Sometimes I feel the same way. But I'm more cautious, I guess, and so I shot Keith a worried look as we stared after our comrades. "Sounded like the kid. I wonder what happened."
"Not going to find out by standing here, now, are we?" he shot back, breaking into a sprint. I had no choice but to follow, but it occurred to me that next time it might not be best to come to a construction site after the sun set. I shivered as I jogged behind. It had to be six thirty now, and the fall air was crisp and cold. I wished I'd worn something heavier than a windbreaker. I increased my stride and caught up to Keith and the others.
"He dropped the box," Keith said with satisfaction, picking it up.
Patrick looked over Keith's shoulder, and his brow furrowed. He took it. "Look at those symbols. They don't look like any language I know."
"You don't know any language," I pointed out. "Heck, you flunked Spanish I."
He shot me a dirty look. "Look at them, Taylor. That's not exactly our alphabet."
I glanced over. "So? Could be Russian. Greek. Hebrew. Arabic. Could be Flontusian, for all I know. Can we move on now? That kid sounded scared, and if there's an axe murderer running around, I for one don't wait to be in the way."
"Flontusian?" demanded Patrick dryly.
"You know. The country of... Flontuce." In the laugh-less silence that followed, I pointed upwards, diverting their attention from my stale joke. "Hey, look at that! An owl. Cool. It's beautiful."
"Not all of us are birdwatchers, Taylor."
"Shove it, Patrick."
"This could be from the ship," Brent said thoughtfully, ignoring us and looking at the box with an unusually solemn expression. "Maybe this is exactly what I'm looking --"
"Sirens!" Patrick's expression went from sardonically interested to alert and eager in an instant. "Move! Move! Move!"
His eyes were on fire. I caught a glimpse of them as I rocketed towards the shadows. He looked alive, so much more alive than I'd ever seen him. It's a clumsy description, but he looked like a warrior, something too dramatic to call any teenage kid.
He rested his palms on his knees again, like he had a few minutes before. "Taylor, Keith, Brent. You guys head for the north exit from this place. Keith's car is there. Take it and go."
I raised both eyebrows, annoyed by what a big deal they were making out of this. "What about my car?"
"Keith will drop you off at your car. Brent, you're with Keith, since you came with me. For now, get out of here."
"What about you?"
"I'll be fine, Brent. I'm going to lead them away." He tossed the box to me. "Keep that at your house until... until something. I don't know what."
I stared. "Patrick, you're insane. Those are cops. Not bad guys. Cops."
"Why do they show up right now, then? What's gone wrong in this area? Any murders you've heard of? Why are cops mobbing an abandoned construction site?"
"Mobbing? How can you tell how many there are?"
"Listen to the freakin' sirens!" he snapped, losing patience. "I have a bad feeling about this. And I need this, I swear I do. I need to lead them away. It doesn't matter who they are." His eyes pleaded with us to understand. With me to understand.
I didn't. "You're high," I said flatly.
"You say that a lot," Brent observed. "But he's right. Space ship, media coveruppage, if that's a word. I have a bad feeling too. Let's go."
"We can't leave him!" I protested as Brent grabbed my arm. "And the Dave kid --"
"Stop right there!" an authoritative voice howled.
"Or we can go," I gasped as we took off. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Patrick start running. He was heading for an alley way in their line of sight. They'd see him and chase him. There was no way to know what would happen to him if they caught him.
In his absence, Brent took over. "Stick together," he panted. "If we split up there'll be no way to know if we all made it. Can't... take the risk of leaving one of us behind. Wait, stop here, hide."
"They're cops," I whimpered as we all dropped in the darkness beneath an empty window. Empty window into an unfinished room. It gave me the creeps. What gave me worse creeps was the idea that Brent and Patrick thought there was something more going on. Something more than simple law-enforcing cops.
"Bad feelings," Brent muttered.
"Screw your bad feelings," Keith snarled. "You're all crazy. I'm going to my car."
He started to stand up, and Brent grabbed his arm and yanked him into the dirt, pinning him there. Keith's eyes went wide, and he shouted a muffled profanity through Brent's fingers.
"You idiot!" I hissed. "Run!"
We struggled to our feet, and Keith directed a rather graphic threat to Brent. Brent chose to ignore it.
There was something about this that I loved... something about running that I loved. Something about the drama of something greater. Something better than suburban monotony.
"Freeze!"
"Go, go go go!" Brent ordered.
"He's not talking to us! It's Patrick!" I cried.
"You're under arrest," a clipped voice said. I heard a thud as a body hit the dirt.
"There are more of them, sir!"
"Well, get them!"
"Not a chance," Brent said grimly, and he pointed ahead. "There's my car. We're out of here."
Another twenty frantic steps, and I hit the car, my arms pressing against it in an effort to stay upright. No. My arm, singular. The other was gripping something at my side.
I looked down.
"Take me to my car," I said woodenly. "We have to meet.. somewhere. I'll follow you guys."