Spring-Heeled Jack

by Wyll Andersen

  Atticus tried to shake the fear out of himself and keep running. He had to think of some way to get the robot off of him and find McCloud. But, what if The Jack found McCloud already? It wasn’t possible, Atticus thought. McCloud wouldn’t let that happen.

  The EMI unit was fast for a hundred-pound chunk of spring and gears. No matter how fast Atticus ran, the automaton was constantly gaining on him. Atticus thought about all of his options. He wasn’t the best at coming up with plans on the spot, but now that his life was on the line, he had to try something. Then, he remembered his Queen of Spades.

  Atticus ran up to one of the broken automatons labeled OTO and placed his hands on the machine. He wasn’t sure if his plan would work, but it was worth a shot. He willed the Queen to repair the broken machine as the EMI quickly gained on him.

  He felt his hands begin to burn, but that meant it was working. The automaton was coming to life. Its arms wiggled and it began to stagger up to its feet. Just as it stood up straight, Atticus collapsed to the ground, exhausted. He’d never used his Queen of Spades to repair something so big before.

  The OTO unit took a few steps forward and Atticus tried his best to crawl behind it. OTO was what Pipes’ bodyguards were labeled as. He’d hoped that meant it was programed to fight off hostile attackers. Luckily, his hunch was correct. The OTO unit clashed with the attacking EMI, protecting Atticus. However, it was very obvious that the EMI unit was designed to tear things down. Despite the OTO’s best efforts, it was slowly getting torn apart.

  Atticus tried his best to get to his feet and stagger away, hoping that his friendly robot friend would be able to slow down his attacker. As he trudged away, he could hear the hard crushing blows of metal against metal. He took a peak over his shoulder and saw that the OTO was completely dismantled, and the EMI still in peak condition.

  The rogue robot continued its pursuit, and Atticus was completely out of energy. He tried to pick up the pace, but in doing so, he collapsed to the ground. He was too exhausted. He could barely move. The automaton approached him and Atticus closed his eyes.

  It’s all a bad dream, he thought.

  Then, a piercing sound rang throughout the machinarium. Metal scraping against metal. When he opened his eyes, Atticus saw the EMI unit cleaved perfectly down the middle. Detective McCloud stood in front of him, his sword at his side.

  “Lad, what happened? Are you alright?”

  Atticus tried to nod his head, but it was obvious that the use of his power had overexerted him. The detective helped him up to his feet and held him up. Atticus was afraid that the detective would see his Queen of Spades, but it had already vanished.

  “Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  Atticus shook his head. “I’m okay, just a bit worn out.”

  McCloud didn’t look so sure, but he didn’t argue. He helped carry Atticus out of the machinarium, out of Zebulon headquarters, and assisted him in getting all the way back to Fortuna Prep. He’d pulled some strings and got some of the Zebulon workers to give them a ride.

  The ride back wasn’t too long, but it was very quiet. No one said a word except for when they finally arrived back at the school. McCloud told the driver that he would head back on foot after he knew Atticus was okay.

  The two made their way to the school fountain, where McCloud wanted to talk. “So tell me the truth, what happened back in there?”

  “I don’t know,” Atticus said shrugging. “The automaton just started up and attacked me.”

  McCloud shook his head. “That can’t be. None of those machines were active.”

  “Well, that one sure was.” Atticus stuck a hand in the fountain water and splashed his face. “I think the Ghost may have been there, waiting for me.”

  “No, lad, that isn’t possible,” McCloud said. “Zebulon security is top notch. No one gets in or out without me knowing.”

  “But, what if he was hiding for a while,” Atticus asked. “What if he knew I would be there?”

  McCloud wasn’t having any of it. “I’m sorry, but like I said lad: It’s just not possible. Now, another question: How did you get that other automaton to work?”

  Atticus looked at his hands. He didn’t want to say anything about his Queen of Spades to McCloud. “Maybe I have a natural talent. Y’know, because of my parents?”

  It was obvious that McCloud didn’t believe that, but he didn’t pry, which Atticus appreciated. He knew that with the detective’s skill, he’d have no problem weaseling the truth out of him.

  McCloud helped Atticus back to his feet and the two made their way to the dorm. Atticus thanked the detective for the tour, and McCloud apologized for such a rough ending, and then the two exchanged farewells.

  Atticus opened the door to his dorm, preparing himself for a long night’s sleep. He didn’t expect to find Brock sitting on his bed waiting for him.

  Chapter 14

  While Atticus was with McCloud at Zebulon HQ, Brock decided to do a little investigation of his own. He wanted to figure out what happened between Atticus and Camila. He’d said he screwed up, but he didn’t want to say what he did. Brock decided that he’d get to the bottom of it and ask Camila herself.

  He found her studying alone in the school library, her nose crammed in a book like usual. It didn’t surprise him that the class valedictorian would be studying on a Saturday. She looked so gentle. Before he left, Atticus had said she got pretty upset with him. He didn’t put it past her; the sweet ones were always the deadliest.

  As he approached her table, Camila’s expression shifted. She went from calm and collected to stern and frustrated without ever looking up from her book.

  Can she smell me, Brock thought?

  “Hey,” he said, “how’s it going?”

  “Did Atticus ask you to talk to me?”

  Brock shook his head. “I came here on my own. I want to know what happened.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Talking about it always helps.” Brock tried to cheer her up, but she wasn’t having any of it. She was incredibly hurt. It wasn’t just rage, but something much deeper. “If you’d like,” he said, “I promise that nothing will leave this table.”

  Camila slammed the book shut, but her eyes remained averted. “I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

  “If that’s the case, why’d you slam your book,” he said. “Why not just ignore me?”

  She closed her eyes and said, “Because guys like you just don’t get the hint.” Brock could hear a feint whimper in her voice. He was afraid at any moment she’d start crying, and he was not ready to handle that in school’s library.

  Brock decided that he’d have to ease his way into the situation. He had to let her know that he really did care. As he thought about it, he noticed she had a bandage wrapped around her right hand.

  “Hey, what happened?”

  He pointed at the bandage and Camila instantly hid her hand under the table. “I-I burnt it last night after I got back. I was being careless.”

  “Is it okay?”

  “Of course it’s okay,” she snapped. “It’s not like it melted off or anything. It’s just a dumb little burn!”

  She wasn’t making it easy for him, but Brock couldn’t give up. “Was it because of Atticus,” he asked. “The reason why you were so careless? Were you angry or sad?”

  “Why are you so persistent about this?”

  “Because I know Atticus,” he said, “and he would never want to see you hurt like this.”

  Camila didn’t say a word.

  “Y’know, I don’t think Atticus meant to upset you so badly. He was so anxious to be with you that he couldn’t decide what to wear. Whatever happened, it had to have been an accident.”

  For a minute, Camila didn’t want to answer.

  Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “He just left me.”

  “What do you mean he just left?”

  Camila averted her eyes. “Just what I said. He went to
the bathroom and didn’t come back,” she said. “He started acting a bit skittish, and I assumed it was just nerves. But, when he didn’t come back, I got scared that something bad happened to him. When I went out go check on him, he was gone. And then this morning, I see him up and about perfectly fine!” She tightly shut her eyes. “He said he was afraid of something, and that’s why he left.”

  Afraid of something, Brock thought?

  “Afraid of what? Did he say?”

  Camila shrugged. “I don’t know, something about being followed.”

  Brock thought about all of the things he’d gone through with Atticus lately. He thought about the criminal group, Mekanile, and if there was something going on with them. Atticus was afraid his parents may have been involved with them in some way. Maybe they didn’t like the fact that he was getting involved with their affairs and were now trying to scare him out of it. Brock didn’t know, but he knew well enough that Atticus wouldn’t lie about that, especially if involved him missing his date with Camila.

  “Hey, I don’t think he was lying to you,” he said. “This whole week, Atticus has just been really caught up and-”

  “I know,” Camila interrupted, “his detective junk.” Camila’s face shifted again, back to an angry expression. “You tell him that when I’m ready to talk, I’ll find him.”

  She packed up her things and abruptly left the library, leaving Brock alone at the table. He figured from an outsider’s perspective, he looked like a huge jerk.

  He sat at the table alone for a long while in silence. Brock knew that Camila still liked Atticus. It was thicker than peanut butter, but he knew there was nothing more he could do. He did what he set out to do, figure out what happened between them, and while Atticus chickening out and running home sounded like him, he didn’t buy that with Camila. He liked her just as much as she liked him. He wouldn’t have just left her because he got date anxiety. Something wasn’t right.

  When Atticus arrived back at the dorm, he was surprised to see Brock waiting for him so patiently. It was a bit unsettling.

  “H-Hey, Brock. What’s going on?”

  Brock’s stare was unwavering. “We need to talk.”

  Brock sat Atticus down and told him about his talk Camila. He demanded that Atticus tell him the whole truth about the evening. Atticus knew not hold anything back, so he spilled the beans. He told him about bumping into the Ghost at the theater, about his meeting with McCloud, the dream with his parents, and then he told him about the Zebulon tour and how he’d almost become automaton chow.

  “Y’know,” Brock said, “this whole debacle with you and this Jack character seems awfully familiar.”

  “What do you mean,” Atticus asked.

  “What Mike said in his note,” he said. “Being followed. Never feeling safe when you leave.”

  “And trying to make the murders look self-inflicted or accidental!”

  Brock agreed.

  The two wanted to go on talking more and more about what they’d learn, bouncing ideas off one another, but Atticus was far too exhausted. He told Brock that he needed sleep, but that he felt more confident than ever. He promised that together they’d solve the case, and now he was even closer to solving the puzzle.

  When Atticus got to his bed, he collapsed. His body felt sore, and his mind numb. He looked at his right hand and wondered even more about the Queen of Spades and where it’d came from. For years, he could just control it naturally, but he couldn’t remember when it first appeared or why. He just accepted it.

  As he closed his eyes, the words of his mother rang in his ears: “The Jack lies to you.”

  And then, he fell asleep.

  *****

  The next week passed by quickly. The days passed one by one with Atticus and Brock going to class like always, trying to dig up ideas about the identity of The Jack. They picked up newspaper articles and books from the school library, trying to find any information about the Mekanile group. Sadly, they couldn’t find much. They found a few articles from the paper about the group taking down a Zebulon Carrier Airship or robbing thousands of dollars from Zebulon affiliates across the country, but no names of members were listed.

  When Monday came around, Professor Varnum returned to class. He claimed that he was just having some digestive problems that came with old age, but Atticus knew better. The professor wasn’t the same after that day. He was quieter and more restrained. During class, he was even more reclusive in his text books, almost as if he didn’t want to meet eyes with his students. Every so often, he would cease to speak and grip his chest in pain. It only ever lasted a second or two, but it did concern most of the students. Nobody liked Varnum, but it wasn’t enjoyable to see an old man in pain like that.

  One day after class, Varnum announced to the class that a memorial service would be held for their recently passed classmate, Michael Nelson, that upcoming Saturday. He’d said that any students willing to help with the event would be granted extra credit in addition to it being very much appreciated. Not many students seemed eager to jump to the task, but several did for the extra points.

  As Atticus was leaving class, Varnum yanked him aside and told him that since he skipped his class, hewould be forced to attend in order to make up for the missed time. Atticus didn’t argue. He planned on attending anyways, so getting some extra points wasn’t a bad bonus. Brock also jumped on the free points wagon. Camila, on the other hand, did not.

  Camila was another obstacle Atticus was trying to overcome that week. She didn’t seem angry at him anymore, but she ignored him at every chance she was given. Atticus was heartbroken. He wished she would give him a chance and let say something, but whenever he got close, she just shut him down and left.

  Brock assured him that she’d be fine.

  “She’ll talk to you when she’s ready,” he said.

  Atticus didn’t like that, but if that was the case, he’d be patient. Still, he thought, hearing her voice at least might help take the pain away.

  Chapter 15

  Friday, after class, was Mike’s funeral service. All sorts of people attended: Friends and family, as well as some of the students and faculty. His parents, Dr. and Mrs. Nelson, were there obviously, as was Detective McCloud. Oddly enough, Professor Varnum attended. That was a mystery to everyone.

  Atticus went by himself. He told Brock that he wanted to go alone. He didn’t know why, he just felt better going by himself. Maybe it was because he and Mike never really hung out with anybody else. Occasionally Brock would join them, but not often, and the same went with some of Mike’s friends. Normally, it was just the two of them, and that’s how Atticus felt it should be. Just him and no one else.

  He shed no tears. He wasn’t sad. At the time, more than ever, he was angry. Angry that he wasn’t able to help his friend before it was too late. He hated The Jack and he hated Mekanile for everything they’d done. He’d never thought anything like it before, but he was angry at his parents for being associated with them. He hated his locket. He wanted answers, but he felt he could never get them. No matter where he looked, he was always blind, and he hated that most of all.

  *****

  Then, it was Saturday. Varnum had instructed all volunteers to meet in the school gymnasium at noon. The event took place at seven o’clock sharp, but there were so many preparations to be done. Students, faculty, and volunteers alike were all rushing around trying to get everything set up, but under Varnum’s leadership, it was a rough ride.

  The professor had a very weak grasp on what he was doing. Constantly, he would just change what someone else was working on and claim it was wrong, despite that being exactly what he said to do. Jobs included, but were not limited to: Rearranging the tables and chairs so that the hall was symmetrical and professional looking, preparing silverware by folding them into overtly extravagant napkin shapes, placing dishware at each and every seat at every single table, and making sure that all of the ridiculous looking center pieces were placed to perfection.
The centerpieces alone took hours to prepare.

  Some students were even forced to help out in the kitchen: Washing dishes and silverware if they sat out too long and got dusty, running errands to the store to make sure they had enough food, and some were even in charge of taking record of how much food they had and would use.

  It was so unorganized and one could chalk that up to the fact that Varnum was not a prepared man. He’d had less than two weeks to prepare everything, and despite Principal Shepard’s request to delay it until the end of the month, the professor insisted that it needed to take place as soon as possible. But, it seemed like Varnum was just trying to sabotage himself. It seemed like just when everything was going according to plan and working out just fine, he would throw it all in the trash and start again.

  Atticus and Brock were stuck helping the dining room prepare the centerpieces for the tables. It wasn’t the hardest job, but like all things, Varnum continued to shift it all around. At first, he wanted the centerpieces to be in small glass vases filled with red and white roses, but later he said that it would clash with the other decorations, so he made someone run to a nearby florist and get blue and yellow daisies instead.

  All of that being said, Varnum never actually did any work himself. All he did was walk around the cafeteria and yell at the students and faculty, pointing out everything they were doing wrong but never telling them exactly what to fix. Whenever someone asked, he would scamper away and say that he was too busy. Principal Shepard gave him the title “Event Director” but most just called him the “Event Dictator.”

  As they worked, Atticus noticed the director’s chest pains flaring up every now and again. He tried to bring it up, asking the professor if he needed anything, but the he would either refuse to say anything or just say it was stress from, “All the idiots,” he had to deal with. Atticus didn’t believe that for a minute.