by Sam Cameron
“No,” Beaudreau snapped, and CHOPR darted away in alarm. “Don’t.”
“Why not?” Kevin asked.
“What do I want machines and needles for?” Beaudreau asked. “I’m eighty years old. I’m ready.”
“I still think—”
Beaudreau stiffened in the chair, his gaze sharp. “I’ll tell you what to think. There’s a King in town. You want him. I didn’t have all the pieces when that other young man was here. But CHOPR…he put it together. Figured it out.”
The helicopter settled back down by Beaudreau’s shoulder and let out a plaintive beep. Kevin didn’t think the old man had much time left. The force of his convictions was strong, like a tidal wave, but Kevin didn’t want to be swayed. Couldn’t be, not just because of one old man’s opinion.
“Can you…” Beaudreau waved his fingers. “Oxygen. In the kitchen.”
Kevin hurried into the kitchen. It was a mess in there, all sorts of junk and parts and old magazines, but he didn’t see any oxygen tanks. When he returned to the living room, apologizing, he saw that Beaudreau had gone still and slack in his chair, his face empty of life.
CHOPR, now sitting on his shoulder, let out a sad little noise.
Kevin wasn’t fooled. A toy helicopter was no more capable of feeling sad than was a wrench or a sofa or a forklift. But CHOPR gingerly nudged Beaudreau with its still tail, and when the old man didn’t move, he let out another noise.
It wasn’t the first time Kevin had been around a dead body, but it was maybe one of the most melancholy times—an old man with no nearby family or friends, this old house full of junk, a Ruin sitting on his shoulder—
Kevin lifted his FRED. CHOPR beeped, squeaked, and zipped over to the dining room table.
“I’m not going to—” Kevin started to say, because he wasn’t going to fry him. He just wanted a good solid reading. CHOPR landed on the table for a brief moment, slid on a newspaper, then zoomed up to the ceiling and an open heating vent of some kind.
“Wait!” Kevin called out. “What did he mean, you figured it out?”
Too late. CHOPR was gone. The stray newspaper crunched under Kevin’s boot and he looked down. The headlines jumped out at him: one about the teens who had crashed their car into an oncoming train and the other about Country Harvest.
The helicopter had figured it out.
And now Kevin did, too.
Chapter Thirty-two
Mom was still mad at him. And she didn’t want him out of her sight. But she couldn’t skip her job today, so Danny was going to have to go to the fairgrounds with her.
“You can’t!” he said, still lying in bed. “You know how much I hate country music! And it’s my birthday. You can’t torture me with country music on my birthday.”
She picked up a pair of dirty jeans from the floor. “Here’s how you can spend your birthday: figuring out how you’re going to pay for the deductible on Eric’s car repairs. His mom has already called asking about the money.”
Danny winced. “What was I supposed to do? Let him drive drunk?”
“You’re just lucky Roger convinced those police officers not to cite you for driving without a license, because otherwise your probation from California could be revoked.”
At the bottom of the bed, Comet lifted his head.
Suspicious, Danny asked, “How’d he convince them of that?”
Mom was in his closet now, picking out clean clothes. “He had to give them two front-row tickets to Moon’s concert at the Opry tonight.”
“So it’s okay to bribe the police?”
She emerged with jeans and a blue shirt. “Get up and get dressed. Roger already went ahead for the VIP breakfast, which I have to miss thanks to you. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
“But I have a broken wrist!” he protested.
“Don’t get the cast wet in the shower,” she replied. On her way out of the room she nearly tripped. She cursed under her breath, leaned down, and picked up a toy fire truck. “And will you stop leaving these things around!”
Danny said, “But—” and then stopped himself.
He didn’t own a fire truck. But Mr. Beaudreau did. This was the same one that had been in Beaudreau’s house—a long ladder truck with the license plate FIREBUG mounted to its front fender.
Mom put it on the desk and left. Once she was gone, FIREBUG lit up and rolled back and forth.
“What are you doing here?” Danny asked it. “Did 2KEWLE send you?”
The truck’s ladder swung around.
Danny said, “I can’t go with you right now.”
FIREBUG hooted its horn.
“I can’t,” Danny said. “I’ll be grounded for life. You’re just going to have to come with me.”
Traffic to the fairgrounds was already thick at eight a.m., but there was a back road entrance for VIPs, and Mom had a pass that let them into a special parking area behind the main tent. Musicians, staging crew, and technicians were working hard together, and fans were already lined up outside the front.
“I have a book report to do,” Danny said. “Can I just sit here and work on it?”
Mom looked suspicious at his newfound enthusiasm for homework. “You can sit backstage.”
He followed her inside. The yellow skin of the tent stretched high above hundreds of seats. Moon Conway was standing on a large stage, testing out a microphone. He wore his traditional cowboy boots and an enormous white cowboy hat. Danny saw no sign of Junior, though surely he was around, too.
“Back there,” Mom said, showing him a dirt-packed area where some sound equipment was still being unpacked. “Don’t wander off without telling me.”
“I won’t,” he mumbled.
“Look at me and say that again,” Mom said sternly.
Danny lifted his chin. “I won’t,” he promised her.
Without good reason, he added silently to himself.
She sighed, shook her head, and went off to do her job. Once Danny was sure no one was watching him, he took FIREBUG out of his backpack. The ladder truck turned itself on, beeped once, and zapped Danny with a silver spark.
“Oww!” Danny said, dropping him. “What was that for?”
FIREBUG zoomed toward the nearest tent flap.
“No, wait!” Danny said.
He risked a glance toward Mom, but she was on stage with a clipboard in hand, giving information to a group of technicians.
Danny ducked out of the tent and followed FIREBUG.
Chapter Thirty-three
Twenty thousand country-western fans had gathered on the sunny Piedmont Fairground. Kevin hated the dust, the squealing fans, and the rows of glittery booths where chirpy, bright-eyed hopefuls waited desperately for someone to recognize and adore them. He liked rock ’n’ roll and always would, not this twanging, silly music for honky-tonk bars and rodeos.
But here he was, roaming the aisles, ignoring calls for free music samples and other worthless trinkets, not buying T-shirts or souvenir mugs, looking for the Ruin King.
Kevin’s earpiece beeped. Mrs. Morris said, “I’m in the west lot. Nothing suspicious.”
Gear reported in from the east lot. “Not here, either. This better not be a wild goose chase, kid.”
Kevin didn’t answer that. He’d had to use every bit of his persuasive skill to get the team to take his idea seriously: that Country Harvest would be a great place for a Ruin King to gather enough zorons for an Ignition. He didn’t dare tell them about CHOPR. Not yet, at least. Mr. Boudreau’s body hadn’t even been discovered yet. Kevin would have to place an anonymous call to the police when this was over to make sure the elderly man got a decent burial.
Ford got on the radio. “Keep looking,” he said. “This is as good a place as any.”
The team wasn’t searching alone, of course. Ford had called in dozens of Free Mechanics to lend assistance. They’d come from far and wide, scruffy men and women with grease under their fingernails and ball caps on their heads.
“If
we don’t stop it today, who knows how many people might die,” Ford had told them.
The mechanics had spread out through the parking lots and fields of overflow parking, but Kevin didn’t have much hope they’d find the King quickly. Not with thousands and thousands of cars, trucks, SUVs, vans, and motorcycles to hide in.
Not for the first time, Kevin wished there were fewer engines in the world.
A familiar face appeared in the crowd, heading for the barbeque pits. Kevin’s heart sank. What was Danny doing here? Kevin broke into a sprint and caught up with him outside a lemonade stand.
“You should be home,” Kevin snapped.
Danny gave a guilty start but kept walking. “What are you doing here?”
“My job,” Kevin said. “Why are you—”
He stopped when he caught sight of what Danny was following: a little red fire truck, rolling along on the ground.
“Don’t,” Danny said, catching Kevin’s arm before he could reach for his FRED. “It’s trying to help. I know you don’t think you can trust any of them, but this one’s different.”
The look on Danny’s face was sincere and urgent. Kevin didn’t have time to tell Danny about Mr. Beaudreau or CHOPR. Instead, he asked, “Where’s it going?”
“I’m not sure,” Danny said.
The festival booths and music tents had been set up in a giant horseshoe shape facing a Ferris wheel and carnival rides for little kids. FIREBUG led them past the western end of the horseshoe, beyond a barbeque pit and picnic area, and into a dusty field where hundreds of cars and trucks had been parked. The fire engine stopped.
Kevin asked, “What’s it doing?”
“Looking for the King,” Danny said. “He zapped me and I can see the colors again. All of these are purple—”
Kevin grabbed his FRED and his radio. The sensor readings blinked 85, 89, 95—
“Dad!” he said into his radio. “It’s happening right now! The Ignition!”
*
Danny scrambled up on the hood of a green Mazda Miata and scanned the field. He stepped over to a Lincoln Town Car. His vision started to blur. He thought he could hear a hum like a giant machine gearing up. Down on the ground, FIREBUG rolled along and tooted its horn.
An answering toot sounded from somewhere nearby.
Danny focused on a cherry red Corvette that looked purple in the sunlight. Buddy Hunt’s car. The beeping from the trunk sounded just like 2KEWLE.
Kevin was yelling into his radio. “It’s here! The west field—”
On the other side of the fairgrounds, Ford heard Kevin’s frantic words. He started running.
Mrs. Morris was by the Ferris wheel, scanning an ice-cream truck. She, too, began running toward Kevin’s position.
Gear, in the RV with the dogs, grabbed his equipment and dashed toward the west field.
None of them were going to make it in time.
Chapter Thirty-four
Danny jumped down to the ground and began tugging on the Corvette’s trunk. Inside, 2KEWLE beeped frantically. The Corvette began rocking back and forth on its tires like a wild horse.
“Get back!” Kevin yelled. He aimed his FRED at the car. “I have to zap it!”
“Give me a minute!” Danny yelled back.
The hum got louder, rapidly escalating into a screech and irritating whine. Over at the barbeque pit, people began to point and take pictures with their phones. The Corvette rose several inches off the ground, but still Danny struggled to open the trunk. He couldn’t just leave 2KEWLE inside. The front and back windshields both cracked vertically and the trunk popped open.
2KEWLE leapt up into Danny’s arms.
Kevin fired his FRED.
The Corvette soared straight up into the clouds and imploded. Purple and gold shards of jagged lightning zigzagged through the sky. Danny felt himself thrown backward. He expected a shower of burning metal and gasoline, but there was only light, terrible and awful, and the sound of something like a great machine tearing itself to pieces.
Then he slammed into something unforgivably hard, and all sound and vision went away.
*
Danny’s ears rang with the painful reverberation of his heartbeat. It was a fast but steady rhythm, nothing he could put a melody to. Groggily, he pulled himself to his feet. 2KEWLE was still in his arms, looking singed and drained.
“Oh, no,” he said.
He stumbled to his feet, shaking 2KEWLE. The buggy didn’t respond. Danny tucked it under his arm and went in search of Kevin. He was sitting up groggily, blood streaming from a cut on the side of his head.
“Are you all right?” Danny asked.
Kevin said, “I think so.”
Spectators and police began to gather close by. Danny heard sirens getting close. Ford, Gear, and Mrs. Morris arrived, out of breath and frantic.
“Are you hurt?” Ford demanded, dropping to Kevin’s side.
“No,” Kevin insisted. “I’m fine.”
2KEWLE hadn’t been the only casualty of the Ignition. Hundreds of cars across the lot had wisps of steam rising up from under their hoods. Several had flat tires or broken windows. Where the Corvette had been parked, there was only blackened grass and ash. Danny found FIREBUG as damaged and lifeless as 2KEWLE.
“Do they always fly into the sky like that?” Danny asked. His voice sounded weird in his own ears.
Gear was scanning the area with his FRED. “Not usually.”
Mrs. Morris was sweeping the field as well. “Zero. All the zoron counts are zero.”
“What does that mean, zero?” Danny asked.
Ford helped Kevin up. “It means the King sucked up all their energy and made it part of his own. It’s an Ignition.”
“But where is it now?” Danny asked.
None of them could answer.
All this destruction, and the King was still out there.
Before Danny could ask more, Mom and Roger Rat rushed over.
“Danny!” Mom examined his dirty cast and brushed dirt off his shoulders. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said miserably, holding 2KEWLE’s hulk. “It was just an explosion.”
“Just an explosion!” Her hands cupped his face. “What happened?”
“Someone said it was lightning,” Mrs. Morris said helpfully.
“Lightning?” Roger looked up at the clear blue sky, bewildered. “How could it be lightning?”
“Weather can be very strange sometimes,” Ford said, one hand on Kevin’s shoulders. “Danny, I’m glad you’re not hurt. We’ll see you later.”
Kevin looked back over his shoulder, his eyes imploring Danny to not say anything about Ruins. Morris and Gear followed silently, their FREDS tucked away.
“Come on, Danny,” Mom said. “Let the police handle this.”
She steered him away from the blistered field. He went, reluctantly, with 2KEWLE and FIREBUG tucked under his arms.
“Hey!” Buddy Hunt said, running past. “Where’s my car?”
*
Kevin brushed Ford’s hand aside. “I’m fine. Stop fussing!”
They were back in the Pit, which was parked behind the merry-go-round on the fairway. Mrs. Morris and Gear were sitting at the computer console, scanning the fairgrounds. Zeus and Apollo sat in the corner, looking alert. The first aid kit was wide open on the table beside Kevin.
“We should go to the hospital,” Ford said.
“Dad, I don’t even have a headache. I promise.”
Ford sighed. He turned toward the console. “Anything?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Morris reported. “Not a trace.”
Gear said, “It had to go somewhere. At the moment of Ignition, it jumped into something that’s probably a lot bigger and a lot heavier. Where would you go if you were a Ruin King flush with new power?”
“Far from here,” Kevin said.
“Check to see if the railroad runs nearby,” Ford said. “Get the traffic cam for the highway. We’re looking for anything big enou
gh to snag its attention.”
Kevin gazed out the window. His father was right, of course. Now that the King had power, it could wreak havoc with bigger and badder things than a red Corvette.
But what if it was still at Country Harvest, biding its time? Where would it hide?
Chapter Thirty-five
“Okay, here’s the deal,” Mom said. “You’re going to sit right here backstage, where I can see you. Right after Moon’s concert, I have to go with him to the Opry on the tour bus. When I leave, Roger will take you home, and tonight, we’re going to have the longest talk in the history of long talks. I’m not sure I’m buying this lightning story at all.”
They were backstage in the big tent again. The prospect of sticking around for a few more hours while thousands of fans adored Moon Conway didn’t make Danny happy, but he didn’t have the strength to argue.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll talk.”
Mom touched the side of his head. “You’re sure you’re okay? You’re awfully quiet.”
“I’m fine,” he said. He sucked in a deep breath and steadied his shaking hands against his thighs. “I think, well, I think you should know. I’m gay.”
Her eyebrows shot upward just as her mouth dropped open. It would have been comical, if it weren’t the most important announcement of his life.
“Well,” Mom said, “that’s not what I expected you to say.”
Danny’s fingers had gone cold. He thought that was because all his blood was rushing around in anxiety. “That’s it? I’m gay. I like boys.”
“Yes, I know what it means,” she said dryly. “This is definitely not the best time and place to talk about it, though, is it?”
“I guess not,” he admitted.
Mom kissed his forehead. “I’m glad you told me. We’ll talk later.”
He sat backstage as promised. Stayed still, out of the way, talking to no one, while the concert hall gradually filled up. Mom was never far away. Fans filled all the bleachers wearing Moon T-shirts and carrying signs that said “WE LUV U MOON!” When the music started, it was loud and twangy and made Danny’s head hurt, but he had worse pains to consider. Both 2KEWLE and FIREBUG were ruined chunks of metal, and the King was still loose.