When I reached the bottom, my feet left tracks in the dusty floor. Fleeing out onto the runway seemed like an easy way to get myself arrested, considering the current state of airport security. However, hiding seemed risky as well.
That was a good metaphor for my life, actually. It seemed that no matter what I did, I ended up in even more danger than I’d been in before. One might have said that I constantly went ‘out of the frying pan and into the fire,’ which is a common Hushlands saying.
(Hushlanders, it might be noted, aren’t very imaginative with their idioms. Personally, I say, ‘Out of the frying pan and into the deadly pit filled with sharks who are wielding chainsaws with killer kittens stapled to them.’ However, that one’s having a rough time catching on.)
Fists began to bang on the door. I glanced at it, then made my decision. I’d try hiding.
I ran toward a small doorway on the floor of the hangar. It had slivers of light shining in around it, and I figured it led out onto the runway. I was careful to leave big, long footprints in the dust. Then – my false trail made – I hopped onto some boxes, moved across them, then jumped onto the ground.
The door shook as the men pounded. It wouldn’t hold for long. I skidded down next to the wheel of a 747 and whipped off my Courier’s Lenses. Then, I reached into my jacket. I had sewn a group of protective pockets onto the inside lining, and each one was cushioned with a special Free Kingdoms material to protect the Lenses.
I pulled out a pair of green-Lensed spectacles and shoved them on.
The door burst.
I ignored it, instead focusing on the floor of the hangar. Then, I activated the Lenses. Immediately, a quick gust of wind blew from my face. It moved across the floor, erasing some of the footprints. Windstormer’s lenses, a gift from Grandpa Smedry the week after our first Librarian infiltration.
By the time the Librarians got through the door, cursing and muttering, only the footprints I wanted them to see were still there. I huddled down beside my wheel, holding my breath and trying to still my thumping heart as I heard a fleet of soldiers and policemen pile down the steps.
That’s when I remembered my Firebringer’s Lens.
I peeked up over the top of the 747 wheel. The Librarians had fallen for my trick and were moving along the floor toward the door out of the hangar. They weren’t walking as quickly as I would have wanted, though, and several were glancing around with suspicious eyes.
I ducked back down before I could be spotted. My fingers felt the Firebringer’s Lens – I only had one left – and I hesitantly brought it out. It was completely clear, with a single red dot in the center.
When activated, it shot forth a super-hot burst of energy, something like a laser. I could turn it on the Librarians. They had, after all, tried to kill me on several different occasions. They deserved it.
I sat for a moment, then quietly tucked the Lens back in its pocket and instead put my Courier’s Lenses back on. If you’ve read the previous volume of the autobiography, you’ll realize that I had some very particular ideas about heroism. A hero wasn’t the type of person who turned a laser of pure energy upon the backs of a bunch of soldiers, particularly when that bunch included innocent security guards.
Sentiments like this one eventually got me into a lot of trouble. You probably remember how I’m going to end up; I mentioned it in the first book. I’ll eventually be tied to an altar made from outdated encyclopedias, with cultists from the Librarian Order of the Shattered Lens preparing to spill my Oculator’s blood in an unholy ceremony.
Heroism is what landed me there. Ironically, it also saved my life that day in the airport hangar. You see, if I hadn’t put on my Courier’s Lenses, I would have missed what happened next.
Alcatraz? a voice suddenly asked in my mind.
The voice nearly made me cry out in surprise.
Uh, Alcatraz? Hello? Is anyone listening?
The voice was fuzzy and indistinct, and it wasn’t the voice of my grandfather. However, it was coming from the Courier’s Lenses.
Oh bother! The voice said. Um. I’ve never been good with Courier’s Lenses.
It faded in and out, as if someone were speaking through a radio that wasn’t getting good reception. It wasn’t Grandpa Smedry, but at that moment, I was willing to take a chance on whoever it was.
‘I’m here!’ I whispered, activating the Lenses.
A blurry face fuzzed into existence in front of me, hovering like a hologram in the air. It belonged to a young girl with dark tan skin and black hair.
Hello? she asked. Is someone there? Can you talk louder or something?
‘Not really,’ I hissed, glancing out at the Librarians. Most of them had moved out the door, but a small group of men had apparently been assigned to search the hangar. Mostly security guards.
Um . . . okay, the voice said. Uh, who is this?
‘Who do you think it is?’ I asked in annoyance. ‘I’m Alcatraz. Who are you?’
Oh, I – the image, and voice, fuzzed for a moment – sent to pick you up. Sorry! Uh, where are you?
‘In a hangar,’ I said. One of the guards perked up, then pulled out a gun, pointing it in my direction. He’d heard me.
‘Shattering Glass!’ I hissed, ducking back down.
You really shouldn’t swear like that, you know . . ., the girl said.
’Thanks,’ I hissed as quietly as possible. ‘Who are you, and how are you going to get me out of this?’
There was a pause. A dreadful, terrible, long, annoying, frustrating, deadly, nerve-racking, incredibly wordy pause.
I . . . don’t really know, the girl said. I – wait just a second. Bastille says that you should run out somewhere in the open then signal us. It’s too foggy down there. We can’t really see much.
Down there? I thought. Still, if Bastille was with this girl, that seemed like a good sign. Although Bastille would probably chastise me for getting myself into so much trouble, she did have a habit of being very effective at what she did. Hopefully that would include rescuing me.
‘Hey!’ a voice said. I turned to the side staring out at one of the guards. ‘I found someone!’
Time to break some things, I thought, taking a deep breath. Then I sent a burst of breaking power into the wheel of the airplane.
I ducked away, leaping to my feet as lug nuts popped free from the airplane wheel. The guard raised his gun but didn’t fire.
‘Shoot him!’ said a man in a black suit, the Librarian who stood directing things from the side of the room.
‘I’m not shooting a kid,’ the guard said. ‘Where are these terrorists you were talking about?’
Good man, I thought as I dashed toward the front of the hangar. At that moment, the wheel of the airplane fell completely off, and the entire front of the vehicle crashed down against the pavement. Men cried out in surprise, and the security guards dived for cover.
The Librarian in black grabbed a handgun from one of the confused guards and pointed it at me. I just smiled.
The gun, of course, fell apart as soon as the Librarian pulled the trigger. My Talent protects me when it can – and the more moving parts a weapon has, the easier it is to break. I rammed my shoulder into the massive hangar doors and sent a shock of breaking power into them. Screws and nut and bolts fell like rain around me, hitting the ground. Several guards peeked out from behind boxes.
The entire front of the hangar came off, falling away from me and hitting the ground outside with a reverberating crash. I hesitated, shocked, even though that was exactly what I’d wanted to happen. Swirling fog began to creep into the hangar around me.
It seemed that my Talent was getting even more powerful. Before, I’d broken things like pots and dishes, with the very rare exception of something larger like the concrete I had broken when I was seven. That was nothing like what I’d been doing lately: taking the wheels off of airplanes and making entire hangar doors fall off. Not for the first time, I wondered just how much I could break if I really needed to.
And how much the Talent could break if it decided that it wanted to.
There wasn’t much time to contemplate that, as the Librarians outside had noticed the ruckus. They stood, black upon the noonday fog, looking back at me. Most of them had spread out to the sides, and so the only way for me to go was straight ahead.
I dashed out onto the wet tarmac, running for all I was worth. The Librarians began to yell, and several tried – completely ineffectively – to fire guns at me. They should have known better. In their defense, few people – even Librarians – are accustomed to dealing with a Smedry as powerful as I was. Against the others, they might have been able to get off a few shots before something went wrong. Firearms aren’t completely useless in the Free Kingdoms, they’re just much less powerful.
The shooting – or lack thereof – bought me just a few seconds of time. Unfortunately, there were a pair of Librarians in my path.
‘Get ready!’ I yelled into my Courier’s Lenses. Then I whipped them off and put on the Windstormer’s Lenses. I focused as hard as I could, blowing forth a burst of wind from my eyes. Both Librarians were knocked to the ground, and I leaped over them.
Other Librarians cried out from behind, chasing me as I moved out onto a runway. Puffing, I reached into a pocket and pulled free my Firebringer’s Lens. I spun and activated the Lens.
It started to glow. The group of Librarians pulled to a halt. They knew enough to recognize that Lens. I held it out, then pointed it up into the air. It shot a line of red firelight upward, piercing the fog.
That had better be enough of a signal, I thought. The Librarians gathered together, obviously preparing to rush at me. Lens or no Lens. I prepared my Windstormer’s Lenses, hoping I could use them to blow the Librarians back long enough for Bastille to save me.
The Librarians, however, did not charge. I stood, anxious, the Firebringer’s Lens still firing into the air. What were they waiting for?
The Librarians parted, and a dark figure – silhouetted in the muggy fog – moved through them. I couldn’t see much, but something about this figure was wrong. It was a head taller than the others, and one of its arms was several feet longer than the other. Its head was misshapen. Perhaps inhuman. Most definitely dangerous.
I shivered, taking an involuntary step backward. The dark figure raised its bony arm, as if pointing a gun.
I’ll be all right, I told myself. Guns are useless against me.
There was a crack in the air, then the Firebringer’s Lens exploded in my fingers, hit square on by the creature’s bullet. I yelled, pulling my hand down.
Shoot my lens rather than me. This one is more clever than the others.
The dark figure walked forward, and part of me wanted to wait to see just what it was that made this creature’s arm and head so misshapen. The rest of me was just plain horrified. The figure started to run, and that was enough. I did the smart thing (I’m capable of that on occasion) and dashed away as quickly as I could.
Instantly, I seemed to be pulled backward. The wind whistled in my ears oddly, and each step felt far more difficult than it should have. I began to sweat, and soon it was tough to even walk.