“Just don’t look at him,” Mr. Darnell mumbled as he backed the van out.
The patrolman was frozen in place, still holding the door open. Then they rounded the corner of the store, and he was out of sight. Holding his breath, Bobby turned and watched the gas station as they drove on. Two blocks away, then three.
“He’s not following us,” Bobby said, and he started breathing again.
The houses thinned out as they left the town behind. Ahead was a long stretch of highway through the desert, with nothing but gray mountains in the distance. The smell of hot pizza filled the van, and Bobby realized he was hungry. Before grabbing one of the boxes he took a last look at the town that was shrinking behind them.
And there was the highway patrol car, lights flashing. It was quickly gaining on them.
“He’s coming!” Bobby cried.
Suddenly the van filled with frantic voices. Ashley and Carlos wanted them to gun it and outrun him. Mrs. Darnell was freaking out, since nobody had a driver’s license. By then the patrol car was right on their tail, sirens blaring. Mr. Darnell pulled over and stopped.
A loudspeaker voice came from behind them. “Driver of the vehicle! Get out and stand where I can see you.”
Bobby looked back. The patrolman had his door open and was crouched behind it, talking into a microphone. At least he wasn’t pointing a gun at them.
“If you guys have any ideas, this is the time,” Mr. Darnell said. He opened his door and stepped out of the van.
“Sir, hold your driver’s license where I can see it and walk to the back of your vehicle.”
Mr. Darnell walked toward the patrol car. “I’m sorry, but I’ve lost my license.”
“Stop there, sir.” The patrolman looked at something in his own hand, maybe a smartphone. Bobby guessed he was comparing Mr. Darnell to a picture. “What is your name, sir?”
“Quentin Darnell.”
The patrolman put his megaphone in his car and talked without it, but Bobby could still hear him. “Mr. Darnell, place your hands on the back of your vehicle.”
Mr. Darnell did this. His face was just on the other side of the rear window, and he silently mouthed something. He was asking them—asking Bobby—to do something.
The patrolman talked to someone on his radio. Finally he came forward and rapped on the van’s rear window. “The rest of you exit the right side of the vehicle and stand where I can see you.”
Mrs. Darnell got out and then opened the sliding door. Ashley and Carlos piled out.
Ashley poked her head back in. “Bobby, have Addison do something!”
Bobby turned to Addison. “We have to get to our home, but now we can’t.”
“You want me to help you, don’t you?”
Bobby thought hard. The patrolman had already called it in, so others would be here soon. Right now there was only one man. Addison could do something to him, maybe make him go to sleep, or give him part of his body, like he did to Gregory. Maybe he could teleport them somewhere, but he could only do that to somewhere they had already been.
Bobby shook his head and slid toward the door. “I don’t know what to do. Unless you can make this van fly.”
Addison said, “You would like me to make this van fly?”
Bobby stopped. He had been kidding, but Addison was waiting for an answer.
“All passengers out of the vehicle, now!” The patrolman was on his loudspeaker again.
“We’re coming!” Bobby said. He turned to Addison. “Sure, but we don’t have any time.”
Addison looked around him, and then out at the patrol car. “It will take some time.”
“How long?”
“A unit of time is needed.”
“Um,” Bobby shook his hands desperately, “we use seconds and minutes. Here’s what seconds are: Mississippi one, Mississippi two, Mississippi three. That’s three seconds.”
“Four-hundred seconds. If there are problems, maybe six-hundred.”
Bobby blinked at him. “Really?”
Ashley stuck her head in the door again. “Are you trying to get us shot?”
Bobby stared into Addison’s eyes. “Please do that—as fast as you can.” He crawled out, and Addison followed. They all stood there squinting in the desert sun. The patrolman looked from them to his smartphone, and back to them.
Suddenly Addison walked between the vehicles to where the patrolman stood.
“Son, go back with the others.”
Addison stopped just in front of the patrolman, his reflection showing in the man’s glasses. “I am going to do something now,” Addison said. “Do not be afraid. And please do not hurt my friends.”
“No one’s going to get hurt, son. Just move back to—”
The man stopped. Addison had put his hands on the patrolman’s hood, and they seemed to melt into the car. The patrolman yanked off his sunglasses. His eyes were round. The metal around Addison’s hands moved like white syrup, and his arms seemed to pour into it. Addison’s head and shoulders started getting smaller as his parts moved into the patrol car.
The patrolman backed up. “What’s happening?” Without taking his eyes off Addison, he leaned over and fumbled for something in his car, maybe his radio. But then he seemed to forget what he wanted and just stood there staring.
“It’s okay,” Mr. Darnell said. “We’ll explain everything.”
Addison’s head and chest kept shrinking. Soon they were only half their normal size, and he looked like a deformed clay figure, except that he was alive and moving.
Oozing metal on the hood of the patrolman’s car formed into small pieces that started moving around like mechanical gray crickets. The patrolman backed away and stood in the middle of the road. He wasn’t paying attention to anything else. Bobby looked down the highway. A big truck was coming from Saint Johns but was still far away. The car’s engine stopped running, and the desert became quiet except for the scuttling and scratching of the metal crickets as they spread out over the vehicle.
Mrs. Darnell said, “What’s happening, Bobby?”
“I’m not sure. Addison said he would make the van fly.”
They all turned and looked at him, except for the patrolman.
“Then maybe we can get home,” Bobby said.
“What the hell are those,” the patrolman said. He sounded like he might be sick. The truck was getting closer, and he let Mr. Darnell lead him by the elbow to the side of the road.
Scurrying crickets covered the patrol car, and the sound of their work was a constant buzz, like a radio that was only getting static. One of the tires popped with a loud hiss, and the car settled to one side. Seconds later, the other three popped. And then the car changed shape. The roof fell in, and the entire vehicle flattened out to the ground. Addison pulled back from the car and stood by Bobby at the side of the road. He looked like something from a nightmare. His legs were still normal, but the top part of his body was disfigured and shrunken. The patrolman, totally freaked, kept looking from his car to Addison, and back to his car.
The crickets were now on the move, thousands of them walking from the patrol car to the van. Bobby knelt between the vehicles to watch. Upon closer inspection he saw that they did not walk on legs. Instead they stretched and compressed their shape like fat inchworms.
“You should not touch them, Bobby.” It was Addison, but his voice was like a cartoon animal. Bobby backed away from the little robots.
The semi truck finally reached them, and it screeched to a stop in the middle of the road. The driver leaned over his steering wheel to stare. The door popped open, and a bald man in a sleeveless denim shirt dropped to the pavement. “Everybody here okay?” he shouted.
The patrolman didn’t answer, so Mr. Darnell told him they were fine.
The trucker pointed to the swarming, chittering mass. “What the hell are those?”
“It’s a long story,” was all Mr. Darnell said.
Soon the patrolman’s car was completely transformed int
o crawling robot bugs. They swarmed onto the minivan. The scraping, squeaking sounds continued as the van’s front end grew longer and a thick column formed from the floor to the ceiling between the two front seats. Some of the bugs flowed away from the van and formed a long pile on the ground. The pile became a solid object with a bucket-like cylinder at each end.
Addison stepped forward. His body looked almost normal now, just smaller than it should have been. “Your help is needed,” he said. He grabbed the bucket at one end and lifted.
Mr. Darnell stepped up and grabbed the other bucket. He strained to lift his end. Bobby rushed forward to help. Together they lifted the huge object. Addison guided them to the front of the van, and they raised the thing high and placed it across the roof, just over the new column between the seats. The two buckets now hung on each side of the van.
A second, nearly identical object was already being formed. They lifted this one and placed it on the roof at the rear of the van. Then they backed away and watched. The remaining bugs swarmed the top of the van, reshaping it so the two sets of wings with their buckets became part of the whole machine. And then the bugs were gone and everything was silent. Except for the tires, the van was all white, and it gleamed in the sun.
Addison climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned the key and started it up. The engine was now quieter, just a low pulsing sound, and Bobby could feel its soft rumbling in his bones. Addison touched some controls on the steering wheel and the four buckets swiveled, first one way and then the other. And then the buckets began to hiss. Bobby couldn’t hear any kind of motor inside them, but air began to blow from the buckets so hard that the van came off the ground a little and then settled back down.
When Addison opened the driver’s door and got out, his body was back to normal. He looked at Bobby and smiled. “Five-hundred and eighty seconds,” he said.
It occurred to Quentin that a minivan that had been converted into a jet in less than ten minutes might not be safe. When he suggested this, Ashley said they should trust Addison.
“And besides,” she said, “if we die, no one will miss us anyway.”
This pretty much shut everyone up, except for the highway patrolman. The poor guy looked like he’d just come out of a coma. He stepped over to Quentin and looked him in the eye. “I’m obviously involved in something way over my head here. I’m going to ask you this, and by God you’d best tell me the truth. What are you planning to do?”
Lindsey spoke first. “We don’t intend to hurt anyone, if that’s what you mean. As you’ve seen, we have something unusual with us. We were the ones who found it. We’re avoiding the homeland security people because we know it will be used to hurt people. We have a plan to prevent that. You have a chance to keep the world safe if you help us.”
The patrolman eyed the minivan jet. “What would happen if I tried to hold you people here for the feds?”
“We wouldn’t blame you,” Quentin said. “But we’re pretty determined to go.”
The man looked at his hands, which were shaking. He gripped his belt to keep them still and shuffled his feet in the roadside gravel. Finally he turned to the truck driver. “Sir, you’re the only other witness here. I’m considering letting these people go. My gut’s telling me it’s the right thing to do. I’m gonna need you to work with me on this when the feds get here. Do you believe my judgment in this matter is sound, or are we going to have a problem?”
The truck driver nodded at the minivan. “Hell, I wanna see that goddamn thing fly. I think you should let ‘em go.”
The patrolman squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then faced them again. “You don’t have much time. You were right when you said the feds are looking for you. Hell, everyone’s looking for you. If we were any closer to Gallup or Flagstaff, they’d be here by now. Have I made myself clear?”
Quentin nodded. “Very clear. And we’re grateful. By this time tomorrow, you should know just how important this decision was.”
The patrolman sighed. “I have no intention of being a liar, so when they get here, I’ll explain just what you’ve told me—that you believe you’re doing the right thing, and you convinced me likewise. I’ll take what’s coming to me for doing it.” He shook his head. “There’ll be a special hell for you if you make me regret this.” Then he glanced at the van. “I’ll leave that part out. If they know you’re in the air, they may shoot you down.”
Addison stepped forward and held out a hand to each of the men. “This is a gift for you. You should eat it.”
Warily, the men took the gray lumps offered to them. They made no move to eat them.
Quentin motioned everyone into the van. Addison took the driver’s seat. Quentin eyed him warily and then slid into the seat behind Lindsey. Before pulling the door shut, he turned to the men. “Addison is right, you really should eat those. Oh, and I’m sorry about your car.”
The patrolman just shook his head again.
Quentin shut the door. The four thrusters jumped to life, blowing air so hard that the van lifted at a startling rate. He watched the ground drop away, the two men below shielding their eyes from the blasting sand. The thrusters rotated, and the craft accelerated forward. Junipers and pinyons on the desert floor shot past in a blur. Quentin guessed they were flying several hundred miles per hour, but the rushing wind was surprisingly quiet.
“I’ll tell you when to turn,” Lindsey said to Addison. She already had the map in front of her and was navigating as if nothing had changed. “Just stay above highway 191 for now. Looks like we left just in time,” she said, gazing at the ground.
Quentin peered at the road below. A string of vehicles raced south.
Although the van’s exterior was changed, its interior looked the same as before, except for the thick column between the front seats and the addition of two joysticks on the steering wheel. The column, Quentin figured, contained some sort of drive shaft or mechanism that connected the four thrusters to the vehicle’s engine. The two joysticks appeared very simple. Addison held one in each hand and seemed to control everything through them. Quentin gazed through the window at the foremost thruster on his side. It was obviously sucking air in the front and blowing it out the rear hard enough to lift and propel them. How could a six-cylinder minivan engine pull that off?
He said, “Addison, what did you do to the engine? It sounds different.”
Addison kept his hands on the joysticks, but he turned to Quentin. “The engine needed to be different for the van to fly. So I made it different.”
“Does it still run on gas?”
“Yes, but it was originally built to use more gas than is needed. Now it is different.”
Another way the world is about to change. “How far can we get on the gas we have?”
Addison gazed down at the passing desert. “If things stay as they are now, forty-nine million, nine hundred fifty-four thousand, and eighty feet.”
They were all silent for a moment. Then Bobby said, “How many miles is that? A mile is five thousand, two hundred and eighty feet.”
Addison replied, “Nine thousand, four hundred and sixty-one miles.”
Quentin said, “On one tank of gas?”
“We also have gas from the other vehicle.”
The tiny robots must have carried gas from the patrol car to the van. Quentin stared at the thruster again. “Addison, this van uses a fairly conventional method of flight. In a dream you showed us the home of your creators. The people there flew some kind of sphere-shaped vehicle. Why didn’t you just make the van into one of those?”
“Those vehicles were used only inside the towers you saw. The towers were made so the vehicles could fly inside them. Outside of the towers, the vehicles could not fly. So they could not fly here.”
Lindsey was still looking at her map. She said, “We’re a thousand miles from our home. How long will it take?”
Again Addison looked at the ground. “If things stay as they are now, it will take eighteen thousand, three
hundred sixty-seven seconds.”
Lindsey frowned. “Okay…”
Bobby helped out. “Sixty seconds is a minute. Sixty minutes is an hour. How many hours is that?”
“That is five hours, six minutes, and seven seconds.”
Lindsey looked at the clock on the dash. “That puts us there at nine-thirty. Peter’s news announcement isn’t until noon tomorrow.”
They all got quiet, probably imagining, like Quentin was, what it would be like to show up at their homes. How would their families react? How would their other selves react?
Bobby broke the silence. “Addison, did your nanobots get into these pizzas?”
“No.”
Bobby kept one box and passed the other forward. “Don’t want to waste them, then.”
Addison hadn’t altered the van’s dashboard, so the simple digital compass was the only navigation instrument they had. But navigating was not difficult. Lindsey kept her eye on the map, and they flew north until she spotted I-40. The double ribbon of highway was easy to see from a great distance, and the next few hours passed in reasonable comfort. To avoid landing, Quentin convinced them to pee in the soda cups that had accumulated on the floor. This was not an easy sell for Lindsey and Ashley, but the van’s back seat offered a modicum of privacy.
They followed I-40 through New Mexico and Texas, and into Oklahoma without incident. Occasionally they spotted small planes flying far below, and Quentin hoped none saw them. To avoid flying over Oklahoma City, they cut to the north to follow I-35 to Kansas City.
That’s when their luck changed.
“Um, you guys, we have company,” Carlos said.
Two military fighter jets were closing in on them from the east, their contrails streaming behind them into the distance. The jets passed overhead with a deafening roar. Quentin spun around and watched them split and circle around in opposite directions.
Infusion: Diffusion Book 2 Page 19