Melinda Metz: The Vanished

But Alex was trapped in another galaxy. That would take some serious postage.

In a flash, she had an idea. It was a goofy plan, but that meant Alex would love it. Isabel grabbed the paper and folded it into her pocket.

Twenty minutes later she was driving the Jeep through the desert. The night was chilly, and Isabel pulled her pink-and-gray sweater close to her skin.

A mile or so away from the site Isabel pulled over to the side of the road. Before she got out of the Jeep, she opened the glove compartment and took out the bottle rocket she'd brought with her. Her father loved the Fourth of July, and he always kept extra fireworks in a metal box in the garage. The box had been locked, but a simple turnkey clasp couldn't keep out someone with Isabel's powers.

Isabel tied the rolled-up letter to the bottle rocket, high enough on the thin red stick so that the paper wouldn't get burned. Then she got out of the Jeep and walked a few paces into the scrubby vegetation of the desert.

Isabel stuck the bottle rocket into the ground, leaning it against a small rock. Then she realized she'd forgotten to bring matches.

Not a problem. She took a deep breath, reached out with her mind toward the wick, and scratched. The friction produced a tiny spark, which was enough to get the wick sizzling.

As she stepped back, the rocket launched, whistling into the dark sky. Isabel watched its smoky path through the air until she lost sight of it against the canopy of stars.

Go, she thought. Go to Alex. Tell him how I feel.

The only reply was a sharp report and a shower of sparks as the rocket exploded in the distance.

Isabel smiled as she looked out across the desert. She'd just done a really silly thing, but it made her feel slightly better, and that was all that mattered.

A sudden breeze picked up, and Isabel realized with a chill that she wasn't far from the ruins of the compound. An inexplicable fist of fear gripped her heart, erasing any warm and fuzzy Alex feelings. She felt like she was being watched.

Okay. Enough with the midnight hike, Isabel thought.

She turned and hurried back to the Jeep, fully prepared to gun the engine and speed back to town. But the moment she slammed the door behind her, she realized she was acting like a child. No one was watching her. There was nothing out here for miles. She was perfectly safe.

And just to prove it to herself, she was going to drive over to the charred stretch of ground and check on the ship. It was the least she could do since she was already out here.

As she drove through the eerie darkness of the desert, Isabel felt the uneasiness start to creep up her spine again, and she gripped the steering wheel tightly. She tried to ignore the fear, but she couldn't. All she could do was defy it.

Something told her to stop a quarter mile from the compound and walk the rest of the way. Anyone who might be watching would see the headlights-hear the engine. But Isabel wouldn't give in. Swallowing back her instincts, she floored the accelerator and drove right up to the perimeter of the compound.

Taking a deep breath, Isabel stepped out of the Jeep and looked around defiantly, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder.

See? There's no one here, she told herself, climbing the small hill she, Max, Michael, and Adam had formed while digging the hole.

"Valenti's dead, so no Valenti," she muttered, scrambling over the loose dirt. "No DuPris. No cops. No news anchors-"

Isabel reached the top of the hill and looked down into the gaping hole. Her heart dropped through her hiking shoes, and she sucked in a sharp breath.

"No… ship," she said quietly.

She shoved at the dirt with her mind. The digging went much slower now that she was alone, but she went deep enough to convince herself that she was right.

The hole was empty.

The ship was gone.

"The ship doesn't look anything like that," Adam said, stopping in the middle of Main Street. He pointed at a big plastic flying saucer that had been built into the side of a tourist souvenir shop as if it had crashed there.

Michael slammed into him from behind and gave him a little shove to get him moving again. A car sped by, narrowly missing their heels.

"Okay, you can't be stopping in the middle of the street like that," Michael said, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding harsh. "We'll be dead before we ever get to breakfast."

Adam wandered over to the souvenir store, staring up at the pseudo-flying saucer.

"Too bad it's not the real one," Michael said, standing next to Adam. "But somehow I don't think whoever stole it is going to make it that easy to find."

"Whoever?" Adam asked, raising his eyebrows. "I just figured that Project Clean Slate had it."

Michael's stomach twisted just from hearing the organization's name. "Clean Slate's history, remember? The place was flattened." He eyed Adam carefully. "Unless… wait," Michael said. "You don't know of other compounds or something, do you? There aren't… more of them."

Adam shrugged. "Not that I know of, I guess."

Michael wished he'd sounded a little more definite. Swallowing hard, Michael stared up at the fake ship. If there were more Clean Slate agents out there and if they'd somehow gotten the ship…

"How will we get Alex back now?" Adam asked, putting Michael's fears into words.

Michael's stomach turned. "I don't know," he replied. "We'll think of something."

"Can we get some toast for breakfast?" Adam asked suddenly.

"No toast," Michael said, managing a small smile. Adam's life was so simple. But Michael supposed that was what happened when you grew up with no knowledge of the outside world. "This morning I've got a surprise for you."

Michael led Adam down the sidewalk toward the doughnut shop on the corner. Wait till Adam gets his first taste of crullers with hot sauce, Michael thought. I'll never hear about toast again-it'll be doughnut shop, doughnut shop, doughnut shop until we feed him his first slice of enchilada with toothpaste.

As soon as Michael opened the door of the tiny shop, he was hit by a blast of greasy, sweet-smelling heat. He looked up at the rack behind the counter to see which doughnuts were left and caught a glimpse of mustard-colored aura out of the corner of his eye. A very familiar aura.

Two places ahead in line was Mr. Cuddihy, Michael's social worker.

Damn, Michael thought. He hadn't been home to his foster family, the Pascals, in a week or so. Hadn't been to school, either. First he was in the compound. Then he was trying to save their collective butts from DuPris. And now there was the Alex situation. There was no way he could follow all the Pascals' two billion rules and do what needed to be done to get Alex home.

He had to get out of there, pronto. He grabbed Adam and started to steer him toward the door.

"Michael, wait, what's a bagel?" Adam asked in a loud voice. "Can I get it toasted? With butter?"

At the sound of Michael's name, Mr. Cuddihy turned around and locked eyes with him.

Michael froze in his tracks. Busted. He gave his social worker a shrug and a rueful smile.

Mr. Cuddihy stepped out of line and put his arm around Michael's shoulders. "Look who it is!" he said. "Michael Guerin, my favorite magician. I heard you've pulled off quite a disappearing act."

Cuddihy's idea of humor. Ha. Ha.

"You heard that, huh?" Michael said. "Listen, I can explain-"

"No need," Cuddihy interrupted. "I don't know what you had planned this morning, Guerin, but your plans have changed. You and I have an immediate appointment back at my office."

"I'll meet up with you later," Michael told Adam. He definitely didn't want Cuddihy asking the toast boy any questions.

"Much later," Cuddihy added.