From a block away, Preston and his crewmen could see Mandy rising toward the pod, a flea on a thread with no appeal to turn back, slow down, find another way. History, her life, Dane’s, theirs, the Grand Illusion, were relentlessly moving forward. All they could do was keep up.
Preston and three men were ready at their stations on the platform atop the semi, Preston holding one end of the net, a crewman holding the other end, and two crewmen evenly spaced along the length, supporting the middle. Two crewmen remained on the ground, waiting for Preston’s signal.
She tried once more to reach for her birds, to touch them—
Her feet passed within the open petal doors, then her legs, her waist, her shoulders. Her shackled feet came up against the ceiling of the pod. She hesitated, let her head flop, and looked down. It was a sunny day. People were ant-size and alive down there, looking up at her through sunglasses, from under visors and sunhats. Kids were pointing. Big Max, now a tiny round spot of black, stood by the oversize hourglass, waiting to turn it over.
The volcano, a gaping, smoking orifice, was waiting.
It’s a go.
She hung the shackles on their hook and tripped them open, then pressed a button with her toe to close the petal doors. They closed around her head and shoulders much tighter than she remembered, shutting out the world where the sun shined and life was happening. She was encased in the dark.
On the stage, with a growl and an impressive display of muscle, Big Max hefted the hourglass and flipped it upside down. As the deep rumble of an impending eruption came over the sound system, he, Carl, and Andy feigned panic and ran from the stage only seconds before the propane jets opened wide and the volcano sent up a tower of flame, igniting the fake trees. It was as frightening as anyone could ask for. Everybody screamed.
The sand in the hourglass was running: Mandy had one minute.
It was hard to breathe.
She could hear and feel the rumble below her, faintly discern the excited cries of the people. Less than one minute. Think, girl, think.
Bend your elbows!The cuffs opened, fell aside.
Reach. Reach. Control, now. Be there, touch them, guide them …
Nothing.
So dark, so tight, she couldn’t move, could only muster one thought: Oh, God, let me out of here!
Her hands, shaking, went for the grips. She squeezed the lever on the right grip and felt the hoist cable click free.
What if … what if I can just …
She bent her knees against the escape hatch. Maybe. Maybe. Oh, please …
The hatch was a wall. It didn’t budge.
The realization hit her like a punch in the stomach. The packing bolt. Someone did exactly what Dane expected they would do and there was no turning back. She wasn’t ready to believe it. Her heart was racing, beating against her sternum. She cried, then screamed and kneed the hatch again. Again.
Sealed tight.
chapter
51
It was now 14:16:23 local time.
“Go, go, go!” said Preston.
His crewmen on top of the semi stretched the netting tight and above their heads. With the netting stretched, thicker strands were visible, running in courses across the net at sixteen-inch intervals, strands just the right size to be clutched by …
The two crewmen on the ground flung the big trailer doors open. Inside each ventilated trailer was a living, bustling, cooing hiveof white doves perched like beads on row upon row of abacuslike frames—not hundreds of doves, thousands,startled by the opening of the doors and the sunlight beaming into the trailer’s depths. Hundreds and hundreds took to wing and rushed out the trailer doors like a blizzard, white wings flashing. They rose into the air as one body, then scattered, swirled around in every direction, alighted on the roofs of the trailers, settled on the ground to look for grit or goodies, landed on the fence that bordered the lot, flew across the street to land on window ledges, streetlights, signs, the sidewalk. They stopped traffic, wowed the pedestrians, perched on anything and everything, flitted, preened, strutted, and bobbed …
But that was all they did. As for the thousands still perched in the trailers, they didn’t seem to know what to do other than perch there.
Preston and his men stared blank-faced at the doves and then looked at each other.
In the lab, as DuFresne, Carlson, and the Men of Power watched, Loren Moss initiated the retrace with one keystroke. The whole room lurched enough to throw those standing off balance. They recovered, hands on chairs, the wall, a table, mindful to remain icy, ruthless, in charge.
Moss whistled in thrilled amazement, eyes on the monitors.
Mandy had only an instant to take back control of her situation, to shed the panic and see it through. She pressed her hands against the confining walls of the pod to steady herself. She breathed evenly, prayed …
Come on, girl, be cool, think, finish the show—
Ohh!
Mandy felt the pod lurch as if hit by a gust of wind and at that moment awokefrom being in the pod, in the dark, so hemmed in she could hardly move to being in the pod, in the dark, so hemmed in she could hardly move, but different, as if she’d stepped out of the universe for an instant, then stepped back into the same place to find the place had changed. It was weird, far from normal, and yet … she’d felt this before. Where?
Something was rubbing, tickling her ears and neck. She thought her angel costume had popped out at her shoulders. She checked with her fingers …
Her hair was long and straight, hanging into the narrowing cavity below her. The realization stunned her, tightened her insides: the fairgrounds, under the tree, that’s where!
Dane ran around the edge of the crowd, looking for any change, any indication. He got on the radio. “Preston, anything?”
Preston, his men, and their birds were becoming nuisances but that was all. “I’ve got nothing! No control whatsoever.”
I’ve gone back,Mandy realized. I’m starting over. I’m going to die in here.
The pod was so tight she couldn’t spread her arms from her body, could not bend her knees enough to kick. A scream only bounced back in her face, as trapped in here as she was.
“Look at that,” said Moss, indicating a monitor. “She’s stuck. No activity.”
“Like an interdimensional flatline,” DuFresne mused. “Dead to time and space.” He looked over his shoulder. “Finally.” The Watchers were pleased.
“Oh, Dane,” she cried out loud, “I’m so sorry. It could have worked, it should have worked …”
Dane.
He was still in her mind like a permanent resident, a dear, clear thought when no other thought would come. Let him be your starting point,she told herself. Tell me again, Dane. Tell me how we met, the name of the dove … Snickers, that was it. He flew down and landed on my finger …
She gasped, the sound bouncing from the confining walls.
She could seeSnickers landing on her finger, fluttering as he got a grip, folding his wings, looking at her as the crowd laughed. She could seethe crowd, the stage, the poultry pavilion behind the stage, the trees, the fairgrounds.
She remembered!
She let the memory—yes, the memory!—play in her mind: Angie and Joanie giggling, Marvellini—he had black hair parted in the middle, an oversize handlebar mustache, a baggy tux with tails—playing it for laughs: “Snickers! He’s quite the ladies’ man, you know!”