Race the Night Read online

  “Teacher told me.”

  “Wow.” Saying “Very good” or “Nice work” to Eider’s face was one thing. Telling Nurse when Eider wasn’t around was another.

  “I was overjoyed to hear it, kiddo. We’ve been worried about you for a long time. Ever since the incident.”

  Eider’s smile faded. “I know.”

  “You’ve been through a lot, of course. That fever. That horrible snakebite.” Nurse shook his head. “Why’d you take off in the first place, anyway? I’m not sure you’ve ever shared with me.”

  Eider bit her thumbnail. She liked Nurse—but often, she felt like Teacher was looking out through his eyes. Speaking through his voice.

  “Just wanted to see what was out there, I guess.” She shrugged. “It was stupid. We didn’t realize—”

  “We?”

  Eider paused, then realized her mistake. “Me, I meant! Only me. I don’t think about—anymore. Not at all.”

  Nurse looked like he didn’t quite believe her. But it wasn’t a disappointed look. More than anything, it seemed a little sad. “Teacher is always right, of course. It really is for the best. But I’m sure it feels like a big loss, all the same.”

  Agreeing felt risky, so Eider just shrugged.

  “Teacher understands loss, you know,” Nurse went on. “For some people, the world didn’t end just once. In fact, you could say we’ve all lost something. Or someone.”

  She felt unsure what he was getting at. “Teacher lost someone?”

  Nurse turned and began to organize his jar of tongue depressors. Even though it was already organized. “Oh, that was a very long time ago.”

  “But what do you mean, the world didn’t end just once?”

  “You’re all done, kiddo,” Nurse said in a singsong voice. “I’ll see you at dinner. I have this idea for pickle rice. Sure, it doesn’t sound too enticing when I say it, but I think it’ll be awfully delicious….”

  Eider sighed. She wasn’t little anymore, and she found Nurse’s childlike distractions maddening. “Isn’t it better that I know? Especially if the world’s going to begin again?”

  Nurse blinked at her, like her question had startled him. “You kids are getting smarter and smarter. Where has the time gone?” He shook his head and sighed. “Well, they say the desert’s good for old bones, anyway.”

  “Who does?” Eider asked.

  “Oh, nobody. All that matters is what Teacher says.”

  “Do you always do what Teacher says?”

  “Of course.” Nurse raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  As the kids waited for Teacher to arrive for Circle Time, they sat farther apart than they used to. Staring at their hands and feet instead of each other.

  Eider, too. She still didn’t know what Nurse had meant about the world ending more than once, but it had left her feeling unsettled. She couldn’t help biting her thumbnail as Teacher sat in front of them.

  “Good afternoon,” she said.

  The kids never knew what to expect during Circle Time. Funny stories, or serious discussion. Teacher’s expression usually predicted the tone of her talks. Right now, she looked serious.

  Very, very serious.

  “Today, we’re going to talk about honesty,” Teacher said. “It’s one of the most important qualities in a leader. I’m going to ask a question, and I expect an honest answer. Do you understand?”

  The kids all nodded.

  “Who took my permanent marker?”

  Now the all kids glanced at each other, brows furrowed.

  “I left it on the table during Practical. When I returned, it was missing. Markers are very valuable—it’s not like I can go to the store and purchase one. Who took it?”

  Eider scanned the circle again. Everybody looked confused. Only Linnet’s expression was different: her bottom lip trembling, like she might cry. Because Eider couldn’t tell her to knock it off, she raised her hand.

  “Maybe…you dropped it somewhere?” she asked.

  Teacher’s glare was cactus-sharp. “That isn’t possible. Somebody here is keeping a secret. I’m certain. And it’s made me wonder what else you’ve been hiding.”

  Eider had an urge to chew her thumbnails, so she sat on her hands.

  “We can’t read each other’s minds,” Teacher went on, “no matter how much Extrasensory we practice. Not entirely. That’s why honesty is so important.”

  She leaned forward, just a bit.

  “Having secrets is part of being human. But every single child in this room is more than human. You’re superhuman.”

  “Superhuman?” Jay repeated.

  “That’s right,” Teacher said firmly. “Which is why I expect much, much more of you. Total honesty. Total trustworthiness. Secrets benefit nobody but the person they belong to. I want no more secrets—starting right now.

  “Are any of you keeping a secret?”

  Everybody froze. Bracing themselves for each other to speak. Every single one of them had secrets.

  But Eider had the most.

  The gap in the fence. The stuff she’d found for Finch. The shard she’d given Linnet. The fairytale book—packed with windborne papers, Eider’s biggest secret of all. Or maybe the radio was the biggest secret? Technically, that secret belonged to Finch. But Eider wasn’t sure that would matter to Teacher.

  “How about someone else’s secret?” Teacher asked, her eyes candle-bright. “Keeping secrets for others is just as dangerous. Share now…and I won’t be angry.”

  Still, silence. The tension in the room grew thicker and thicker.

  Eider couldn’t look at Finch, so she glanced at Avis—who was staring at her hands. Avis knew so many of Eider’s secrets. But she’d never tell on Eider. Right?

  Finally, Teacher sighed. “I’ll give you a little longer. Remember, if you share any secrets you know about first, I’ll be more understanding when you share your own. And of course, if any more supplies go missing…I just might decide studying is more important than Free Play. You’re dismissed.”

  As they walked away, Eider kept her head down, same as everyone else. She couldn’t stop thinking about her fairytale book.

  After she’d learned Robin was imaginary, she’d felt so lonely. That was why she’d wanted to share the book. For some reason, she’d chosen Avis—the right choice, she knew now, because they’d been best friends ever since. Though Avis wasn’t particularly interested in reading stories, she’d seemed to treasure the secret; to take its keeping seriously. She had for years.

  Even if Avis didn’t tell on her, could Eider be sure she’d hidden the book exactly right? What would happen if Teacher found it? And opened it? Saw all the scraps of paper Eider had collected and stuck inside?

  The secret-keeping alone was bad enough. But even more than that, it was what those scraps of paper represented. Looking backward instead of forward. Outward instead of inward. What Teacher always suspected Eider was guilty of doing.

  She’d take away Eider’s book, like she had all the other books. Maybe she’d even destroy it.

  Eider had wanted a point and now she had one. A reason to care about lessons, even obstacle courses. A deeper meaning for their existence at the desert ranch, after the end of the world, so far from Beyond and Before.

  The fairytale book was the opposite of all that.

  It broke Eider’s heart…

  But she had to get rid of it before Teacher did.

  AS EIDER APPROACHED the storage room during Free Play, she was half-afraid she’d find the door wide open, the fairytale book magically unearthed. Its pages glowing brightly.

  But Eider found it under the floorboard, just where she’d left it. Dusty, but that wasn’t unusual. The desert always found its way inside.

  She picked it up, relieved. Her fingers lingered over Cinderella and her pumpkin coach. Eider couldn’t remember the last time she’d opened the book—a few weeks ago, at least. Not since she’d stashed the housing-development pamphlet inside.

  She had
an urge to flip through it one last time.

  She couldn’t bear to.

  How to hide it? She considered wrapping the book in her jacket, but that would look almost as suspicious as carrying it openly. Finally, she stuffed it down the front of her overalls. The corners stuck out, but it was better than nothing.

  Outside, Eider paused to make sure the coast was clear. Then she hurried up the rise, the fastest path to the date grove. She’d only made it halfway when the book slipped out the side of her overalls.

  She tried not to yelp as it went bump-bump-bump down the slope, landing in a patch of creosote. The postcard had come loose—the rectangle paper with the desert-flower drink.

  Dear Roland,

  Bet you could use one of these right now! Wish you were here.

  Love,

  Mandy

  She recovered the book, shoving the postcard back inside.

  “Hey, Eider!”

  Eider whirled around. It was Linnet, her hands in her overalls pockets, a shy smile on her face. Her notebook was tucked under one arm.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “Just for a walk,” Eider said.

  “Can I come?”

  “No! Sorry, I—I’d like to be alone. Maybe next time.”

  But Linnet didn’t take the hint. “Is that a book?”

  Eider stuffed the fairytale book inside her overalls. “Is that your notebook?” she shot back. “I hope you’re not still secretly drawing in it. It’s not worth it, you know.”

  Linnet took a step backward. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Look, I’ve got to go.”

  Eider turned and jogged toward the fence, already feeling a little regretful. But right now, she needed fewer secrets, not more of them.

  Eider squeezed though the gap in the fence, careful not to snag her overalls. She headed for the ravine, the direction she usually went.

  Then she stopped.

  She needed a better hiding spot than her same old places. If she buried the fairytale book just a few feet from the desert ranch—well, she doubted anybody would find it. Possibly Finch, if he ever snuck out again, but it wasn’t the kind of thing he’d find useful, anyway. She wasn’t worried about that.

  She was worried about herself.

  If the book was too close, it’d be too easy to retrieve.

  Eider started walking again. Not alongside the fence, but perpendicular to it. Away from the desert ranch.

  Although the route was brand-new, her boots knew exactly which kinds of earth to step on and which kinds to avoid. She’d forgotten how exhilarating it felt, walking out here in the desert silence. Why did it seem like so long ago?

  Because Eider hadn’t even been thinking about exploring.

  Ever since Teacher’s talk about leaders, Eider hadn’t thought about exploring, or the sea, or her fairytale book, or the housing-development pamphlet she’d tucked inside. She hadn’t been thinking of Finch’s radio, or the grainy voice it had captured. She’d been thinking of her lessons. The way Teacher had always wanted her to.

  And it had felt good. Doing what Teacher said. Earning her approval, at long last.

  But not as good as exploring. Every time Eider stepped outside the fence, her thoughts did too. She could think about Beyond and Before without feeling guilty or wrong. She could think about Robin.

  “I’m burying the book,” Eider said out loud, making it real.

  She walked down a slope. Up a rise and down another. When she glanced over her shoulder, she couldn’t see the spike at all. It was lost in a pleat of hills. Which meant this was farther out than she’d ever been.

  Other than that one time, with Robin.

  Eider closed her eyes. No matter how strong she thought she was, her sister always found her way in. Memories-that-weren’t, tapping into dreams and daylight. Shutting off that part of her brain had been a relief, even if only for a while.

  But out here, Eider felt a sharp pang of missing. Almost like she’d lost her sister all over again.

  “The book,” Eider said again.

  Kneeling, she set the book under a shrub and began to dig.

  “Hey!”

  It was a small, faraway voice. But it hadn’t come from the desert ranch, lost in the hills behind her. It had come from someplace in front of her.

  And then Eider saw him. A person—a grown-up person. Not Teacher or Nurse or the Handyman, but somebody Eider didn’t recognize.

  Other People.

  “Hey you!” the man called.

  Eider’s heart began to pound. She couldn’t move. She just stood there as the man approached, heading closer, heading for her.

  His face was nut-brown and scruffy, like he hadn’t shaved in weeks. He wore a dirty red bandana around his forehead. His shoes were dingy, lumpy things with ridged soles, and his backpack was almost as big as he was.

  Eider had longed to see Other People her whole life. But now that one of them was standing in front of her, all she could think of were Teacher’s words:

  They’re dangerous. Even evil.

  “Are you on a hike, too?” the man asked.

  Eider glanced over her shoulder, but it was too late to run. The man would be faster, anyway. Maybe Jay or Avis could beat him, but definitely not Eider.

  “No habla inglés?” the man tried.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh—I just thought you might not speak English. What are you doing here?”

  “I—” Eider swallowed twice, but she couldn’t dislodge the knot of fear in her throat. “I live here.”

  The man’s eyes grew wide. “You’re telling me you live way out here?”

  She nodded.

  “Wow, we must be—how many miles?” He shrugged, then shook his head. “What a life that must be. Are you bussed into school, or…?”

  Eider wasn’t sure what he meant. “I go to school here.”

  “Ah, so you’re homeschooled. That makes sense.” The man pulled off his red bandana and wiped his face with it, but it only smeared the dirt around. “Still. Even a few hours hiking out here’ve got me broiled like a steak. You must be a tough, tough kid.”

  She shrugged.

  “I mean it. I have a daughter back home—a daughter and a son, actually. Both older than you. But they hate the desert. ‘It’s too dirty,’ my son says. My daughter would rather lounge around and play video games.” He smiled. “Pretty annoying, right?”

  Eider’s head swam. Back home? A daughter and a son? She didn’t even know what video games were. But she liked the way the man smiled when he talked about his kids. Like he wasn’t really annoyed by them.

  “Do you go exploring a lot?” he asked.

  “I…used to. Not as much anymore.”

  “But you’re familiar with this area?”

  She shrugged again. “Only sort of.”

  “Well, maybe you can help me anyway. I heard there was an abandoned military outpost around these parts. Do you know what I’m talking about? Have you seen it?”

  A military outpost? Again, Eider wasn’t sure what he meant. She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Hold on.” The man pulled out a rectangular device from his pocket, tapped it a few times, then held it out to her. “See, it looks like this.”

  Eider didn’t want to go any closer, but curiosity won out.

  She took a couple steps and peered at the man’s device. There were pictures on it, like her glossy rectangles—except these pictures glowed. Even in the sunlight. And when the man touched them with his finger, they moved! Eider’s papers didn’t do that. She knew magic didn’t exist, but Finch’s ones and zeroes couldn’t explain it either. Right?

  She wished Finch was here. Or Avis. Or even Linnet. At the very least, they’d be able to confirm that Eider wasn’t having another fever dream.

  “Camp Douglas, it used to be called,” the man said. He tapped his device again, and a map appeared. “Closed back in the fifties. Most of it’s gone, but there are supp
osed to be these great big concrete slabs left. Sound familiar?”

  Concrete slabs?

  “Oh!” Eider exclaimed. “They’re—”

  She stopped.

  Somehow, she’d momentarily forgotten Teacher’s warnings about Other People. About the danger and the evil. How could it have slipped her mind? Because the man was so friendly. And funny. Because he had a family.

  But that didn’t guarantee anything, did it?

  “Maybe over that way?” Eider said, pointing the wrong direction.

  “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “There’s three of them. About fifteen feet by fifteen feet.”

  “That’s exactly right.” The man glanced at his magic device again and put it back into his pocket. “Well, sometimes these things go all wonky way out here. Not enough towers.” He knelt to tighten the laces on one of his huge, lumpy shoes.

  “Your shoes are so big,” Eider blurted.

  He nodded and smiled. “I know they don’t look like much, but underneath the grime they’re state-of-the-art. Good shoes are every journey’s most important companion. I’d never make it a hundred feet without ’em.”

  Eider glanced down at her own boots. They were just as grimy, now that she was looking at them. She wished she had better shoes. At least she wasn’t wearing ballet slippers. She coughed, trying to clear the sudden ache in her throat.

  “Thanks for the help, intrepid explorer,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

  “Eider,” she told him.

  “Eider. That’s interesting. Like eiderdown?”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Eiderdown. The feathers in pillows. They come from the eider bird. It’s a duck-like thing, I think…no?” He shrugged. “Anyway, nice to meet you. I’m Charles. Charles the Hiker.”

  “Nice to meet you, Charles the Hiker.”

  He put out his dirty hand, and Eider shook it.

  She watched him hike away, his lumpy blue shoes crunching the desert sameness, until he disappeared into the hills.

  She waited a little longer.

  Then she ran toward the fence without looking back.

  Eider hid in the date grove for the rest of Free Play, crouching among the trees. She kept quiet all through dinner (black beans and boiled potatoes—probably yuck, but Eider didn’t eat any), watching the other kids practice their telepathy skills. Which meant nothing was happening.