The Taking: The Countdown Part 22

"I don't get it. It's just static, right?" Jett said, looking at me and then Tyler.

I looked at Tyler too. My throat felt dry when I explained, "They said, 'The Returned must die.'"

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING?.

This is a mistake. A huge-ginormous-major mistake.

Can a heart actually explode from beating too fast?

The ship was so much bigger up close. So much more intimidating.

How had I let them talk me into this? I was only one person . . . a kid really. I never even pa.s.sed my driver's test.

There was too much at stake.

I turned around to tell them so, to tell Super Cheerleader Molly she had the wrong person, when a whirring sound came from in front of me. I nearly bolted from the sound alone, but held myself in check as I swung back toward the ship. Instead of telling Molly where she could shove her "test pilot" experiment I found myself face-to-face with an open hatch.

It definitely hadn't been like that before.

There was a small set of steps-not a ladder exactly, but not like stairs either-descending from the s.p.a.ceship's bottom, as if somehow the aircraft itself had detected my approach and was inviting me on board. Like it recognized me.

This thing, this s.p.a.ceship that had beamed the coordinates of our exact location into outer s.p.a.ce was responding to my presence. I should be completely freaked out by that, so why wasn't I?

It was as if being here . . . this close to the machine had done something to me, similar to the way being close to Adam had. It was as if my brain had been rewired-that was the only way I could describe it. Like new synapses had formed and were firing, making me aware of things I'd never noticed before . . . smells were suddenly more intense, sounds clearer, colors more vibrant.

I was no longer overwhelmed by what I was about to do. I no longer believed this was too much for one person. It didn't matter that I had zero experience with things like flying UFOs. Instead my head was buzzing with thoughts about how totally-freaking-effing cool this was.

In my ear, Molly's voice reminded me I was wearing a headset. "It's never done that before."

The sensation that the s.p.a.cecraft had sensed my presence intensified.

Without hesitating, I reached for the steps, and my hands closed around the small handrail as I stepped onto the bottom stair. I didn't have time to wonder if I was right to board it, because the moment my foot lifted off the ground, the entire stairway began to rise. My stomach lurched as I was boosted into the ship's belly, but in antic.i.p.ation, like when you reach the peak of a roller coaster.

As I landed inside, I heard the hatch seal behind me. You're here to stay, that sound seemed to signify. Ready or not, as if I had no say in the matter.

"Ready," I whispered in response.

"You okay?" Molly asked into the headset, sounding confused.

I nodded mutely, then remembered she couldn't see me, so I answered her out loud, "I'm good."

"Good. Now, go ahead and take the seat," she said back to me. "See how it feels."

There was only one seat, so the where was a no-brainer. The c.o.c.kpit was cramped, and I maneuvered into the seat like it was made from explosives, afraid to touch anything-any one of the b.u.t.tons or gadgets. I didn't want to accidentally blast myself into outer s.p.a.ce. Or worse, what if I hit a b.u.t.ton that launched a nuclear strike against another country?

More likely, I'd send the entire ship crashing into one of the steel walls that surrounded us on all sides, killing myself and everyone else in sight.

Just to be sure, I kept my hands safely in my lap.

With so many levers and b.u.t.tons and gauges and monitors the panel in front of me surpa.s.sed high tech. And what I'd thought from the outside was a window, turned out not to be a window at all. It was one enormous screen, and as soon as my weight settled into the chair, the display flashed to life.

I gasped.

From the other end of my earpiece, Molly's voice reached out to me. "Everything all right?"

"I . . . ," I faltered, momentarily spellbound by what spread out before me. What had begun as random start-up commands had now shifted to images, a rotating series of what looked like weather maps or maybe radar screens . . . all blips and rainbow blobs that swelled and shifted with intersecting lines and numbers, none of which meant anything to me. "I . . . I guess so."

"Do you have questions? What are you seeing? What's happening in there?" she fished.

I leaned forward, examining the joystick between my knees and tried to imagine how they possibly thought I'd have the first clue about flying this thing. "How could I not?" I admitted. "Starting with: What is it you think I'm supposed to do in here?"

There was silence, followed by crackling . . . a m.u.f.fled noise, like she had her hand over the mic. When she came back, she said only, "We were hoping you might know."

"Me? You were hoping I'd know how to use this thing?" I would have laughed, and I almost did, because the idea was so . . . out there. Did they really think they'd just . . . throw me in here, and I'd somehow-magically-cross-their-fingers figure it out? Was that their big plan? "You people are nuts," I accused, rolling my eyes.

They'd wasted my time, sending me down here. The joke was on them.

I put my hands on the grips at either side of my seat, planning to get the h.e.l.l out of here before I seriously messed something up. But when I did . . . when I put my hands on those handles . . . something happened.

I wasn't sure it was real at first, the slight, barely unnoticeable shift. It was so very, very subtle.

Except somewhere, deep inside me, I knew the truth because my heart picked up speed, every muscle in my body went still, every synapse started igniting.

Things just got real.

I waited an eternity, then, when I trusted myself enough, when I could actually breathe again, I squeezed my fingers around the grips again . . . just the tiniest bit. Testing it.

This time when the ship moved, it was more than just noticeable, it was staggering. I wanted to be blown away by what I'd just done, because that's what I should be, that's what a normal girl would be, blown freaking away. It was the normal response, to be overwhelmed . . . frightened . . . horrified by the fact I'd just managed to move this thing.

"Kyra?" Molly's voice was demanding in my ear. "Kyra, what's happening? Is everything okay? Was that you?"

I couldn't answer because my mouth was stuck in a giant, stupid grin. That was normal, right?

The display in front of me had stopped showing the blobs that made it look like the Weather Channel, and a new series of images were rotating past in rapid succession. They were too fast for me to take in, except here's the weird thing: they weren't going too fast for me.

I understood each and every one of them.

This whole thing . . . all of it was getting more and more bizarre. But I stayed where I was . . . mesmerized.

There were strange patterns, of stars and landmarks with lines of longitude and lat.i.tude that crisscrossed them to create maps; similar to the one Tyler had drawn out in the desert. But now I somehow knew where all of these places were. I wasn't afraid or even shocked at how easily the information came to me.

Many of them were places I'd been before-Thom's camp at Silent Creek, Griffin's at Blackwater Ranch, the old Hanford site where Simon and his people had been hiding out when he'd first introduced me to them. There was even a map of the abandoned asylum in Wyoming where Natty and Eddie Ray had been holding me. There were other things in those images as well, not just maps, but information that shouldn't have made any sense at all, that I shouldn't have had the first clue how to comprehend, but that my mind somehow just . . . absorbed. I was a sponge, sucking in all the knowledge being thrown my way.

I was a computer, and this was my download.

By the time it was finished, I knew this ship inside and out. Its schematics were etched in my mind as if I'd engineered the thing myself. I knew which alloys had been used and where they'd been mined. I had a working knowledge of the components-of the spectrometers, nodules, shields, and trusses.

I knew exactly what I needed to do, just like Molly had hoped I would.

I knew how to fly this thing.

"Kyra . . . ," Molly's voice rasped. "Are you seeing this? Are you receiving these transmissions?"

It was the first time I realized that what I was seeing wasn't coming from Molly or the ISA . . . these charts and graphs and diagrams. Maybe, like everything else, that awareness should have freaked me out too, but it didn't. Whoever was out there transmitting signals wanted me to have this information.

"h.e.l.l yeah, I am," I answered as I settled back, gearing up for something remarkable. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.

And why not, wasn't that exactly what this was?

"What do you think it means-?" she started to ask, but I cut her off as I reached forward and gripped the joystick. When I did, a harness dropped over my shoulders and locked me in place.

Adrenaline rushed through me.

"Open the bay doors," I said into my mouthpiece.

"The bay . . . what? You can't . . . ," she sputtered, and their voices buzzed and blurred, as whoever was on the other end conferenced about what I'd just commanded them to do.

I tuned them out. They could do like I said or straight up ignore me, but one way or another I was getting this thing outta here.

I concentrated, because that's what this required-I knew because of all the information I'd just absorbed. So I did, just like I had before when I'd moved things with my mind, only this time I wasn't angry or agitated or panicked, I was just . . . focused.

"Kyra, are you listening to me?" Molly was yelling into the headset now.

All around me the s.p.a.ceship rumbled to life. It wasn't loud but I could feel it, its energy vibrating in every muscle and nerve fiber, every cell and every molecule of my body until we were one . . . me and this mind-blowing machine.

"I got this," I responded, infinitely calmer than she had sounded, which was somewhere in the range of: her head might explode. And then I repeated, "Open the bay doors."

Even though she'd never confirmed there actually were bay doors, she knew what I meant, and she knew I knew it. When the aircraft lifted again, it raised up so smoothly you would've thought I'd been flying this thing my entire life. It hovered evenly . . . perfectly beneath me.

I didn't wait for her to agree, I just went for it, and the s.p.a.ceship did exactly what I wanted it to, gliding the way I meant it to, the way I told it to . . . with my mind! I didn't pretend it wasn't the coolest thing ever, because it one thousand percent was.

I was doing this. I had total control. This thing was responding to something inside me. I could think-just think!-a command and the s.p.a.ceship did what I wanted it to.

Up, I'd thought, and it had risen, just the right amount, exactly as I'd imagined.

The area inside the hangar was ma.s.sive, and the ship navigated smoothly, with room to spare. I couldn't see where I was going, not like in a car or truck, where you watched out the window. But I wasn't flying blind either. I knew from the screen exactly how far off the ground I was, and how much distance there was to the ceiling and to the walls on either side.

Ahead, there was a tunnel carved through the mountain, and even without being told it was the right way to go, that was where I headed.

With a simple: Forward. And then Faster.

I grinned again as the ship slipped inside the wide channel.

Toward the bay doors, I thought, and stifled the follow-up words: The ones that are still closed.

But I couldn't let myself care because that wasn't the point. That was their problem.

"Open them," I said again, this time out loud, more insistently.

"Kyra . . ." There was hesitation in Molly's voice.

"Do it," I demanded, forcing myself not to think about slowing. I refused to give them the satisfaction. This was their baby . . . Molly's baby, this project. I was only the pilot. Hadn't Dr. Clarke said as much? If it crashed, odds were I'd heal.

The truth was, though, I didn't believe they'd let that happen.

On the screen I saw the end of the tunnel fast approaching, and realized I was coming toward them-the bay doors.

They were still sealed shut, and if she didn't open them soon, I'd find out just how resilient my body really was. The first flash of doubt filled me, but I didn't waver.

Faster, I thought again, this time clutching the handles, and the ship did as I commanded, plunging ahead.

The display in front of me showed that we were within one hundred kilometers and closing.

Seventy-five.

The gap was narrowing with each heartbeat.

Fifty.

Just when I thought they'd decided to dismiss my order, I saw the doors begin to part.

Too late, I thought. They'll never open in time. Not all the way.

Twenty-five . . .

The crash was inevitable, I was certain. I sucked in my breath and held it.

Just as the nose of the ship edged through and I waited for the wings to collide with the doors on either side, the entire ship flipped to the left, doing a ninety-degree rotation onto its side. The harness at my shoulders tightened as the frame of the craft skimmed through the way-too-narrow opening, and I jolted forward as the underside sc.r.a.ped along the door.

I let out an audible gasp as the ship leveled out again. Open skies stretched before me on the screen. We'd somehow not only cleared the bay doors, but the ISA and the mountain entirely.

"Kyra? Kyra, can you hear me?" It wasn't Molly now, but Dr. Clarke, insistent. I smiled, guessing she was angry too.

"I hear you," I answered, but only because even though the signal wasn't nearly as strong now, Dr. Clarke still intimidated me. But that didn't change the fact that I was flying a freaking s.p.a.ceship . . . not exactly the kind of thing that happens every day.

"We need you to come back now . . ." I could hear her but she was definitely breaking up. Crackly.

I looked at the screen, and reveled in the weightless feel of the s.p.a.cecraft beneath and around me. I'd come back . . . I mean, of course I'd come back. "Five minutes," I finally answered. "Just give me five more minutes." And then I tipped forward and did something I knew they wouldn't want me doing-I disabled the ship's tracking device.