The Countdown (The Taking #3)(65)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN


WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING?

This is a mistake. A huge-ginormous-major mistake.

Can a heart actually explode from beating too fast?

The ship was so much bigger up close. So much more intimidating.

How had I let them talk me into this? I was only one person . . . a kid really. I never even passed my driver’s test.

There was too much at stake.

I turned around to tell them so, to tell Super Cheerleader Molly she had the wrong person, when a whirring sound came from in front of me. I nearly bolted from the sound alone, but held myself in check as I swung back toward the ship. Instead of telling Molly where she could shove her “test pilot” experiment I found myself face-to-face with an open hatch.

It definitely hadn’t been like that before.

There was a small set of steps—not a ladder exactly, but not like stairs either—descending from the spaceship’s bottom, as if somehow the aircraft itself had detected my approach and was inviting me on board. Like it recognized me.

This thing, this spaceship that had beamed the coordinates of our exact location into outer space was responding to my presence. I should be completely freaked out by that, so why wasn’t I?

It was as if being here . . . this close to the machine had done something to me, similar to the way being close to Adam had. It was as if my brain had been rewired—that was the only way I could describe it. Like new synapses had formed and were firing, making me aware of things I’d never noticed before . . . smells were suddenly more intense, sounds clearer, colors more vibrant.

I was no longer overwhelmed by what I was about to do. I no longer believed this was too much for one person. It didn’t matter that I had zero experience with things like flying UFOs. Instead my head was buzzing with thoughts about how totally-freaking-effing cool this was.

In my ear, Molly’s voice reminded me I was wearing a headset. “It’s never done that before.”

The sensation that the spacecraft had sensed my presence intensified.

Without hesitating, I reached for the steps, and my hands closed around the small handrail as I stepped onto the bottom stair. I didn’t have time to wonder if I was right to board it, because the moment my foot lifted off the ground, the entire stairway began to rise. My stomach lurched as I was boosted into the ship’s belly, but in anticipation, like when you reach the peak of a roller coaster.

As I landed inside, I heard the hatch seal behind me. You’re here to stay, that sound seemed to signify. Ready or not, as if I had no say in the matter.

“Ready,” I whispered in response.

“You okay?” Molly asked into the headset, sounding confused.

I nodded mutely, then remembered she couldn’t see me, so I answered her out loud, “I’m good.”

“Good. Now, go ahead and take the seat,” she said back to me. “See how it feels.”

There was only one seat, so the where was a no-brainer. The cockpit was cramped, and I maneuvered into the seat like it was made from explosives, afraid to touch anything—any one of the buttons or gadgets. I didn’t want to accidentally blast myself into outer space. Or worse, what if I hit a button that launched a nuclear strike against another country?

More likely, I’d send the entire ship crashing into one of the steel walls that surrounded us on all sides, killing myself and everyone else in sight.

Just to be sure, I kept my hands safely in my lap.

With so many levers and buttons and gauges and monitors the panel in front of me surpassed high tech. And what I’d thought from the outside was a window, turned out not to be a window at all. It was one enormous screen, and as soon as my weight settled into the chair, the display flashed to life.

I gasped.

From the other end of my earpiece, Molly’s voice reached out to me. “Everything all right?”

“I . . . ,” I faltered, momentarily spellbound by what spread out before me. What had begun as random start-up commands had now shifted to images, a rotating series of what looked like weather maps or maybe radar screens . . . all blips and rainbow blobs that swelled and shifted with intersecting lines and numbers, none of which meant anything to me. “I . . . I guess so.”

“Do you have questions? What are you seeing? What’s happening in there?” she fished.

I leaned forward, examining the joystick between my knees and tried to imagine how they possibly thought I’d have the first clue about flying this thing. “How could I not?” I admitted. “Starting with: What is it you think I’m supposed to do in here?”

There was silence, followed by crackling . . . a muffled noise, like she had her hand over the mic. When she came back, she said only, “We were hoping you might know.”

“Me? You were hoping I’d know how to use this thing?” I would have laughed, and I almost did, because the idea was so . . . out there. Did they really think they’d just . . . throw me in here, and I’d somehow-magically-cross-their-fingers figure it out? Was that their big plan? “You people are nuts,” I accused, rolling my eyes.

They’d wasted my time, sending me down here. The joke was on them.

I put my hands on the grips at either side of my seat, planning to get the hell out of here before I seriously messed something up. But when I did . . . when I put my hands on those handles . . . something happened.