The Only Ones (20 page)

Two more things to do.

He returned to the crank. Fifteen counterclockwise rotations until it was loose.

The breathing of the kids became synchronized. They might not have realized it, but Martin sure did. They were like one giant organism, clumped together on the floor behind him. He wondered what Lane was thinking. Did she view this as a big contraption, an elaborate entertainment like the ones she peddled? Was she just along for kicks, to see how spectacularly he would fail? He couldn’t bear to turn around and look, to catch her shaking her head, mouthing, “I told you so.”

And what about Darla? They had hardly spoken since the trial. At times it seemed she wanted nothing more than for Martin to build the machine; at other times, nothing less. Yet there was hardly a moment when she wasn’t talking about how wonderful the world and her life were before the Day. Surely she would be the most disappointed if it didn’t work.

And Trent, and Sigrid, and Tiberia, and Gabe, and Cameron, and Riley, and Ryan, and Wendy, and, oh God, he didn’t know everyone’s name. He did, he did. But not off the top of his head, not right then, when he was about to change everything, when he was about to grab the pendulum, when he was about to lift it and send it flying like a metronome on a giant clock.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick …

It was done. The final step. The pendulum was swinging.
The whir kept whirring. The breathing was steady and constant. And then, the light.

“This must be it,” Raul whispered as the first hint of light came from under the door to the machine’s heart.

It spread out like liquid on the floor. Before long, it was touching the walls and painting the faces of the kids.

“It’s gorgeous,” Gina said. “Is it starlight?”

Whirring became whistling, and soon the light shone so brightly that they had to close their eyes. Vibrations coursed through the machine in a series of pulses. The clamor of metal on metal galloped forth, then stopped. Static electricity swept through the room as if blown by a breeze and it grabbed at the tiny hairs on Martin’s arms. The whistle mutated back to a whir and the nausea in Martin’s stomach retreated. His insides felt downright giddy.

Whether one person started it and the rest caught on or whether it spontaneously happened all at once was hard to say. But the machine was suddenly filled with laughter. Giggles and chuckles and joyful gasps for breath. They echoed and folded into each other and created a symphony of delight. It might have lasted only twenty seconds or so, but it felt like forever.

Then, as the laughter evaporated, everything else retreated. The vibrations, the sounds, the light. Only the pendulum remained, cutting its path back and forth in front of the control panel.

 … tick, tick, tick, tick, tick …

It was at least a few minutes before anyone spoke.

“Are we there yet?” Trent asked.

No one laughed. No one responded at all. Martin opened
his eyes. The kids all looked safe, healthy. Whatever the machine had done, it hadn’t changed their appearance.

There were no windows, no way of telling where exactly they were. Everyone was still sitting, except for Martin, who was standing at the controls. Clearly, their expectation was that he would make the first move.

He walked over and touched his fingers to the corrugated metal of the machine’s wall, but only for a second, like he was testing the heat of an oven. Not sure what to expect, he wasn’t helped much by the results. A little warm. He pressed his ear against it and listened for a moment. A gentle wind was complemented by an unmistakable birdcall. Chickadees.

“What
was
that?” Cameron whispered.

Martin rushed to the door. He tossed it open and felt a cool caress of air as he took a step outside.

“Martin? What happened?” Cameron called out from the machine. A soft commotion followed.

“Let him go,” Darla demanded. “He must know what he’s doing.”

Outside, Martin found Xibalba.

It was exactly as they had left it. The buildings and houses were in the same state of ruin. Town Square was neatly plowed. Crusty, gravelly stacks of snow dotted the curbs. Kid Godzilla, scuffed and dented but alive, was parked in the distance, along the street.

A dark cube, about three feet square, was the only difference. It sat on the pavement a few feet from the machine. It hadn’t been there when Martin had arrived in the morning.

When he got closer, he realized what it was: the charred remains of the home page to Felix’s Internet. It used to tell the story of Xibalba, but all the writing had burned away.
The only mark that remained was a short message gouged deep into the coaly surface. It said:

Martin turned around to see the confetti of disappointed faces bursting forth from the machine. At that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to go home to his island.

“W
hat’d you do to us?” Tiberia asked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Martin replied.

“We felt it,” she said. “We all felt that machine do something.”

“If we go back inside and try again …,” Martin said, but Tiberia was having none of it.

“Stand back, everyone! Get away!” she commanded.

They followed her order, scattering from the machine like water bugs from a ripple in a pond.

“But something’s changed. This block,” Martin said, “it wasn’t here last night.”

“Because I left it there this morning,” Lane said with a sigh. She was standing closer to the machine than anyone else, examining it as if to figure out what went wrong.

“Oh,” Martin said. “Well, maybe a few adjustments and we can—”

“Did you know it?” Tiberia asked. “That it would twist
up our insides like that? Make us giggle like a buncha maniacs?”

Martin shook his head. He had felt the same thing, but he had no idea what it meant. His voice began to quake. “It did something good. I know it did.”

“How are we to be sure of that?” Sigrid gasped. “How do we know it was safe?”

“No. No. I never would have put us in danger,” Martin insisted.

A sideways glance at Lane in search of help was met with a look that was more patronizing than sympathetic. She paced over to him, hooked her hand around, and grabbed his upper back. Then she leaned into his ear.

“Thought it would have at least burnt us to a crisp, Captain,” she whispered. “But you didn’t have the guts, did you?”

Martin pulled away, searching her for a wink and a nod. A watercolor of sadness was painted in her eyes. How could he have been so clueless?

“Don’t say things like that,” Martin whispered back.

“Doesn’t matter what I say in this pitiful place. Your destiny is mediocrity, Martin. I never should have thought there was anything special about you.” She shoved him aside with more malice than he’d ever felt from anyone. Then she bent over, wrapped her arms around the block, and lifted it. She headed into the seams of Xibalba.

“Where are you goin’?” Tiberia asked.

“Home,” Lane called back.

“That makes two of us,” Tiberia responded.

And that also made the rest of them. The exodus was quick. As all the kids streamed past him, Martin surveyed their faces. Some looked angry, others confused. The majority
simply appeared to be on autopilot, denying their disappointment and heading back to their corners of the world.

Only Darla stayed. She sat on her luggage, legs dangling out from a gray pleated skirt. She was fussing with her white frilly blouse and short-cut blazer, trying to pull them straight. Her lips were dabbed—a bit heavily, it seemed—with pink lipstick. When she smiled at Martin, he saw that some of it had found its way onto her braces.

“Hey, you tried, right?” she said. “Can’t blame you for trying. It was crazy, of course. But then, it was also crazy that the world disappeared. So there you go.”

“They’ll never forgive me,” Martin said.

“Pffff,” Darla said. “They’re grumpy ’cause they had to wake up early. They’ll get over it. You convinced them once; you can convince them again.”

“Convince them? I have no idea what I just did to them.”

“Felt good to me,” Darla said. “Jeez. If those zeros can’t enjoy a laugh, I don’t know if they deserve one.”

The most honest thing about Darla was her laugh. It skirted annoying, with its stabbing insistence. Yet it never seemed forced. When Darla laughed, there was emotion behind it.

“I haven’t been completely truthful,” Martin admitted.

Darla waved him off. “Come on, honey. Everybody tells lies to get what they want.”

It wasn’t exactly a comforting statement, especially coming from Darla, but it confirmed something Martin had begun to suspect: someone has always done worse.

“What lies have you told?” he asked her.

“Today?” Darla joked.

“Whenever.”

“Well,” Darla said, “I only tell white lies, of course. Fibs. Yes,
fibs
is the word for what I tell.”

“Have you ever told me a fib?”

“Besides the marble?” Darla said.

“Wait. What?”

“The marble? That it would make the machine work?” Darla said. “You didn’t suspect that was weird? Even a little?”

It was even worse than he’d thought. He curled back, pulling his hands to his chest like she was an infection. “Nigel never said the marble was for the machine?”

“Naw,” Darla said lightheartedly. “I made that part up.”

“You … but … why …” As the words came out, so too did the previous night’s dinner. A purple thrust of vomit met the pavement with a curdy smack.

“Yuck,” Darla cried, pulling her feet up. “I was gonna say because you’re cute, but I think you changed my opinion pretty quickly there.”

“I’m … I’m sorry … I’m sorry.” Martin stumbled sideways and battled dizziness. Stomach acid worked its claws into his throat.

“It’s not a big deal,” Darla said. “What Nigel did tell me was that I had to give you a push.”

“A push?” Martin whimpered as he dabbed his mouth against his sleeve.

“He was worried that ’cause of Chet, you would wimp out or something. He told me to make sure you finished what you started. And I did that.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder at the machine. “I got that thing here. I got the whole gang to pitch in. And as a bonus, I got a date with you. So you can’t call it a lie at all. A fib.”

“But the marble …?”

“The marble is just a marble.” Darla laughed. “
C’est la
vie
. Forget all that junk and let’s get back in the machine. You almost had it, right? A few adjustments? Who needs this gang? Let’s leave ’em behind for good.”

She didn’t get it. The marble was everything. If the marble didn’t complete the machine, then what did?

“They’ll have a trial for me, won’t they?” Martin asked. “And they’ll treat me just like I treated Henry?”

“Henry’s fine,” Darla assured him. “A little uncomfortable maybe, but fine.”

“I should go back to the island,” he said. “I was never meant to come here.”

“Sure you were,” Darla said. “Or else you wouldn’t be here.”

“That’s not how everyone else is going to see it.”

Darla schemed furiously. There was really no better word for it. Her eyes were the same as they always were—delightfully devious. But it was her fingers that gave her away. Draped over her thigh, they tapped her nervous energy through the fabric of her skirt and into her bones.

“Tell you what,” she said. “If you’re so worried, lay low for a while. We’ll find you somewhere to hide out while stuff blows over. Things will be back to normal in the bat of an eyelash.”

She winked.

T
he hospital on the edge of town was five rectangular stories of yellow brick and rust-edged windows that wept brown tears when it rained. Martin had never been inside, and from what Darla had told him, he knew that hardly anyone else had either. Sigrid used to train in the halls, but those days were over. It was far too spooky in there. Now when foul weather descended, she had other places to run.

Martin could be alone there, and while it wasn’t his island, it wasn’t all that different. Exploring it, he expected to find a cold, hollow, sterile building. What he actually found was room upon room decorated with photographs and posters and stuffed animals and keepsakes and reminders that, just like the houses on the island, this was a home, if only temporarily. The ravages of nature hadn’t touched it. The windows were permanently locked. The doors were
heavy. And that was what must have scared Sigrid off. This hospital wasn’t a skeleton; it was a warm corpse.

Martin settled into a room on the fourth floor that was stripped bare except for a bed and a dresser. He found a stack of blankets in a closet, and rather than worry about heating the place, he decided that he would drape himself in wool and stay put.

Darla agreed to bring him food and his only other request: books. Because she refused to step inside, they established a system, one that Martin knew well. Every evening, Darla would fill a wooden crate with books, water, and food and leave it by a side door to the hospital. Martin would empty the contents and fill the crate with the books he had finished. They would also leave each other notes.