The Giant Smugglers (15 page)

“You can't be ready to test again this soon…”

“Oh, but I am,” said Barton with a wide smile. He handed Fitzgibbons the hypodermic. “Gourmand will double our funding.”

Fitzgibbons held the sample up to the light. “This is going to make us giants among men.”

The words were barely out of Fitzgibbons's mouth when something rammed him hard in the back, sending the syringe flying into the air. He fell to his hands and knees.

Barton raced Jamie Fitzgibbons for the syringe, sliding across the smooth tile floor, but the pudgy scientist didn't stand a chance. Jamie dove like an All-Pro linebacker pouncing on a fumble. He held the GGH high up above his head, thumb on the plunger.

“Jamie,” Fitzgibbons whispered, extending a cautious hand. “What are you doing? Put that down, now.”

“You just don't want me to have it!” the angry teenager yelled back, his face red with betrayal. “You made him a giant instead of me.”

“Hold on now. We didn't make anything,” Fitzgibbons explained as calmly as he could, inching closer to his son. “But that's our goal. And we need the giant you saw to make it happen. I'll explain everything after you put down the syringe. Please. You don't want…”

Jamie slammed the needle down into his thigh. “I want to be huge!”

 

20

The GGH injection immediately sent Jamie into shock, and he thumped his head when he hit the floor. Fitzgibbons and Barton dragged the unconscious teen into the large greenhouse section of the lab, where they did everything in their power to stabilize his vitals. Then Jamie's T-shirt ripped—first the neck, then the shoulders, until the whole thing was rags. When his shoes burst, the laces snapped like overtightened guitar strings. His blue jeans soon were in tatters on the floor.

For modesty's sake, Barton draped Jamie in an absurdly large hospital gown stitched with an Accelerton logo, a garment the scientists had custom-ordered in case they ever secured a live giant.

In twenty minutes' time, Giant Jamie stretched across nearly twenty feet of laboratory. His vein-webbed eyelids twitched, but they didn't open. Fitzgibbons held his palm against the colossal jugular vein in his son's neck and counted out the irregular heartbeats. He thanked the stars for small miracles—Barton's first version of GGH might have caused Jamie's heart to burst out of his chest.

Barton kept his distance, partly out of respect and partly to stay within arm's reach of the tranquilizer gun and security system on the wall. He monitored Jamie's shaky but improving vital systems on a tablet computer. “He's hanging in there,” he said, excited that his formula was working but sensitive enough not to show his glee to the boy's father. “There's still a long ways to go, but organ growth has been largely uniform. Vitals are sluggish but continue to function, even as he expands. That's very positive, Sean. When Gourmand sees these results…”

“Gourmand is never going to find out about this,” said Fitzgibbons, angrily approaching his assistant, “because we're not going to breathe a word about it.”

Barton adjusted his glasses and fiddled with the tablet. Then he straightened his shoulders and looked Fitzgibbons in the eye. “Respectfully, I can't promise to keep this between us. It isn't personal…”

“Personal is exactly what it is,” shouted Fitzgibbons, yanking the tablet from Barton's hands and hurling it to the cement. The screen splintered into a spider's web. “Look at him, Neil. That's my son! And I won't let Accelerton turn him into a huge, walking experiment.”

“Accelerton didn't do that to him. He did it to himself.” Barton retrieved his tablet, confirmed that it still functioned despite the cracked screen, and tucked it under his arm. “Look—I didn't plan to test GGH this way. But it happened. And now that it has, no one can help him better than Accelerton.”

“That's a lie, and you know it. If Gourmand finds out about Jamie, she'll never let him see the light of day again—he'll be a ‘prototype,' for God's sake. Legal will figure out some way to claim him as Accelerton property, mark my words. Is my son still even considered human under the law? You can imagine their arguments.”

Barton acknowledged the point. “I can keep things under wraps for a few days, maybe a week, give you an opportunity to come to grips with what's happened,” he offered. “During that time, we can track Jamie's progress, monitor his physiology, and take samples of his blood. But I'll only agree to keep quiet if he stays here—and under restraint.”

A pitiful moan escaped Giant Jamie's lips. His nostrils spasmed as his skull expanded grotesquely. Fitzgibbons's hands looked tiny as he placed them on the side of his son's enormous forehead.

Barton circled Giant Jamie's hulking body and unwound cable from the winch system on the other side of the room. “This is as much for his protection as it is for ours.”

“Neil, come on. He's a kid.”

“Not anymore,” said Barton, dispensing with politeness. “The fact of the matter is that we don't know what he is now. Whatever performance cocktail you'd been giving him already juiced his temper. You told me about the fights yourself. With the GGH, there's more than a chance that his aggression has grown along with his body. Remember the rat? Now multiply that effect by fifty.” Barton set the cracked tablet down and attempted to throw one of the airline cables over Giant Jamie's expanding torso. It took him three tries to get it all the way across.

Just as Barton was about to secure the cable, the tablet came to life and chirped an urgent alert. He picked it up and took in the shuffling images on the screen. “You're going to want to see this.” He held out the tablet for Fitzgibbons. The cracked screen displayed four satellite images of a giant—as he approached, climbed up, and dropped into the silo at the quarry. Time stamps at the bottom of each image revealed that the behemoth had returned within the last forty minutes.

The sight gave Fitzgibbons hope that he still might save his son. He turned to Barton. “Here's how this is going to work. Send these coordinates immediately to the Stick. He'll bring down the giant, and we'll have everything we need to synthesize generations of GGH. Jamie can be moved somewhere safe while I evaluate what can be done to help him.”

“Jamie's not going anywhere.” A defiant Barton picked up the restraining cable to snap it in place.

But he never got the chance.

Giant Jamie's massive right arm whipped the cable aside. He sat up, groggy, the loose blue gown hanging around his midsection.

Barton ran as fast as he could for the tranquilizer gun.

“Jamie!” Fitzgibbons screamed to get his giant son's attention. “Lie back down! You're still growing! You're in no condition to move around!”

Giant Jamie waved his hand back and forth in front of his face as his huge, bleary eyes adjusted. “I've never felt better,” he muttered, his newly baritone voice pouring down on the two men from above. “I'm freaking awesome.”

A tranquilizer dart whizzed over Giant Jamie's left shoulder, sailing into the adjoining laboratory.

Without so much as a sideways glance, the giant teenager swung his huge left fist in the threat's direction. The blow missed Barton by inches, turning drywall to dust as it rammed the wall next to the gas system control box.

Barton scrambled across the floor, took shaky aim with the gun, and fired once more. This time the dart found its target, sticking Giant Jamie in the neck and delivering a dose of tranquilizer sufficient to knock out an elephant.

But only an elephant.

Giant Jamie ripped out the dart. “Barrrton!” The slurred shout shook the glass overhead like a furious thunderclap.

The tranquilizer circulated in Giant Jamie's system as he made a fist and eyed up Barton. The woozy giant missed his mark again and crushed a new section of wall.

Terrified, Barton dropped the tranquilizer gun and dashed for the exit at the front of the lab.

Giant Jamie Fitzgibbons's huge lips puckered as—
puh-too
—he launched a one-gallon ball of spit in Barton's direction. It nailed him in the back and knocked the man into the door.

“Haaaw, haaaw, haaaw…” Giant Jamie's punch-drunk laughter was eerily distorted by the tranquilizer. He turned to see his father with a gas mask over his face, creeping for the control box. “What the heck are you wearing, Dad? You look stupid.” Barton, covered in saliva, used the distraction to slip out of the lab.

“Jamie, you're not yourself,” said Fitzgibbons, his voice hollow inside the gas mask. He placed his hand on the security panel. “Lie back down.”

“Make me.” Giant Jamie's eyes regained some of their focus.

Fitzgibbons's hand wavered on the console.

Giant Jamie boomed down condescension from up high. He leaned toward his father. “What's the matter? Are you scared?”

Fitzgibbons activated the security system.

A powder-blue mist filtered into the room from long steel pipes that ran the length of the greenhouse roof. Fitzgibbons counted in his head—the gas was designed to take effect in as soon as ten seconds.

One stinging snort of the gas in his nostrils was all it took for Giant Jamie to lash out at the pipes, wrenching them away from the ceiling. But his savagery only let more anesthesia into the room. Howling in frustration, he leaped into the air and battered the greenhouse roof. The glass splintered with each blow before finally shattering.

Fitzgibbons covered his head as a shower of glass rained down. The blue mist rose harmlessly into the night air, mixing with the steady rain now pouring down inside the lab.

Giant Jamie raised his arms to the sky. He let the cool rain wash over him and sucked in the fresh air. His huge eyes cleared.

Fitzgibbons sprinted for the tranquilizer gun, which still lay on the floor where Barton had dropped it, but Giant Jamie's huge foot smashed down on the weapon.

Science had caught up to Sean Fitzgibbons, as it had in his youth.

“Sounds like Barton found the stinky idiot who hung me on that sign.” The giant boy picked up his dad so they could talk eye to eye. Fitzgibbons trembled in his son's fist. “So where is he?”

“That doesn't matter…”

Giant Jamie launched into another tantrum. “It's payback time!” he shouted, stomping the ground and swinging his horrified father through the air. The tablet on the floor chirped and caught the giant's attention. He reached down with his free hand and after a few clumsy attempts, picked the stamp-size device up off the floor. Closing one eye, he held the tablet at arm's length and squinted at the image on the cracked screen. “I know this place,” he bellowed. “It's the quarry. Varsity guys go there to party all the time!” Giant Jamie flipped the tablet aside and dropped his father amid the broken glass.

Fitzgibbons struggled to his feet and grabbed onto one of his son's massive toes. “Jamie, you have to listen to me!”

Giant Jamie shook his foot like he was shooing off a pesky puppy. “Not anymore, I don't.” With an incredible leap, Giant Jamie bounded out of the greenhouse and into the storm toward the quarry.

 

21

Charlie stared out his bedroom window at the warehouse. No activity. Zero evidence of the giant coming or going out the elevator shaft. Not a trace of the old man's truck. In desperation, he'd even tried to raise the giant on the walkie. Charlie had been home from the drive-in for more than an hour, which made him all the more anxious.

Where was Bruce?

There was way more traffic now compared to when he and the giant had snuck out earlier, probably from the fair closing for the night. Maybe Bruce, even with his crazy stealth skills, couldn't get back inside the warehouse unseen with all the headlights. Then again, maybe he had snuck back after all, and now he was just being careful.

Either way, the giant was definitely in big trouble with the old man.

Charlie had to find out where the big guy was. He'd start with the warehouse first to make good and sure Bruce wasn't there. There were other ground-floor windows in the back alley—he'd break one if he had to. Charlie didn't care if he got in trouble. But first, he'd need to get past DJ and his mom, who were watching a movie.

He nudged his bedroom door open and slipped into the living room, which was lit only by the TV. Getting past the couch seemed easy enough, but how would he get the heavy back door open without …

“Hey there,” said Rita, hearing the boy's footsteps and turning away from the screen. “Someone had a big date tonight. Can a mother ask a few questions?”

“No?” said Charlie hopefully.

“I hope you bought her popcorn!” she teased. “Did you hold hands?”

“Mom!”

“A gentleman never tells,” reminded DJ, even as he slipped his arm out from around Rita's shoulder. She playfully punched him in the arm. It was hard for Charlie to tell what was more embarrassing—telling his mom about kissing a girl (wasn't going to happen) or actually imagining DJ and Rita kissing on the couch (maybe even worse).

“I want details,” she said, turning off the TV and flipping on a lamp.

Charlie groaned as a loud
boom
sounded from across the horizon. His head jerked in the rumble's direction. At first, he thought it was thunder, but the booms kept coming at regular intervals. Almost like footsteps.

Was Bruce out running around like crazy? If he kept making so much noise, someone would see him for sure. Did Bruce need help? Charlie had to leave and find out.

“Will you listen to that thunder? I thought that storm wasn't due through for another hour!” DJ frowned and slapped his forehead. “And I just bet you my moon roof is still open.” He shoved his hand in a pocket for his keys.

“I can go for you,” volunteered Charlie.

“You're the man, C-Lion.” DJ threw his keys to Charlie, who dashed out the door and down the wet stairs. The rain had already started. Another set of booms sounded as he reached the bottom of the steps.