“That was no accident,” Veego said calmly. “They’re coming after us.”
“Who?” LaBerge shouted.
I thought he was going to cry. The dado hit the accelerator again and turned into oncoming traffic. “Look out!” LaBerge cried.
The dado was good. We were traveling fast, but his robotic reflexes were faster. He dodged the oncoming cars quicker than is humanly possible, which made sense, because he wasn’t human. I looked back to see two cars accelerating behind us. A moment later I felt a sharp jab in my side. Veego had jammed one of those golden stun guns into my ribs.
“You will die before I let them get you,” she hissed.
She didn’t realize how wired I was. She had barely gotten the words out when I jammed my elbow into her biceps. She squealed in pain and let go of the gun.
“What is happening?” LaBerge cried. “Why are they chasing us?” He saw me grab the gun from Veego. “Ahhh!” he squealed.
With one quick move I grabbed the gun, aimed at the front windshield between the two dados, and pulled the trigger.
Fum! The windshield shattered but didn’t break away. The dados were driving blind. They either had to stop on their own, or would hit something that would make us stop.
We hit something.
Whatever it was, the force of the impact sent us up on two wheels and flipped the car. LaBerge screamed. The three of us tumbled together in the backseat like we were in a washing machine. A fast-moving washing machine. The car landed on its roof and kept moving. I braced myself for another collision, rolling myself into a ball with my arms wrapped around my head. The next hit came quickly. It stopped our forward movement but sent us spinning. The whole event only took a few seconds, but as it was happening, it felt like a lifetime. The metal of the car screeched and scraped as we spun across the pavement. The side windows exploded under the pressure of the collapsing roof. Luckily, they blew out, not in, or we might have been shredded. I had no idea which way was up. All I could see was a jumble of Veego and LaBerge.
Finally we hit something else and came to a stop. But it wasn’t over. No sooner did we stop moving than the car started rolling again. I had no idea what was happening, but it felt as if we were being lifted up into the air. I soon realized we were being flipped back upright, onto our wheels.
“Help! Help!” LaBerge squealed.
With a bone-jarring shudder the car was righted. I heard the sound of wrenching metal. There were people outside using tools to pry open a door. It only took seconds. The door was wrenched open and light poured in.
“We’re saved!” LaBerge shouted.
Everything was a blur. Being bounced around and getting my head whacked a few times didn’t help. I felt hands groping at me and pulling me out of the wreck. I realized they weren’t doing the same for Veego or LaBerge. Or the dados for that matter. It was me they were after. As they yanked me out of the car, I saw several people dressed all in black, with black hoods over their heads to hide their faces. Nothing made sense. Were they commandos? Burglars? Hijackers? Dados? There were enough of them that I understood how the car had been flipped over so quickly. These guys had done it, physically. I was too dizzy to do anything but go along with them. They lifted me up and quickly carried me to a car that I saw had a crushed front grill. This must have been the car that hit us from behind. I was vaguely aware that many people were on the street watching. Nobody came to help. I was bundled into the backseat of the damaged car. Two of the guys got in back with me, another got in front. A few more ran to another car, which must have been the car we hit from behind. There was no question. This was an organized operation. They had come after me. Somewhere in the distance I heard a siren. Was it an ambulance? The fire department? More security dados?
“Go!” shouted one of the guys.
The car lurched forward and I was once again moving. One of the guys pulled a cloth bag over my head. I tried to fight against it, but I was too weak.
“It’s all right,” a calming voice said. “You’re safe. This is just for security.”
Security. Right. Wherever we were going, they didn’t want me to know. I was too loopy to care anyway. I think I might have passed out. I can’t say for sure. We could have been driving for five minutes or five hours. It was all a blur to me. However long it took, we finally screeched to a stop. I didn’t move. I was dazed, but not afraid. These guys wanted me alive. Why else would they have pulled me out of the wreck?
“C’mon,” one of them said, and helped me out of the car. The urgency was gone, but they didn’t take the bag off my head. From the sound of things, we were inside. As we walked, I heard a metal door closing, so it must have been a garage. Without saying another word they led me quickly along, making a few turns and going down several flights of stairs. Wherever they were taking me, it was deep within the bowels of this building. Finally, they had me sit down on a hard chair, where somebody pulled the bag off my head.
I saw that I was in a small, dark room. It looked like a cell. I had seen enough of them to know. There was a bed and a chair, but no windows. Light came from a single overhead bulb. Facing me were three of the kidnappers. They looked pretty imposing with their black outfits and dark hoods. They stood there, legs apart, facing me.
I sat up straight, took a breath, and said, “Well, that was fun.”
The commando in the center reached up and pulled off his hood. All I could do was stare. It was a woman, but that’s not why I was shocked.
She said, “You are now officially part of the revival.”
It was Nevva Winter.
This is where I’m ending my journal. I’ve been stuck in this cell for nearly a day. I’m not sure if I’m a prisoner or not. Nobody is saying much. Nevva left, but promised to be back quickly to explain what is happening. I’m not going to hold my breath on that one after she left me dangling last time. Still, they’re treating me well. They even gave me this paper so I could write. The food isn’t as good as at the castle, and neither is my room, but I’ll take this any day over being back there and wondering when I’d have to compete in another game. It’s given me the chance to write this journal and think about all the things that Saint Dane said to me.
The thing is, I don’t know how much of it to believe. I get all that he told me about Blok and how Quillan is such a messed-up territory. I’ve seen plenty of evidence to know that what he said was the truth, or close to it. What’s bothering me more is the challenge he gave to me. I’m trying to get inside his head. Is this really all about him trying to destroy my confidence? Like I wrote to you before, I have to believe that for Saint Dane, a big part of controlling Halla is about beating the Travelers, and me. This may be a weird thing to say, but it feels like Saint Dane is not only trying to push each territory into chaos, but he’s also trying to convince me that Halla would be better off under his guidance. How twisted is that? Does he really think I’d buy that?
As much as I know that this is a battle for all of Halla, and it’s crucial that we Travelers fight it, part of me is tempted by his offer. I know, it would be idiotic for me to risk my life, but imagine how much stronger we Travelers could be if we understood the nature of our existence. Uncle Press knew, but he died before he could explain it to me. There are so many unanswered questions, and no one has any more answers than I do. Would we have a better chance against Saint Dane if we had a few of those answers? Is it worth risking my life for? Am I being selfish by not taking the chance?
I don’t know. My head hurts too much to come up with an answer. Hopefully by the time I write again, the way to go will be much clearer. Until then, I’ll sit and wait to find out why I’m sitting in a dark cell that smells like fish, in a deep basement, somewhere on a doomed territory.
It looks like my trip home is going to have to wait.
And so we go.
END OF JOURNAL # 25
Courtney had never read one of Bobby’s journals alone. It was a strange and not-too-pleasant experience. Whenever she read about the most recent twist in Bobby’s adventure, she always had Mark there to help her analyze it. She needed that sounding board. Mark and Courtney were polar opposites. Where Courtney was aggressive and emotional, and shot from the hip, Mark was thoughtful and cautious. Together, they were perfect. Going it alone was difficult for Courtney. It was like Adam without Eve, Lewis without Clark, Itchy without Scratchy. She needed Mark, if only to help her keep from hyperventilating as she learned about each new challenge that Bobby had to deal with. She wondered if Mark had had the same problem when she was away at school and he had
