Part 14 (2/2)
”What are you gonna do? Fly by Braille?”
”Kind of.”
”Should I trust you?”
”Probably not.”
But he did anyway. He lowered the blast s.h.i.+eld as we approached the field. ”I never thought you'd want to go out like this,” he said.
”I don't intend to.”
I knew these worlds well enough now to know that their strength came from our weaknesses. The park tapped into our longings, our fears, our habits, and our choices. This minefield had been perfectly, strategically placed to cause the most damage if Quinn and I followed our normal patterns of behavior when we encountered it. So much of my life had been under tight control. So much of Quinn's life had been wild insanity. What we needed now was both: a directed burst of controlled insanity.
I gunned the engine, then took my hand off the controls, letting the s.h.i.+p fly a blind beeline through the minefield.
We hit the first Pinto. It dented our hull. I heard the car blow up, but we were moving so fast, it blew up behind us. Another one hit our underbelly, jarring me through the seat of my pants, but again, it exploded behind us.
Impact after impact, explosion after explosion. Smoke clouded the cabin from a fire in the engines.
”This s.h.i.+p's not going to last much longer,” Quinn said.
”It doesn't have to. It's just got to last a few more seconds.”
One more mine bashed in our entire left side, but the hull held its integrity, and I closed my eyes, waiting for the next one-the one that would do us in.
It never came. Nothing more hit us. The only sounds now were the crackling of flames at the back of the cabin and the sizzle of frying technology.
Quinn looked at me, then opened the blast s.h.i.+eld. It labored open to reveal a new sight dead ahead. The minefield and all of its debris were behind us. A spiral pattern of stars slowly revolved in front of us. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
”Is that a galaxy?” asked Quinn.
I smiled. ”It looks like a turnstile to me.”
Our engines were gone, our s.h.i.+p was burning up, but the cosmic turnstile pulled us in faster and faster toward its center. Acceleration pressed me back against the chair.
Then I did something I'd never done before. I put my hands up in the air. Way up, like you're supposed to do on the fastest, wildest roller coasters. I looked to Quinn and grinned. He nodded and put his hands up in the air as well as we shot through the center of the swirling turnstile galaxy-one last thrill for both of us to share, in absolute defiance of the ride.
I think that was the moment I really found my brother.
15.
Tilt We skidded to a stop on a barren landscape-a cold, gray no-man's-land beneath a black, dead sky. We climbed out of our pod, which was no longer a s.h.i.+p, just a small Tilt-A-Whirl ride pod, dented and lopsided, but otherwise not much different from how it started. Snaking fingers of ground fog streaked the cratered ground, and the air held a stale, caustic odor like the smell of a junkyard refrigerator.
”What is this place?” Quinn asked.
Dozens of poles poked out of the ground, and at the end of each pole was a sign. ONE WAY. DO NOT ENTER. STOP. YIELD. NO U-TURN. They all pointed in different directions, like they were just standing around, not sure what, or whom, to direct.
A pale clock face hung in the sky like the soulless face of a winter moon. The clock showed 6:00 A.M., but when I looked closer, I could see that the second hand showed twelve seconds to the hour, and I watched those last seconds tick away.
We'd made it through all seven rides in time.
So why weren't we out?
”Ca.s.sandra!” I called out to the black sky. ”I did it, Ca.s.sandra. I made all seven rides. By your own rules you have to let me out!”
No answer.
”You have to let me out!”
Then she appeared out of the fog, weaving through the forest of road signs. She was definitely worse for the wear. The copper sheen to her hair was gone; it was almost ashen gray. Her face was pale and world-weary, like a young woman old before her time. Her gown was moth-torn silk, like an old shroud, and its color, like the stuffed bear she first handed me, was what you get when you mix all your paints together.
Now I understood the threat I posed and why Ca.s.sandra was so frightened. With each ride, I grew stronger, while she-and the park itself-grew weaker. Because of me, her magic was faltering. I doubt even she knew what would happen if it failed completely.
”Six A.M.,” I said. ”Time to let me go.”
”Yes,” she said, her voice raspy. ”I said I'd let you go, and I will.” She sounded far too calm. It troubled me. ”You get to go home. But Quinn goes to The Works.”
”What?”
”He only made it through five rides.”
I looked at Quinn, who was turning as white as the clock looming in the sky.
”You've made the rides unstable,” Ca.s.sandra said. ”There's lots of damage to repair, and I need every soul on the job. I've got a nice place for Quinn next to Maggie and Russ.”
I shook my head, refusing to believe it. ”That's not fair!”
”Life's not fair,” she snapped. ”Who said eternity has to be?”
”I won't go without him!”
”I'll make you go. I'll put you outside the gate, and for the rest of your life you'll know that you left your brother and friends behind. Unless . . .”
”Unless what?”
Ca.s.sandra took her time answering me. ”Tell you what. I'll give you one chance to earn their freedom.”
She was playing games again, taunting, teasing. She dangled their freedom in front of me like a carrot, and I had no choice but to reach for it.
”What do I have to do?”
”All you have to do is take one more ride. . . .”
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