E.Q., however, was burning up.
He couldn't think of a single schoolmate who hadn't stopped by to ridicule him. For that matter, he couldn't think of many adult neighbors who hadn't driven by to gawk or tease his family.
Late at night, like now, things tended to get uglier. E.Q. would be patrolling the parking lot, or repairing the damage from the previous fires, and someone would race by on the road and throw bottles or rocks at him. He'd gotten hit a few times already, and once, he'd gotten beaned right on the head.
All that for something he didn't really care about in the first place. If anything, the whole situation had just made him hate Mary Anne and the Magic Castle as much as the rest of Cresson did. Almost as much, anyway.
And the family outing showed no sign of ending anytime soon.
E.Q. shuffled over the gravel to the side of the road and looked both ways. He didn't see any headlights in either direction.
"If folks get bored enough," he said, "can we go home?"
Max brought over his silver thermos and poured steaming coffee into the cup. "I don't know, son. It depends on a lot of things."
E.Q. sighed and rolled his eyes. "Like what? Whether or not every single person in town thinks we're morons?"
"We leave when the job's done." Max sipped the coffee from the silver cup.
"But when will it be done?" E.Q. spread his arms wide. "Will we have to stay here the rest of our lives?"
"Of course not," said Max.
"But as soon as we leave, they'll burn it down," said E.Q. "Won't they?"
Max shrugged. "Maybe by then they'll come to their senses. Maybe they'll finally remember what it was like when somebody came for them."
E.Q. blew out his breath in frustration. "Who came for them, Dad? You said to remind you to tell me about it sometime...so I'm reminding you. Tell me who came for them, Dad."
Max had another sip of coffee and stared into the night sky. "I did. I came for them."
E.Q. frowned. His frustration and irritation suddenly vanished like the frosty breath swirling away from his lips in the cold night air. "What do you mean?"
"It was Lilly, actually. Just up the road. Thirty-four years ago." Max had another sip of coffee. "Some of the same people who drive by here now, calling us names and throwing things...we came for them."
"'We'?" said E.Q.
Max looked at him sideways. "The KKK."
E.Q.'s breath caught in his throat. He'd never suspected what his father was telling him, and he probably never would have guessed it. The more he thought about it, in fact, the crazier it seemed.
Max, the Good Samaritan, defender of the outcast and downtrodden, who had never shown anything but contempt for the Ku Klux Klan, had been a member of that very same group.
"We came to town one night on a train," said Max. "The local mineworkers had kicked our men out of the union, and we were going to teach them a lesson."
E.Q. just stared at him, dumbfounded. Max had always annoyed him by hinting around at secrets from his past, but now that E.Q. had finally learned one, he couldn't believe it.
Even with Max's hints about secrets, E.Q. had always assumed he had a fundamental understanding of his father's heart. Now, for the first time, he realized how little he truly knew.
"We knocked out the electricity and marched through town by torchlight." Max stared into the distance, his eyes glazed. "We burned a cross in Piper's Field and set off dynamite to scare the Polacks and hunkies and micks and wops.
"You know what happened then?" Max looked at E.Q. "I got caught. The townspeople were going to hang me."
"Hang you?" said E.Q.
"They put a noose around my neck and everything." Max circled his throat with a forefinger. "I thought I was a goner.
"But guess who saved my life? One of those same Polacks we'd come to teach a lesson to. How do you like that?"
E.Q. shook his head in amazement. He'd never before heard even the smallest piece of the incredible story.
"That night changed my life," said Max. "I walked away from the hate, and I never went back.
"All because of that one Polack. That angel." Max smiled. "She gave me a second chance."
"Why did you...why didn't you tell me?" said E.Q. "Until now, I mean."
Max finished his cup of coffee, then refilled it from the thermos. "It's a sensitive subject," he said, handing over the cup to E.Q. "I didn't want you to hate me for what I did, but I didn't want you to think it was something to be proud of, either."
"Who else knows?" said E.Q.
"Just your mother," said Max. "She was the Polack who saved me."
E.Q. shook his head and stared at Max. "Are you sure you're not making this up?"
"Ask your mother," said Max. "She'll tell you."
E.Q. drank some of the black coffee from the thermos cup. It was bitter to the taste and ran hot all the way from his tongue down to his stomach.
My father was in the KKK.
No matter how many times he thought about it, he still couldn't get used to the idea. It was as if he'd just found out that he was adopted, or his parents were from outer space, or Max was a Nazi war criminal hiding under an assumed name. It was just too big and strange and dark to connect to the rest of his world.
My father was in the KKK.
"Now do you understand?" said Max.
"Not really," said E.Q.
"It's the reason I get so upset when I see things like that happen." Max waved at the fire-damaged Magic Castle. "Because it's the exact same thing people around here once fought against. Some even died that day, standing up to the Klan."
Max surged forward and grabbed E.Q.'s shoulder, jarring some of the coffee out of the cup E.Q. was holding. "It's why I try so hard to stop it...to make up for what I was a part of.
"More than that, I know now it's what I should've done from the beginning...for no other reason than because it's right. That's what I want you to understand."
The light in Max's pale blue eyes was intense. His grip on E.Q.'s shoulder tightened.
"This is how you, how all of us, should live our lives." Max's free hand landed on E.Q.'s other shoulder. "Beacons don't turn their backs on the ones who need us.
"No matter what it takes, we won't let history repeat itself."
*****
Chapter Forty-One
Johnstown, Pennsylvania, 1977
Cary stood beside his parents' bed, trying to decide which one of them to try to save first.
Neither of them would wake up. He'd tried hard to bring them around, with no success.
And time was running out. The smoke had thickened, and the fire was spreading fast. It had already started to climb the walls upstairs.
Cary had to make a decision, and he had to do it fast.
Whichever parent he chose, he knew he wouldn't have an easy time of it. Carrying Celeste downstairs and outside had been hard enough, and she was much smaller than either Lydia or E.Q.
But Cary wasn't about to wait around for help to get there. As of two minutes ago, when he'd lugged Celeste outside and dropped her in the grass, no firemen or neighbors had been racing up to provide assistance. As for Baron and Celeste, they were in no condition to help...and Grogan was just gone.
So Cary was on his own.
His racing-striped red hair was soaked. Sweat and tears streaming down his face, he hopped from foot to foot, struggling to make up his mind. He coughed on the smoke, rubbed his burning eyes, and wished it was all a nightmare and the only decision he had to make was when to wake up. It seemed that the more he thought about it, the harder the choice became.
Then, something cracked and fell downstairs, and he grabbed for the nearest body.
His dad's.
Cary latched onto E.Q.'s arm and pulled as hard as he could. E.Q. barely budged.
Scooting around to the foot of the bed, Cary ripped away the blanket and sheet and took hold of E.Q.'s ankles. Coughing, he swung them off the side of the bed, then headed for the doorway, p
ulling them along with him.
It still took a major effort to haul E.Q. off the bed, but the legs gave Cary better leverage than the arm had. After three big heaves, the body slid off the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor with a thump. Unfortunately, the impact wasn't enough to wake E.Q.
Cary still had to get him outside on his own.
That was going to be a lot harder than dragging him off the bed had been. With one ankle in each hand, Cary strained to back out the door...but each hard-won tug only moved E.Q. a few inches at a time.
Meanwhile, the walls and ceiling in the hall were on fire. Cary needed a faster way.
He lowered E.Q.'s feet to the floor and pushed his legs apart, then turned to face away from him. Cary backed up between E.Q.'s legs and crouched, hooking his arms under the knees. Then, he got up, leaned forward, and started pulling.
The new way was a little faster. Cary was able to put his back into it, and he could go a few steps at a time before stopping.
He made it halfway down the hall before a coughing fit seized him and forced him to stop. He dropped E.Q.'s legs unintentionally and ended up coughing himself to his knees.
It took him a few moments to get the coughing under control...but the moments felt like hours as the flames continued to eat the walls around him.
Yet again, he wished his powers would come. He even twirled his hand as fast as he could as a test...
By spinning his arms at hyperspeed, The Hurry whips up cyclones that suck all the air away from a fire, instantly putting it out.
...but he still couldn't move any faster than usual.
So there was no easy way out, no miracle in the works. If he wanted to save E.Q., the only weapon in his arsenal was the strength of a normal ten-year-old child.
And the only way to find out if it would be enough was to get up and use it.
Gulping deep breaths of the air near the floor, where the smoke was thinner, Cary collected himself and got back on his feet. He hooked each arm under one of E.Q.'s knees and started dragging him down the hall again.
When he got to the top of the stairs, he surveyed the flames below. They'd gotten closer since he'd carried out Celeste; he wasn't sure if the path he'd followed then would still be open.
But he was committed now. Nowhere to go but down.
Taking care to stay to one side, since the other side was on fire, Cary dragged E.Q. down the stairs. E.Q.'s head bumped from one stair to the next, but it was unavoidable. At least it was easier sliding him down the stairs than it had been pulling him down the hall.
At the bottom, at first, Cary thought that the path had closed...but he was wrong. There was still just enough of a tunnel between the burning furniture and the burning wall for him drag E.Q. to the front door.
Even so, tongues of flame lashed at him as he trudged past with his burden. He cried out as one arm was singed, and he screamed when a flash of heat seared his cheek.
But he never missed a step. The closer he got to the door, the stronger he seemed to get.
The faster he seemed to get.
And then, just as he was about to reach for the knob, the door flew open. Without a word, a fireman scooped him up and whisked him outside.
But first, the fireman had to pry Cary's hand free from its iron grip on E.Q.'s leg.
*****
Cary's eyes were glued to the front door of the house.
He sat on the rear fender of an ambulance, breathing oxygen from a clear plastic mask...and the whole time, he never looked away from that door.
Neither did Baron and Paisley, who sat on either side of him. The three of them were surrounded by chaos--flashing lights and whooping sirens and running firemen--but none of them looked at anything other than that one door.
Any minute now, they expected to see her emerging from that door. Their mother.
The mother Cary had left behind in the rising flames.
Come on come on hurry up come on please hurry up.
She wasn't the only one still in danger. E.Q. and Celeste were already on their way to the hospital, and Cary didn't know how badly they were hurt.
But Mom was the only one who still had a chance of going up in flames.
Please God please don't let her die oh please God don't.
"Everybody pray," said Cary. "Pray real hard."
Baron's only answer was more hacking from the smoke he'd inhaled. Paisley's answer was a soft whimper like a dog that's been beaten too many times. She clawed at her hair, which had gone from neatly brushed to frizzy and wild.
Then, suddenly, Cary saw movement in the doorway.
It was the fireman who'd met him at the door. He shouldered his way out of the flames into the strobing light, bearing a burden.
A woman's body was draped over his arms.
Cary dropped the oxygen mask from his face and slid off the ambulance's fender. Baron and Paisley both stood on either side of him, watching with eyes wide and lips trembling.
Please God don't let her die oh please God no
As the fireman laid her in the grass, two paramedics raced to her side with cases of gear. They both threw themselves down immediately and started working on her, blocking Cary's view.
Please please I'll do anything.
And then, they stopped working on her.
Please God
Even Cary knew they'd stopped too soon.
Oh God no please no
For a brief, crazy moment, Cary thought about using his powers to save her. After all, hadn't he felt them take hold as he'd dragged his father through the flames to the front door?
With hyperspeed vibrations, The Hurry is able to restart the human heart when medical science fails.
Why else would his powers have come back to him?
Moving at ultra-mega-hyperspeed, The Hurry performs multiple lifesaving procedures in a fraction of the blink of an eye.
The fireman who'd brought Mom out of the house spoke to the paramedics. Then, he walked toward Cary.
He took off his helmet as he approached.
"I'm sorry," he said to the three of them, the brothers and sister.
Though Cary had known what the fireman would say before he said it, the words sounded strange and scrambled, as if the fireman were speaking a different language.
"She didn't make it," said the fireman.
Here's how it sounded to Cary: "Shig dock may kid."
By running at ten times the speed of light, The Hurry shatters the time barrier, racing back to prevent tragedy in the past.
Paisley fell to her knees and sobbed on the ground. Baron ran away. Cary stared at the fireman as if he were a jigsaw puzzle and all the pieces were nothing but blue sky.
"Why are you standing here?" said Cary. "My mother's still in there." He pointed at the house.
"Sheep's head," said the fireman. "Ice starry."
By vibrating his body at a different hyperspeed frequency, The Hurry is able to step into a different dimension.
"Look," said Cary. "If you're not going back in after her, then I am."
The fireman nodded. "Okay." He squeezed Cary's shoulder. "I'll see what we can do."
*****
Chapter Forty-Two
Johnstown, Pennsylvania, 2006
Celeste finally realized she was in Topsy-Turvia, the land where everything was turned upside-down, inside-out, and six ways from Sunday.
Many times in their backyard adventures, the Nuclear Family had visited Topsy-Turvia, trying to help the super-powered Nonsensicals who lived there. The problem was, the Nuclear Family's attempts to help always backfired, because the Nonsensicals were wired to react in preposterous ways. When the Nuclear Family tried to help, they ended up hurting the Nonsensicals.
That was exactly what E.Q. had just done to Celeste.
She knew he was well-intentioned. She was sure he hadn't revealed the secret for malicious or selfish reasons.
But now that Celeste knew who had really set the fire that had burned down the house decad
es ago, she wished she'd never heard it at all.
Baron seemed to feel the same way. "This is crazy," he said. "I don't believe you."
E.Q. continued to stroke Paisley's hair as she sat on the arm of the sofa. "It's all true. The coroner and the fire marshal told me."
"Then why haven't we ever heard this until now?" said Baron.
"They didn't publicize it," said E.Q. "I begged them not to, and the fire marshal was a friend of mine."
"Oh my God." Tears trickled down Celeste's face...though they should have trickled up, since she was so obviously marooned in Topsy-Turvia. "You're trying to tell us she started the fire that killed her?"
E.Q. shook his head. "The fire didn't kill your mother."
Paisley looked up at him with an expression of sudden intensity. "It didn't?"
"She was dead long before the fireman found her," said E.Q. "And she didn't die from burns or smoke inhalation or anything else related to the fire."
"Then what did she die from?" said Paisley.
"A massive dose of sleeping pills," said E.Q. "She must've taken them around the same time she set the fire."
Celeste turned away. Tears running down her face, arms folded across her chest, she stared out the front window at the lawn where the fireman had once laid out her dead mother.
Celeste had been in the hospital at the time, but Cary had shown her the exact spot when she got out. She and her brothers and sister had avoided that spot forever after, taking care to swerve around it when they played.
It had loomed larger in their minds than if a stone monument forty feet high had been erected on the spot.
One night in 1977, their poor mother had lain there on the wet grass under a starry sky. The last of her life had whispered out of her, dissolving into the air they breathed and the stories they told.
But none of those stories had ever resembled the one they were hearing right now.
And as awful as the endings had always been, none had ever been as terrible as this.
"Let me see if I have this straight." Baron's voice was trembling. "You're trying to tell us Mom tried to kill us."
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