D. MacHale - Raven Rise

They kept running. Halfway down the corridor they hit a fire exit, blasted through the door, and ran down the stairs.

Courtney said breathlessly, “We’ll get to Grand Central and take the train home to get Patrick.”

“No,” Mark argued. “They might expect that. We’ve got plenty of cash. We’ll take a taxi.”

“All the way to Stony Brook?”

“Why not? It’s KEM’s money.”

They landed on the next floor and ran through double doors that opened onto a wide, bright walkway that ringed the arena. There were hotdog stands, souvenir counters… and two red-shirt guards. The Ravinians were walking toward Mark and Courtney, about twenty yards away.

“They don’t know who we are,” Mark whispered. One guard saw them, pointed, and both started running after them.

“Or maybe they do,” Courtney countered.

The two turned and ran in the opposite direction, only to see two more red shirts coming toward them. They were trapped. Looking around desperately, they found themselves standing directly in front of one of the tunnels that led back into the arena. Both knew it was the only way to go and ran inside. They had only taken a few steps when a sea of excited people came pouring out. The show was over. The charged-up minions of Naymeer were headed home. Mark grabbed Courtney’s hand and pulled her headlong into the crowd. They were like two salmon swimming upstream, fighting their way through. Once inside the arena, Mark took a sharp right and pushed his way farther into the mass of people.

“We’ll get lost in the crowd,” he called back to Courtney. “Stay low. Go slow.”

They had to fight the urge to push faster. Both knew it would only make them stand out. They had to be patient and have the nerve to blend in with the moving mass of humanity. They climbed down a set of stairs and entered another tunnel that led to the outside. The crowd slowly made its way toward escalators going down. Mark and Courtney crouched low, trying to use the people to shield them from their pursuers. They passed a group of red shirts who were scanning the crowd. Courtney saw them first and pulled Mark lower. It took all their willpower not to break into a run. They finally reached the escalator and stepped on.

“Stop!” came a voice from above.

They looked up to see red shirts glaring down on them from two levels up. Courtney looked at Mark and said, “Does he really think we’d do that?”

The escalator dumped them out near a ramp that led farther down. The crowd had thinned and no longer offered cover. Without discussing it, they both ran. They only had to move one more level down before they hit a set of glass doors that led to the street. They pushed through the doors and leaped outside.

“We gotta find a cab,” Mark announced.

“Not around here,” Courtney offered. “Too much competition.”

They were no longer worried about getting caught. There were too many people outside. They walked as quickly as they could toward the sidewalk, but stopped when they saw that blue police barriers were strung along the curb, holding back hundreds of protesters. They held their signs and chanted at the exiting minions.

The same dark-skinned man in the suit and bow tie had moved his ladder into position so he could be seen clearly by the throng exiting the Garden. He stood above the others, pounding the air with his fist and bellowing into his bullhorn. The other protesters gathered at his feet, shouting along with him.

Mark listened and said, “They’re not chanting ‘Stop them here.’ It’s ‘Stop Naymeer.’”

Most of the people who came out of the show simply smiled at the protesters. Some even waved.

“Look at them,” Courtney whispered. “They don’t care. They’re the chosen ones. The protesters mean nothing to them.”

“Look out!” Mark yelled, and pulled Courtney back just as a protester hurled himself over the police barrier and attacked one of the minions. A brawl broke out. The barrier came crashing down as more protesters joined in. The Naymeer people defended themselves, but they were more about getting away than retaliating. Soon the New York City police showed up, complete with riot gear. They fought to pull people apart.

“This is ugly,” Courtney gasped.

Mark pulled her away, and the two ran a few blocks until they found a yellow taxi to pick them up. “Stony Brook,” Mark said.

The cabbie’s eyes went wide. “Connecticut? That’ll cost you.”

“Just drive,” Courtney commanded.

“Yes, ma’am,” the cabbie replied. He hit the meter and they were off.

Mark and Courtney rode in silence. Both were trying to digest what they’d seen. It was the cabbie who spoke first.

“What side you two on?” the gruff little man asked.

“What do you mean?” Mark asked.

“You came from that meeting. You two Ravini-ites?”

Mark and Courtney exchanged looks and shrugs.

“We’re still deciding,” Mark answered. “What about you?”

“Nah! I think it’s all a lot of hocus-pocus,” the cabbie scoffed. “All that talk about other worlds and the origins of the universe. It makes my head hurt.”

Courtney snickered. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

“I’ll say this though,” the cabbie continued, “I think them guys are dangerous.”

“How so?” Mark asked.

“They’re trying to run the whole show. Now they got that thing going at the UN ‘cause they want to be some kind of international spiritual advisors. That’s just wrong. It’s what we got governments for. You may not always agree with politicians, but at least they pretend to be fair.”

“You don’t think the Ravinians are fair?” Mark probed.

“How can it be fair when they only care about the high falutin’?”

“What do you mean?” Courtney asked.

“Hey, I ain’t no dummy, but I couldn’t join them even if I wanted to. They only take you if you’re some kind of egghead. Or you got money. Or a business. I think you gotta have a big fat IQ just to qualify. They don’t want regular workin’ stiffs like me. I don’t know nuthin’ about their plans for the future, but it seems to me, they’re trying to separate the haves from the have-nots. If you’re one of the have-nots, you’re gonna have a lot less, if they have a say. It just ain’t right.”

Mark uttered aloud, “The elite. The strong. The enlightened.”

Courtney added, “It’s like they’re trying to weed out anybody who’s less than perfect.”

“Exactly!” the cabbie agreed. “I can’t get behind that, but a lot of people do. To be honest, it scares me. I’m just a regular guy. It ain’t right I tell ya.”

Neither Mark nor Courtney said another word until they were dropped off in front of Mark’s house in Stony Brook.

“Wait for us,” Courtney said. “Keep the meter running.”

“You bet I will. Hey, you’re not gonna stiff me, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Mark said. He dug into his wallet and took out two fifty-dollar bills for the cabbie. “That’s a down payment. Wait up the block, okay?”

The cabbie tipped his hat happily. “Whatever you say. It’s your dime.”

The cabbie put the car in gear, then gave a final warning. “Remember what I told you. Them people ain’t right.” With that last bit of wisdom, he took off.

“Them people ain’t right,” Courtney repeated. “Kind of sums it all up, doesn’t it.”

“Why did you want him to wait?” Mark asked.

“We won’t be here long. And I didn’t want somebody to wonder why there’s a cab outside your house.”

“Oh. Smart.”

The two circled around toward the back of the house, making sure that nobody saw them. Once inside, they found Patrick right where they had left him, sitting in front of Mark’s computer. The only difference was that he was surrounded by bags of Doritos and cans of Mountain Dew. He looked up at them with wild eyes.