Gob's Arc

Chapter 4 of 11

The fire truck outran the drifting saucers, but it could not outrun the fleet. PomPom stopped it at the foot of a tall building. "Town hall," she said. "Highest roof for miles. We signal your parents from the top." Gob's mouth pulsed with light. Somewhere past the fleet, in the hills, Fluroess and Potbelly still waited. A tall roof could carry his glow all the way to them. They ran through the dark lobby. PomPom slapped the elevator button. Nothing. She slapped it again. The doors stayed shut, dead as everything else in this dark. "Broke," Hoola said. She yanked the door to the stairwell. "Fine. We climb. Come on, come on." She scooped Gob up in one arm and started up. Twenty floors. PomPom counted landings out loud, calm and flat. Hoola took them two at a time, breathing hard, never slowing. She was the kind of girl who did the thing everyone swore was impossible. She just did it louder. By the fifteenth floor Gob felt her arms shaking. He wanted to help. He held his light steady so she could see each step. It was all he had to give her. "Almost, almost," Hoola gasped. "Told you I'd get you up. Told you." They burst onto the roof. Cold wind hit them. Below and far off, the saucers crawled toward the hills in a slow line. And there, on a dark rise, Gob saw two small shapes. One glowed faint gold. The other had two heads. "Fluroess," Gob breathed. "Potbelly." Hoola set him on the roof's edge and held his sides so he would not fall. "Now, little light! Now!" she shouted. "Give them everything you got!" Gob opened his mouth wide. The light poured out, a cone brighter than the beacon he once burned. It cut across the dark sky toward the hills. He flashed it. Once. Twice. Three times. On the far rise, the gold shape flared bright, then dimmed, then flared again. An answer. Potbelly's two heads swung toward the light. Fluroess raised one hand, glowing, and signaled back. "They see us," Hoola whispered. "They see you." PomPom did not cheer. She watched the fleet. "They see us too," she said. Every saucer in the line had stopped drifting. Their rims spun bright. One by one, they turned. Not toward the hills now. Toward the roof. Toward the brightest light for miles. Gob had reached his parents. He had also just made himself and his friends the target of the whole fleet. He clamped his mouth shut. Too late. The saucers were already coming, and this time no music jammed them and no bow sang them off course. "Down," PomPom said. "Now."