by Alan Janney
“Tank, good to see you,” I said.
“Yeah,” he chuckled maliciously. “I bet.”
“I’ll go make some popcorn,” Katie said and she vanished into her bedroom.
“Popcorn?” I asked. “You eat popcorn? I figured you just ate little kids.”
“I like popcorn,” he grinned. “And Latinas.”
“How’s your forehead?” I asked, peering at an imaginary spot on his face. He’d apparently healed from the gunshot. “Looks pretty ugly. But it matches the rest of you.”
His face clouded and he said, “The Sniper saved your miserable life, pajamas.”
“Miserable? Seems a little harsh. How about a ‘Thank You’ for saving your life the other day? You know, when the Chemist’s goons were about to rip you apart?”
“The Chemist,” he thundered. “You know him?”
“Nope. Not a clue.”
“I’m looking for him. Won’t be long,” he said, and he started rubbing his temple. His skin tone was fading to white and then flushing. “I’m going to burn both him and the Shooter alive in the middle of the Dodger’s Stadium. Done it before. Might bring you along to watch. Or use you as kindling.”
“What’s the Chemist want with the Outlaw?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. He’s dead.”
“Fine by me,” I shrugged. “I’m not a big fan of his, either. You have a headache, by the way? Trouble sleeping recently?”
He didn’t answer. He pinched the bridge of his nose and started taking deep breaths. I commiserated with his pain. Watching him was fascinating. I could hit him. He wasn’t ready. I could break his nose. I could drive his nose back into his brain, and then dump his body somewhere. Maybe I could find a rock and crush his skull. But. I wasn’t going to.
“I heard you started using cocaine,” I said. “Coke help with the pain? Maybe you should go home and sleep it off. Far…far away from Katie.”
“Nah,” he smiled even though his eyes were watering. “Got a date. Watching a movie. On her bed. How’s that for pain?”
He went back inside and slid the door closed.
I bounced on my toes outside her door, grinding my teeth. My imagination tortured me as I pictured them on her bed. Nothing would happen. Probably. Katie wouldn’t let it. Maybe. Tank wouldn’t try anything with her mom home. Hopefully. But what could I do? I couldn’t manipulate Katie’s will or emotions.
So I drove to a downtown pharmacy and bought two needles and a pack of glass vials. Then I climbed to the rooftop next to Natalie North’s building, staying in the shadows and out of sight.
Nine at night on a Friday, and I was hiding on a rooftop, learning how to draw blood. My life sucks. But maybe I could find a way to stay alive.
The phone rang inside my helmet.
“What?” I answered it.
“Yo, dummy. How come you keep wearing the motorcycle helmet?” the voice sparked in my ear.
“What?”
“I think the black and red mask looks better. Pretty badass.”
“PuckDaddy,” I said.
“That’s me, baby.”
“Are you always watching me?”
“As often as I can,” he answered. “You’re priority number one. For Carter. And, well, your life is pretty fascinating. Even though you’re stupid.”
“Can you see me now?” I asked, scooting closer to the brick wall. “I thought all those stupid cameras wouldn’t be able to find me here.”
“Yeah, dummy, I can see you through about a dozen cameras. I see everything. But I’m erasing the data.”
“Great,” I said, examining the needle and vial in my hand.
“What are you doing? The picture is too fuzzy.”
“It’s a secret,” I said.
He sighed and said, “I could pull up your bank account, or I could scan the pharmacy security tape to see what you bought. Or you could not be a total newb and you could just tell me.”
“Secret,” I repeated and I jabbed the needle into my finger. The needle…bent. I jabbed again. Nothing. I tried scraping the point across my skin. No luck. Again. Jab. Again. Jab. Katie. Jab. Tank. Again. No blood.
“Oh crap,” PuckDaddy groaned into my ear.
“What?” I said, blinking away tears of frustration.
“I see what you bought. You idiot. Why are you collecting blood?”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Oh boy. You’re not smart.”
“You know what else isn’t smart?” I asked through a tight throat. “Waiting around to die.”
“The FBI guy, Anderson. I heard his plan. You’re giving him a blood sample.”
“Come on!” I shouted and I hurled away the destroyed needle. “Do you listen to all my phone calls??”
“Not that night. You used a disposable phone, remember? Pissed me off. But I listened to Anderson talking to his superiors about it. He said you were considering providing a blood sample. Which is totally stupid.”
“It’s not stupid,” I said. “I’m trying to survive.”
“It won’t work, dummy.”
“It might,” I said, losing the battle to keep desperation out of my voice. “Might find a cure.”
“No, not that. You won’t be able to draw blood right now. You’re upset. Your skin is probably hard as a rock. That’s how the virus works. When you’re mad or under duress or excited or upset or something, the virus kicks in, begins manufacturing adrenaline. That epinephrine makes your muscles tense, skin turn hard, blood start pumping, you can see better, you know. All that stuff. No way can you pierce your skin right now.”
“Ugh,” I groaned and laid flat on my back. Tears leaked and spilled in hot rivulets down the creases around my ears. “This sucks. This sucks so much.”
“Sorry, man. The virus is cold. Merciless, like a machine.”
“Yeah,” I sniffed. “I’ve learned. I can’t sleep. Can’t think. Can’t function.”
“You’re doing better than most,” he said and I could hear him drink something. “I monitor a couple kids like you every year. They all die. You’ve lasted the longest in five years.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
“How’d you get through the virus?” I asked. I wanted to talk, to distract myself, calm down.
“Cause I’m awesome,” he replied.
“Oh. Wow. Thanks.”
“It’s true. But your situation is weird. Our whole world is on hold, waiting to see what happens to you. Lots of manpower, lots of money, lots of precious hours spent deleting data, accessing phone calls, moding fan websites, really deep magic stuff on my end. It’s like nothing we’ve ever done. Most guys like you drop dead pretty quickly, or commit suicide, or do something stupid, like a girl last year thought she could swim across the Pacific. You’re still here and still pushing through with your daily life, even with this bizarre hero gig. Crazy legit. Mad respect.”
“Yeah,” I sighed, fogging the visor of the helmet. “Crazy legit. How many sick kids has the Shooter put out of their misery?”
“None last year. Pretty rare. The virus is effective. You were supposed to get shot. Twice, actually. Because you were being a dumb ass.”
“He got me once,” I said. “Right before I could kiss this girl. The girl.”
“He got you once,” PuckDaddy mocked me. He did that a lot. “Yeah, I was watching from a security camera. Carter ordered a real bullet. Shooter decided to just warn you, though. Used wax. I thought Carter’s head was going to explode.”
“Shooter and Carter don’t get along?”
“It’s…complicated, man,” he laughed again. “I stay out of it.”
“Is Carter the boss? He gave me the impression he wasn’t.”
“Oh he’s the boss.”
“What, did you guys elect him or something?”
“No.” A chuckle. “It’s a monarchy. He’s the king, not the president. Something like that. Crazy control freak. But he’s aight. Usually.
PuckDaddy too busy to complain.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Monitoring the escalating war between North Korean hackers and NSA’s cyber ops team, and toying with ways to requisition NOAA’s satellite cameras without them knowing. Harder than it sounds, amigo, but nothing’s impossible for PuckDaddy. By the way…”
“Yeah?” I prompted.
“Don’t know why I’m telling you this. Really don’t care. I guess I do, but whatever. I think you should tell Katie who you really are.”
“Hah!” I laughed. “Oh man. You are all up in my personal life.”
“Yeah, kind of pathetic. Don’t know why I’m so hooked. It drives me crazy when you two talk in real life and I can’t hack in.”
“If I survive this thing,” I said, “I might tell her. It’ll be a lot to explain.”
“Yeah, definitely. Trust PuckDaddy. I read your text to her tonight. How’d that go?”
How’d that go? It went awful. Really awful. Tank was there.
I sat up straight, grabbed another needle, and tore open my finger. The wound turned white and puckered when I pressed it open, but then it began spilling thick red drops into the waiting vial. My skin had softened during our conversation. Because of the lack of adrenaline? Who knows. My body is so freaking weird.
“What are you doing, noob?” he asked.
“How’d it go tonight?? It went so bad. I’m dying and Katie is dating a monster,” I said, fresh emotion welling up. “And I don’t know what to do about it, so I’m doing this. I’m trying to live. Looking for hope. It’s all I’ve got.” I pressed the green stopper into the opening and examined the full vial. “Maybe the FBI can help me. Because you and Carter sure can’t.”
“Okay. Well. Close your eyes, stupid,” he warned.
“What? Why?”
The vial in my hand exploded. Snap, crash! Glass and blood all over the bricks beside me. A gun shot! Someone shot the vial out of my fingers!
“NOOOOO!” I screamed.
“Sorry man,” he said, and he sounded sincere.
“No no no no!!” I screamed again and put my fist straight into the outer layer of bricks, splintering them in all directions.
“Carter would kill you if he knew, Chase. And he’d find out. Shooter’s doing you a favor.”
“I’m just trying to survive!” I bellowed, my voice almost cracking the helmet. “I just want some help!”
“Chase, Outlaw, chill out-”
“No!” I cried. “I can’t chill. I’m losing everything! I’m so tired, my head hurts so bad, Katie is in bed with a monster, I’ll be dead soon, and my family, and everything…”
I curled up next to the wall and cried openly and fiercely. Deep sobs, building for weeks, forced their way out. I ripped off the helmet and buried trembling fists into my eyes and wailed in anger and despair and loss. Visions of my future kept slipping away. I couldn’t hold on to them, to hope. Everything slipping away, slipping…
I must have cried myself to sleep because when I woke up my head was in Natalie North’s lap. My motorcycle helmet was off and she was stroking my hair. My mind was foggy and it took me a second to remember where I was.
“Hello, sleeping beauty,” she smiled at me, upside down.
“This is a little embarrassing,” I sniffed. I had a moment of panic when I realized my mask was off, but she’d already seen me without the mask. She still didn’t know my identity.
“Are you hurt? I don’t see any wounds. Against my better judgement I decided not to give your body a thorough examination.”
“No,” I smiled. “I’m not hurt.”
“Then why, superhero of mine, are you up here crying in your sleep?”
“Oh, you know,” I sighed. “I thought I’d give it a try. Sounded like fun.”
“Are you upset because of your malady?”
“If malady means disease, then yes.”
“Have your symptoms gotten worse?” she asked.
“Not much. Not since I saw you last.”
“Since that day you died?”
“Right,” I chuckled. “Things have not gotten worse since I died.”
“Did you come up here to see me?” She lowered her face until her lips were touching my nose and she quietly said, “I hope so.”
I was about to push her away. But then again, I didn’t have a girlfriend. And Katie was with someone else. So I let her kiss me.
“I’m very glad to see you. Honestly,” I said. “But I came up here to provide a blood sample for the FBI.”
“Oh! A fantastic idea!”
“I think so too. But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Several reasons,” I sighed. “Some of which I can’t explain. But, part of the problem is my skin. It’s become very difficult to get a needle through it.”
“That’s part of the disease?” she asked, picking up my hand and examining it.
“Apparently.”
“What a fascinating illness you have. I bet scientists all over the world would love to examine you,” she said. “Maybe you should let them?”
“I can’t. Hopefully one day I’ll be able to explain why not.”
“There’s other stuff going on,” she said, watching my face. “Other stuff than just the virus, right? Conspiracies and secret clandestine groups and things like that?”
“Natalie North,” I smiled. “You are one of the most perceptive people I know.”
“No,” she said, lowering in for another kiss. “I just obsess over you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Monday, February 6. 2018
I spent Saturday with Cory. We played video games and ate dinner and did things that teenagers do when they’re not wearing a mask. On Sunday Dad surprised me taking us to church. I love that place! It’s quiet, it’s peaceful, it smells good, it’s beautiful, the people are polite, and the Bible really makes God sound like He knows what He’s talking about. Love each other. Live peacefully. Take care of the poor. I dig it.
On Monday my peace ended.
Hannah Walker met me as I walked into the school. There is NO way her outfit met the dress code. We hadn’t spoken since the breakup. I’d texted her about returning the motorcycle, but she hadn’t replied.
“Hi handsome!” she chirped. Before I knew it she was in my arms, hugging me.
“Hi…Hannah,” I said. I was confused. “You look nice.”
“I haven’t told anyone yet,” she whispered in my ear. “About the break-up.”
“Oh.”
“Besides.” Her lips were brushing my earlobe. “I miss you. And I’m going to get you back.”
Uh oh.
My head pounded with this new bit of stress, until Katie held my hand in Spanish. Her hand is so great. It’s small and smooth and fits easily into mine and she rubs my thumb with hers. I would rather hold hands with Katie than make-out with Natalie North. And just like that, my headache was gone.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.
“Getting better.” I squeezed her hand. The teacher, Señora Richardson, always shot me dirty looks when we held hands. “How was your date with Tank? Did you have a nice time in bed?”
“We weren’t in a bed, stinker,” she snickered. “Why would you think that?”
“He told me you were.”
“You two,” she shook her head. “Silly boys. And he didn’t stay long. He got a migraine and had to leave. I almost called an ambulance. And you don’t have to look so happy about it!”
Lee appeared exhausted. At lunch he could barely keep his head up.
“What’s wrong, good-looking?” Samantha Gear asked him.
“I’m tired, dude.”
“Lee,” Samantha growled softly, “You better find something else to call me. Soon.”
“Samantha, I mean. Sorry. I’m tired, Samantha,” Lee yawned.
“Me too,” she said. “Cory kept me up too late.”
“What??” Lee, Katie and I all blurted in unison.
Cory, the humble giant, looked mortified. He put his container of pot roast down, wiped his hands, picked his food up again, set it down again, and took a long drink of water. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I just cooked her dinner.”
“And…?” Samantha prodded wickedly. Katie was beaming.
“And we watched some basketball,” Cory said.
“And…?” Samantha prodded again.
“And I rubbed her feet.” He shrugged and went back to eating.
“He’s got strong hands too,” Samantha shivered.
Katie and I didn’t know what to say.
Lee said, “This sucks so bad. I’m a great foot massager.”
“Why were you up so late?” Katie asked Lee.
“Working on a project,” he answered. “Top secret. And watching the Compton lockdown.”
“The what?” I asked.
“I swear!” he shouted. “You people! Watch the news! Or check your twitter feed!”
“Okay okay,” Katie shushed him. “What happened in Compton?”
“Total lockdown, bro. Martial Law declared.”
“Why?”
“Civil unrest. Fighting. That kind of stuff. Plus,” he yawned again, “the FBI is trying to track down some kind of criminal mastermind.”
“They think he’s in Compton?” I asked. The FBI was looking for the Chemist!
“Dunno. Maybe.”
Cory, Samantha and I walked onto our practice field, along with half the varsity team, to find Coach Garrett with his hands on hips.
“Well, team,” he grinned behind his glasses, chomping on his gum. “Today we’re going to practice in our stadium, instead of the practice field.”
Great! We all loved the stadium and it’s FieldTurf. Someone asked him, “Why?”
“Because,” he said, his grin growing wider. “I invited the Patrick Henry Dragons to use our practice field.”
Silence. Disbelief. Someone snorted in the back.
“For real?” Jesse Salt asked. He was our running back, and he was heading to San Diego on a scholarship to play football.
“Yes, Mr. Salt, for real.”
“Why?”
“The Dragon’s field was recently commandeered by a government task force for a weekend exercise and subsequently ruined. It won’t be ready for several weeks, despite Uncle Sam footing the repair bill. The Dragons have nowhere to practice. So they’ll be circulating between a few fields, including ours. I extended the invitation myself.”