Elusion(88)

I think of the piece of paper that Josh found in the warehouse: Nora’s note with Hate Our New Land scrawled all over, the anagram that translated to Thoreau and Walden. Did she write it because she saw those words on the wall herself?

“I think this might have something to do with Nora’s note,” I say, purposely being cryptic in case Patrick is watching us. “It would make sense, with the anagram and all.”

Josh’s eyes light up, and he gives me a brief nod.

We work in silence for a few more minutes, scrambling to find other bricks with letters. And soon we find an R and then an O.

The rain pounds against us as the wind continues to howl. We work in tandem, each feeling our way. I scrape off more moss and find an U.

Once again, the bricks begin to quiver. There’s a deep grinding sound as each brick breaks away and realigns itself like a puzzle, stopping when “OUR” is lined up horizontally, with the O on top of the H in “HATE.”

It’s as if we have the top and side to a door. My breath catches in my throat. Is this a way into the firewall? Did my dad make some sort of key with the anagram for Thoreau and Walden? I think so. If I’m right, and we need to spell out the words “Hate Our New Land,” we’re almost there.

We keep looking. Soon, we have the letters A, W, E and N.

The wall begins to shake and Josh and I step back as we witness another reconfiguration. The A stays in place, but the W, E, and N begin to move, the wall realigning until N is situated next to the R from the word “OUR.” So far, we’ve spelled out “Hate Our New,” outlining the side and top of what I think will be the door. But how is this going to work? There’s only one word left to spell the last part of Nora’s sentence: “land.” And even if the word “land” drops vertically from the W and forms the other side of the door, the bricks in the middle will still be solid.

But I don’t let my confusion slow me down. We keep going, more and more frantic as the storm continues to rage around us, the green rain forming deep, cold puddles that drench our feet. Soon we have two more letters: L and N.

I move farther and farther away from Josh, my arms beginning to ache from stretching and reaching and pushing against the stone bricks. The cold rain turns to sleet and lightning bolts cross the sky, every now and then slamming the ground behind us as if firing a warning shot. But I barely feel the cold or my once-throbbing leg. Adrenaline is heating my limbs and encouraging me on.

I scan the wall, searching. There has to be a D hidden here somewhere.

And then I see it. A brick located just below eye level, splattered with mud. I can only make out the top of a straight-edged line, but still I run toward it, scraping off the soggy dirt and the layer of fur and fuzz underneath. I drop to my knees, brushing the bricks clean, or clean enough. There’s definitely a D under here. “I’ve got it!” I yell. And then I hear the roar of a train.

“Regan!” Josh yells, as the funnel cloud moves toward me at full speed. “Lay flat on the ground and get as close to the firewall as you can!”

Ignoring Josh’s warnings, I run my fingers around the rough-hewed edges of the letter. As the D begins to glow, the winds hits, plucking me off the ground and throwing me into a whirlwind of debris. Around and around I spin, my body feeling like it’s being ripped apart. And suddenly I’m tossed on the ground, spit out of the tornado. But I can’t move. The winds are still swirling around me, holding me down. With great effort, I manage to pick my head up and look back toward the wall. I’m relieved to see Josh, on his hands and knees, seemingly unharmed, as he fights to make his way toward me, slowly battling against the wind.

Behind him I see that the word “Land” has aligned vertically, just like I thought.

The letters begin to fade away as the bricks in between them disintegrate, turning an ethereal blue.

“The wall!” I scream.

It’s too small for a door. More like a tunnel, or a portal to the other side of the firewall.

I try to move again, but it’s as if the tornado is purposely holding me in place. The color of the portal begins to change, its gauzy blue tint turning gray, once again becoming part of the wall.

It’s closing. If we’re going to go, we need to go now.

“Josh—leave me. Go!”

But he doesn’t listen.

In an act of what looks to be extreme concentration and strength, he pushes himself to his feet, facing me.

“No!” I shout. I don’t want him to come after me. I want him to get into that firewall.

But his eyes never leave mine. He charges toward me, the wind looking like it might pull the skin and muscle right off his bones. He grabs me into his arms before turning around and hurtling us both through the fading blue portal.


We land on a hard, granitelike surface and the door hardens back into a wall. I blink, my eyes adjusting to a strange fluorescent light.

“You okay?” Josh murmurs.

I nod, pushing myself up. I glance at my throbbing leg, trying not to let on how much it’s hurting. The dirty bandage is torn, exposing the wound underneath. It has stopped bleeding, but it’s oozing some kind of dark, goopy fluid.

As for the rest of me, my clothes are ripped and torn from the tornado and I can see fresh cuts all over my limbs, but I’m surprisingly relieved. At least we’re out of the rainy cold and have made it into the tunnel. Except it’s nothing like I expected.