Willpower by Marty Chan

Author:Marty Chan [Chan, Marty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orca Book Publishers
Published: 2022-01-29T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

My strength was slowly coming back, and my vision was clearing. We were far away from the motel and were now zipping through an industrial park. Huge boxlike buildings surrounded us. Ahead, an abandoned factory loomed.

“Where are we going?” I asked Noah again.

“This is where my friends and I hang out after school sometimes,” he said. “No one bothers us here. No teachers. No parents. No one. It’s a safe place.”

Safe for him or safe for me? For a second I thought about pushing him off the scooter and running away, but where could I go? Noah had helped me back at the motel, and I had to trust that he would continue to help. But what was in it for him?

Noah zipped through the field in front of the factory, finding a path to the two-story building. On the front of the factory was a giant metal sign that read:

Carston Materials

“What is Carston Materials?” I asked.

“I think they made stuff for construction sites,” he said. “Don’t know what exactly, but they have some cool machines. None of them work, but they’re good for target practice.”

“What do you shoot?” I asked, hoping for a weapon.

“No gun, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Noah said. “Rocks. We practice taking slap shots.”

Rocks and hockey sticks. They’d have to do.

The scooter rolled to a stop in front of the building.

“You okay to move on your own?” Noah asked.

I nodded and stepped off. He pushed the scooter to the side of the building as we headed to a boarded-up door. He pulled one of the planks to the side, then waved for me to slip inside.

I gave him a look, sizing him up. Out here, I wasn’t going to get any help if Noah had other plans for me. Then again, I couldn’t get any help anywhere with Dr. Lansing’s agents on the hunt. I entered the dusty factory.

The place looked like a combination between one of those horrible workplaces in old movies, where orphans had to work, and the bedroom of a teenage boy who spent more time playing video games than cleaning up. Comic books, empty junk-food containers and hockey sticks were scattered on the concrete floor and on the top of a massive conveyor belt.

“How did you find this place?” I asked.

“Taj’s uncle used to work as the security guard,” Noah said. “Back when there was stuff worth stealing. You should be safe here. Now spill. What’s the deal with you and those scary people back at the motel?”

I reached into my backpack and found another granola bar. I opened it and started to eat as I walked to one of the giant machines. The thing looked like an enormous sewing machine with an iron needle ready to drop down.

“Okay, okay. I guess you earned it,” I said. “What do you want to know?”

“So many things. Who were those people at the motel? Why are they after you? Did you really push me out of the way of the car yesterday?”

I signaled him to stop.

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