Wayfarers end, p.12
Wayfarer's End, page 12
“Um, hello,” I said, wiping my hands nervously on my pants. Come on, Cara. Say something intelligent.
“Hello.” His voice was cautious, but not unkind. “You and your friends can have my table in a few minutes. I’m almost done with my coffee.” He sipped his drink and nodded toward the door.
I turned. A noisy group of girls my age stood by the coat rack, laughing and pushing each other. The place was packed and there was nowhere for anyone to sit until someone left.
“Oh, I don’t have friends,” I blurted. “I mean, I’m not with them.” I stuffed my hands onto my lap and stared at him, at a loss for words. I looked at the book between us.
“Pride and Prejudice,” I said, reading the cover. Mrs. Smith made me read it, but I didn’t like it very much. I wasn’t the biggest fan of fiction. “Do you like it?”
“I’ve never read it,” he said with a sad smile. “It’s my sister’s favorite book.”
“Oh,” I said, glancing around. “Is she here?”
He breathed in deeply through his nose. “Maybe. I don’t know. She’s a missing person. Everyone thinks she drowned. Look, do I know you from somewhere?”
His eyes narrowed and my face flushed with embarrassment. This wasn’t going smoothly. Still, I was sure I was on the right track. “But, you don’t think she drowned, do you,” I said slowly, things clicking together in my head like a puzzle. “You’re looking for her.”
He shrugged. “My family thinks she’s dead.”
I bit my lip and leaned forward across the table, barely breathing. “But you don’t think that, do you?”
“No,” he said, running his hands over the book cover. “No, I don’t think she drowned. But, that doesn’t make it true. I’m probably crazy.”
He took a sip of coffee and pushed the paper cup roughly aside. “Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You can have my table now. Have a good night.”
He pushed his still-dripping hat onto his head and stood to go. Without thinking, I reached out to grab the stiff, leathery coat sleeve. “I was at the bookstore,” I said. “I heard you talking . . . you asked all those questions about, um, strange people.”
I stopped, not sure what to say to make him sit and talk to me. I released his coat and hugged my arms across my chest, horrified I’d actually grabbed a stranger.
He crinkled his brow and tilted his head, studying me. “Okay,” he said, slowly sinking back into his chair. “You heard me in the bookstore and then you followed me here. Why?”
I gulped, improvising fast. I couldn’t exactly tell him the truth. “I, um, heard some rumours at school that there have been a group of strange people living, um, underground in some tunnels. I wanted to investigate it. When I heard you at the bookstore, I thought you might know something.”
“Huh.” He grunted. His eyes held mine.
He knows, I thought. A person with any sense at all would know I’m a terrible liar.
“What is it that you heard?” His voice was quiet. I had to strain to hear it.
“Um, just that these strange-looking people, they had like, blue or grey skin, have been seen in the city at night sometimes. Sort of like, um, zombies, but not mean or gross or anything. Nobody knows if it’s a prank or what, but they’ve been seen all over the city.”
He didn’t answer. He stared at me, perfectly still, hardly breathing.
“I heard.” I paused, gulping hard and shifting uncomfortably in my chair. “I heard that they’re living in some sort of tunnels under the city. Maybe, like, in mine shafts?”
I stopped, hating how young and uncertain I sounded.
He cleared his throat loudly and looked back toward the door. “Ridiculous,” he said. “Stories to frighten children. Who would believe anything so silly?”
“It’s not silly,” I said. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be looking for your sister here. You must believe that it’s a little bit true.”
“Fine.” He looked down where he’d splayed his big hands against the table. “I’ve never been known for making logical choices. My sister’s boat went down six months ago off the coast here. Her body was never recovered. Four months ago, some girl wearing torn clothes and looking like death warmed over walked into a local hospital and said she was my sister. She even had my sister’s ID and everything. When they started asking questions, she freaked out and took off.”
“Well, did they find her again?” I was already guessing the answer.
“Nope, though the police did try. The thing was, she didn’t look very much like herself anymore. The general consensus was that it was some addict who stole her ID and tried to impersonate her to get drugs from the hospital.”
“But you don’t believe that?”
“No. I don’t believe that.” He shook his head. “The security camera footage was blurry, but they managed to get one clear photo of her face.”
He paused, brooding. “It was horrible. Her skin was a dark grey, almost blue. From her face to the base of her neck, the flesh was torn open. There wasn’t any blood, but flaps of shredded skin gaped open showing the muscle beneath. It looked like stage make up from a horror movie. Her clothes hung in tatters and her hair was matted and filthy. But—” He stopped, putting one hand over his eyes. “Despite all that, it was her. I would know her anywhere. I’m the only one. No one in my family recognized her . . . or wanted to recognize her.”
“Do you think she’s here, living in one of the tunnels under the city?”
His gaze grew cold. “Now, don’t get any ideas about mucking around in any tunnels. They’re dangerous, even for experienced people. You don’t want to fool around with things like that. Also, some of the people down there might not like strangers. There are lots of homeless people who live all over the city, storm drains are just one of the places they go to get out of the winter cold.”
“Really? Why do they live outside if there are shelters and things for them?”
He shrugged. “Not enough space to go around, probably. I have no idea. I don’t live here. I just came to look for Natalie. Hey,” he added. “Do your parents know you’re investigating this stuff? I don’t think they’d want you to do anything dangerous.”
“Um, yes,” I said, blushing again.
Oh no, Aunt Sandra. I left the hospital over an hour ago. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, wincing when I saw my screen full of frantic texts. I was in so much trouble. I sent her a quick reply and pushed to my feet.
“Look, I’ve got to go. But I’m going to do more investigating. Maybe I can help you find Natalie.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You should stay safe at home. This is not for kids. I don’t even know if she’s really out there. I might be delusional, you know. That’s what my therapist says.”
“Whatever,” I said, turning to leave. “I know all about therapists. So, how can I reach you if I find anything?”
After a tense pause, he sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a battered leather wallet. “Here,” he handed me a slip of paper.
I glanced down at the rumpled brown card. It had Bob Porlor, Editor stamped across the card. Beneath it was a phone number.
“Promise me you’ll tell your parents what you’re doing,” he said. “And that you’ll stay safe. There are lots of weirdos out there.”
“Oh, believe me, I know.”
I turned on my heel and wove through the crowded tables to the door. I had to hurry. Guilt made me break into a run as soon as my feet hit the sidewalk. My aunt would be so upset when I got back. I’d have a lot of explaining to do.
Chapter Fifteen
House Arrest
I was on house arrest for two whole days, not allowed to leave the property or visit Henry at all.
My aunt was upset to the point of tears when I’d finally arrived back at the hospital. It seemed like a bad idea to argue with her while she yelled. I seethed silently in the back seat of the car, thinking she was being pretty dramatic. I’d only been gone for an hour, after all. I didn’t tell her the whole story about where I’d been or about meeting Bob. I mentioned everything up to finding the bookstore and said I’d lost track of time. I wasn’t ready to explain I’d had coffee with a potentially crazy stranger.
Watching her cry was awful and I could see, what with everything happening with Leo and the Nzumbe, how she would assume I’d been kidnapped or killed. I felt horrible that she was so upset but part of me thought she was overreacting. It was just a mistake; I hadn’t hurt her on purpose or anything.
My aunt shook so badly, she couldn’t drive. Uncle Pete drove us home and lectured me the whole way about being responsible. He’d been sleeping at the hospital all week, taking turns with Dr. Marlin to watch over Henry, but after my “incident,” he decided to spend the night at home.
I didn’t really like the idea of Henry being left alone with just the doctor to watch him. I had the feeling Dr. Marlin didn’t really care about Henry except as an interesting patient. Still, I missed my uncle and was glad he was home; even if he was mad at me for being, in his words, reckless and selfish.
I didn’t tell anyone about Bob or his sister maybe being a Nzumbe. It sounded true when I sat across the table from him, but in the light of day, I wasn’t so sure. I would at least have to tell Louisa at some point, when she stopped being mad at me.
I spent the morning hanging out in the barn with the horses. Ramsay was so much better. He nearly looked like his old self again. He hadn’t stopped eating hay since he got home and looked a little less skeleton-like. The old sparkle was in his eyes, too.
Our Wi-Fi actually reached as far as the barn. I dragged my laptop out there and parked on a stack of hay bales across from Ramsay’s stall. I brought a blanket and a thermos of hot chocolate so I could stay all day, if needed. Rosie plunked herself at my feet and sighed deeply, resting her head on my boot.
I wrapped the blanket snugly around my shoulders and flipped through my Mining and Mayhem book, looking at old, faded pictures and finding familiar streets.
“Look, Ramsay,” I said, pointing to the book. “They used horses and donkeys down in those dark, nasty mines, too. You’re lucky you weren’t born back then.”
He looked at me with his large, intelligent eyes and snorted contentedly into his hay. He sure had a better life than the tired-looking horse in the picture.
I stopped when I came across a grainy black and white photo. A grim group—women, children, and dogs—stood pale-faced and tense next to piles of twisted debris.
The caption underneath it read: Families pray for survivors in the wake of the worst mining disaster in BC history.
I scrolled down to read the text. On May 3rd, 1887 an explosion in the No.1 Esplanade pit killed one-hundred and fifty miners. Despite heroic rescue efforts, only seven men survived. The mine was an inferno for more than a day. The disaster left over one hundred children orphaned. While initially the blame was put on improperly laid explosives, it is now believed the mine was too big for their primitive ventilation systems. In the quest for more profit, the pit became a warren of tunnels crisscrossing in all directions from deep beneath the earth to far out under the ocean. It was only a matter of time until disaster struck.
I shivered and snuggled deeper into the blanket, thinking of all those miners trapped in dark pits under the ocean when the coal gas exploded. Louisa was right, exploring old mining tunnels was not something I wanted to do. But it did prove what I’d already guessed—there were hundreds of old underground passageways under the city. My dream Nzumbe, if they existed, could be absolutely anywhere.
Rosie whined, sensing my anxiety.
“It’s okay, girl,” I said, scratching her behind the ears. “I’m not upset. I’m just thinking.”
I set the book down and pulled my laptop onto my lap. I know there are pits everywhere, but most of them are dangerous, have already collapsed, or flooded. Leo wouldn’t have risked putting his precious experiments somewhere they could easily be destroyed. He must have found somewhere more stable. Plus, the tunnel in my dream looked new and had lights and everything. What else is underground? Sewers, maybe?
I typed in the search, map of sewers of Nanaimo, but came up with a bunch of jumbled maps full of squiggly lines I couldn’t understand. After a few more tries, I gave up with a sigh. Maybe I would have to ask Mrs. Smith for help with this one. She’d be thrilled if I told her I wanted to do a project on maps.
I sent her a quick email explaining what I needed. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, thinking about Bob’s sister, Natalie. Was she out there hiding somewhere in the shadows, too afraid to ask for help? Why didn’t she come to the Wayfarer like Petra? Why hadn’t Louisa sensed she was in the city?
It was easy to find information about her boat going down. It happened less than a year ago.
A tragic accident claimed the lives of a couple vacationing on their yacht just off of Gabriola Island. Investigators are still determining what caused their boat to go down in last night’s wind storm. The body of Kennedy Mclean was recovered this morning. The search for his wife, Natalie Mclean, is ongoing.
I pulled up a map, tracing my finger down the coastline until I found exactly where their boat went down and ran my finger across the water until I hit Vancouver Island. It was a straight line to Nanaimo. Could Natalie have made it all that way to shore? Could Nzumbe even swim?
I sighed and leaned against a hay bale, lost in thought. There were too many mysteries to solve, and they were jumbled in my head. I needed to focus on them one at a time until everything made sense.
Ramsay nickered and banged his hoof against the stall door, letting me know he was out of hay. I looked over with a smile and rubbed my tired eyes.
“Do you need a snack, big guy? Are you mad because I’m not paying any attention to you?” I laughed when he bobbed his head eagerly. Mysteries could wait. I had a horse to brush.
Chapter Sixteen
Old Bones Rise
I spent the next couple days being as nice and helpful as I could to make up for scaring everyone, but all the while I plotted my next step. If anyone noticed I was extra quiet and withdrawn, they didn’t say anything. They probably thought I was worried about Henry or feeling guilty for scaring my aunt and uncle.
I did feel guilty, but mostly I was preoccupied, going through my list of possibilities. My trip to the graveyard to visit my dad pretty much convinced me he was not alive and not a Nzumbe. I could cross him off my list. That still left the Horse Trader. He’d played a big part in my dreams. I needed to make sure he was really, truly, for-sure dead. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder wondering if he would leap out and kill me. I already had one psychopath, Leo, to worry about. I didn’t need two. I had to be proactive to survive.
My aunt said I could not leave home for two days and I took care not to disobey her again. I went to bed extra early and set my alarm. At midnight, exactly two days after my grounding, I would wake and roll from bed fully dressed. Then I’d put my plan into action.
I was too excited to sleep right away. I pottered around my room, finishing school work and organizing the books on my shelf. I ran my fingers down the crack in the wall left behind by the earthquake, thinking again about my dream.
My laptop pinged, telling me I had mail. I sat at my desk to check my inbox. Hardly anyone sent me messages. It had to be from Mrs. Smith.
Oh, wow. She’s actually done it. This is amazing!
Here you are, Cara. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.
Attached to her message, she’d sent a full-colour map of the city. At first, it looked like a regular street map, but on closer inspection, it was crisscrossed by a network of red and blue lines. On top was the title: City Sewers and Storm Drains.
I hit print, dancing impatiently while the page inched its way out. I grabbed it before it hit the floor and took it over to my bed. My Mining and Mayhem book was open to the map of old mine tunnels. I put the two side by side and sat cross-legged to study.
The maps weren’t quite the same. There were many more roads on the newer map, of course—the city changed a lot in the last hundred years. But the core was much the same. I glanced between the two until my vision blurred and I stifled a yawn.
Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a few minutes. I plumped my pillow and curled up on top of the covers. I yawned again, blinking a few times until my eyelids drifted shut.
“Hello, Cara,” a soft voice said.
I opened my eyes and sat upright, hands balled into fists.
“Did you find what you’ve been looking for?”
“You,” I said, glaring at the little girl who sat propped up on my desk like a doll. “Why do you have to sneak up on me like that?”
“Oh, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry. She shrugged and swung her feet, humming tunelessly. “You’re making sure the dead stay buried?”
“What does that even mean,” I demanded. “Why can’t you help without sounding so cryptic?”
“What would be the fun in that,” she asked. “Can you feel them nearby, Cara? They’re running out of time. They need your help.”
“Who,” I cried as she faded. “The Nzumbe? Are they out there somewhere?”
“Just hurry,” she said. “Don’t forget to make sure the dead stay buried.” She smiled and was gone.
I woke with a groan, a headache throbbing behind my temples. I looked at the alarm clock. It was quarter to midnight. I’d slept for hours, not just a few minutes. What on earth did the dream mean? Was I supposed to find the Nzumbe and help them or make sure they never made it out of their hidden tunnel? I didn’t understand.
“Meow meow.” Jasmine pushed open my bedroom door. She trotted over to the bed and sprung up, butting me with her head.
“Hey, kitty,” I said, scratching her chin. “I guess it’s time. Wish me luck out there.”
I rolled over and shut off my alarm, shoving my cell phone into my pocket. I stuffed clothes from my hamper under the covers to look like my sleeping body. Jasmine purred and climbed on the pile, kneading her paws to prepare her bed.
