Angels on the roof and in the tunnel! Gear up for combat! Everyone else, stand clear! Invasion regs are in immediate effect!”

Further commotion followed. Something crashed loudly to the concrete floor. This was followed by additional shouts and then footfalls—a stampede of them.

I wondered if I should say something to someone.

Um—I think I did this.

Yeah, right. Like I wasn't in enough trouble already.

Instead I simply sat there, listening to Haven mobilize for what they all thought was an impending attack.

Long minutes passed. I half-expected someone to check on me. No one did. Tom probably figured that I was safer where I was—safer and out of the way. He was right, of course.

I betrayed him.

The knowledge was like a weight around my neck.

I'd meant it when I'd told Tom I was sorry. I hadn't realized how important his trust had been to me until I'd lost it. The look on the Chief's face when he'd left the Infirmary had felt like a punch in the stomach.

But if I had to do it over again, would I do things differently?

No way.

I ran my fingers over the pocketknife's smooth surface and stared blindly into the surrounding darkness.

Helene was alive. This pocketknife proved it. How else could it have gotten under my pillow if the weird lady hadn't put it there? And if her visit was real, then her answer to my one question had to be real too.

Helene was being held captive in Kenny Booth's house in Roxborough.

And Tom's not going to do anything to help her because he thinks I'm nuts.

I could show him the pocketknife, tell him about the golden woman and what she'd said. But given my bad rep right now, what were the chances that I'd be believed? As things now stood, Tom would never accept anything that I told him, regardless of the evidence. Even if I did present the Chief with the angel's pocketknife, Tom would probably confiscate it for study and send me back to Ian for some aspirin or something.

Suddenly I knew two things. The first was that if anyone was going to save Helene, it would have to be me. The second was that whatever I did, I'd have to do it alone.

I'm not going to betray him again—not ever. This time the only person I'll risk is myself!

Then, almost desperately, I thought,
If I can find Helene and bring her back, maybe he'll forgive me.

Finally after what felt like an hour but was probably more like ten or fifteen minutes, Tom's voice spoke out loudly again. “Stand down, Undertakers! Looks like it's just a power failure! The fuses somehow blew! Sharyn, keep the defenses up, just in case. But the rest of you, chill. We're cool! The light'll be back on any—”

And just like that, they were.

“There you go,” Tom said, laughing with what sounded like genuine relief.

I scared the crap out of everybody.

I looked down at button
8
, marveling at it. I remembered a time when I'd been a little kid and my father had taken me down to the Manayunk Canal. A fish had jumped out of the brown murky water, momentarily glistening in the midmorning sun. It had been there for only a split-second, but I remembered gasping at the strange, almost otherworldly beauty of it.

I felt kind of like that now—awed by something new and beyond myself.

I wonder what they'd do if I turned off the lights again.

Despite everything, I nearly laughed.

And deep in my mind, a plan began to form.

Dave in a Sling

I tried to make as little eye contact with anyone as possible on my way to the boys' dorm. Around me, the Big Room was a hive of activity, with kids packing up computers, telephones, printers, and other equipment. The illusionary curtain at Haven's entrance had been replaced with a wooden ramp, along which heavily laden hand trucks were being paraded.

The Undertakers were evacuating in a hurry.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't help catching a few kids' expressions. Some were sympathetic. Others, like Alex Bobson, looked pretty nasty. No one spoke to me, which was just fine.

The Burgermeister sat on his bunk in the dorm, his injury preventing him from assisting with the move. He was alone, staring moodily into space when I walked in.

“Dude!” he exclaimed, instantly brightening. He climbed to his feet, a clumsy process given that one of his beefy arms hung in a sling.

“Hey,” I said, whipping up a smile. “How's the collarbone?”

“No biggie. Hell, my grandma hits harder than those Corpses!” Dave couldn't quite match my grin. “But what's with you? Tom said you broke your arm.”

I shrugged and waved with the “bad” hand. “Nope.”

“That's cool.”

“Yeah.”

His face fell. “Helene's dead.”

I said, “No, she's not.”

“What?”

“She's alive. Booth's got her in his house up in Roxborough.”

To my surprise Dave let out a great whoop of joy. “Yeah! All right! So when do we go get her?”

I said flatly. “We don't.”

“What?” Dave asked again.

“Tom doesn't believe me.”

“He doesn't? Why not?” Then, warily, “Dude—how do you
know
she's alive?”

“You wouldn't believe me either if I told you.”

Dave's face clouded. “Will, um—you sure you're okay?”

I shrugged and changed the subject. “Listen, Burgermeister. I'm sorry.”

Dave blinked. “What for?”

“For talking you into coming with me last night. For getting you hurt.”

The Burgermeister laughed. “Dude, I was the one who talked
you
into letting
me
tag along, remember? Jeez! Last night was the first solid action I've seen since joining this screwy outfit! You got nothing to be sorry about!”

“Yeah, I do. Turns out the Angels had the whole fort wired for sound. They heard everything we heard. We might as well have stayed here.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Amy.”

I didn't bother pointing out that it had been the Angels who'd really saved Amy. Nor did I remind him that, yes, Amy was free but at the cost of Helene's safety.

Instead I simply said, “I'm gonna get her.”

“Who? Amy?”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Helene!”

“Yeah? Are you?”

I nodded.

“Is Tom gonna let you?”

“I'm not gonna tell him. I'm not gonna tell anybody…except you.”

The Burgermeister's eyes widened. “Dude, you're going to do it again?”

“I have to. She's alive, Dave. I can't leave her behind! I mean, she didn't leave me behind, did she—back at my school?”

“Hey, Will, you don't got to convince me! I'm behind you all the way. When do we leave?”

“Not
we
. This time, I go alone!”

Dave's face darkened. “No way! I'm going too!”

“It's really great that you want to,” I replied, “but we both know you can't—not with that sling.”

“Oh. Right.” The Burgermeister dropped dejectedly down onto his cot. When he looked up, I was astonished to see tears in his eyes. “Dude, if you do this—they'll never let you back in.”

“I know.”

“You won't even know where to go—not once we make the move. Tom ain't told nobody where the new place is.”

“I know that too.”

“You'll be on your own.”

“Not if I rescue Helene.”

Dave considered that. “Yeah. I suppose that's true.” Then, frowning, “So what is this—like, good-bye?”

“Guess so.”

We silently studied each other, sharing the kind of moment that, two weeks ago, would have seemed awkward and embarrassing. Now, however, with all that had happened and all that would happen, it felt completely natural—

—and horribly sad.

Dave stuck out his free hand. “Good luck, Will. And take care of yourself.”

I took the hand, feeling Dave's meaty paw completely envelop my own. It didn't matter. We were equals. We were peers. We were friends. “You too, Burgermeister.” I smiled wanly. “See you around.”

Dave's reply sounded strangely adult. “I hope so.”

I checked the girls' dorm, but Amy wasn't there. Instead two girls I didn't know eyed me disdainfully before telling me that Nick Rooney had lured the former mole off to the kitchen for something to eat. I muttered a thank you and left.

I passed the skateboard track, where two boys were running the course, performing complex ollies and 180 backsides that, to my eye at least, looked pretty skillful. When they saw me, they both took a final half-pipe side by side and landed smoothly in my path, smiling and snatching up their boards. One of the boys was Chuck Binelli. The other was Burton Moscova, Steve's younger brother. Both were Angels.

“Hey, man!” Chuck said.

“Hey,” I replied flatly. The last thing I wanted to do was trade small talk with anybody. “Um—shouldn't you guys be off filling up boxes or something?”

Chuck grinned. “We did our share. Then me and Burt told Sharyn we needed a break. She said okay, so long as we stick around in case of an alert.”

“That was half an hour ago,” Burt added, also smiling. “I think she forgot about us.”

“Oh,” I said. I hadn't thought Haven
had
any goof-offs. Finding out that it did was both a relief and a disappointment. After all, kids were kids.

Chuck's manner turned serious. “Look, we know it sucks about Helene—but we wanted you to know that what you did last night was pretty cool.”

I shook my head. “I shouldn't have gone out without Tom's okay. It was stupid.”

“Stupid?” echoed Burt. “I seem to remember you facing down a couple hundred Corpses with a single water pistol.”

“I remember that too,” Chuck added.

I shrugged.

“Pretty cool,” Chuck repeated, smiling.

I supposed that all these compliments should cheer me up a little. They didn't. Instead I kept thinking about Helene—Helene in trouble.

“Thanks,” I replied glumly.

Chuck leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Listen, Will. A few of the other Angels are thinking about staying behind after tonight's evac—standing up and fighting when the Corpses come.”

I frowned. “You'd be killed!”

“Maybe,” Burt replied firmly. “But it has to be better than running.”

No wonder Tom's upset.

Have I destroyed the Undertakers?

I felt a sudden, desperate urge to run off and apologize to Tom and Sharyn.

And especially to my dad.

“Anyway,” Chuck said, “we, uh—just wanted you to know that.”

“Thanks,” I said, halfheartedly.

Both boys nodded. Then Burt burst out, “Look, Will, we're not saying that we're actually going to hang back. We're not that dumb. But we're thinking about it! All this time, we've been about keeping low. Staying hidden. All defense. No offense. Know what I mean?”

Of course I did.

“Well, since you've been around, that's changed. More of us are getting less interested in playing it Tom's way—in
playing it safe
. We want to start really hitting back! And that's because of your example.”

I frankly hated this idea but didn't know how to say so.

Feeling uncomfortable, I decided to try a change of subject. “So what happened with the lights a little while ago?”

Burt uttered a nervous little laugh. “That was messed up. At first Tom figured the Corpses had killed our power, especially after the roof spotters said that the outage hit every building for at least two blocks around. But then my brother checked the fuses. Turns out they were blown.”

“Which ones?” I asked.

“All of them.”

An odd chill danced up my spine. “What—um, what could do that?”

“Who knows? Steve replaced the fuses, and everything went back to normal—except all the other buildings were still out. My brother says that the only way that can happen is with some kind of freak power surge—or maybe an EMP.”

“EMP?”

“
Electromagnetic pulse
,” Chuck explained. “According to Steve, they can burn out pretty much any electrical device in their range.”

“Oh,” I said. “Um—do they happen a lot?”

Chuck laughed. “About as often as you get struck by lightning!”

Burt added, “Steve says the only things that can cause an EMP are really big electromagnets—the kind that only the U.S. Army's got—and nuclear explosions. And since we're all still here, looks like the explosion thing didn't happen.”

“Oh,” I said again. “So he thinks this was the army?”

“I don't know what my brother thinks,” Burton replied with a shrug. “I rarely do.”

An electromagnetic pulse? Was that what button
8
did on my new golden pocketknife? I couldn't imagine what possible good something like that could be.

But then abruptly I could.

I cleared my throat. “Well, I'm sure Steve'll figure it out.”

“Of course!” said Burt at once. Beside him, Chuck looked less sure.

“In the meantime, though,” I continued, “I, um, got to go.”

“Yeah, everybody's busy,” Chuck replied. “But, hey—about that thing we told you? Maybe if you, like, went with us to talk to Tom, we might get him to change his tactics or something.”

“Maybe,” I replied, faking a smile. “I'll think about it.”

I hurried away, trying to ignore the enthusiastic thumbs-up that both guys gave me. I felt foolish, embarrassed, and horribly guilty.