James Patterson - The Gift

But it’s only for about two hundred yards-until a wall of wind hits. We try to catch it and ride it, but the sheer power and force send us careening sideways and then downward.

“I control the wind, the air!” The One bellows. “True or false?”

Whit and I are nearly thrown into one side of a brick-faced office building. But before I have a chance to panic, I’ve managed to turn us into the first animal I can think of with protective armor: an armadillo. Two of them. We curl up into armored balls and safely bounce off the wall-which, by the way, still hurts-and then we roll down onto the street.

But another huge chasm opens in front of us, accompanied by the roar of the angry One.

“I control the cities and the streets. True or false? I’ll give you a hint- that statement is true. ”

The roadway suddenly explodes into shafts of rock metamorphosing instantly into shimmering crystal, sending razor-sharp shrapnel in all directions. If Whit and I aren’t off the ground in a second, we’re going to be sliced into nothing.

We leap harder and higher, until I feel not only wings but paws. We’re part lion, part bird… the legendary griffin of folklore.

We can transform ourselves into the stuff of imagination?

There are no words for that mind-boggling realization. But it’s forgotten in an instant when the spot where we’d just been explodes with a thundering crack. The two buildings on either side of the street collapse. A shock wave and a blast of dust rise after us and send us spinning.

It’s dizzying to body and mind. Our power is pretty good, but his is unbelievably overwhelming. Why is he so powerful? Who could control nature like this?

I have a terrible, terrible thought.

Maybe he’s God?

There he is. So much larger than life, arms outstretched, eyes locked on us, dark suit impeccable. His mouth works furiously as he summons what appears to be a typhoon out of the sky, spinning toward us.

The herculean-force wind and rain pummeling our wings is too much for them to bear, and we plunge toward the water of the harbor below.

“Extra-credit question!” screams The One. “Who controls the water, the oceans, the rivers, the seas? Oops, time’s up. Pens down. I do! ”

Whit

I GUESS WE FAILED his test. But we won’t surrender, no way. That isn’t going to happen.

The force of hitting the water might have knocked us out and drowned us if Wisty and I hadn’t been almost perfectly in sync. We pull off a near splashless dive and slice through the surface. But underneath, the water is churning and rushing up from the bottom of the sea.

Who controls the water? Who else?

The entire harbor is piling up into one enormous wave-a tsunami to end all tsunamis-and we’re floundering, swimming right in the middle of it. Higher and higher it builds. I’ve never seen anything like it. I think it’s safe to assume no one has. Unless we’re supposed to take the Great Book literally. Are we?

Wisty and I can’t force our way downward against the surge. It’s useless even trying to swim at this point. If you can’t beat it, join it, right?

And so I imagine us… on longboards . And it actually happens!

“ You did that?” Wisty yells as she steadies her footing on the surfboard.

“Yeah!” I shout. “Even if we crash and drown, it’ll be some kind of a ride!”

Wisty smiles a crazed surfer-girl grin at me as the wave starts to go down-as we start to go down.

Wisty

IN ABOUT ONE AND a half seconds, my very brief euphoria changes to dread. Suddenly this massive wave is gaining height again. We’re approaching shore and we’re maybe a quarter mile in the air. The One’s going to wipe out a major chunk of the city if he doesn’t stop this madness right now. And that means there are hundreds-make that thousands-of people in terrible danger of being drowned.

Even though I figure that many of them are New Order automatons, I keep telling myself they’re living, breathing human beings. And we can’t let this giant wave-or The One-crush them. I think I know what I have to do, and there’s no time to consult with Whit.

It’s what my parents were saying: sometimes for the good of the many, you have to do something way outside your comfort zone. And this, dear reader, is way outside what I would consider even borderline sanity.

Over the roar of the massive wave, I yell so loudly I think the force of the words is going to tear my throat open. “I’ll give you what you want! I’ll give you my Gift! Just stop this insanity before the wave hits shore!”

Like magic-or maybe I should say it was magic-the wave starts to lower and then we’re gently coasting toward a narrow shoreline of packed sand.

Standing there is none other than The One. He’s smiling like a proud dad welcoming his kids home from a long trip.

“What an amazing ride! Ah, to be young… I envy you!” he says as the wave calmly spreads itself across the shore and we drift to a stop.

“I’m so pleased you’ve come to your senses, Wisty,” says The One. Unfortunately, I have rather sad news. You fail-both of you. All of the Allgoods fail. It’s obvious that I can’t work with you, so I suppose… I have to work without you.”

He turns so his back is facing us and raises his hands to the heavens.

“Take them away!” he bellows. “I have no further use for this witch and wizard.”

But there’s no one there. He’s talking to no one .

And then, in a heartbeat, like a plague of locusts overtaking the land, thousands of New Order soldiers and police swarm over the crest of the hill and descend upon us.

We swirl around, only to be confronted by even more hordes of soldiers standing in the water.

This wall of evil is impenetrable.

Finally The One looks back at us. “There is a moral to this story,” he says. “Of those who receive Gifts, much is expected. Take that one to the Shadowland with you, witch and wizard.”

Wisty

I KNOW THERE’S NOT many pages left in this book, so at this point you’re wondering where the happy ending is.

I may be pretty young, but I’ve figured out that life doesn’t get wrapped up into neat little endings with perfect little bows. I can promise you one thing, though: there’s hope, okay? Don’t ever call me, Wisteria Rose Allgood, a downer . No matter what crap The One shovels upon us, I swear I’ll find that single bright spot in the bitterly dark landscape and cling to it for dear life.

And right now I’m clinging to the sight of the very people who gave me dear life.

My mother and father!

Not ghosts, not hallucinations, but live and in the flesh. But in ropes. Just like me. At least Whit and I can see them and tell them how much we love them-one last time before we die.

But what a family reunion it’s turning out to be! Look at us here-the jeering crowd around us, the jackbooted New Order lackeys shoving us forward onto the stadium stage, the ropes around our necks, the TV cameras in our faces… and, in the tower, right in front of us, Him. The One Who Is The One. He’s in his glory, triumphant-he’s won!