I cursed again, trying to keep my fear at bay, and ran directly at him. I remembered Stan, rolling and tumbling like a trained athlete, and I wondered what tricks this guy might have ready. I was a good runner, but evasive maneuvers weren’t really my thing.
As I approached, he spread his arms wide and smiled. I lowered my right shoulder and angled right, then pivoted left. As he went for me, I pivoted right again and arched my back as I spun around him.
I crossed the street, stunned that I had somehow managed to get past him, and pulled the heavy old glass door open just enough for me and my backpack to slip inside.
The first thing to hit me was the smell—kind of gross, kind of delectable, hundreds of different foods combined with centuries of people and a very old building. The second thing to hit me was that it was practically empty. There was no crowd to get lost in or to slow down my pursuers.
Recalculating on my feet, I zigzagged through the stalls. If I wasn’t being chased by a murderous horde of Plants, it might have been fun, running through the wide-open aisles that were usually so densely packed. But this wasn’t fun. I was terrified, and not seeing any pursuers when I looked behind me barely lessened that terror.
I passed a souvenir stall with a rack of windbreakers and sweatshirts on display: Liberty Bells, sports logos and other touristy graphics. I grabbed a windbreaker and a cap as I ran, putting on the cap and pulling the windbreaker over my backpack as I darted through the exit onto 12th Street.
I immediately slowed to a leisurely pace. My legs were grateful, but every other fiber of my body wanted to keep running. I crossed 12th and walked slowly past a shoe store with an impressive selection of hideous boots in the window. As three Plants burst onto the street behind me, I ducked into the shop.
I watched them through the window as they looked up and down the street, searching for me.
The store was very trendy, pricier than I could afford and edgier than I could pull off—so edgy that the sales rep who asked me if I needed any help was a chimera. I glanced out the window and saw that the three Plants were still out on the sidewalk, talking.
“Do you have these in an eight?” I said, grabbing the least hideous boots I could find on the New Arrivals rack.
She gave me an unpleasant look as she took them, presumably thinking that even with twenty percent off, it was unlikely I could afford $400 boots.
And she was right.
As she went into the back to check, the three Plants went back inside the market and I slipped out onto the street. I felt bad for wasting the sales clerk’s time, but I was trying to stay alive and helping to save the world. And frankly, she’d been kind of rude.
I hurried down the street while trying to look like I wasn’t hurrying. It was 3:40, which meant there were only twenty minutes left until “Operation Wellspring.” Hopefully, Rex and Claudia and Ogden were already up in Wells Tower, shutting down the entire network. I wondered if I should even bother trying to help them, or if the best thing I could do would be to keep drawing any possible Plant pursuers away from them. As I puzzled over that, I circled back around to the parking garage.
With every step, the backpack slapped heavily against my spine, hard enough to distract me. While I was stopped at an intersection, I pulled the backpack around to the front so I could tighten the strap. And while I was doing that, I remembered why the backpack was so heavy.
“No, no, no, no,” I said, tugging open the zipper, then quickly tugging it closed, hoping no one else on the street had seen the signal optimizer, which Ogden said was essential for the plan to work, or the dart gun for that matter. I looked at my watch again—3:45, only fifteen minutes left, and now I knew I had a critical component with me. I needed to be there or else the whole plan was going to fail.
Putting my trust in Smartdrive, I darted into the street, and as traffic screeched to a halt, I ran.
Wells Tower loomed a block away, dominating the sky above me. At its base, I saw the entrance to the underground parking garage, and the sign that said, NO PEDESTRIANS—CARS ONLY. Whatever, I thought, as I ran down it anyway.
The service door was supposed to be near the bottom of the ramp. I was already going fast, and the slope propelled me even faster down the spiral ramp. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the relative darkness, and when I rounded a curve I almost ran into the gate before I even saw it. I tried to stop but couldn’t, so instead I jumped over it. I landed okay, but my momentum sent me sprawling onto the floor between two hulking transit vans.
I skinned both knees and the palms of my hands, but the fall might have saved my life. While I was on the floor, I looked to my right and saw, under one of the vans, a bright green door, and in front of it, a pair of shiny black shoes, cop shoes, and they were walking slowly around the other van, coming my way.
I scooted over behind one of the tires in case the cop looked under the van. As his footsteps grew closer, I eased open the zipper and pulled out the dart gun. I held it up and waited, wondering if I was about to die, and wishing I had called my mom like I wanted to.
The first thing I saw as he stepped out from behind the van was his gun—a bullet gun, not a dart gun—held in two hands out front of him. As he crept forward, I saw the peak of his hat, then the badge on the front of his uniform and the Wellplant above his eye. He stood motionless, listening, processing.
I didn’t want to rush the shot, but I didn’t want him to see me, either. I held my breath, not making a sound. Finally, he took another step, and I fired, two darts, and landed both of them on the side of his neck. He slapped his hand over them, then turned and glared at me. He raised his gun, aiming it at my head. I fought the urge to try to climb under the van, knowing it would only make my death humiliating as well as tragic.
He smiled, as if he recognized me, then he pitched forward and toppled like a tree. I scrambled out of the way, so he didn’t land on me, and he hit the cement floor, face-first, with a wet smack and a metallic crunch. His shades smashed into pieces, and blood trickled out of his nose. I couldn’t see the fate of his Wellplant.
I raised myself into a crouch and was about to run over to the green door when I heard more footsteps approaching—two sets, maybe three. I crept farther back, against the wall, and as the footsteps grew closer and closer, I squeezed between the front of the van and the wall, keeping the van between me and them.
The footsteps came to a halt and shadows spilled across the wall to my right and across the cop on the floor. I slid around to the far side of the van and crept toward the back with my dart gun raised. I paused at the rear fender and took a breath, preparing to jump out and dart them all in the back, then jump back and try to stay hidden and hope they joined their comrade on the floor before they had a chance to kill me.
But when I jumped out, my finger on the trigger, I wasn’t looking at their backs, I was looking at their faces, and they were looking at me. I was so keyed up that I fired anyway, but managed to raise the gun a little higher at the last second. As a trio of darts flew over their heads, Rex, Ogden, and Claudia all shouted, “Jimi!”
FIFTY-TWO
Rex grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me tight, wrapping me in his arms.
Claudia gave me an affectionate poke in the ribs. “Man, I thought for sure they’d gotten you.”
I gave Rex a quick kiss then pushed him away. “What are you guys still doing out here? We’re running out of time!”