by Amy Ignatow
“Are we test subjects?” Cookie asked in a low voice.
“No, no.” Dr. Deery looked miserable. “No, you’re not. You’re . . . accidents.”
“Explain. Now.”
“First, the experiments were never supposed to result in”—Dr. Deery gestured to everyone—“all this. The goal was to create a drug that could be used to boost preexisting IQs, not create entirely new abilities. Second, I was against repeating the experiment until we had all the data, and vehemently against using human subjects. My employers seemed to back off, but they kept adding new people to my team that I had never before worked with. I grew suspicious and discovered that samples of my original formula were missing. My assistant suspected that someone was copying our files. I began to keep copies of my research data on an external hard drive that I kept in my car.
“One Friday night I came back to the lab after hours. I had left my brother’s birthday present in my office and his party was the next day, so I went back to pick it up. Then I heard two of my new lab cohorts speaking in the hallway. I was about to ask them what they were still doing there so late when I heard them talk about ‘resistant test subjects.’ I followed them instead.
“They didn’t go to the lab that we were sharing. They instead descended into a basement room that I had never seen before. I watched through the window of the lab door as they put eye drops of what looked like my phlebotinum into a drinking glass of water, and then put a straw into the glass. They were clearly going to give it to a person. I was horrified.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I copied the rest of my files to the external hard drive and brought it to Ed to hide in case anything happened to me. Then I erased the rest of my research from my work computer and my home computer.”
There was a dry laugh from the corner of the sofa. “And yet you never gave me my birthday present.”
“I didn’t? Oh, I didn’t. It was a 3-D puzzle of a globe.”
“Oh, I would have enjoyed that.” Ed sounded a little bummed.
“Guys,” Cookie said. “Who were they testing the phlebotinum on?”
“We don’t know.” Dr. Deery said. “I called my supervisor at her house on Saturday morning and told her what I’d seen. She told me that I was probably just jumping to conclusions but she promised me that she’d look into it. On Monday when I came back to work I was immediately called to her office and fired, and then they had a security guard watch me as I packed up my personal things. I wasn’t even allowed to say good-bye to anyone.
“When I got back to my apartment I found that it had been ransacked. My computer was stolen, along with all of my CDs and thumb drives. Every drawer had been opened, every framed picture had been taken off the wall and thrown to the floor. They went so far as to slash the cushions of my sofa and my mattress. I gathered as much of my things as I could, threw them in the car, and drove here.
“This building belonged to our uncle . . .” Dr. Deery continued. “I’ve tried to continue my research,” he said, gesturing to the lab equipment and the rats, “but I lost a lot. Up until about a week ago I felt reassured that at least the scientists at Auxano didn’t have my files. But they did have the samples of the formula, as well as the infected rabbits.”
“That’s where I thought I could help,” Ed said. It was always a little startling to hear him chime in when he hadn’t spoken for a while. Cookie wondered for a moment what would happen if he wore a hat. “Gabe had got me a gig as a night security guard at the company a while back.”
“I thought you were a bus driver,” Martina said.
“Yes, but only part-time. I needed to make ends meet. I’m really a sculptor.”
“He’s very good,” Dr. Deery said.
“Thanks Gabe, that’s nice to hear.”
“FOCUS, NERDS!” Cookie said.
“Sorry,” Dr. Deery said quickly. “I asked Ed if he could get the phlebotinum for me. I wanted to run tests on it so I could have evidence not only that I had been fired unfairly and my work had been stolen from me, but that it was being used for ethically questionable purposes. The night before your field trip he was able to break into the lab and take it.”
“Weren’t you worried that they’d suspect you?” Martina asked in the direction of the sofa.
“A little. But no one at Auxano knew that we were brothers.” Ed explained. “Technically we’re half brothers, which is why we have different last names. Plus no one would ever think an artist would be smart enough to know what to take,” he added. “Or a bus driver.”
“He did a great job of finding the phlebotinum and getting it here. The bus trip was a nice cover. The only problem is that he did a little too good of a job.” Dr. Deery said.
“I didn’t understand that I was only supposed to bring a sample.” Ed said sheepishly.
“He brought all of it.” Dr. Deery said. “When I saw what he’d brought I was tempted to keep it all. Now I wish I did. But I took a little bit and told him to take the rest back so that no one would realize it was missing. I was afraid he’d be found out and arrested for taking the stuff.”
“They must know now that you took it,” Cookie said.
“They do,” Ed said with a heavy sigh. “My apartment and my studio were completely upended, but of course they couldn’t find anything because it was all in the bus accident.”
“I’m fairly sure that they were able to retrieve what was left from the bus before the police could investigate.” Dr. Deery said. “These are very powerful people with a lot of money. The only good thing about my brother’s . . . current condition is that they can’t find him. And I can’t tell you how impressed I am that you guys have kept your own . . . conditions to yourselves. There’s no telling what the people at Auxano would do to you if they knew about your . . . skills.”
Martina blinked. “But isn’t that what we’re here for? So that you can study what happened to us during the accident?”
“Yes, yes. I’m so sorry but I’m going to need blood samples from you. And hopefully eventually from Mr. Rajavi and Mr. Gross.”
“And you’ll be able to cure us?” Cookie asked.
“How . . . how will you get the blood?” Abe asked.
THE DAILY WHUT?
* * *
Hey, intrepid minds, seekers of truths, and questioners of the status quo, has anyone seen Ryan Friend? The police haven’t, and they also don’t seem too worried about it, particularly in the light of the last fire, at the Zook farm out in Amish country.
Is it just me, or is it too much of a coincidence that the hired goons from our local economy gods Auxano were harassing our Plain brothers and sisters just a few months ago? You all remember my now eerily prophetic post about the Auxano Company cars seen coming and going from the Amish-owned farms in the area. At the time I suspected foul play, and I’m not happy to see that my suspicions were ALL BUT VERIFIED by the fire at the Zooks’ last week.
Dear readers, SOMETHING IS UP. I’m not totally certain as to what it is just yet, but oh, I have IDEAS, and as we all know, sometimes those ideas become truths, like when I knew that Mayor Kirby was going to win the election even though the week before Election Day she was still eleven points behind in the polls. THAT ELECTION WAS RIGGED, MY FRIENDS, and one day I’m going to prove it, just like I’m going to prove that the events in Amish country had something to do with the fires in town and Ryan Friend’s disturbing disappearance.
Until then, keep asking questions,
THE HAMMER
* * *
“So do you really think your brother can help us?” Cookie asked, chewing on the soft pretzel they’d bought at the Wawa before leaving Philadelphia. She tried not to watch as Ed ate. The pretzel just sort of floated and then slowly disappeared. It was unnerving. Cookie found herself wondering if he made invisible poops, and was immediately grossed out by herself. Hanging out with all these oddballs was starting to rub off on her.
“I don’t know,” Ed said. “I don’t want to make promises that we might not be a
ble to keep. But he is brilliant, I know that much.”“But you would say that,” Cookie said. “He’s your brother.”
Cookie heard Ed sigh. “I get that you’re skeptical. That’s healthy. But before Auxano threw him out Gabe was completely on the straight and narrow. High school valedictorian, top of his class at Penn, prestigious scholarships to—” Ed muttered an expletive. “Abe, quickly, we have to trade places.”
“Excuse me?” Abe asked, aghast. Cookie turned in her seat to see the flashing red and blue lights of a police car behind them. Ed was pulling over to the side of the road. “You have to get into the driver’s seat NOW.”
Put your hands flat on your lap. Cookie remembered her mother’s instructions in the event of getting pulled over by the police. Say nothing. Only speak if you’re spoken to, and call the policeman “Sir” or “Officer,” and whatever you do, never sass him. I’m serious.
There was a brief and awkward tussle as Abe climbed over Ed to get into the front seat. “Strap in,” Ed snapped.
“What? Where? How?” Abe looked like he was going to faint.
“Put on your seat belt,” Martina explained.
“And put your hands on the wheel,” Cookie hissed. “Never take your hands off the wheel. And open the window.”
“How? How does it open?” Abe pressed his hands flat on the window, trying to push it down.
“Oh my god, we’re all going to jail.” Cookie groaned. They were only a few miles out of Muellersville. Maybe she could hurl herself out of the car and make a run for it? Probably a bad idea.
“Cookie, that’s enough,” Ed growled. Cookie could see Abe’s chest flattening as Ed leaned over to open the window for him. “It’s this switch. Just stay calm. Hands on the wheel. We’re going to get through this.”
“How?” Cookie asked as the police officer approached the driver’s side of the car. She put her hands flat on her lap.
“License and registration.” The police officer peered into the car. Abe looked like he was going to faint.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
“I said license. And. Registration.” The glove compartment door popped open and Cookie watched as the car registration inched forward. She was terrified to say anything, but someone had to help Abe, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Martina, who was drawing contentedly in her sketchbook as if they weren’t all about to get arrested.
“Right there,” Cookie said in what she hoped was an even voice. “The registration is where you left it right there in the glove compartment.” Abe looked desperately lost. “The open car box.”
The police officer eyed Cookie suspiciously and seemed to be on the verge of asking her a question when he let out a yelp. “AUGH!”
A bird had pooped right in the middle of his ticketing pad. “Oh, that’s disgusting, excuse me,” the officer grumbled, shaking out the pad. Another bird poop hit the brim of his hat. “AUGGGHHH!” Two poops landed on the officer’s left shoulder, and then three on his right. A light gray glob of excrement dripped down his chest.
Cookie looked out the window. They were parked on the side of the road near open farmland, and a huge swarm of small birds was flying just above the car. Cookie looked at Abe, who was staring straight ahead with his hands firmly grasping the wheel.
“WHAT THE AUUUGGGHHH!!!” The police officer was now covered in bird poop that was falling from the sky like disgusting, bird-poopy hail. “JUST BE CAREFUL ON THE ROAD!” he screamed to Abe before sprinting back to his patrol car. Abe pushed the button that raised the window.
“Holy—” Cookie started.
“Good work, Abe,” Ed interrupted her. “I think it’s time you learned to use the windshield wipers.”
“You dropped a what on my computer?” Farshad’s dad looked more surprised than upset. That seemed like a good sign, right? Maybe? Farshad was really not accustomed to disappointing his parents. He really didn’t know what to expect.
“The dictionary. I was looking something up, and it slipped out of my hands and fell on the keyboard.”
“But why didn’t you just look it up on the computer?” his dad asked. Farshad grimaced. He’d chosen the dictionary because it was the heaviest book he could think of, besides the Complete Works of Shakespeare, and he couldn’t come up with a good reason to be reading the Complete Works of Shakespeare. Maybe he wanted to peruse Macbeth? Too late now.
“I wanted to see if the word antidisestablishmentarianism was in the actual dictionary,” Farshad explained.
“But . . . why?”
“It’s a really long word,” Farshad explained weakly. “I wanted to see what it looked like on a paper page. I’m really sorry about the computer.”
His dad looked sadly at the indented keyboard of the ruined laptop. “I’ll take it into work to see if any of the tech guys have a solution. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Just be a little more careful next time. New rule! No dictionary reading over a laptop.”
“Never again,” Farshad promised. If he kept accidentally crushing things with his super-thumbs he was going to have to come up with some new and more plausible explanations. Maybe he could ask Cookie for help. She seemed good at that sort of thing.
Farshad blinked, wondering at the circumstances that had led him to thinking positively about any aspect of Cookie Parker’s personality (and considering that being an easy liar was one of her attractive qualities).
Farshad’s mother came into the room. “Arastoo, did you tell him about the trip?”
“What trip?” Farshad asked.
“Your teacher called us,” Farshad’s mother said excitedly, “to ask for permission to go on a special Science Club field trip next week to the lab. Ms. Zelle,” she added, and Farshad felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Dr. Rajavi turned to spot the ruined laptop for the first time. “What happened here?” she asked.
“He accidentally dropped a dictionary on the computer,” Farshad’s father explained.
“What was he using a dictionary for?”
“Why did Ms. Zelle call you?” Farshad asked. “Why didn’t she just tell me and send home a permission slip?”
“Oh, she explained,” Dr. Rajavi said. “She wanted permission to take a sample of your blood so they can show you the big centrifuge and map your very own DNA—it’s a great opportunity for you and your group!”
Farshad swallowed nervously. “I was looking up the word antidisestablishmentarianism,” he told her. His mother stared at him blankly. “That’s why I was using the dictionary. I wanted to look up antidisestablishmentarianism.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well, let’s be more careful in the future.” Farshad caught her shooting a quick look to his father. They were clearly confused. “Aren’t you excited about the trip to Auxano?” his mother asked.
“Yes!” Farshad bleated, and took a breath. “Yes. Of course. I’m just upset about the computer.”
Farshad’s dad came up to him and put his arm around his shoulder. “That’s okay, it’s just a computer. I’m sure the guys at work will fix it up in no time. They love a challenge.”
“Are you all right, Farshad?” his mother asked.
“Sure,” Farshad said. “I’m fine.”
“I heard you up a few nights ago,” she said, concerned. “You were up when you should have been sleeping.”
“I was just studying for the exam,” he lied.
“Of course, of course,” Dr. Rajavi said, but she looked worried. “Are you hungry? Have you eaten?”
“I’m okay,” he said, carefully gathering up his things. “But I could use a run before it gets dark.”
“Go, go.”
Farshad went to his room and changed into gym shorts and a T-shirt. It was still a little chilly out but the cold was good—it usually made him run faster. Farshad set off on one of his usual routes. Down to the end of the street, up the path through the woods, by the creek, past the park and to the school. He ran without thinking, which was why he was very surprised to find himself
standing outside Cookie Parker’s house. She was sitting on her front step and looking at her phone. She looked up at him, surprised.
“You got my email?” she asked. “I just sent it.”
“No,” he replied. “My computer kind of broke. I was just out for a run.” How had he ended up outside her house? It was not on his usual route.
“Oh,” she said. “I just wrote to tell you that I wanted to meet up for a study group . . .” She looked around, slightly nervous, and continued in a quieter voice. “But I wanted to tell you what we found out in Philadelphia. Let’s go inside.”
Farshad did not want to go into Cookie Parker’s house. Sitting and talking about all the bizarre things that were threatening to overtake his life was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid by not going to Philadelphia with her in the first place. But he felt compelled to follow her inside anyway.
Cookie’s house looked like his, only with more framed photos on the walls instead of small Oriental rugs. Farshad looked at a family photo and tried to hide his surprise at seeing that her dad was white.
“He’s my stepfather,” Cookie said, leading Farshad into the kitchen.
“Did you just hear my thoughts?” Farshad gaped. Were her powers growing?
Cookie snorted. “No, I saw that you were looking at the photo and you had that Oh my god, she’s half-white look on your face. I see it every time I go out to dinner with my parents,” she added with a roll of her eyes.
“Sorry,” Farshad said sheepishly, and then felt slightly annoyed that he was apologizing for his thoughts. Maybe one day talking to Cookie Parker wouldn’t leave him so conflicted.
She handed him a glass of water without asking if he wanted one, and he took it gratefully. She might not be able to read the minds of people who weren’t thinking about directions, but she was perceptive. Farshad found himself wondering if their abilities were in any way related to preexisting personality traits; maybe Cookie’s ability to (sort of) read minds was just an extension of her natural gift for reading people. But what did that mean for him? Super strength in his thumbs could be an extension of . . . he had no idea.