by Bryan Davis
“He’s right,” Mom said as she settled into her corner. “We’re all exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”
I leaned closer and whispered, “Sleep? We have to figure out how to escape.”
“Do you have an idea?” she whispered in return.
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“Then get some rest. Maybe we’ll all think better when we’re not so tired.”
I slid to my corner, keeping the spool and claw under my thigh and the sandwich at my side. Sam snuggled up to Mom and closed her eyes.
For the next few minutes, I scanned the room, looking for something I could use to escape. What was out there? The cottonmouth lurked under the desk, but it was probably scared to show itself. Prince Edward lay asleep in a corner, out of the guard’s sight. The keys sat next to the pellet gun, but the angle between them and me made them an almost impossible target for a spool line and claw. Not only that, throwing the claw would make a lot of noise. The guard would notice in a flash.
As my plans crumbled, my eyelids grew heavy. Maybe Mom was right. I needed to get some sleep. Just a couple of hours might be enough.
Although my wrist still hurt like crazy, sleep came quickly. Dreams flooded in. Swamps, scorpions, and snakes crawled over my body while Sam sat on a stump giving squirrels and butterflies ridiculously long names.
After what seemed like an hour of mental torture, my mind drifted into a dark void and escaped the madness.
Chapter 19
Meeting Mephisto ... Maybe?
Something wet and rough touched my hand. I snapped my eyes open. Prince Edward crawled into my lap, then quickly leaped off and gave me an indignant stare. My wet jeans must have repelled him. Since we hadn’t fed him anything, he was probably hungry.
While I gave him a few long strokes, I shifted my gaze to the clock. It read 11:21 a.m.
The guard sat back in his chair, his eyes closed and his feet propped on the desk. A gentle snore emanated from his open mouth. Under the desk, the cottonmouth lay curled in darkness. This could be my chance. But everything had to work without a hitch.
Keeping my movements quiet, I unwrapped the sandwich and gave Prince Edward a sniff. He licked a meatball, but I jerked it away and laid the sandwich at my side.
While he stretched to get it, I took off his collar, pulled the spool from under my thigh, and attached the claw to the strap. When I refastened the collar to him, I left it on the loosest setting. After testing it to make sure it would slide off his head if I pulled hard enough, I reeled out several feet of line.
I gave Prince Edward another sniff of a meatball and tossed it onto the desk. It landed silently and rolled well past the keys. The cat ran between two bars and leaped up to the desk, taking the line with him. Padding softly, he trotted to the meatball and tore into it.
I tightened the line and pulled. The claw tugged on the collar, but Prince Edward stayed put, exactly as I had hoped. As I pulled harder, the collar slid over his head, pausing for a moment as he shook it off and continued eating.
The collar clinked on the desktop. The guard merely scratched his nose and slept on.
Pulling slowly, I dragged the claw and collar along the top of the desk, passing the pellet gun. When it drew close to the key ring, I pulled more slowly. The claw’s hooks failed to catch the ring, but the collar slid over the keys and caught them in the center of the loop.
I clenched a fist. Yes. Now to reel my fish the rest of the way in.
Still drawing the line slowly, I glanced at the keys, then Prince Edward, then the sleeping guard, and then the coiled snake. So many things could go wrong. But I couldn’t worry about maybes. I just had to keep pulling.
When the keys reached the edge of the desk, I stopped. Another inch and they would fall to the floor out of my reach. Catching them again with the collar might be impossible. I had only one option.
I gave the line a quick jerk. The keys flew to the floor two feet away and clattered loudly.
I reached out, grabbed the keys, and pulled the line in. After hiding everything behind my back, I leaned against the corner and closed my eyes to a narrow slit.
The guard shot to his feet and spotted Prince Edward on the desk. “Well, well, where did you come from?” As the cat finished the final bit of meatball, the guard picked him up and looked at our cage. He focused on me, but the only suspicious item in sight was the sandwich, now lying unwrapped next to my hip.
“Did you steal that boy’s lunch? Shame on you.” The guard touched the pellet gun on the desk and looked around the room, apparently not noticing the missing keys. He reseated himself with Prince Edward in his lap and stroked his fur. “Did you come in when they did? I thought spies always had black cats, not gray.”
When he closed his eyes, I reached back and felt for the keys while scanning the room once more. The snake had uncoiled and now lay stretched out. Maybe it had been startled by the commotion. Still in the guard’s lap, Prince Edward groomed himself, licking his paws and washing his face. Everything else remained as it was earlier.
I pulled the keys to my lap and crept toward the cage’s door. Mom’s head leaned against that side but not in the way. After finding the silver key, I reached over both her and Sam, slid my hand between two bars, and pushed the key into the lock. A quick turn snapped it open.
Mom gasped. I clamped a hand over her mouth and let out a quiet shhh. Her eyes wide, she nodded. I drew back my hand and grabbed a bar on the door. Together, we lowered it slowly and quietly until it rested on the floor.
After Mom crawled out, I climbed over Sam and joined her. While I put on my belt and backpack, Mom slid her arms through her own backpack straps, keeping every motion quiet.
When I finished, Prince Edward leaped and ran to me. The guard snorted and opened his eyes. I unfastened my razor pistol, dashed to the desk, and hunkered behind it. “Don’t move.” I aimed at him, grabbed the pellet gun, and threw it to Mom. She caught it and pointed it at the guard.
He raised his hands. “I knew it. You are spies.”
I gestured with my head. “Let’s get Sam out.”
Mom lowered her gun and reached into the cage. While she helped Sam climb out, the guard eyed me closely, maybe planning to charge, possibly thinking I was a nervous kid who couldn’t shoot. Not a bad guess. My gun hand throbbed, and my swollen finger barely fit through the trigger hole. I might not able to shoot him even if I tried.
I switched the razor pistol to my other hand. At that moment, the guard leaped and shoved the desk. It pinned me against the wall and slung my pistol away. He jerked out his own gun and aimed it at me. Gasping for breath, he barked at Mom. “Put your gun down or I’ll shoot the boy.”
“All right. Just take it easy.” Mom bent over and set the pellet gun on the floor.
The guard refocused on me. “Now get back in the cage.”
As Mom rose, she snatched the paddle and whacked the guard across the head, knocking his gun loose and sending him sprawling to the floor. A wild scream erupted. He leaped to his feet and ran to the door with the snake attached to his neck. Still screaming, he turned into a hall and disappeared from sight.
“Let’s get out of here.” I shoved the desk back, scooped up the three guns, and fastened the razor pistol to my belt while sliding the pellet gun into my backpack. I kept the guard’s gun in my left hand, ready to shoot.
Sam picked up Prince Edward, and we hurried out the door, Mom supporting Sam as she limped. The guard had run to the left, so it made sense to head to the right.
We walked that way, slowed by Sam’s gimpy pace. As we passed doors on each side, I checked every knob, but they were all locked. When we reached the hall’s end and found no escape, we walked the opposite way, slower now as we passed the room with the cage and continued on.
At this end of the hall, we turned with the corridor to the right, then again to
the left where we came to a long flight of stairs leading upward. Mom lifted Sam into her arms, and we trudged up the steps.
At the top, we walked into a huge lobby with windows all around, illuminating the room with sunlight. A tall door exited to the left, probably an entry/exit door for the building, and a hall led straight ahead into another wing.
I hurried to the door and opened it. About two hundred feet away, the guard jogged to the edge of the swamp where a boat sat tied to a tree. After untying the rope, he tripped and fell face first into the boat before righting himself and paddling away.
About halfway between the door and the swamp, a strange object protruded from the ground. It looked like an old-fashioned clothesline pole — a red metal rod sticking up and four silver rods at the top extending out at an upward angle. Four parallel wires spanned the gaps from one extension to the next all the way around. Maybe it was some kind of signal receiver that helped with guarding this place.
I turned toward Mom. “He’s gone. We might be alone now.”
She let Sam slide down and held her hand. “I wonder if he can find a hospital with all the turmoil going on.”
“I’m not going to worry about him.” I gave Mom the guard’s gun and unfastened the razor pistol from my belt. “Let’s search around. Maybe we can figure out where the earthquake machine is.”
Again walking slowly, we ventured down the new hall. We tried door after door until one near the end opened. Extending the razor pistol while Mom readied her gun, I stepped inside with her and Sam and quietly closed the door behind us.
At the far end of the room, a grandfather clock stood near a window. Birds flitted about — canaries, parakeets, cockatiels, and crows. They flew between upright perches, hat stands, and wooden birdbaths filled with flowing water that spilled over the edges to surrounding drains.
A man dressed in a winged bird costume sat on a stool at the closer of two work tables. On the surface, a bright lamp shone on an open metal box as he tinkered with the innards using a tiny screwdriver. While he worked, he mumbled but paid no attention to us.
I edged closer and squinted. Unless other people in this hideout were required to wear bird costumes, this man had to be Mephisto.
Leaning toward Mom, I whispered, “Mephisto. I’m sure of it.”
She whispered in return, “What are you going to do?”
“Force him to surrender.” The razor pistol shaking in my grip, I called out, “Don’t move, Mephisto.”
He looked up from his work and stared at me, his brow bent low. “What a silly thing to demand. If I stopped moving, I would die. Heartbeats and respiration both require movement.”
I blinked. He didn’t act like Mephisto at all. “Don’t try to con me, Mephisto. Just raise your hands and —”
“Why do you keep calling me that odd name?”
I tilted my head. “Aren’t you Mephisto?”
“My name, young man, is Gilbert G. Godwin. Kindly address me as Gilbert, Mr. Godwin, or even triple G, but please refrain from using that moronic Mephisto moniker.”
Sam piped up. “His voice is like Mephisto’s.”
He waved a hand. “Nonsense. I’ve never heard of the fellow. And if I had a name like that, I’d change it to Salvador or Stanley or even Sue. Mephisto is a wretched name.”
I gestured toward the grandfather clock. “But we saw you in front of that clock with all the birds flying around. You called yourself Mephisto then. You and I talked about the earthquake, and you wanted to see my invention.”
He scowled. “Poppycock, prattle, and … and … persimmon punch. If I am not here working, I am in my quarters reading, resting, or reciting rhymes. The only time I go near that clock is to wind it, and I certainly didn’t talk to you. I have never seen you before in my life.” He lowered his head and began tinkering again. “Now if you’ll let me get back to work, I would appreciate it. Regulus brought me this interesting device, and I should like to explore it further.”
“Regulus?” I refastened the razor pistol to my belt and looked on. My letter-A sticker adhered to the side of the box. “Is Regulus an eagle?”
“Yes.” He kept his eyes on his work. “How did you know?”
“An eagle stole that device from me. It’s mine.”
“Yours?” He looked at me again. “You’re rather young for a genius inventor.”
Warmth rose into my ears. “Well, I am an inventor, but maybe genius is too —”
“Oh, don’t stoop to self-deprecation just to satisfy expected norms. I know genius when I see it, and I will also be glad to keep you humble when I mention the flaws in your design.”
“Flaws?”
“Yes, yes, of course. A few faulty flaws, and a fatal future.”
“What do you mean?”
He turned back to my device. “Well, the theory behind it is ingenious. I assume that the emission excites expansion of molecular muscle mass in the target specimen.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
He let out a tsking sound. “But the subject later loses strength and becomes ill, and the positive benefits of subsequent experiments are shorter lived with more extreme negative side effects.”
“Right again.”
He pointed at a dial setting behind my device’s lens. “Too much gamma. Your mixture is potent, but it’s too fast acting. The body is unable to adjust, and it rebounds in reverse. You need a slower increase. If you cut the gamma by twenty-three percent, the strengthening time will slow significantly, but the subject will lose strength more gradually with little to no negative side effects.”
“Are you sure?”
He scowled. “Of course I’m sure, but my guess is that the mice you used were pre-pubescent females. Your device didn’t work on males or older females. Am I right?”
“Um. I didn’t use mice.”
“Rats then. Hamsters. Gerbils. Small baboons. Whatever. Am I right?”
“Actually …” I gestured toward Sam. “My sister got zapped by it.”
His voice erupted. “You experimented on a human? Your own sister? Why, that’s a violation of scientific protocol of the highest magnitude. You should be ashamed of yourself. If there were a consortium of genius inventors, I would report your misconduct to —”
“It was an accident,” Sam said. “I did it to myself.” She lowered her head and her voice. “The first time.”
“The first time?” Gilbert scanned Sam from top to bottom, pausing as he looked at her bandaged ankles. His voice calmed. “I understand now. The accidental experiment worked, but the young lady grew ill, and the only way you knew to help her was to try it again.”
“Right,” I said, nodding. “Exactly.”
“How many times?”
“Three. She’s recovering from the third one.”
“And she is no longer ill, I assume.”
“No more puking, if that’s what you mean. Just sprained ankles from a fall. When she got recharged, they healed, but now they’re sore again. I guess if I recharged her, they’d heal again, but I’m not sure.”
“I see.” Gilbert stroked his chin. “After she reached the lower parabolic extreme of illness, she recovered from nausea without any heroic intervention, though her muscular-skeletal structure is still weak.”
I processed his rapid-fire words before answering with, “Exactly right.”
“Why didn’t you recharge her while she was ill the third time?”
“Because I thought —”
He waved a hand. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. The adjustment is the important issue. The only drawback will be a new uncertainty. Exposure will continue working on pre-pubescent girls. But on adults? Hard to say. I would experiment on animals to learn its new range.”
“Good advice. I’ll change the gamma.”
“No need. I took it apart. I should apply my s
uggestion and put it back together.”
While he worked, I stood in front of the grandfather clock, then pivoted and looked at the wall adjacent to the entry door. A projector-like box sat on a shelf with a lens pointing toward the clock. I found a switch on the box’s side and flipped it on. Light emanated from the lens, but nothing appeared.
“That’s a camera,” Gilbert said. “It comes on by itself from time to time. I have no idea why. Never bothered to investigate.”
I walked to a computer sitting on the farther table where a monitor and projector sat side by side. A stuffed crow with a metallic tag on its leg stood next to the computer. The monitor showed a crow in full flight, the same tag attached.
I turned on the projector. A few feet in front of its lens, a hologram of the crow appeared, flying in the same manner.
“Have you ever invented a hologram device?” I asked.
He looked at me, his brow lifting. “Yes, and a fine invention it was. I have been able to photograph my birds and render them in full motion at any angle. It’s especially helpful when studying an extinct species. Quite difficult to catch those in flight.” He laughed. “I can even project a flying dodo bird. They never flew while they were on the planet, but they fly in my laboratory in all their dodo-rific glory.”
I turned the projector off. “Did anyone ever take photographs of you from every angle?”
“My business associate did. He said he had an experiment of his own, but he never bothered to tell me about it.”
“Is your associate named Chet Graham?”
“Indeed it is.” He refocused on my invention. “Mr. Graham supplies me with whatever equipment I need for my work, a financier I suppose you might call him.”
I turned to Mom. “I know what’s going on.”
“So do I.” She slid the guard’s gun behind her jeans waistband. “But I wouldn’t have figured it out without your questions. You were brilliant.”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“I have no clue,” Sam said. “Tell me.”