D. MacHale - The Quillan Games

I can’t say I’m not nervous about it. I am. But I’m confident, too. I can beat that guy. I know I can. Of course anything can happen, but all things being equal, I know I can take him. Whatever positive effect that will have on the revival is the main reason I want to take him on. But there’s another. This guy killed a Traveler. I don’t care if it was during a game. He killed a Traveler. I’m tired of being cautious. I’m going to take him apart.

And I haven’t forgotten Saint Dane’s offer. He told me if I competed in the Grand X, he’d reveal the origin of the Travelers. Do I believe him? Not really. But when I win, I’m going to do all I can to hold him to that. I’m beginning to understand that guy. As much as he’s jerked me around, I’ve been able to get to him, too. If I compete and he doesn’t live up to his end of the bargain, I can turn it around on him as proof of his own weakness. He hates that. He wants to beat me. No, he needs to beat me. He won’t.

That’s why I think this can be the beginning of the end. Or the end of the beginning of my life as a Traveler. When I win the Grand X, I’m not only going to be helping the revivers save Quillan, I’ll be taking another step toward stopping Saint Dane for good.

But first I’ve got to stop Challenger Green.

Bring it on.

END JOURNAL #26

Courtney read the entire journal at the Sherwood house.

She couldn’t wait. She took the envelope upstairs to the empty living room of the old mansion, sat on the hard floor, and read. Her heart raced the entire time. With each new turn in Bobby’s story, she grew more upset. Bobby had announced that he was going to enter the Grand X. She wanted to cry. Bobby was changing. She feared he was becoming too aggressive, too cocky. It scared her to death.

She needed Mark. She really needed Mark. But Mark was gone. He had jumped into the flume and traveled to territories unknown. The only people who knew where he went and why were Mark… and Saint Dane. Saint Dane. Andy Mitchell was Saint Dane. He had been Saint Dane from the very beginning, which meant back in grade school. Courtney zipped through her memories of the creepy kid with the greasy hair who loved to torment others. The thought was impossible, yet strangely, the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it made sense.

Courtney put Bobby’s pages back into the envelope, hugged her knees, and put her head down to think. Andy Mitchell had tormented Mark all his life, then suddenly became his best friend. What was the point? To get Mark to like him? Courtney didn’t know much about psychology, but she thought about how quickly Mark had accepted Andy as a changed guy. As a friend. Was Mark somehow drawn to Andy Mitchell because the former bully suddenly showed a different, better side? Did that make him more appealing as a friend? Now that she thought about it, the whole thing was so obvious. Mitchell had magically become a science geek. Saint Dane knew that’s what Mark would respond to, so that’s what he became. Was Saint Dane that smart? Of course he was, she thought. Saint Dane had tricked entire governments into trusting him. He worked his way into the confidences of princes and queens, of bandits and scientists. Saint Dane knew which buttons to push, all right. Mark didn’t stand a chance.

Another thought hit Courtney. Saint Dane was Whitney Wilcox. Saint Dane was Andy Mitchell. Whitney Wilcox tried to kill her, but Andy Mitchell helped Mark save her. Why would Saint Dane try to kill her, only to then save her?

“Oh, my God,” Courtney said as the truth rushed at her.

Her accident was a setup. A devious, diabolical setup. By helping Mark save her, Andy Mitchell had cemented their relationship. It created a bond. They had saved Courtney. Courtney realized in horror that she’d been a pawn. It was about Mark all along. There was no doubt in her mind, Saint Dane had gone to great lengths to get Mark to trust him. Now Mark’s parents were dead. If there was ever a time that Mark needed support from a friend, it was then. And who was there to give it to him? Saint Dane. Courtney wanted to scream. Whatever Saint Dane wanted with Mark, it had to have something to do with his plans for Second Earth. Why else would he bother? She squeezed her hands into fists. They’d been worried for years about what Saint Dane might do on Second Earth, without realizing he was laying the groundwork right under their noses. Worse, they were part of it!

Courtney wanted Bobby home. He needed to know what was going on. They had to find Mark not only to save him, but to stop Saint Dane from using their friend for whatever his plans were for Second Earth. Courtney was faced with a decision. Should she go to Quillan to find Bobby? She felt certain it was wrong for him to enter the Grand X. It was way too risky. And now that Mark needed help, it was all the more reason that he had to come home. For Mark, for Second Earth, and for himself.

Courtney jumped to her feet. She had made up her mind. It was worth the risk of damaging the flume. She grabbed her pack and took a step toward the stairs to the basement… when she heard the growl.

Courtney froze. It was coming from the foyer of the mansion. She cautiously slid her hand into her jacket pocket and grasped the canister of pepper spray.

Grrrrr…

She knew that growl. There was no mistaking it. Quigs. She glanced over her shoulder to see if there was another way out of this room. A window, a back hallway, anything.

There wasn’t. It was too late anyway. The quig sprang.

It was a huge muscled black dog with rows of sharp teeth that were too big for its jaw. It rounded the corner from the foyer and charged her at full speed, its yellow quig eyes focused, its teeth gnashing.

Courtney pulled out the pepper spray, aimed, and waited. She didn’t want to miss. It meant she had to let it get dangerously close. The quig charged; Courtney steeled herself. She waited… waited… waited… and pulled the trigger.

Fum!

A burst of knocking it backward. It hit the ground, rolled, and lay there unconscious.

“Ahhh!” Courtney screamed and dropped the bottle. It was an unconscious act. Whatever had just shot out of the bottle, it wasn’t pepper spray. Pepper spray didn’t knock out a charging quig. Or anything else for that matter. Yet the demon-dog was out cold. Courtney slowly knelt down and retrieved the canister. She looked at it as if it were something alien, because it was. Looking closely, she realized that it wasn’t her pepper spray. It was the same size and weight, but the canister was metallic silver with no markings. Her pepper spray was plastic with writing that said very clearly, pepper spray. This wasn’t it. Courtney reached into her left pocket to check the other canister of spray. It was the exact same as the first. It wasn’t hers. She had no idea when or how they were changed.

Courtney didn’t want to be there anymore. She abandoned the idea of jumping into the flume, at least for the time being. She jammed the silver canisters into her pockets, picked up the envelope holding Bobby’s journal pages, put it into her backpack, and ran out of the Sherwood house. All she wanted was to get home. Too much was happening and none of it was good. She made it back over the wall surrounding the Sherwood property with no problem, and down the tree to the sidewalk. With her head down, she walked quickly along, wanting more than anything else to be someplace safe and sane.

A car horn sounded behind her, making her jump and scream, “Ahhh!”

She turned to see her father pulling up behind her in their Volvo wagon.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

Courtney tried to catch her breath.

“You want to tell me why you’re not in school?” Mr. Chetwynde asked.