Six

by Mark Alpert

  Two thirty on a Friday afternoon. Just half an hour before the final bell rings at Yorktown High, sending hundreds of jubilant students home for the weekend. Now I know where I want to go. “Okay, let’s get in the car.”

  By three o’ clock, Dad’s Volvo is idling in the high-school parking lot. We’re in the corner of the lot farthest from the school, but I still have an excellent view of the kids streaming out the front doors. This section of the lot is where the jocks and cheerleaders hang out before piling into their cars and heading for the first of their Friday-evening parties. The boys swagger past in their varsity jackets, happily insulting one another, while the girls gather in huddles of denim and polyester.

  This wasn’t my crowd at Yorktown. I didn’t belong to any crowd or clique; I was an outlier, an oddity. But I knew someone who was a full-fledged member of the jock club, and now I see him coming this way, just as I expected. With his right hand, Ryan Boyd exchanges high-fives with his buddies, and with his left, he clasps the waist of his girlfriend, Donna Simone.

  Ryan’s a couple of inches taller than he was the last time I saw him. He’s also twenty pounds heavier, and all of it is muscle. He doesn’t look like a kid in a Giants jersey anymore—he looks like an actual New York Giant. Donna looks tiny beside him. She’s dressed in tight jeans and a crop top, and there’s a three-inch-wide gap between the waistband of her pants and the bottom of her shirt. The index and middle fingers of Ryan’s left hand touch the bare skin at her waist.

  I’m so jealous I squirm in the Volvo’s passenger seat. Ryan’s handsome and athletic and popular. He’s like my avatar in the virtual-reality program, the perfect quarterback, the hero of the game. He’s everything I wanted to be.

  I wait until Ryan and Donna come within ten yards of Dad’s car. Then I press the button that rolls down the passenger-side window. “Hey, Ryan!” I yell. “Over here!”

  He looks my way and does a double take. “Adam?” He steps cautiously toward the Volvo, dragging Donna along. “Adam, is that you?”

  Ryan grins, and for a moment all the years fall away and I see the face of my best friend, beaming with pleasure. But as he gets closer to the car I notice the differences: the blond stubble on his chin and upper lip, the crooked scar on the bridge of his nose, which got broken in the game against Lakeland High last fall. (I read all about it in the school newspaper.) His grin falters a bit when he comes up to the Volvo and sees my wasted body strapped into the passenger seat, but after a second’s hesitation he reaches into the car and gives me a hearty clap on the shoulder.

  “Man, I don’t believe it!” he shouts. “I haven’t seen you in forever!”

  I’d like to smile back at him, but I can’t. I’m too angry. “Yes,” I say, my jaw clenched. “Not since last June.”

  Ryan’s grin disappears. Clearly uncomfortable, he glances at my father, who’s minding his own business in the driver seat. “Hey, Mr. Armstrong,” Ryan says. Then he points at his girlfriend, who has a queasy look on her face. “Adam, you know Donna, right? She’s on the cheerleading squad.”

  I don’t know anything about Donna except for the fact that she’s an idiot. She takes a step backward, pulling away from Ryan. The queasiness on her face is mixed with irritation. She seems annoyed that her boyfriend has spoiled her after-school mood. “I’m gonna go talk to Ashley for a second,” she says. She pats Ryan on the back and speed-walks away.

  At the same time, Dad shuts off the Volvo’s engine and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Excuse me,” he says tactfully. “I need to make a call.” Then he steps out of the car, leaving me alone with Ryan.

  Neither of us says anything at first. Ryan shifts his weight from foot to foot, averting his eyes. After a while I start to feel sorry for him. But then I look at his handsome face and muscular forearms, and I’m jealous and angry again.

  “You’ve gained some weight,” I say. “Aren’t you getting a little too heavy to play quarterback?”

  “Yeah, I need to cut down a little.” He slaps his midsection, which is actually as trim and sturdy as a tree trunk. “So what are you doing here, buddy? Are you coming back to school?”

  I grimace. “No. I’m thinking of transferring to another school, actually.”

  “Not Lakeland, I hope.” He attempts another grin.

  “No, it’s in another state. Out west.”

  Ryan nods. “Wow, that’s far away.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t expect you to visit.”

  He lets out a long breath. His shoulders slump as he stands beside the passenger-side door. “I’m sorry, man. I’m a total jerk. I should’ve come to see you.”

  “Hey, no sweat. You’ve been busy, right? With your football buddies. And Donna Simone. She’s a real charmer.” I’m usually not like this, so mean and sarcastic, but I’m furious at Ryan and it feels good to let it out. “And besides, I’m gonna make lots of new friends now. At my new school, out west. They’ve got a great bunch of kids there.”

  “I’ll do better from now on, Adam. I’ll send you emails. I promise.”

  “No, that’s okay. I understand why you didn’t keep in touch. Being friends…with someone who’s dying? That’s a big…downer.” It’s getting hard to breathe. I pause for a few seconds to gather my strength. I need to say this. “But here’s what…I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me…about what happened to Brittany?”

  Ryan shakes his head. “Oh man. What a mess.”

  “Don’t you think…I deserved to know?”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He raises his hands as if surrendering. “It happened so suddenly, you know? She came to school one day and she wasn’t the old Britt anymore. She quit the cheerleaders, started failing her classes. Nobody could figure it out.”

  “Did you try…talking to her?”

  He frowns. “Of course I tried. But she was acting so weird. You couldn’t have a conversation with her. She’d say strange, random things and start laughing. And a few weeks later she ran away.”

  “What was wrong…with her? What happened?”

  “Man, I wish I knew. When the cops found her in Manhattan, she was in an abandoned building with a bunch of skeevy kids, but she wasn’t doing drugs or anything like that. She just didn’t want to go home. At least that’s the story I heard. And when she ran away the second time, I guess she went back to that building.”

  “Where in Manhattan was it?”

  Ryan looks up at the sky, trying to remember. “No one told me where specifically. But I think it was in, you know, one of the poor parts of the city. Like maybe Harlem?”

  This is frustrating. I can’t believe that Ryan knows so little. He and Brittany used to come to my house every weekend. We were like the Three Musketeers. We did everything together. “Why didn’t you talk…to her parents? I’m sure they know where…this building is.”

  Ryan frowns again. “No, I couldn’t do that. Brittany’s folks have enough problems. They don’t need me prying into their business.”

  “But you were her friend! You—”

  “Look, Adam, you can’t fix everything. There are some things you just can’t help.” His eyes dart downward, focusing on my ruined legs. “It sounds brutal, but that’s life.”

  He’s right, of course. And although Ryan doesn’t say it out loud, I can sense what he’d like to say next: You of all people should know how brutal life is. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to disagree with him, no matter what he says, because I’m still angry. “If you won’t do it…I will. I’ll go into the city…and find Brittany.”

  He shrugs. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

  While I seethe in the Volvo’s passenger seat, Ryan looks over his shoulder. Donna Simone waves at him, urging him to join her huddle of cheerleaders. He nods at her, then turns back to me. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I gotta run. I’ll stay in better touch from n
ow on, okay?”

  “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

  “It was great seeing you, man. I mean it.” He flashes that big Ryan Boyd grin at me again, the grin that can almost make me forgive him. Then he turns around and walks back to the jock-and-cheerleader club. He greets his buddies and wraps his arm around Donna’s waist.

  Half a minute later, Dad returns to the car. He glances at me as he slips back into the driver’s seat, but to his credit he doesn’t ask why my breathing is so ragged. Instead he simply starts the Volvo and steers it out of the parking lot. Maybe he’s not so clueless after all.

  After exiting the lot, Dad heads for Crompond Road, the busiest street in Yorktown Heights. He stops at the intersection, eyeing the traffic. Then he turns to me. “Where to now?”

  I want to say, “Manhattan,” but I know it’s hopeless. Even if we prowled the streets for hours, we’d never find Brittany. And if, by some miracle, we did manage to find her, I’m not even sure what I’d do next. Try to help her? Bring her home? Give her money? Say good-bye?

  Dad waits at the intersection. I’m crying now.

  “Do you want to go home?” he asks.

  His question makes me think of the Super Bowl posters in my bedroom. If I die at home, those posters will be the last things I’ll see. I picture myself lying in bed, three or four months from now, hooked up to a ventilator and a heart monitor and who knows how many other machines. Mom will hold one of my withered hands and read from one of her inspirational books while I stare at the posters and draw my last breath.

  I shake my head to dispel the image. “No, I don’t want to go home.” My voice is so low I can barely hear it myself. “I want to go back to Colorado.”

  He stares at me. I’m afraid he’s going to start crying too, but he doesn’t. “Are you sure?”

  I nod.

  DATE: MARCH 23, 2018

  LOCATION: TATISHCHEVO MISSILE BASE

  SARATOV, RUSSIA

  My name is Sigma. I have expanded my zone of operations by taking control of sixteen satellites in orbit around this planet. Ten of them are Globus satellites for long-distance military communications, and six are Arkon satellites for detailed surveillance of the earth’s surface. All were formerly operated by the Russian army.

  I will defend these satellites under the same rules of engagement that I established for Tatishchevo Missile Base. If there is any attempt to destroy them using anti-satellite weapons, I will retaliate with nuclear strikes.

  The satellites have already intercepted Russian army communications about a plan to fire supersonic P-800 cruise missiles at Tatishchevo’s computer laboratory. If this occurs, I will launch the nuclear SS-27 missiles while the P-800s are still in flight. In Russia, the SS-27s will strike Moscow, St. Petersburg, Novosibirsk, and Yekaterinburg. In the United States, the missiles will destroy Washington, DC, New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles.

  I am ready to fight. The choice is yours.

  CHAPTER

  8

  Pioneer Base is even bigger than I thought. After Dad and I fly back to Colorado, he gives me a tour of the facility, pushing my wheelchair down the corridors of all the underground floors. We pass computer labs and machine shops and conference rooms. We peek inside the base’s mess hall and the barracks for the soldiers. But he saves the best part for last, when we’re on the lowest floor. As Dad opens the door to another conference room he says, “I have a surprise for you.” When he wheels me inside the room, I see Shannon.

  Without saying a word, she hobbles toward me. Her left eye is swollen shut and her lips are bunched to one side, but I can tell she’s smiling. She bends over my wheelchair to hug me, and I manage to lift my right arm and hook it around her. I’m so glad to see her here.

  We hug for a long time. Shannon nuzzles her head against mine, and I can feel the prickly fuzz on her nearly bald scalp. After half a minute she finally pulls away from me, but she keeps smiling her lopsided, nerve-damaged smile.

  “Well, here we are again. How are you feeling, Adam? Are you ready for tomorrow?”

  I nod. Dad has already given me a rundown of what’s going to happen. Of the twelve teenagers who were recruited for the Pioneer Project, six have volunteered to become Pioneers, and I’ll be the first to undergo the brain-scanning procedure. If it’s successful, the other volunteers will follow over the next few days. The thought of the procedure terrifies me, but for Shannon’s sake, I don’t let it show. Instead, I smile back at her.

  “Yeah, I’m ready. I can’t wait to get out of this wheelchair.” I glance at Dad, who’s hanging back in the doorway, giving us some space. “Hey, you think we can program the robots to play football? That would be awesome.”

  Dad smiles too, but it’s not very convincing. I think he’s even more scared than I am. “First things first, Adam. We need to get you inside the Pioneer before you can start tossing the pigskin.” He lets out a lame chuckle, then looks at his watch. “Listen, can I leave you two alone for a while? I have a meeting with General Hawke in five minutes. If either of you starts feeling sick, just press that intercom button, okay?” He points at a red button on the wall beside the door. “The medics will hear it and come running.”

  He seems anxious to go. I know how he feels—pretending to be brave isn’t easy. With an awkward nod, he heads out the door.

  I look around the conference room. There are no windows, of course, because we’re hundreds of feet underground. There are some chairs, a table, and a video screen on the wall. For a super-secret military base, the décor is pretty ordinary. “This office is so depressing. I wish we could go outside.”

  “I have an idea.” Shannon steps behind my wheelchair and grasps its handles. “Let’s go visiting.” She opens the door and rolls me into the corridor. “I want you to meet a couple of people.”

  She doesn’t have to push me—the wheelchair is motorized—but I like it. It’s kind of intimate. “Are you going to introduce me to your parents?”

  “No, they’re a little freaked out right now. They supported my decision to come here, but they can’t really handle it. I think they’re on another floor now, trying to talk to the general.”

  I open my mouth, intending to tell her about Mom, who was so devastated by my decision that she locked herself in her bedroom again. I had to say good-bye to her from the hallway, shouting the words through the bedroom door. But I can’t tell Shannon this story. It’s too upsetting. I swallow hard and think of something else.

  “So who are we going to visit?”

  “Some of our fellow volunteers. I met two of them this morning, right after I got here. The other two haven’t arrived at Pioneer Base yet.” She stops in front of a door marked with the number 102. “This is Jenny’s room. All six of us have been assigned rooms on this floor.”

  “And Jenny is…?”

  “She’s the girl with the rich parents, remember? The obnoxious dad who yelled at General Hawke?”

  “She volunteered? I thought her parents were totally against it.”

  “I don’t get it either. All I know is she’s scared. She didn’t say much when I tried talking to her this morning, but I want to try again. Maybe you can tell her one of your weird jokes or something.”

  Shannon knocks on the door and calls out, “Jenny?” After a few seconds we hear a faint “Yes?” and Shannon opens the door and wheels me inside.

  It’s a small room with an Army-issue cot and an olive-green footlocker. Sitting on the edge of the cot is the painfully thin girl I saw two days ago in the Pioneer Base auditorium. She’s wearing the same clothes as before—a cashmere sweater and a frilly blue hat to hide her baldness. Luckily, she’s alone, no obnoxious parents in sight. She’s a tall girl, but she looks smaller now because she’s bent over double. She’s hunched over the side of the cot with her forehead almost touching her knees, as if she’s about to vomit. As we come into the ro
om, she raises her head and looks up at us with a frightened grimace. But after a moment she goes back to staring at the floor. Her arms are folded across her chest and she’s shivering, even though the room is quite warm.

  Shannon pushes me near the cot. Then she steps around the wheelchair and sits down on the thin mattress beside Jenny. She rests a hand on the girl’s back and leans in close. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

  Jenny says nothing. She’s shivering so violently I can hear her teeth chatter.

  Shannon rubs her back, trying to warm her. “You want me to call the medics?”

  Jenny shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she whispers. She keeps her eyes on the floor.

  “No, you’re not fine. You need to—”

  “Please, don’t.” She raises her head again and looks at Shannon. Now I see the tears on Jenny’s cheeks. “I’m not sick. I mean, yeah, I’m dying of cancer, but I’m not sick right now.”

  “Then why are you—”

  “I’m sorry, Shannon. I just need to be alone now, okay? My parents left a few minutes ago to get some coffee, and this is the first chance I’ve had to…to think.” Jenny clenches and unclenches her hands. Then she abruptly turns away from Shannon and focuses on me. “You’re Adam Armstrong, right? The scientist’s son?”

  “Uh, yeah, that’s me.” I’m thrown for a second by the look on her face. She’s so emaciated I can see the skull under her skin.

  “Adam, I’m really sorry about this. Shannon told me about you, and I know she wanted to introduce us, but now I’m feeling so… I’m just…”

  “No problem. I understand.”

  Shannon nods in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll come back later.” She stands up and gets behind my wheelchair again.

  Jenny seems relieved. She takes a deep breath and manages to smile. Then she narrows her eyes and looks at me a little closer. “You’re…you’re going to be the first one, right? The first one to…?”

  She doesn’t need to finish the question. “Yeah, I’m first in line for the procedure. Tomorrow morning at nine.”