“PULL OVER AND ALLOW US TO CHECK FOR FILTH.”
“Maybe we should do what he says,” Krystal offered, her voice tense. “We’re not infected. We have nothing to hide.”
But Samson ignored her. His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, to his windows, and then straight ahead.
“Your seatbelts are fastened?” he said.
Brendan and Krystal had no chance to respond. With no further warning, Samson let off the gas. The engine’s roar gave way to the hum of the road, and two cars pulled up on either side of them. Black behemoths with black windows rolled alongside Samson’s old car. Their tires were large enough that the hubcap spikes were level with Samson’s windows. Brendan clutched the seat beneath him, turning his knuckles white. Spikes blurred outside his window.
And then they came toward him.
It wasn’t a gradual, drifting motion. The driver of the black car twisted his wheel hard, and the weaponized tires rolled toward Brendan’s head at ninety-five miles per hour. Samson slammed on the brakes, and the seatbelt bit Brendan’s collarbone. Tires squealed, and Samson’s car fell back a split second before the black ones collided. The spiked tires sparked and shredded each other. The vehicles tangled, swerving about the highway in tandem. Samson hung back to avoid danger, but he couldn’t do it for long. Another car loomed behind them.
And so Samson lifted one hand off the wheel.
As he did, the road lifted off the ground.
The pavement curled upward before Samson, and he punched the gas. Brendan’s body pressed into the seat as the car picked up speed. They raced up the rising pavement, came to the place where the road ran out, and then they were airborne.
Brendan held his breath. He braced his arm against the window and his mod against the seat. The hum of the road faded away. The small vibrations of the highway’s uneven surface ceased. They were flying, the car carrying them over the carnage of the entangled black vehicles.
As suddenly as they’d left it, they hit the ground, and Brendan’s spine compressed with the impact. The car fishtailed, the wheels bit asphalt, and they took off like an arrow.
When he’d regained his bearings, Brendan looked out the rear window. The two black cars had flipped, now lying on either end of the road with shredded tires spinning uselessly. No evidence remained of the ramp Samson had created except crumbled pavement. It had collapsed as soon as he stopped concentrating on it.
But they hadn’t shaken all pursuers. The first black car burst through the middle of its fallen companions. It clipped the edge of one, sending the smoking wreckage spinning and showering the road with sparks.
“It’s still there!” Brendan called.
“I know,” Samson growled.
“Any more magic tricks up your sleeve?” Krystal asked.
“Not if I want to remain conscious.”
Brendan believed it. Samson was white as a sheet, and no wonder. As hard as he’d been revving the engine, there was no telling how much gasoline he’d created, and lifting the highway like he had must have taken a great deal of power. Judging by the look on his face, it took all the focus he had to generate enough fuel to outrun their pursuer.
With a start, Brendan remembered what Krystal had said before they left the Hotel Shalom. What she’d done for the tires was only a temporary fix, and they were at a greater risk for a blowout. Brendan doubted she’d taken this kind of driving into account.
They needed to get to safety, and fast. If they didn’t shake this guy soon, they’d be in major trouble.
“Roll down the window,” Brendan said.
Samson locked eyes with him in the rearview mirror.
Krystal put a hand on his knee. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take care of that guy.”
That was all Samson needed. With a squeal, the window next to Brendan lowered. His ears popped as wind whipped into the car.
Now Krystal squeezed his knee. She squinted against the sudden gust of wind. “No tar, okay?”
Brendan took her flesh hand in his modded one and held it for a moment. He glanced at the black car which drew nearer by the second. Without a word, he undid his seatbelt and climbed out the open window, ignoring Krystal’s calls.
The fact of the matter was he doubted the tar would do him any good. If he examined that car up close, he’d likely find it sealed so tight no tar could get through. If these vehicles were advanced enough to keep up with Samson’s car, surely they were advanced enough to protect their passengers from tar.
But he would make Krystal no promises. He certainly wouldn’t do the same for Samson. If he needed the tar, he’d use it. He had this power for a reason, and he deserved thanks—not criticism—when he used it to protect his companions.
It was a precarious climb out the window. His body barely fit, and the wind battered his face as the old car raced down the highway. When he’d squeezed through far enough to sit on the edge of the open window, he stretched his modded arm over the top of the car and gripped the opposite end to stabilize himself. Tethered this way, he backed out of the car bit by bit until he stood on the open end of the car door, and then climbed on top of the vehicle.
He kept gripping the edge of the car, leaning away from it and using the tension to keep his balance. Now he turned his attention to the black car, an imposing force behind them. It was closer now than ever.
“IT’S NOT TOO LATE.” The mechanical voice blared. “PULL OVER.”
Gingerly, Brendan shifted his weight until he no longer depended on his mod for balance. He crouched atop Samson’s car, squinting into the battering wind.
And then, when he was certain he wouldn’t roll off the car and onto the highway, he let go.
His heart fluttered in that instant, and the shot of adrenaline set the world spinning, but the sensation lasted only a moment. He forced himself to regain focus. Now was not the time to hesitate.
He threw his mod across the gray expanse. The alloy stretched across yards of asphalt, and Brendan crouched lower. The black car’s driver either didn’t notice Brendan or didn’t care, because the vehicle did not swerve to evade the metal arm. Brendan wrapped modded fingers around a ridge at the back of the car.
And then he jumped.
He sailed through the air, pavement rushing beneath him like a gray river. He retracted his mod, using it to reel himself into his target. The car veered across the road, finally aware of Brendan’s intention. The sudden change in direction swung Brendan wide. His metal fingers slid against the surface of the car, but his mod held firm. The metal limb kept retracting, and in a matter of seconds he stood atop the black car. He dropped to his stomach as the vehicle wove about the empty highway, hoping to throw him off the road. Carefully, he turned to the front and inched ahead.
He wouldn’t have to do much. With the car’s blazing pace, Brendan needed only to force the driver into making a mistake, and it would all be over. The trick, of course, was getting to safety in time.
Brendan crawled until his shoulders and chest hung over the windshield. He cocked back his mod, even stretching the arm an extra couple feet for more leverage, and punched through the windshield, creating a hole six inches in diameter. Spiderweb cracks burst from the central impact, but the glass remained more or less intact. That was no problem. He’d already distracted the driver. The car lost speed, weaving as its driver contended with the invading mod.
And then something grabbed Brendan’s wrist.
Something strong.
The motors in Brendan’s mod were unusually powerful thanks to Krystal’s craftsmanship, but whatever had a hold of him was just as powerful, if not more so. It yanked his mod deeper into the cab. Brendan tugged against the new force, but it was no use.
And so, in one smooth motion, he rolled from the top of the car to its hood, the motion twisting his arm free of whatever had gripped it. Brendan yanked his arm away from the winds
hield. As he did, he wrapped his metal fingers around the edge of the hole and gave it a tug. A whole panel of windshield ripped away from the car with a splintering crack. Brendan tossed it aside and watched it burst when it hit the pavement.
The opening in the windshield had expanded to nearly three feet across. Now Brendan could see who was so intent on chasing down Samson’s car.
A grinning metallic skull stared back at him from the passenger seat. The expression was frozen, wide-eyed in its mania. The eye sockets glowed a wild green. It was hard to tell if it was a mask or if this guy had modded his entire face away. Not an inch of flesh remained visible on the figure. Its chest was gleaming metal covered in interlinking pipes. Some were decorative, while others seemed to serve an obscure function. Unlike other mods, its arms resembled those of a human. They even sported the contours and creases of a well-muscled arm.
No sooner had Brendan glimpsed the skull-headed thing in the passenger seat than it lunged through the newly opened windshield. Next to it, obscured by what tinted windshield remained, the vehicle’s driver continued on without so much as a grunt.
The grinning skull lunged for Brendan’s ankles, but Brendan sidestepped the mechanical arms. In one swift motion, he reached in with his own mod, found a handhold under the grinning skull’s arm and yanked it. A body of gleaming metal tumbled through the windshield, shattering what remained in the process. Once the metallic legs cleared the windshield, Brendan gave another heavy tug. The grinning skull slid across the hood of the car with a grating squeal of metal on metal. It nearly tumbled off the edge, but it caught Brendan’s leg.
Brendan lost his balance, falling against the hood of the car. Out of reflex, he reached out with his mod and caught the edge of the windshield. He had to extend the mod beyond the length of a normal human arm and hold it in tension to keep from falling any farther. He was bent over the grille now, his torso twisted awkwardly and his legs dangling over the highway.
The grinning skull maintained its hold on Brendan’s leg when he swung over the hood. With a heavy clunk, the gleaming creature toppled off the car and under the front tire. Brendan’s mod extended further, exploding pain in his shoulder where mod met flesh. The car jostled as it bounced over its former passenger.
And yet the grinning skull didn’t lose hold of Brendan’s legs. It held tight, dragging Brendan’s torso along, until he dangled over the side of the hood, grasping the edge of the windshield with a weakening mod.
Brendan stared down his body at his attacker. That metallic skull still grinned up at him, impassive in its wild expression. Its gleaming legs dragged behind it, showering the highway with sparks. Brendan tried to kick at the thing, but it was no good. He might as well have kicked the car itself. The metallic creature on his leg didn’t budge.
Instead, it lifted one arm and crawled up Brendan’s body, hand-over-hand like he was a climbing rope.
Its grip was unshakable, no matter how Brendan pushed against it or tried to shake free. The gleaming skeleton just kept climbing Brendan’s body. Its frozen expression and perfect silence gave the simultaneous impression of unhinged fervor and unnerving calm.
Brendan pulled against the windshield, trying to drag both himself and the grinning skull back atop the car. Pain coursed through his shoulder, but, slowly, his body slid up the side of the car. His assailant kept climbing, but before long, Brendan sprawled over the front of the car, still barreling down the highway.
That grinning skull loomed over him, and without a moment of hesitation, Brendan released the windshield and drove his mod between those glowing, forever-wide eyes.
He didn’t injure his attacker—if it truly was something that could be injured—but there was enough force in the blow to dislodge Brendan from its iron grasp. Brendan rolled away as the thing reached for him, barely escaping its gleaming fingers. They both got to their knees, and Brendan lashed out with his mod again. The grinning skull rocked back with the impact, but otherwise didn’t react. It didn’t even raise a hand in defense. Just took the punch, absorbed it, and kept staring at him. Kept grinning at him.
Brendan would not win a slugfest on the hood of this car.
So he turned, before the metal creature could act, and tore away the rest of the windshield. The action revealed a much more human creature behind the wheel. He had glowing, modded eyes and two modded arms. He leaned to one side to see around Brendan, his jaw set with determination.
The grinning skull was closing in. Brendan had to act quickly.
He reached through the shattered windshield and yanked the steering wheel to one side. The driver wasn’t ready, and by the time he resisted the tug, his car already pointed at the line of trees on the side of the road. Tires squealed, the driver tried to regain control, and Brendan launched himself off the hood, simultaneously extending his mod toward Samson’s car.
For a sickening moment, he feared the car was too far away and moving too fast.
And then the brake lights came on, and Samson’s car seemed to rush toward Brendan. His mod caught a rail atop Samson’s car, and Brendan reeled himself in. He landed with a thud and turned back in time to see the black car slam into a tree, sending the grinning skull hurtling into the woods.
But Brendan didn’t have time to celebrate his victory. As the black car began belching smoke, Samson’s car began fishtailing. A rhythmic thumping sounded from one tire, and the car bounced in time.
Krystal’s patch had given out.
3
Once the car rolled to a stop, Brendan hopped off, grateful for solid ground. Samson and Krystal both circled behind the car, where they verified what everyone feared: the patches Krystal had installed in Samson’s tires had not been up to a high-speed chase.
Samson appeared ready to say something, studying the ruined tires, but instead he collapsed on the pavement.
Krystal rushed to his side, flipping the old man onto his back. A smear of blood ran from his nose into his beard, spreading over his mouth and down his chin. She patted his cheek.
Krystal looked up at Brendan, terrified eyes staring through blue-streaked dreadlocks. “What happened? What’s wrong with him?”
Thanks to the Book of Memory, Brendan knew the answer.
“He used too much power,” he said. “He was making all that gasoline, and then he tore the road up to get away.”
“Is he going to be okay?”
Brendan swallowed. He didn’t have that answer, but he knew what they needed. He rushed to the ruined car, tearing the back door open and rummaging around the seat. At last, his hands found the old, leather-bound Book of Memory, and tucked it into his waistband.
“Brendan?”
Krystal’s voice had an extra measure of concern now. He turned to face her. She stared into the tangle of trees, where a noise came from the dying vegetation. A rustling. A thumping. A metallic groaning.
The grinning skull emerged from the tree line.
Green and brown streaked its metal frame. It hunched over as if in pain, but it moved as easily as it had on the hood of the black car. That manic grin and unblinking gaze remained firmly in place.
The grinning skull would not give up.
Step after step the shining monster drew closer. The burning green eyes fixed on Brendan, an inescapable stare.
“What do you want?” Brendan called, trying to keep his voice even.
The grinning skull stopped, perfectly still. Its shoulders didn’t heave with panting breath. Its head didn’t cock to one side to consider Brendan’s question. It simply paused, a gleaming statue in the middle of the road.
And then it continued walking.
Something else rustled on the opposite side of the road. Brendan turned in time to see five men emerge from the trees, beyond where Samson’s car had stopped. Each wore black, and each was more mod than flesh.
They converged on the three of them. Brendan cocked his mod to fight them off, bu
t one of the men shot out a mod of his own, clamping down and immobilizing Brendan’s metallic arm.
A split second later, a heavy club crashed into Brendan’s skull and turned his world black.
4
Brendan opened his eyes, and the world spun. Hard earth cooled his skin where he lay. Dim lighting washed everything in a sickly green glow. An ache radiated up his back to his shoulder, along the line where he’d lain. He rolled onto one side, hoping to ease the pain, but he didn’t get far before something tugged on his arm.
Blinking through the haze, Brendan tried to focus. Some sort of gray structure covered his flesh bicep. He reached with his mod, touching the thing but finding no answers.
“Good. You’re up.”
The voice surprised Brendan, but he reacted slowly, as if underwater. His head lolled. The world spun, but he made out another figure in the pale green light. The figure was humanoid. Brendan counted each of its parts with all the effort of a child solving complex puzzles: Two legs. A torso and arms. A head.
And two emerald pinpricks in the head’s center.
The thing standing over Brendan was the grinning skull from the highway. He was certain.
His brain refused to hold on to a single thought for long, but that one burned with clarity. They’d never killed the grinning skull. It had flown off the car, but it had shaken off the dust and returned for them.
And now it had them.
“You can’t focus really well right now, and I’m sorry for that. That’s the drugs. I would disconnect them, but something tells me if I do you’ll take what you used on the highway and turn it on me.”
Brendan’s head rolled to one side. He couldn’t stop it. Didn’t try to.
“I’ve heard about people like you. People who can move things without even touching them. Telekinesis, they call it. The drugs are blocking your telekinesis. It comes from up here, right?”
Something cold and hard tapped Brendan’s temple.
“I guess I should introduce myself, seeing as how we’ll be spending a little time together. People call me the Tin Can Man. I think at first they meant it as an insult, like they were making fun of me, but I kind of like it.”
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