Myers looked like he hadn't slept a wink. If he was overjoyed mankind wasn't going to perish in a rain of hellfire, you couldn't see it. "Get to class," he ordered, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual. But the bell rang as he spoke, making us tardy. Myers turned and began limping toward the door. "Come along, then, and get a note."
Mrs. Ferguson was sorting permission slips at the counter in the office, her graying black hair organized in a tight bun. Myers waved us into hard plastic chairs. "Delia, please write these two passes into class. No punishment this time."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Myers. You need coffee this morning?"
He forced a smile as he eased past her. "Bring the whole pot. But give me ten minutes."
"I'll make a fresh one." She turned to regard us as Myers disappeared down the corridor to his office. "Tack and Min. Min and Tack. Always the pair, like a couple a' bad pennies. What you done this time?"
"We cured cancer," Tack said. "We're supposed to get an award. It's named after you."
She chuckled low and deep. "Oh, I'm sure." Then her voice hardened. "You wouldn't know anything about the act of terrorism that took place in our parking lot yesterday, would you, Mr. Russo?"
Tack's eyebrows rose. "I was at the opera, milady."
I covered my eyes, but Mrs. Ferguson snorted. "Enough cheek to mold a newborn baby. You'll have to wait while I get this brew going. That man is running himself ragged these days." With a loud tsk, she walked into the break room.
"Think she bought it?" Tack whispered.
Rolling my eyes, I rose, began pacing the waiting area. Being this near the principal's office stirred memories of my dream the night before. Myers, huddled with Sheriff Watson and those strangers in suits, poring over documents in our elementary school. Myers, ordering Mrs. Thompson to release Noah and me into some doctor's custody.
What had he said to my mother that afternoon? Could I trust him now?
Was he a part of what happened to me on my birthdays?
I stopped pacing. Myers's office was in the rear of the administrative suite, around a corner from the front counter. On impulse, I pushed through the swinging door. I could hear Mrs. Ferguson humming as she fumbled with coffee filters in the break room.
Tack watched me curiously, a question on his face.
I snuck around the corner. Peered down toward the principal's office.
My breath caught. Myers's upper body was slumped across his desk. His shoulders shook. I was certain he was crying.
I stepped back, desperate to escape the awkward moment.
My heel clipped the wall.
His head snapped up. Myers pierced me with a watery gaze.
For several heartbeats, we stared at each other. Then his landline rang and he leapt to answer it, as if he'd been waiting for a call. "Myers! Yes, I'm here, damn it! Patch me through." When he glanced back at me, it was like he'd forgotten I was there. With a grunt, he reached out and slammed the door shut.
I scurried back to the lobby. Tack shot me a look, but I waved him off, dropping into a seat as Mrs. Ferguson reappeared. My mind was racing as she wrote our passes.
Myers hadn't stormed out to chastise me. Would he let me walk away without a word, after seeing him like that?
A door opened inside the suite. Cringing, I prepared to have my skin peeled off, but instead I heard another door open and close. I glanced at the office phone on the counter. Line One was blinking, then went solid. Myers had placed his call on hold, then picked it up somewhere else.
The conference room? That was the only logical space back there.
My instincts blared in warning. The world might've been "saved" last night, but that didn't satisfy Principal Myers. What could still be bothering him so much? Who's on the phone?
"No side trips, you hear? Those passes are good for five minutes."
We nodded. But out in the hall, I turned left instead of right, following the wall twenty yards down.
"Min? What are you-"
I shushed him, examining a door. The conference room was on the other side.
A hasty scan of the hall, then I pressed an ear to the wood.
Tack began stroking his chin. "I see. You've lost your mind."
"Shh." I could hear Myers talking, but couldn't make out the words. I listened intently for a few seconds, then dropped to my stomach, flattening on the ground and pressing my ear to the gap at the base of the door. Suddenly, his voice became less muddled.
"It's happening soon," Myers said curtly. "A matter of days. We're done here, and there's nothing more to say." A short pause, then Myers clearly interrupted. "I won't. I won't do it. It's sink-or-swim time. That's all there is to it."
The hair on my arms stood. What was he talking about?
A longer pause. When Myers spoke next, his tone was low and dangerous. "Then let me make myself clear, General. I won't allow a single Nemesis man on campus. Watson will back me on this. The project is nearly complete. Everything is in motion. I won't rattle the cage right at the end."
A voice boomed from somewhere behind me. "What are you two doing?"
I scrambled to my feet. Mrs. Garcia was striding toward us, arms laden with exam books. "Min Wilder! Why are you lying on the floor?" She glanced at Tack, who waved inanely.
"Sorry!" I hitched my backpack, nearly tumbling in the process. "Dropped my necklace."
"Well?"
I swallowed. "Well what?"
"Did you find it?" As if speaking to a child.
Nodding like a bobblehead, I grabbed Tack's arm and dragged him down the hall. "Oh! Yes, thank you! Gracias. Sorry, I mean. For the confusion. Lo siento. Adios!"
Reaching class, we slipped inside. "What was that about?" Tack insisted, but the lesson had already begun. We held up the passes, but Mr. Hayles just waved us to our table. He looked awful-a red-eyed, unshaven mess-but was gushing about Alfred, Lord Tennyson and the exhilaration of eluding certain death.
I didn't pay attention. Ignored Tack's impatient glances. My mind was still on tilt.
Nemesis.
That word again, after all these years.
The shots. The tests. My secret ride into the woods.
This wasn't about some pesticide spill. It never had been.
Something big was going on. So big the Anvil didn't enter the equation.
Myers said the project was happening now. Here. In Fire Lake.
We were sitting in the crosshairs.
11
I have a plan.
I'm crouched on the southern shore of the lake, lurking behind one of the summer camp's wooden outbuildings. I've been thinking about dying since the moment I woke up.
Happy fourteenth.
All morning I stayed glued to Mom's side. I made her walk me to the bus, then sat next to Tack and covertly held his hand all the way to school. He didn't understand, but didn't break my grip, either. Three periods later, I snuck out the back door.
Starlight's Edge Fellowship Camp. The tired old facility is closed until next month. I've never been on the grounds before, but that's the point. The black-suited man can't possibly know to find me here.
And if he can't find me, he can't kill me. I could still make the party.
I've given up trying to figure out why, but Sarah and Jessica included me in their plans for Noah's birthday celebration. Cake. Bowling. They even rented out the back room so we can dance afterward. Everyone in our class is going, and, incredibly, it's half for me. The invitation says "Min Wilder" right on the front. It's a miracle.
Hide here until nightfall, then straight to the Seven-Ten. This can work. It will work.
Leaves crackle behind me. My whole body tenses as I whirl. A doe steps from the trees, regards me cautiously. She nibbles a patch of clover at the edge of the woods.
My eyes close. I take a breath. Suddenly, I worry I've miscalculated. I could've planted myself at Dale's Diner, or the public library. Lots of people at both. Too public for an execution.
But I'd have had to move eventually. Mom might've tracked me down. Or Tack. Principal Myers could've gone looking for a truant. Our town is too small to hide in plain sight.
This way is better. No one knows where I am.
Engine noises. Tires on gravel. Creeping to the corner, I peek around. A mud-splattered SUV is sending up clouds of dust as it barrels along the lakefront road.
It abruptly slows. Stops. Tinted glass, so I can't see inside. The vehicle idles fifty yards from where I'm hiding.
The driver-side door opens.
The black-suited man steps out.
Turn. Run.
I'm in the trees before my next breath, clawing up the mountainside like an animal. No plan. Nerves flailing like downed power lines. A single question burning in my brain.
How?
How did he find me here, in the middle of nowhere?
There's no path. No houses for miles. I chose this spot because of its isolation, and that may be my downfall.
I bomb through a copse of prickly cedars, then pause a beat, listening.
Pebbles scatter not far below.
I heave myself over a boulder, throwing caution to the wind in a blind panic to escape. This section of mountainside is exposed, the ground broken and uneven. Scree tumbles downhill behind me, giving away my position.
I can't calm down. Can't think. I don't want to die again.