The Rivers of Zadaa

SECOND EARTH

(CONTINUED)

“Let’s do a little math here,” Andy Mitchell said.”And I’m good at this, so you can’t argue. I called you for help and it took about, what, an hour out of your busy schedule? You, on the other hand, call me at six in the morning and ask me to drive three hours up to the sticks, so you can see a chick I can’t stand, and doesn’t like me so much either. Is that about right?”

“Uh, yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” Mark said sheepishly. “But you said if I ever needed a favor-“

“I did,” Mitchell said, snorted, and hawked a lougie out the driver’s window.

Mark nearly retched. He was grateful the window was open.

“All I’m saying is, this don’t make us square,” Mitchell said. “The way I see it, I’m in for six, seven hours plus here. After this, youowe me.”

This was killing Mark. The idea of relying on Andy Mitchell for anything was worse than swallowing metal shavings. To know he was now indebted to the creep made him want to jump out of the car while they were doing sixty-five on the Connecticut Turnpike. To top it all off, since he helped Mitchell deliver the flowers that morning, there was nothing covering the rancid smell in the car anymore. What else did Andy use this car for? Stashing bodies for the mob? The only thing that kept Mark from losing it was knowing how important it was that he find Courtney.

“I’m really grateful,” Mark said.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Mitchell said.

Mark closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

“Why do you got to see her so bad?” Mitchell asked. “I thought she had the hots for Pendragon?”

“The truth?” Mark asked.

“No, I want you to lie,” Mitchell said sarcastically. “Sheesh.”

Mark had no intention of telling the whole truth, but it was going to be awkward once they got there. He figured he had to tell some version of the truth. “I’m worried about her,” Mark said.

“Chetwynde?” Mitchell scoffed. “She’s the last chick I’d worry about.”

“Yeah, well, I think somebody might be giving her a hard time, and I want to make sure she’s okay,” Mark said.

“And you got this brainstorm at six o’clock in the morning?” Mitchell asked.

Mark shrugged and said, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Mitchell shook his head in dismay and said, “Some guy is giving Chetwynde grief and you want to swoop in like Batman to protect her?”

“I’m more of a Superman guy,” Mark said.

Mitchell laughed. “You’re nuts is what you are. Maybe it’s a good thing you called me.”

Strangely enough, Mark was thinking the same thing. He didn’t want to be doing this alone. He wondered what Courtney would say when he showed up with Andy Mitchell. He hoped she’d get a good laugh out of it. He hoped to hear her laugh about anything.

Mark didn’t hate the drive. Once the “you owe me/I owe you” conversation was over, they began talking about Sci-Clops. It was the one topic they had in common. Mitchell told Mark all about the process he went through to develop the elastic metal with the incredible tensile strength that he had demonstrated at his first meeting of Sci-Clops. Mark was fascinated to hear Mitchell describe how he was trying to find a way to create something with the durability of metal and the flexibility of plastic. The trick was to find the elements that would form an ionic bond on the atomic level to create an entirely new compound. Much of it was trial and error, and he said how he was still a long way off, but the professors at the university thought that what he’d done so far was pretty impressive.

Impressive was the word. It never failed to amaze Mark to listen to Andy when he spoke about his passion for math and science. It simply didn’t jive with the slug personality of this guy who drove with one hand and kept pushing his greasy, dirty blond hair out of his eyes with the other. The guy was gross… and genius.

Not to be outdone, Mark told Andy more about the killer robot he had made that won so many competitions. He explained how the secret wasn’t in the hardware, but the software. Mark had never told anyone about this before, but hearing about Mitchell’s successes with his new compound, he felt as if he needed to show off a little too. He confided in Mitchell that he had been working on a new processing code that actually streamlined the binary flow through the processor of the computer that ran his robot. The result was that the clock speed of the standard microprocessor was dramatically increased, which translated to faster commands to the hardware, and therefore a robot that could react and attack way faster-with more programmed moves-than its competition. Mark admitted that it was all pretty crude at this point, but he hoped to develop it further so that at some point he might catch the interest of one of the big tech companies.

After hearing his story, Mitchell looked at Mark. He didn’t say anything, he just looked at him. “What?” Mark asked nervously.

“That’s incredible,” was all Mitchell said. “Absolutely incredible.”

It sounded to Mark as if he meant it too. For the first time, Mark felt as if Andy Mitchell had respect for him. Not that it mattered. Impressing Andy Mitchell wasn’t Mark’s lifelong ambition. Yet it was an interesting moment. Mark actually felt a connection with this guy. Was it possible? Could they be friends?

He didn’t have long to think about it, because a second later his ring began to twitch.

Mark didn’t have time to fret about the bad timing. He quickly stuck his hand in his pocket and said, “I’m whipped. I’m gonna lie down in back.”

Before Mitchell could react, Mark clicked open his seat belt and vaulted into the back of the ancient station wagon.

“Take it easy!” Mitchell shouted. “I ain’t got no insurance.”

Mark’s ring was already growing. He pulled it off and crouched into a fetal position, trying to hide it and block the spewing light. He spotted an old, stained tarp in the back. Without a second thought he grabbed it and covered the ring, which had already grown. The tarp kept the light show hidden too. The only thing he couldn’t hide was the music. The jumble of notes grew louder in spite of the fact it was muffled by the tarp.

“What are you doing?” Mitchell asked. “You got a Game Boy back there?”

“l-lt’s my watch alarm,” Mark said, thinking fast. “It’s a weird tone, I know. I think it’s busted.”

Andy Mitchell looked at his watch. “Why’s your alarm set for eight forty-five?”

“Uh, th-that’s when I get up. Usually.”

The notes grew louder.

“Geez, turn it off, will ya!” Mitchell complained. “It’s making me crazy!”

“Yeah, I’m trying. I can’t find the button.”

Mark prayed for the event to end. A second later he felt the ring shrink back to normal as the musical notes abruptly stopped.

“Thank you!” Mitchell said. “Jeez.”

Mark felt around under the tarp until he touched the roll of paper that had come through the ring. Bobby’s next journal had arrived. Mark was certain that contained in its pages would be the result of the war on Zadaa. But he couldn’t read it. Not yet. It killed him, but he had to put it away until they found Courtney.

“You all right back there?” Mitchell asked.

“Y-Yeah, fine. I’m gonna sleep, okay? Let me know when we get close.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Without looking at the journal, Mark slipped it into his backpack. In spite of the fact that he hadn’t slept all night, he wasn’t the least bit tired. But he had to play out the lie. So he lay there, wide awake, staring at the stained ceiling of Mitchell’s station wagon. He tried not to think about the journal that was only inches from his head. First things first. He had to find Courtney.

The drive took a little over three hours. Andy Mitchell kept to the speed limit, which wasn’t all that hard considering his beater of a car rattled like it was going to fall apart whenever they got up any real speed. Mitchell followed the directions that Mark had printed out from Mapquest. It got them to the front gates of Stansfield Academy shortly after ten in the morning.

“Nice place,” Mitchell said. “I always figured Chetwynde had bucks.”

“It is pretty nice,” Mark agreed.

“So? How do we find her?” Mitchell asked.

Mark had already thought this through. He got the map of the school he had printed out from their Web site. They parked in the visitors parking lot and went to the registration office. Mark put on his most polite voice and introduced himself to the secretary as Courtney Chetwynde’s brother. He said they were visiting and needed to know where her dorm was. Mark was so polite that the woman had no problem giving him the information. It helped that Mark had Andy wait out in the corridor. He was sure that if the woman got a look at Andy Mitchell, they’d be lucky not to be thrown out on their butts. With the information in hand, Mark and Andy walked quickly across the campus to Courtney’s dorm. Within minutes they were standing in front of the old, ivy-covered brick building.

“One problem,” Mark said. “It’s an all-girl dorm. They don’t allow guys in to-“

“Gee, yeah, that’s a big problem,” Mitchell said, and walked right in. Andy Mitchell wasn’t big on following the rules.

It was an old building, with dark mahogany wood paneling everywhere and a wide staircase that led to the second floor. Courtney’s room was #219. The guys took the stairs up, two at a time. Her room was at the end of a long corridor with old, thick carpeting that smelled kind of musty. Mark knocked softly.

“Courtney? It’s Mark.”

No answer. Mark knocked again.

“You there, Courtney?”

Still no answer.

Andy pushed Mark aside and pounded on the door a few times, yelling, “Hey! Wake up!”

Nobody answered.

“Now what?” Mark asked.

“Not a problem,” Mitchell said. “I have a technique I developed for just such an occasion. It took me a while to master this. It’s very precise. Observe.”

Mitchell took a step back… and kicked open the old door. “Andy!” Mark yelled.

“Hey, you said she was in trouble. What’s an old door lock?”

Mark figured Andy was right. He truly didn’t care about the door, so long as they didn’t get arrested. They entered the room, quickly closing the door behind them.

Courtney wasn’t there. Her single bed was made, her English lit books were stacked neatly on her desk. Mark took a quick look around and saw no other books.

“Her algebra-trig book isn’t here,” he announced. “She must be in class.”

“Nice going, Sherlock,” Mitchell said. “Let’s go find it.”

As they left the room, they ran into a girl who was wheeling her bike along the corridor, headed to the room across from Courtney’s. She stared at them suspiciously.

“Hi,” Mark said. “My name’s Mark Dimond. I’m a friend of Courtney’s.”

“Oh yeah,” the girl said, relaxing. “She’s talked about you.”

“I’m Andy Mitchell,” Andy said, trying to be charming. “I’m her friend too.”

“Yeah?” the girl said. “She never mentioned you.”

The charming smile fell from Andy’s face.

The girl asked, “Is she sick?”

“I don’t know, why?” Mark asked back.

“Cuz she didn’t show up for lit class this morning.”

Mark’s mind raced. Her lit books were still on her desk. He had to force himself to keep cool.

“I don’t know. We just got here. Maybe she’s with that guy she’s been hanging out with. What’s his name? Wimpy?”

The girl chuckled. “Whitney. Whitney Wilcox. Could be. They’re always together.”

“Where does he live?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know,” the girl answered. “Check with the registrar.

And when you find Courtney, tell her I picked up her assignment.”

“Thanks,” Mark said. “I will.”

He grabbed Andy by the arm, and the two hurried off.

“Who is this wimpster dude?” Mitchell asked. “The guy we’ve got to rough up?”

“No,” Mark said. “There’s somebody else.”

“Two guys?” Mitchell said with surprise. “Chetwynde’s keeping busy. What’s the deal?”

“Look, Andy, I don’t mean to be mysterious, but this is Courtney’s business.”

“It was,” Mitchell said quickly. “But you made itourbusiness.”

Mark was afraid it would come to this. He knew Mitchell would start asking questions he didn’t want to answer, even if he could. But he knew he had to tell Mitchell something.

“All I know is that she’s been seeing some guy, but then there’s another guy who’s been bothering her. I wanted to come up here to give her support. That’s pretty much it.” Mark thought that, in some simplistic way, that was the truth. He could only hope that Andy Mitchell would buy it.

“Whatever,” Mitchell said. “Let’s do what we gotta do and go home.”

The two went back to the registrar’s office to see if they could find Whitney Wilcox. After a long search by the secretary through the school’s computer records, she announced to Mark that there was no Whitney Wilcox registered at Stansfield. Mark’s radar instantly went up. A vague feeling of dread began to rise. There was no record of a Whitney Wilcox. But Courtney knew him. So did Courtney’s neighbor. He was a real guy, but he wasn’t. Was it possible? Mark’s heart started to race again. His head went light. He had to run out of the registrar’s office. Every bit of news he uncovered was bad, and getting worse. Andy followed him and stopped him on the stairs outside.

“What is going on?” Andy asked.

Mark had a double dilemma. He had to pull his thoughts together, and tell Andy what was going on in such a way that kept the truth hidden.

“I–I’m not sure,” Mark said breathlessly. “I’m b-beginning to think that the guy who Courtney was seeing is the same guy who was giving her trouble.”

“How much trouble could a guy named Wimpley cause?” Andy scoffed.

“Enough,” was all Mark said.

Andy thought about that answer, then asked, “Is this big-time, going-to-the-cops-style trouble?”

Good question. If Courtney was missing, then they absolutely had to tell the police.

“I–Idon’t know,” Mark said. “M-Maybe. I gotta think this through. Courtney called me yesterday. She said she had a date last night with this Whitney guy. They-they were going for pizza in town. She said she was riding to meet him.”

“Riding. Not driving. She said riding?” Mitchell asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it.”

“There wasn’t a bike in her room,” Mitchell offered.

“Right,” Mark said. “Then she had an English class this morning, but her books were still on her desk.”

“So you’re thinking she rode her bike to meet this guy last night and never made it back to her room?” Mitchell asked.

“I don’t know,” Mark answered. “There’s more. Later last night I got a phone message from Courtney. She sent it around seven thirty, right around the time she was supposed to meet Whitney. She sounded bad, like she might have been hurt. I didn’t hear it until this morning. That’s when I called you.”

“What did she say?”

Mark had to lie. Her real message wouldn’t have made sense to Andy. “I couldn’t tell. It was garbled. But it was definitely her and she sounded bad…like she may be hurt.”

“Are you serious?” Mitchell screamed, genuinely upset. “Why didn’t you tell me that before? Never mind, it don’t matter. I’m the last one to be saying this, but we gotta tell the cops.”

“You think?” Mark asked.

“If she was riding her bike to meet some mystery guy and right about that same time she called you sounding like she was hurt, I’d say there’s more going on here than a date for pizza.”

Mark had to admit that Andy was making perfect sense. Right now this had nothing to do with Saint Dane’s plan to rule Halla. Courtney was in trouble, for real, here on Second Earth.

“You’re right,” Mark said. “Let’s drive into town and find the police station.”

They both hopped into Andy’s car and drove off campus, headed for town. Mark was grateful that Andy had actually taken charge. His mind was in so many different places, worrying about so many things, that he couldn’t see the obvious. After what they had found at Stansfield, Mark felt certain it was time to report Courtney missing. He didn’t think anybody would laugh at him now.

They drove along the quiet country lane that led through the beautiful farm country and up into the Berkshires. Mark stared out the window, in a trance, thinking that this would have been the same route Courtney took the night before. He didn’t even register how lovely the countryside was. He was too busy thinking about Courtney. And Saint Dane. And doomsday. The road grew steep as it left the pasture and snaked along the side of a craggy mountain. Off to the right was a dense pine forest. Mark turned his gaze to the road in front of them. They were headed toward some blind curves. Mark’s palms started to sweat. He thought that if another car were coming around the curve ahead, and took the turn a little too wide, there would be a head-on. Without thinking, he gripped the elbow rest of the car.

That’s when he saw it. “Stop!” Mark shouted.

Andy jammed on the brakes, skidding to an abrupt stop. “What?” he yelled. “What happened?”

“Look!” Mark said, pointing ahead. Andy looked forward and said, “Look at what?”

“The road,” Mark said. “Look at those skid marks. There was trouble here.”

Sure enough, there was a set of dark skid marks that started in the opposite lane, crossed over the center line into their lane, and stopped just before the steep edge that dropped off into the pine forest below.

“Whoa,” Andy said when he registered the skid marks. “Those are fresh.”

Andy pulled the car as far over to the side as possible. The two got out to examine the skid. Mark saw that the marks led to the shoulder just off the road, where there were two imprints from the front tires of a car.

“Looks like the car came down from above, hit the brakes, and skidded to a stop right here,” Mark said.

“Lucky guy,” Mitchell added. “Two more feet and… banzai!”

Mark walked to the edge of the road and looked out over the forest below. There was a short, steep clear section before the pine forest began. Mark saw what he thought might be a gouge taken out of a tree several yards below them. It looked fresh.

“What’re you thinking?” Andy asked.

“Nothing,” Mark said. “We should keep going before we gethit.”

Andy started back for his wagon. Mark hesitated a moment. Something was keeping him here. He had no idea what it was. He was starting back toward the car when his eye caught something. It was off the side of the road, a few yards farther up the hill, stuck in a bush. The only reason he saw it was that it was bright red against the green foliage. He was ready to ignore it and get going, but something about it bugged him. Looking around, Mark realized that it wasn’t so much that there was a piece of bright red trash on the side of the road, as that it was theonlypiece of trash. Living in a heavily populated area, Mark was used to seeing garbage strewn along the sides of the roads. It was a sad fact of life. Glancing around here, everything was as clean as Disneyland. Not a single piece of trash littered the road, except for this bright red something.

“What’re you doing?” Andy asked. “Let’s go!”

“Hang on,” Mark said.

He carefully stepped down off the shoulder onto the steep pitch of the hill. He walked to the bush, tripping over rocks and getting thorns caught in his jeans. He reached into the bush and pulled out the piece of trash. As soon as he lifted it, he saw that it wasn’t trash at all. It was a book. A textbook.

An algebra-trig textbook.

Mark’s eyes went wide. His adrenaline spiked. He looked out onto the forest and screamed, “Courtney? Courtney?”

“Are you crazy?” Mitchell asked.

Mark threw the book to Andy. “She’s here,” he said breathlessly. “There was an accident. She’s here!”

Mark tripped down the hill, headed for the forest and the tree with the gouge taken out of it. Andy Mitchell shrugged and followed. It was so steep, Mark nearly took a header. But he kept going. He got to the tree and saw that the gouge was definitely fresh.

“Courtney!” he yelled.

He looked around the silent forest, scanning for any clues. He got a big one. A few yards farther down the hill was a bike. Mark ran to it and quickly realized what had made the gouge in the tree. The bike’s handlebars were bent into a right angle.

“Is it hers?” Andy asked as he ran to meet Mark.

“Yeah,” Mark said, his panic rising. “If she was on this when it went over the edge, then she-“

The words froze in Mark’s throat. A few yards to his left he saw a hint of something that was dark green. Courtney had a dark green backpack. Mark leaped for it, picked it up…and came upon the body of his friend Courtney Chetwynde.

“It’s her!” he shouted. “Call nine-one-one!”

“Holy jeez,” Andy said, stunned. He fumbled to pull his cell phone out of his pocket. He nearly dropped it. Twice. “What’s the number again?” he stammered nervously.

Mark shot him a look. Andy nodded, feeling dumb. He dialed.

Mark bent down to Courtney. Her long brown hair was a tangle over her face. Her left arm was bent back at a strange angle. He could see that her right hand was on her cell phone. He now knew how she’d made the call to him. He bent down and brushed the hair out of Courtney’s eyes.

“Is she…” Andy asked. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Mark summoned his courage and put two fingers to her neck, looking for a pulse.

“C’mon, Courtney,” Mark whispered. “You’re there. I know you’re there.”

He felt around. There was no pulse. Her skin felt cold to his touch. Mark’s heart sank. If only he had gotten her message earlier! He began to cry.

“I’m so sorry, Courtney,” he said softly.

“Yeah, this is an emergency,” Andy spoke into the phone. “We’re on a road between the fancy Stansfield school and the town. Derby Falls. There’s been an accident. A girl is hurt off to the side. Bad. You can’t miss my car-it’s parked on the side of the road. We’re down in the woods. Hurry, all right?”

He disconnected the call and looked at Mark. “What do you think?”

Mark was in tears. “I don’t know. I can’t fee! a pulse.” Andy Mitchell bent down next to Courtney. He gently picked up her hand.

“Be careful!” Mark said. “If she hurt her back-“

“I know, I know,” Andy replied.

He grasped Courtney’s hand in both of his. Mark was surprised at how gentle he was. Andy Mitchell was definitely full of surprises. Andy held her hand in his for several seconds while looking at Courtney. He then moved his fingers toward the underside of her wrist. He placed two there, and waited.

Mark’s heart was ready to burst.

“I got it,” Andy said softly. “It ain’t strong, but it’s there.”

Mark was stunned. There was hope!

“Keep her warm!” Mark said while taking off his sweatshirt. He gently placed it down over Courtney. “We gotcha, Courtney,” he said. “Help is coming. You’re gonna be okay.”

Within minutes a fire truck and ambulance arrived from Derby Falls. The EMTs dove into the woods and went right to work. They quickly checked Courtney’s vitals to find she was indeed alive. They expertly immobilized her by putting her onto a fracture board. With Mark and Andy’s help, they carefully pulled her out of the woods and got her into the ambulance. Fifteen minutes after Andy put in the 911 call, Courtney was on her way to the hospital.

The next few hours were like a blur to Mark. He and Andy answered a ton of questions from the police, and made sure that Courtney’s parents knew what had happened. Mr. and Mrs. Chetwynde were on their way to Derby Falls minutes later. Mark told the police about the mysterious guy Courtney was supposed to meet, Whitney Wilcox. He knew the police would question people at the school. He knew they’d find people who knew Courtney was hanging out with Whitney. He knew it would all be a waste of time. They would never find him, because he didn’t exist. At least, not in the normal sense. He may not have been a student at Stansfield, but he was very real. And he was out there.

Throughout this ordeal, there was one question that was more important than all the others. Nobody could say for sure if Courtney was going to survive. The only information Mark and Andy got was that she had some broken bones, but her real problem came from internal injuries. There was a lot of bleeding. She was in surgery, and it would be a while before anybody knew if she would live. All they could do was wait and hope.

Andy Mitchell wanted to get something to eat. Mark didn’t want to leave the hospital, so Andy volunteered to bring something back. Throughout, Mark thought, Andy had been terrific. He was turning out to be a good friend. How strange was that? Once Andy left on his hunt for food, Mark was faced with a long wait before Courtney would be out of surgery. He sat in the quiet waiting lounge with nothing to do…

Except read the next journal from Bobby Pendragon. He took a quick look around to make sure nobody was watching, and pulled the journal out of his pack. He expected to see the familiar, crusty brown roll of parchment paper that all the journals from Zadaa had used. He didn’t. This roll of paper was bright, lemon yellow and tied with a purple bow. It looked like something you’d get at a kid’s birthday party. When Mark unrolled it, he saw that Bobby’s writing was done in bright purple ink. He had no idea what the significance of any of it was, but didn’t spend too much time wondering about it.

It was time to read.