Descendant (Secrets of the Makai) by Toni Kerr Page B

fog and swampy meadows of an endless wasteland. For days. He couldn't remember where to go, only that he had a destination. If he didn't make it in time, people would die.
    A sudden jolt yanked him out of the wasteland. He stared at an old woman with hot pink lipstick. She spat something in a different language, German maybe, with her nose inches from Tristan's. The train vibrated beneath him.
    He wiped the spittle from his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and blinked. It seemed to take several long moments to remember the train was real, not the wasteland he'd spent so much time in. Months maybe?
    A few passengers stared at the woman making a scene. Or maybe they were watching him. "English?" he asked, trying to at least be polite. A wave of exhaustion hit him and he almost shut his eyes.
    The woman pointed out the window with knobby fingers and kept speaking. Night had fallen. When she picked up her purse and headed up the aisle, Tristan spotted the folded piece of paper lying beside him.
    If the woman hadn't knocked it out of his hand, would he still be running aimlessly through the badlands? He stood to find her, but she was already into the next train car. Witnessing passengers had gone back to whatever they'd been doing.
    But the map called to him. He could feel the pull writhing under his skin. He'd only missed a turn somewhere. He finally made a decision and pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt over his hands to unfolded the page. He refolded it incorrectly, hoping to prevent it from working if he accidentally ever touched it again, then slipped it to the bottom of his backpack.
    Chicago came and went in a blur, Seattle couldn't come fast enough.
    Passengers paced up and down the aisles, often glaring at him for no reason. Faces changed from station to station, but the thick tension stayed the same, as did an odd lack of mental noise.
    Some people had a way of keeping their thoughts silent, but this many in one place? It was almost tempting to talk to someone, since ordinarily thoughts and words were all jumbled at the same volume. He'd gotten pretty good at reading lips to determine which words were said and which weren't.
    When the train arrived in Seattle, the city stretched on and on, much larger than what he'd imagined. He picked up a tourist map at the station, happy to be free of the train's confinement and tension, and headed into the open air. Crisp breeze of the harbor filled his lungs, less than a mile away. It'd be dark soon and he needed a plan.
    He wasn't good with crowds under the best of circumstances, but being pushed shoulder to shoulder with so many people made his pulse race. The blaring noise of their thoughts pounded in his head, a sharp contrast to what he'd gotten used to on the train, as bad as any building full of teachers and students.
    Tristan stopped at a chainlink fence, disappointed by the view of the harbor, even though he knew from the tourist map that it wasn't close to the open Pacific. Most of his childhood drawings had evolved around ships, but all he could see before him was acres of parking lot and concrete in the harbor. Enormous cranes loaded crates onto metal freighters, forklifts zoomed all over the place. He caught himself searching farther for marinas, spotting a tight cluster of masts in the distance. Was the plan to steal a ship and sail away?
    He pressed his head against the fence and shut his eyes, desperate to block out all the distracting noises. Scouting the ships seemed like a good idea when he was still on the train...something less mainstream if the police were after him. But where was he going? Was any location safer than another if he was wanted by the police for leaving the state, or if he was being tracked by the murderer?
    Maybe a bus ticket would do. He patted his front pockets, half-frantic when he couldn't feel the roll of bills, even more so when all he could find was eighteen dollars plus change in his backpack, and nothing in the duffle bag. Almost