Shift (28 page)

And what about what happened when Zachary and I, um, mingled? We switched colors, or became something in between. (Magenta?) Our bodies, and maybe our souls, overcame the Shift itself.

The DMP would love to know all of this. And they probably
would
know it, once we arrived at this 3A place. Nicola had looked like she’d pass out when she found out they were taking me and Zachary there. What kind of place was it that they wouldn’t even let us call our families? When would they let us go? What would they do to us? At the very least, they would read my mother’s journal and know … everything.

I slumped forward, elbows on my knees, feeling vulnerable without a seat belt. The bench itself wasn’t remotely contoured for a human butt, so my back was killing me.

To take my mind off the ache and anxiety, I tried to figure out our approximate location. It’d been at least two hours since the van had stopped, turned, or even slowed, so we were obviously on a long highway. Probably not I-95, or there would have been tolls. I-70 then, headed west, since east would have immediately taken us to the Baltimore Beltway. Judging by the steepening hills, we were headed into the middle of nowhere.

My attention kept returning to the envelope with my mother’s journal pages in it, sitting in Agent Acker’s lap. The mere thought of him reading them made me queasy, and not just because I wanted to keep Mom’s secrets. Like I’d told Zachary, I always got carsick when reading anything longer than a text message in the car. Lots of people I knew were the same way.

A small but steady lightbulb began to glow in my brain. Crazy idea, but worth a try. It was better than Zachary having to assault a federal agent.

“Are you going to read those now?” I asked Acker, my voice deliberately shaky.

“I haven’t been ordered not to, but procedure requires me to present it to my superiors first.” His tone turned friendlier. “You’ll get these back as soon as we’ve examined them. We understand they mean a great deal to you.”

I wanted to tell him where to shove his understanding, but I needed his guard down. “Thank you. The journal is really personal. She didn’t even want
me
to read it until I was old enough to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“About sex.”

His gaze dropped to the envelope in his lap. Then he turned it around and pressed the ragged adhesive seal tighter.

I stared at the toes of my scuffed creepers. “It’s too dark in here to read, anyway.”

Acker smoothed his fingertips over the corner of his jaw, right under his ear. Then he did the same on the other side.

I held my breath, hoping he would respond to the reverse psychology.
Even in the dark, I could see Zachary’s posture tense. He looked ready to pounce, probably wondering what the hell I was thinking.

Acker’s foot started tapping, one heel against the floor of the van. I kept holding my breath.

Finally he reached into his inside uniform pocket and brought out a small flashlight. Glancing in the driver’s direction, Acker opened the envelope. I made what I hoped sounded like a disappointed sigh.

Acker spent several minutes putting the journal pages in order.
Whew.
At least he wouldn’t read the last part first.

Then he began reading, squinting at my mother’s scrawl. The van made a turn onto what must have been an off-ramp. I had to clutch the edge of the seat to keep from slipping.

“Hmm.” Acker turned to the second page, which was also crammed with barely legible handwriting. I was suddenly glad my mom was sort of long-winded.

He set the paper down and wiped his forehead.

Score.
He was getting carsick. Gina always taught me to look out the side window into the distance to reset my equilibrium. But there were no windows in the back of the van, and from here only a tiny portion of the front windshield was visible, through a screen next to the driver.

Acker took a couple of deep breaths, shook his head, and began to read again. His eyes devoured the words—probably Mom’s description of what happened at Newgrange, maybe her mention of Eowyn. I couldn’t remember if she’d named Ian, and hoped not. The DMP had to see him as an ally or at least a friendly liaison.

Acker’s forehead creased and he released a grunt. I wondered if he’d just read about the Shine. On its own, it meant nothing.

The road took us through a series of S-curves, the van jerking us back and forth. I was getting nauseated myself.

Acker called to the driver, “Jeffries, slow down! You’re making me sick.”

“We’re running late. Just suck it up for ten more minutes.”

Zachary sat up straighter at the news that we were almost there. I wanted to shout at him to chill. My plan might yet work.

Acker placed a hand over his forehead and the other on his stomach. Then he gave a loud belch. “Excuse me.” He tried to resume reading, then rested his head back against the van’s wall.

The road took a vicious right curve. I gripped the seat and planted my feet wide to keep my balance.

When we came out of the turn, Acker yelled, “Jeffries, pull over! I’m gonna be sick.”

“Use a bag.”

“There aren’t any bags!”

“What about the kids?”

“We’re deep in the heart of Pennsyl-nowhere. Where are they going to go?”

“Fine, but you get to explain why we’re late. Wait until I secure the prisoners before you barf.”

So we
were
prisoners after all. Acker had lied.

The van slowed, rumbling onto the shoulder. As Acker stood, my mom’s papers spilled off his lap and across the floor. He shoved the back door open and lurched out before we’d come to a halt.

Zachary and I grabbed the scattered papers, then leaped out of the back of the van. We stumbled when our feet hit the road’s sloping shoulder. Steadying each other, we dashed into the dark woods.

“Stop!” Jeffries shouted as Acker gagged and retched.

“Don’t stop.” Zachary took my arm with his free hand. “Keep running, no matter what.”

I ran into the darkness, clutching my mother’s words to my chest, hoping I wouldn’t fall into a hole or trip over a root.

When the shots rang out, I ran even faster.

I
ran until my lungs couldn’t hold my breath, until my legs were so numb, they felt like part of someone else’s body.

Finally I pulled Zachary to a stop. “Rest. For. A sec.”

As I collapsed to sit on a fallen tree, Zachary put a hand to his ear. He’d barely broken a sweat.

“Do you hear anything?” I pressed my lips together to quiet my breathing, but that just made it rattle in my nose.

“Not yet.” He scanned the forest. “But they’ll be sending out a search party, maybe with ATVs or dogs.”

“Why did they take us?” I panted. “What do they want?”

“Probably these.” He held up the journal pages he’d grabbed, then folded them and put them in his back jeans pocket.

“They were after Eowyn, so maybe they followed us from her office.”

“And we led them right to what they wanted. Brilliant.”

“But then why not just take the papers and let us go?” My throat tightened. “Why shoot at us?”

“It was just a warning shot. Probably.” He helped me to my feet. “Let’s keep moving until we cross a stream, cover our trail. Downhill should take us to water.” Then he added, “Theoretically,” to himself.

I looked at the sky through the trees. The leaves blocked most of the stars, but the waxing gibbous moon’s yellow-white glow shone through. At just past midnight, it would be starting to set in the west. “If we keep the moon to our right, we’ll head south, and if nothing else, we won’t walk in circles.”

“Good idea.” He took my stack of journal pages, folded them, and put them in his other pocket. “Ready?”

I hurried after him on aching legs, grasping saplings and rocks to steady myself as I crab-walked down the steepening hill. My feet slid on the damp leaves, slippery as ice.

Eventually I got the hang of it, and as my confidence increased, so did my pace. I tried to catch up to Zachary so I could speak to him without yelling.

To my left, an animal dashed out of the underbrush. I turned my head, taking my eyes off the ground at my feet.

My toe snagged a root. I yelped as I pitched forward. I reached for anything to slow my fall, but I just rolled faster and faster. Rocks poked my gut and brambles slashed my arms and legs.

I hit something hard. “Ooufh!”

“Christ, that was close,” said Zachary, who had broken my fall. Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled me tight against him. I
turned my head to see, in the glow of filtered moonlight, the edge of a boulder six inches from where he’d stopped me. Beyond that edge was at least a twenty-foot plummet onto a pile of rocks.

“Aura, you could’ve been killed.”

We held each other close as our breathing slowed. What if I’d died without telling Zachary how I felt? After a sudden accident I would’ve probably become a ghost he could never see.

And what good would it do Zachary to know I loved him, when I’d be gone forever?

I tried to pull back so I could look him in the eye. “Zach …”

“Shh.” His grip tightened. “I hear something.”

I listened over the pounding of my pulse. A distant rustling, as if the wind had stirred up a giant pile of leaves. But the night had turned heavy and breezeless.

“I think it’s water,” he said. My tongue ached at the mere sound of the word.

I only limped a little as we made our way down the rest of the hill—slower this time. The rustling grew more distinct, and soon we saw moonlight glisten off a small, slow river.

“Thank God.” I ran forward, sank to my knees on the flat bank, and dipped my hands into the water.

“Don’t drink it! It could be loaded with bacteria.”

I sniffed the water in my cupped palms. “It smells clean.”

“There’s a bacteria that loves clear mountain streams best. Giardia, I think it’s called.”

“What could be worse than dying of thirst?”

“Dying of diarrhea.”

“You win.” I dropped the water and wiped my hands on my jeans.

“Let’s hurry up and cross.” He took off his shoes and socks. I started rolling up the cuffs of my jeans. “No need for that. Here, hold my shoes, and be quiet.”

“Okay, but—whoa!” I flailed as he lifted me into his arms.

“Shh.” He strode forward into the river. “No sense in us both getting hypothermia.”

“You hear me complaining?”

“For once, no.”

I resisted the urge to whap him with his shoe, and instead wrapped my other arm around his shoulders. I tried not to notice how little my weight seemed to sap his steady strength.

To distract myself, I blurted the first dorky question that came to mind. “What do you charge for your ferry service?”

“My fee’s negotiable.” He increased his pace, making the cold water splash around us.

“The song says not to pay you until you get me to the other side.”

“What song?”

“From the eighties. ‘Don’t Pay the Ferryman.’”

“How old are you? Forty?”

“I like all kinds of music.” I grimaced as a wave of frigid water seeped through the seat of my jeans. “The cool kinds.”

“So what kinds aren’t—ow!” Zachary lurched to the side. His arms tightened so hard I thought he’d crush me.

“Are you okay?”

“Aye.” But his eyes were wide, and his breath came quick and shallow. “Let’s keep going.”

He limped faster, cursing quietly in Gaelic or maybe Glaswegian English.

When we reached the shore, he set me down carefully, then collapsed onto the smooth, sloped riverbank.

“What happened?” I knelt beside him.

“Stepped on some driftwood, I think. Turned my ankle. I’m fine, really.”

“You’re not fine, you’re bleeding.” I set down his shoes. “Give me your shirt or something so I can stop it.”

“Let’s use yours instead.” His eyebrows popped up. “It could be my ferry fare.”

My face warmed at the idea, and at the way his
r’
s rolled extra strong when he was trying to charm me. “Take it off or bleed to death.”

“I won’t bleed to death.”

I put my hands on my hips, examining him. “Are you shy about taking off your clothes?”

“What, you’d rather I be an exhibitionist?”

“You wore a kilt to the prom.”
Not to mention had countless bouts of fifteen-minute sex with Suzanne.
“You like people looking at you that way.”

“Well.” He looked toward the river, but a fallen tree blocked his view. “As a lad, I was quite, er, doughy.”

“Doughy? Like bread?”

“Unbaked bread. Once when I was twelve, I lost a bet, and three of my so-called mates stole my shirt and made me walk a mile home, half-naked. The girl next door, the one I liked …” He paused. “She said I looked like a marshmallow. I hate marshmallows.”

I winced. “That sucks.”

“I was so crushed, I threatened to throw myself in the River Clyde.”

“You poor thing.” I glanced down at his bleeding foot. “But I’m still not taking off my shirt.”

Zachary looked hurt. “That wasn’t my point.”

“But you wouldn’t have stopped me.”

“Well, no. I’m not a complete bampot.” He paused, as if waiting for me to confirm that he
was
crazy, then pulled his black polo shirt over his head and tossed it to me. Zachary definitely wasn’t a dough boy anymore.

Forcing my focus, I held what looked like the cleanest part of his shirt against the wound. He scrunched his eyes at the pressure, and his lips parted in a soft, halting gasp.

“Breathe.” I was reminding myself as much as him. “Sorry about your shirt.”

“No, you’re not.” He gave me a cocky grin as he leaned back on his hands. I pressed harder on the wound. “Ow.” His grin vanished.

Once the bleeding stopped, I said, “Wiggle your foot and see if it hurts.”

He did as I asked, his neck muscles tensing. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Bullshit, you probably sprained your ankle.” I pointed to a tilted log behind him. “Rest it on that overnight so it won’t swell up like a balloon.”

“We need to keep going.” He reached for his shoes, but I snatched them away.