Director's Cut Page 2

  “Got it,” I said. “Well, I don’t know about him, but if I had to use a creepy tunnel like this to meet up with my lady friend, it would kinda kill the mood.”

  Suddenly a wall looms up in front of us. But there’s a doorway cut into the wall. Wait, not a doorway.

  “A staircase,” breathes Gabby.

  That’s an exaggeration. It’s more like a wheelchair ramp with a few token ridges cut into it. But at the top, there’s a wooden trapdoor that I push open.

  Above us, there’s another shriek.

  “Destiny?” I yelp.

  I stick my head up through the opening and see several things at once. Four wooden walls. Some smallish metal cylinders stacked on the wooden floor.

  And Destiny, staring down at me, a hand over her mouth. “Oh, hey, Alex. Scared me.”

  “We scared you?” I launch myself into the room. It seems to be some kind of shed. Mostly empty, with plenty of room for the four of us. “Why didn’t you answer when we were yelling for you?”

  She looks surprised. “I didn’t hear any yelling.”

  Gabby and Ahmed climb up behind me.

  “I tried calling you!” Gabby snaps at her.

  “You did?” Destiny pulls out her phone to check. “It didn’t buzz . . . You tried to call me eight times?”

  “We heard you scream,” says Ahmed. “We thought you were hurt.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Destiny shrugs. “I fell through the floor in one of the other buildings. But I guess you figured that out. Isn’t the tunnel cool?”

  “So you’re okay,” I say. I’m almost more irritated than relieved.

  “Yeah,” she chirps.

  I shove her bracelet at her. “Here. You dropped this.”

  “Oh, thanks! My dad gave that to me. Can’t believe I let it fall off.” As she takes it, she gives me a weird look. Probably because I’m glaring at her. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing. Just that you disappeared.”

  “Well, I’m fine. No harm done, right?”

  I can’t argue with that. She wasn’t playing some kind of trick on us, worrying us on purpose. I don’t have a good excuse to be annoyed at her. I just don’t like losing track of people.

  She’s already moved on. “Check this out.” She picks up one of the metal cylinders. “Gabby, aren’t these, like, old-school film reels?” She splits the cylinder in half, and I realize it’s actually a container. Now that she’s lifted the lid, we can see what’s inside.

  “Looks like a mini tire,” I say, looking at the wheel-shaped metal object nestled in the case.

  “Well, it’s not,” says Gabby dryly. Then her tone shifts gears, lifting with excitement. “You’re right, Destiny. It’s a film reel. Thirty-five-millimeter, I bet.” She gently lifts it out of the case. I catch a glimpse of a dark, translucent ribbon wrapped around the reel’s edge.

  “Is that the actual film?” I ask, pointing. I like knowing how stuff works, how different parts fit together. That’s how I got good with computers.

  Gabby sighs. I can tell she doesn’t consider me a budding film guru. “Yes, Alex. It’s called a print.” She carefully turns the reel over in her hands. Destiny starts looking through the other stacks. I join her. Some of the reels have labels. I read them even though they don’t make much sense.

  Hard Trail, Morrison promo.

  Bride of the West, Trailer.

  Willis screen test.

  MWTSS.

  BOTW, Morrison interview . . .

  The alarm on Ahmed’s phone goes off.

  “Is it five already?” asks Gabby.

  “Almost,” says Ahmed.

  “Oh, sorry, man,” I say. “We’d better get going.”

  Gabby and Destiny package up the reel again and put it back with the stack.

  When we step out of the shed, I realize we’re at the far edge of Sanford’s Folly. This wooden shed sits by itself on the outskirts of the town. We’re at least fifty yards away from the white building, the mission. I glance in the opposite direction, away from the town. Nothing but more sand, a few scraggly cacti, and the surrounding metal fence.

  I take another look at the shed. Up until now, we haven’t seen any intact wooden buildings here. But this one—it looks like the fire never even winked at it. Huh.

  “Earth to Alex,” says Gabby. “Ahmed’s not the only one who has stuff to do tonight. Can we pick up the pace?”

  We’re skirting around the mission and stepping back onto Main Street when we see the coyote.

  It’s standing in the middle of the street, facing us. Blocking our path.

  We all freeze. “Just back up slowly,” whispers Destiny. “They don’t usually attack people.”

  “Unless they’re rabid,” mutters Ahmed.

  I had no idea either of them knew anything about coyotes. But hey, I’m not complaining.

  “It doesn’t look rabid,” I say.

  That’s when it charges at us.

  “New plan,” says Destiny. “Run.”

  Chapter 4

  We veer to the right and duck over to the next street. As we sprint up that street, I gasp, “How’d it even get in here?”

  “Must be a hole in the fence somewhere,” Ahmed pants.

  The coyote dashes out in front of us—closer now. And it’s not alone this time. Two more—three more?—come barreling onto the street from both sides.

  “Split up!” shouts Ahmed.

  This time I don’t argue with that idea.

  Ahmed turns around and doubles back. Gabby goes right. Destiny and I go left. Back to Main Street.

  I can hear the coyotes growling as they chase us.

  Destiny dashes straight across Main Street and keeps going, disappearing onto another side street. I head straight up the main drag. Well, not quite straight. I do the snake run, weaving back and forth in a sharp zigzag. Which might be the only reason I don’t get tackled by a coyote. Because I can hear one right behind me, jaws snapping. Not quite catching anything in its teeth. Yet.

  But it’s going to catch me any second now. I’m a sprinter on the track team, but I’m not exactly an Olympic prospect. These animals can outrun deer. And then they, you know, disembowel said deer.

  And now there’s another one in front of me. I don’t have time to figure out where it came from. I just know that I’m about three feet away from a mauling.

  Attack by rabid coyote is not on my list of Top Ten Ways I’m Willing to Die.

  I swerve to the side, through the empty doorway of a roofless stone building. The walls are about eight feet high. But the empty window frames are set pretty low. Low enough for me to hoist myself up onto a window ledge.

  From there I easily boost myself onto the top of the wall. A coyote leaps up right behind me and nips the heel of my shoe just before I scramble all the way up. That’s as high as it can jump, though. The two coyotes take turns lunging at me. They both fall about a foot short.

  But my balance on top of this wall is iffy. The stone blocks are just slightly wider than one of my feet. I’m crouched down, gripping the wall with my hands to stay in place. I’m about to jump down to the other side of the wall when I see the third coyote waiting there. “How many of you are there?” Then I look around for another exit.

  The building right next to this one is also made of stone. Also with no roof. But much taller. Or at least some of it is. Looks like it used to be two stories. The wall facing me has partly collapsed. It’s maybe five feet higher than the top of my wall. Eye level with me, if I were standing up straight.

  I try to guess the distance between the two buildings. Probably not more than eight feet. Definitely not more than ten. I hope.

  Because if this doesn’t work, I’m dead. Or at least badly tooth-marked.

  I turn my body as best I can. And leap.

  Half a second later, I open my eyes. My arms are hooked over the top of the other building’s wall. The rest of my body flops below me. Success. Sort of. Now I’m fifteen-ish feet off the
ground. Still in the crosshairs of at least one coyote. With even less of an exit strategy than before.

  And now the stone wall I’m clinging to is starting to vibrate.

  Just little tremors at first. I’m not sure if it’s just my own shaking, the pounding of my own heart. But now I feel the shaking get stronger. Shudders running through the stone itself.

  This wall’s about to come down.

  It seems to happen in slow motion. The wall tips sideways, toward what used to be the inside of the building. I can’t tell if it’s tipping over as a complete package, like a Lego tower, or if different sections of it are buckling and breaking up into separate chunks of stone. All I’m sure of is that I’m about to hit the ground. Ground that’s already strewn with rubble.

  Maybe death by coyote wasn’t my worst option after all.

  Chapter 5

  I seem to be alive. I’m choking on dust and my whole body hurts. But I’m already stumbling to my feet and breaking into a run.

  I’m running blindly. I think I’m out on Main Street again. Yeah, there’s the fence up ahead. Are the coyotes still chasing me? I can’t tell. I don’t hear them. Maybe the wall’s collapse scared them off.

  Maybe I’ve gone deaf.

  No, I can hear Destiny shouting up ahead.

  I’m at the fence. Finally. I climb. My legs ache. My shoulders burn. But I climb. Up, over, and down.

  I collapse in the sand and gulp big breaths. Safe.

  After a few seconds I raise my head and look around. No sign of the coyotes on the other side of the fence. It’s almost like they vanished into thin air.

  Gabby’s bent over, hands on her knees, breathing hard. Ahmed is kneeling next to Destiny, who sits cradling her left arm.

  “You guys okay?” I wheeze.

  Destiny winces. “I fell on the way down the fence.”

  Destiny fell? Destiny, the best climber of the four of us?

  “Is your arm . . .?”

  “I can’t tell. Hurts a lot.”

  I flash back to three years ago, when Ryan Daniels fell off my roof while we were playing extreme Ultimate Frisbee. Broke his ankle. I promised my mom I’d never try something that stupid again.

  “Will you be able to ride your bike?”

  She manages to snort. “Of course. You think only guys can do those no-hands stunts?”

  I laugh shakily. Ahmed goes to my bike, grabs my water bottle out of the holder at the back, and brings it to me. “Thanks,” I say. I take a long swig, then look back at the fence. “How many coyotes do you think there were?”

  “Too many,” Destiny pants. “Coyotes hardly ever travel in packs. Pairs at the most. And they hardly ever attack humans. I did a whole report on them last spring. What happened back there was not normal.”

  “Don’t start with the stupid curse stuff,” Gabby snaps.

  “Do you have another explanation?” Destiny fires back. “They didn’t even seem rabid. Did they?”

  “I wouldn’t know! I don’t have a college degree in animal behavior. And guess what? Neither do you.”

  If you want to strain a friendship that’s only a few weeks old, throw a coyote attack into the mix. These two are at their limit, I can tell.

  “Okay,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “We need to get out of here.”

  Once we’re back on the road, we pedal like our lives depend on it. Ahmed’s out in front. Destiny’s right behind him—one arm tucked against her chest, the other gripping a handlebar. The key is momentum, I guess. I just hope Ahmed doesn’t have to brake suddenly.

  We make it back to base just as the last sliver of the sun kisses the horizon. At the front gate, we half-fall off our bikes and fumble for our military ID cards. Ahmed shows his card to the checkpoint guard. Then he waves to us, jumps back on his bike, and takes off. I hope he makes it to his apartment in time for his sunset prayer.

  I reach into my jeans pocket for my wallet.

  It’s not there.

  Gabby and Destiny have both shown their IDs. They look back at me, waiting.

  “I—I think I lost my wallet,” I stutter. I look at the poker-faced checkpoint guard. “My ID card was in there. But my name’s Alex Ventura, and my mom is Staff Sergeant Claudia Ventura.”

  “Can’t let you in without an ID card or a visitor pass,” he says gruffly.

  I spend the next fifteen minutes trying to talk my way into a high-security Air Force base. I give the guy my full name, my social-security number, the name of my mom’s commanding officer, and a summary of her career history. And when none of that works, I call my mom.

  Now she really is going to kill me.

  ***

  “What did you do?”

  Those are Mom’s first words to me after she gets me past the checkpoint. She finally convinced the guard to let me through by showing him my birth certificate, my social-security card, and a scanned copy of my military ID card. Good thing she’s the type of person who keeps that kind of stuff on hand.

  I load my bike into the backseat of Mom’s car. It’s a good way to avoid her question.

  “Alex,” she says.

  “It’s a long story, Mom.”

  “Does it have anything to do with those cuts and bruises?”

  I was hoping it would be too dark for her to see how scraped up I am. “I fell off my bike earlier. My wallet must’ve slipped out of my pocket then.”

  Not a bad excuse, really. Way better than We jumped a fence illegally and then got attacked by cursed coyotes. Sometimes the truth doesn’t sound very truthful. Mom keeps quiet till I’ve eased myself into the passenger’s seat.

  “What else was in your wallet?”

  I go through the short list: a couple gift cards, about ten bucks in cash. My body aches so much that I can barely think.

  She sighs. “Tomorrow we’ll have to stop by the security office and then go to the RAPIDS site to get you a new ID card. Meanwhile, make sure you clean those cuts properly.”

  This is how Mom punishes me. With her tone of voice. When Ryan Daniels almost died falling off my roof in seventh grade. When I convinced David Steir to give me driving lessons with his dad’s car in eighth grade. When Jessie Zhen and I got busted for our traffic cone collection. My friends got slammed with penalties. I got treated to Staff Sergeant Claudia Ventura’s disappointment.

  Dad’s way different. When he’s around—which is usually only when Mom’s deployed—he’ll yell if he’s angry. Lecture me. Take away privileges. That’s always easier to take.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, I assume this was a learning experience for you.”

  “Yep.” Though I’m not really sure what I’ve learned. Don’t sneak onto cursed abandoned movie sets? That’s probably a start.

  I text Ahmed. You get home alright?

  He texts back, Just under the wire. Sorry I had to rush you guys.

  No problem. We shouldn’t have cut it so close.

  Of course, we cut it close in a lot of ways. Which I remember when Destiny texts me a few minutes later.

  My dad says the arm is broken. Her dad’s a flight surgeon. He would know. So are you convinced?

  I know what she means. Am I convinced the curse is real? Do I believe our bad luck tonight is a sign of something bigger? Not sure. But at least we’re all safe.

  There’s a pause before she replies. For now.

  Chapter 6

  Edmonds Air Force Base is basically a town with a high-security perimeter. And lots of planes. About twenty thousand people live here—service members and their families. A few hundred of those people go to Edmonds High School right here on the base. That’s where Gabby and I are headed Thursday morning, the day after our trip to Sanford’s Folly. Mom and I live next door to Gabby’s family, so we’ve started biking to school together. But she might change her mind about that if I keep bringing up the curse.

  “For the last time, Alex! There is no curse.”

  “Look, I’m not coming at this f
rom a superstitious angle, like Destiny. I’m just saying, there’s evidence. Stuff that doesn’t add up logically.”

  “Losing your wallet doesn’t count as a supernatural event.”

  “But doesn’t the curse involve bad luck?”

  “Yeah.” Her tone could slice an apple in half. “Which is one step up from a curse that says you’re going to die someday. Pretty safe bet that people will have bad luck from time to time. I mean, sure, we had some bad luck last night. Ahmed almost missed prayer. You lost your wallet. Destiny hurt her arm. Oh, and I missed my usual phone call with my mom.”

  Her mom’s a professor of film studies in California. Gabby’s parents divorced and her dad remarried when she was little. She told me that until her dad got stationed at Edmonds, she and her mom hadn’t lived in the same time zone for years. I know those weekly phone calls mean a lot to her. “Sorry,” I say.

  She shrugs. “My point is, that’s not a curse. That’s life.”

  “But those coyotes—”

  “Shut up about the coyotes! These days, lots of animals are doing things they’ve never done before. Wandering into the middle of cities. Relaxing in hammocks in people’s backyards. Haven’t you seen Mooseland?”

  I’m pretty sure that’s a movie only Gabby has seen. And I can tell this conversation is about to get useless. “Fine. I was just curious. Wondering how all the bad-luck rumors got started. Like, if what’s-his-name, the mega-star, died in a coyote attack, that would be good to know.”

  “He died of lung cancer,” says Gabby acidly. “And yeah, he had plenty of bad luck in his life. But most of it was his own fault. Guy was a first-class son of a—”

  A minivan blows past a stop sign right in front of us. We both slam our brakes. Gabby shouts some choice words at the driver.

  “See?” I say. “What was that?”

  “An idiot driver. Grow up.”

  Time to change the subject. I don’t want to push too many of Gabby’s buttons. That’s how you lose friends. Especially friends you haven’t known very long. Which is every friend I’ve ever had.

  So for the rest of the ride to school, I ask her about things she likes to talk about. New movies she’s planning to see. Ways her stepsisters have annoyed her lately. The summer program she’s applying to at Berkeley, where her mom works. I pretend to forget about the curse.