The forgotten animorphs.., p.2
The Forgotten (Animorphs 12),
p.2
I split off from Marco, circled to the right, and kept my laser-focus eyes on Tobias, careful to stay within thoughtspeak range. <0kay, this is it.> Tobias said.
I was catching my first decent breeze, so I soared upward as I searched the ground below. Then I saw it.
... that's a grocery store, right?> I asked. I was puzzled. From the air, almost every building just looks like a big rectangle.
I did. There were several long gouges torn in the blacktop. Long, straight gouges, in perfect alignment, pointing right toward the busted wall of the grocery store. A couple dozen workmen seemed to be on the ground, rushing around to erect a plywood wall to conceal the hole. Suddenly, I realized. I guess Marco did, too.
<0h, man.> Marco said. <0h, man.>
Cassie pointed out. <0therwise there would have been cars in the parking lot.>
I flapped hard, turned, flapped harder, and shot over the smoke-scarred grocery store. I only caught a glimpse of the man who was directing the work crew. I couldn't quite believe what I saw.
There were six or seven men and women on the roof of the store. They were looking around with the kind of steely, paranoid gaze you see on the faces of the President's Secret Service guys.
FLASH!
Right in my face!
Big, glittering eyes, the only things shining in the darkness. A muzzle open just enough to show long, curved fangs. The face of an extremely big cat. Mountain lion? Leopard?
In a second it would lunge, open its jaws wide and -
FLASH!
I was back in the air. I was flying. I was in falcon morph. Below me I saw the grocery store.
But I was totally confused. My mind wouldn't focus on reality. It was still in some jungle I'd never seen, staring into the eyes of a beautiful, deadly predator. What was happening to me? Was I going crazy?
<0h.> Rachel said.
<0h, good.> Marco said sarcastically.
Marco, I thought, you don't know the half of it. Because in addition to all the other ways this could go bad, your
"fearless leader" is losing his mind.
Of course, I didn't say that. See, when you're the leader, you're not allowed to be crazy.
Marco said.
We had landed in the woods. Landing, by the way, is the hardest part of flying. Taking off is scary, but landing is terrifying. See, the difference between landing and crashing is about two inches and two miles per hour.
We landed more or less gracefully on the pine needle floor of the forest. Tobias flew off to look for Ax. The rest of us demorphed.
Cassie said. <0n the other hand, we did survive.>
"Barely," Marco said, as he made the transition from mostly osprey to mostly human. "It's just a grocery store," Rachel said with a shrug of shoulders that were just emerging.
"Come on, how hard can it be?"
"How should we go in?" Marco wondered, looking at me.
I looked at Cassie. "Any suggestions?"
"We have a couple of morphs available for this job," she said.
"Like Rachel said, it's a grocery store. A burned-out grocery store, but a grocery store just the same. You'd expect there to be cockroaches, rats, flies..."
Suddenly, there came a rush of pounding hooves and a crash of underbrush. Ax raced up to us, graceful and bizarre all at once. He plowed straight toward us, moving as fast as a panicked horse. Just when I was sure he'd run us down, he kicked his hind legs and sailed easily over our heads. He landed almost daintily, and turned back to face us.
Ax is Aximili-Esgarrouth-lsthill. He's the younger brother of Prince Elfangor. As far as we know, Ax is the only Andalite to survive the destruction of their Dome ship. Andalites have certain things in common with Earth animals. But you'd know right off that he's from a long, long way away. His body is like a sort of strong pale-blue-and-tan deer. But where the deer would have a neck, Ax has a somewhat human upper body. It looks like the chest and shoulders of a boy. He has two weaklooking arms and a few too many fingers. His head is where you'd expect to find it, but it is missing one very major ingredient: a mouth. Andalites eat by absorbing plants through their hollow hooves. And they communicate through thought-speak.
Ax has three small slits for a nose and two big, almond-shaped eyes. He also has two other eyes. These are mounted on top of his head on short stalks. These two eyes can move separately in any direction. It's distracting till you get used to it. Ax may look at you with his two main eyes, or he may look at you with both stalk eyes, or one stalk eye, or a combination of his two main eyes and one stalk eye.
To summarize: It's very strange making eye contact with an Andalite.
And last, but definitely not least, there's the tail. It's like a scorpion's tail, cocked up so that the deadly sharp blade on the end sort of hovers above Ax's shoulder. The tail is fast. Very fast. As in, you're bleeding and wondering why you can only count to four on your fingers, before you even see it move. Fast, accurate, and very good to have on your side of a fight.
"Hi, Ax," I said. "What has Tobias told you?"
"You guess right, Ax-man," Marco said. "You have a preference for fly or cockroach morph?"
"Ax, don't call me Prince Jake," I said automatically for about the thousandth time.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe Ax has a sense of humor. We'd never noticed one, but who knows?
"We have to get inside that Safeway," I said. "The closest place to morph is a long way away. Clear across the street, behind that boarded-up motel. No one will see us there, but then we have to get to the store. Across four lanes of traffic."
"Ouch," Marco said. "I hadn't really thought about that. Is it too late for me to change my vote?"
"We didn't vote," Rachel said. "But if we had, you'd have voted yes."
"How do you know how I'd have voted?" Marco demanded.
Rachel smiled. "Because I'd have voted yes. And you'd never let yourself look like a total wuss in front of girls."
"You think you know me," Marco said. "Unfortunately, you're right."
"Neither the roach nor the fly has very good vision," Rachel pointed out. "I mean, we want to be able to see whatever is in that store, right?"
"Yeah, but we also have to get across four lanes of traffic. I don't know about you, but I'd rather fly over the cars than try to walk in front of them,"Cassie said.
"Can flies even find their way that far?" I wondered out loud.
"Remember when we used to have normal, sane conversations?" Marco said. "You know, we'd talk about baseball or who had a crush on who?"
Cassie gave him a wink. Then, she was back to business. "That grocery store must still be full of food, right? Rotting food, since I doubt the freezers are working in there. What's better at
finding rotting food than a fly?"
Tobias said.
"You don't see that much better than humans do in the dark," I pointed out. "It'll be dark by the time we get in position."
Tobias sometimes becomes frustrated because he can't go on all the missions. I understand. I feel sorry for him. But that's the way it is. I was about to tell him that when Cassie jumped in.
"Tobias, the only reason we even know about this is you," Cassie pointed out. "You discovered it. You showed it to us. The least we can do is take the next step."
Cassie is so good at fixing hurt feelings. Better than me, that's for sure. But Tobias was still grumpy.
"Okay," I said, clapping my hands together and trying to sound cheerful and optimistic. "Flies it is. Everyone go home. We meet behind the motel in..." I checked my watch, "in approximately three hours. Around seven forty-five or so. We do a quick morph, we're in and out of that Safeway in ten minutes and back home again."
"Oh, man," Marco groaned. "I hate it when you try to sound peppy, Jake. It always means you're worried. Next you'll flash that big "no-sweat" grin. I know you."
"Three hours to fly time," I said, forcing up a big, confident grin.
"We're dead meat," Marco said. Hi, Dad, what's up?" I asked when I got home. My father was in his La-Z-Boy, remote control in hand.
"What do you mean, "what's up"?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "The fight's on tonight. Forty dollars on Pay-PerView. Corn chips, bean dip, loud grunting male noises, beer - for me - soda for you and Tom."
I practically slapped my forehead. The fight! I'd totally forgotten. It was a big thing. Not be cause I'm a boxing fanatic. I'm not. But it was a big thing for my dad to actually spend forty dollars on Pay-Per-View. He was doing it as a male-bonding, father-son thing. Me and him and Tom, and probably one or two of my dad's friends from work.
"That's tonight?" I asked. "What time?"
"Starts at seven o'clock. Do your homework, eat something containing vegetables to make your mom happy, and then grab some couch." I did a quick mental calculation. The fight started in a little over an hour. The last championship fight had lasted only three rounds. That would leave me maybe thirty minutes to morph and fly to the motel. Should I come up with some excuse for bailing out? No. No, there was no way my dad would buy it.
"Excellent," I said to my dad. "I'll be here. Don't eat all the bean dip. You know what happens when you eat bean dip." My mother came into the living room. "Am I even allowed in here?" she asked mockingly.
"When does this room become the temple of male aggression?"
"Not till seven," my dad said. "Until then we will allow females. Especially if the females remembered to pick up chips on their way home from work."
"Chips? Wouldn't you rather enjoy some nice carrot sticks and hummus dip?"
My dad and I just stared at her. "Kidding," she said. "Just kidding. I have chips. Are Pete and Dominick coming over?"
"Yeah, but you don't have to feed them," my dad joked. "Those guys are lucky I don't charge them admission."
I raced through my homework and hoped the fight would be the usual two-or-three-round easy knockout. The one good thing about rushing was that it didn't leave me too much time to think. Thinking meant worry, and worry gets in the way of getting things done. It was a tense family gathering at seven o'clock. Tom seemed as anxious as I was to get away. I could guess why. You see, Tom is one of them. He's a humanController. He had to keep up appearances of normalcy, same as me. But I guess he was trying to get away to go to the grocery store site, too. Same me, again. Tom and I fought in the same war. On different sides. It was strange thinking of Tom, still alive deep down inside his own head. Trapped. Powerless. But able to see and hear and think. Did he enjoy watching the fight through eyes he no longer controlled? Was there anything, any thing at all, he could enjoy? It didn't help, having thoughts like that. When I started thinking that way the rage would just build up inside me till I felt like I'd go nuclear. I told myself, for probably the millionth time, that I was doing all I could to help Tom. All I could. All I could. Fortunately, my dad and his work friends made plenty of noise, so no one noticed Tom checking his watch. Or the fact that I kept glancing toward the kitchen, where I could see the wall clock. By round six, I knew I was in trouble. In round seven neither fighter even looked tired. I decided if it went past round eight I'd have to make some excuse, no matter how lame. In round eight, a lucky uppercut connected. "Oh, that had to hurt!" my dad said. "Five bucks says he goes down!" my dad's friend Dominick said quickly. He was right. The challenger staggered, wandered around on rubber legs for a few seconds, then toppled over. Boom! The fight was over. It was now seven forty-five. I was already late. I snatched the videotape out of the VCR.
"Dad, can I take this over to Marco's and play it for him?"
"It's almost eight. It's dark out," my father objected.
"Yeah," Tom said. "You might get lost and never come back. And that would be such a pity. I'd have to use your room for my weights and stuff."
It was exactly the kind of dumb big-brother joke Tom would have made. But of course it was just something pulled up from Tom's brain by the Yeerk in his head.
For just a second it occurred to me to ask him: "Hey, Tom, what's the big secret with the grocery store? Just tell me, and I can stay home tonight."
I smiled at the thought. Then . . .
FLASH!
Green. Green. Everything was green. It was the greenest place on Earth: trees, moss, vines, ferns. Green everywhere. Marco was there. And the others. They were all there. Marco was talking. "... in a jungle fighting brain-stealing aliens and ten thousand annoying species of bugs, and our resident space cadet is a hot-looking monkey. Somebody wake me up when we get back to reality."
FLASH!
I was back. Back listening to Tom tease me like he was actually Tom. Back to hearing my dad say, "Walk, don't ride your bike. Not at night. Especially not when it's about to rain."
The vision was so powerful. So real. Not like a dream at all. But like I was actually there in a jungle, listening to Marco complain. I felt my heart pounding. I felt sweat forming on my forehead. What in the heck was going on? What was happening to me?
I noticed Tom back out of the room, sliding away like he was going to the kitchen. That brought me back to reality. I grabbed the videotape and took off, still reeling from the insane feeling of being yanked back and forth from one reality to another. I could hear my dad and his friends rehashing the fight round by round as I went up to my room and opened my window as wide as it would go.
It took me twenty-five minutes to morph and fly to the empty motel.
I apologized as I came in for a landing. I misjudged the distance to the ground, hit it too hard, and rolled over, a tangle of wings and talons.
"Are you okay?" Cassie asked me. She rushed over and picked me up. Then she set me back down because I was starting to demorph. And I was getting heavier pretty quickly.
"I'm fine," I said, as soon as I could speak. "Embarrassed, but fine."
It was a shabby little hiding place. The back windows of the motel were covered in plywood. The plywood was covered with graffiti. There were overgrown weeds and broken bottles and, for some reason, an old washing machine.
"We get to visit all the best places, don't we?" I said dryly. Ax was hugging the darkness against the wall. He feels a little obvious out of the woods. With good reason. Anyone who saw him would run away, screaming like a little kid. Unless, of course, they were a Controller. A Controller would know exactly what he was.
