by B. B. Ullman
“I know you’re in there, Saunders,” a deep voice said. “You set me up, buddy-boy. You think I’m stupid? You sent me into the woods to face that thing. Well I’m one step ahead of you, partner.” The man’s voice was oily with hatred.
“Who is that?” I said in an almost-silent whisper.
“It sounds like my partner,” Saunders whispered back. “But it can’t be him—he would never say those things.”
The Partner was below us in the hall. Pew, pew, pew. The same muffled impacts resounded—was he shooting with a silencer? He must have lost it, big time. I knew firsthand how suspicious and angry the mist could make you feel, but this poor agent had turned so quickly, so completely. The cruel thoughts must have taken him by surprise, and the bad was getting worse.
Agent Saunders found my hand and squeezed it. Maybe he wasn’t a total jerk. I found Albert’s hand and squeezed that, and he didn’t resist. I sensed a rustle. Saunders was quietly taking something from inside his coat. I could see the silhouette of a gun.
The Partner was near the bathroom now. Pew, pew! Crash! He kicked a door open.
“Saunders, are you in there, old pal?”
I heard more movement; the sudden metallic scrape as he whipped the shower curtain open. Then he was back in the hall, trying to tread softly. But the thing about our house was that it was old, and just about every floorboard creaked. He was heading for the laundry room where the back door was open. Maybe he would see our footprints in the snow. Maybe he would think we had run to the woods to hide, and he’d follow our trail and get the heck out of here. But no, he’d already seen them when he went out to investigate. I’ll bet it was our footprints that led him to the red mist in the first place.
These were the thoughts running through my head when a bright light filled the backyard. It illuminated the attic, too, and I could see shock on the faces of each crouching comrade. The light was bluish-white and pulsing with a luminosity that almost hurt my eyes. It seemed to come from above.
“What the—?” It was the Partner’s voice—now he was outside. “It’s them!” he shouted. “Saunders, it’s the—” Pew-pew-pew. Ole trigger-finger was shooting again. Then silence.
“What’s going on out there?” I squeaked.
Agent Saunders’s earpiece made a horrible, static scrape, and we all flinched. He grabbed it out of his ear.
From the earpiece came another round of static and then a polite voice said, “So sorry, Agent Saunders. We had to subdue your partner as he was quite irrational. It’s safe now.”
I let out a huge exhale of relief. “That’s Mr.—um, I mean, that’s my Uncle Commodore,” I said.
Agent Saunders shook his head. “Let’s get out of here.”
We took turns climbing down the ladder. As I was heading down, Albert showed me the image of a silly four-fingered wave. The three SMHR units were around here somewhere.
Albert was the last one to climb down. I was helping him place his foot when I heard a shuffle on the porch and a creaking floorboard. The front door was still ajar from the Partner’s assault.
Agent Saunders put his arms out and hissed, “Get down!” And then he pulled his sidearm and pointed it at the door.
26
Uncle Commodore and Friends
It’s okay,” I told Saunders. “I’m pretty sure it’s just Uncle Commodore and his, um, friends.”
Agent Saunders glowered. “Back up and stay low,” he directed. He even made Lars duck down under his bossy glare.
At the edge of the door, and with his gun ready, he said, “Who’s there?”
“The Com—er—Uncle Commodore, of course. And Citizen Lady and Med Tech Tek. Agent Saunders, time is of the essence. Cease your posturing and let us in.”
Saunders cracked open the door a bit more. He stared at the SMHR units for a few seconds and then pushed the door open. Grudgingly, he stepped aside.
“What happened to my partner?” he asked.
“He’s unconscious for now, by the refuse containers,” said the Commodore.
“I’ve worked with that man for three years, and that was not my partner.” Saunders shook his head in guarded disbelief. “What happened to him?”
“He was not himself, as you surmise,” the Commodore answered. “He was infected with a dangerous quantity of the, er, mist. Most regrettable.”
“Was it your craft that BETI was tracking?” Saunders asked, this time not bothering to lie.
The Commodore didn’t bother to lie, either. “Indeed it was. When the probability of injury to the children became a certainty, we swooped in to make a physical intercept.”
“And just what are you doing in those woods?” Saunders demanded. “Did one of your crafts go down? Is that what’s causing the poisonous mist?”
“Certainly not.” Citizen Lady was losing her cool. “That,” she said, pointing in the direction of the woods, “is why we are breaking protocol and interfering.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “By rolling these, I am demonstrating exasperation.”
“Hey, you have eyes!” I said. “They look great.”
Citizen Lady seemed pleased. Her new eyes were a pretty shade of purple—an interesting choice with her fair complexion and plastic-yellow hair.
Saunders ignored the fact that I just complimented Citizen Lady on having eyes. “If you and your craft aren’t responsible for that mist, what is?”
“It’s the interdimensional leak,” the Commodore said. His new eyes were an odd color of blue, almost turquoise, glinting sharply in the middle of his pale, melon-shaped head.
“Negative thought-energies are seeping into this universe at an alarming rate,” the Commodore explained. “They are like poison to the living. Your partner was dangerously altered—and he is but one of billions of life forms in this world. It is most distressing.”
“We SMHR units collect and transmit data,” Med Tech Tek piped up. His new eyes were a deep gray color that reminded me of storm clouds. “We registered the imbalance and grew alarmed when we studied it further. This anomaly is bad order,” he said, using Albert’s description. “Agent Saunders, you must call your BETI cohorts and beg them to avoid contact.”
I realized, then, that I was hearing the rattity-tat of helicopters in the distance.
“He’s right,” Lars said. “Agent Saunders, you’ve got to keep your people away from the mist. They’ll go crazy if it touches them. Plus, it seems like if anything makes physical contact, then even more violent stuff leaks out.”
Saunders nodded. With a hand to his ear he said, “Abort NBC. Reassessment is critical. Repeat—abort NBC.”
“What is that, like, a TV channel?” I asked.
Saunders frowned, distracted. “It’s for Nuclear, Biological, and Chemical recovery.”
“You don’t want to recover that stuff. It’s horrible,” I said.
Brit lowered her brows and her eyes became cautious and hard. “I know what that means—these government guys thought that the SMHR units crash-landed in the woods. They wanted to snag some technology.”
“We saw them on an ultraviolet scan and tracked them,” Saunders confirmed. “Plus satellite detected the mist and—you know it’s in our best interest to watch who’s coming and going in our airspace, and besides—” Saunders stopped short, listening again to his earpiece. “Yes ma’am. I know but their mother is in the town and—hold on.” The tall agent squared his jaw. “I’m going to see if I can get you kids to that town where your mother is staying. Just a moment.” Saunders tilted his head as he listened to the voice in his earpiece. Then he turned and walked to the dining room to hear it better—or to get privacy.
Quietly, Brit said, “I don’t think they’re going to let us go.”
Lars moved in closer to hear. “Why do you say that?” he whispered.
“These FBI guys are treating all this like it’s some kind of alien contact event.”
“They aren’t even FBI!” I said softly. “Albert told me they’re from s
ome organization called BETI, which stands for Bureau of Extraterrestrial Investigation.”
Brit was grim and certain. “I think they’re going to haul us off and, like, hose us down and do tests and stuff. It’ll only waste time.”
Albert heartily agreed. I know because he sent me a memo that said Equationaut’s guess is true. We should run. He must have sent a memo to the SMHR units, too, because all three of them were nodding in perfect unison.
In the dining room, Agent Saunders said, “Copy that.” But his tone was irritated and his face showed a fleeting shadow of something like frustration or anger.
To the SMHR units he posed a question that sounded a little too casual. “I don’t suppose I could persuade you three visitors to come talk to our scientists about your theories on physics, could I?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Citizen Lady said sharply. “We have important work to do. We are not here to favor one culture over another with our technology.”
Med Tech Tek agreed with an exaggerated scowl.
Saunders didn’t push it. “Well, you kids get your jackets on and we’ll go find your mother.” When he said the word mother, he looked down. I felt like he was lying.
“Okay,” I agreed. “Our coats are in Meemaw’s room. I put them in the dryer.”
Albert led the way down the hall. Once we were in the laundry room, I shut the door just enough so that Saunders couldn’t see us. Albert sent me a memo that confirmed Brit’s suspicions. It showed the four of us in a cage.
I could hear Citizen Lady talking to Saunders about ultraviolet detection and the technology of the BETI force. I think she was trying to distract him.
“Everyone have their jacket? Let’s go,” Lars whispered, and we all bolted off the porch and into the snowy yard, where, incredibly, the SMHR units had parked their “Volkswagen.” The vehicle was glowing slightly, and every few seconds the light wobbled and did a crazy trick of illumination that made the car look exactly like a flying saucer.
“Run for the Volkswagen!” Lars ordered. And we ran.
27
Way up
Lights came at us from every direction until the house and the yard and the street were bright as day. The whole neighborhood was crawling with BETI personnel! Some were dressed like the hazardous-materials guys from the movie E.T. in bulky, head-to-toe coveralls with protective helmets.
“Get in and lock the doors!” Lars yelled.
Brit stumbled in the snow so Albert and I grabbed her and dragged her to the car. The BETI guys were moving in on us from the front of the house and from over by the garbage cans. I could see the Partner slumped in the snow, his head against a trash can, still unconscious, or worse. We jumped into the Volkswagen, Lars in front, and me and Albert and Brit in the back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Agent Saunders in hot pursuit. He was almost to the car, but it was hard for him to run in that snow; he had on those dumb shoes that had no tread. He started to slip. I shut and locked the door just as he skidded into the side of the car. The tall agent smacked the window in frustration, then he darted around to the other side trying to get in the passenger door but Lars had already locked it. The SMHRs had left the engine running; I recognized the hum. Lars shifted into first.
The same incredibly thick fog that had insulated the cul-de-sac earlier in the day returned. It puffed and billowed, obscuring the big lights that the BETI guys were using.
“Go, Lars!” Brit screeched.
“I’m punching it but nothing’s happening. Dang it! I can’t see a thing.”
The car buzzed louder.
“I’ll put it in second, but I’m not getting any traction,” he said, mostly to himself.
THWACK! We all jumped when a palm slapped the window glass on the front passenger side. “Help!” a muffled voice cried out. “Kids, you gotta let me in!” It was Agent Saunders.
“Sorry, Saunders,” I said. “Brit thinks you BETI guys are going to, like, detain us, and we’ve got research to do.”
Brit nodded and gave me an approving look.
There was a clunk and a scraping noise from the outside the car.
“Saunders, just let go or you’re gonna get hurt!” I yelled.
“If I let go, I’ll die!” he yelled back. “We’re way up.”
“It’s probably a trick,” Lars said, “but I don’t want the guy to get hurt. Brit, roll down the window and see what’s going on.”
Brit climbed over the seat to the front and cranked the chrome window handle. She rolled it down all the way and a blast of snow and frozen air rushed in. A cold-knuckled Saunders grabbed the rim of the door and his other hand reached for the side. “Help me,” he begged. I rolled down my window and stuck my head out. Saunders was actually hanging there. I caught a glimpse of something through the fog—searchlights!—far, far below.
“What?—How?—Agent Saunders, what are you doing?” I asked, which come to think of it, was sort of a dumb question.
“Hanging on!” he barked.
“Kick your legs up!” I shouted.
He obeyed and kicked up a foot, which I grabbed. Bit by bit he managed to scoot his legs in through the window. Once, he slipped, and was hanging by his knees, arms dangling toward the frozen ground so many deadly feet below.
With a last burst of strength, he threw his body up so he was sitting on the window rim, and then he slithered inside until he was sitting on Albert’s lap and mine. It was pretty awkward.
I felt his fingers; they were like frozen hotdogs. “You sure got cold out there,” I said, pointing out the obvious. I rubbed his hands briskly, trying to warm them up.
From the front seat, Lars said, “Sorry, Saunders, I didn’t realize your predicament.”
“You know how to drive this thing?” Saunders asked.
“Well, I know how to drive a stick. I didn’t exactly expect this kind of performance. Who’d a thought we’d gain so much elevation?” Lars gave a little half-grin.
“Pretty good for this make and model,” Saunders said with the tiniest of smirks.
“Normally, I’m not a huge fan of German cars,” Lars returned.
“Nor am I,” Saunders agreed.
Their wry car talk was interrupted—again—by the noisy SCHRAAUCH! from Saunders’s earpiece.
“Holy sh—shiplap!” Saunders cried, snatching the device out of his ear.
All I could think about was holy shiplap, which made me want to giggle, but I appreciated his effort to not swear in front of us.
From the earpiece we could hear a tinny refrain. “Agent Saunders, the Commodore here. Please direct young Lars to pick us up at these coordinates.”
At once, a rectangle on the dashboard lit up with numbers.
“What do I do, Commodore?” Lars yelled.
Saunders was holding the earpiece and pointing it toward Lars. A scratchy-sounding Commodore said, “Drive.”
Lars put the thing in fourth and “drove.” Our view was still choked by the fog which seemed to be following us. We couldn’t see where we were and Lars was just driving blind. We were all shocked when something went THUMP! on the windshield and black feathers exploded. We’d collided with a crow, and the poor bird slid down the glass and then fell off to one side.
“Oh, man,” Brit said. “Lars, watch out for birds!”
“I would, Brit, if I could see anything at all,” Lars said testily.
28
Driving to Adeline
The little car hummed in my temples; otherwise, there was no sound.
“Hey Saunders, how come you won’t go through the drive-through?” I figured I’d throw some conversation out there.
“I don’t like to sit in the line, and I don’t like those little windows.”
“Little windows?” Brit sounded like she was on the verge of a giggle.
“I don’t trust little windows, okay?” He frowned and shifted his position, pulling at his collar like it was suddenly too tight.
“Okay,” Brit said.
�
�And I don’t like coffee. Agent Guy drinks way too much of it and he messes up the car. He’s always talking and joking and sloshing his coffee everywhere.”
“You like things tidy, don’t you, Saunders?” I deduced.
He wouldn’t answer me. After a few minutes he said, “Agent Guy was a good partner. Probably the best I ever had.”
I felt bad about my comment. He’d been complaining about coffee and a messy car because he was worried. The Partner had been his wingman, and now he was crazy—or maybe he was dead. I took Saunders’s hand again and gave him a pat. He just gazed out the window but I could have sworn his eyes got watery.
A bass undertone reverberated and joined in harmony with the droning buzz—and then it was silent. The fog thinned. We had stopped, and we seemed to be in downtown Adeline in the parking lot behind the Senior Center. It was dark out, but the activity sign was bright. It said Steak Night and 1-Buck Bingo, only there was hardly anybody in the lot. Probably all the seniors had stayed home because of the bad weather.
“Saunders, please don’t call your BETI pals—not yet,” Brit said. She had turned around to face him from the front seat. “You need to know what’s going on.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said.
“Will you hand over your device?” she asked.
“I’m not the bad guy, you know,” he said defensively.
“But you are the heavy guy!” I complained. “Ouch—move your elbow, Saunders—I can’t breathe!”
Albert sent a memo that said SPLAT, along with a strangled feeling. His arms wriggled below Saunders’s big knees.
Hastily, Saunders opened the door and got out, but he immediately slipped on some ice. Just that quick he went down and was planted in the snow with his legs in a pretzel. I met his eyes from the open door. “You don’t look like a secret agent.”
“And what does a secret agent look like, Miss Day?” Saunders got back up with a very grumpy expression.
“I don’t know. Like Double-O-Seven, I guess. Not like Double-O-Butt-in-the-Snow.”
Saunders brushed the snow from his dark jacket and slacks. “Ha ha,” he said, sounding very un-agent-like. Brit and Lars chuckled quietly.