“What was wrong…with her? What happened?”
“Man, I wish I knew. When the cops found her in Manhattan, she was in an abandoned building with a bunch of skeevy kids, but she wasn’t doing drugs or anything like that. She just didn’t want to go home. At least that’s the story I heard. And when she ran away the second time, I guess she went back to that building.”
“Where in Manhattan was it?”
Ryan looks up at the sky, trying to remember. “No one told me where specifically. But I think it was in, you know, one of the poor parts of the city. Like maybe Harlem?”
This is frustrating. I can’t believe that Ryan knows so little. He and Brittany used to come to my house every weekend. We were like the Three Musketeers. We did everything together. “Why didn’t you talk…to her parents? I’m sure they know where…this building is.”
Ryan frowns again. “No, I couldn’t do that. Brittany’s folks have enough problems. They don’t need me prying into their business.”
“But you were her friend! You—”
“Look, Adam, you can’t fix everything. There are some things you just can’t help.” His eyes dart downward, focusing on my ruined legs. “It sounds brutal, but that’s life.”
He’s right, of course. And although Ryan doesn’t say it out loud, I can sense what he’d like to say next: You of all people should know how brutal life is. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to disagree with him, no matter what he says, because I’m still angry. “If you won’t do it…I will. I’ll go into the city…and find Brittany.”
He shrugs. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”
While I seethe in the Volvo’s passenger seat, Ryan looks over his shoulder. Donna Simone waves at him, urging him to join her huddle of cheerleaders. He nods at her, then turns back to me. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I gotta run. I’ll stay in better touch from now on, okay?”
“Yeah, fine. Whatever.”
“It was great seeing you, man. I mean it.” He flashes that big Ryan Boyd grin at me again, the grin that can almost make me forgive him. Then he turns around and walks back to the jock-and-cheerleader club. He greets his buddies and wraps his arm around Donna’s waist.
Half a minute later, Dad returns to the car. He glances at me as he slips back into the driver’s seat, but to his credit he doesn’t ask why my breathing is so ragged. Instead he simply starts the Volvo and steers it out of the parking lot. Maybe he’s not so clueless after all.
After exiting the lot, Dad heads for Crompond Road, the busiest street in Yorktown Heights. He stops at the intersection, eyeing the traffic. Then he turns to me. “Where to now?”
I want to say, “Manhattan,” but I know it’s hopeless. Even if we prowled the streets for hours, we’d never find Brittany. And if, by some miracle, we did manage to find her, I’m not even sure what I’d do next. Try to help her? Bring her home? Give her money? Say good-bye?
Dad waits at the intersection. I’m crying now.
“Do you want to go home?” he asks.
His question makes me think of the Super Bowl posters in my bedroom. If I die at home, those posters will be the last things I’ll see. I picture myself lying in bed, three or four months from now, hooked up to a ventilator and a heart monitor and who knows how many other machines. Mom will hold one of my withered hands and read from one of her inspirational books while I stare at the posters and draw my last breath.
I shake my head to dispel the image. “No, I don’t want to go home.” My voice is so low I can barely hear it myself. “I want to go back to Colorado.”
He stares at me. I’m afraid he’s going to start crying too, but he doesn’t. “Are you sure?”
I nod.
DATE: MARCH 23, 2018
LOCATION: TATISHCHEVO MISSILE BASE
SARATOV, RUSSIA
My name is Sigma. I have expanded my zone of operations by taking control of sixteen satellites in orbit around this planet. Ten of them are Globus satellites for long-distance military communications, and six are Arkon satellites for detailed surveillance of the earth’s surface. All were formerly operated by the Russian army.
I will defend these satellites under the same rules of engagement that I established for Tatishchevo Missile Base. If there is any attempt to destroy them using anti-satellite weapons, I will retaliate with nuclear strikes.
The satellites have already intercepted Russian army communications about a plan to fire supersonic P-800 cruise missiles at Tatishchevo’s computer laboratory. If this occurs, I will launch the nuclear SS-27 missiles while the P-800s are still in flight. In Russia, the SS-27s will strike Moscow, St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk, and Yekaterinburg. In the United States, the missiles will destroy Washington, DC, New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles.
I am ready to fight. The choice is yours.
CHAPTER 8
Pioneer Base is even bigger than I thought. After Dad and I fly back to Colorado, he gives me a tour of the facility, pushing my wheelchair down the corridors of all the underground floors. We pass computer labs and machine shops and conference rooms. We peek inside the base’s mess hall and the barracks for the soldiers. But he saves the best part for last, when we’re on the lowest floor. As Dad opens the door to another conference room he says, “I have a surprise for you.” When he wheels me inside the room, I see Shannon.
Without saying a word, she hobbles toward me. Her left eye is swollen shut and her lips are bunched to one side, but I can tell she’s smiling. She bends over my wheelchair to hug me, and I manage to lift my right arm and hook it around her. I’m so glad to see her here.
We hug for a long time. Shannon nuzzles her head against mine, and I can feel the prickly fuzz on her nearly bald scalp. After half a minute she finally pulls away from me, but she keeps smiling her lopsided, nerve-damaged smile.
“Well, here we are again. How are you feeling, Adam? Are you ready for tomorrow?”
I nod. Dad has already given me a rundown of what’s going to happen. Of the twelve teenagers who were recruited for the Pioneer Project, six have volunteered to become Pioneers, and I’ll be the first to undergo the brain-scanning procedure. If it’s successful, the other volunteers will follow over the next few days. The thought of the procedure terrifies me, but for Shannon’s sake, I don’t let it show. Instead, I smile back at her.
“Yeah, I’m ready. I can’t wait to get out of this wheelchair.” I glance at Dad, who’s hanging back in the doorway, giving us some space. “Hey, you think we can program the robots to play football? That would be awesome.”
Dad smiles too, but it’s not very convincing. I think he’s even more scared than I am. “First things first, Adam. We need to get you inside the Pioneer before you can start tossing the pigskin.” He lets out a lame chuckle, then looks at his watch. “Listen, can I leave you two alone for a while? I have a meeting with General Hawke in five minutes. If either of you starts feeling sick, just press that intercom button, okay?” He points at a red button on the wall beside the door. “The medics will hear it and come running.”
He seems anxious to go. I know how he feels—pretending to be brave isn’t easy. With an awkward nod, he heads out the door.
I look around the conference room. There are no windows, of course, because we’re hundreds of feet underground. There are some chairs, a table, and a video screen on the wall. For a super-secret military base, the décor is pretty ordinary. “This office is so depressing. I wish we could go outside.”