by Kiel Phegley
“The Blue Devil,” he said, shaking his head. “I owe Crazy Carl an apology . . . I guess.”
He carried the hedgehog into the house and laid it on the couch. While he slept, Tom took out the quill he’d been carrying around all day and slid it into Sonic’s spiky scalp. A perfect fit. Tom wasn’t sure if this made him feel safer or twice as crazy as he’d ever been.
After a while, the hedgehog’s heavy breathing lightened, and with a flutter of its eyes, it snapped awake. “Donut Lord?” it said slowly.
“It’s real. It’s really real,” Tom said. “What are you? Why were you hiding in my garage? Are you . . . are you here to abduct me?”
“What?” said the hedgehog, standing up. “You abducted me!”
“Okay, that’s a fair point.”
“And I’m here because I needed somewhere safe. They came to my home. The last thing I saw was them tearing through my stuff.” The animal’s eyes grew as it remembered. “And you . . . you’re the only person I could think of to turn to, Donut Lord.”
“Why do you keep calling me Donut Lord?!”
“Because I’ve seen you talk to donuts . . . and then eat them if they get out of line.”
“Again, fair.”
“Wait! Where are all the mushrooms? Why am I still on Earth? What happened to . . . ?” The creature started panicking. “My rings! I lost my rings!”
“Wait, that glowing thing?” Tom asked. “Was that like your mothership?! Because I think it just flew off to San Francisco.”
The hedgehog stumbled around and fell back to the couch, still groggy from the tranq. “They’re coming for me! You have to help me, Donut Lord! My legs don’t work! And my rings are gone. Please! It’s life or death!”
That clinched it. Tom had been waiting to hear the phrase “life or death” his entire life. This was it. A real shot to take action as a cop. Plus, what would Maddie say about a talking animal pleading for its life?
“Okay,” Tom said with his sternest action-hero expression. “Come with me if you want to live.”
The only thing between Robotnik and a perfectly automated world was the US Constitution. If he could shred the blasted thing in the name of order, he would. But as it stood, he legally couldn’t stride into any private domicile in search of the creature. So he had to outthink this simple country policeman.
“Can I help you?” answered the cop. He looked like a rube.
Robotnik forced a smile. “Good morning. I’m from the power company, investigating the blackout. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take some readings inside your house. Now.”
“No kidding, you’re from the power company?” The hick stated the obvious. “You must know my buddy Spencer. We play softball together.”
“Yes,” he replied. “Good man, that Spencer. Now if you’ll just . . .”
“Except . . . doesn’t the power company usually take their readings outside the house?” the man leaned into Robotnik’s face. “Also, my buddy Spencer works for the gas company and he’s more of an ultimate frisbee guy. So you wanna tell me why you think I’m dumb enough to just let you inside my house?”
Robotnik ground his teeth. “I’m sorry, Mister . . . ?”
“Wachowski. But everyone calls me Tom. Except my dentist. He calls me Tim and it’s gone on so long, it would be weird to correct him now.”
“Well, Mr. Wachowski, let’s just say I’m authorized to inquire about certain power surges coming from your attic.”
“The attic?” the yokel said. “Nothing up there but grandma’s hope chest, and you do not want to see what’s in there.”
He was lying. Robotnik’s heat-seeking drone hovered just above the west side of the house, and it was sending all relevant data on an odd infrared mammal to his smart glasses. The creature was in this house.
“Let me explain some facts to you, Wachowski,” the mask of kindness dropped from his face. “Fact: About twenty minutes ago we clocked an energy pulse with a similar signature to the one that caused the power outage, and the only house inside the radius of that pulse is . . . 55 Plymouth Road. Fact: I am authorized by law to pursue this as I see fit.”
“Fact: You need a mint and a lesson on manners,” Tom said. “Listen, Mister . . . ?”
“Doctor. Doctor Robotnik.”
“Ok, Dr. Robot . . . man,” Wachowski said with a sneer. “I’m sure whatever you’re here for is very serious, but I have nothing to do with it. Ask anybody in this town. Everyone knows me.”
Robotnik’s drone slid into the house through an upstairs window. Forget the law. He was going to get this thing. The drone’s tiny camera zoomed in on a pile of old sporting equipment. Blip! The screen glitched once, and the heat signature—the creature—was gone!
“I bet they do all know you,” Robotnik said. “I’m sure you’re very popular with all the Jeds, and Merles, and Billy Bobs of this Podunk town. You go way back to the days of playing stickball in the streets or whatever stimulates the dimwits here. And maybe someday you’ll achieve your life’s goal of getting a Costco card or adopting a labradoodle.”
His secondary botnik drone picked up the signature a floor below, not darting but creeping out. He wouldn’t lose it!
Robotnik continued to rant. “But the reality is, I surpassed your entire life’s achievements before I was a toddler. And I can predict every monosyllabic thought struggling to escape your simple mind before it comes tumbling out of your mouth. So if you think for one minute that you can manipulate or lie to me, Mr. Wachowski, you’re even dumber than I already know you are.”
His third, hyperfast botnik swung above him. The three drones triangulated. The creature had stopped in the kitchen, cowering.
“Mr. Wachowski, are you familiar with US Code 904, Title 10, Article 104?”
“Of course. It’s one of my favorites.”
“Anyone who attempts to aid an enemy to the United States shall suffer a potential punishment up to execution,” Robotnik said, grinning triumphantly. “And that’s what happens if any other government agent catches you. What happens if I catch you will be much, much worse . . . NOW!”
At his command, all three drones smashed through the windows and headed for the kitchen. Robotnik pushed past Wachowski and tightened his fists. He turned the corner to the kitchen and found . . .
An incredibly fat raccoon, gorging himself on leftover cake across a map of California.
“This can’t be right,” the doctor said with certainty. “I’m Robotnik. I’m never wrong.”
“First time for everything,” an agitated Wachowski said, stepping in between him and the counter. “If you want, you can take some of this cake to go.”
And then he saw it. A pale blue light shone from the counter. Robotnik grabbed and lifted up a long animal quill, glowing with a strange power. It was so erratic, the light of that spike. Chaos unlike his mechanical world, but still powerfully attractive.
“Oh look, I was right. Note my lack of surprise,” Robotnik said as he clicked his control pad and the drones spun around their heads. “Five seconds before I let them tear this place apart . . .”
“Listen, pal. I’m the closest thing to the law in this town, so—”
“Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . .”
“Stop!” a high-pitched voice called out. In the window, Robotnik saw the creature. Close to Earth’s taxonomically named Erinaceomorpha Erinaceinae. A common hedgehog. But blue. And speaking. Intelligent alien life was here.
“Don’t hurt anyone, dingus. It’s me you want,” said the creature.
And then, before Robotnik could smash down his control pad, Wachowski punched the doctor square between the eyes. “You caveman!” the doctor cried before the world went black.
“One punch!” Sonic laughed. “You laid him out with one punch!”
Rattatat-rattatat!
From around the corner,
one of Robotnik’s drones began flashing red and blasting the walls with machine-gun fire. Must have been some kind of self-defense protocol, but Sonic could only shout, “This feels excessive!” as he was yanked from the floor.
“Stay behind me!” Donut Lord said, and dragged Sonic behind a couch. Sonic’s hyperfast metabolism did quick work on whatever was in that dart, but he still could only juice his speed for short bursts. It was now or never to try, though.
“Can you believe Amazon is going to deliver packages with this thing?” Sonic called out as he collided with the drone and grabbed on to its shell like he was riding a mechanical bull. In a second, the whirring robot killer had spun him around and launched him across the room.
His human friend yanked Sonic from the air and sprinted them both out to the lawn. “Oh, don’t tell me that’s all you got? I’m just getting started. Let me know if you wannna go Round 2 with the Blue!” the hedgehog shouted, and tried not to puke.
Sonic still felt woozy as he climbed into the cab of Donut Lord’s truck. No wait. It was Tom. His real name was Tom Wachowski. Forget that, he thought. This guy is Donut Lord for life.
“Okay, I want answers, pal. Who are you? WHAT are you?” Tom said as he steered the truck down the side street away from his house. Behind them a bunch of siren-wailing SUVs swarmed the house’s front lawn.
“I’m a hedgehog. I feel like that’s obvious,” he said. “My name is Sonic, and I’m in big trouble.”
“Oh, you’re in big trouble?! You’re not the one who punched some sort of government weirdo back there!”
“You think you have problems? I was just trying to live alone, honest,” Sonic said. “But something happened, and my powers caused the blackout.”
“Whoa, are you, like, on a countdown to explode?”
“No, dude. I’m just a teenager, and everything in my life sucks right now.”
“Well, I been there,” said Donut Lord sympathetically.
“But we can work it out together,” Sonic pleaded. “If you help me unscrew my life, I can do the same for yours. We’ve just got to get my rings back!”
“Yeah, what is up with those things? I only saw a gold ring for a second, and it was insane.”
“Rings are how all advanced cultures travel between worlds,” Sonic said. “I was two seconds away from getting away from Earth and to a safe planet. But rather than porting to the mushroom planet, when you shot me my mind grabbed onto that weird pyramid building in San Francisco. Now the rings are on top of it.”
“Wait, you mean the top of that skyscraper? The Transamerica building?”
“You know where that is?” It was the best news Sonic had heard in forever.
“It’s in San Francisco. We’re moving there. Well, we’re supposed to.”
A look of panic overcame the man’s face. “Look, this is the worst possible time for me to get myself in trouble, okay? You asked me to save your life and I saved your life. Now please, go find your rings and your mushroom land. Hopefully I’m about to wake up in some hospital room and the doctor is going to tell me that my colonoscopy was a big success. Okay? So goodbye.”
He pulled over the truck and thrust open the door at Sonic’s side. Speechless, the hedgehog stepped onto the road.
“Okay, Donut Lord. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” he said to Sonic finally. They stared at each other for another moment. “Why aren’t you leaving?”
Sonic shrugged. “I don’t know where San Francisco is.”
It dawned on the driver what Sonic was hinting at. “No,” he said. “No way, I’ve already got enough trouble with the property values on my now very shot-up house. I’m not becoming a fugitive to boot!”
“If you get me to my rings, you won’t be a fugitive! You’ll be a hero!” Sonic pleaded. “I can disappear and old Ro-Butt-Nik won’t have a thing on you. Come on, Donut Lord! You were made for this.”
Tom looked at Sonic and smiled. It was the first time anyone had really looked at him since Longclaw passed. “I can’t believe I’m crazy—or desperate—enough to try this. Go ahead and get in the truck before I change my mind. But if we’re going to stick together, we’ve got to play it smart. I can drive through some forested back roads until we’re out of Green Hills. I can’t risk those drones hurting anyone in this town.”
“Right on, Donut Lord.” Sonic was pumped.
“But to be extra safe, let’s see if we can’t shake things up by laying low somewhere, okay Sonic? And if I’m going to call you that, you gotta try out Tom for once.”
“Way past cool, Tom,” Sonic said. “You won’t be getting any trouble from me.”
“Like the kind of trouble that comes from you spying on us for years?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t call it spying,” Sonic said as the truck pulled back onto the road. “We were all just hanging out, only I wasn’t invited and no one knew I was there.”
They drove westward on back roads with speed limits way too slow for Sonic. The whole concept of speed limits drove him crazy. And Tom was mostly chill. He listened to Sonic’s whole story—his life with Longclaw and his non-relationships with people in town. Sonic learned a few things, too, and felt a little bad about razzing old Crazy Carl. It was wild. He never realized how much he missed talking to someone until he couldn’t stop sharing.
But Sonic was getting itchy being trapped in that truck’s little cab. Tom wouldn’t stop at the world’s largest rubber-band ball, or the diner with the best pancakes in three states, or this deer that was giving him the stink eye. They did none of the fun touristy stuff. It was his first and only road trip, after all.
Finally, into the evening, when Tom stopped at a remote filling station for gas and to call Maddie from a supposedly untraceable pay phone, Sonic couldn’t take it anymore. He saw the allure of civilization in a bright neon sign that read THE PISTON PIT. It sounded loud and gross and amazing. Before he knew it, Sonic sped over to the roadhouse through a fleet of gnarly motorcycles parked out front.
In minutes, Sonic was at a table in the middle of the commotion of a loud biker bar. He wore a cowboy hat, an oversized flannel shirt, and a pair of sunglasses that he borrowed at hyperspeed from the various parking lot vehicles. He kicked his feet up on the table as Donut Lord barged in after him.
“Hello, fellow human!” Sonic cheered.
“We’re going.”
“No way! There’s so much I’ve never done in my life. Now that I’m leaving Earth forever . . . I guess I missed my chance. Let me live a little. I want to order buffalo wings! And guac! I’m not sure what that is but I heard someone say it once. Funny word. Guac.”
The Donut Lord looked at him for a minute with pity and finally cracked a smile. “Well, this looks like a place a man can get a lot of living done in a short period of time. I guess we can spare an hour.”
“You won’t regret this!” said Sonic.
“I’m sure I will.”
Tom regretted it almost instantly. This hedgehog kid, this Sonic, he was from another world. He had less-than-zero attention span, a permanent case of the jitters, and the loudest mouth Tom had ever seen on something so small.
The policeman in Tom spoke with authority about how the little fella wasn’t a kid but a grown man with a “very rare bone condition,” but the patrons still stared as he walked by. “Couldn’t you have at least stolen some pants to go with that outfit?” he asked.
“No can do, my dude,” said Sonic. “You have no idea how comfortable fur is on its own. Probably better than the best pair of pajamas you’ve ever owned times ten.”
They dove into the fun of the roadhouse, and frenzy followed Sonic everywhere. Their dart game was like a needle explosion, each projectile landing anywhere but the bull’s-eye. Sonic rode the mechanical bull until he got bored and decided to make it a perpetual backflip pad. Even shooting hoops in the basketball toss drew a
ttention when the little blue nut begged to be tossed in after spinning into a ball (though even for Tom that was a little fun).
But things went off the rails when Sonic line-danced across the whole place and landed a red sneaker straight up the rear of a three-hundred-pound biker with crumbs in his beard from the seafood special.
“Watch where you’re walking, you hipster doofus!” barked the man.
“Well, maybe if Jerkface McLeatherpants would watch how much space he’s taking up, we wouldn’t have a problem!” The hedgehog puffed up his quills beneath the cowboy hat.
“Look, it’s cool,” Tom said, trying to ease the tension. “We were actually just about to leave. We’re on our way to San Francisco.”
“Maybe let your little friend here speak for himself, dude,” said the biker, his spittle spraying on Tom’s nose. Before Tom could wipe the flecks away, a breeze blew past his leg. Sonic was behind the biker, his hands on his waistband.
“Why don’t I let your pants say what everyone wants you to do—split!” he said. Shhhhrip! The little blue hedgehog tore a wedgie up out of the leather pants and over the back of the biker’s head. The biker fell to the floor shouting. By the time Sonic was able to stop laughing, a wall of bikers—all filled with rage—had surrounded them.
That’s when chaos broke out.
In every direction that Tom looked, he saw something flying toward him. Chairs. Bottles. Fists. Spit. Screams. But no matter how he jerked, ducked, or swung, nothing hit him. Instead, an electric blue whirlwind sprung around the entire room in overlapping, scribbly lines of light.
Whatever Sonic touched, he transformed into something ridiculous. A dude throwing a tray from the kitchen snapped out of focus until all the chili dogs were eaten off the plate and spaghetti hair covered his eyes. Another attacker found both his feet in rolling mop buckets and then wheeled straight into the love-detector machine. Two massively muscled goons came within an inch of Tom, but with dizzying speed they were wrapped in toilet paper like mummies. It was like the craziest Three Stooges movie ever, in superfast-forward.