A Grave Tree (18 page)

Then it hit her. The jumpsuits.

“Toss your jumpsuits,” she called. “I think they can track us.” She peeled off her suit.

“Throw them over the edge of the building,” Ian said, snatching hers from her. He tossed the jumpsuits before she could suggest a better solution. Was there a better solution? Then he raced over to the docks.

“Hurry, Abbey!” Ian yelled. He and Caleb already stood on one dock, holding hands. He gestured for her to get on the other dock.

She drew her eyebrows together. Why her? How could
she
make the docks work? She wasn’t dead in the future. Jake was.

Or was she?

“
Abbey’s dead
,” Sarah had said.

“When did they put the statue here?” she said, stubbornly. She didn’t want to think about being dead. She didn’t want to learn that she was dead by using the docks.

Ian shook his head and threw his hands in the air to indicate he didn’t know.

Police cars lurched to a stop outside the library, and Dr. Ford jumped out, looking surprisingly spry for a man of his advanced years. “Coventry City Anti-Terror Unit” was emblazoned on the side of the car.

The rooftop door burst open. How had they gotten up here so fast? But it was Max standing in the doorway, his back hunched and threatening.

“We’ve got you now,” he said, advancing quickly. “I’m a member of the citizen anti-terror squad. We’ll have none of your type here in Coventry.”

Abbey turned to run, but the distance between her and the docks was too great. Max could run way faster than she could.

Gravity—could she use gravity? There was less gravity in this future than on the present earth.
The gravitational force between two objects depends on two factors, mass and distance
, her brainiac mind-feed stated in its usual rapid-fire way.

Up here on the roof, away from the roads and sidewalks that apparently created some sort of gravitational field, and without her jumpsuit, she felt bouncier. Could she jump? Her mind flicked to the ridiculous gymnastics classes her mother had made her take, the ones she had been hopeless at.

A set of rickety steps led to the top of the goat house right beside her. Abbey flew up the steps. She vaguely heard Ian and Caleb yelling her name. Max, confused, stopped at the bottom of the steps and then started up, his feet thumping on the steps behind her. When she reached the top of the goat house, she vaulted off in a backward dive like she had been taught in gymnastics, ignoring the fact that she’d never once successfully completed a backflip off the balance beam in class.

Her stomach dropped as she sailed through the air, covering a shocking distance, and pain shot through her injured wrist when she landed on it, but she somehow managed to flip herself back to upright with only a little bobble. Then she leapt on the docks and took Ian’s hand. She was still reluctant to try to use the docks, but Max would be on them in seconds, followed by Dr. Ford soon after, and they were cornered on a roof. If Ian was wrong, and she couldn’t use the docks, they’d be dead. It would be ironic if that was how she died—by not being dead. Then again, that would make her dead.

It was all much too circular, this “magic.”

A few seconds later they were standing in the green-hued Nowhere.

She dropped Ian’s hand abruptly.

She could use the docks. She
was
dead in the future.

She felt like she’d just been hit by a truckload of medicine balls. And using the docks hadn’t felt like it had before with Jake, like an elastic was snapping them between futures, instantaneously, solidly. This had felt more fragmented, like their particles were being broken apart and put back together laboriously… perhaps unreliably.

“So I’m a camel now too,” she said dully.

“I’m sorry,” Ian said. “That probably wasn’t the best way to tell you. I’m not the best at communication. It’s ruined some relationships in the past.” He patted his breast pocket as if feeling for cigarettes, and then, finding nothing, pressed a curved finger to his lips before clutching his hands together. “This was not a good day to give up smoking. Look, the future is in a state of complete flux right now. Everything has changed. I wouldn’t be surprised if all our future selves are dead by the end of the week. So maybe all of us will be able to use the docks. Not sure why I’m even giving up smoking really. Clearly, it’s not for my health. Although, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not even standing on the docks. We’ve missed somehow.”

Abbey stared at the hard-packed ground beneath her feet. Where were the docks?

Ian’s voice sounded dark and hollow. “The power of the docks is weakening, just like the stones. We need to figure out how to undo all of this. If we do, maybe you won’t die.” He paused, then gave her an intent look. “Don’t worry, Abbey, I give you my word: I won’t let you die. But in the short term, it’s kind of handy. Now, we need to figure out how to get home, because I very desperately need a smoke. You need to picture your future. Maybe we can find a working set of stones there.”

“I
did
picture my future,” Abbey said. “I pictured the Madrona that’s by the docks in my future.”

“Well, that might explain it,” Ian said. He pointed to a small shoot of a tree emerging from the green mist right behind them. A Madrona. “Try again. Maybe this time picture something more generic about your future. Things may have changed there too.”

“Um, guys. We’re not alone,” Caleb said.

Abbey turned and saw two figures running at them from out of the green mist, waving their arms. The first had red hair almost as brilliant as Caleb’s. Russell? What was he doing here? Several meters behind him was a dark-haired man with a hard-looking face in a black trench coat. Damian—one of Selena’s henchmen. Both Ian and Caleb assumed defensive positions, but Damian threw his hands up in the air in surrender.

“Thank God you’re here,” Russell said, almost throwing himself into Abbey’s arms. His eyes had the possessed look of a terrified dog, with too much white showing. He was covered in blood, and parts of his clothes were shredded.

“What happened to you?” Abbey said to Russell, trying to detach him from her sleeve.

“Jake, Sylvain, and I were attacked in the treed future. Sylvain was looking for some point of power. I killed a man with a rock. I ended up here. With him.” He pointed a thumb in Damian’s direction. “We were both waiting by the docks. But then we saw you appear over here.”

“Please, take me with you. Don’t leave me here again, I beg you. It’s inhumane.” Damian pressed his hands together, his heavy dark eyebrows elevated over eyes that seemed almost wild.

“You pulled a gun on us,” Caleb said.

“And I need a rabies shot because of your stupid dog,” Russell added.

Damian shook his head. “I’ll tell you what Selena is doing. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave me here.”

“He’s been carrying on like this since I got here,” Russell said, seemingly pulling himself together now that his delivery out of Nowhere seemed a little more assured.

“We need to get a move on,” Ian said.

If we can go anywhere
, Abbey thought.

“Please,” Damian pleaded.

Ian shook his head. “Your commitment to the truth is somewhat questionable, and I expect it will diminish the second we leave Nowhere. And we don’t have time to extract the information before we jump.”

“But what am I going to do?” Abbey said. “There are no docks to step on.”

“Good point,” Ian said. He withdrew a long sharp knife from his pocket. Abbey sucked in her breath, but Ian reached past her and sliced a branch off the Madrona. He quickly cut the thickest part of the branch in half lengthwise and then started carving symbols into the exposed white wood. “I had a lot of time to stare at the docks when I was in Nowhere.” He blew the shavings off the branch, inspected it, then held it out to Abbey. “Don’t take it until we’re ready,” he instructed.

Russell took Ian’s and Caleb’s hands. Abbey extended her hand to Ian.

Damian had shifted his beseeching gaze to Abbey. “I can tell you about your parents,” he said. “You want to know about your parents, right? I can tell you the things they aren’t telling you.”

Abbey paused, but Ian snatched her hand, and she reached out for the Madrona branch. Damian lunged forward and tried to grab on to someone, but then they were hurtling through space, or not-space—Abbey wasn’t sure what they were hurtling through—and she tried to picture the desert and the bubble.

Mark paced the length of the office once again. It was a small room, probably only twelve feet by ten feet, and didn’t offer a lot of space for true pacing. Digby had popped out of the backpack, his grey body quivering, and now he nosed around in a corner, watching Mark with his sharp black eyes, while Jake peered out through a small gap between the blind and the window frame.

Mark had missed his chance to escape. The raccoon-hatted man and his friends had been dismissed early, and now one of the other men who had accompanied Sandy to look at the front wall of the dam sat watching the door to their room. Perhaps the raccoon-hatted man would be back in the morning.

In the last hour, Sandy had come and gone from the hallway in front of his room, her face oscillating between smiling and frowning. Both expressions scared Mark, so he’d stopped looking and Jake had taken up Mark’s post by the window.

There had also been more loud, shaking booms from deep inside the dam. Mark had taken refuge under the desk with Digby for a bit, convinced that the whole structure was about to collapse. It had not, so Mark had emerged and started pacing. He’d shared some of the molasses rations with Jake, as it did not appear that their captors had any intention of feeding them. (He also wondered what they expected him and Jake to do about bathroom breaks.)

He considered telling Jake about everything he had found in the last few hours: the low water levels, the reappearing dam, the room with the pentagram, Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Beckham. He would have if Jake had been Abbey. Abbey always seemed to be listening and analyzing what Mark was saying, coming up with connections that Mark had not yet identified. But he wasn’t sure about Jake. So the only exchange between him and Jake in the last hour was related to Jake’s surprise at seeing Sandy in the hall, and Mark’s confirmation that yes, she was Ms. Beckham’s friend from outside Abbott’s Apothecary. (He didn’t feel the need to mention that Sandy was his half-sister.)

“She’s coming,” Jake said.

Mark stopped mid-pace. He did not have to ask who the “she” was. He both could and could not believe that his half-sister would imprison him—he’d always had a bad feeling about her.

He heard the key in the lock and then the door was flung open. Sandy stood on the threshold, bearing two heaping plates of food, which she placed on the desk, her brilliant white teeth arranged in a broad smile.

“How’s everyone doing?” she asked as if they had just been shown to their rooms in a five-star resort. “Why don’t you sit down and eat and we can have a little chat?” She gestured at the food, which seemed to consist of some rather grey-looking meat, vegetables, and potatoes. Perhaps it was just the fluorescent lights.

“I’m so sorry about before. I got a bit impatient, Mark, and I was in a hurry. I’ll get better at dealing with your episodes, I promise. Mom said it was best to leave you alone when they happened until you were finished,” she simpered, patting his arm. Mark just barely managed to control his automatic recoil.

She extended her hand to Jake. “Hi, I’m Mark’s sister, Sandy. I know we saw each other briefly in Nowhere and at Abbott’s Apothecary last month… and I suppose we saw each other that day in the woods when everyone was out hiking, but I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. I apologize for before and for keeping you here for so long. You startled some of my men. We’ve been working here on this dam for several months, and some of the natives tend to be quite aggressive. I’m afraid my men have gotten used to shooting first and asking questions later. I hope nobody from your party was hurt. The other two men got away, I understand?”

“Something like that,” Jake muttered.

“And you are?” she said.

“Jake.”

“And they were?” she said, flipping a curl of her blond hair over her shoulder. “In case my men come across them, it would be nice to be able to help them. We’ll let them know you’re nice and safe.”

Jake flicked his eyes to Mark, as if he hoped that Mark might know what to do. Mark realized that he had been standing with his mouth slightly agape. He closed it quickly and tried to signal—how did people give signals anyway?—that he had no idea what to do.

Sandy’s smile had grown almost spiky while she waited.

“Bill and Charles,” Jake said.

A hard look flashed over Sandy’s face but was quickly replaced with another smile. “And what were you doing out in this neck of the woods? Were you looking for something?”

“We were hiking. Are you going to let us go?”

Sandy emitted a frightening trill of laughter through narrowed eyes. “Of course. But I have some propositions for you, and you should eat first, so sit, and we’ll talk.”

Jake and Mark settled warily at the desk. The man with the gun was standing by the open door. His gun was not drawn, but Mark could see no obvious way to escape. The food tasted as grey as it looked, and after a couple of bites both Mark and Jake set their forks down.

“So, as I was saying before, I’m afraid Marian and Peter are trapped in a netherworld of sorts. It’s very concerning. Those poor children need their parents back,” Sandy said. “There’s a room in this dam that leads to the netherworld. But I can’t access it. Mark, I understand from Mom that you’re good at puzzles. There’s a lock of sorts on the door. I was hoping you could help me open it.”

Mark had been searching the room surreptitiously for Digby while Sandy spoke, but he couldn’t see the rat anywhere. He glanced at the slightly ajar door.

“So, are you going to help me, Mark?”

Mark whipped his head back and realized that Sandy was expecting an answer. He glanced at Jake. Could they possibly make a break for it while they were helping Sandy solve the puzzle? Should he show Sandy how to access the room? Maybe she
was
trying to help Mr. Sinclair and Ms. Beckham, who, if their apparitions were any indication, were clearly trapped somewhere and in need of help.