A huge metal and neon sign advertised THE OPEN AIR MOVIE PALACE, although the neon tubes had probably ceased to function many years ago, and the paint on the metal surface was peeling and rusted. The sign stood on a single pole that stretched high into the air to make it visible from miles down the road, and in the pre-dawn light it looked forlorn and forsaken.
The exterior of the drive-in was surrounded by a corrugated metal fence, and all along its surface strange symbols had been painted long ago. These symbols too were a victim of the elements, because chunks of paint had flaked off and left them looking very moth-eaten.
“I’ve seen those symbols before,” Cal remembered.
“So have I,” said Tex. “They were all over the exterior of the bowling alley.”
“I wonder what they mean?” John asked.
“I know what that one means,” said Kate, pointing to one that looked like a flower without any petals. “It’s silver.”
“How do you know that?” Tex asked.
“Science,” she said nonchalantly.
“I’ve never seen anything like that in science,” Cal said.
“One day in science class the teacher was talking about alchemy, and he drew that symbol and some others on the board,” she explained.
“Well that figures,” John said, “’cause this is a world of science. It’s governed by scientists, and all those people in the bowling alley were probably cloned.”
“How do you know that?” Cal asked, intrigued.
“I don’t for sure,” John said matter-of-factly, “I just suspect.
“So that’s why they all looked the same,” Tex said slapping his head. “Of course!”
“Ugh, that’s so disgusting,” Kate groaned. “Imagine looking exactly like all your friends, and then looking exactly like everyone else. It’s the worst!”
“I have a hard enough time looking like me,” Cal said plaintively.
“Well, that’s easy to understand,” said Tex sarcastically.
John turned off the road into the dilapidated entrance to the drive-in. Any gates that may have hung on the frame they passed through must have rotted away long ago, or been stolen. The surface they drove over had once been tarmac, but the heat had gouged huge fissures into its surface, and grateful clumps of grass had squeezed their way through to bask in the sun.
It was an echo of a bygone era. Speaker posts stood in rows across a huge field, and at the far end a massive white screen reflected the cold early rays of the sun into the car. Above them the sparkling stars in the sky were beginning to lose themselves in the flood of dawn light cascading over the horizon. It was entropy in action, a modern day temple giving itself back to nature in an endless matinee. About halfway across the field John stopped the car, and the four of them just sat and gazed at the glorious splendor of dawn, in a dead drive-in movie theater, in an alien and hostile world.
***
Anger is a frustrating emotion; it’s like a guest invited to a party who stays long after everyone else has left. It’s insidious, it gets under the skin and stays there, and if one lets it, it will turn life into a living hell. Temporarily blinded by fury, Hunter kicked and screamed uncontrollably at one of the flattened tires on the limo. “Those damn little pieces of crap! When I get my hands on them, I’m gonna rip their heads off, and stuff ‘em—” He never got to finish the ubiquitous phrase because two things happened. First, his conscience kicked in and he realized what a complete waste of time and energy getting angry actually was, and second, some exceptionally strange music drifted into his ear and stole his attention.
Steve was torn between two opposing emotions, the primary being the fear that the smelly geeks were going to pluck up some new courage and come charging out of the bowling alley and stone them to death with bowling balls. The secondary was a strange mixture of empathy and amazement at Hunter’s abject abandonment of sanity.
After leaving the bowling alley and seeing the kids drive away, he and Hunter had run to the car, expecting to leap in and give chase. But when they arrived to see the poor limo stranded in the parking lot with four flat tires like a beached whale, Hunter had completely flipped his lid and erupted into the most explosive tantrum Steve had ever seen in his life.
It was a war dance of epic proportions, marked by staccato body movements and flurries of kicks and punches at nothing in particular. It was scary, and the most bone-chilling aspect of the performance was a wild blood-curdling cry that seemed to emanate from the deep dark depths of his soul. Steve was just beginning to wonder what he would do if Hunter went completely off his rocker never to return, when he too heard the sound of diabolically odd music drifting on the breeze, and the two of them turned and scanned the parking lot, looking for the source of the funky tune.
“What is that?” Hunter asked.
Steve hesitated to call it music, because it was unlike anything he had ever heard before. “It sounds like Frank Sinatra in a washing machine,” he ventured.
Hunter turned and stared at him, contemplating his answer. “You know, that’s a very apt description.” He was pleased; the lad had some imagination. “Would you like to hear more of that music?” Hunter asked matter-of-factly.
“Not particularly,” replied Steve.
“Oh, I think you would,” Hunter said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out his pistol. “I definitely think you would.”
Steve stared back at him trying to divine his secret meaning, and then the realization dawned. “Oh yeah, right, I love this music,” he answered, smiling and drawing his own gun. “And now that I’ve heard it, I don’t think I can live without it.”
Two young pimply Nerds sat in the front of what seemed to be an old Ford Apache pickup truck. At least it bore a resemblance to that vehicle, but this one was much sleeker and aerodynamically shaped. Presumably they were engaged in the teenage dating ritual of cranking the music really loud, in preparation for some serious fooling around. Who could tell—the males and females in this neck of the woods looked exactly alike.
Whatever the scenario, it mattered little to Hunter and Steve. Their attention rested squarely on the truck; they could’ve cared less about the occupants. The two of them fanned out and sneaked around both sides of the vehicle, then on a silent signal from Hunter, they ripped the doors open and stuck their guns inside.
“Okay, Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee—hit the street,” Hunter commanded as the young punk in the driver’s seat turned and stared over the barrel of his gun.
“Who the hell are you?” the pimply-faced geek demanded in what Hunter would have sworn was an Austrian accent, and it suddenly dawned on him that foreign inflection was the only form of individuality these creeps had.
“I’m your fairy godfather,” Hunter replied, “and if you don’t want me to turn you into a bullet-riddled wiener schnitzel, you’ll get out of the damned car!”
“You’re an Off-Worlder,” the punk sneered. “I don’t have to listen to you.” It was absolutely the wrong thing to say to a weary warrior whose patience had worn thinner than a supermodel. Hunter reached out his hand and clamped it around the guy’s face, crushing his Buddy Holly glasses until the lenses popped out.
“I’m not asking you to get out,” Hunter said, “I’m telling you,” and he lifted him out of the truck with one hand, held him suspended off the ground, and got right into his face.
“I’m having a very bad day,” he pointed out, “and I’m guessing that you’re really not insensitive to my needs. You were just absorbed in your own life, and you hadn’t noticed my pain. Am I right?”
The punk tried grunting and did his best to nod his head, although neither was very successful given the grip he was caught in. “And, if you could speak, or nod your head, I’m sure you would offer to lend me your vehicle so that I may be on my way and not bothering you with my troubles any longer. Am I right?”
“Aannggghh!” the punk grunted painfully.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hunter said, smiling
, as he let the kid drop to the ground in a sniveling, crumpled heap and climbed into the truck. It had been much easier for Steve, because when the young punk’s companion had seen Hunter lift her friend out by the face, the poor scared and frightened fool had leapt out of the truck and fled into what was left of the night.
Steve climbed in behind the wheel and holstered his gun; he had never seen Hunter this riled up. “That was both entertaining and educational, Mr. Hunter.”
“Just don’t get on my bad side when I’m angry,” Hunter warned, “unless you’re looking for some serious trouble.”
“No, sir,” Steve replied. He could see Hunter was jazzed up on adrenaline and he thought it would be better to leave him alone. He threw the truck into gear and took off in the direction the kids had gone, but he couldn’t help going over the events that had happened since they had entered the bowling alley. He realized that if things had been left to him, he would have lost his temper way back at the beginning, and probably blown any chance there was of getting out of the clutches of the Nerds. But Hunter hadn’t done that; he’d checked his anger early and waited until the appropriate time to use it. It was a valuable lesson: If you let anger take control, it leads down a dead end street. But if you control it, you can get anything you want.
Chapter 29
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
As the kids sat and watched the sun rise over the drive-in, John’s mind turned inevitably to his failure. He had done all he could to ensure that he and his friends remained safe. He had utilized his new talents to the best of his ability, and he had done whatever the subatomic masters had asked him to do, and yet inexplicably, he had failed.
He had also told them he would do everything in his power to find a way out of this strange world, but the truth was he had no idea where to start planning. Sure, he had an awesome ability to change shape, but in this situation it amounted to nothing more than a goofball sideshow attraction.
He glanced at Kate; the sun was shining on her hair and lighting up her face. She was beautiful inside and out, self-assured and strong, and she had no fear of showing her vulnerability. He looked in the rearview mirror at Tex and Cal lounging silently in the back seat. He couldn’t believe he used to be scared of them. They had turned out to be two of the most self-disciplined people he had ever met, and there was no situation, no matter how dire, they couldn’t lighten with a dose of improvised humor.
Then there was himself, still suffering under the John Smith curse of absolute ordinariness. It was a mistake that he was here at all; if he hadn’t walked into an accident, none of this would have ever happened. He suddenly realized he had never begun or finished anything in his life. Everything just happened around him and he reacted to it; there was no planning, no thought, no desire, no achievement. He was a fake, a fraud, and a failure, and he decided he really didn’t like himself very much.
“So this is the end of the road,” he mumbled to himself. It wasn’t what he’d pictured; a sunrise over a drive-in really didn’t go with the funk he’d fallen into.
“It’s a beginning,” Kate said. Oddly, the way she saw it, they were at the start of a new adventure. She surprised herself with her optimism; under normal circumstances she would be quaking in her boots.
“It’s definitely a sign,” remarked Cal nonchalantly, keeping his emotions to himself. Since he’d never scrutinized a sunrise before, he marveled at how every hue was changing all of the time. It made him realize that life really is an event that exists within change, which buoyed his spirits and gave him hope.
“You’ve gotta believe,” Tex declared enthusiastically. The rays of the sun were giving him a new sense of strength and courage. He felt like Popeye after a can of spinach; his muscles were made of hammers, and his will was forged from iron.
“How can you all be so damn positive?” John asked. He felt like the Creature from the Black Lagoon, a lonely monster lost in a swamp.
“How can you not be?” Kate asked with a touch of exasperation. “When you’ve got a sunrise like this, it just makes you feel like everything’s gonna be okay.”
“But a sunrise ain’t gonna help us outta here!” John pointed out pragmatically.
“Oh, but it is,” Cal insisted, spreading the sunshiny mood. “Look at the way it changes every moment. It’s a metaphor for life; change is always just about to happen.”
“Where did you get all this mumbo jumbo from?” John asked, annoyed at their optimism. “You should be angry and upset!”
“It’s not mumbo jumbo,” Tex said softly with a smile, “and we got it from you.”
Now he knew they had gone completely berserk. Watching this sunrise had turned them into softheaded zombies. He wished he could switch the damn sunrise off. He had lost them to a freaking natural phenomenon, and now he was completely alone in a prison of self-pity and doubt.
“Pfft,” he exclaimed in disgust, exhaling all the fear and frustration he had been brewing in his cauldron of ire. “Well, you guys can sit around like a bunch of hippies if you want, grooving on a stupid sunrise,” he added. “But it’s over, don’t you understand? It’s over!” His tirade hadn’t helped him one bit. He felt like a volcano spewing bile high into the atmosphere, and suddenly the tiny world inside the limousine became stifling and claustrophobic. He hit the door, leapt out, and slammed it as hard as he could.
“What’s up with him?” Tex asked, still entranced with the tranquility of the blazing dawn.
“He must be hungry—I know I am,” Cal offered, his eyes still glued to the ever-changing colors in the sky.
“He’s feeling bad,” Kate whispered softly. She had drifted away on a cloud and she was just about to close her eyes and begin dancing with dreams when she realized what she had said. “He’s feeling bad!” she screamed.
“What?!” howled Tex, snapping out of his reverie.
“Whoa!” Cal roared, leaping up in his seat.
“He’s feeling bad about stranding us in this stupid world with no shops,” she said, kicking herself mentally for not paying attention.
“It’s not his fault,” Tex said.
“Yeah, but he feels responsible for us, you know that,” Cal explained, blinking away the light fish that were swimming in his eyes.
“Think I’d better go after him?” Kate asked.
“I guess,” Tex said.
“And I’ll work on getting us some food,” Cal offered, “before we all starve.”
“Where are you gonna get food?” Tex asked.
“Delivery,” Cal said matter-of-factly, handing Tex the flier he himself had taken from beneath the windshield wiper back in the parking lot.
“1-800-PIZZZA,” Tex read aloud, “with three z’s. The extra z is for flavor! That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Who cares?” Cal commented as he snatched the flier from Tex’ hand. “As long as they deliver.” Kate had half tuned them out while she debated whether to go after John or not.
“What do you think, Kate?” Tex asked.
“Huh! Whatever!” She had made her decision; she hit the door and climbed out.
“Now where’s that phone?” Cal asked, fingering the panel of buttons in the armrest.
“It’s that one,” Tex said pointing, “but is the phone gonna work in this world?”
“Sure,” Cal said authoritatively as he pushed the buttons. “Phones work everywhere; that’s why they’re phones.”
Buried somewhere deep inside Cal’s assumption, Tex was sure there was a grain of logic, but the more he tried to find it, the more it eluded discovery.
“It’s ringing,” Cal said, and Tex gave up his search; it had become a moot point.
“One eight ‘undred pitzzzzzzzzza,” a voice said in a mock Italian accent, “with an extra zee for flavor.”
“Yeah, hi, we want a pitzzzzzzzzza,” Cal answered, which just goes to show that corporate identity things work, even in strange worlds.
“Two,” Tex interjected, “get two.”
&nb
sp; “Two pitzzzzzzzzza’s,” Cal amended.
“What you want on the top?” the voice asked.
“Cheese, pepperoni, sausage—Cal suggested.
“Just get everything,” Tex broke in.
“Everything,” Cal added, “put everything on top.”
“You wanna soda?” the voice queried.
“Sure,” Cal agreed.
“You want the Small Nuclear Device, or the ‘ydrogen Bomb?”
“Huh!” Cal grunted. “Is that soda?”
“Sure,” the voice at the other end of the line crooned, “the two bestselling sodas in the world.”
“Just give me two of each,” said Cal.
“Okay, that’s two pitzzzzzzzzza with everything, two Small Nuclear Devices, and two ‘ydrogen Bombs,” the voice checked.
“Yeah,” Cal affirmed.
“It’s a be there in a fifteen minute,” the voice said.
“There’s only one problem,” Cal said tentatively.
“Wass that?” the voice queried.
“We don’t know where we are,” Cal admitted.
“Thass all right,” said the voice. “We do,” and he hung up.
“Well, that was easy,” Tex proclaimed, stretching back in the seat and putting his hands behind his head.
“Yeah, they even know where we are,” Cal agreed, hanging up the phone. “That’s some delivery system they have.” He lounged back in the seat in much the same way Tex had, and they both continued to watch what was left of the sunrise.
The Subatomic Kid Page 26