The Dysasters

by P. C. Cast

  “So you’re practicing your powers?”

  He nodded again. “I’ve decided that we’re not freaks.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Foster took another bite.

  “Yeah. We’re superheroes.”

  If she wasn’t mid-chew, Foster’s mouth would’ve flopped open.

  “Think about it,” Tate continued. “Cora’s letter said that there’s a huge possibility that we were genetically engineered, like Captain America. Well, except that he was given a shot and we were, well, you know, changed when we were like embryos or something.” Tate scratched the top of his head, making Foster wonder whether or not he knew anything at all about how babies were made.

  Public school for the win, Foster thought before tuning back into Tate’s explanation.

  “And this,” he proudly motioned toward the house. “Is our Fortress of Sauvietude.”

  Foster had no words. No words at all.

  “Superman has his Fortress of Solitude, and we have our Fortress of Sauvietude.”

  Foster coughed around a mouthful of granola, trying hard not to gag.

  “Can you stop making fun of me for a few minutes? Just long enough to try it?”

  “What? No. You look stupid.”

  “So what? Who’s going to see us?” Tate’s gesture took in the huge hedgerow of evergreens that framed the entire rectangular-shaped farm. “I’m surprised. I thought you didn’t get embarrassed.”

  Foster swallowed the last bit of chocolaty granola and stuffed the wrapper into her pocket. “I don’t.”

  “Then give it your best shot. Plus, you’re the one with the superhero alliteration name now, not me. That gives you an edge.”

  Heavy, earth-trembling clomps echoed behind her and Foster froze.

  “Oh, hey there, Calliope. No, I don’t have any more carrots for you. There was just that one I got from Finn.”

  A husky snort swirled against the top of Foster’s head, and she whirled around with a sharp squeal, reminding herself of the terribly annoying, screaming blond girl from the original Jurassic Park. And Foster wasn’t far off. The enormous Percheron dinosaur bristled, snorted, and lunged backward as she shrieked again.

  “Get away!” Foster flapped her arms at the giant beast, barely recognizing the terrified scream that tore out of her throat.

  Ears pinned, Calliope snorted as if she was confused as to why Foster was freaking, then turned, swished her braided tail, and trotted heavily away.

  “Guess we found your Achilles,” Tate groaned, climbing out of the hedgerow and picking green sticky needles from his clothes.

  “Oh my god, she got you.” She helped him from the bushes, her hands still shaking from the close encounter.

  “No,” he rubbed his chest. “You shot me,” he said with a cough. “You spun around and shot me with your hands. Your air cannon hands.”

  “What?” Foster looked down at her hands. “Wait a second.” She held them, palms out. “Horses are monster trucks with brains!” she shouted, invoking the same terrified feeling she’d had only moments before.

  Tate stumbled backward, a burst of air blowing his shirt tight against his chest.

  “It’s not storms or tornadoes,” Foster realized with a sharp clap. “It’s air. We’re controlling air! That’s what she meant.” She grabbed the crook of his arm and pulled him behind her as she jogged back to the house. “I found this paper. Actually, Cora and air helped me find this paper, but that’s not the point.”

  “Cora and air found a paper?” Tate asked, nearly tripping up the stairs as she practically dragged him behind her.

  “Yes, but that’s not the point,” she reiterated. “The point is, that part makes sense.”

  “That part of what?”

  “The paper! Jeez, would you keep up?”

  “I could if I understood even for a second what the hell you’re babbling about.”

  Foster released Tate’s arm as she ran into the office. “Babbling? I’m not babbling. I’m just trying to tell you this very exciting, very amazing, very crazy, extremely life-changing thing that I found that you have to look at because I think that maybe, just maybe, we might have accidentally figured a part of it out,” she blurted in a rush of adrenaline.

  Okay. Foster took a deep breath and sorted though the papers strewn across the desk. Maybe she was babbling.

  Tate leaned against the doorframe. “Is this you excited?”

  Foster held the paper out to him, pointing at the circle Cora had drawn with the arrow pointing to the word Air.

  “It’s cute.” His lips ticked with a smile as he went to her and plucked the page from her fingertips. “So is this the exciting, amazing, crazy, life-changing thing you just had to show me?”

  Foster’s chin bobbed, but no words came out. And her cheeks felt all warm from him calling her cute.

  Gross. He’s Douchehawk, remember?

  Foster cleared her throat. “Yes. Yes it is.” She brushed back the wild section of hair that kept falling into her face. “August twenty-fifth, one A, two A—that’s us. And Cora, she already figured the A part out. I just didn’t get it until now.”

  “We’re air,” Tate breathed, scrubbing his palms down his cheeks. “Not storms. Not tornadoes. We’re air. We can control air? So I wasn’t out there talking to the sky like a complete ass?” He glanced over at Foster who hid her smirk behind the wall of hair that kept obscuring her vision. “On second thought, don’t answer that. We can control air. This is fucking nuts!”

  Foster couldn’t help but join in as Tate hopped up and down. “We’re superheroes!” she squealed, happiness stretching her lips into a smile—a brief, but genuinely happiness-filled smile.

  “Wait,” they stopped bouncing as Tate pointed at the page. “The other pairs, they each have different abilities.”

  Foster nodded. “Water, fire, and earth.”

  “The Planeteers. We’re the Planeteers!” Tate’s eyes were so wide Foster half expected them to pop in and out of his head like in a cartoon.

  Foster cocked her head. “You lost me.”

  “Captain Planet,” Tate said matter-of-factly.

  Foster clicked her tongue. “Nope, still lost.”

  “It was a huge thing in the early nineties.”

  “Hello, I’m only eighteen.”

  “Yeah, so am I. That’s not an excuse for not knowing anything about classic cartoons.” With an extraordinarily dramatic sigh, Tate fished the laptop out from under a stack of papers and set it in front of Foster. “Google it, Miss Millennial.”

  “You are such a nerd,” Foster mumbled, typing in the password to Cora’s laptop.

  “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. You’re gettin’ soft.” Tate jabbed her shoulder playfully.

  “You wish,” she grumbled, her cheeks getting obnoxiously warm once again.

  So gross.

  She opened the browser. The small, colorful circle spun momentarily as the last page Cora had looked at automatically reloaded, playing a live meteorological broadcast.

  “And now, as you can see, Krista, the wind has picked up considerably since we first arrived. The gusts are,” the rain jacket–clad reporter paused, squinting as ropes of water lashed his face, “extremely strong.” An icy white burst filled the screen followed by the crackling boom and fiery archs of what looked like fireworks.

  The picture went dark before returning to the studio.

  “Justin?” The meteorologist tucked her hair behind her ear and pressed her fingertips against her earpiece. “Justin, are you still with us?” She folded and unfolded her hands before clearing her throat. “We’re receiving reports that a transformer blew near Justin and his team. We hope they stay safe out there in this unprecedented storm.” She took a deep breath and pointed at her green screen. “If you are in any of the areas you can see here on the map—any of them at all—please, take cover immediately. I repeat, take cover immediately. As Justin was saying, tornadoes, at least three,” again she pressed h
er fingers against her earpiece. “Five?” Her calm demeanor faltered. “At least five F-four tornadoes have been confirmed and are heading in your direction. Again, take shelter immediately. It is confirmed that at least five tornadoes have touched down. Please—”

  The video froze.

  “Vermont,” Foster whispered as she read the headline. “That can’t be right. Five tornadoes don’t just touch down in Vermont on a Sunday afternoon.” She clicked the refresh button, and the page reloaded. “Have five tornadoes ever touched down in Vermont?” she asked rhetorically.

  White letters glared at her from the empty black rectangle where the video had been only moments before. This station is no longer streaming live. Check back soon for more from WCAX.

  “Jesus, Foster! It’s happening there, too. Just like it did back home. But it’s not supposed to. Not outside of Tornado Alley. Not usually even in Tornado Alley. Not until recently.” Tate sagged down onto the stack of boxes next to the desk. “Those poor people. They didn’t see it coming. Someone needs to help them.”

  Foster snorted. “Someone? Tate, we are that someone.”

  “But how? We suck as superheroes.”

  “Oh, so you’re already giving up? Seriously?” Hands on hips, she pinned him with her narrowed gaze.

  Then it happened. Again. A warm, comforting breeze swirled around her, caressing her heated face, before it swooped down to lift the papers they’d left haphazardly scattered on the desk, allowing all of them to fall back into place except for one—the one with the strange dates written on it. Tate’s defeated eyes found that one piece of paper the same time hers did and they reached for it as they spoke together.

  “There’s something about this,” Foster said.

  “Hey, I think I get this!” Tate said.

  Tate lurched up from his seat on the boxes, grabbing the still fluttering paper as Foster stared at it.

  “Check this out. Eighteen twenty-one is the year Missouri became a state! And that’s where I was born,” Tate said.

  “How do you know that?”

  Tate’s handsome face broke into a wide grin, making him look boyish again. “Public education, Strawberry.”

  Foster frowned at him and sucked in air. Strawberry? No one calls me that but Cora!

  “Where were you born?”

  “Huh?”

  He jutted out his chin and released an exasperated puff of air. “Where. Were. You. Born? As in, what state?”

  “California.”

  “And what year did that become a state?”

  She wasn’t sure. And why was that so harped on in school that even Tate remembered it? Wasn’t it more important to know how to grow your own food or file taxes or change a tire?

  Tate pointed at the open laptop on Cora’s desk.

  “Fine,” she grunted. “I’ll Google it.” Her fingers flew across the keys and, sure enough, eighteen fifty popped up after the question: When did CA become a state? “Shit! You’re right.”

  “Google the rest of the dates!” Tate craned his neck to look over her shoulder. “I think we’re on to something Foster, but we need to find the others, and we need to find them now.”

  “Of course we are. Cora left the breadcrumbs and we’re birding them. We can help,” Foster said, her voice holding a lot more confidence than she felt. “We will help. We have to. No one else can. After all,” she gave him a sassy sideways smile. “We are the Planeteers.”

  12

  EVE

  Eve smiled as she approached Mark, who was sitting on the sunlit beach, his loose linen pants rolled up and his feet submerged in water and sand. He was bare chested and his long, dark hair floated free around his broad shoulders. Mark was a grown man, but what Eve saw when she looked at him, especially when he was on this beach, was the sweet, sensitive boy he used to be.

  “I thought I’d find you here.”

  He didn’t even look up at her, but patted the sand next to him as if offering a seat. “It’s pretty easy to find any of us on this island, which is no accident—as we all know.”

  Eve sat beside him, delicately crossing her legs under her so that not even her feet touched the salty water.

  “You still don’t like the ocean?” His tone was light and teasing. It was a family joke between them. If they were in the middle of the country—as they just had been—Mark continually asked, “Are we there yet?” Meaning, are they back on the coast yet, echoing the whining he used to do as a child whenever Father took them off island. Eve had, of course, been the opposite, and only felt truly at peace when miles and miles and miles of ocean-free land surrounded her.

  “Never have. Never will,” Eve said firmly. “You are the only water I like.”

  As if in petulant response to her statement, an errant wave washed too close to her feet. With a quick, slight motion of his hand, Mark directed his element to stay back.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Of course. And thanks.”

  “Of course. And you’re welcome.” Mark sighed, his gaze resting on the turquoise waves. “Where is he?”

  “In his laboratory staring at nothing, as usual. Did Matthew have any luck picking up credit card usage for either of the kids?” Eve asked, even though she knew the answer. Had her brothers found even a hint of anything she would have been the first to know.

  “Nothing. The boy’s parents were killed at the stadium. He’s listed as missing and presumed dead, with a couple dozen or so other teenagers. A bunch of them were stupid enough to run to their cars instead of into the school, which was a designated disaster shelter. One of the funnels sucked up the cars and after it spit them out they exploded, making it tough to identify the remains.” Mark shook his head. “Idiot teenagers.”

  “But you’re sure it was him with Foster in that truck, right?”

  “I’m positive.” Mark picked up a broken shell and heaved it into the ocean. “I’m so pissed that none of us got the license plate number on that damn truck.”

  “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You would’ve caught them if they hadn’t invoked another tornado. And there’s no way any of us—not even Father—would have believed they could have shown that much control over air that soon.”

  “How bad is he today?”

  Eve worried her bottom lip between her teeth before answering in one clipped word. “Bad.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Eve. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Find those kids. He’s as obsessed with them as he is with my crystals. I’ll handle Father.”

  “He’s getting worse and worse. All of us can see that,” Mark said. “Isn’t there some way you can stop him? Wean him off or something?”

  “You think I haven’t tried?” She hurled the question at him. He winced at the harshness in her voice, making her instantly contrite. I don’t ever want my brothers to fear me as they do Father. She touched his arm gently. “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”

  Mark met her gaze. Not for the first time Eve thought how very beautiful this strong, gifted brother of hers was. If only he wasn’t also so very haunted …

  “Eve?”

  “Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

  “I said that maybe you should overdose him.”

  Eve blinked at Mark in shock, pressing her finger against her lips to shush him, and then looking quickly behind them. She saw nothing but palm trees and grass that had once been meticulously maintained but had gone to seed more than a decade ago. Like everything else on their island—it used to be sweet and beautiful, but was now wild and neglected. Ever cautious, Eve closed her eyes, rested her hands on the sandy ground, and concentrated, reaching into the earth and listening with the grass, swaying and seeing with the palms …

  She opened her eyes and slid closer to Mark, lowering her voice to a whisper. “You can’t just blurt out something like that.”

  “I get tired of hiding how I feel, Eve.” The waves mimicked Mark’s frustration by swirling and rippling around his ankle
s erratically.

  “It won’t help if he hears you say something like that.”

  “But he isn’t here. He’s inside messing around with his lab equipment and not actually accomplishing anything because he’s a fucking junky obsessed with his next fix. So, I’m saying it again. Maybe you should overdose him.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Eve whispered at him. “Mark, what do you think would happen then, after he ODs?”

  “If we’re lucky he dies. Or falls into a vegetative state. If he’s dead I’ll bury him at sea. If he’s a turnip we’ll use part of those billions he stashed away to put him in a nice facility until his body gives out.”

  “Lucky?” Eve practically hissed the word. “How would it be lucky that the only person on earth who can fix us dies or becomes a vegetable?” She didn’t mention anything about the billions they apparently didn’t have. There was just no point in giving Mark anything else to be pissed about.

  Mark turned so that he faced her and spoke slowly, clearly. “Eve, he cannot fix us.”

  “Of course he can!”

  “Then why hasn’t he?”

  “He needs those kids. He needs to study them and use his findings to create a vaccine that will fix us. You know this. He’s talked about it over and over again,” Eve said, trying not to sound as exasperated as she felt. Mark was the strongest of the brothers—the sanest. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t damaged. They were all damaged.

  “What if he’s lying?”

  “He’s not.”

  “How do you know that?” He held up his hand as she started to answer. “No, don’t talk. Just listen for a change. What if Father has been lying to us? Maybe not all along. Maybe there was a time when he believed he could fix us. Then years passed. Almost two decades passed. And he realized he can’t fix us. Nobody can. What if he wants us to bring those kids here not as our salvation but as our replacement?”

  Eve felt a shudder begin deep inside her and move outward, like an earthquake. She fisted her hands in the sand to stop their trembling.

  “Then that would make him a monster.” She stared into Mark’s eyes. “Do you think he’s a monster, truly? Do you think our father, the man who created us—cared for us—loved us our entire lives is a monster?” When Mark remained mute Eve thought everything within her might shrivel and die. She wouldn’t be earth anymore, dark and fertile and rich. She would be desert. Eve didn’t think she could bear to be shriveled, dry, and cracked inside. In despair she asked her brother, “Don’t you love him at all anymore?”