فصل 9

Chapter 9: The Lightning Boy

I had assumed we would return from the ranch knowing what had happened to my mother and friends, but now I had more questions than answers. I didn’t know what to think. No one could have survived an attack of the magnitude that destroyed the ranch. But why hadn’t we found any sign of our friends? No bodies, no bones, there was not one shred of evidence that anyone had been there.

And then there was what the guard had said—or thought—about no one being there. Could they all have gotten away? For the first time in days, I felt hopeful.

I looked down to see Taylor running her fingers along my arm across my new markings. “I hope it doesn’t go away. I think it looks cool.” “I hope it fades a little. I look painted.” “You’re pretty painted.” She ran her finger along my arm for a little while longer, then said, “Do you really think they’re alive?” I suppose that I was getting used to her reading my mind, as her question didn’t surprise me. Half the time I don’t think she even knew she was doing it.

“I don’t know. There were at least fifty people there. How could there have been no sign of anyone? And what the guard said . . .” Taylor shook her head. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. But why would the voice tell us there were no survivors?” “Do you think the voice always tells the truth?” “I don’t know.”

“Would you lie to save my life?” I asked.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Would you lie to save the world?”

“Of course,” she repeated.

“Me too,” I said. “I think the voice will say whatever he has to to help the cause.” “But why would telling us everyone’s dead help the cause?” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Maybe the guard knows something.” “I just hope he makes it to the hospital alive.” * * *

We had laid the guard in the back of the van on the floor of the cargo area, and Abigail and Jack sat in back with him. As we approached the Mexican town of Naco, Scott said, “We’ll go straight to the Red Cross clinic and get him help. Zeus, Tessa, Jack, and Abigail will stay with him while the rest of us get our bags from the hotel. Will someone collect the room keys?” “I’ll do it,” Taylor said.

Everyone handed their keys to Taylor.

“They’ll probably need me at the Red Cross to translate,” Ostin said.

“You’re right,” Scott said. “McKenna, you’re still with us.” “No worries,” she said.

We pulled into the dirt parking lot of the Red Cross building, and Ostin ran inside. A moment later two Mexican men, one of them wearing a blue doctor’s smock, came out carrying a cloth stretcher. Jack opened the back doors.

The doctor gasped when he saw the guard. “¡Qué espantoso!” Jack helped the men lift the guard and carry him inside, followed by Zeus, Abigail, Ostin, and Tessa.

Scott climbed back inside the van, and the rest of us drove just a few blocks back to our hotel. When we arrived, Taylor, Nichelle, McKenna, Ian, and I went to the rooms to collect everyone’s things. As we carried the luggage out to the van, a young Mexican man standing across the street in front of the hotel suddenly pointed at me and shouted, “¡El niño relámpago! ¡El niño relámpago!” “What’s he saying?” Taylor asked.

“¡Allí está el niño relámpago!”

“He’s calling you ‘the lightning boy,’ ” Scott said, walking up to me. “How would he know that?” “He might have been one of the gang members who attacked me,” I said.

“Might?” Scott said.

“I don’t know. It was dark. We weren’t posing for selfies.” People began walking out of buildings to see what the man was shouting about.

“I’ve got this,” Taylor said. “Nichelle, can you amplify me?” “Sure,” she said, taking Taylor’s hand.

Taylor reached her other hand toward the kid and closed her eyes. He abruptly stopped shouting. Then he and the people around him suddenly looked confused, as if they’d all forgotten why there were standing in the street—which was likely true.

“You’re so cool,” I said.

“Thank you,” Taylor said. “And thanks to Nichelle. I usually can’t reboot so many people at once.” “No problem,” Nichelle said.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Scott said. “Who knows how many people this clown’s told. Word will spread quickly in a place like this.” Taylor and Nichelle kept the crowd confused as we finished throwing the bags into the back of the van and climbed in. We sped back to the Red Cross.

The small clinic was crowded, and Jack waved us over to where our friends were gathered. The guard was lying on a small cot with an IV going into his arm. A doctor was standing next to him, spraying his wounds with something. The rest of our group was standing a few yards from him, watching.

“What’s going on?” I asked Ostin.

“They gave him some pain medicine and some antibiotics,” Ostin said.

“They also gave him an IV for his dehydration,” Abigail said. “The doctor says they need to take him to a hospital in Sonora.” “No,” Scott said. “We need to get out of Mexico. Does the doctor speak English?” “I speak English,” the doctor said, with only a slight accent. “Do you know this man?” “He was at our ranch in the desert. There was an explosion.” “We heard explosions a few days ago,” the doctor said. “Were there others hurt?” “He’s the only one we know of,” Scott said. “We’ll take him over the border to Bisbee to the Copper Queen hospital.” “Copper Queen is good,” the doctor said, nodding. “They’re better prepared for burn trauma.” “We’ll take him immediately,” Scott said.

“What’s the hurry?” Ostin whispered.

“Someone recognized Michael,” Nichelle said. “They’re calling him ‘the lightning boy.’ By the time we left the hotel, a crowd had gathered.” “I was afraid of that,” Ostin said.

The doctor finished wrapping the man’s burn with gauze, and then two men carried the guard back out to our van with the IV needle still in his arm, the tube connected to a bag of saline that we hung from one of the van’s clothes hooks.

Fortunately, the traffic at the border crossing back into the United States was light, with just three cars ahead of us.

“This could be tricky,” Scott said. “Transporting an undocumented burn victim across the border.” “I know a way to get across the border.” I turned back to Taylor. “Remember the mind trick you did in Peru at the Starxource plant? Could you do that again?” “Yes. I’ll need someone to translate.” “This guy will speak English,” Ostin said. “They’re American border guards.” “What if it doesn’t work this time?” Abigail asked.

“It will work,” Jack said. “If not, Michael, Zeus, and I will take the place down.” “No,” Scott said. “No fighting unless they try to arrest us. We can’t draw attention to ourselves. This place has massive video surveillance.” “Zeus can take out the video,” Jack said.

Zeus nodded. “It’s my specialty.”

“But we still don’t know how many guards are inside. The last thing we need to do is turn this into a war zone.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “It won’t come to that. Taylor will get us through.” “I hope so,” Scott said, pulling the van forward. “Because we’re here.” We drove past a blue-and-white sign that read: WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES

BIENVENIDOS A LOS ESTADOS UNIDOS

In front of the building was a flagpole with an American and an Immigration and Naturalization Service flag. The American border station was two stories high and constructed after traditional adobe architecture, with the butts of logs sticking out of its pale yellow stucco walls.

A long metal fence led up to the station, running parallel with a paved walkway on the east side for pedestrian traffic. There was a stop sign in the middle of the road, with the word “STOP” above the word “ALTO.” Scott pulled up to the final checkpoint before the border crossing. The uniformed and armed U.S. border guard was tall and lanky with a serious expression. It took just a few minutes before he waved the car ahead of us through and motioned us forward.

“Get ready,” I said to Taylor. “It’s showtime.” “I’m ready.”

We pulled up to the guard and stopped.

“Good afternoon,” Scott said.

The man showed no emotion. “Are you U.S. citizens?” “Yes, sir.”

“Your passports, please.”

“Of course.” Scott handed the guard our documents.

Suddenly the Elgen soldier groaned out loudly, and the border guard looked inside the van to see where the sound had come from. Ostin grabbed his stomach. “I knew I shouldn’t have drunk the water. Can we please hurry? I might blow.” “And now I’m going to hurl,” Tessa said. “You’re so gross.” The border guard looked at Ostin for a moment, then back at Scott. “There are eleven of you?” “Yes,” he said.

I whispered to Taylor, “Are you ready?” She slightly nodded. All he had to do was walk around the car to see the Elgen.

The border guard quickly looked our passports over, then, without comment, handed them back. “You’re free to go.” He waved at someone inside the building, and the gate rose. I think Scott was so surprised, he didn’t move.

“Go ahead,” the guard said.

“Yes, sir,” Scott said. “Have a good afternoon.” We pulled through the border crossing.

After we had passed over the border, Ostin said, “That was, like, easy.” “It was too easy,” Scott said.

“Maybe someone wants us back in the U.S.,” Ostin said.

“That’s a scary thought,” I said. “Since nobody is supposed to know we’re here.” * * *

About a half mile from the border, Scott pulled into the parking lot of a small taqueria and put the van in park. He reached over to the glove box and took out a hand radio.

“I’m going to radio Boyd and see if he’s seen anything suspicious.” He pushed a button on the radio. “Come in, Albatross, come in.” There was no response. “Albatross, come in. This is Falcon.” Still no response.

“Maybe he’s at dinner,” Taylor said.

“He should have his radio with him at all times,” Scott said. “Come in, Albatross. Over.” He checked the radio’s settings, then lifted the radio one more time. “Come in, Albatross. Are you there?” Still nothing.

“This is strange,” Scott said, pulling back out into the road. “Everyone, stay alert. Especially you, Ian. Something’s not right.” “It never is,” Taylor said softly. “It never is.”