He points at my parents. “Y’all should split up and look. Cali, I can’t let my city burn. It’s all we got!”
I know that more than he realizes. Mr. Brown marches over, sweat on his brow.
“Yusef, you drive over to the east side. I’ll go over to Midwood. We need all the help we can get.” He turns to the remaining crowd. “The rest of you, you know what to do. Pull together your things in case you have to leave. Use them hoses.”
The crowd disperses, jogging back to their homes. Yusef grabs my hand, pulling me into a tight hug.
“I promise,” he whispers, “as soon as I get the fire department, I’ll be back to help look for Piper. We’ll find her.”
I nod, holding back nervous tears before letting go of my only piece of safety, watching him barrel down the street.
“Marigold,” Mom shouts behind me, keys in hand as they run to the car. “Alec and I are going to drive around and try to find Piper. Stay here, in case she comes back.”
“No,” I bark, chasing them. “I’m going to look too!”
“No, Mari,” Alec insists, eyes brimming red. “It’s not safe.”
“We need to divide and conquer,” I shoot back. “We have to work together to find her before it’s too late!”
Mom stares into my eyes and nods, relenting.
“Okay, fine! Don’t leave Maple Street and call if you run into any trouble.”
“Please, Mari,” Alec begs. “Please be careful.”
As they hop in the car, I hang on the driver’s-side window.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out. “I should have never left her alone.”
“Listen to me,” Alec says, holding my hands. “This is not your fault. We’re going to find Piper. And then we’re going to get the hell out of here. Together. Okay?”
I nod, mouthing the word “okay,” before he peels out of the driveway.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I suddenly remember my phone was still at Yusef’s. But Piper could be in any of these houses. And who knows when the mob will be back. I have to try.
Inside the house, Mr. Stampley’s ax is still on the floor where Jon Jon left it. I snatch it up along with a flashlight and run full speed for the secret garden. I need to check every corner of every house on this block. She couldn’t have gone far.
The temperature dropped, my breath fogging, and if at all possible, the houses on Maple Street seem creepier than ever. Maybe because I don’t know who else could be lurking around like shadows we can’t see. My steps echo in the strange throbbing silence. I jump around cracking sidewalks, and right as I’m about to charge into the brush, something up the block catches my eye. A pallet covered with a beige tarp sits on the corner of Sweetwater like a large forgotten birthday present. The brightness jarring, it stands out among the rubble and trash on the street.
I move closer to investigate, pulling back the tarp. It seems like random supplies—a stack of bricks, firewood, kindling, and a giant can of gasoline.
A firework screams up into the sky, lighting it up red.
Two blocks over, a similar pallet sits under a lamppost. All the brand-new necessary tools you need to burn down your own city. Then it hits me: this was the Foundation’s plan all along. They knew Ms. Suga and Jon Jon were still alive. They knew the people in Maplewood would do anything to keep themselves safe. And letting them burn down their own homes is an easy way to get rid of an entire community, giving them the perfect opportunity to build a whole new Cedarville. But first, they had to find someone foolish enough to move onto Maple Street to get the ball rolling. Someone not from here and in desperate need of a free house. They used our family as bait. Pawns in their game.
Checkmate.
The night air smells like burning firewood. In the distance, I see the glow of the first house smoking. A crowd cheers. The mob is moving quick. Too quick. They’ll be back on this block soon. I need to find Piper. And fast. If Yusef can’t convince the fire department to come, we may not make it out of here alive.
Inside the secret garden, the pots are empty, and my makeshift tools in a pile by the door.
“Piper,” I call. “Piper, are you in here?”
I shine the flashlight downward, noticing a set of footprints in the dust, heading toward the front of the house.
These footprints aren’t mine.
Following the steps, through the kitchen, dining room, past the stairs, I turn a corner and am surprised to see a set of bookshelves in what appears to be the sitting room, windows facing Maple Street. Just like in our house. Except one bookshelf sits tilted from the others. Which is exactly where the footprints seem to stop. I knock on the wall then stomp my foot. Hollow.
Using the ax head, I push the surprisingly light bookshelf aside, finding a utility hole with a metal ladder.
“Piper?” I say, and my voice echoes back.
Shit.
I swallow the fear, stuff the flashlight in my shirt, and climb down the ladder. One step, two steps, into a one-man catacomb. The tunnel is tall and narrow, walls made of various materials—rocks, cement, brick fragments, glass, and thousands of tin bottle caps. I shine a light down the tunnel, but it only goes a few feet. After that, pitch-blackness.
“Hello?”
Water drips and echoes from somewhere close. Gripping the ax, I start walking, the tunnel widening as I go along. I reach a clearing, with two separate entrances, a fork in the road. Which one has Piper?
“Shit,” I mumble, and my voice echoes. Something moves ahead of me in the darkness and I whip in its direction.
“Hello?” I shout. “Piper?”
Bravery leaking, I’m ready to make a run for it when I spot a faint glow of light in the distance. I race for it, flashlight bouncing, the tunnel narrowing, my breath growing shallow.
Please be here, please.
At the end, there’s a short set of stairs, and a door made of thin warped wood, opened just a crack, light bleeding out. I stare at the door, heart racing, hand held up, frozen.
You walked through a dark tunnel leading to nowhere and you’re scared of a piece of wood?
“It’s just wood, it’s just wood,” I chant softly, swallowing back every bedbug fact threatening to bubble up.
I push the door with my shoulder and stumble into . . . a basement. Not just any basement . . . the basement in our own freaking house! The makeshift beds are exactly where I saw them earlier, the candle burning to a stub. I spin around, staring up at the large bookcases hiding the secret tunnel.
That unmistakable familiar smell reeks behind me and my eyes water, the tears instant.
Oh no.
I spin around and there, hunched in the corner, blending in with the darkness, stands Jon Jon. A towering giant, ready to kill me.
Twenty-Five
THIS IS WHERE I fucked up, See, I assumed Jon Jon would be long gone by now, running away from the mob trying to burn the city down. That’s what I would do. You know, something rational.
But we’re not talking about someone rational. We’re talking about a guy who’s spent several decades hiding in our basement with his mother. This has Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho written all over it.
Jon Jon’s yellow eyes drift to the ax in my hand, jaw wiggling. In an instant, the basement shrinks to the size of a closet, my lungs tightening. He could easily overpower me, snatch the ax, chop me into bits. Blood drains from my head as I realize this is the second time I’m about to die today.