Scott Westerfeld - The Last Days

I listened harder, trying to hear through Max’s snuffling. The slightest creak of settling sounded below… was it Astor Michaels on the stairs? But he didn’t know about the secret key.

The phone vibrated again, like a tiny, nervous animal in my hand.

“I’m ready,” I whispered.

“Excellent. We’re just pulling up now. Heavens, this neighborhood’s seen better days.”

“It’s not our fault. The mean garbagemen won’t come here anymore.”

“Well, I’m glad I’m taking you away.”

I frowned. Suddenly I wished it wasn’t Astor Michaels helping me escape. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea, rushing off with him. Mozzy could help me instead…

But I couldn’t imagine unpacking my bags, putting everything back into closets and drawers and under the bed, defeated.

One more day, even one more hour, was too long to stay here.

“Okay,” I whispered. “First you have to get the key. Then you sneak to the top of the stairs without making any noise—”

He laughed. “Just a moment, darling Min. I don’t do sneaking.”

“But… there’s a lock on my door.”

“Yes. And you can break it.”

“The lock?”

“The door . You’ve had the condition for five months, Minerva. You can feel your strength, right? I’ve broken doors down by accident . Just hit it with the palm of your hand. Hard.”

I touched the door softly, thinking of all the nights I’d tried to stare holes in it. But knock it down?

“It’ll make noise,” I whispered. “Wake them all up.”

“You’ll be down and out the front door while they’re still wondering what’s going on. Don’t be shy. Just hit it, Min.”

I remembered how I’d lifted Pearl’s mixing board with one hand last Sunday, making her eyes as round as buttons.

But bash down my own door?

“Do you want to stay in your room forever?” he said.

I hissed at the phone. Astor Michaels and his little tests. Were we mature enough to stay together? Tough enough to face a nasty audience? Strong enough to… bash things down?

Fine.

I hung up, scooped Zombie from the floor, and placed one palm against the wood. Drew my arm back…

And smashed it into smithereens.

Moz stood just outside, his jaw open.

“Mozzy!” I cried.

His smell rushed into the room, and Zombie struggled to jump down and say hi.

I stared at my stinging palm. “I’d have heard you coming up except for smelly Astor Michaels distracting me.”

“Um, I…”

“Poor Mozzy. You look frazzled.”

“Something happened to me. Something weird.” He looked down at the bits of wood around him. “Why did you do that?”

I bent to pick up a suitcase. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

“What way? The way where?”

“My new place,” I said. “Quit squirming! Not you, Mozzy. Grab that, would you?”

He blinked a few times, then saw my other suitcase and gripped its handle.

I paused for a moment, listening. Maxwell was definitely awake, his snores shattered into little pieces, just like my door. I could hear him twisting on his bed, snuffling with confusion.

Downstairs in my parents’ room, the floor was creaking with footsteps.

“Come on,” I hissed.

We didn’t bother sneaking. The stairs complained, but it felt so good not to be worrying over every squeak of the cranky old steps. We were past my parents’ room, almost at the front door, when Daddy flicked on the lights above us.

“Minerva?” he called softly. “Max?”

I pulled open the front door. The outside smells rushed in: the garbage mountains, the rotting leaves of fall, Zombie’s little friends skittering in the dark.

“Bye, Daddy,” I called up, trying to sound a little sad at leaving. “Don’t worry, please. I’ll call you soon.”

“What are you doing? Who is that?”

Moz looked very embarrassed to be stared at. But it was Daddy in his pajamas who looked silly.

“Tell Max and Mommy goodbye and that I’ll see you all on my birthday, okay?”

“Minerva! You can’t just leave… You’re not well! Where are you—?”

“I said I’d call you!” Daddy never listens . I stomped out the door.

“How are we going to get anywhere?” Moz sputtered, running after me. “Won’t they call the cops? I sent my cab away, and we can’t take the subway! There’s this thing down—”

“It’s okay, Moz. Look, there he is!”

Astor Michaels was half a block away, standing next to his limo, looking surprised to see Mozzy. His driver hovered close to him, scanning the piles of garbage nervously, one hand in his pocket like he was getting ready to shoot some of Zombie’s little friends.

We ran up, and I handed Astor Michaels my suitcase. “Take this; Zombie has his claws in my dress.”

“You’re bringing your cat,” he said flatly, staring at Moz.

“And Mozzy too!” I said.

“Yes, I see that.” Astor Michaels sighed tiredly. “Hello, Moz.”

“What’s going on here?” Moz said, sounding all manly and jealous, which made me giggle.

But then Daddy yelled something, and we all got in the limo, dragging the suitcases in behind us instead of opening the trunk. The driver put the car into gear and whisked us away.

I waved to Daddy out the back window.

“We’re going to our new place, Moz,” I explained. “You should come stay there with me.”

“Um…” Astor Michaels said.

“I can’t go home,” Mozzy said, staring out at midnight Brooklyn rushing past. “I saw this thing down in the subway, and the angels caught me. They almost took me away, like Luz always says.”

“Angels?” I asked. For the first time, I noticed how shaky Moz was. He was pale with shock, twitching and sweating like he’d seen something much worse than my door exploding.

“It’s real, Min,” he said softly. “The struggle’s real.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “Don’t worry, Mozzy. We’ll take you someplace safe.”

“By all means,” Astor Michaels said. “Must keep the talent happy.”

The morning after the Morgan’s Army gig, my phone rang—Astor Michaels calling.

“You gave me a hangover,” I answered, still feeling all the glasses of champagne he’d brought me. Mom gave me a stern look across the breakfast table, but I ignored her. Stupid champagne genes.

Astor Michaels laughed at me from the other end. “Well, at least we have something to celebrate. They’re finally ready.”

I squinted in the sunlight streaming into the dining room. “The contracts?”

“In my hand.”

“Your lawyer works on Saturday morning?”

“They were ready yesterday.”

Mom was pretending not to listen, but I tried not to swear too loud. Everyone had been nine kinds of bugging me to get the negotiations over with, like the delay was all my fault. “And you didn’t mention this last night why ?”

“I had a very busy evening in front of me.”

“Oh. Your mysterious errand.” He’d left me and Alana Ray at the club before the gig had ended, smiling like he had a dirty secret.

“And after that, things got even busier.” Astor Michaels sighed tiredly. “If you meet me downtown in two hours, I’ll explain everything.”

“Explain whatever you want,” I said. “Just bring the contracts.”

“Contracts?” my mother said the moment I hung up. “Does this mean you’re really going through with all this?”

I looked down at my hands, which were quivering a little—half hangover, half excitement. “Yeah, I really am.”

She looked out the window. “Why we wasted all that money on school, I don’t know, if you were just going to do something like this.”