The Shadow Read online

  “Do not answer the door, no matter what,” I tell her.

  “I promise,” she says. “And anyway, I have the world’s bravest guard dog.” She leans over to hold Bando so he won’t follow us out the door.

  “Good luck,” she says, scratching Bando’s head. “Be careful.”

  I feel like going back to hug her one more time, but Lamont and Margo are in a big rush. So I just blow her a kiss. She blows one back.

  I follow Margo and Lamont down the stairs and out the front entrance. The neighborhood is empty. I guess everybody is uptown, where the big tents are. People in this neighborhood are always hungry, and free food is the best possible lure.

  We move out along the riverfront, heading north. The sky is bright blue and the air is warm. It is a beautiful day—weather-wise, anyway.

  All of a sudden, there’s a loud crack behind us, like a huge tree branch snapping. We all duck. I turn around and look back at the warehouse just as a huge lightning bolt shoots out of the sky and hits the top floor! In one second, the whole warehouse is blasted to pieces. The shock wave knocks me onto my back.

  I hear Lamont yell to Margo.

  “It’s Khan!”

  “Grandma!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Grandma!” I get to my feet and start to run back. Bricks and pieces of wood are still falling from the sky all around me. The warehouse isn’t even there anymore. There’s nothing left but clouds of thick gray smoke.

  Before I get ten feet, Lamont grabs me and pulls me down. I’m still screaming. I try to fight him, try to break free, even though I know there’s nothing I can do. I’m on my knees now, grinding my fists against my head. When I try to look up again, Lamont is in front of me, covering my head so I can’t see.

  “Maddy! Maddy! Listen to me!” It’s Margo. She’s kneeling next to me, her arm around my shoulders. “We have to get out of here! There’s no going back. There’s nothing we can do but go forward. Forward! Do you understand?” She says it again, louder, closer to my ear. “Do you understand?”

  I twist my shoulders and shove her arm away. I stand up. My eyes are stinging from the smoke, and my throat burns from screaming. Lamont and Margo let me go. They stand for a few seconds, looking back at the warehouse. Then they start walking north again.

  I still can’t move. My whole body is numb. I’m confused. I’m in shock. And I’m madder than I’ve ever been in my life. Lamont and Margo are widening the distance. They’re about twenty yards ahead—almost ready to turn through the alley toward the street. They stop and look back at me. They wait. I brush the dirt off my knees. I start walking toward them. One foot in front of the other. What else can I do? Two weeks ago, I didn’t know Lamont Cranston and Margo Lane really existed.

  Now they’re all I’ve got.

  CHAPTER 86

  AS WE MAKE our way up First Avenue, a squad of TinGrins races past us toward the river. Maybe they heard the explosion. Maybe they think it’s some kind of uprising or sabotage. Nobody would believe the truth. When I turn around, I can still see the column of thick dark gray smoke against the blue sky. Nobody’s talking. Not Lamont. Not Margo. Not me. There’s nothing to say.

  We see another patrol heading our way, just ahead. Too close. Before they can spot us, Lamont shoves open a door to an old office building. We follow him in. The stench in the lobby is terrible. There are dirty blankets and clothes all over the floor. It looks like about a hundred people slept here last night. The lobby is fancy, or at least it used to be. Lots of marble columns and carved woodwork. An old insurance building maybe, or a bank.

  At the far corner of the lobby, I see a group of women kneeling in a circle on the floor. They turn to look at us, scared. Maybe because we’re all in black. Lamont holds his hands up.

  “We’re not government,” he says. “We just need to get off the street for a minute.”

  From the center of the circle, I hear a woman scream. Margo heads right over, stepping her way through all the abandoned stuff on the floor. I follow with Lamont.

  In the center of the circle is a girl. A teenager. Probably younger than me. She’s lying on her back on a pile of old blankets and papers. Her knees are bent up and her middle is covered with a thin sheet. Her belly is huge. She screams again.

  “How long has she been in labor?” asks Margo.

  One of the women in the circle looks up. “Since last night.”

  “She’s worn out,” says another woman.

  The girl lets out another scream. It echoes around the lobby. The girl looks exhausted and terrified. So do all the women around her.

  “She needs a doctor,” says Lamont.

  “Can’t move her now,” says a woman in a red scarf who is kneeling at the girl’s feet. She lifts the sheet draped over the girl’s legs and peeks her head under. “She’s crowning.”

  “I can’t do it!” the girl yells. Her face is all contorted and red. Her hair is matted down with sweat. Margo leans down right next to her and wipes her hair back from her face.

  “Yes, you can,” she says.

  The girl bites her lip and shakes her head. She doesn’t believe it. Then she leans back and screams again.

  Margo turns to me and Lamont.

  “Kneel behind her,” she says. “Support her shoulders.”

  Lamont takes the girl’s left side. I take the right. Her shirt is drenched in sweat. I can feel her bony arm and shoulder blade through the wet cloth.

  “What’s your name?” asks Margo.

  “Ava,” says the girl.

  “Hi, Ava. I’m Margo. And you’re about to have your baby.”

  Margo squats near Ava’s heels. She looks at the woman with the red scarf. The woman’s eyes are red and her face is almost gray.

  “How long since you’ve slept?” Margo asks.

  “A while,” says the woman. “She came in from the street yesterday afternoon. Didn’t know anybody. Her water broke last night about eight. Been with her the whole time.”

  “Sit back for a minute,” Margo tells the woman. “Rest.”

  The scarf woman nods. She slides over against the wall a few feet away and leans her head back against the marble. Ava screams again. Margo moves between her knees and lifts the sheet. Ava bends forward at the waist, trying a new position to relieve the pain. Her shirt is so slick she almost slips out of my grip. She leans her head back toward the ceiling and screams again—so loudly it echoes around the lobby.

  “Push, Ava!” says Margo. “You have to push. You have to push now!”

  “I can’t,” says Ava. She’s sobbing and trembling. Her eyes are shut tight and tears are squeezing out. “I can’t anymore.” The last word trails off like she’s passing out, or dying. Some of the other women are starting to panic. I can see it in their faces. My heart is pounding and my mouth is really dry. I look down at Margo. She’s totally calm. She leans forward across Ava’s belly and looks into her face. She claps her hands together once, real loud. Ava’s eyes pop open wide again.

  “Ava,” she says. “The next time you feel a contraction, don’t scream. Push.”

  Ava is panting hard now, her mouth open, her chest heaving up and down. Lamont and I tighten our grips. Ava’s eyes roll back. She grits her teeth and lets out a noise that’s part moan, part growl. It goes on for a long time. Margo puts her hands back under the sheet.

  “Good, Ava,” she says. “Once more. Just like that.”

  Ava leans back. More panting. Margo wedges herself even tighter between Ava’s spread knees. Another grimace. Another howl. And then…

  Another cry. A small one. From under the sheet.

  Ava’s head drops back. Her neck is resting on my arm. I can feel her warm, wet hair through my sleeve. Margo lifts the baby up. It’s covered with blood and white gunk and there’s a thick purplish cord attached to its belly. And between the legs, a tiny bud—like a miniature acorn.

  “It’s a boy,” I whisper into Ava’s ear. “You have a little boy.”

  Ava’s crying full out
now, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “He’s alive?” Ava asks, bending her head forward.

  “He’s perfect,” says Margo.

  Margo lifts the baby, cord and all, and lays him on Ava’s stomach, very gently. Now the other women are gathered around close, leaning in, making soft whispery sounds. One woman wipes the baby’s head. Another woman reaches into his mouth and pulls out a gross little wad of mucus. Ava reaches down to feel the baby’s wet scalp with her hand.

  Lamont and I move aside as the woman in the red scarf moves back over. She lets Ava’s head rest in her lap and wipes the sweat off her forehead. Margo gets up slowly. Someone gives her an old shirt. She wipes the blood and goo off her hands. Lamont puts his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.

  “What just happened?” asked Lamont.

  “Well,” says Margo. “I think we just helped to birth a baby.”

  “You were amazing,” he says. “Have you done that before?”

  Margo leans in to Lamont, holding him close, shaking.

  “No,” she says. “Not that I can remember.”

  CHAPTER 87

  I SHOVE OPEN the doors from the lobby and burst out onto the sidewalk, gasping for air. My head is buzzing and my stomach is doing flip-flops. I didn’t realize that having a baby was such a noisy, bloody mess.

  On the sidewalks and in the middle of the street, people are moving uptown for the feast. They’ve got a little more lift in their step, a little more hope on their faces.

  I step into the street and merge into the crowd. Two blocks up, I see a huge tent—so big that it takes up the whole block. We saw tents all the way up from the river this morning, but this is the biggest one yet.

  People are already milling around underneath. The feast isn’t scheduled to start for another hour, but I guess nobody wants to take a chance on being late. Kids are already running around the tables, and people are gathering in big groups, happy and smiling. Even the TinGrins at the entrance seem more cheerful than usual. “Have a most beautiful day,” they say to everybody.

  “And you as well,” everybody says back.

  I duck inside the tent. On the street side, huge kitchen trucks are backed up with their generators humming. Giant fans are sending out some pretty amazing aromas. Roast meat. Baking pies. There are huge screens mounted to the tentpoles. They’re showing scenes of wheat fields and orchards and streams full of fish. There’s music, too—sweet and happy-sounding—coming out of huge black speakers.

  One corner of the tent is separated from the seating area by thick black drapes hanging from a metal pipe. A huge guard stands at the barrier. I step right in front of him, face-to-face.

  “You can’t go back there,” says the guard.

  “Sure I can. Watch how it’s done.”

  The guard stiffens up and grips his rifle tighter.

  “Let me through. Right now.”

  The guard steps aside.

  “See how easy that was?” I say.

  Behind the draping, I see worktables and stainless-steel carts loaded with food. Mountains of it. Trays with whole turkeys and thick slabs of beef, platters of mashed potatoes and green beans, bowls filled with fruit. Now that I’m back here, nobody’s paying any attention to me. There’s too much going on. No reason to waste my invisibility energy right now.

  I spot some movement under one of the prep tables. I lean down for a look. There’s a scrawny kid, maybe six or seven years old, crawling like a worm, keeping out of sight of the guards and the workers. Every few seconds, he stretches his hand up and grabs anything in reach. He’s taking small bites and stuffing the extra food in his pockets. His mouth is already full of bread and now he’s reaching for a bunch of red grapes dangling down from the edge of the table. He stuffs a few grapes into his mouth.

  All of a sudden, his eyes bulge out and foam starts to spill out of his mouth. I get down on my knees and slip under the table. The draping hides us. He’s on his back now. And he’s not breathing. I shake him by the leg. I touch his neck. Nothing. It was over that fast.

  I look up at the mounds of food. Now it clicks. I know exactly what’s about to happen. It’s going to happen all over the city.

  And I don’t know how to stop it.

  CHAPTER 88

  LAMONT AND MARGO were waiting in the lobby when Maddy burst back into the building. She was panting hard, her cheeks puffed out and red.

  “Poison!” Maddy wheezed. “It’s poison!”

  “What’s poison?” asked Lamont.

  “The food! The feast!” said Maddy, getting the words out in small bursts. “They’re going to poison them. They’re going to kill everybody!”

  Back in the corner, the women clustered around Ava and her baby looked up. Lamont took a step toward them.

  “Stay here!” he said. “Do not move from this spot!”

  Margo walked to the corner and gave Ava a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Take care of that baby,” she said.

  “I will,” said Ava. She reached out and grabbed Margo’s hand. She held on tight for a few seconds and squeezed.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Margo smiled. Then she turned and followed Lamont and Maddy out the door. The crowd on the street was thicker now. Excitement was high. The screens along the route were now beaming the images of delicious food, with string symphony accompaniment.

  Suddenly, all the screens went black and the speakers crackled with static. After a second, a live picture appeared. It was Gismonde. His smooth face almost filled the screen. At the sight of the world president, the crowd paused. Conversation stopped. Parents shushed their children. Mothers jostled infants in their arms to keep them from fussing. Up and down the street, people turned to the nearest screen.

  Gismonde smiled warmly. He looked directly into the camera, his eyes clear and bright. His delivery was expertly paced, almost hypnotic.

  “Today,” he began, “we celebrate our fertile fields and farms, our rich seas, and the bounty from around the world…”

  Lamont moved closer to one of the screens. For this special event, Gismonde had picked his setting carefully. He spoke from an elegant desk. Behind him was a low stone arch of pink-veined marble. The world president was captivating and telegenic, but it was the background that caught Lamont’s attention. In a split second, he recognized the room. It was a place he hadn’t seen in more than a hundred years.

  Lamont turned back to Margo and Maddy and tugged at their sleeves.

  “Let’s go!” he said. “The bastard is in my wine cellar!”

  CHAPTER 89

  WE START ELBOWING our way through the crowd, but we can’t move fast enough. We’re dodging and weaving, going two steps sideways for every one step forward. People are crammed tight all around us, excited and happy. They have no idea.

  “Go back!” Lamont is yelling. “Stay away from the tents! It’s a trap!”

  Nobody believes him. They think he’s just another anti-government crackpot. They all keep moving forward, like robots.

  “Have a Most Beautiful Day!” somebody shouts back, and a bunch of other people pick it up like a chant.

  “Most Beautiful Day! Most Beautiful Day! Most Beautiful Day!”

  I feel like screaming back at them, but I know it won’t do any good.

  “We have to get to the mansion!” Lamont shouts back over his shoulder to me and Margo. “We have to move faster!”

  “Look!” yells Margo. “Over there!”

  Across the street, a big black cargo truck is sitting with its engine running.

  I’ve never driven a truck before, but so what? This week has been filled with firsts. I squeeze through the crowd and hop onto the running board. The driver is leaning back in his seat, half asleep. I pull open the door. The driver looks up and starts to shoo me away.

  “Scram!” he says.

  “Get out,” I say.

  He slides out of his seat with a big fat grunt. As soon as his feet hit the sidewalk,
I jump up into the cab.

  “Stand there and stay quiet,” I tell him.

  Lamont and Margo slide in on the passenger’s side. I hit the horn and press the gas pedal. The crowd clears a path ahead of me—but not fast enough. We were better off walking.

  “Too crowded!” says Margo. “Take Park!”

  I hook a hard right and feel a rear tire bounce over the curb. The whole truck rattles and creaks. On Park Avenue, there’s a wide center meridian for people to walk on, so the street is mostly clear. I hit the gas.

  “Goddamn him!” Lamont is muttering to himself. “We have to stop him!” I’ve never heard Lamont like this. Even in bad situations, he mostly keeps his thoughts inside. But now he’s mad, pumping himself up for a fight—the biggest fight of his life. I can feel it.

  By Fifty-Second Street, the speedometer is touching fifty. Buildings and people are flying by. I’m dodging other vehicles left and right. Just as I start to make the turn onto Fifty-Seventh, a TinGrin steps out into the middle of the crosswalk ahead of me, waving his hands over his head. Could be a security stop, or maybe he just wants me to quit driving like a maniac. I know I could talk my way out of an ID check, but the hell with it. No time. I don’t slow down. I speed up.

  “Hold on!” I shout.

  Margo and Lamont brace themselves against the dashboard. I swerve around the TinGrin at the last second. Miss him by an inch. Lucky him. Lamont’s shoulder rocks against me as I crank the wheel, but his eyes stare straight ahead. He’s still muttering.

  “Ten thousand years,” he’s saying. “That’s how long he’s been planning this. A hundred goddamned centuries!”

  Lamont sounds possessed, and I don’t blame him. But if he’s scared, he’s not showing it. That’s okay. I’m scared enough for both of us. All three of us.

  I pull over about a block from the mansion. As soon as I kill the engine, Lamont stops muttering and takes charge. He looks me in the eye.

  “Stay focused. Stay calm. Don’t stretch it,” he says.