The next time I woke up in the story, it was too hard to concentrate.
I tried to listen to Mrs. Cloud in the morning class, tried to contribute when she talked about one object or another. I even jumped into Jack’s thoughts to answer a question about the City. But the whole time, I kept picturing Danny, and the look on his face as he backed away.
All you do is lie.
It wasn’t like he hated me.
He was disappointed, and that made it a million times worse.
How much time had I missed now, living in this wasteland? I wanted to help Dad, and I knew that if I could figure out what the Marshal was doing, if I could solve the mystery, if I could somehow reunite Jack with his family, then I could finish the story and maybe Dad would get better.
But the longer I spent here, the more time I missed with Danny, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. If he just believed me . . . if he just listened, maybe it would be better. But as it stood, he didn’t feel like my best friend. He felt more and more like a stranger.
After class, our group walked toward the farm, ready to tend to the vegetables and the seeds. Iris tried to talk to me, but she stopped when she saw how distracted I was.
We were just passing the market square when something made me freeze. I gazed around, trying to piece it together. What was I missing? Had I skipped some of the story, like the days that vanished back in real life?
Then I realized . . .
Out in the square, beside the crumbling remains of the shattered clock tower, was—
Well, nothing.
“The plane,” I whispered.
“What plane?” said Iris.
I was already walking toward the patch of dirt where it had crashed, but now my heart skipped a beat and I whirled round, facing her.
“What?” she said. “Is this another one of your—”
“Iris,” I said slowly. “The plane. The one that crashed right here . . .”
She shook her head blankly.
“How could you forget?” I demanded. How could this be happening again? First the radio call, and now this? I spun back round, questioning myself now, but the clock tower had been intact before, one of the only whole things about this wasteland. And it was scattered across the square just as it had been when—
“What did we do when I was last here?” I said.
“I don’t understand. You’re . . . you’re always here.”
“What did we do yesterday then? What happened? Can you remember?”
“The same as we do every day,” she said. “We went to class, we Farmed and Hunted. And then we went Stormwalking and went to Cleansing.”
No, I thought, no, no, no . . .
“Dillon,” I called, waving him over despite Iris’s protests. “The crash. Tell me you remember the crash. Yesterday, before—”
“What are you talking about?” he said.
I shook my head, but I couldn’t get my thoughts in order. I couldn’t piece it together. My stomach felt so heavy. What’s going on? I thought, the question getting louder and louder and bigger and bigger until it was the only thing on my mind.
“I’ve got to find Quinn,” I said.
Now it was Iris’s turn to look confused.
“Jack, we’ve got to stick to the timetable—”
But I was already running off, rubble pinging from my feet and dust clouding up into the electric glow of the wasteland air. The way Quinn spoke when the radio call came in. It was like he’d expected it. Like he’d heard it before. He didn’t panic when he heard them say the City was dead. And then there was the way he acted, after the crash . . .
The crash that Iris and Dillon couldn’t remember.
Across the crunching, narrow paths I ran, choking on the dust. High above, there was a whoosh and a sizzling crack as the Darkness thundered into the dome of light. High, piercing screeches rang out a final time, and then the storm retreated, giving way to the grayness of the day and a pale-orange sun on the horizon.
The protective dome hummed and disconnected. I spotted an LRP team on the edge of camp, gathered around Quinn’s truck. As soon as the storm disappeared, the engine grumbled, loud and clear across the ruins.
Quinn knew about the radio call. He hadn’t forgotten that, and if he hadn’t forgotten that, he might not have forgotten the plane crash either. “Quinn!” I yelled, trying to make myself heard above the noise.
He didn’t look up. They were going to speed off, and then there’d be no one left to talk to.
“Quinn!” I shouted again, rotten wood and worn-down bricks crumbling beneath my feet as I legged it closer.
At last, one of the other officers turned back and saw me. He leaned in through the window and said something to Quinn. The engine cut off and the driver’s door opened. Quinn poked his head out, waiting for me.
I skidded to a stop, each breath of dusty air stinging my throat.
“Are you all right?” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice dry and raspy. Now that I was here, I didn’t know what to say. Well, I did, but I didn’t know how to say it. I mean . . .
Quinn must have seen the look on my face because he said something to his team, then got out of the truck.
“What is it?” he said, leading me out of earshot of the others. “The sun’s out. We need every minute we can get.”
I took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “The plane wreck. It’s gone.”
Quinn gripped my arm hard. He dragged me to the side of the camp, away from the well-trodden paths. “What did you say?” he whispered.
I blinked groggily. “The plane,” I said again. “It’s gone.”
Quinn’s face was so close now, I could smell buttery corn on his breath.
“How do you know about that?” He lowered his voice as a group of kids swept past. “When was the last time you went to Cleansing?”
I knew it! I knew I was right. So the Marshal was hiding something from us.
“Jack . . . no one . . . no one’s supposed to remember.”
“That’s not the only thing,” I said. “I remember the radio call too. Iris doesn’t. The lemon balm made her forget, didn’t it? Is that what’s happened to everyone else? He’s drugging them or something?”
Quinn’s head was shaking. His mouth worked, open and closed, but no words came out. A robot trundled by, and it must have jolted him to his senses, because he gripped me by both arms and dragged me away again.
“Listen to me,” he growled, his voice so low I could barely hear it. “Do not mention that plane again. If you do . . .” He trailed off, turning to face the gray horizon.
“We can’t talk about this. Not now. It’s too dangerous. He has eyes everywhere, and—”
He cut off suddenly, and I spun around to see Mrs. Cloud walking past with another kid, their arms full of books and age-browned photos.
“Who? The Marshal? It’s true, isn’t it? The City’s dead.” Jack’s thoughts bubbled over as I said it. Images of his dad and brother filled my mind. “We’re supposed to be heroes. We’re supposed to be saving them, but they’re dead, and no one knows about it because you won’t tell them. Why won’t you tell them?” Hot tears burned behind my eyes.
“Jack—”
“If it’s only the Icarus projects left, we need to go to them. That was . . . that was my dad on the radio,” I said, almost slipping up. It was weird calling him my dad when I knew my real dad, Owen’s dad, was back home writing this.
“Jack,” Quinn hissed, and my shoulders slumped as all the energy leaked out of me. “Listen to me. You’re not supposed to know this—any of it. Do you hear me? I don’t know how you do know it, but if you don’t keep quiet you’ll get yourself killed, or worse. Who have you told about this?”
“No one. Just . . . well, I was with Iris when I realized . . .”
He sighed heavily, and glanced around again. “Don’t mention it to anyone,” he said. “Forget you ever saw it. And whatever you do, don’t go looking for it, okay? I need you to promise me.”
Don’t go looking for what? I thought.
The plane wreck? Did that mean it was still around here, somewhere?
“I told your dad I’d look after you. I promised him I’d keep you safe. And I’ve tried, Jack. I’ve really tried, because I thought that . . . I thought that if we could ride it out, there would be another way. But I can’t protect you if you go digging around. Promise me you won’t.”
Didn’t he see? If the Marshal was covering up evidence of the City, if he was hiding communication from Icarus 1, I had to go digging. I had to find a way to show the Marshal up.
I had to find a way to prove it, so I could get back to Jack’s family.
Quinn’s face was set. It was chalk white, and draining ever whiter by the second. I’d never seen him like this before. I couldn’t tell him what I really thought.
“All right,” I said, the tiniest glimmer of an idea forming in the back of my mind. Maybe there was a way I could get through to Jack’s dad after all. I crossed my fingers behind my back. “All right, I promise—I won’t go looking for anything.”
He didn’t reply. Just kept staring at me.
No, not at me.
Staring behind me.
I whirled around, and my breath caught—
He was walking toward us, flanked by LRP officers.
“Well, well, well,” said the Marshal. “Shall we go for a walk, old friend?”