And I’m going to see it through the way Carrie would: full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes. No fear. No hesitation. No regrets. Okay, maybe a few regrets, but definitely no fear or hesitation.
“Let me take you home,” Matt says.
“What, and miss the big show?” I chuckle.
“Pft. One gargantuan spaceship swallowing up another. I mean, after you’ve seen Darth Vader’s star destroyer eat the Tantive IV, it’s all derivative, right?”
Matt and I walk back to the car in silence, his arm across my shoulders.
As we reach the checkpoint, reporters charge the flimsy barricade, barking questions at us. The guardsmen push them back and shift one of the sawhorses over so we can pass. I notice that several civilians have joined the crowd since we first came through — curiosity seekers, hoping to get a better look at the new extraterrestrial craft hovering off the coast.
In addition to helping me hone my abilities, Bart’s been teaching me about human psychology so that when I’m in the field, I can better predict how people will react in any given situation and adjust my actions accordingly. One thing he taught me was that looming catastrophes and great unknowns — such as an alien mega-ship, which I’d say counts as both — tend to prompt four different responses. Tell someone a hurricane is coming, and you’ll see cautious preparedness (“Better grab some bottled water and batteries for the radio.”), casual indifference (“So what? I’ve been in plenty of hurricanes.”), reckless curiosity (“Let’s go down to the beach and watch the waves!”), or straight-up panic (“Pack the car, we’re getting out of here and going to Colorado until the storm passes!”). The people hanging out at the checkpoint fall into the recklessly curious category.
We drive back to Christina’s, and it looks like straight-up panic has taken over; the town is almost completely empty again — empty except for a few people loitering in the Starbucks parking lot with their coffees, leaning against their cars and staring up at the Hyoephou. The casually indifferent in action, ladies and gentlemen.
“If you change your mind about wanting backup,” Matt says.
“I won’t,” I say. “I have to do this alone.”
“Hey.” I look over at him. “We’re friends. And we’re a team. You never have to do anything alone.”
That makes me feel the tiniest bit better, but, “This I do have to do by myself.”
“All right,” Matt says reluctantly. “I’m heading back to the beach. If you need me, call.”
“I will.”
We reach the house. I ball up my cloak and, after accepting a much-needed hug from Matt, head inside.
I can do this. I can do this.
Christina is sitting on the couch, hunched over, a half-empty wine glass dangling from her fingertips. Her eyes are two dark, narrow slits. She doesn’t look at me as I enter.
“This is how it’s going to be?” she says. “You go running off to save the world or whatever it is you do whenever the hell you want, my feelings be damned?”
“I have a message from Carrie,” I say, and that completely derails Christina’s tirade before it can really get rolling. She almost fumbles her wine glass.
“What?”
I show her my phone. “There’s a message for you and Mr. Hauser.”
Christina comes toward me, her hand out. “Let me see.”
“I have to call her father first. The message is for both of you.”
“Let me see it,” Christina demands.
“No. Not now.” I make a display of very calmly putting my phone back into my pocket. “When her father gets here. That’s what she wanted.”
Christina glances at my pocket like she’s trying to figure out whether she can take the phone from me. “Just like that? Call my ex-husband and tell him his daughter’s a super-hero and she sent us a message from outer space?”
My heart skips a beat. “Um. He already knows.”
“...He what?”
“Carrie told him over the summer. About being a super-hero. He knows.”
One thing I learned living with Carrie and Christina is that Hauser women have a temper. You have to push their buttons hard to fire it up, but when it gets cooking, you’d better make peace fast or run for the hills even faster. I saw Christina redline once, when I had my big falling out with my father. I ran here and told Christina all the horrible things Dad said to me, and I watched her anger hit critical mass in the blink of an eye, but she didn’t explode like a normal person. Instead, she went into this eerily serene state, the calm before an apocalyptic crapstorm. When she’s like this, all it takes is one last tiny little push to send her over the edge. I never saw the eruption, only the build-up, but Carrie’s seen it, and she made it sound like the most terrifying thing she’s ever witnessed.
Let me put that into context: Carrie has stood up to the likes of Manticore, the King of Pain, and for-real demons, but the thought of her mother going ballistic makes her want to hide in a closet with a blanket over her head.
Christina takes her phone out to call her ex. “Brian,” she says without a trace of emotion. “You need to come up here, right now. It’s about Carrie. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
She hangs up. I doubt Carrie’s dad got a word in. She returns to the couch to wait. I sit with her, at a respectable distance.
I have two choices: stay quiet or try to talk to her. The smart thing to do would keep my mouth shut. That wouldn’t be the Carrie thing to do.
“I’m sorry I pushed you this morning,” I say. “I shouldn’t have done that. I handled the situation poorly and I’m sorry.”
Christina doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move.
“I know what I’m doing scares the crap out of you, especially after what happened to Carrie, but I’m not going to stop. I can’t, especially now. Concorde said we’re going to have to step up and back up the police until —”
“Is that what Concorde said?” She still isn’t looking at me. “What he wants is more important than what I want?”
“This isn’t about what Concorde wants or what you want; it’s about what I want,” I say, realizing too late how that sounds. “It’s about what Kingsport needs. The police force almost got wiped out —”
Shut up, Sara, you’re making it worse. God, how is it Carrie can argue people down so easily, but all I do is stick my foot in my mouth?
Because Carrie’s way smarter than I am, that’s why. She always knows what to say. Well, except for when she doesn’t. Carrie’s outsmarted herself plenty of times, and I know it, so I need to stop comparing myself to some idealized version of her. I also need to stop talking because I’m not helping my case.
So we sit in total silence for an hour or so before Carrie’s dad arrives. I answer the door when he knocks. He steps inside, smiles at me, and holds out a hand.
“Hello, Sara,” he says. “Nice to finally meet you in person.”
“Me too,” I say. “Wish it was under better circumstances...”
“Yeah, about that. Christina,” he says, moving past me, “are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
The slap is as loud as a gunshot. I swear I never saw Christina get up off the couch, but in an instant, she’s on her feet and laying one in on her ex with such force he actually stumbles.
“You knew, you SON OF A BITCH!” she shrieks, all her long-deferred fury detonating with the force of a nuclear bomb. “You knew our daughter was risking her life and you didn’t tell me?! She’s my child too!”
All Mr. Hauser can do is stand there and let Christina scream at him, his hands up in front of him in surrender — or in anticipation of another slap. The entire left side of his face is lobster red, and the corner of his bottom lip is swelling up like a water balloon. Me, I’m cowering in the corner near the stairwell, ready to run upstairs and jump out a window if any of Christina’s rage comes my way.
When she finally runs out of steam, she backs up a step and throws her arms out: Well? What do you have to say for yourself
?
“Christina, I’m sorry,” Mr. Hauser says, lisping slighting because of the fat lip. “Carrie asked me not to say anything. She promised me she’d tell you. I thought she would.”
“If you knew she was shooting heroin and she asked you not to tell me —”
“Oh, come on, that is not the same thing.”
“It’s our daughter doing something incredibly stupid that could get her killed!” Christina responds. “Did you even try to stop her?”
“I asked her to stop. I begged her to stop, every single day since she told me, I begged her to stop.”
“Well congratulations, Brian, A for effort.”
“Damn it all, Christina...”
“Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom.”
They both fall silent. Yeah, I figured if anyone could pull them away from each other’s throats, it’d be Carrie. Christina snatches the phone out of my hand and holds it close, like she’s hugging Carrie herself.
“Umm...wow. I don’t even know where to begin,” Carrie says with a nervous laugh. “Uh, well, long story short, I’m a super-hero. Lightstorm. Might have heard of me. I think it’s safe to say that every time over the past year I’ve disappeared, or you haven’t been able to get in touch with me, or I’ve come home exhausted or in pain, it’s been because I’ve been out super-heroing, so...yeah. Blanket apology there. I’m afraid that’s the good news. The bad news is, I’m going to be gone for a while.”
Carrie does an impressive job of summarizing the events leading up to the last two days of total insanity, but she does so knowing it’ll only explain her decision, not justify it in the eyes of her parents or make it any easier for them to accept. What she says, next, however...
“You must be wondering why I’m doing something so crazy — why I chose to do any of this. Well, um...” She laughs. “You know, I had this long, elaborate speech prepared. Rehearsed it and everything, but...I guess what it all comes down to is, you raised me to be a good person, someone who cares for others and helps people who need it, and this is how I’ve chosen to be that person. I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind, but there it is.”
Christina slumps against Mr. Hauser and cries. He wraps an arm around her and holds her tight.
“Mom, Dad, I know you’re both terrified, and probably pissed off six ways to Sunday — you especially, Mom — and that’s totally fair, but this was my decision. If you’re going to be angry at anyone, be angry with me. Please, please do not take it out on each other.”
The video ends with Carrie telling her parents she loves them, and she promises she’ll be back as soon as possible. Christina clutches the phone to her chest.
“Brian,” she says.
“No, shh,” Mr. Hauser says. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Christina grabs me and pulls me into the group hug. I let her.
“I don’t know what to do,” she moans.
“I don’t either,” Mr. Hauser says. “Sara, what do we do? How do we explain this? People are going to notice Carrie’s missing. They’re going to ask questions.”
“Let me talk to Concorde. The Protectorate has contingency plans for all kinds of situations,” I say. Christina hands my phone over, and I call Concorde. “Hey, boss.”
“How did it go?” he says through a steady hiss of static.
“As well as you might expect.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How’s it going there?”
“The Vanguard’s removing the Nightwind now. They’re using a tractor beam — electromagnetic in nature, judging by how it’s messing with communications. I’m having some trouble hearing you.”
“Yeah, same here, but we need to talk about what we’re going to do about Carrie.”
Concorde sighs. “There’s nothing we can do, Sara.”
“I don’t mean that. We need a cover story.”
“Ah. Yes. Hold on.” Concorde puts me on hold for a couple of minutes. “I’m going to be tied up here all morning, probably all afternoon. I have to coordinate with the military, the feds, I think the EPA is coming in to check out the damage to the beach...sorry, just have a lot on my plate. Can you bring the Hausers by the Main Street office around four?”
I check with the Hausers. They agree, even though they’re not sure exactly what they’re agreeing to.
“Your friends. Do their parents know?” Christina asks.
“Dr. Hamill knows,” I say, but I don’t elaborate. That story’s a crazy epic in and of itself. “No one else does.”
“They need to know.” Her expression hardens. “If your friends don’t tell their parents, I will. They deserve the truth,” she says, looking right at Mr. Hauser.
“She’ll do it,” he says to me.
“I know,” I say.
SEVEN
The superintendent insists on opening the schools on Friday, which proves to be a wasted effort. A lot of families evacuated Kingsport when the Nightwind showed up and several more bailed when the Hyoephou arrived. Judging by the noticeably thin stream of students flowing into the school, I’d say more than half of the student body is MIA. Mr. Dent, the reliable rock of Kingsport High School, is right there in the main foyer to greet those of us who didn’t score a bonus day off.
“Good morning, Sara,” Mr. Dent says with a forced smile that immediately vanishes. “Where’s Carrie?”
I put on a sad face, which isn’t much of a challenge for my acting abilities. “You’ll get a call from Christina later,” I say, “but it looks like Carrie won’t be coming back to school.”
“What?” he says, concerned if not completely dismayed. He’s always liked Carrie.
“It’s kind of an awkward situation. Carrie and her Mom had a crazy-huge blowout fight a couple days ago. She left to go live with her dad on the Cape.”
That’s part one of the cover story Concorde concocted with the Hausers, which employs one of Concorde’s cardinal rules for crafting a successful lie: base it in fact. That makes it more plausible and easier to remember so it stays consistent during retellings. Anyone who knows the Hauser women knows well their tendency to butt heads. A fight so huge it drove Carrie to live with Mr. Hauser is completely believable.
Part two of the story, to be executed after Christmas break, will see Carrie enrolling in a prestigious and highly exclusive private academy in upstate New York. It’s one of the many fictional establishments peppered across the country for use as needed by the super-hero community. Look up Gordon Maguire Girls Academy online, and you’ll find a very nice, professional, comprehensive website for this nonexistent school. Carrie will love it there so much that she won’t even come home to visit on holidays.
“Oh, Sara, I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Dent says. “Are you going to be okay? I don’t mean to pry, but if Carrie’s with her dad, will Ms. Hauser let you stay?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m not going anywhere. Actually, I think with Carrie gone, Christina wants me to stay more than ever,” I say. Another of Concorde’s rules: use the actual truth whenever possible.
“Good. That’s good,” Mr. Dent says as the first bell sounds. “All right, I’ll let you go. Try to stay flexible. It’s going to be an odd day.”
Ha. Not by my standards.
I meet up with everyone at Matt’s locker. The others stayed at the beach to watch the big show and then hung around afterward to help with cleanup, so they’re all dead on their feet. Plus, it’s finally sinking in that Carrie is gone, so there’s a sense of loss pressing down on us on top of the physical toll of the last few days. The mood is somber and subdued, to put it mildly.
And then there’s that other thing hanging over our heads.
“Did you talk to Christina?” Matt says. “Did you tell her not to say anything to our parents?”
“I asked her not to say anything. I’m sorry, Matt, she’s not budging,” I say.
“Dude, not cool,” Stuart says. “She’s got no right to rat us out.”
“I know, but she’s going to anyway.” Now for the
part I know they really won’t want to hear. “And maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time to drop the secret identity thing.”
“You want us to go public?” Matt says. “Are you nuts?”
“I don’t mean completely, just with your families. Maybe it’s time to let them know who we really are.”
“Oh, yeah, because that worked out so well for you.”
“Matt!” Missy says.
It’s a classic Matt Steiger knee-jerk reaction. I know he didn’t say that to hurt me, it was just the quickest way to get his point across: yeah, maybe their parents will roll with it and, once they get over the initial shock, they’ll be supportive, or they might react like my parents did when they learned their little girl was a freak of nature. Mom and Dad spent the rest of their lives scared of me, of what I could do. Over time Mom became withdrawn and timid while Dad’s fear mutated into an all-consuming anger. The day I gained my powers was, for all intents and purposes, also the day I lost my family.
So yeah, on one level it’s a legit concern. But on another...
“Screw you, Matt,” I spit.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “Sara, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean —”
“I know what you meant. I have to get to class.”
I grab my books, slam my locker closed, and storm off before the urge to smack Matt gets too strong.
Then I hide in a bathroom until long after the homeroom bell sounds, trying not to cry too loudly.
***
I never make it to homeroom, and the sub running my first period class doesn’t make a big deal of my tardiness. She doesn’t even write me up. That establishes the trend for the day. I see nothing but substitute teachers all morning, and none of them seem thrilled to be here.
“I heard a lot of the teachers made themselves scarce after the what’s-it-called, the Hi-yooee-foo, showed up,” Stuart says. “One alien invasion, no big whoop, but two? Time to get out of Dodge before the whole town goes all Independence Day.”
“Can’t blame them, I guess,” I say, picking up my slab of pizza and putting it back down, uneaten, for the third time. My stomach is rumbling, but I don’t feel like eating.
Action Figures - Issue Six: Power Play Page 5