The Vanished Read Online Free Page B

the moment she slammed the door behind her, she realized she was acting like a child. No one was watching her. There was nothing out here for miles. She was perfectly safe.
    And just to prove it to herself, she was going to drive over to the charred stretch of ground and check on the ship. It was the least she could do since she was already out here.
    As she drove through the eerie darkness of the desert, Isabel felt the uneasiness start to creep up her spine again, and she gripped the steering wheel tightly. She tried to ignore the fear, but she couldn’t. All she could do was defy it.
    Something told her to stop a quarter mile from the compound and walk the rest of the way. Anyone who might be watching would see the headlights — hear the engine. But Isabel wouldn’t give in. Swallowing back her instincts, she floored the accelerator and drove right up to the perimeter of the compound.
    Taking a deep breath, Isabel stepped out of the Jeep and looked around defiantly, tossing her long blond hair over her shoulder.
    See? There’s no one here, she told herself, climbing the small hill she, Max, Michael, and Adam had formed while digging the hole.
    â€œValenti’s dead, so no Valenti,” she muttered, scrambling over the loose dirt. “No DuPris. No cops. No news anchors —”
    Isabel reached the top of the hill and looked down into the gaping hole. Her heart dropped through her hiking shoes, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
    â€œNo . . . ship,” she said quietly.
    She shoved at the dirt with her mind. The digging went much slower now that she was alone, but she went deep enough to convince herself that she was right.
    The hole was empty.
    The ship was gone.
    â€œThe ship doesn’t look anything like that,” Adam said, stopping in the middle of Main Street. He pointed at a big plastic flying saucer that had been built into the side of a tourist souvenir shop as if it had crashed there.
    Michael slammed into him from behind and gave him a little shove to get him moving again. A car sped by, narrowly missing their heels.
    â€œOkay, you can’t be stopping in the middle of the street like that,” Michael said, trying hard to keep his voice from sounding harsh. “We’ll be dead before we ever get to breakfast.”
    Adam wandered over to the souvenir store, staring up at the pseudo–flying saucer.
    â€œToo bad it’s not the real one,” Michael said, standing next to Adam. “But somehow I don’t think whoever stole it is going to make it that easy to find.”
    â€œWhoever?” Adam asked, raising his eyebrows. “I just figured that Project Clean Slate had it.”
    Michael’s stomach twisted just from hearing the organization’s name. “Clean Slate’s history, remember? The place was flattened.” He eyed Adam carefully. “Unless . . . wait,” Michael said. “You don’t know of other compounds or something, do you? There aren’t . . . more of them.”
    Adam shrugged. “Not that I know of, I guess.”
    Michael wished he’d sounded a little more definite. Swallowing hard, Michael stared up at the fake ship. If there were more Clean Slate agents out there and if they’d somehow gotten the ship . . .
    â€œHow will we get Alex back now?” Adam asked, putting Michael’s fears into words.
    Michael’s stomach turned. “I don’t know,” he replied. “We’ll think of something.”
    â€œCan we get some toast for breakfast?” Adam asked suddenly.
    â€œNo toast,” Michael said, managing a small smile. Adam’s life was so simple. But Michael supposed that was what happened when you grew up with no knowledge of the outside world. “This morning I’ve got a surprise for you.”
    Michael led Adam down the sidewalk toward the doughnut shop on the corner. Wait till Adam gets his first taste of crullers with hot sauce, Michael