Ultimate Attack

by Michael P. Spradlin

  “Go ahead. Crack all the stupid jokes you want,” Dr. Catalyst said. “You don’t fool me. You’re petrified.”

  “Oh, really? Are you so sure about that, Dr. C? Or should I say Grandpa Geaux?”

  Even through the door, Emmet could hear the sharp intake of breath.

  “What did you say?”

  “That’s right, Gramps. When Calvin and I got home from school today, there was somebody waiting for us. I believe you know him as Yaha? He’s a doctor, right? Fixed up your arm after the Pterogator bit it? Anyhoo, he told us the whole story. Well, not the whole story, because you sent in your smelly little beast and that screwed things up a bit. But we got enough. And unfortunately for you, you caught me instead of Calvin. You see, Calvin’s the smart one. I’m just here for comic relief. He recognized you in the school when you came in during the Blood Jacket att —”

  “Shut up!” Dr. Catalyst screamed, interrupting him. “Shut your mouth! You don’t know anything!” His voice was strained. Now he was really agitated.

  “You do know it’s rude for a host to interrupt his guests, right?” Emmet said. “Like I was saying, by now Calvin has revealed your real identity to the police. They’ll be combing the Glades for this place. I’ll bet your picture is on every news station and website there is in the entire state. The jig, as they say, is up. Gramps.”

  Emmet stepped back from the door and peered at the base of it. There was a tiny space between the door and the floor. He could still see the shadows of Dr. Catalyst’s feet. They remained there, totally still. Emmet decided to poke the bear a little more.

  “By the way, trying to kill your own grandson? I mean, that’s not very grandfatherly. What did Calvin ever do to you? Not only are you horrible at being an ecoterrorist, you’re really bad at the whole grandfathering thing. I’d be happy to give you a few pointers. My grandpa Doyle takes me fishing and sends me presents. Let me think … Nope, he’s never once tried to kill me with a genetically altered super-predator, or kidnapped my best friend’s dad.”

  “You know nothing about me or my family,” Dr. Catalyst spat. “Nothing. Stay in there and keep your mouth shut. At dawn, the test begins.”

  “I don’t think you have that much time,” Emmet said.

  “What could possibly make you think that?”

  “The task force knows who you are. And they’re really smart, tough people. Despite all of your impressive gizmos and technology, they have more technology and even better gizmos. And Lieutenant Stukaczowski is in charge now. Remember when you sicced the Muraecudas on us? The kid who got all chewed up was his son. I think if he gets his hands on you, he’ll crack your head open like a peanut. Actually, since he’s not a total whackjob like you, he’ll probably just slap the cuffs on you. Although the whole peanut scenario would be really fun to see.”

  “Whatever happens to me, Doyle, they’ll never find you in time.”

  “Sure they will. Right now they’ve got people looking at property records, bank accounts, security camera footage, and anything else you might have even breathed on. They’ll be here soon. And besides that, I know something you don’t.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Calvin is coming for me,” Emmet said.

  “He doesn’t know where you are, either. I’ll give you credit for being a tough kid. But you’re dreaming.”

  “Am I, Grandpa Geaux? You don’t even know your own grandson. I wouldn’t underestimate him if I were you. He knows the Everglades. I’ll bet he’s on his way here right now.”

  Dr. Catalyst let out a single loud laugh. “Oh, I’ll take that bet. You have until dawn.”

  “Dawn? Great. That will give me plenty of time to break my personal Hacky Sack record. Why don’t you go off and do some supervillain stuff so I can practice? Check the news while you’re at it. You might see your picture. It’s kind of cool to see yourself on TV.”

  Emmet glanced down at the bottom of the door. The shadows had disappeared. Dr. Catalyst must have stormed off to get ready for Emmet’s test, whatever it was going to be. Or else he had sufficiently angered him.

  Emmet strolled around the perimeter of the room one more time looking for something, anything that might lead to a way out. A weak spot in the wall. A vent or tool that he could use to pry the door open. He knew the chances of getting out were remote, but he had to try.

  When he had all but given up hope, Emmet finally spied a nail sticking out of the drywall near the back corner. That was interesting. He turned around, feeling over the wall with his bound hands, until his finger scraped against the warm metal. It stuck out about a half inch. Emmet grabbed and pulled at it, but it was hard to get a grip with his hands cuffed behind him. Pulling and straining until sweat was pouring down his face, he managed to unplug the nail another half inch. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were cramping from the stress. He leaned against the wall to rest a bit. He had an idea.

  Emmet lay down on the floor and put his feet up on the wall, squeezing the nail head between the thick rubber heels of his sneakers. He flexed his legs, pushing his toes forward and his heels up, almost as if the wall were the floor and he was trying to stand on the tips of his toes. Nothing happened.

  He gathered himself and tried again. It was important to try to stay quiet, in case Dr. Catalyst heard him. But he was breathing heavily and grunting with the strain. Still, nothing was happening.

  Emmet flexed as hard as he could one more time. When he felt the nail give a little he nearly shouted in a delirious burst of happiness. Biting his lip, he kept yanking at it with his heels, pulling more and more of it free from the wall. Then he scrambled upright and reached back with his hands to grab it. Twisting and turning, Emmet managed to loosen it until it finally popped free. Feeling around with his hands, he figured it was probably four inches long.

  He slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans.

  A nail. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

  THE LADY FROM THE INFORMATION DESK ESCORTED Calvin through the doors and into the intensive care unit. He got a few curious stares from nurses and aides, but walking beside hospital staff must have validated his presence there. She led him down a corridor and around a corner to a room. Looking through the window, Calvin could see his uncle Yaha lying in a hospital bed. Lots of wires and tubes were hooked up to him.

  “Here you go, young man,” the lady said. “You’ll need to be quick and try not to disturb him. Once you’re done, please come straight back to the waiting room.”

  “I will, ma’am,” Calvin said politely. “Thank you.”

  She left him in the hallway, the rubber soles of her shoes squeaking on the tile floor as she walked away. Calvin took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door, walking quickly to his uncle’s bedside.

  Calvin was always surprised by how noisy a hospital room was. Monitors beeped and machines whirred. His uncle’s labored breathing could barely be heard over the sound of the equipment. The old man’s head sank into the pillow, an oxygen tube attached to his nose. An IV bag was dripping medicine slowly into a tube inserted into his arm at the elbow.

  Calvin pulled back the sheet until he found his uncle’s hand beneath it. Carefully he gripped it. The older man didn’t move, or give any indication that he was aware of his surroundings.

  “Uncle Yaha. It’s me, Calvin. Can you hear me? If you can hear me, please squeeze my hand.” Calvin waited. Nothing happened.

  “Please, Uncle. Please hear me. I need your help. Grandfather has taken my friend Emmet. Emmet is in danger. Grandfather has lost his way. I need you to help me find him. So I can bring him back to the right path. Please squeeze my hand if you understand.” Calvin waited. Each second ticking by seemed like an eternity. Still his uncle did not respond. Calvin didn’t know what else to do.

  He didn’t believe that Lieutenant Stukaczowski and the rest of the task force would find Emmet in time. This had been his only shot, the one thing he could think of that might give Emmet a fighting chanc
e. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Before he left, Calvin sang to his uncle Yaha. It was a Seminole lullaby his father had sung to him when he was a small boy. Calvin was not a shaman or tribal elder. He hadn’t felt right deceiving the nice desk clerk, but since he was here, he decided he should do something for his uncle. Singing the song was all he could think of.

  When he finished, he sat still a moment. His uncle Yaha was the only connection he had to his father. Even though Dr. Catal — his grandfather — had caused great harm, he could not blame his uncle for giving a wounded man aid. Uncle Yaha was a healer. Treating the sick and injured was what he had done most of his life.

  “It’s okay, Uncle Yaha. Rest. I’ll think of another way to help Em —” He stopped mid-sentence because Yaha squeezed his hand.

  It could have been a reflex. He needed to make sure.

  “Uncle? Was that you? Can you hear me?”

  Another squeeze.

  Calvin was not a shouter, but right now he felt like giving a whoop of joy. Now if only he could figure out a way for Uncle Yaha to tell him where to look for Emmet.

  “Uncle, Grandfather has taken Emmet. I need you to tell me where, if you can. I think he has another base in the Everglades. Do you have any idea where it might be? Squeeze my hand if the answer is yes.”

  Several seconds passed and disappointment seeped into Calvin. Perhaps his uncle could no longer hear him, or perhaps he didn’t know the way.

  Then Uncle Yaha squeezed his hand. Calvin felt an enormous sense of relief flood over him.

  He tried to think of the best way to narrow down the scope of his questions. He would only have a few chances. The Everglades were huge. He could be hidden anywhere. The first time they discovered where Dr. Catalyst was holding Emmet’s dad had been mostly sheer luck.

  Unlike Emmet, Calvin kept his cell phone in his pocket at all times. He removed it now, using the web browser to pull up a map of the Everglades. He was instantly overwhelmed. There were so many places. The swamp was so vast that it felt like an impossible task. Maybe the best way to start was with a general direction.

  “Uncle Yaha, is Grandfather in the north?”

  His uncle’s hand did not move.

  “Is he in the south?” Nothing.

  “Is he in the west?” There was a squeeze. Strong and firm. West!

  “Does Grandfather have Emmet somewhere in the western part of the park?”

  Nothing. Uncle Yaha’s hand did not move.

  “But you said …” Calvin was confused. “He’s somewhere in the west?”

  His uncle squeezed his hand, only this time his grip was stronger, and to Calvin’s amazement Yaha pulled him closer. His breathing was heavy and labored.

  Calvin watched as he struggled to move his lips. Then he whispered, but Calvin couldn’t hear at first. Yaha pulled him forward.

  “La … ke,” Yaha whispered. It sounded like lakay.

  “One of the Keys? Is he on one of the Keys, Uncle Yaha, in the gulf?” He waited for Yaha to squeeze his hand. He didn’t. Calvin had it wrong.

  He was just about to ask him another question when a nurse came in. She was carrying a clipboard and had a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. “Young man, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave. This man needs rest.”

  “But …” Calvin protested.

  “No buts, you need to leave now.”

  Calvin’s automatic respect for authority kicked in. With a sad look back at his uncle, he shuffled his way out the door and back to the waiting room. The lady was still sitting at the desk. She smiled at him.

  “Can you tell me if my mom is out of surgery yet?” he asked her. “Her last name is Geaux.” He spelled it for her and she punched some keys on the keyboard.

  “She’s being moved to her room.” She gave him instructions on how to find it.

  Calvin left the waiting room and took the elevator down to her floor, then located the room easily. There was a policeman outside her door. Calvin knew him from the task force, a man named Berman.

  “How you holding up, kiddo?” he asked.

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “I heard about what you did with that animal. That was quick thinking.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Officer Berman, is it okay if I go in and see my mom?

  “Sure, sport. Go right ahead.”

  Calvin walked in to find his mom lying on the bed. Her head was tilted up and her eyes were closed. There was a scary-looking metal thing encircling her arm where the creature had bitten it. It was held suspended in the air by a bunch of cables and pulleys.

  Calvin quietly approached her bedside.

  “Mom?” he whispered.

  Slowly her eyes fluttered open. A weak smile was all she could manage.

  “Hey, buddy,” she croaked.

  “Mom,” he said, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes. “Mom, this is all my fault.”

  “No, no. Shh,” she said. “This is not your fault. Don’t ever say that.”

  “But …”

  “Hush now,” she said gently. “You need to stop.” She groaned. “Honey, listen. It’s going to be okay, but I’m in a lot of pain. I need sleep. What time is it?”

  Calvin looked at his phone. It was after two o’clock in the morning.

  “You need to get a ride home. Sleep. You can come back tomorrow.”

  “But —”

  “No. Mrs. Clawson will stay with you. Ask Tom or someone on the task force to drive you back home. Sleep in your own bed and come back tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. I will —” Then it hit him. What Yaha had meant. It wasn’t one of the Keys. It wasn’t lakay. It was lake. West Lake. Calvin knew right where it was.

  “What?” his mom asked. “You will what?”

  “I will go home and sleep, and then I’ll get a ride back tomorrow. You need to rest, okay?”

  Dr. Geaux’s eyes were already closed.

  As it turned out, Officer Berman’s shift was ending. He volunteered to make sure Calvin got home safely. He waited in the drive until Mrs. Clawson made her way from next door, then headed off. There was a squad car parked outside the house. Stuke’s dad probably wanted to make sure none of Dr. Catalyst’s critters showed up again.

  The squad car wasn’t a problem. Calvin would be able to elude the watching police officer easily enough.

  Calvin waited until Mrs. Clawson went into the guest room. He knew she would never hear him. He gathered his bus pass and his mother’s keycard for the entrance to the park headquarters, then he emptied his backpack on the kitchen table.

  In the garage he gathered up some tools and other supplies. Then he slipped quietly out of the house, crossing the backyard, and climbed over the fence. Once he reached the creek bank, Calvin began to run.

  He had things to do.

  DR. CATALYST COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS EYES. THE DOYLE brat was right. On the monitor before him were a half dozen news broadcasts from various South Florida stations. All of them were showing his photo. How had this happened?

  Then he knew. Yaha had betrayed him. It was the only possible explanation. All his planning. The years of energy and expense. Now everything was in danger of coming to a crashing halt.

  The broadcasts summarized his entire life story. He was orphaned at a very young age on the reservation. He was taken in and raised on the rez by relatives, but their means were limited. When the offer came from a young couple to adopt him, it was decided it was in the child’s best interest. His adoptive parents were Philip and Marybeth Geaux, young heirs to one of Florida’s last great sugar-growing families. They named him Philip Geaux Jr. He grew up surrounded by enormous wealth and privilege. Just as he was leaving for college, his adoptive parents were killed in an automobile accident. They left Philip their vast fortune, but no other family. After college, Philip resurfaced on the Seminole reservation. He married a woman from the tribe and fathered a son with her, but she divorced him when the boy was very young. Wh
en he turned his attention to environmental issues, his views grew more and more radical, until even his fellow tribesmen — who were always deeply concerned with the preservation of the Everglades — wanted nothing to do with him.

  He was later presumed dead when his airboat was discovered crashed and burned in the Everglades. But his body was never found. In a strange coincidence, his son, Lucas Geaux, who became a well-known hunter and Everglades guide, was also presumed perished in an airboat accident.

  And now Philip Geaux Jr. had resurfaced as Dr. Catalyst. Ecoterrorist.

  It was all there, his entire story. How could this be? He was no terrorist! He was a visionary! If the Doyle brat hadn’t interfered, and Yaha had kept his trap shut, he would be well on his way to saving the Everglades! It was their fault. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to him?

  Dr. Catalyst stood and stalked through the barn, back and forth, trying to think. He doubted anyone could find this location. All of his many properties had been purchased under layers of false names, dummy corporations, and fake identities. The authorities might know who he really was, but that did not mean they could find him easily.

  He strode across the barn to the corner opposite from where he had locked up Emmet Doyle. There stood the pen for his Swamp Cat. The beast was inside the cage and appeared to be mimicking his back-and-forth movement. When he drew near to the enclosure, the beast lunged toward him, its peculiar roar echoing off the walls of the barn. It was a frightening beast. Every part of it, from its mouthful of teeth to the claws on its feet, made it look powerful and deadly. It turned away and prowled toward the corner, melting into the shadows of its cage. It could likely smell Emmet close by. No doubt this was driving the creature mad with hunger.

  Dr. Catalyst knew what he must do. He returned to the room he was using as his office and laboratory. He turned on his computer and began sending all of his data — his calculations and formulas, years of experiments — to a secure server at a data farm only he knew about. It would take several hours for all of it to transfer, but by then he would be long gone.