by Greg Cox
Cunning, red-rimmed eyes narrowed as Morton looked them both over one more time. "Just how much did Ramirez tell you anyway? And how did you find out where I was staying? I never told Ramirez that."Er, we have our own sources of information," Michael improvised vaguely, trying to recover from his careless slip of the tongue. "Like I said, that's none of your concern."Morton wasn't buying it. "No dice," he blustered. "I don't deal with anybody unless I know a hell of a lot more about them than they do about me." With surprising speed, he reached out and yanked Isabel's sunglasses off her face.
Shocked, she flinched and threw herself backward, into the far corner of the booth. For a fraction of a second, she felt like she was back at the Hangar 18 casino, staring down the barrel of the heartless killer's oversize pistol. Fearful brown eyes, suddenly exposed to Morton's scrutiny, stared in alarm at the gunman's bestial features.
For himself, Morton looked almost as stunned as the young woman he had so roughly unmasked. "You!" he blurted, crushing the stolen shades inside his fist. "You're the witch who stole my case last night." Outright fear and confusion came over his coarse, ill-shaven face as he realized that he was remembering a dream. "What the hell?" he exclaimed, loud enough to attract scandalized looks from the staff and patrons of the restaurant. "What kind of freaky head game are you playing?"Next to him, the scrawny scientist panicked. "What's the matter?" he squealed, shrinking into his seat. "What's happening?"Morton shoved the techie out of the booth in his haste to get away from Isabel. Lurching to his feet, the frothing gunman pulled out a handgun and waved it in front of Isabel and Michael. "Gimme that pack!" he roared. "Now!"Terrified shouts and screams greeted the surprise appearance of Mortons weapon. "Watch out! He's got a gun!" someone shouted as cashiers, waitresses, and customers ducked for cover. "Someone call die police!" another voice yelled.
It's the Crashdown all over again, Isabel realized, flashing on her borrowed memories of the shooting. Horror melded with deja vu as, her heart pounding, she gladly surrendered the backpack and its worthless contents to the volatile hoodlum. Morton snatched the pack by its taut straps and tossed it over to the science nerd, who clutched it against his chest. "Nobody follow us!" he shouted for all to hear, firing a bullet into the ceiling for emphasis.
Leaving the disguised aliens alone in their booth, Morton and his accomplice ran for the exit. "Oh my God," Isabel gasped. What if the two men went back to their motel room to reclaim the vital briefcase? "We have to warn Max and Liz!"Her hands shaking, she found the cell phone in her purse and somehow managed to dial the number for the Motel 6. Meanwhile, Michael stood up and, exploiting his phony uniform for all it was worth, tried to calm the upset denizens of the Denny's. "Everyone remain calm," he ordered with mock authority. "Remain in your seats. We'll be taking statements shortly."C'mon, c'mon," Isabel muttered fervidly, waiting for the motel operator to pick up. Standing up in the booth, she watched through the restaurant's clear glass windows as Morton and the other man plowed dirough an approaching party of tourists, shoving the startled bystanders aside in their headlong flight from the restaurant. She listened anxiously to the ringing of the cell phone, knowing there wasn't a minute to lose. They couldn't let Morton catch Max and Liz in his room! "Hello, Motel 6 here," a voice said chirpily into her ear, on about the fourth or fifth ring. "How can I help you?"Finally/ Isabel thought. "Connect me with room #19, right away, please! It's an emergency!"The operator obligingly transferred the call, but, to her intense distress, nobody answered. The cell phone gripped in her sweaty palms, Isabel waited in an agony of suspense to hear her brother's voice at the other end of the line. Come on, Max! Pick up the damn phone! Michael gazed at her with a worried, mystified expression, obviously wondering what was taking so long, while the phone continued to ring maddeningly. "I'm sorry," the operator broke in after a minute or so. "There seems to be something wrong with that line. May I take a message for you?"Isabel hung up the phone. "I can't get through to them," she told Michael, scared to death. "Something's gone wrong."Damn!" Michael swore, fully aware of the danger their friends were in. "Come on," he said, grabbing onto her hand and pulling her out of the booth, onto her feet. "We've got to get over there!"They ran, hand in hand, for the exit. "Wait!" someone shouted after them. "What about those reports?" A hefty male cashier tried to block their escape, but Michael knocked him aside with a blast of concussive force. Isabel hoped to heaven that their disguises were still working.
Dashing out the door, into the full heat of the afternoon, they saw Morton and the science guy pile into the blue Chevy and speed out of the parking lot. Horns honked and brakes squealed as the Chevy recklessly cut straight across the highway, causing pileups and rear-end collisions in both north and south lanes of traffic. The nerve-jangling thunder of crashing metal only heightened Isabel's acute feeling of dread as she watched Morton's convertible roar into the parking lot of the Motel 6, where her brother and his girlfriend were about to be caught snooping by a psycho with a gun.
Get out of there, Max! she thought, climbing into the driver's seat of the Jeep as fast as she could. Michael buckled himself into the seat next to her, staring furiously through the windshield as Isabel started the ignition and pulled out after the Chevy. Even with her foot flooring the gas pedal, she knew she couldn't catch up with Morton in time.
Now, Max.' Get out of there now!
19.
Max let the light from his hand dim as he followed Liz toward the door of Morton's messy motel room. They wouldn't need any artificial illumination once they were back outside; Max just hoped that Michael and Isabel were still keeping Morton and his scientific consultant occupied. Liz is right, he thought apprehensively. The sooner we itch this place, the better.
Liz was reaching for the doorknob when they suddenly heard footsteps and angry shouting right outside the door. Morton's gruff, raspy voice sent Max's heart racing. "Hurry up, will you?" the gunman bellowed impatiently as someone rattled the doorknob from the other side. Max and Liz looked at each other in alarm, frozen in place with nowhere to run. The teenage alien stared in confusion at the phone on the end table. Why didn't Michael and Isabel warn us Morton was coming back? Suddenly, he noticed that the phone cord was no longer attached to the back of the cheap plastic phone. "No!" he whispered out loud, realizing that Morton must have unplugged the phone before leaving the disorderly motel room. But why? "Oh, crap!" another voice exclaimed outside, with audible shock and dismay. "The door's unlocked."The science guy, Max guessed. Instinctively, he extinguished his silver glow, throwing the room into murky darkness.
"What!" Morton snarled. The door slammed open, almost hitting Liz, who had to jump backward to avoid being whacked by the swinging door. The intense New Mexican sunshine flooded the room, exposing Max and Liz to the two men who now crowded through the narrow doorway, blocking their escape route. The scientist barely preceded Morton, who shoved his learned accomplice out of the way in order to charge at Liz like a wild boar, his florid face a mask of malevolence. "What the hell is going on?" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips, then did a double take when he got a better look at Liz's face. "Wait a second," he muttered, confusion briefly supplanting rage upon his porcine features. "I know you." He grabbed onto Liz's arm and pulled her closer, struggling visibly to place where he'd seen her before. "Where…?"Max raised his hand, aiming his open palm at Morton's broad frame. A faint silver aura outlined his fingers as he summoned the concentration to blast Morton to kingdom come. At the last minute, though, he remembered the rattlesnake he had so thoroughly obliterated the night before, and Michael's disturbing warnings regarding Max's current lack of control-and the awful consequences of taking a human life. The rattlers smoking remains sprang from his memory, superimposed on Mortons repugnant face, and Max hesitated before unleashing his psychic energy.
He paused just long enough, in fact, for the overlooked lab worker to tackle Max from the side, knocking him to the floor amidst a clatter of upset beer cans and plastic Coke bottles. Max landed hard,
the bone-jarring impact causing him to grunt out loud. He almost lost his grip on the attache case, but he held onto the handle with all his strength, unwilling to let go of the precious alien artifacts. The surprisingly aggressive techie kicked viciously at Max's head, and Max barely managed to roll out of the way in time to avoid the blow. Reaching out desperately from his position on the floor, he succeeded in catching hold of his attacker's sneakered foot with his right hand, forcing the techie to hop precariously on one leg while Max, still lying on his side, used his other arm to swing the briefcase like a club, smashing the case into his opponent's hip. Too bad the contents are so insubstantial, he thought; ironically, the amazingly lightweight nature of the alien technology undermined his use of the case as a weapon.
Nevertheless, the off-balance scientist tottered backward, leaving an empty sneaker in Max's grasp. The flailing teenager tossed the shoe aside and scrambled to his feet. Concentrated mental energy flowed into his fingertips, turning them into instruments of death. If I have to, Max realized, I'll gladly burn my handprint into Morton's heart to stop him from hurting Liz again. The techie, too, maybe.
"Not so fast, Bruce Lee," Morton snarled, before Max could put his lethal intentions into action. To his horror, he saw that Morton now had one arm around Liz's waist and the muzzle of a semi- automatic pistol pressed to her head. Her beautiful face was white as a cadavers, while pure, unadulterated fright filled her glistening brown eyes. "Stay right where I can see you, or your pretty little girlfriend is history."Max went still as a statue, his left hand poised at his side as though reaching for his gun. Morton nodded at the briefcase clutched in Max's other hand and barked at his hapless cohort. "Get the case!"The techie approached Max hesitantly, glowering at the paralyzed youth through die thick lenses of his wire glasses. "Don't give me any trouble, kid," he spat, although his threats were a lot less convincing than Morton's. "Just hand over the bag."Max hated to surrender such valuable links to his native world to the likes of Morton and his geeky accomplice, but he wasn't about to sacrifice Liz for pieces of a broken flying saucer, no matter what planet it came from. "Take it," he said coldly, his dark eyes fixed on Morton and his scared hostage. The lab guy snatched the briefcase from Max and scurried away. "Now let her go."The gunman ignored Max's urgent plea. He glared at his partner instead. "Make sure the merchandise is still inside," he ordered the scientist while keeping his gun pressed against Liz's temple.
The techie placed the case atop the closest bed and rapidly inspected its contents. "It's all here," he reported a moment later. He was sweating profusely and kept looking at the door, as though he ardently wanted to be anywhere but here.
"Good," Morton grunted. "Pack it up. We're getting out of here."But my equipment…," the distressed lab worker objected, locking the briefcase shut once more.
"Leave it!" Morton snapped. Still holding onto Liz, he backed toward the door. "Let's go!"Wait!" Max shouted, afraid to move an inch for fear of inciting Morton's eager trigger finger. "You don't need her! Take the briefcase, sure, but let her go!"Morton sneered cruelly. "Sorry, kid, she's coming with us." He waited until his nerdy partner had slipped out of the door behind him, carrying the crucial samples, then swung the muzzle of his handgun toward Max. "Tough luck."The gun fired, its jarring report almost deafening in the close quarters of the motel room. Acting on instinct, Max threw up his hands and a shimmering emerald force field instantly formed between Max and Morton, shielding him from the oncoming bullet, which ricocheted off the protective energy bubble, slamming into the ceiling instead. Pulverized plaster rained down on Max, only to slide harmlessly off the verdant force field.
"Wha-!" Morton's jaw dropped and his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets. He fired again, this time out of panic, but the radiant green barrier once again shielded Max from the gunfire. Visibly freaked-out, his blubbery jowls quivering, the berserk felon turned his gun back on Liz, shouting hoarsely at Max as he dragged Liz out of the dingy motel room. "Keep away from me, you freak! Stay back!"Trembling with fear and frustration, Max ground his teeth behind the translucent green energy, which added a bizarre emerald tint to the awful sight of a terrified Liz being carried off by the gun-wielding killer. His alien powers had saved him from almost certain death, but what about Liz? Morton had her!
20.
Oh my god, Alex! What are we going to do?"Maria was beside herself, sniffing rosemary oil like it was the elixir of life, to absolutely no effect. Beside her in the front seat of the Jetta, parked outside the Motel 6, Alex looked just as horrified and helpless. The whole plan was falling apart right before their eyes! First, Mortons blue Chevy had come squealing back into the parking lot, taking Maria and Alex by surprise. Then the two criminals had charged back into room #19, before either of the teens in the Jetta could do anything to warn Max and Liz that they were about to be caught in the act.
And what could we do anyhow? Maria realized, paralyzed with shock and uncertainty. Neither she nor Alex was armed with anything more potent than a half dozen miniature vials of scented oils, all of which she would have gladly traded at this moment for a working Uzi and the skill to use it. How were a couple of ordinary teenagers, like her and Alex, supposed to rescue their friends from a trigger-happy felon like Joe Morton? As they watched impotently, the other man-the lab tech from the university- rushed out of the motel, clutching what had to be the legendary black attache case. Gunshots sounded from within #19, causing Maria to almost jump out of her skin. Two shots, she counted, going pale. One each for Max and Liz- She clasped her hands over her mouth, holding back a scream, and looked hopelessly at Alex, to make certain that she wasn't hearing things, but the anguished look on his face made it clear that he'd heard the shots, too. Tears welled in her eyes as she imagined Liz and Max lying bleeding and dying on the floor of room #19.
' Where are Michael and Isabel? she wondered desperately, looking frantically for the Jeep, which she thought she spotted parked across the street, which was now filled with the noise and confusion of a multi-car pileup. It's not fair! She and Alex were both one percent human; neither of them had the power to heal Liz and Max if they'd really been shot. There's nothing I can do to save them.
So convinced was Maria that her friends had been gunned down that it came as an actual relief when Joe Morton backed out of #19, his meaty arm around Liz's squirming waist. She's alive! Maria rejoiced, then noticed the gun in Morton's free hand. But what about Max? The gunshots, along with the crashes on the highway, attracted plenty of attention. Numbered wooden doors opened up all along the length of the motel, as potential witnesses poked their heads out of their rooms to see what was happening, then ducked back inside at the sight of Morton and his smoking pistol. The imposing gunman fired a shot into the air to keep any onlookers at a distance as he tossed Liz into the backseat of the Chevy and, gun in hand, clambered in after her.
With the cowardly-looking science guy at the wheel, the blue convertible burned rubber out of the parking lot, passing the Jeep as Michael and Isabel suddenly arrived on the scene. Morton fired repeatedly at the Jeep, clipping one corner of the windshield and forcing the army-green vehicle to swerve across the parking lot, almost colliding with the parked Jetta. Sticking to the shoulder of the road, to avoid the accident blocking the highway, the Chevy sped away in a cloud of dust and gravel, taking Liz Parker with it.
Maria gripped the steering wheel in front of her, uncertain whether to take off in pursuit or to check on Max first. Her dilemma was solved when Max himself came running out of Mortons motel room, seemingly unharmed. A desperate look upon his face, he dived into the backseat of the Jetta, breathing heavily. "Max!" Maria shouted, twisting around in her seat. "Are you all right?"I'm fine," he gasped, "but you have to follow them!" His voice was ablaze with urgency. "They've got Liz!"1 know!" Maria told him. Afraid of losing her best friend forever, she fired up the Jetta even as Michael and Isabel, side-by-side in the Jeep, still wearing their faux military uniforms, pulled up beside them. Maria shuddered at t
he sight of the bullet hole in the Jeep's windshield. That could've been Michael's head, she realized.