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No Passengers Beyond This Point(16)



“Um, Chuck, we want a real taxi, okay?” My voice is pinched. “We need an adult driving.”

“Yes, well, driving is a kid’s job,” Chuck observes.

India snorts. “Is that so?” she asks.

“That’s the way it is here, yes,” Chuck answers politely.

I peer out the window, looking for a sign. “Where is here? Fort Baker or Denver?”

Chuck shakes his head. He seems genuinely apologetic. “Always happens. Can’t ever get the signage just right. People think this is Portland or Chicago. Dallas or New Orleans. We put up as many signs as we can, but . . .”

“What signs?”

“The ones I’ve been telling you about. The ones that said: Not Albuquerque. Not Las Vegas. Not Denver,” Mouse pipes up.

“Trouble is there’s so many places this isn’t, it’s hard to cover them all. Just yesterday we had someone from Duluth.” He sighs. “You know, there isn’t a single sign that says Not Duluth.”

“Why do you have signs that say what this isn’t?” India asks.

“It’s the first comment passengers always make.” Chuck lowers his voice in imitation of an older man. “‘Hey um, sir, this isn’t Cleveland?’ ”

“Okay,” I say. “But if it’s not any of those places, where is it?”

“We’re headed for Falling Bird. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky is a color you don’t often see.” We look up at the luminous midnight blue sky, glistening with stars like a thousand glittering pencil points. “Sometimes there’s a little patch of day sky, then you know it’s a special night. I saw one earlier. It’s probably gone by now. You got to catch them quick,” Chuck explains.

“Like a shooting star?” Mouse asks, her voice sleepy.

“Exactly,” Chuck agrees.

“Falling Bird must be on the way to Fort Baker. You know Uncle Red’s address? Red Tompkins? He lives near the Horsehair reservoir. That’s where we’re going, right?” India is leaning forward, straining against her seat belt, which rubs the feathers off. They fall gently to the floor.

Chuck shrugs. “I never met Uncle Red,” he admits.

I shoot India a wary look.

“Uncle Red called the taxi. He wouldn’t have met him,” India whispers.

I know she’s right, but even so. This is all a little odd. “Maybe you should take us back to the airport,” I suggest.

“Okay, but I’m not sure you’re going to want to stay at the airport.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“No flights out from there.”

“But it’s an airport,” I insist.

“He means this late,” India says.

“Did you get our name from Uncle Red?” I ask.

“Sparky told me,” Chuck says. “He runs the information group and he teaches Century Awareness.”

“What’s Sensory Awareness?” I ask.

“Century, not sensory. We call it CA. It just means keeping up with things. If you have contact with passengers, you need to know what’s happening.”

Mouse’s head nestles against my arm. Poor kid is even more exhausted than I am. She’s already asleep. “So this Sparky guy radios you with names of passengers on the flight.”

“Yes, I believe you were on flight number two-eighty-eight.”

“That’s right,” India says.

This isn’t making much sense, but the logic seems less and less important “Where is everybody else?” I ask, sinking back into the soft seats, a warm contentment flowing over me.

“I only had room for you,” Chuck explains, his words as slow as syrup.

“Oh,” I say, comforted by this answer despite how puzzling it is. Of course he didn’t have room for the entire plane full of people in this one cab. What is he talking about?

“Then where are we going?” India asks as she too falls back into the weightless warmth of the seats.

“You’ll see. It’s pretty amazing. Like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

My mind is still firing questions, but the rest of me feels as if it’s been submerged in warm bathwater. “India, we need to go home.”

“Got to get you to your new home,” Chuck says as the feather taxi increases speed, gliding along in the dark valley with a new set of mountain peaks off in the distance.

I struggle to find my normal thoughts. It feels as if I’ve been wrapped in heated velvet. “Let’s call Mom again,” I suggest.

“You know, our technology has some gaps. We haven’t had anybody with a good grasp of cellophones arrive yet.”