Byron stands at attention and, shaking slightly, begins telling him everything.
Chapter 42
Wisty
TRUST ME, you don't know pain till you know what it feels like to wake up after getting nailed by a New Order tranquilizer dart. Or three. Or twelve.
My eyes ache like they've been loaded on rusty metal springs. My temple throbs like somebody's just nailed a red-hot horseshoe around the inside of it. The back of my head pulses like somebody's trying to inflate it with a bicycle pump.
And my mouth-my tongue feels like it's a slug that's crawled halfway across an equatorial desert and died, and my throat feels like it was just the parade route for a troop of hermit crabs.
And my stomach… sloshing around like I'm in a car with no shock absorbers driven by a drunk who's decided to take a shortcut through a timber yard. "Carsick" doesn't cover it.
"Hey, Wist, how you feelin'?" asks Whit.
I wince and croak back, "What's with all the noise and the bumpety-bump?" I'm still not able to open my eyes properly to see where I am.
"We're having another New Order van ride," he says, helping me sit up.
"Water?" I croak.
Whit shakes his head. "Strangely, they didn't give us the van with the minibar." He leans up toward the front seat. "Anywhere up here on the right will be fine," calls Whit through the grate, as if we're riding in a taxi going to a Sunday matinee. He's trying to cheer me up, I guess.
The goon riding shotgun-and wouldn't you know it, he actually has a shotgun-slams the bulletproof-glass divider closed.
"Nice fellow," says Whit. "Maybe a little too intense."
A wave of panic engulfs me now. I don't know if I can go through another imprisonment-the endless hunger, the mind-splitting thirst, the soul-crushing hopelessness…
Whit senses that I'm freaking out. "We'll be okay," he says. "We wouldn't be here today if we weren't survivors, and if we stunk at jailbreaks, right?"
I know he's trying to be sweet, but what an idiotic thing to say. I'd scream at him if my head didn't hurt so much. "We wouldn't be here today if I hadn't fallen for…" Eric. I can't even say it. Just the thought of that sad, pitiful, god-awful betrayal is like another knife in my gut.
"Look," Whit says, pointing to the window at the back of the van. "At least this time they gave us a view. Want to take in some Overworld scenery?"
I shrug listlessly. I can still see Eric in my mind, and all I want to do is stay curled in a ball and just give up.
Then I see Mrs. Highsmith in my mind's eye. And I remember the music. Positive energy… beating the blues. So I let Whit help me up.
Now I can see what's going on.
We're speeding down an empty six-lane highway with those New Order billboards lining both sides-giant ones, every tenth of a mile or so. It's kind of hard to stay positive watching all of this pathetic crap-His Resplendent Baldness cavorting with upper-level bureaucrats, unveiling plaques to renamed Freeland cities: ONETOWN, NEW ORDER ACRES, VICTORYVILLE, BRAVE NEW ESTATES. It's no wonder Beaners look so glassy-eyed and out of it 24-7.
I'm ready to sink back to the floor when the monotony is interrupted by a giant message in horrifyingly bright-red New Order lettering.
WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM FOR AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT. CLASS 1 CRIMINALS ELIZA AND BENJAMIN ALLGOOD ARE IN CUSTODY. STAY TUNED FOR EXECUTION EVENT DETAILS. THIS IS ANOTHER GREAT DAY.
And there, in the middle of the video displays, are my parents-in orange prison jumpsuits, gagged and shackled.
My knees buckle, and I sink back to the floor.
Chapter 43
Whit
AS WISTY FALLS to the floor again, sobbing against my pants leg, I keep my face pressed to the glass, waiting for the details of the execution event. I don't actually want to know, but I have to know. How much time do we have? To find our parents, to plan our escape?
But we're in between billboards now, and traffic is slowing down. I pound the back of the van in frustration. I'm about to crumple on the floor next to Wisty, but I'm suddenly jolted alive with a rush of -
Celia.
It's her scent, no doubt about it. The perfume she wore the day she originally disappeared. It's like she's right here with me, like she never left.
I've never heard of a portal in a moving New Order vehicle. Is it even possible? I start pounding on the floor, the walls, then the back van doors, shouting her name.
"Whit, stop it." Wisty looks at me with red, weary eyes. "Celia's gone. You've lost it. Our parents are scheduled for execution! Why are you -?"
But I'm pounding the window again. I see her hair. Waving across the next billboard some hundred yards away, streaming in front of her face.
Whit, Celia says. Her voice is muffled, as if it's coming through a loudspeaker outside. You're okay. You're doing the right thing. Don't give up.
I hurl my body against the door. "Get us out of here, Celia!" I know, at least I think, it's nuts. How can she be a projection on a billboard? But she's so real. And I can smell her.
Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood? I said, you're doing the right thing.
I don't even care that she sounds annoyed. I love it. It reminds me of when she'd start telling me about her chem test in the hall at school, and I'd just give her a kiss right in the middle of her sentence. "Are you even listening to me, Whitford Allgood?" she'd say, and I'd feel seriously warm all over.
Am I listening to her now? I am actually. The sound of her voice is like a drug I can't get enough of.
The van is getting closer to the billboard. My face can't be pressed any harder against the glass, my body flattened against the door. We're passing right by her image, and I practically feel the heat of her breath on my cheek.
You need to turn yourself in, she continues. And you're on your way to The One right now. It's the only way. If you want us to be together again, it's the only way.
"Together again?" I ask.
"Together again," she repeats as we pull away.
And then she's gone. But I'm still dazed by the lingering image of Celia until we turn in through a very high gate marked BUILDING OF BUILDINGS.
Chapter 44
Wisty
WHIT AND I MAY have electrodes all over our arms, but at least we're upright and sitting in high-backed leather chairs so comfy it's like swimming in butter. And we each have a glass of water next to us. It's all five-star accommodations here at the Building of Buildings, which is basically The One's crib and bat cave-type place, and it's where the very grumpy men in the van brought us.
Maybe I could get used to this?
Whit and I had both been curled in the fetal position in the back of the van when suddenly we were yanked out and escorted into the B of B. So this had started out as one of our most pathetic public parades into captivity yet.
I actually made eye contact with some of the citizens who were watching as we trudged across the luxuriously outfitted marble lobby. Maybe I've been infected with a big-ego savior complex, but I thought I saw a flash of… respect, maybe even admiration, or at least something vaguely hopeful buried deep in some of the glazed Beaner eyes. It helped me get my groove back anyway.
The more I stare at our interrogator right now, the more I think maybe I see it in him, too. Grudging respect? He's hiding it pretty well, though. He's definitely polite but sterile to the point of being scary.
The questions have also been pretty sterile so far-such as name, address, and N.O. ID number. As if we have an address or carry N.O. IDs!
Then he throws this real doozy at us.
"Have either of you had any children in recent months?" he asks, deadpan. We both stare at him blankly. "Now that we have you and your parents on death row, we need to ensure there are no other living members of Clan Allgood. Please answer so that the polygraph can register a result."