Our Child of the Stars

by Stephen Cox

  ‘It’s a motel, Cory, a place to stay. You’ve slept a long time.’

  ‘Dad look weeiird – wow-oh-wow Mom hair look weeiird. Need pee now.’

  Gene and Molly looked at each other as Cory shambled into the bathroom.

  ‘He’s just tired.’ Molly felt sick and hollow inside; she hadn’t eaten more than a slice of bread since lunch the day before.

  ‘His power’s the only edge we have . . .’

  Action was the only cure. ‘Let’s see how quickly we can get packed and out.’ She looked at herself in the mirror, grimacing. Her fantasy had been the glamorous Deborah Kerr or Maureen O’Hara, in pearls and furs, or Dahlia Diamond, the TV anchorwoman, but the mirror’s hard truth was that she looked as cheap and obvious as a desperate divorcée in Atlantic City. It didn’t suit her at all. She reached for a headscarf.

  In the dawn light she could see the cloud-cover was lighter and that stirred her spirits a little. She told Cory, ‘You must hide when we get into the car, okay? There’ll be people coming and going.’

  ‘O-kay,’ he said. ‘Hair smell different yes-it-does. What for breakfast? What is for breakfast ple-eeese?’

  ‘Good boy,’ she said. ‘We’ll find a good breakfast.’ She could think of nothing she wanted less. To Gene, she said, ‘I’ll drive.’

  They saw no one as they left. Molly turned on the radio and headed north on the highway. Through the static a man’s voice could be heard. ‘—was the President’s spokesman. If you have just joined us, the government has confirmed that the Russians have carried out three major nuclear tests, above ground, in a remote area in the northeast of their country. The White House is calling for an emergency session of the UN Security Council to discuss this blatant breach of the Test Ban Treaty. Our satellites picked up three blasts within the space of an hour and radioactive fallout has been detected over the Bering Sea. The Soviet Union denies breaking international law.’

  ‘More news just in: the FBI has swooped on a Soviet spy ring in the small town of Amber Grove, New York State, home of the Meteor. We understand there have been a dozen arrests so far. The FBI are working with local police in a state-wide search for individuals they have described as “key to this investigation”.’

  Her throat felt tight. Eyes on the road, Molly.

  The radio began to play martial music. As she turned it down, she saw a patrol vehicle in her rear-view mirror, coming up behind her.

  ‘So, they’re pretending we’re spies,’ Gene said quietly. ‘They’re clever or they’re crazy, or maybe both.’

  ‘I wish . . . I wish there was some way to make this all disappear.’

  ‘Cory not want cookies,’ the blanket announced. ‘Cory want eggs and pancakes.’

  She saw a big Carrols ahead, one of the boxy orange ones, and signalled, but the trooper didn’t slow or signal and as she pulled into the forecourt, the patrol car disappeared up ahead.

  She looked at her strange shaved husband. ‘If you stay with Cory, I’ll go and get us something.’

  Inside, under spherical lights half red, half yellow, the smell of fried food hit her and her stomach turned. She wondered if she was going to be sick, right there in front of everyone. There was a line for takeout, far more crowded than she liked. A man in a Teamsters cap ahead of her told his companion, ‘So, they tell me the government closed the border at midnight.’

  ‘The government’s gone nuts!’ the other man snorted. ‘You can’t close the whole damned border, just to stop a spy or two.’

  Teamster guy shrugged. ‘The ports, the airports . . . Everything’s locked down. They’re using the army.’ His voice reminded Molly of her Brooklyn days.

  ‘This load is late, the weather, no fault of mine – now the government? Our customers will be biting the carpet.’

  ‘We’ve three trucks in the line; the boss, he tells us: get the cops to open the crates, take stuff out, let them strip-search you, just get them to let you through. But it’s no-go.’

  A motherly waitress stopped by Molly. ‘You okay, honey?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, stiffly. ‘I’m afraid last night’s supper disagreed with me.’

  ‘You take it easy. You wanna sit?’

  Molly badly wanted to sit somewhere safe and not have to worry that people were looking for them. She wanted to cry; she wanted someone else to solve her problem. One step at a time, she told herself, shaking her head. ‘I’m okay, thanks.’

  All she’d come here to do was buy something Cory could eat. Pancakes and eggs.

  Get a grip, Molly.

  A little girl at the nearest table stared at her, one finger up her nose. Molly wondered why, then realised she’d tied her scarf tightly to hide the hideous mistake of her hair; she must look odd. At the counter, she gave her order, trying not to appear too obviously uncomfortable.

  On the diner radio she heard, ‘So, more snow on the way. And now, chaotic scenes at the border, where trucks and cars are stacked up for miles along the highway.’

  At last the order arrived. Molly looked at the door and nearly dropped her tray as two State Troopers, tall and confident, walked in. No, she told herself sternly, be that supreme actress who fooled Dr Pfeiffer. Walk slowly. You have nothing to hide.

  The troopers signalled to the manager, who immediately poured two coffees. They had stayed by the door and were looking around for a seat. The thought of passing them rooted Molly to the spot, her heart hammering, her gut churning – until, finally, she just took her courage and walked to the door. As she passed, one of the troopers held it open. He gazed at her full in the face, longer than polite.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  She walked, sedate as a queen to avoid suspicion, to the car. Gene had clambered into the driving seat; Cory was still muffled in the blanket in the back.

  ‘Cory and I were planning to come in if you’d taken any longer,’ Gene said, wearing one of his sweetest frowns.

  ‘Do not put yourselves in danger if I get caught,’ she said, handing out the meals. The smell was still unsettling her stomach. ‘They’ve closed the borders.’

  ‘I heard.’ He started the car.

  ‘Why not go Ni-aaagra and see Falls? Im-pressive. No falls that big my planet.’

  ‘We’re at the wrong end of the state, sweetie-pie,’ Molly said. ‘When we’re moving, I’ll show you on the map. Gene, what do we do?’

  ‘There’s hundreds of miles of border. Let’s not follow the highway along the lakes but turn off and head northeast. I mean, it’s not like there’s a Berlin Wall the whole way.’

  ‘Swim river.’ Cory was happily eating pancakes and slurping milk through a straw.

  ‘Far too wide, and icy-cold, Cory. Quiet while Dad gets out onto the highway.’

  ‘Get boat then.’

  Of all the things to notice, Gene had got rid of the baseball sticker. She worried about roadblocks.

  The news burbled on: radioactive fallout had landed in British Columbia; Canada had issued a formal complaint to the ­Russians and would support the US in bringing the Soviet actions to the UN Security Council.

  A new fear surfaced, a deep, terrible fear. ‘Can we trust the Canadians?’ she asked.

  ‘Canada never sends draft-dodgers back,’ Gene replied. ‘And have you ever met a mean Canadian?’

  ‘I bet if the FBI says we’re Russian spies, though . . .’

  ‘They have courts. They’d have to prove it.’

  ‘But then we’d have to tell everyone about Cory.’ A new thought stirred; how flimsy their plans were, and how quickly they’d fallen apart. But people did run and hide, for years and years. Would this fear become something she’d have to live with every day?

  ‘We interrupt this programme for a newsflash: the FBI have released a description of two wanted Russian spies and their vehicle, last sighted at a motel twelve miles north o
f Caffrey.’

  They didn’t yet know about Molly and Gene’s modest attempts to change their appearance and the licence plate was the old one, but now everyone had at least some idea what to look for. The government could tell all the lies it needed to mobilise ordinary people against them.

  ‘These agents are believed to be armed, and very dangerous.’

  Cory’s fear filled the car like the most bitter winter wind.

  CHAPTER 31

  The flight to the border

  The car heater was already struggling and the winter cloud hanging thick above them promised yet more snow. When Gene drove around the curve of the road, they could see the river of cars. Further up the line, a couple of the drivers were out of their cars and walking around. It wasn’t moving fast, then. Not too far ahead, cars were turning around and coming back south.

  ‘Cory’s quiet,’ she said, looking at the sleeping lump under the blanket on the back seat. He could have been luggage, except for the slight rise and fall.

  ‘Shall we change drivers?’ Gene asked. ‘Can you see what’s stopping the traffic?’

  ‘No . . .’

  Gene took the map. ‘Damn. I bet it’s a roadblock. Look at the map – it makes sense here.’

  Her stomach sank. ‘You can’t know that.’

  ‘I wish Cory could hide the car,’ he said. ‘We really need to head east; this route north’s too obvious.’

  ‘Right. I’ll get out and have a look.’ Other cars were turning back so it wouldn’t be suspicious if they did it too.

  Molly peered out of the window, trying to see a little further. The wind was bitter. Wouldn’t there be flashing lights for a roadblock? Maybe it was a jack-knifed lorry or something.

  ‘Morning, ma’am.’

  Molly turned her head and saw a middle-aged, prosperous-looking man with the face of a worrier coming towards her, the driver from the car behind. It was impossible to be dignified in a hat with sheepskin ear-flaps, she thought.

  ‘What a cold one!’ she said.

  Cory was asleep; he wouldn’t notice anything odd.

  ‘Oh, indeed. I’m in a hurry, family business, so I’m going to cross over and go the other way. Any chance I could squeeze past?’

  ‘Uh, I think we might be turning ourselves,’ Molly said. ‘Join the crowd. Do you know what’s going on up there?’

  ‘The radio didn’t say. I wonder if it’s a roadblock. For the spies, you know.’ He lifted his hand to scratch under his hat.

  People behind were starting to use their horns while others were jockeying round each other to turn.

  ‘Ma’am, I could have swore I saw . . . well, I can’t have.’ He was peering into the back of the car.

  Her pulse rate went up.

  ‘Molly, we should be going,’ called Gene, an anxious tone.

  ‘Huh! I could’ve swore I saw a kid in your car. But I see there isn’t anyone there.’

  ‘Uh, well,’ she said, ‘this low sun causes all sorts of tricks. We’ll move.’

  She judged distances; yes, even Gene should be able to do that. Turning off and heading back was becoming the fashionable thing to do.

  Molly got back into the car. As soon as she shut the door she gave the two-note whistle that meant stay hidden.

  ‘Let’s go!’ Gene hissed. He started the engine and touched the horn, in a friendly way, she hoped. The driver ahead tapped their brake lights and white breath came out of the exhaust: he was doing the same manoeuvre. And Mr Worrier was still standing there, peering into the back.

  One person is fine. Even if he just woke up, he can hide from one person.

  He can hide for ever from one person.

  Gene inched forward.

  Turn around, head south . . .

  The driver ahead was crawling forward, and so were they.

  She looked in her mirror and saw Mr Worrier had produced a notebook and was scribbling something.

  Just project calm, don’t look like a bootlegger heading to the border.

  They came to the turn.

  ‘Let’s drive slowly, be nothing out of the ordinary,’ she said.

  Gene turned – then slammed his foot on the gas pedal and raced southwards down the road. ‘He was taking notes,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s not be dramatic. Cory, stay hidden, just till we’re away.’

  ‘Was man Bad-Man? Cory hid because he was much-nosey.’

  ‘Yes, good boy. He didn’t see you really.’

  The car skidded a little and her stomach leaped. ‘Let’s get there in one piece, please.’

  Gene had a grim look. ‘I’ll bet they’ve got troopers waiting, just to see who turns back. That’s what I would do.’

  How did criminals stay sane? she wondered. What could they do if this was some trap?

  ‘What’s the next turning off look like?’ he said. A car flashed their lights at him: for overtaking, or driving too fast, or both.

  Molly scrabbled to find where they were on the map and traced a route that gave them options. She gave calm instructions even though her stomach was somersaulting, looking every so often in the side-mirror for the first hint of a patrol car. Was that Mr Worrier’s car behind them?

  ‘What’ll we do if they stop us?’ Gene asked anxiously. He wouldn’t be great at bluffing; he always let Molly do the talking.

  ‘Well, if we need to, Cory will hide us . . .’

  ‘No scaring,’ Cory said at once.

  ‘Well . . .’ Molly said, and the hesitation was fatal.

  Cory started burbling, then, ‘No scaring, not-at-all. Hoo-hoo-hoo. Cory hear, sowl-jers on border. Bad-Men, too many too many, yes-there-are. Mom and Dad find crossing with no people at all. Not even Canadians.’

  ‘Now, Big Stuff,’ Gene said, ‘take a deep breath, okay? We’re not going to just rush across anywhere. We just need to find the best road . . .’

  ‘Going south now,’ Cory said.

  ‘This is the turn-off coming,’ she said.

  Gene was following a camper van the colour of butterscotch who was also indicating; he took the turn too fast and she felt the car slide. You had to let the spin happen to some extent, not fight it, but Gene was trying to hold it . . .

  The van screeched to a halt. Gene was slowing, but he still rammed straight into it. Molly was thrown forward and bit her tongue; she heard a yelp from Cory behind her and for a moment she felt like she was floating in space; she saw the death of the alien mission, Cory’s panic . . .

  The car had seatbelts and for the millionth time she wondered why she never bothered to put hers on.

  ‘You okay?’ Gene said, his clenched fingers white on the wheel. ‘Cory?’

  She breathed, feeling white-hot rage, but somehow keeping it together. She wanted to take every one of Gene’s crashes and near-misses and shout them in his face. Of all the times to take a risk on snow . . . !

  But a long-haired kid in an Afghan coat and woollen hat was already out of the van and looking at the damage. There were two girls’ faces at the windows; they all looked dismayed.

  Molly knew she needed to be calm and in control: they were fleeing for their freedom, so somehow, she had to get them out of this mess.

  Gene was looking abject and Cory was moaning, ‘Ow-ow-ow, silly Earth cars no soft thing if stop ow-ow-ow.’ At least ‘ow-ow-ow’ meant he was more upset than hurt.

  ‘Hide!’ she ordered and got out of the car, her head still spinning a little with shock, her back and neck aching.

  ‘Wow, bummer,’ said the kid. ‘You were going one hell of a lick.’

  ‘All you guys okay? It’s a borrowed car – we hadn’t realised the brakes weren’t great.’

  ‘My dad will kill me.’

  The Lincoln had a fine dent in the bumper, but the VW had lost a rear light. She needed to give them a nu
mber; that’s what you did – but whose could she give?

  ‘Don’t worry; we’re insured,’ Molly said, writing her dentist’s phone number on a scrap of paper.

  The boy was looking calculating as he took it, and she noticed he didn’t offer his own details in return. ‘I reckon you give me a hundred and neither of us need to claim – keep the sharks out of it that way, yeah?’

  A hundred! In his dreams! She didn’t have a hundred to spare, and anyway, he was trying it on. She couldn’t remember which name the Lincoln’s insurance was in, but a lot of cars were scooting past and they needed to be out of there.

  ‘Call or don’t call,’ she said, ‘but we’ll let the insurance sort it – that’s what we pay for, after all.’ Don’t use Gene’s name. ‘Darling, I’ll drive, shall I?’

  Gene was in no place to argue.

  Molly got in the driver’s seat and backed away. More people to recognise us, plus a distinctive mark to make the car more obvious.

  ‘Let’s get some distance,’ she murmured, wondering if they should steal a new car, or maybe change the licence plates to the second spare set. Her hands trembled and her gut started to churn and once again she felt like she might throw up.

  ‘No scaring,’ said a little voice.

  She couldn’t get out of her head what might happen if Cory used his nightmare power in daylight, with a lot of people around. But there would come a time – maybe not now, but soon – when they might have to turn to him again, even though the thought of it was clearly terrifying her little boy.

  In the rear-view mirror she could see he was shaking, but they were both in the front and couldn’t hold him; there was no way to console him.

  ‘Never scare ever again,’ he announced, ‘no-no-no.’

  If only people could know Cory for who he really was. An odd, heretical idea began to brew. Was running for ever the answer? What if people did know the truth: his sweetness, his kindness, his vulnerability. What a dangerous thought . . . how absurd.

  CHAPTER 32

  A decision

  Even through Molly’s anxiety, the woods and the mountains beyond, where the snow was deep and untouched, were beautiful. She took the slow roads patrol cars wouldn’t bother with. They stopped at a deserted picnic site, looking in each direction before they got out, but other than a single car with a flat tyre sitting unloved, there were no other vehicles in the lot, no footprints making trails across the virgin white. She and Gene helped Cory out and made for the wooden hut. The door to the room with two benches and a payphone was unlocked, so at least they were out of the wind, but to Molly’s dismay, the restroom was padlocked and a notice proclaimed spring would come before it would open.