"Uh ... uh ... It's not for you." Allie cleared her throat, startled by the way she sounded. She could never get used to the masculine timbre of her voice when she cross-jacked. It was one of several troubling things that came with being temporarily male.
"Well, if it's not for us, then who is it for?"
"The Johnson family."
"Who?" she asked, then realized. "Oh, right. We got things for them every once in a while, once the forwarding order expired."
They had moved--but that could just be her mother and sister, who weren't in the car. She still had no way of knowing if her father had survived.
"Any idea where they went?"
"No," the woman said.
"Wasn't there an accident?" Allie asked. "I heard about it--they lost a daughter."
"I wouldn't know about that. Sorry."
And then Allie asked the big question. "How long have you been living here?"
"Almost three years now."
Allie closed her eyes, and tried to take that in. She had been in Everlost for three years. Unchanged, never aging. Still fourteen. How could so much time have passed?
"Wait a second," the woman said. "Of course, I can't be sure, but I seem to recall something about Memphis. I think that's where they went."
It made sense--her mother had family there ... but did that mean her father had died in the crash, and her mother had sold the house? There were so many questions still unanswered.
The woman shifted the baby to her other hip, getting impatient. "The neighbors might know more, but then a lot of them are just summer renters."
"Thank you. Sorry to have bothered you."
Then the woman closed the door, to the protests of the baby, who began to wail over the fact that the box was not for him. Allie went to other homes on the street, but few neighbors were home, and the ones who did come to the door were clueless.
Allie returned to the UPS truck, took one last breath of the flavorful June air, then pulled herself out of the delivery man. Ending a skinjacking was as unpleasant as beginning one, and sometimes a fleshie who fit too well was hard to escape from--especially when she'd stayed inside for a while. Fortunately the UPS man was not one of those. She was able to extricate herself without too much effort, peeling him off like a loose-fitting robe. She suffered a moment of vertigo, and the instinctive panic of spirit separating from flesh. She endured the transition, and when she opened her eyes, the living world had faded to blurred, washed-out hues. She was back in Everlost. Beside her, the deliveryman stumbled for a moment, quickly shook off his confusion, and went to deliver his package to the proper house, never knowing that he had been skinjacked.
"What happened?" Mikey asked, coming up to her. "Were they there? Did you talk to them?"
"They moved to Memphis," she told him, still a bit dazed by it all.
Mikey sighed. "So ... I suppose that means we're going to Tennessee."
She offered him an apologetic grin that wasn't all that apologetic. It was disheartening to know that her home was no longer hers, and troubling to have so far to go until she could find out the truth. Yet there was relief in it as well ... because Memphis was far, far away, and that meant she wouldn't be losing Mikey so quickly! Looking at him now, he seemed taller. Majestic. There was a reason for that.
"You're sinking," Mikey said.
Laughing, Allie reached out to him. He took her hand gently but firmly, and eased her out of the ground.
They left, but as they did, Allie couldn't help but look back toward the deliveryman, who was now heading back to his truck. She couldn't deny how much she enjoyed the lingering sensation of flesh. Each time she skinjacked, it felt more and more seductive. In her book Caution, This Means You, Mary Hightower has this to say about the Everwild:
"Finders who survive excursions into the untamed corners of Everlost tell stories of things strange, mystical, and dangerous. Whether or not these stories of the Everwild are true do not matter to the sensible Afterlight, for all sensible Afterlights know that it's best to leave the wild wild, and the Unknown unknown. Venturing beyond one's personal zone of safety is always ill-advised, and can only end in profound unpleasantness."
It is important to note that Mary wrote this before she, herself, took to the skies.
Chapter 5 Southern Discomfort
Nick had never seen a city with so many deadspots. They were so numerous that they could hardly be called deadspots at all. The city of Atlanta belonged as much to Everlost as it did to the living world. The streets were part cobblestone, part asphalt, part dirt. The night was lit by just as many gas lamps as modern street-lights. Buildings from multiple time periods seemed to occupy the same space, fighting to claim "dominant reality." It made it very clear to Nick that as much as he thought he knew and understood Everlost, he barely knew anything at all.
Their train slowly, cautiously rolled forward on tracks that once carried the Civil War dead. Then, as the train neared the center of Atlanta, the living world road began to fill the train like an asphalt river.
"We're sinking!" shouted Johnnie-O. "We're sinking into the earth! Stop the train!"
"I don't think that's it," said Charlie. "It's more like the street's rising. We're still riding on tracks."
"I have a feeling we're in for a few more surprises," said Nick. * * *
Long ago, when the battle between locomotive and automobile came to Atlanta, the city was caught in a dilemma. Atlanta, being the chief railroad city of the south, had so many trains, there was simply no room for cars. Then the city planners had a brilliant idea. The words "brilliant" and "city planning" usually don't go together. However, in this instance, the solution was not only brilliant, it was elegant.
Why not build roads above the train tracks?
And so by building automobile viaducts above the central railroad gulch, the city of Atlanta was effectively raised almost twenty feet. The first floor of every building was now underground--and second floors became the new ground floors. Then, as cars took over, and rail lines closed down, those old subterranean storefronts were forgotten. Thus was born underground Atlanta--and although modern business interests have turned parts of it into a mall, the real Atlanta underground belongs to Everlost.
The train rolled down the underground street in near darkness, but then the faint, pale blue glow of Afterlights began to fill the street around them. Afterlights were quite literally coming out of the woodwork--not dozens, but hundreds, and, like the buildings around them, these kids were from every era in history. Some held bricks, others metal pipes or bats--but one thing was clear--every single one of them was armed and prepared for a fight.
"Sticks and stones can't break my bones," said Johnnie-O, reciting the familiar Everlost rhyme.
"But names can always hurt me," finished Nick. True enough, because an Everlost name can define you, and not always for the better. "It's not the sticks and stones I'm worried about," Nick said. "It's that look in their eyes."
Nick could see the intensity of their stares. It was a look that spoke of first strikes against intruders. These kids had a communal instinct for self-preservation that left no room for compassion.
"If they want a fight, they'll get one," said Johnnie-O.
Charlie looked at him, worried, and Nick gripped Charlie's shoulder to ease his mind, leaving behind a brown handprint. Johnnie-O might think with his fists, but Nick knew better than to provoke a fight here. More and more kids flooded the street around them. Then, when it seemed that every Afterlight in Atlanta had come out of hiding, Nick said, "Stop the train."
Charlie turned to him, and Nick swore that his afterglow grew a little pale. "You're kidding, right?"
"Dead serious."
Charlie gripped the brake lever, but made no move to stop the train, for his fear would not allow it. "But look-- they're keeping out of our way. If we just keep moving, we'll make it through, doncha think?"
"Who says I want to make it through?"
Charlie shook his head, as if trying to shake off the thought. "You can't be thinking of giving them all coins! There's not enough in the world!"
But that wasn't true; the bucket was never empty. Still, it wouldn't be a good idea to start making kids disappear. The mob would get confused and frightened. The mob would attack. Nick, however, had another reason for making a pit stop here. "Trust me," Nick said, although he wasn't really sure he trusted himself. Still, Charlie sighed and pulled on the brake. The steam engine came to a wheezing, shuddering halt.
"Now what?" asked Johnnie-O.
Nick reached for the door. "I'll be right back."
Johnnie-O stepped in front of him. "I'm going with you."
"No ... . Your hands might scare them."
Johnnie-O smirked. "And your face won't?"
He had a point. "Okay," said Nick, "but you've got to lose that scowl. I want you to smile like an idiot. Can you do that?"
Johnnie-O took a deep breath and smiled like the best of idiots. He did it so well, it was scary. Probably scary enough for the kids outside to throw bricks. So Nick pulled Johnnie-O aside and whispered to him. "Actually, I'm more worried about Charlie panicking. It might be a good idea to keep an eye on him."
The grin left Johnnie-O's face, and he nodded, accepting this new security detail. "On second thought," he said loudly, "maybe I'll stay here and keep my buddy Charlie company."
Charlie seemed relieved to know he wasn't being left alone.
Nick opened the door and stepped down from the engine. Around him the Afterlights of Atlanta backed away, cautious and guarded. He didn't know whether they had heard of the so-called Chocolate Ogre, but even if they hadn't, seeing a face such as his gave him a psychological advantage. A kind of authority of the uncanny.
"Who's in charge here?" Nick asked them. No one answered right away.
"C'mon--a group this big has to have someone in charge."
There were murmurs in the crowd, and then someone spoke, Nick couldn't be sure who it was. "You mean in charge of us, or all Atlanta?"
Interesting, thought Nick. That meant that there was some sort of structure here. Maybe even a government.
"When I say in charge, I mean in charge," he answered.
The crowd murmured again, and once the murmurs had died down, Nick said, "I'll be waiting." Then he strode back to the train, and prepared for a meeting with the eminent ruler of Atlanta.
They kept Nick waiting in the parlor car for more than an hour. It could have been intentional, or it simply could have taken that long to retrieve the kid in charge. Nick gave them the benefit of the doubt. The kid who finally climbed into the parlor car was a tall and gangly African-American Afterlight, about sixteen or so. The torn, shabby clothes he wore made Nick wonder if perhaps he had been a slave when he was alive, and yet there was a confidence to his stride that bristled with powerful independence. Whatever this boy had been forced to endure in life, he had certainly risen above it here.
He looked Nick over and said, "What's wrong with your face?"
Apparently stories of the Chocolate Ogre had not reached Atlanta after all. He didn't know whether to be grateful or annoyed. Either way, he didn't feel like answering the question. "Please sit down," he said. "Let's talk."
