When the Sky Fell on Splendor(88)

It was all gone.

Arthur shook my arm. “It’ll be okay.”

“It’s gone,” I gasped. “It’s gone and—”

I shook my head and Arthur grabbed my face. “Stop it, Franny. You’re not in this alone, okay? You don’t have to figure this out by yourself.”

“Remy—”

“We’ll get Remy,” Arthur promised.

“I won’t be able to do anything,” I said.

“We’ll get Remy,” Arthur said.

“Of course we will,” Levi said.

“Damn straight,” Nick said.

“Look.” Sofía pointed to the window on our left. A black SUV whipped past, followed by another, and another, and another. Light poured onto the windshield, turning the raindrops to diamonds as a parade of helicopters flew over us.

They were heading toward the source of the blackout, toward our Ferris Bueller dummy.

The engine growled as Nick pressed the gas pedal to the floor.





THIRTY-ONE



THE CAMP WAS IN turmoil. Voices and uniforms passing back and forth, flashlights snapping on but doing little to crack the darkness that had engulfed the field.

The final blast of my energy had done the job: The blackout had reached all the way to here.

We pulled off the road alongside the corn just before Jenkins Lane, and for a beat, sat in silence, preparing for the stupidly impossible and impossibly stupid thing we were about to do.

Levi opened his door first, and Droog dove out, disappearing into the corn before I could grab her.

My stomach bottomed out. How would the soldiers react if they saw her running through the dark at them?

Sofía touched my shoulder. “I can see her. I think she’s leading us. Or Molly’s leading us through her.” She blinked, eyes clearing, and headed toward the trail of broken cornstalks that zigzagged ahead through the field, where Droog had gone. “Come on.”

We left the passenger door ajar as we siphoned into the field, following the herky-jerk path all the way to the back of the plasticky tent.

We crouched in the corn, a few yards away, trying to see if and how she’d gotten inside.

A vicious gust of wind picked up a tattered strip of the tent material, slapping it against the tent’s side. “There,” I whispered, pointing at the distressed dip in the dirt just below the tear. She’d dug her way in.

The question was how long until a circling guard spotted the hole. Even if we managed to scramble in after her, how were we going to keep from being caught in there?

“Should you try to find Remy?” I whispered to Sofía.

She was staring up toward the roof of the tent, at three vaguely triangular shadows that appeared to be mounted there. “I think I have a better idea.”

Wings lifted, fluttering from the center shadow’s sides. Blackbirds, I realized.

“They must’ve been here that night,” she whispered. “I can see from them, which means I can keep watch, at least on the exterior guards.”

“And what about everyone inside?” I asked.

“One problem at a time,” she said.

“More like one hundred,” Levi said.

“Who’s going in?” Nick asked.

Arthur balked. “All of us.”

“How’s that for discreet?” Nick hissed. “Four kids, a dog, and the jolly red giant.” He jerked a thumb at Levi, whose bearlike silhouette bristled.

“Well, I’m going in,” he said. “Remy’s my cousin. He’d go for me.”

“You’re twice Remy’s size,” Nick said. “You’ll be lucky if the tent doesn’t get caught on your head and turn this whole thing into a Marmaduke comic.”

“I’m going—” Levi began.

“No way,” Nick argued.

Art shushed them. “Give it up, Nick. He’s going—you and I will keep watch out here, make a distraction if we need to. Now give Levi your pocketknife.”

Levi held up his hands and whisper-yelped, “I’m not going to stab anyone!”

Art rolled his eyes. “It’s not for stabbing. That border-collie-sized hole in the tent isn’t going to cut it for you.” Nick slapped the knife into Levi’s hand, and Arthur’s sharp gaze wandered across us. “Everyone clear on the plan?”

“That there basically isn’t one?” I said. “Got it.”

“All right then.” Arthur stuck his hand into the center of the little circle we’d formed. Nick followed suit, then Levi, then I did, and finally Sofía put her hand on the top of the stack. “Team Molly, as quietly as possible, on three,” Arthur said.

We pumped our hands three times, and breathed the words as one: “Team Molly.”

Still crouched, Sofía and I turned toward the tent, each taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes, concentrating, finding her bird’s-eye view. No sooner had she settled into it than she released a gasp.

Her eyes snapped open, and she snatched at my hand.

“Now!” she whispered, and took off, dragging me toward the tent, Levi bounding after us with the knife. Sofía reached the structure first, throwing back the torn piece of tarpaulin—or whatever it was—and shoving me in. My eyes pinballed, searching, as I dove through on all fours and found myself in a small, stuffy room.