Kingdom Keepers VI(87)

Decision time. The longer she stayed here, the longer Amanda would wait—no matter how detrimental to the bigger plan. Amanda was just too Amanda to leave without her. Charlene faced the rock and began climbing like Spider-Man, alert for both handholds and toeholds as well as her DHI reappearing.

Behind her, the guard continued pulling himself toward the platform.

Ten feet from the wooden struts, Charlene stretched her hand to grab a thick root sticking out of the mud wall and her hand sparkled to life. She quickly drew it down out of projection. The inchworm guard was close behind and moving fast.

She waited, holding on for dear life, the toe of her running shoe barely caught on a small jutting rock, her left hand clinging to a vine. She formed a plan.

As the guard neared the platform, two of his pals stepped forward to help him, their feet at the platform’s edge.

Charlene timed her climb carefully. As the two leaned out, reaching for the man, she moved furiously, her DHI reappearing, first fuzzy, then solid. One of the two men leaning out spotted her, but too late. She grabbed the first leg she could reach and pulled. This man fell from the platform and wrapped his arms around the guard inchworming on the zip line. The second man tried to hold his partner back, but he, too, was pulled off balance. With the added weight, the zip line pulleys began to roll, and the three men, screaming for help, raced away over the ravine. Charlene hooked a knee, pulling herself fully up onto the platform.

The woman from the bedroom—fit as a ninja—stood there, blocking the stairway. She said something in Spanish that didn’t sound particularly nice.

Charlene’s DHI passed through her. The woman fainted, collapsing onto the platform.

Charlene took off running, her DHI dissolving and reforming, the darkness of the jungle engulfing her and driving her down, down, down the trail even faster. With any luck, she could reach Amanda, Mattie, and the taxi in time.





THE BOYS SPOKE AT ONCE. Uncle Bob tilted back in his chair. The monitors running behind him showed views of a quiet ship.

“First,” Bob said loudly, shutting them up, “I did not send you this note.” He rubbed the back of the card and tossed it onto his desk. “It was typed on a typewriter, not a computer. There are a total of two typewriters on this ship—they’re only here in case the computers go down. Whoever sent this to you…well, it can’t be many people. I can look into it. But, bottom line, you were tricked. So now we know who was in Animator’s Palate. This is your second vandalism in three days. The company is going to take a dim view of this.”

Philby held up a hand to stop Maybeck and Finn. “You must have it on camera.”

“We have three kids on camera—Finn and two girls, one who plays lion tamer. We have a knife-throwing contest. You all are living on the edge.”

“It’s not a game!” Finn cried. “They were trying to kill us! You saw who was throwing the knives, I hope!”

“Off camera.”

“Of course!” Finn shouted.

“Quiet down, son.”

Finn glared. He was about to use the “dad” line Philby had used, but Philby cut him off. Again.

“You have cameras on your stairways. I’m sure you do,” Philby said. “In case of lawsuits over people hurting themselves.”

Bob’s face revealed nothing.

“So, check out Deck 1 forward, maybe thirty minutes ago.”

Bob pursed his lips. Barely looking at his keyboard, he called up a different four images on his screen. The upper right was black.

“That your doing, too?” he said, pointing to the blank quadrant.

“Oh, perfect,” Finn said. “Do they make any mistakes?”

“And the jogging track, fifteen minutes ago? The same thing?”

“Same thing,” Bob confirmed.

“And you think it’s us?” Philby said.

“I’m told by the most reliable authorities that you, Mr. Philby, can hack just about anything. Some unsecured video feeds? Child’s play, I would imagine.”

The room went quiet.

Maybeck sat forward in his chair. “Okay, so check it out: I get fried by a bolt of lightning. My boys get in a jam with Maleficent—the real Maleficent, not the pretty one. We’re not asking you to buy this, because we’re not selling, we’re telling. There is stuff going down. Some of your own crew have been hypnotized. They’re zombies. Bad zombies.”

Uncle Bob nodded ever so slightly. Maybeck couldn’t tell if his speech was having any effect, but continued determinedly.

“They’re sending us fake notes. They’re threatening our lives. Now, supposedly the five of us, as Disney Hosts, represent some serious financials for the company. Why else would they install us on your ship? Give us a free cruise? We make them money: as guides, with merchandise, video games, books.”