by David Beem
“You guys need anything?” asks Fabio. “Water? Xanax?”
“I’ve never known someone so fully as I have living an hour as you,” I say.
“Uln! Uln!” Fabio smashes his fist into his chest. “First of all—barf—I just threw up in my mouth. Second, literally no time has passed.”
“Uh… What’s happening here, bro?” asks Caleb.
I shake my head in disbelief, my focus not straying from her crystal blues.
“Welp, time for me to consult the ol’ Best Friend Playbook,” says Fabio. “Ah, let’s see… Follow best friend to Mordor, save best friend from giant demon spider, carry best friend up Mount Doom… Hmm. Nope. Nothing in here on saving best friend from Awkward Romantic Moments.”
“I…know… I know you,” I say.
Her lidded gaze softens, but the experience of being her is still hot in my blood. Her confusion, the revulsion she felt toward her clone, it’s all there.
“Ah, I’m happy for you guys.” Fabio punches air. “Let’s hug out the awkward. Group hug!”
Her forehead creases in apparent panic. I release her hands and step back. Maybe the mind-meld wasn’t as cool for her?
A distant rising whistle pierces the sky.
“Incoming,” she whispers.
Oh no, says Dad. Edge, it’s a nuke.
Something like a railroad spike drives through my chest. I face the ocean, my knees buckling. I squeeze a seat back and steady myself as Caleb leaps to the edge of the canopy, grabs an oak beam, and peers over the mountainous islands in the distance.
“Guys,” I say, as a white-hot terror pours over my body. “It’s a friggin’ nuke.”
Fabio falls backward over a chair. Mary’s hand covers her mouth.
“Jesus.” Caleb spins to face the inside of our mansion, strokes his forehead, his gaze turning inward. “A church, maybe. Fallout shelter. Bro, scan for a church or something. Hurry!”
The Collective Unconscious is already on it. There is one, but it’s five miles from here. My liquid terror hardens into a shell.
“We’ll never make it,” I say. “Einstein’s done the math.”
Ja, says Einstein. But I’ve also done other maths…
“Einstein?” Fabio scrambles to his feet. “Albert Einstein?”
Caleb’s shoulders slump. “No, he means Cletus the Slack-jawed Einstein.”
“Caleb,” says Fabio, his stricken expression pale. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I promise I’ll give you my Amazing Fantasy 15 if you can spy our way out of this.”
“Guys, be quiet.” Mary faces me. “Edger?”
I tune them out. Einstein seizes control, and an enormous upsurge of telekinetic energy erupts at once. So much more than I’ve ever used. It’s like a million tons of popcorn exploding beneath my skin. Ow—my skull feels like it’s growing a lightsaber!
Stop, stop! I cry. It’s too much!
The energy swells further. The hairs on my arm and the back of my neck snap to attention.
“Edge, bro, whatever you’re doing, do it faster!”
“Buddy, I stole the last condom out of your wallet and left an IOU!” screams Fabio.
Mary recoils. “You did what?”
“It was a dick move, I know, I know!” he exclaims. “Sometimes I even log into his Xbox account so I can play using his unlocked achievements. I’m a terrible best friend!”
The whistling crescendos. Spots explode across my vision. I grab the sofa back and squeeze.
Stop, it hurts!
Just a little more, says Einstein.
“Edge, bro. I’m sorry about Notre Dame. I’m sorry about Kate.”
Mary steps into my field of vision, her face flushed. She grabs the back of my head and jerks me toward her, mashes her lips into mine; the pain abates as my brain explodes in a flurry of dopamine fireworks. Her fingers burrow into my hair. I seize her waist and pull. Einstein shrinks into a small corner.
Nein! he cries. Just vait, for crying out loud!
His presence expands to full size again, and my head lurches back. Mary skids away on her heels, strands of my hair in her fist as her rounded eyes search my face. Fabio dives beneath the patio table.
“I don’t wanna die!”
Einstein’s psychic sense surges forward. A whiplike spike of telekinetic energy erupts from the center of my mind. I flinch, push back—
Just vait!
—the energy careens wildly in two directions, and a hole in the fabric of space-time swallows Caleb, the patio table, and Fabio—
What did you do?! I yell, pain coursing down my spine and into my legs.
Ja, I have obviously violated the Averaged Null Energy Condition to create a Vormhole.
The whistle is deafening. A thousand feet. Five hundred. One hundred. The glowing tip of the missile is speeding straight at our deck!
Mary skids toward me, her arms flailing as she trips forward, collides, and knocks me off my feet. The hole winks out of existence, taking the buildup of telekinetic energy with it, and we slam into the ground together.
The air is thick. Hot. Swampy. Perspiration and suntan lotion, Mary’s. I’m drenched in sweat too. I sit up, and she scoots back. We’re sitting on rock. No, it’s clay, blades of grass sticking out between the bricks. Beyond the lot is a sheer cliff. After that… A jungle.
Ja, you are on top of a pyramid. But dis is all vrong. Next time, don’t fight me, ja?
“Edger.” Mary’s hand glides over my shoulder. “Where are we?”
Ciudad Blanca, Einstein answers. The Vhite City.
A picture of a globe forms in my mind’s eye. Realization sinks in, and my stomach plunges. Where we were is a glowing dot on one side of the globe. Where we are is a spot about a quarter way farther around the globe than the other. Visions of the city as it was in 1000 AD surface from the Collective Unconscious. Women carrying clay pots on their heads; naked children playing in streets that no longer exist; a man sharpening a spear. The scene retreats into my subconscious, and the jungle becomes just another jungle.
“Edger?”
“We’re in Honduras.”
Chapter Seven
Sunlight glistens off Mary’s back as she crosses the earthen expanse to the edge of the pyramid top and peers over a sea of lush foliage. Stone tower tops and crumbling walls poke through the thinner patches, all that’s left of the ancient city. The jungle’s buzz is constant. I plod over the jungle roots and detritus to join her, suction popping from my flip-flops.
“Honduras,” she says, a touch breathless.
Jeez, the humidity is off the hook. Pressing into my pores, weighing down my lungs. Just standing here is exhausting. The wifebeater under my beach shirt is soaked.
Coruscating light hits my eye. I take her hand and thumb the diamond. Nostradamus found us so fast.
“What you did was dangerous. Never take that off again.”
Her shoulders slump, and her forehead crinkles in a stricken expression. “Fiji.”
“That wasn’t your fault.”
Her eyebrows rise, and my stomach knots. The white sands will have turned to glass. The trees will be on fire, probably for days. Nothing will have survived.
“You didn’t do that,” I say. “He did.”
She lowers her gaze.
It’s worth remembering that bastard went straight for the nukes, sir, says Killmaster. Any chance you had of settling this peacefully is over.
I agree, offers Hanzo.
“Caleb, Fabio.” Mary’s voice brings me back to the overworld. “Where did you send them?”
Einstein’s mental image coalesces in my mind. Narrow vehicle checkpoints. A brown one-story building.
“A border crossing.” I focus and try to pinpoint which border crossing. “US/Mexican border. Not far from San Diego.” Mary furrows her brow. “It was confusing,” I explain. “I didn’t know what was happening. I was fighting for control, and then you kissed me—which was great, by the way, kind of a the-world-is-ending sort
of kiss, which we totally need to talk about—but then…”
A dizzy spell soaks my brain like water into a sponge. Oh no. Just the thought of that wormhole makes me want to puke.
Her eyes cruise my face. “You look pale.”
My knees buckle. Ugh. My stomach flops. Oh, look at that, I’m sitting down. When did that happen? Mary kneels next to me and grabs my shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Water.”
The sunlight is harsh on my face. The heat is unbearable. Crap, this came on fast. Please don’t get sick, please don’t get sick, please don’t—
The jungle lists left. The bricks beneath my legs vibrate, the nausea builds.
Edge, hang on. Dad seizes control. The light-headed spell washes out, and my panic ebbs. I gotcha, says Dad. How ’bout you let me do the driving for a little bit?
My stomach settles, and the thick air moves more easily in and out of my lungs. I focus on a blade of grass poking out from the clay bricks and think back to the last time he did this for me. It was after we faced Nostradamus in South Bend. One of the mysteries of the mind, I guess. And once Houdini did it after dislocating my shoulder to perform the straitjacket water torture escape.
Mary’s beautiful face lowers into my field of vision. Forehead creased, her lips parted, her hand gently strokes my arm.
“You’re okay now.”
“We need shelter,” I monotone, emotionally numb. “I don’t have long. Water and rest. If I pass out, they won’t be able to control my body.”
She scrambles to her feet, then grabs my elbow with one hand while the other glides across my back. Dad still being in control of me, it’s like watching someone else being helped to his feet. I can still feel my light-headedness, the tingling circulatory issues in my arms and legs, but with this trick of the mind, it’s like a dream. Sleepwalking, almost.
Just relax, says Dad, and he lifts Mary and me into the air. Her legs kick, her eyes widen. A one-sided smile inches across her cheek, and her kicking stills. Dad blasts us off into the skies.
Chapter Eight
The highway lies open for miles. For maybe the tenth time since falling through that hole in the air, Caleb stops and peers over his shoulder. Nothing but desert and greasewood from here to the hills. He’s not sure what he expects to see. Maybe another hole in the air. Maybe a map. But there are none of these things. Only a semiarid biome that could put them as easily in parts of Africa as California. The question is, where on earth did Edger send them? Better yet, why?
“Would it kill them to give us a road sign?” asks Fabio, dragging the bottom of his shirt across his forehead. “Bah, I’m in totally the wrong place! I’m supposed to be halfway up Mount Doom by now, not meandering the wilderness with the butt model! Edger probably needs his lembas bread.”
“Hang in there, little bro.”
Caleb strokes the back of his neck. Edger must’ve known what he was doing. You don’t split up your team for no reason. Probably it’s the rebels. How Edger could know the location of their secret base isn’t a stretch. He’s got the entire dead human race helping him.
Caleb lets his arm fall to his side. But you’d think help like that could conjure a map as soon as rip a hole in the fabric of space-time.
“You know what I think?” asks Fabio. “I think Edger sent us to the Rebel Alliance.”
“Stop calling them that.”
“Why? They are an alliance, yes? They are rebels, yes? I just wish we were carrying secret plans or something. Feels like a missed opportunity.”
Caleb rolls his eyes, and—there it is again.
He wheels around, pulse rising, and spots a large shaking shrub about a hundred yards out.
“Coyote?” asks Fabio, squinting.
“That’s what I’m worried about.”
The shrub splits in two to release a tiny white ball of fluff.
“Hey!” cries Fabio.
The fluff ball zigzags in leaps and bounds through the greasewood, bleating adorably. It stumbles, lands on a bent front knee, then pushes up and resumes his trampolining. A little left, a little right, but always bounding and otherwise exemplifying cuteness incarnate.
“Aww.” Fabio scrunches his nose. “He’s just a little fluffer-butt.”
The tiny animal reaches the highway. A baby goat. His big round eyes blink twice, he bounces in place once, then lowers his head and springs forward.
“Hey!” cries Caleb, dodging the blow but stumbling into the brush. The baby goat skids on the sandy concrete and jumps behind Fabio.
“Aww. This guy’s a TikTok video waiting to happen.”
A low hum catches Caleb’s ear. “Do you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Fabio bends to pet the animal, but it bounds behind him.
Caleb cocks his head, and the hum grows distinct.
The goat rams into Fabio’s butt, forcing him off the road.
“Ow! Hey!”
“Car.” Caleb waves for Fabio to follow and makes for the shrub in a mad dash. Closing the distance like it’s the Super Bowl, he casts a quick backward glance. Fabio, huffing and puffing; Baby Goat making like the Pogo Olympics.
Reaching the shrub, he scrambles for cover. Pain flares in his shin. He rolls a rock aside, hunches, and pulls a branch down. His breathing is thick in his ears. A desert haze clings to the highway on the horizon, pierced by a glimmering light. He releases the branch with a snap, and Fabio slides for cover next to him like he’s stealing home.
“Dude,” whispers Fabio, dusting himself off. “Canteens.”
Caleb follows Fabio’s line of sight. Two disc-shaped canteens in Native-American-themed jackets poking out from beneath scrub clippings. He removes a clipped branch and picks one up. Heavy.
“It’s full?” asks Fabio, reaching for it.
The highway thrums. He hunkers down. Hot breath hits his neck. He elbows Fabio in the chest and eases the branch down again. Sand explodes into the air as the car speeds past, debris chasing in its wake. It disappears in the distance, and the quiet returns.
“So, to review,” says Fabio, standing and rubbing his chest. “Rudeness is a crime, violence is punishable by death, but observing the speed limit is for nerds?”
“You’re lucky I heard it in time, little bro. A few seconds later, and we’d both be experts on Nostradamus’s speeding policy.”
“Water!” exclaims Fabio, pressing the unscrewed top to his bearded lips.
“Wait.” Caleb grabs Fabio’s wrist as, too late, Fabio drinks. Water drips from his bearded chin. The canteen comes off with a pop.
“What? You think it’s poisoned?” Fabio scoffs, takes another swig, then wipes his beard with the back of his arm. “Mm. That’s hitting the spot. Look. You’ve got one too.”
Tossing more clippings aside, Caleb retrieves the second canteen. He unscrews the top, raises it to his nose. No bitter almond smell like you’d get from cyanide, although sometimes there is no odor from that. Or a half dozen other poisons he could think of, for that matter.
“So suspicious.”
Caleb lowers the canteen. “Listen, little bro, I am a HARDON secret agent. I didn’t get to where I am in life by making amateur mistakes.”
“Yeah, yeah. You rose to the challenge. Got it.”
“Hey. I’m in command here, all right? If you get taken, Nostradamus reads your mind to find me. That can’t happen. Trust me. I know things he cannot know.”
Fabio’s lips twist to the side. “Dude. Listen to yourself. There are seven billion people on this planet Nostradamus is already mind-reading. But you know things. Oh, all right. Puh-lease.”
Caleb’s gut tightens. Slinging the canteen around his neck and under his arm, he turns and marches for the road.
“You’re just cranky because you’re an obsolete boner spy,” Fabio calls after him. “Nostradamus knows every boring thing about you. He’s like Santa, but for supervillains. He knows when you’ve been pooping,” he sings, “he knows when you’re a fake! He k
nows if you’ve been bad or goo—”
Caleb spins around, and Fabio’s right there, peering up at him like a midget wrestler ready to grapple him into a toe lock.
“Don’t be stupid, little bro. What’s your problem?”
“You’re my problem. Edge went off to college. You were supposed to be his friend. But friends don’t steal your girl, break your heart, or get you kicked out of school.”
“For spy reasons, little bro. And you met Kate! You remember. Kate? The charmer with the twelve-year-old boy’s sense of humor?”
“Real best friends find a way. Real best friends save the day.”
“Grow up. Oh, wait, that’s right, you can’t.” He holds his palm two feet above Fabio’s head. “This ride is for people here and taller.”
Fabio’s eyebrows lower as the fluff ball bounds over again, this time to occupy the space between them. Caleb’s head ticks back.
“At least this guy understands friendship is built on love and trust.” Fabio strokes the baby goat’s chin and ears. The animal pivots and pushes, driving Fabio backward. “Ha-ha! Hey—okay, okay.” Again, Fabio tries to pet the animal, and again, the animal drives him backward. “Kinda strong.” Fabio laughs as the goat presses the length of his body into his legs. He stumbles a few steps and stands up straight.
Caleb shakes his head, marches for the road, and the bouncing goat circles in front of him, then cuts back, stopping him in his tracks. The baby goat peers up at him with round unblinking eyes. Caleb frowns.
“I think he wants us to go this way,” says Fabio.
As if in response, the goat leaps a little left, a little right, but cutting an unmistakable southward route, the direction indicated by Fabio.
“Weird.”
“I’ll say,” says Fabio. “First he saved us from the zombie car. Then he got us these canteens. And now—”
“Hold on there, little bro. He saved us from the zombie car?”
“That’s right. You may think you were the one who heard the car first, but remember, it was Super Goat who herded us from the highway and led us to these canteens. So unless the Big-Time Spy Best Friend made all that happen himself, then no. Super Goat’s a better spy than you.”