by Darin Gibby
A wave of relief made Addy dizzy and weak for a moment. She was going to get her introduction, and the live commercial was going to happen. The world was going to learn the secret, and then nothing could stop it from becoming a reality.
What amounted to a makeshift pit crew swung open the trailer doors, connected a ramp and rolled Hindy down. Addy rushed over. The first thing she noticed was the bullet hole through the driver’s side window. She ran her hand along the doors, then the hood, searching for any other damage.
“Somebody shoot at you?” said one of the pit crew.
Addy wiped her brow. In all the commotion, she’d almost forgotten what she’d just endured, and what Quinn was probably suffering even now. “Long story, and we don’t have time. Just know that what you see here is more valuable than solid gold. You’ll hear it all when I get out on the field.”
She felt a tapping on her shoulder. Claire was beside her with the producer and a cameraman. “Boy am I glad to see you here! Zissy’s been driving me nuts asking about you, not to mention everyone at the network. We have ten minutes until you’re out there. I need to walk you through the logistics. Meet our producer, Nate. He’ll be running the show. Any questions, he’s your man.”
Addy took a quick glance, seeing a tall, slim figure with no hair. She immediately turned back, still fixated on Hindy, carefully watching as her pit crew polished her car, wiped the windows and inflated the tires. “Good to meet you, Nate. Can we talk while I’m getting Hindy ready?”
“Sure,” the producer said. “And yes, you get started, we’ll tag along. By the way, I love the name of your car—got a cute ring to it.”
“It’s named after the Hindenburg airship,” Addy said, “not because of how it went up in flames, but because it was a totally new way to quickly cross the Atlantic.”
With Claire and the producer in tow, Addy made her way to where the pit crew was furiously finishing up the shine on her car. The producer had his own headset, perched on top of his bald head. Like the rest of his crew, he was wearing black jeans with a matching T-shirt.
“It’s going to be tight. You’ve only got a ninety-second slot, which isn’t enough time to take a lap around the track and then give a speech. So here’s what’s going to happen. The moment Zissy finishes her song, there will be three loud pops from the last of the fireworks. The house lights will come on, and Zissy will give you a plug. By that time, you’ve got to be on the track, making your lap. The announcers will come on, say how great the performance was and how they are all looking forward to the second half. You should then be past the far end zone. That’s when the live feed officially begins.”
“So you’ll capture the last part of my lap?”
“That’s right. When you get to the fifty, hang a hard left and come right out onto the field. There will be an army of stagehands poised to clear the field, but they’ll be on the other sideline, behind you. If I’ve timed it correctly, all that will take thirty seconds. That will give you a full minute to tell your story. As soon as you get out of Hindy, there will be another cameraman and a microphone stand. Got it?”
With her eyes still trained on Nate’s shiny head, Addy nodded while simultaneously leaning down to fish for the hood latch. Her swollen hand knocked against the grill and she jerked it back with a gasp and stifled a moan. She tried again with her other hand, and it slipped through.
Claire looked at Nate and raised her eyebrows. “You get bitten by a snake?” Nate said. “Your hand looks like a balloon.”
“It’s nothing,” Addy said as she tugged on the latch and the hood popped open a few inches, hoping he wouldn’t notice the gash above her eye.
“You have a change of clothes?” Claire asked.
Addy looked down at her yoga outfit. The vial holding the catalyst was half poking out above her breast and she could see a ketchup stain on her right thigh. Thank goodness the blood was invisible. She hated to think what her makeup looked like, or how oily and stringy her hair must be by now. At least she still had her ponytail.
“It’s been a long day,” Addy said. “Got anything I can wear?”
Nate snapped a few commands into his headset. “I’ll see what we can dig up. And, do you have your speech ready? Remember, you have one minute.”
Addy froze. How could she have spaced out about something this important? She had no idea what she was going to say. Telling what had happened just in the last two weeks could take hours. She needed a documentary, not a few sound bites.
Addy lifted the hood to reveal the fuel cell. It didn’t look anything like the one she’d had in the original Hindy, or even the one Quinn had used for the demonstration with Examiner Johnston.
The vivid stadium lights were suddenly dimmed, lowering the luminescence in the tunnel. It was then Addy realized that the team of dancers who’d been chattering like magpies had disappeared onto the field. The fans hushed their chatter.
Addy heard the public announcer boom out the name of Zissy Spaeth. The crowd suddenly erupted when they heard the first familiar chord of Zissy’s most recent number one hit.
Claire stripped off a page from her clipboard. “I was afraid of that. I’ve made an outline, based on some of the things Perry told me. I’ll put it on your seat.”
Perry. Her eyes burned with tears that would have to wait until later.
Claire reached over and put her arm around Addy. “I’m so sorry. But this is what he wanted. You’ve got to do him proud and go out show the world that innocent people have been murdered to keep this technology hidden from them.”
Addy nodded. The song went into the second verse and Addy knew time was running out. She slipped the vial from her yoga shirt, contemplating where it was supposed to be introduced into the fuel cell.
“One more thing,” Nate said. “On the big screen, we’re going to flaunt your magic formula. Perry told us that the whole world needed to see it. That was the only way everyone would know what was being kept from them. The only problem is that we don’t have it.”
Addy sprang into action. She ripped the clipboard from Claire’s hand, took up the pen that was attached and began feverishly sketching it out.
“Here,” she said, handing it back. “Get one of your graphics experts to tidy it up and flash the formula in the largest font you’ve got. Perry is not going to have died in vain.” She ducked her head underneath the hood to locate the chamber for the catalyst.
The rhythmic beat and melodic tones of Zissy’s next song began. A bead of sweat dribbled across Addy’s temple and stung her eye. She shook off the droplets of sweat and continued her search, running her finger over a set of brightly-colored plastic caps. She popped one off and looked inside, then another. None of them looked like what she was expecting. Where does the catalyst go? she asked herself.
Suddenly, Addy froze. She could hear Claire arguing with someone. She craned her neck and peered over the fuel cell to see what was causing the commotion.
“We need to speak with your guest.” A police officer wearing a forest green uniform, hands resting on his hips, was confronting Claire. From her vantage point, Addy couldn’t tell if there were any other police in the vicinity. Reading the insignia on the officer’s shoulder, she could tell he was from the local sheriff’s office.
“That won’t be possible,” Claire sniped. “In less than five minutes, that car is going to be sitting on the fifty-yard line, and Addy is going to tell the world about a car that can run on water. Believe me, you don’t want to be the person responsible for keeping that from happening.”
“I’ve got a warrant for her arrest.”
Addy swallowed as she watched Nate motion to his cameraman. A red light on the camera illuminated. From here on out, every word would be documented.
Addy shot up, banging her head on the hood. She grabbed it with her injured hand, doubling the agony, as she strode into the officer’s personal space. “Trust me, you’ll want to see this. Just give me five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Five
minutes to show the world that this car, this very car sitting in front of you, is going to change everything. You, my friend, are part of history. Gasoline is a thing of the past. Believe me, you don’t want your name to be in every newscast as the officer who stopped the show, who rained on the Super Bowl. Just let me do my thing, and then I’ll turn myself in.”
Claire rushed forward, snatching a few papers from her clipboard. They were the documents Addy had obtained from her Freedom of Information Act request. Claire smashed them into the sheriff’s chest. “Here, read these. They’re government documents admitting they have a secret program to stop Addy’s patents. How’s it going to look if you’re part of the government’s conspiracy to stop this technology? Come on, give her a chance. Innocent until proven guilty—correct?”
Addy smiled. This was Perry’s doing. He must have given the papers to Claire.
The officer looked back at his partner, who’d now joined the discussion, and scratched the back of his neck. He sauntered over to Hindy and kicked the front tire.
“This car? On water?”
“You got it. Imagine what it’s going to be like.”
A faint smile broke on his face and he shook his head. “This I’ve got to see. But I’m coming out on the field with you. Consider yourself in my custody.”
“You can ride with me if you want,” Addy offered.
He shook his head again. “That’s okay, but don’t do anything stupid. When you’re finished, we’re going to the station. I’m only doing my job.”
“Deal,” Addy said, holding out her good hand.
Addy had barely buried herself back under the hood when she felt another tap on her back. Nate was holding an oversized 49ers jersey. “I’m afraid this is all we have, but it’s better than what you’re wearing now.”
She snatched it and threw it on over her yoga shirt, then dove back to her work, clueless that the jersey came nearly to her knees.
As Addy ducked her head beneath the hood, she noticed a plastic bag that was taped to the bottom. It contained a neatly folded piece of paper. She ripped the bag off, tugged out the paper and unfolded it on top of the fuel cell. It contained step-by-step instructions for how to load the catalyst, as well as the start-up protocol. She ran her finger down the steps, frantic because Zissy was now into her third song.
Following the instructions, Addy located a red handle and gave it a gentle tug. A hinged door opened, revealing a small compartment resembling the location in a dishwasher where the detergent is loaded. Addy hitched up her jersey and retracted the vial from her yoga shirt. Her hands were shaking as she twisted off the lid. She took a deep breath, then poured in the granules, careful not to spill any of them. Then she clapped the door shut.
For the next step, she twisted off a black cap and stuck her finger inside to confirm that the water holding tank of the fuel cell was indeed empty. Her finger came back dry and she held it up to the camera. Then she hurried and popped the trunk. Quinn’s instructions told her to make sure the tank was completely full, and that he’d stored a gallon of distilled water in the trunk if she needed it.
As she rushed back to the front of the hood, she held up the water to the camera making sure the camera captured the large H2O label. Perhaps Quinn had intentionally let the water run low, just for this moment. She wondered how he was faring while she unscrewed the lid and poured in about half of the liquid until it reached the waterline. Then she twisted the cap back on.
Rushing around the front of the car, she read the next steps while she slipped into the driver’s side seat. Unlike a traditional automobile, there was no ignition, just a series of switches and knobs. Following the protocol, Addy flipped a series of switches, then turned the starter knob. She fully expected to hear the fuel cell start humming, beginning the process of extracting the hydrogen from water. Instead, all she heard was the beating of the drum and the screaming Zissy fans.
She observed the sheriff take a step closer and lean his ear toward the motor. Claire shimmied forward too, hanging her hopes on any indication that the car had come to life. The camera lens didn’t moved.
Addy jumped out and tucked her head beneath the hood, listening for any evidence that the fuel cell had come alive. She heard nothing. The stadium momentarily went silent as Zissy finished her ballad and the applause resumed. Zissy was ready to start her final number.
Addy smashed her fist on top of the fuel cell. She unrumpled the paper and revisited the steps. She’d followed them precisely.
What if something had happened to the catalyst? What if the landscaper wasn’t really what he claimed to be? Maybe he had the real catalyst and all she had was dirt? What if a stray bullet had torn through the fuel cell?
The sheriff was now shaking his head, his arms folded over his large belly. “Can we help you with anything?” he asked.
Addy ignored him, but couldn’t avoid Claire’s concerned look. Claire tucked her chin beneath the clipboard.
She wished Quinn was there with her, walking her through the protocol.
“Anyone you can call?” Claire suggested.
Instinctively, Addy reached for her phone, but it was swallowed beneath her red and gold jersey. It was then she remembered that she had never turned on her phone. What if Quinn had tried to reach her? She hitched up her jersey and removed the phone that was wedged beneath her pants. She toggled the Wi-Fi switch and waited for a signal.
“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” she demanded.
Claire waddled over and studied her screen. “SBsunday. The S and B are capitalized.”
Addy tapped in the letters. Almost as soon as they were entered, her phone beeped and she saw a banner with Quinn’s message. “Call me.”
Realizing her phone wouldn’t work, she spat out another order. “I need someone’s phone. Now!”
Claire pulled hers from a purse that was hanging over her shoulder, and Addy hurriedly dialed his number, realizing every second counted.
She heard a click, indicating a connection had been made, but she didn’t receive any kind of salutation. She pressed the phone to her ear, trying to listen over the roaring of the stadium.
“Quinn, is that you?”
“Addy, thank goodness you called.” His voice was faint.
“Are you okay?” Addy pressed. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine,” he said, sounding strange, “but I need to know about Hindy.”
“She doesn’t work,” Addy blurted out. “Hindy, she doesn’t work.”
“Give it time,” he said. “It takes several minutes for the reaction to build up enough hydrogen.”
She heard a dull thud, followed by a groan. Then another, as if Quinn were being beaten. Another voice came through the phone’s speaker.
“We’ve kept him alive so you can make a decision.”
“Quinn,” she screamed, realizing the phone had been snatched from his hand. “Put him back on. You can’t hurt him.”
“That’s your decision. If you drive that car onto the field, his life is over. If you want him to live, you’ll bring us the catalyst and call off this little charade.”
“No, please don’t hurt him,” Addy pleaded. “Wilcox, I know it’s you. I’ll give you anything you want.”
The officer stepped forward and leaned his ear toward her phone. She could smell his cheap cologne.
“Please,” she said, holding back her tears. “I want to talk to Quinn.”
“As you wish,” Wilcox said.
Both Claire and the sheriff scooted closer. Addy hung her head, trying to secure some sense of privacy.
“Addy,” Quinn said when he came on. “Don’t listen to them. Show Hindy to the world. Push the red button. I’ll be okay.”
Addy heard another thud, a crunch, then the line went silent.
“That’s what happens when people don’t listen and cooperate,” the voice interrupted. “Now, are you going to shut down the car and bring us the catalyst?”
Addy saw Claire step back, pres
s her headset into her ear, and nod. Zissy’s final song was well underway.
“The catalyst is already in the fuel cell,” she said in a last-ditch effort to negotiate for Quinn’s safety. “I can’t get it out.”
“Then bring us the car.”
“They’ll arrest me.”
“Then I guess we don’t have anything left to discuss.”
Claire, sensing Quinn was now a hostage and that his life somehow depended on Addy’s decision to stop the show, teetered over and put her arm around Addy. “I’m afraid it’s time. I’m sorry, but I understand your decision. We’re going to run the backup commercial.”
Claire held her tighter. Somehow her human touch brought Addy back.
“No,” Addy said. “Don’t run the backup. This is what Quinn wants. I’ve got to honor his last request.”
The sheriff snatched the phone and plugged it into his ear. It was too late. The call had ended.
Addy untangled herself from Claire’s embrace. “Come on, we can’t wait any longer. Let’s get this show on the road.”
Tears began to stream down her face as she slammed down the hood and bolted into the car. She poked the red button and immediately felt a slight tremor as the fuel cell hummed to life.
“It’s running on water,” she screamed over Zissy’s blaring band. She wiped her watering eyes. “Just like Quinn promised. Just like he promised.”
The cameraman moved closer, and the sheriff rested his hands on his hips.
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to ruin this,” he muttered.
Claire began yelping commands into her headset. A makeup artist appeared, poked her head through the window, and began dotting a pad on Addy’s cheeks and above her injured eye.
She shifted the car into gear and gently pressed the accelerator. Hindy leapt forward, nearly sideswiping one of the stagehands.
“Sorry,” she said through a half smile. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
A path within the tunnel instantly cleared, and Claire gestured her forward. Four cameramen jockeyed for position, and a few bystanders pulled out their phones to capture the historic event.