“What’s that smell?” She wrinkled her nose.
“The blood of those that came before,” said Carlos in his best Transylvanian accent.
“All the houses smell like this,” Luis said. “It’s garbage mostly, and the rats probably have a lot to do with it. Did I mention the rats before?”
“You left out the rats.” Maura shuddered. “But I’m here now, and I’m staying. So what do we do? Do we yell?” Up to this point they had been talking quietly, respectful of the ghosts . . . or maybe the rats.
Luis was no longer creeped out by abandoned houses. He almost liked the smell because he associated it with adventure—like the smell of the jungle to a jungle explorer, he guessed. Odysseus had “the wine-dark sea” with the Cyclops, Scylla and Charybdis, and the sirens. Luis had the abandoned houses with their crumbling walls and ghostly echoes—a place to prove his courage and his cunning.
It was his brother, Reynaldo, who had first sneaked him into one. Luis must have been about four. Reynaldo told him later his idea had been to scare Luis away from the houses forever. It was a plan that did not work.
Luis was nine the first time he ran into Computer Genius. Before that he had only heard the legend. That day the genius was fast asleep in a pile of blankets. When Luis’s footsteps woke him up, he sat up, and Luis almost had a heart attack. It’s alive!
Seeing the kid so shaken, Computer Genius had offered him a can of beer. Luis took it and discovered he didn’t like the taste or the headache he got later.
“There are no rules in abandoned houses,” Luis told Maura now. “¿Hola?” he yelled. “Yo—Genius, you here?”
They waited for a count of five but no answer.
“Like I said, wrong house,” Luis said.
Carlos gave it a try. “Olly-olly hola, Genius!” he called. “You upstairs or what?”
Another count of five. Luis was about to say, “Vamos, let’s go,” when they all heard a thump. Someone taking a step? Something falling? It could be the genius or a raccoon or the tree branches moving outside.
Maura said, “Things that go bump in the night.” She was trying to be funny, but her voice quavered.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Maura. Don’t go all girl on us,” said Luis.
“Yeah,” said Carlos. “Girls—jeez.”
“Let’s go upstairs and look,” Luis said.
As they moved, the beams of the flashlights made a slideshow out of the sad, decaying house—a patch of faded wallpaper, the splintered newel post, holes in the floorboards, a pile of ragged, stinking drapes. It took forever to climb the stairs. Twice Luis felt the wood crack under his weight.
Upstairs, there was enough light from outside that they could turn off their flashlights. The breeze blew in through the busted windows, and the fresh air smelled good.
“Computer Genius?” Luis spoke in a normal voice.
“Who’s that?” came back the answer.
Is that him? Maura mouthed.
“No. It’s a talking raccoon,” said Carlos.
“Are you okay, Genius? Where are you?” Luis asked.
“I’m hungry,” said the voice, “and I . . . I don’t feel so good. What’s going on? Can you guys help me out?”
They found Computer Genius in what had been the front bedroom. He was huddled in blankets on a mattress in a corner. Two planks of plywood had fallen from the windows so the light of the gloomy day shone in.
Computer Genius remained flat on his back. “Did you bring a phone charger? Did you bring food?”
Social graces were not Computer Genius’s thing.
Luis handed over a bottle of water and the box of granola bars. He wished he had brought baby wipes or something the genius could use to clean his hands and face. Even in the bad light, he looked pale, his skin gray-white like a mushroom. Flecks of stubble dotted his chin and jaw. His hair was black and unkempt, not long but uneven, as if it had been cut with dull scissors or a knife.
Maybe it was a blessing that they couldn’t see him or his bedding too clearly. Maybe it was a blessing that in the thicket of smells, the smell of the genius and his blankets did not stand out.
“Have you been stuck up here all by yourself since yesterday?” Maura’s voice was full of sympathy.
“Who are you?” Computer Genius replied. “What did you bring me?”
Before Maura could answer, Carlos spoke. “You don’t look so good, Genius,” he said. “And for you, that’s saying something.”
“When I’ve got nothing to do, I hibernate,” the genius said. “Right now there’s nothing to do. I could use some Advil, though.”
“I’ve got chocolate milk,” Luis said.
Maura made a face. “It’s gotta be sour by now.”
“That stuff from the bodega?” The genius propped himself up on his elbows, tore the wrapping from a granola bar with his teeth, and took a bite. “It never goes bad.”
Luis unzipped his backpack and handed the carton over. Computer Genius opened it immediately and swallowed a gulp. Luis, Maura, and Carlos watched, fascinated. What did spoiled chocolate milk do to a person anyway?
Nothing terrible, apparently.
Computer Genius wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I could still use Advil.”
Maura started to explain about the blackout, but Computer Genius raised a hand to silence her. “That means nothing to me,” he said. “I need something. Logistics of obtaining it—they are up to you.”
“Genius,” Luis broke in. “We’ll get you the Advil. But there’s a problem, and maybe you can help.”
“Everyone’s got a problem,” Computer Genius said.
“Ours is the blackout,” Luis said.
“Wait . . . what?” Carlos said. “I thought we were just here—”
“To make sure the genius is okay,” said Luis. “But at the same time, maybe he can help us.”
The genius sat up, straightened his blankets, and unwrapped another granola bar. Meanwhile, Luis explained about the blackout, how there were rumors it might be a cyberattack.
“So you want me to take a look at the power company’s system and see what I can find.” Computer Genius was fully awake by now.
How old is he anyway? Luis wondered. Or maybe I don’t want to know. If he has a human age, it makes him less of a legend.
“No problem,” Computer Genius said at last. “But I need a few things.”
“Dígame,” Luis said.
“A twelve-pack of Red Bull. Five—no, make it six—cans of Cheddar Cheese Pringles. A charged battery for my phone, or a charger. There’s no Wi-Fi with the power out. I’ll have to use the phone as a hot spot.”
Luis had no idea how they were going to charge the genius’s phone or get any of the other stuff for that matter. But he tried to sound confident. “Give us your phone, then.”
Computer Genius was surprisingly quick to locate it among the mess of blankets.
“Okay.” Luis took the phone and stuffed it into his backpack. “We’ll be back before dark.”
“Where I live, it’s always dark,” the genius said. “And one more thing.”
“Skittles?” said Carlos. “Hershey’s Kisses? Chips Ahoy!?”
“Cash dollars,” said Computer Genius. “Call it two hundred for now, but I reserve the right to up my fees. The job could turn out to be harder than I think.”
Luis had not anticipated this. “Uh . . . , no offense, but what’s a guy like you need money for?”
“I’m saving for a wall-to-wall carpet,” the genius said.
“You’re kidding, right?” Carlos said.
The genius did not crack a smile.
“Okay, I’ll get you money,” said Luis.
Carlos looked at him. “How—”
Luis didn’t know how, but he knew he would think of something. That’s what heroes did, right? He would be resourceful like his hero Odysseus. “Never mind. I’ll get it,” he said. “Genius, do you want us to leave you a flashlight?”
• • •
Luis was the first one out.
Carlos followed him, blinking. “My man?” he said as he tripped down the steps.
“Yo?” Luis said. It was always strange to emerge from the twilight world of an abandoned house into daylight—like rejoining the living.
“Is there something you forgot to tell me, hue?” Carlos asked. “What the heck?”
Luis shrugged. “Maybe he can help. Anyway, it won’t hurt.”
“You are welcome for how I played it cool,” said Carlos. “And where are we going to get that kind of money?”
“Not your problem,” Luis said.
Maura, meanwhile, was shaking her head. “That’s the guy that’s gonna help us? He looks like he belongs in the hospital.”
“He’s okay,” Carlos said.
“He’ll be fine,” Luis said.
“Not if he’s living on Red Bull and Pringles,” Maura said. “I am going to bring him some apples. Who doesn’t like apples?”
“Suit yourself,” Luis said. “Pero lo más importante, can you charge the phone?”
Maura nodded. “At the hospital. But what about the other stuff?”
“My mom’s got Advil,” Carlos said. “But I don’t know about Pringles or Red Bull.”
“I’ll think of something,” Luis said. He was on his bike by now, coasting in tight circles. “Meet back here at five. And don’t tell anybody what we’re doing. We don’t want to get the genius in trouble. We’re just trying to find out what’s what. You know?”
“Oooh—top secret!” Carlos said. “I like it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Luis took off in a hurry, his thoughts moving as fast as his pedals. Two blocks from home, he overtook a posse of teens riding low-slung bikes. They were doing tricks and getting in the way of the few cars on the road.
“Hey—hey—hey!” they hollered at Luis, and a couple tried to cut him off. Luis had to make a right and go down an alley to get away. When he stopped to listen and take a breath, his heart was racing like his thoughts.
Had Tony been with those kids?
That guy took a lot of stupid risks, but he was smart in some ways, knew how to keep his guys loyal. In a scary world, he told them he had their backs.
I got lucky last night, Luis thought. If they hadn’t been drinking, things might’ve turned out different.
Right now Luis knew one thing for sure. He did not want to see those guys on bikes again. To avoid them, he cut through vacant lots and rode down alleys—made the two-block trip to his house twice as long.
Indoors at last, he called, “¿Hola?” but there was no answer.
The front room was freezing—colder than the air outside. Luis’s fingers were numb from gripping the handlebars of his bike, and he flexed his hands to warm them up. Then he rolled the bike into his room, leaned it against the wall, and stuck his toe under the bed to check for the box. Still there. When he bent down to look, the money was still there too.
Once in a movie on TV he had heard it called lettuce. Stale lettuce, he thought now, because it was limp and grimy. It had its own peculiar smell.
Only then did the idea come into his head: The señora’s money might be the solution to his problem. Spend a little on the genius. Bring back the power. What did you call that? An investment? The señora knew all about business. She would understand that, right?
A voice in Luis’s head argued. It was wrong to take her money. Señora Álvaro had trusted him. He was violating her trust.
He fought with himself but only for a moment. People were getting hurt because the power was out. If the blackout continued, people might die. This was important.
With no idea how much he might need, Luis counted out two hundred and fifty dollars in fives and twenties. He tried not to think too hard about how he was going to repay it or how mad Señora Álvaro was going to be.
Counting done, Luis grabbed a spiral notebook from his desk, tore out paper, and wrote “IOU $250, Luis Cardenal.” Then he put the paper in the box and closed it.
Luis was retrieving a sweater from his dresser when he heard his brother’s voice. “¿Hola? ¿Luis? ¿Estás aquí? Are you here?”
“Sí, aquí—in my room.”
Reynaldo appeared in his doorway, frowning. Reynaldo was big and broad enough to have played football. What he didn’t have was killer instinct. Papá said he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, and Papá didn’t mean it as a compliment, either. Like Luis, Reynaldo had an angular face with a strong jawline. He worked in an auto shop and liked to dress well on his days off. That day he was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved blue polo under a trim down jacket.
“So how do you like this garbage?” Reynaldo spread his arms, and Luis knew he meant the blacked-out area. “They’re saying the power won’t ever come back. The company can’t make money on poor people, so they’re going to abandon us, let the lines fall down and ignite the city, burn it up.”
Luis shook his head. “That’s not right.”
“What do you mean not right? Nobody cares about us. We’re all a bunch of bad hombres. They’ll bulldoze our houses and plant Jersey tomatoes for rich people to eat, or give the whole place back to the bears in the forest.”
“Es posible,” Luis said. “But till they do, do you got gas in your car?”
“Do I have gas? Soy tu hermano, Luis, but I guess you don’t know me at all. Of course, I have gas.”
“Bueno,” Luis said. “Because I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to buy. Maybe you can take me somewhere normal, somewhere with electricity?”
“Is it important?” Reynaldo said.
“Yeah, it’s important,” Luis said.
“Because there’s only so much gas around, and I don’t want to waste it,” Reynaldo said.
“You sound like Mrs. Brown—Maura’s mother,” Luis said. “She shared food with me, but she wouldn’t offer any to the neighbors. It was weird, like all of a sudden she got greedy.”
“Are you calling your own brother ‘greedy’?” Reynaldo said.
“What do you call it?” Luis asked.
“I call it careful,” Reynaldo said. “We don’t know what’s gonna happen—we gotta look out for ourselves first. Anyway, my car’s at my house. With work shut down, I have no place to be in a hurry, so I’m traveling on foot. You up for a hike?”
Luis shook his head. “No good. No time. What I need is Red Bull and Cheddar Cheese Pringles. Any ideas?”
Reynaldo raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. “Red Bull and Cheddar Cheese Pringles is an emergency?” Luis didn’t answer, and Reynaldo shrugged. “There’s a kind of like flea market over by the stadium. Looks like people have brought in necessities from out of town.”
“From out of town, or stolen?” Luis asked. “Stores got broken into last night.”
“Either way I bet it’s pricey. I can come with you if you want,” Reynaldo said.
“I wouldn’t mind company,” Luis said.
Reynaldo was eighteen years older than his little brother; their father sometimes called him the third parent. If Papá thought this was a joke, Luis did not. It was Reynaldo who reminded Luis to wear a bike helmet, eat breakfast, and stay out of fights. It was Reynaldo who demanded to see his report cards.
Reynaldo had had the same job at the garage since he graduated from high school. He didn’t drink much. He was saving his money because he wanted a house and a family . . . someday. Even though Reynaldo would be thirty on his next birthday, it wasn’t clear when someday might arrive.
It was a half-mile walk to the ballpark. On the way, Reynaldo wanted to know for real what was the so-called emergency.
“I got a friend that lives in one of the houses,” Luis said. “I guess he’s hungry.”
“You mean Computer Genius?” Reynaldo said.
“Quiz
ás—maybe,” Luis said.
“Hey, you remember that time when you were a kid and you started the fire in one of the houses?” Reynaldo asked.
Luis nodded. “You told me you’d kill me if you caught me with matches again.”
“I would’ve too,” Reynaldo said.
“You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?” Luis said. “You didn’t want me with matches because I might hurt myself. So you were going to hurt me for having matches?”
Reynaldo shrugged. “It made perfect sense,” he said. “It gave you two reasons not to fool around with matches. Hey—I heard another rumor about the blackout. The whole thing’s part of an attack by a foreign power, like the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor during World War II.”
“What foreign power? I thought Japan was on our side now,” Luis said.
“There’s countries that aren’t on our side,” Reynaldo said. “And international terrorists too. Don’t you go to the movies? Don’t you watch the news?”
Luis remembered the gossip at Señora Álvaro’s bodega. “But why attack Hampton?” Luis wanted to know. “Like you said, nobody cares about a bunch of poor brown people. If they wanted to get attention, they’d go after Beverly Hills or Manhattan.”
Reynaldo pondered for a minute, then shrugged. “Maybe they’re not that smart. Anyway, if it is a war, then our military will have to fight back some way. Maybe the army will knock out electricity in the other country or skip that and go straight to nuclear weapons.”
All this made Luis think about what Maura had said—how real life was playing out like a movie script, only no one knew the ending. And if nuclear bombs were involved, then maybe “ending” was the right word.
Did Mr. O’Hara really have something to do with it? What about Mrs. Brown and her job at NJL? Someone had sent Mr. O’Hara that text message, but who?
The chance that the leader of another country was behind it all seemed too crazy. But then the whole thing was crazy, wasn’t it?
“Here we are.” Reynaldo interrupted Luis’s thoughts. “Take a look over there.” The ballpark parking lot, largest field of asphalt in Hampton, had become a spontaneous marketplace. Scattered here and there were two dozen cars, each with its trunk popped, and an equal number of vans. Massed around each vehicle was a knot of shoppers. Some of them seemed to be waving cash.
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