Mystics #2: The Alpha Nation Read online

  Screams erupted throughout the chamber. The floor trembled like an earthquake had hit the Hive. The hair on the back of Zoey’s neck rose. They rushed back to the center of the chamber. Agents and mystics were screaming frantically as they pointed at the mirror-ports.

  “Why are they all freaking out?” shouted Simon over the hysterical frenzy. “It’s making me freak out!”

  And then Zoey saw what the fuss was about.

  Every single mirror-port mirror was turning black. What looked like ink blots were spreading over all the mirrored surfaces. Zoey watched in horror as every single mirror was covered by the black substance. And then a black liquid like oil spilled out of the mirrors and onto the floor, as though they were vomiting their innards.

  Zoey approached a middle-aged man who was standing nearby.

  “What just happened? Why did the mirrors turn black like that? What is that black stuff?”

  The man spoke without looking at her. He watched the mirrors with a look of utter distress and shock.

  “I—I don’t know. This has never happened before…”

  “So…what does this mean?” urged Zoey.

  The man turned to her and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “This is an attack! The mirrors have been destroyed!”

  Chapter 6

  The Black Oil

  Zoey felt warmth inside her pocket. She pulled out her DSM and could see right away that the same black oil oozed from its corners. She flipped it open—the mirrors had been eaten away by the black oil. She felt wetness on her fingers and saw that they were tainted with the stuff, so she brought her fingers to her nose and sniffed.

  “Gross, it smells like a mixture of alcohol and pig manure,” she grimaced, and wiped the oil from her hands on her jeans.

  “What I’d like to know,” said Simon as he held his DSM with two fingers and eyed it suspiciously, “is how you know what pig manure smells like.”

  “Whatever it is, we can all agree that it’s seriously disgusting,” said Tristan. He tipped his DSM to the side and watched the black oil drip to the floor.

  “Never seen anything like it before—”

  “This is just great! We’re stuck!” Simon dropped his DSM into the puddle of black oil around his feet.

  Zoey looked at him and frowned.

  Simon let his arms fall to his sides. “The mirror-port matter transfer is ruined. We can’t use the mirror-port’s energy pattern to mirror us back to the Hive. We’re stuck here! We’ll be in serious trouble if we don’t get back soon.”

  “He’s right,” said Tristan, wiping the oil from his hands on his jeans but not doing a very good job of it. “We’re totally screwed.”

  Zoey turned her attention back to the mirror-ports and saw the horror on the faces of the agents.

  “…Who could do such a thing?” asked a woman with tears in her eyes.

  “…It’ll take months to repair, if we can repair them at all,” said a defeated looking man with a black hat.

  “How will we manage now without proper transport?” cried another woman. “We’ve never been without the use of our mirrors.”

  Zoey glowered. Who would do something like this to this Hive? Who would benefit from destroying the mirrors? And the answer came swiftly—Mrs. Dupont.

  “Do you guys think all the mirrors are destroyed?” said Zoey, feeling more and more sure that Mrs. Dupont was behind this act of sabotage. “Even the ones from our Hive?”

  “Yes,” said a man’s voice. “All of them.”

  Zoey turned around. A businessman with a pinstriped navy suit, white tie and perfectly trimmed brown hair stood behind them. He measured them curiously and then said, “This black oil has affected every single mirror-port in our world. From what we’ve gathered so far, the oil acts like a viral infection and consumes the mirrors—killing them. We don’t know how it happened but it appears deliberate. Someone poisoned the mirrors.”

  “I can think of someone who would do this,” began Simon, but he shut his mouth when he saw the cross expression on Zoey’s face.

  The man stared coldly at them.

  “He’s just kidding,” interrupted Tristan. “Aren’t you, Simon?”

  He nudged him in the ribs.

  “Oh, right,” stammered Simon, his face turning scarlet, “I’m just a dumb teenager. I like to pretend I know stuff when I actually don’t.”

  The man studied them for a moment, his piercing eyes like X-ray vision. “I don’t recognize you Operatives from this Hive,” he said, eyeing them suspiciously, “Which Hive are you kids from?”

  There was an awkward silence, then Zoey blurted out, “We’re from the Hive in New Jersey.” She prayed he couldn’t see through her lie, glad her voice was steady.

  The man raised his eyebrows, and Zoey felt her stomach drop. “Well,” he said after a long pause, “let me give them a call and arrange for your safe return. It seems this black oil has not only affected our mirrors; it has also affected our borders. Sevenths children are not safe. You’re all targets now. Wait here.”

  He walked away, leaving them staring after him.

  Tristan lowered his voice. “I’ll give him five minutes before he realizes that we’re not from the New Jersey Hive.”

  Simon was pulling his scarf nervously. “We’ll be expelled if they find out we sneaked out without permission!”

  Something was nagging Zoey. “Guys, what did that man mean by the borders are affected? What borders is he talking about?”

  Simon looked over his shoulder then lowered his voice again. “The Hive borders. It’s like an energy field that protects the Hives. It makes them invisible to hostile mystics, like the ones that crossed over with the help from that crazy woman. If the borders are gone, then the Hive’s vulnerable to enemy attacks.”

  “Without the borders as added protection,” added Tristan, “the hostiles will be able find the Hives.”

  He stopped, alarmed. “They’re going to attack us.”

  Anger boiled inside Zoey. “Mrs. Dupont did this. I know she did.”

  “Maybe,” said Tristan, “and maybe not. But right now we need to get out of here.”

  Zoey felt her stomach churn. It was her fault they were stuck here. “There’s got to be another way to get back to our Hive. Do you guys have any money on you? We could maybe take the bus back. I doubt we can afford a plane ride.”

  Tristan shook his head. “A bus ride back will take at least seven hours. And the last time I checked, we needed passports to cross the border into Canada. Sevenths don’t have passports. We never needed them before.”

  “Right,” said Zoey. “Forgot about that.”

  “I know of another way,” said Simon, brightly. “A much faster way.”

  Zoey glanced behind them and spotted the man in the suit. He was coming their way fast. He looked like he was about to scold them. “Well, you’d better say it fast—the dude’s coming back, and he looks angry.”

  “Mystic cab.”

  Zoey stared at him. “Mystic cab? There are mystic taxis?” She looked at Tristan, who shrugged.

  “Never heard of them.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” said Simon looking very pleased with himself. “Told you I’m the one with the brains here. It’s an emergency service for the agent in need. I heard my parents talk about it last year…and you know me, I always keep my ears open for opportunities.”

  “You know how much a taxi is going to cost to drive us all the way back?” said Zoey.

  Simon smiled. “Trust me, we don’t need any money. But we need to be outside to hail one.”

  “Uh—guys,” said Tristan, motioning behind him.

  “YOU THREE! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!” shouted the man in the suit. His face was sweaty and red.

  Zoey looked around for an exit and spotted elevator doors at the other end of the chamber.

  “There! The elevators! Hurry!”

  They sprinted towards the elevators like wild horses.

  “STOP THEM!” the man in t
he suit cried, waving his arms in the air frantically.

  The agents and mystics in the chambers looked away from the mirrors and saw the running children. They joined the chase.

  But Zoey and the others were faster. They clambered into the elevator, and Tristan smacked his hand on the lobby button just as a wave of agents was upon them. With a ding, the doors slid shut.

  “Thanks for the tour!” laughed Simon.

  After a short ride, the elevator doors slid open, and they raced towards the exit, pushed open the tall glass doors, and scrambled into the street.

  Zoey gasped as she looked around. They were surrounded on either side by the tallest buildings she’d ever seen, taller even than the ones in downtown Toronto. They soared into the air and their tips disappeared into the blue sky above them. City cars rushed by, honking impatiently. A few messenger bikes zigzagged their way through and around the moving cars. The air was a mix of roasted nuts and exhaust. Crowds of people rushed by them, ignoring them completely, just like in any big city. An icy wind caught Zoey’s jacket, and she quickly zipped it up.

  “We can’t stay here like sitting ducks,” said Tristan, glancing inside the building. “They’ll never find us if we blend in with the rest of the Mutes.”

  “Great idea, Hulk.” Simon looked around. “I need a secluded spot to hail our ride, so any place where nobody can see us.”

  “Come on, let’s go down this street and see where it leads.” Tristan led the way, and just as Zoey stepped in to follow, a shape appeared in the corner of her eye.

  Zoey froze.

  A nine-foot tall creature stood in the middle of the sidewalk. It had milky white eyes, a black hole for a mouth, and rough sand-colored skin. Its limbs were unusually long, almost like a primate. But the strangest part was the skin. Sand rippled down its body like water. It wore no clothes except for a long cloak, also made of sand. It carried a staff, and stared at Zoey with milky eyes.

  She looked around. The people didn’t see it. They walked past it without even a glance.

  Then, out of the mass of humanity, five more of the creatures emerged and lined up, facing them.

  “Zoey, what is it?” began Tristan as he turned around. He stopped when he saw them.

  Zoey looked at Tristan. “What are they?” she asked.

  “Sand people,” said Simon. He stepped in between them. “I guess that’s what the agent meant when he said that we were targets now. This is very bad.”

  Zoey had never heard of Sand people. By the looks of them she was certain they weren’t friendly. Goose bumps rose on her skin. “What do they want?”

  As if the Sand people had heard her, the one with the staff raised a long gangly finger and pointed to them.

  “Us.” Simon swallowed hard. “For banishing them to the Nexus. If they catch you, your soul dies, and you become a Sand creature, too. I heard that they broke into a Hive once and killed—turned everyone there into Sand creatures. Maybe these guys are former agents.”

  Zoey kept her eyes on the creatures, her stomach twisting. “I didn’t bring my boomerang with me. You guys have weapons on you?”

  Tristan and Simon both shook their heads.

  Zoey’s heart hammered in her chest. “So what do we do—?”

  All at once the Sand people opened their mouths with a crack of thunder, their jaws elongated until they reached the middle of their abdomens, and sand spewed from their mouths like a jet of water from a fire hose.

  “RUN!”

  They tore down the street, crashing and tripping over Mutes as they went. Zoey’s boots were heavy and not for running. Her thighs burned as she ran behind Tristan, who was two steps ahead of her. She could hear Simon’s heavy breathing behind her. Together they jumped over a bench, zigzagged through a crowd of Japanese tourists, and kept running.

  A tall green and white sign read, 34th Street West. They ran through the streets of downtown Manhattan. The cold air burned Zoey’s lungs. She chanced a look behind her—

  The six Sand people ran behind them so fast that their movements were blurred. One second they were in one spot, and in the blink of an eye they had moved yards from their original spot, leaving puffs of sand where they had been seconds before. As Zoey realized that they could never outrun them, she slowed down inadvertently.

  A Sand person shot a mass of sand towards her. But just as the sand crystals grazed her cheeks, a strong hand pulled her out of the way.

  “DON’T STOP!” yelled Tristan, as he pushed her in front of him.

  Her cheek seared in pain, but Zoey strained on. She tried not to think about what would have happened to the rest of her if Tristan hadn’t pulled her out of the way in time. These weren’t like any mystics she’d ever seen—these were the ones that had been condemned to stay in the Nexus forever.

  “My legs are not built for sprinting long distances! We need to lose them!” screeched Simon as he ran beside them.

  “How do we lose them?” gasped Zoey, careful not to spit out a lung.

  “I don’t know! I can’t think of everything!” screeched Simon.

  “Stop talking and keep running,” urged Tristan.

  Simon’s face was turning a nasty shade of purple, and Zoey knew that she couldn’t run much longer either. They needed to lose them fast.

  A blast of sand just missed Zoey and hit a man to her left. It enveloped him like liquid mud. The man opened his mouth in a soundless scream, and the sand entered his body through his mouth, eyes, and ears. He started to shake. His skin broke out in sores, and then he exploded into a cloud of sand. Moments later he had become another Sand person.

  Zoey was almost sick. This could have happened to her.

  “Don’t look! Keep running!” pressed Tristan as he dragged Zoey and Simon onward. “This way! Come on!”

  They followed Tristan as he skillfully dodged past the people, cars, and buses, and finally veered into a side street. Apart from three rats the size of large house cats feasting on last week’s garbage, it looked deserted.

  Zoey looked behind her towards the main street. “I think we’ve lost them.”

  “No, we haven’t,” said Tristan, following her gaze. “But we’ve got a little time before they find us…so you’d better do whatever planning to do now, Simon.”

  “Right,” said Simon. He searched his pocket and pulled out a small green business card with an inscription on it that Zoey couldn’t read. “Get ready. This is going to be amazing.”

  Zoey glanced up the street. “Hurry up, Simon!” She shivered at the thought of those milky white eyes.

  “Here goes nothing.” Simon arched his back, lifted his right leg up, and threw the card into the air like a baseball pitch. The card flew two feet and then spiraled down onto the ground.

  Tristan glared at Simon. “What the heck was that? This is your plan? We’re all going to get toasted by the Sand creatures any minute now.”

  Zoey stared at Simon, perplexed. “What were you expecting by throwing that little itty bitty card in the air?”

  Simon scratched his head. “That’s what I heard them say - you just have to throw the card in the air.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe we have to wait a little—”

  “We don’t have time to wait!” Tristan gritted his teeth. “This is a stupid plan. We should go back to the Hive and take our chances.”

  “Who’re you calling stupid, muscle-head?” spat Simon. The tips of his ears turned red. “I didn’t see you give any ideas. It’s called thinking. You should try it sometime.”

  “Shut up! Both of you.” Zoey stood between them. “This isn’t exactly helping us—”

  A giant gust of wind pushed her sideways, and she had to steady herself. For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a loud bang, and a cloud of green smoke appeared above them in the alleyway. The cloud floated down to the asphalt, and a circular craft emerged from the green smoke.

  It was smoky green, and looked like a cross between an old 1950s Ford Sedan and a flying sauce
r, except that it was woven out of the smoke, and it looked like you could walk right through it. A yellow light above the hood flashed with the words: A-LEE-AN Taxi Express.

  The words printed on the door read, UFO service, for the Agent in need, and 1-800-UFO. The passenger window rolled down, and a grayish humanoid with oversized yellow eyes, two slits for nostrils, and a tiny mouth stuck its head out. It was wearing a black T-shirt with a large green alien head on it. The words Abductions happen! were written in green across its chest.

  “Where to, little agents?” said the alien in a Brooklyn accent.

  Zoey looked at Simon, flabbergasted. “It’s an alien,” she whispered. “A real one.”

  Simon beamed and walked over to the chauffeur.

  “To the Hive in Toronto, please,” Simon said, “and make it fast. There are Sand people after us.”

  “Right away, little man. Hop in,” said the alien. He leaned forward, pressed a dial with his long bony fingers, and the back passenger doors flipped open.

  “That’s an alien—a real alien.” Zoey had frozen on the spot.

  The alien fixed his yellow eyes on her. “I’m an Aleean, spelled with a double ‘ee’, not alien, little lady,” said the cab driver, a little annoyed. “The term ‘alien’ is used to describe the illegals—I’m perfectly legal—got my papers and everything. I’m as right as rain.”

  Zoey shook her head.

  “No, I’m sorry, I meant…” she thought about how to phrase this better, “…you know, the little green men from Mars? Aliens?”

  The mystic stared at her. “I’m a mystic, not an alien,” he repeated, clearly offended.

  Simon grabbed Zoey and pulled her towards him. “What are you doing?” he whispered, “This is our only chance to get out of here. Stop insulting the man. Everyone knows aliens are mystics. Now climb in.”

  Zoey must have missed the memo about aliens.

  The Aleean smiled and said, “The name’s Kirk—you can call me Captain Kirk.”

  Simon stifled a laugh and scrambled into the back seat with Tristan.