Sonic the Hedgehog--The Official Movie Novelization
Page 6
Kracka-THOOOOOM!
A final chaotic burst threw the ring right at Robotnik, eating up the scientist and his cruel machine. A shockwave of blue lightning dissipated in the air, and when the sound of thunder died down, Sonic stood alone in a burned circle of dirt. The hedgehog collapsed.
Tom ran to him, crouching low, and picked Sonic’s head up. It didn’t look like he was breathing.
“The Blue Devil . . . is he okay?” asked Carl as the townspeople rushed to Tom’s side. Maddie was soon kneeling next to him with fear in her eyes.
“He was never a devil, Carl,” Tom said at last. “His name was Sonic. And he was always one of us—”
“But I have . . . much better . . . style than you guys.” Sonic coughed hard, and his breathing picked up to its regular frantic pace. His eyes fluttered open, and the town of Green Hills cheered.
“That might be,” said Tom. “But we still need to get you some pants.”
It was a rush. A thrill. A rocket ride to the other side and back again. And it wasn’t going anywhere.
Sonic sped through the streets of Green Hills. It was broad daylight, and he could stop anytime he wanted. He spun through the drive-through of the Burger Princess whenever he wanted a free double-decker with cheese. He posted up to Crazy Carl’s whenever he needed to borrow something, not a bear trap in sight. He had regular movie nights with a certain young lady (totally casual, mind you).
And most of all, he could pop into his best friend’s house whenever he wanted.
It felt strange still, all these weeks later, to be seen. To be known. To be accepted by these people that he had watched from the outside for years. But it was good. He didn’t have to hide who he was, and even when his speed got out of control and broke something in town (the local gym had stocked up on treadmill insurance), Sonic was never afraid of driving anyone away.
He swung down the road and pulled up to Tom and Maddie’s house, but something was off. A large black SUV sat idling in the driveway. Sonic slowed down and quietly zipped his way into the bushes as a man in black knocked on the door.
“Thomas Wachowski?” asked the stern-faced spook.
“Among other names,” Tom said. “Who wants to know?”
“I’m Agent Stone, Department of Defense Special Branch.”
“Another one of you guys? I hate to tell you, but we had some trouble with the last one.” Tom stepped up defensively. Through the bushes, Sonic squeezed his fists tight in anticipation.
“That’s what I’m here about. I’ve been tasked with cleaning up ops for our division so certain . . . inequities don’t repeat themselves,” said Agent Stone, handing Tom a package. “Consider this an olive branch for keeping certain matters quiet and a promise that you won’t be troubled again.”
“I can take a little trouble,” Tom said. “Speaking of which, did you ever find any trail of that Robotnik guy?”
“I’m sorry, no such person exists or has ever existed.”
“Oh, how I wish that were true.”
“You haven’t, by chance, been in contact with a certain alien creature since the incident?” the agent asked. “Uncle Sam would love to have a chat with him. Very casual. A brunch, maybe.”
“Who, the Blue Devil? As far as I’m concerned, that’s an urban legend.”
“Very well, Mr. Wachowski,” Stone said. “But keep the package handy, just in case.”
Stone’s SUV rolled out, and Sonic crept from his hiding place and into Tom’s house. He swung through the kitchen and made himself a bag of popcorn, kicking his feet up on the couch.
“What the heck, man?” cried Tom, coming in from the garage. “You don’t knock?”
“I thought it was guys’ night tonight?” Sonic said.
“It’s a little late, pal,” Tom said. “Maybe time for you to go back to your cave.”
Sonic kicked at the floor and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. Cool. I get it. Humans need private time. I’ll head out to the hills unless you need me.”
“I didn’t mean that cave,” said Tom. He led Sonic up the stairs to a door that had been locked for weeks. “Figured if I was going to make a go of it in the new, more dynamic, less boring version of Green Hills, I’d need to keep my partner within arm’s reach.”
Tom opened the door to a bedroom. A real one. The walls were hung with all his posters. An old-school boom box was propped on a desk. And on a shelf along the wall was the last of Longclaw’s possessions, somehow salvaged from Robotnik’s wrecked mobile lab, and the familiar face of Sergeant Sprinkles.
“Dude!” cried Sonic. “Dude . . . it can’t be real!”
“It’s real, Sonic,” said Tom. “This is home—for both of us. It always has been. I’m just making it official.”
“So, no more of the siren call of San Francisco?”
“I think that if we’re called to action,” said Tom, opening the package from Agent Stone, “It’ll come from someplace else.” He held out a slick, next-level radio receiver.
Sonic took the device in hand. “Secret government hotline,” he said. “Way past cool.”
Life moved pretty fast, but finally Sonic wasn’t alone anymore. And who knew, maybe he’d get a chance to make even more friends down the road?
Far away, the wind howled over the ocean. Storms wracked the cliffs and the water was rising with the tide. Something big was coming. Something that no one in this world could ever expect.
The wind twisted and turned, picking up leaves and branches in its power. The debris swirled in a small twister, and sparks began to flicker in the air as if by magic.
Zam!
A flash of lightning split the air in two, and soft feet landed on the ground above the cliff.
“If these readings are accurate, he’s here,” said the fox, as his two tails twitched in the wind. “I just hope I’m not too late.”
* * *
Worlds away, the heat of the jungle made dew drip off the mushroom pads, and a sharp knife of repurposed metal cut its way through the brush.
“Doctor’s log: Day 45. Still marooned,” Robotnik recited into the data pad that flickered on his wrist. Behind him, the remainder of his egg-pod lurched as he yanked on its vine reins. “But thanks to my supreme intellect and specially formulated mushroom diet, my grasp on sanity remains absolute.”
The doctor paused and tilted his wild hairy head to listen.
“What’s that, Agent Stone?” he said to the toadstool that sat on the machine, its front painted with a sticky pair of sunglasses. “Thank you. I like your new look, too.”
He pressed on in the heat. Over a month and still no signs of intelligent life on this rock. What bliss. “An uninhabited planet. No supplies. No apparent way home. A lesser man would die here,” Robotnik said as he smiled through his mustache. “I’ll be home by Christmas.”
THE END
Kiel Phegley is the author of several titles for Penguin Young Readers Licenses, including the Sonic the Hedgehog's Race Against Chaos Sticker Activity Book and Sonic and the Tales of Terror.
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