B003J5UJ4U EBOK

by Lubar, David

  “Nice try, Eddie,” he said. “You’re pretty clever for an amateur.” He stepped away from the window and scanned the room. “But you’re no match for professionals.”

  Think!

  I was so used to depending on my talent, it was hard to imagine any other solution.

  “Eddie, I’m not in the mood for hide and seek. We have a lot of work to do. There’s nothing to worry about. No more nasty medicine, I promise. We don’t need that anymore.”

  I held my breath as Bowdler’s eyes locked on the desk, then nearly jumped as a harsh squawk burst through the air. He put the box on the window ledge and pulled a walkie-talkie from a clip on his belt.

  “Any sign of him outside?” He paused a moment, then said, “I didn’t think so. He’s still in here.” He shook his head. “No. Maintain your position. I want you out front if he makes a break for the door. Don’t worry about the back. He can’t clear the wall.”

  So there was at least one other person outside, and Bowdler was about to start searching for me. I had a feeling he was very good at hide and seek. Or search and destroy. I couldn’t just wait here and hope he didn’t find me.

  But there was no way I was going to jump him. He had a gun, he was way bigger than I was, and he probably knew all sorts of deadly fighting techniques. The only thing I had going for me was surprise.

  I waited until he looked down to clip the walkie-talkie back onto his belt. There was a heavy tape dispenser on the desk. I grabbed it, stood up, and threw it as hard as I could. But not at him. Hoping I was right, I aimed for the box on the window sill. If that’s what was blocking my power, I had a chance to get out of here. Even as the dispenser left my hand, I found myself trying to guide it with my mind. But that wasn’t necessary. I hit the box with a solid shot, sending it flying out the window. I heard it clatter to the street. Broken, I hoped. If not, I was definitely in deep trouble.

  Bowdler spun toward me. I reached out with my mind and ripped the gun from his hand. It flew up with so much force, it smashed through the plasterboard of the ceiling. He was lucky it didn’t take his trigger finger with it.

  I had my power back. I could do anything I wanted to him. I could snap his ribs or rip his heart out through his mouth. I could pluck his eyesballs from their sockets and force him to juggle them.

  The gun must have cut him when I yanked it away. Blood spilled from a gash in his palm. I hesitated for an instant, fighting the memories brought on by the sight. I had to stop him, but I didn’t want to live with the burden of another death.

  Unlike me, Bowdler didn’t hesitate. He dived backward and rolled out the window. “Give me your disrupter,” he shouted.

  I raced into the hallway. I knew I couldn’t go out the front. I ran to the rear of the house. By the time I reached the door, I’d unlocked it and flung it open with my mind. I leaped out the back, my feet barely even touching the porch steps, and ran as fast as I could. There was a brick wall behind the house at least ten feet high. Maybe more. It was higher than I could jump. I couldn’t lift myself more than a couple inches. The times I’d tried anything like that, I’d ended up sprawled on my butt.

  I heard footsteps racing down the hallway. I searched the yard for something I could use as a ladder. No tables. No chairs. Not even a large flower pot. But there were some leftover bricks scattered on the ground.

  I stacked three bricks, end to end, two feet away from the wall. Keeping those in place, I stacked six more bricks a foot from the wall to the left of the first stack. As I ran toward my emergency stairs, I pressed nine bricks against the wall, in line with the first three, and hoped I could hold everything in place under my weight.

  I reached the first stack, stepped on it with my right foot, landed on the second stack with my left, then hit the third with my right. I felt like I’d just been plunged into a real-life video game. As I leaped to the top of the wall, I let the bricks topple back down behind me.

  The other side of the wall led to more backyards. I jumped down, then cut around a house and onto the street, sprinting full out, like Death himself was on my tail. I ran until I couldn’t even breathe, and then ran some more. Finally, I stopped and risked a glance over my shoulder. There was no sign of Bowdler. But I knew I couldn’t stay in the city. They’d be searching for me, swarming through the city like wasps from a busted nest. I had no idea how many people Bowdler had at his disposal. I needed to get out of Philadelphia. But first, I had to become someone else.

  elsewhere …

  AS MARTIN HEADED down the street, he wondered what Trash’s parents had done to bring this sort of trouble to their doorstep. And he wondered whether he should try to warn them. He had no way to get in touch with them. But there was still something he could do.

  When he reached town, he called 911 from a pay phone and told the dispatcher, “There’s a car parked across the street from eight-thirty-four Harbor Road. There’s a guy in it. He has a gun.”

  He wasn’t sure that was true, though it was hard to imagine that the guy wasn’t armed. He probably had a gun, a knife or two, and maybe a small atom bomb. At least the police would come and check him out.

  Having done all he could, Martin headed for a corner diner to put some food in his grumbling stomach. He sat at the counter and wolfed down a grilled cheese sandwich. He was dying to eat more, but he wanted to save as much of the cash as possible. The waitress told him where he could catch a bus that would take him a good part of the way toward Cheater’s house. She was so nice, he felt bad about leaving her a crummy tip. But he knew she was proud of her daughter, so he asked her if she had any kids and listened politely while she bragged.

  Once he got off the bus, he only had to walk two more miles. This time, someone was home. A kid who looked like an older, bigger, version of Cheater answered the door. He was eating an apple.

  “Is Dennis here?” Martin asked.

  The guy shook his head, chewed for a moment, then said, “Nope. The stupid jerk got himself beat up.”

  “What?”

  The guy shrugged and wiped a dribble of juice from his chin. “My dipwad little brother managed to get the snot stomped out of himself in some fleabag motel. Not very smart. Our parents are on a trip, so guess who had to deal with it? I’m always getting stuck.” He started to close the door.

  Martin put his hand on the door. “Where is he?”

  “Philly. That hospital where they treat kids with thick heads.”

  “I’m a friend of his. Martin Anderson. He ever mention me?” Martin hoped Cheater’s brother would at least invite him in. Or maybe offer him a ride to Philly.

  The guy shook his head, then wrinkled up his nose. “Man, you really smell. Ever heard of soap?” He shut the door.

  “I guess I’m going to Philly,” Martin said.

  radical disguise

  I FLED TOWARD the train station, scanning the stores I passed in search of a new identity. I finally found a place that sold extreme hair color in a can. I’d learned something from the pajamas—you can try to avoid stares, or you can force people to look away. I couldn’t think of any easy way to avoid getting recognized, so I figured I’d try to make myself so radical that anyone looking for Eddie Thalmayer wouldn’t give me a second glance.

  Red, green, black, or white? My hair was light brown. I went for black. I grabbed three fake nose rings, some hair gel, a spiked wrist band, and a Ramones t-shirt—probably more stuff than I needed, but I didn’t want to waste time thinking it over. I paid, headed for the door, then froze. Carrying the stuff wouldn’t do me any good.

  “You have a bathroom?” I asked the girl at the counter.

  She shook her head. “It’s not for public use.”

  I gave her my best lost-puppy look. I also gave her lungs the tiniest squeeze, so she’d feel her heart flutter and her breath speed up. It was a cheap trick, but I didn’t have much choice.

  Her expression softened. “Oh, why not. It’s in the back.”

  “Thanks.” I went into the bat
hroom and transformed myself into every parent’s nightmare. To make the change complete, I hunched over, like the whole world was pulling me down with more force than I could bear. It was a posture I was familiar with.

  “Thanks again,” I said to the girl when I came back out.

  She didn’t blink at the change. In fact, she smiled. “Hey,” she called after me as I went out the door, “you doing anything tonight?”

  “Yeah, sorry. I expect to be tied up later.”

  As soon as I hit the street, I knew I’d picked the right costume. People would stare for an instant as I walked toward them, then look away, as if the image stung their eyes. They noticed me, but they didn’t really see me. I was radically shielded.

  But I’d feel a whole lot better once I got out of Philadelphia and headed for some other city. Preferably a big one. Maybe I’d go to New York. It would be easy enough to disappear once I got there. I’d figure it out when I reached the station.

  Every time I saw someone in a dark suit heading toward me, my breath sped up. I knew the whole world wasn’t searching for me. That would be a crazy thought. But somebody was trying to find me.

  I reached the alley where I’d stashed my backpack, floated it down, then crossed over to the train station. I spotted a guy in a blue suit right by the main entrance. He was just standing there holding a tiny yellow shopping bag. Guys in suits don’t carry shopping bags. Not unless they’re with a lady who’s shopping. None of the men I’d seen earlier had a bag. Maybe it had taken Bowdler a while to get more of those disrupters made. If this guy had one of them in the bag, I’d be powerless. I tried to move a candy wrapper that was crumpled on the ground near his feet. It didn’t budge.

  I wanted to turn and run. I was sure he’d grab me when I went past. My disguise stunk. What was I thinking? He’d knock me out and take me back to Bowdler.

  The guy glanced at the small photo in his other hand, then scanned the crowd. I froze as his eyes moved past me. He stared at me for an instant, then shook his head in disgust and looked away.

  He didn’t recognize me. Still expecting to be grabbed, I walked past him, then slipped over to a corner of the terminal and studied the departure information on the big board that hung over the information desk. Maybe New York was a bad idea. They’d probably expect me to go somewhere like that. For all I knew, they had guys in Penn Station, watching everyone who arrived from Philly.

  It would be better if I went to New Jersey first, and then to New York. There was a train leaving for Trenton in five minutes. That would work.

  I bought a ticket and headed across the terminal toward the stairs that led to the platform for my train. I saw another guy in a suit ahead of me. I looked down, trying to make myself invisible. A crowd was coming in my direction. I guess another train had just arrived. Good. The more people around me, the better. Crowds were my friend.

  I kept my attention glued to the floor. Once I got past this last guy, I could go down the steps and get on the train. Despite the crowd, I wasn’t bumped much. Even without checking around me, I could tell that people were avoiding contact with someone who looked as creepy as I did. I almost enjoyed the feeling that nobody wanted anything to do with me.

  elsewhere …

  MARTIN WAITED WHILE the rest of the passengers rushed off the train. He hated getting jostled in crowds. The flood of impressions he received was a heavy load to carry. Every person he bumped into left him with the details of his or her greatest prides and deepest sorrows.

  Finally, he left the train. There was hardly anyone on the stairs, but the crowd grew denser when he got up to the terminal.

  Luckily, he saw a break ahead. There was a punky-looking kid coming toward him. People were moving wide of the kid, as if the air around him was poisoned. That was good. It gave Martin more room to slip through without getting jostled as much.

  Even so, he couldn’t completely shelter himself. At least he was used to it after a year weaving through the crowded halls at his high school. Impressions flittered through his mind with each jostle. I’m so good at trading stocks. I hate my body. I wish I’d learned to play the guitar. I can move things with my mind. I have a photographic memory. I beat my dog. I make the best blueberry pies in the world.

  Martin spun around as one impression seized him. I can move things with my mind.

  Trash! But Trash was dead. Martin searched through his memory for anything paired with the pride. I can move things with my mind. I draw awesome spaceships. My parents don’t spend much time with me.

  He scanned the crowd of people who’d just passed him. There were only three kids in the group—a little girl, a guy in his midteens, and the spiked-hair kid in a ripped Ramones shirt.

  Martin didn’t recognize the punk kid. But the walk—the way he moved, slunk down like the world was pressing on him—that was familiar. Amazingly familiar. He remembered the way Trash had acted at Edgeview before he’d learned about his talent. He’d been beaten down by everything. Almost crushed out of existence.

  It couldn’t be him. Trash was dead. It said so in the paper. But that guy at Trash’s house—he’d faked a kid’s death. Martin sped toward the kid, trying to reach him before he boarded a train. The closer he got, the surer he was. If he was right, this would erase all the sorrow he’d carried with him since that terrible day. I have to be right, Martin thought. He didn’t know if he could handle the pain of being wrong.

  the power of two

  AS I HEADED for the stairs, I sensed someone behind me. The footsteps matched my own. I sped up. So did the steps that followed me. I wanted to run. But that would be a mistake. Running would get me noticed. Notice would get me caught.

  Someone whispered in my ear. Three words. “Be cool, Trash.”

  I glanced back and gasped at the sight of the brown-haired, blue-eyed guy in the plain green t-shirt. Suddenly, everything seemed so much better. I slowed my pace and let Martin catch up with me. “Man, am I glad to see you.”

  “Tell me about it,” Martin said. “You’re supposed to be dead.” He’d grown a bit since last year. But so had I, which meant I was still a head taller and twenty pounds heavier.

  I kept my voice quiet and my eyes straight ahead. “It’s a long story. Most of which I don’t know. But we have to get out of here. There are people looking for me.”

  “Yeah. Serious guys in blue suits,” Martin said. “Like the one we just passed. That’s why I didn’t shout. There’s one outside your house, too. They aren’t playing around.”

  “I know. So I can’t go home. But I have to go somewhere. I was figuring maybe Trenton, and then New York.”

  “We can’t leave. Cheater’s here, in the hospital. He’s been hurt.”

  “How bad?” I wondered if Bowdler was involved.

  “I don’t know. But I’m headed there to find out.”

  I looked at the train car that was just a couple steps away. Philadelphia was swarming with people who were searching for me. They had disrupters, guns, and probably all sorts of high-tech stuff I didn’t even know existed. Trenton would be safe. But Cheater was one of my few real friends. He’d never run out on me if I was hurt. “Let’s go.”

  I turned and headed up the stairs and out of the station, back past the men in suits with their shopping bags. I waited until we were across the street from the station before speaking again. “You don’t know anything else about Cheater?”

  “His brother said he got beaten up. And his parents are on a trip. That’s all I know.” Martin stared at me as we walked. “So, when did you decide to make a fashion statement?”

  “About half an hour ago. You like it?”

  “Not really. I think you should shave it all off and start over.”

  As we walked to the hospital, I filled him in on everything that had happened, keeping my voice low, afraid that any of the hundreds of people we passed might latch onto my words, see through my disguise, and shoot me with a dart before I could react. I skipped over the worst part until I’d tol
d him the rest. Finally, I described the moment when I’d killed that man.

  Martin stopped walking and turned to me. “You can’t change the past.”

  “I know. But that doesn’t help. I can’t get the image out of my mind. Or the guilt.”

  “From what you told me about Bowdler, the real problem might be that you killed the wrong guy.”

  “Maybe.”

  Martin shook his head. “Man, I thought I had a tough time adjusting. I mean, I survived some rough stuff at school this year. Walking through the halls and absorbing all that heavy angst from everyone was like reading fifty teen problem novels at once. But you’ve got me beat.”

  “This is one contest I’d be happy to lose,” I said. “Makes me wonder what’s happening to the rest of the guys. If this disrupter works on all of us, we’re pretty much at Bowdler’s mercy.”

  “Torchie’s fine,” Martin said. “I get letters from him all the time. I think he’s the last kid on the planet who uses snail mail. I can tell how he’s doing by how scorched the paper is. And I got an e-mail from Flinch last week. He sent me some jokes he’s working on. I haven’t heard anything from Lucky in a while, and he hasn’t answered any of my e-mails. I think Cheater’s been trying to get in touch with him. And you’re dead. Not to mention pretty funny looking.”

  I punched him on the shoulder. “I missed you.”

  “Me, too.”

  It was good to hear that Torchie and Flinch were okay. I guess Bowdler didn’t know about anyone else. But I was worried that the guys hadn’t heard from Lucky. Though, right now, I was more worried about Cheater.

  When we reached the hospital, I paused by the front entrance.

  “What’s wrong?” Martin asked.

  “You sure you want to be with me? This isn’t some game, like sneaking out of Edgeview or taking on a couple bullies. The bad guys have guns. They seem to make up their own laws, too.”

  “I’m sure,” Martin said. “You know me—the bigger they act, the more stubborn I get. At least, that’s what nine out of ten psychologists say. Come on, we’ve got a friend to see.”