The Host of Hyperion

Chapter 8 - Kennedy

The early morning only brought more frustration.

When we had returned to our dorm with the book in hand, Sarah and Kylie were already there, watching us, so we stowed it under Elisabeth's heavy trunk.

When morning came, and the sun peeked through our window, I woke up to see Elisabeth's white face, kneeling where her trunk lay.

"What is it?" I demanded, climbing out of bed.

"The book!" she said angrily, "The damn book is gone!"

Neither Sarah or Kylie were in our dorm when I looked up.

. . . . . . .

I wanted to scream. To yell at the world's ignorance. Five whole bloody dorms had been vacated those past three weeks. Five. Nearly a month had gone by and nearly twenty students had "mysteriously" got urges to go home, or got sick, or got promoted to new schools, never existed, the excuse list went on.

"We're next, Elisabeth." I said in an undertone.

We walked the grand hallways. I immediately got the irritating urge to rip the walls open to check for dead bodies.

"You'd better believe it." she said, looking worried.

Her icy eyes swept over the greenery displayed by the high arched windows overlooking the gardens below. Spreads of vibrant roses and bushes of evergreen shrubs glowed brilliantly under the hot gleaming sun, leading to the nearby gardens. She stared at the bell tower roof-which was where I had seen the flag.

"Don't look now." Elisabeth said quickly in undertone, "It's Ms. Cartwright-the international language teacher. She's been following us since last week"

"Crikey." I scowled, "They know we know foreign languages."

"Then how do we communicate any suspicions?" Elisabeth arched her eyebrows.

I thought about it. An idea struck me. I grabbed a pen and a slip of notebook paper and slid it into my science textbook.

I scribbled something down.

Every time you need to communicate something to me-just write in here. So it looks like we're just normally writing.

Elisabeth bent over and read my note. She looked at me and nodded. She scribbled something down.

Yeah. You got it. Does anybody by the name of Tony or Phil work here?

I thought hard.

Okay-that's a good start. Let's see if we can find a staff list or something like that. Maybe Phil and Tony will be on there.

Okay. yeah, after lunch?

You bet.

I closed my notebook with a snap as Mr. Monec limped by us-his kneecaps heavily bandaged.

           .    .    .    .    .    .    .    .

I could feel Mr. Wright's beady eyes boring through me as we took our first final of the quarter.