Roswell High: The Salvation Part 10

Michael ordered himself an even dozen, then sat down at his usual table and pulled a handful of hot sauce packets out of his jacket pocket. He got one of the crullers set up just the way he liked it and took a big bite.

It tasted like dust. He added more hot sauce and took another bite. More dust.

Michael finished off the cruller, then ate two more, pretending they actually tasted good to him, then he shoved away his tray. Now what? A last trip to the mall? A last slice of Flying Pepperoni pizza? A last trip to Adam's grave to tell him that he was leaving?

He picked up one of the uneaten crullers and twisted it with both hands until it broke into sticky chunks. There was no question about where he wanted to go. Right now he wanted to be holed up in Maria's girlie-girl room, doing . . . anything. Watching some bad horror movie. Anything. As long as she was there doing it with him.

But that's not going to happen, he ordered himself. It's not fair to her. And be honest, buddy, it would probably kill you.

ELEVEN.

Isabel nervously twirled a golf club between her fingers, scanning the parking lot of the Black Hole Putt-Putt Golf Course. She smiled when she spotted Alex's VW Rabbit turning in, then rushed over to the car as he pulled into a parking spot. Isabel didn't make a habit of rus.h.i.+ng toward guys-even if she felt like it. But there was no reason to play those kinds of games with Alex.

"I got you a golf club already," she announced before Alex even had a chance to swing both feet to the ground.

"Thanks," Alex said. He took one of the clubs and shook his head, laughing.

"What?" Isabel asked, grinning because his laugh was always contagious.

"I was just thinking about the last time we came here," he answered. "My brain was doing this gerbil-on-an-exercise-wheel thing. I kept trying to figure out if you thought we were on a date, or, you know, some kind of significant outing. And I was obsessed with debating whether or not you could actually want me to touch you."

"I bet you almost had a heart attack when I kissed you," Isabel said, nudging him with her club. "Remember? It was right over-"

Alex grabbed her hand and pulled her halfway across the parking lot. "It was right here," he told her. He pointed toward a small, spray-painted X. "I put that there," he admitted.

Coming from someone else, this gesture might have seemed odd, but coming from Alex, Isabel didn't even blink. "I can't believe how much has happened since then. How much has changed." Isabel knelt down and gently touched the X.

"As Liz's dad would say, what a long, strange trip it's been," Alex answered. "So when are you going to get around to telling me whatever it is you want to tell me? Because I'm just not going for your story about having an irresistible desire to play minigolf."

"Trevor didn't need me after all," Isabel said, standing, but finding herself unable to meet his eyes. "It turned out that the two-person job was more of a one-person job. I just wanted to get out of the house and-" Isabel stopped herself, blus.h.i.+ng. "All right, I do need to talk to you," she confessed.

"Father Manes is ready to listen," he said, lowering his voice. He led the way to the first hole.

Isabel carefully positioned her ball on the little rubber mat, stalling, then straightened up and gave the ball a whack without even trying to aim at one of the moon craters.

"Here's the deal. After we shatter the consciousness-" She didn't allow herself even a mental if. "After we shatter it, Michael is going to go back to the home planet with Trevor to help rebuild the society. Of course, Michael hasn't bothered to tell me or anyone else. I heard all this from Trevor. It's just like when Michael would change foster homes. He'd hardly even say a word about it."

Alex hit his ball down the faded purple carpet. His didn't get through one of the moon craters, either. "This is . . . it's big."

"That's not all," Isabel told him. She wanted to get everything out, needed to, but her hands were getting sweaty and her heart was pounding. "Trevor asked me to go with them. And I just have no idea what I should do. I was making myself insane, then I realized that I needed to talk it over with someone." She shook her head. "No. I needed to talk it over with you. I knew you'd help me figure out what I should do."

"Are you two golfing or what?" a kid yelled from behind them.

"Hey, pip-squeak. This is a serious game. For serious people. You can't respect that, I suggest you leave," Alex said. He took Isabel's hand and led her down the fairway, grabbing both their b.a.l.l.s and throwing them into the moon crater. A few seconds later they clunked into the metal cup on the other side. "That's two holes in two. Write that down with one of those little pencils," he told her. Then he led the way over to a bench by a shocking pink s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p. "So, what are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking . . ." Isabel gave a helpless shrug. "I don't know what I'm thinking."

"I'm not saying you should go, but it would be kind of like living in Star Wars," Alex said. "I always wanted to live in Star Wars."

"Where everyone has long hair and gold bikinis?" Isabel chided.

"Not everyone," Alex said, sounding horrified. "Only the women." He waved the group of kids past them. "We're considering the strategy of the next hole. You can play through." He turned his attention back to Isabel. "That's only part of my Star Wars fascination. I just always thought it would be cool to be part of something so important."

"So you want to save the universe, surrounded by girls in gold bikinis," Isabel commented.

"Exactly. So many times I've felt like my life is so little and insignificant. And I daydream about having the chance to do something-dork alert!-heroic. Like Han Solo," Alex admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Then when I found out the truth about you and the others, it's almost like I got the chance. This year we've had to deal with a lot of life-and-death stuff. Sometimes I wonder how it's going to feel to go back to freaking about zits on my back or whatever."

"Shopping for the perfect accessories," Isabel added. She stretched her legs out in front of her. "I don't think I'll ever find anything more meaningful to do with my life than help the beings who fought against the collective consciousness."

She didn't usually spend a lot of time thinking about meaning-of-life-type issues. It seemed like a waste. But that's what this decision was really about. Isabel had the chance to be a part of something enormous-the restructuring of a whole planet. Her real home.

"And the downside is?" Alex asked, raising his eyebrows.

"It would ruin my parents' lives," Isabel answered. She didn't even need a second to think about that one. "I'd just disappear. And they'd never stop looking for me, wondering if I was alive or dead. It's different for Michael. All the people that really matter to him know the truth. They'll at least know what happened. And he'll have his brother with him."

"You'd have Michael with you," Alex said. "And Trevor." He turned and watched the kids finish up the s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p hole. "I get the feeling something may be starting between the two of you," he added, without looking at her.

"Maybe," Isabel agreed. "But I'm not going to go live on another planet because I like the way a guy kisses." Although there was more than kisses between her and Trevor. They'd known each other such a short time, but there was this comfort between them.

"The editors of Ms. magazine will be glad to hear it," Alex said, still looking at the kids.

Isabel reached out, took his chin in her fingers, and turned his head toward her. "It's okay that I'm talking to you about Trevor, isn't it?"

Alex met her gaze steadily. "Yeah. I get a little . . . ping, I guess you'd call it," he said with a shrug. "But it's just your basic guy jealousy c.r.a.p. I mean, we're friends, Isabel. And I-dork alert again-I love you as a friend. I want you to have everything you want. Including Trevor if that's the way it goes down."

"I love you, too," Isabel answered. "And there's nothing dorky about it. G.o.d, I would miss you so much if I went. You, and Maria, and Liz. And it's not like I could just call you up if I needed to hear your voice. I couldn't even send my parents a Christmas card."

"When is all this supposed to happen?" Alex asked, looking away again. "When are Trevor and Michael going to go back?"

"They're going to use the wormhole we open to send the device," Isabel answered.

"So tomorrow." Alex sounded a little dazed.

Isabel knew how he was feeling. How could she make a decision about the rest of her life in less than a day?

"I told Trevor I needed to see how Max was first," Isabel said, following Alex's gaze out over the golf course. "If he needs me, I'm staying. That's it."

"But if Max comes through okay . . ." Alex let his sentence trail off.

Isabel took a deep breath and sighed. "Then . . . then I might end up going."

Stop! Maria ordered her feet. Stop right there.

But her feet kept walking as if they had minds of their own-walking back toward the museum, even though she'd only left the place a few hours before.

"Turn around," she pleaded, feeling so desperate, she was willing to be seen talking to her feet on a public sidewalk. The feet didn't obey. Step by step by step, they kept taking her closer to the museum. To Michael.

Her feet marched her across the UFO parking lot, then straight up the stairs. Maria's hand seemed to have its own brain, too. It opened the apartment door, without knocking, and then the feet moved her straight inside.

Just because I'm here doesn't mean I have to say anything I don't want to say, she thought. I can just tell Michael I thought I left my jacket over here or something. Then I'll just leave. If my demonic feet will let me.

Michael stepped out of the kitchen, and Maria's heart hit her throat. He looked at her like she was the very last person on earth he wanted to see. "Thought I heard someone come in."

Maria's feet walked her right over to him, not stopping until there were only a few inches separating her from him. He took a step back. The feet took a step forward. Okay, ask about the jacket, she told herself.

"Tell me the exact, precise, Michael-Webster-dictionary definition of 'I'm thinking about it,'" she demanded, her voice coming out loud and defiant. Oh, G.o.d. Her mouth was possessed, too.

"What?" Michael asked, his voice low.

"Don't pull any c.r.a.p, Michael. We both know exactly what I'm asking you. Are you going? Or are you staying? Tell me. Right here. Right now," Maria insisted.

I didn't mean to say that! I didn't want to say that! she silently wailed.

Michael went into his usual lockdown mode, giving no indication of what he was thinking or feeling. "Look, I'm not asking for much. What I want is information. And if you're leaving, I want a good-bye. You owe me that much," Maria continued.

She didn't know who she was channeling. But whoever it was, Maria was starting to like her. Michael did owe her a good-bye. He couldn't just disappear from her life as if . . . as if they barely knew each other.

Michael hesitated, silence filling the room all around them. All the power and fight evaporated from Maria's body. Suddenly she was in control of her feet again. And her mouth. Whatever Michael was going to say to her, she was going to have to hear without whatever force had gotten her this far.

"Good-bye." Michael's voice was flat. His eyes were on hers, but there was no hint of emotion in their gray depths. Not anger. Not sadness. Nothing. Something died inside Maria.

"Good-bye," she repeated. "That's it?"

"That's what you said you wanted," he answered. "What did you expect? You know I've been trying to find a way home my whole life. And the rebellion-my parents were part of that."

His parents. Maria hadn't even thought of that. His parents had been part of the Kindred, and his brother was part of it now. Joining the group was Michael's chance at feeling like part of a family.

"Why couldn't you say that to me before?" she asked. "If you cared about me even a little, tiny bit, you would have come out and-"

Maria stopped herself. What was the point? She was his friend. Someone he might miss a little. Someone he might think about once in a while. But she wasn't vital to him. Not like he was to her. He was her oxygen. Her water. Her sustenance. And she was his friend. Friend. What a weak, pathetic word that was.

"Maria, you know I-" Michael began.

"See you tomorrow." Maria couldn't deal with listening to him try to come up with something nice to say to her. Nice. Another weak, pathetic word. She spun around and raced for the door. Then she flew down the steps. About halfway to the ground, she stumbled. One of her feet slid on the stairs, and she fell sideways, hard.

Agony erupted in her ankle. For a moment all Maria could do was squeeze her eyes shut and let the pain wash through her. Then she grabbed the stair rail with one hand and used her other hand to straighten her leg. When she thought she could stand without screaming, she carefully limped down the remaining stairs.

Maria knew all she had to do was call up to Michael. He'd come down and heal her. That was the kind of thing you did for a friend. But if he did that, he'd have to make a connection with her, and Maria couldn't bear to expose her soul to him. She wasn't sure she could live through that.

"Everyone strapped in?" Trevor asked. He and Michael had rigged a bunch of safety harnesses against the back wall of the museum. The force of the wormhole was so strong, it could suck them all in if they weren't careful. He got a yes from everyone but Liz.

"I want to stay upstairs with Max," she said.

"Someone should be with him," Isabel agreed, shooting Liz a grateful look.

"I don't think there'll be anything you can do," Trevor cautioned. He didn't want her to get her hopes up. Hers or Isabel's. The chances of Max surviving the shattering of the consciousness weren't good, although Trevor didn't know for sure what would happen to any of the beings.

"There's nothing I can do down here, either, though, right?" Liz asked, sounding a little desperate.

"Right," Trevor answered. The plan was either going to work or it wasn't. None of them had much control over the situation. He wished they did. This was the most important day of his life, the day the beings could begin to live in freedom, no longer forced to choose between going into hiding or becoming a part of the ma.s.sive monster that was the consciousness.

"We're opening up the hole pretty much right under the kitchen. If the force gets too strong in the bedroom, go low. Just flatten yourself to the floor," Michael told her.

Liz nodded. "Well . . . good luck," she said. It seemed like she wanted to say something more, but she just turned and headed for the spiral staircase that led up to Michael's apartment.

"See you afterward, at the postshattering bash," Alex called after her. "Remember, it's formal!"

"Okay, plan review," Michael said. "I'm using one of the Stones to open up the wormhole. Then Trevor's sending in the device. When it's close enough to the home planet-but far enough from here-he detonates it."

"The remote will tell me if the Stone on my planet has been drained of power," Trevor added. "If the indicator light goes from green to red, we're in business."

"Then Trevor and I both use a Stone to shoot power through the hole. We'll blast away until there's no juice left," Michael concluded.

"And then we wait," Isabel said, her voice strong even though there were wells of fear behind her eyes.

"And then we hope," Maria added.

Hope. It was pretty much all they had.

Michael pulled his Stone from his pocket. Trevor positioned the device in one hand and the remote in the other. He felt his pocket to make sure his Stone was still there, even though he knew it was.

"Here goes," Michael announced. He held the Stone out in front of him. Immediately it began to glow with its green-purple light. The light intensified until it was impossible for Trevor to look straight at it.

The museum went totally silent. Trevor didn't think anyone was even breathing. He knew he wasn't. Then he heard it, the soft sucking sound that indicated the hole was beginning to open. He pulled some air into his aching lungs.

We're on our way, he thought. He peered up at the ceiling, blinking away the green and purple dots that looking at the Stone had put in his vision. Yeah. There was a spot that was sort of drooping, almost oozing.

The soft patch of ceiling drooped lower. And then lower. The plaster stretched until it was as thin as a sheet of plastic wrap and almost as transparent. Trevor waited until the spot was absolutely clear. Then, with his human body pumping a stream of sweat all the way down his back, he clicked on the remote and used it to guide the device into the wormhole. The device flew up through the hole in the ceiling so fast, Trevor couldn't even track it.

He turned to look at Michael. Together they began to count. "One, one thousand; two, one thousand; three, one thousand . . ."

When they reached twenty, it was time. Trevor hit the b.u.t.ton on the remote that would detonate the device. Then he stared at the indicator light. I want to see red here, Trevor thought urgently. Give me some red.

TWELVE.