The Subatomic Kid (7 page)

John stared at him in disbelief as the logs on the fire crackled and sparks burst into the air and floated up the chimney. He wanted to reach out and grab those tired old limbs hunched before him in the chair, but try as he might he couldn’t move.

The scenery around him began to dissolve—slowly at first, and then swiftly, until he found himself back at the familiar old kitchen table, swiping energetically at thin air in the form of the very ordinary teenager he was.

“What on earth are you doing?” his mother cried.

“Nothing, I was just pretending to be a bear,” he said with relief, as he watched the hair disappear from his paws and his fingers come back.

“But you spilled the milk!” she exclaimed, as she turned to face him.

“Sorry, it was an accident,” he said apologetically.

She stared at him with an exasperated look on her face. “Well, you can just clean that mess up,” she commanded, turning back to the fridge.

John sagged; he’d gotten away with it, but what weighed so heavily on him was the fact that everything he’d experienced was real, and it had nothing to do with comic books or nightmares. Plus, he was scared stiff because his comfortable world had changed into something he could no longer comprehend, and he had no idea what he was going to do about it!

THE FLY

On the videotape Doctor Leitz could just make out the presence of a figure leaping onto the chair as the MOLECULAR ACCELERATOR BEAM fired. He wound the tape backwards and forwards, examining every frame, as Hunter stood at the window dialing a number on his mobile phone.

Leitz had suspected there was a reason his experiment had not worked the way it should. He had checked and rechecked all of his data, and it was just the way he had calculated it. He had scrutinized all the equipment in the lab, and everything was working perfectly.

Therefore, he calculated, the only logical conclusion was that an outside influence had corrupted the outcome of the experiment. When he first looked at the videotape, there was so much light in the room he had seen absolutely nothing. However, when he started to play with the contrast and brightness controls, at a certain point on the scale he had found a shape moving frame by frame; a shape he was sure was a kid.

“Miss Moon, it’s Hunter; are we scrambled?” Hunter turned from the window, walked to the video monitor, and stared at it over Doctor Leitz’ shoulder. “Good,” he continued. “Listen, you’d better get down here. The Doc has something amazing, but you’d think I was nuts if I tried to explain it to you. You have to see it for yourself. There is a slight problem, though; I think we blew one of the kids to pieces.”

Doctor Leitz paused the videotape where impact took place and they both gazed at the blurred figure on the screen—the size and shape of a child—halfway dissolved into a cloud of particles.

***

Amelia Moon hung up the phone. She was a complicated woman and she knew it—in fact, she liked it. She took great pride in the fact that she was as tough as nails even though her feminine appearance indicated otherwise. She had never been really close to anybody in her whole life apart from Doctor Angstrom, to whom she was devoted. But the truth was, she was devoted to him because he wasn’t a threat to her.

She loved the fact that he was rich; it provided her with an exceptionally comfortable lifestyle, and she returned the favor by taking care of the mundane and irrelevant details that would only serve to clutter his brilliant mind. It was a symbiotic relationship that would one day serve the greater good of mankind, for she was sure that with her aid and guidance, Doctor Angstrom would one day hold the world in the palm of his hand; and she would be right there beside him—his confidante and his queen.

She shivered with anticipation—nothing would stop her; this was a crusade, and in crusades there are casualties. This unfortunate child, whoever he or she was, just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and her duty now was to exercise damage control, sweep it under the carpet and pretend it never happened.

***

John peered around the corner of one of the old buildings and gazed at the long, black limousine parked in the schoolyard. Just yesterday he had been a normal kid with normal problems, but now he was a freak of nature, and there was no one he could talk to about it.

He had thought about bringing it up with his mother, but it was such a ridiculous story that she, or anyone for that matter, would have thought he needed serious therapy. That morning she had left for Las Vegas, and for the first time in his life he was truly alone. He had considered going to school, but there were too many burning questions that needed answers. So he had gone to his room and dressed in black; he had seen enough movies to know that dressing in black is a prerequisite for undercover work.

Feeling like a spy or one of his comic book heroes, he stood in the early morning cold, ready for action. He planned to go back to where all his problems had begun—the limousine. He darted across the schoolyard, hoping he wasn’t seen, and ducked down beside the vehicle. He tried peering in through the windows, but the glass was so dark all he could see was his own reflection. He grabbed the passenger door handle, and pushed the catch that released the lock. It opened; he filled his heart with courage and climbed inside.

The interior was luxurious with deep, soft carpet and plush white leather seats. The leather permeated the air with its distinctive aroma. It was like a studio apartment; there was so much room, but he was mystified at how empty it was. There was nothing here.

How could he have been so dumb; what on earth did he think he would find in the back of a limousine? In frustration and anger he hit the armrest on the seat with his fist and it bounced open and quickly sprang shut again. He stretched out his hand and lifted the cover up tentatively. Inside were two telephones nestled snugly side by side.

Feeling vulnerable snooping in the car, he scanned the schoolyard to assure himself that no one else was around. He grabbed one of the telephones and lifted it to his ear, and hearing nothing more distinctive than a regular dial tone, he threw it back onto its cradle. He picked up the second phone and a voice immediately responded, “Central, please give the department code!” He froze, and the voice insisted, “Central, please give the department code!”

As his heart began to pound, he cut off the phone and quickly threw it back too. Could they trace him? He scanned the entire schoolyard once again as he told himself to calm down. Someone could have knocked the phone off the hook; they had no way of knowing who was at the other end. He was just being paranoid.

He would rapidly become his own worst enemy if he didn’t compose himself. He had read about and watched secret agents all his life, and he’d understood that the one singular ability they had above all others was to control their thoughts. They had to think positively and not negatively. In this business a negative thought equaled death, and he could not afford one.

He stared down at the armrest; above the phones was a row of three tiny white buttons. He lifted his finger and hovered over the first. There was negative thought and then there was caution, he told himself. Suppose this button was an ejection seat; how foolish he would look flying high in the air above the schoolyard, screaming his brains out. He slipped down onto the soft-carpeted floor, just in case, closed his eyes and stabbed the button down.

A soft swish came from the built-in cabinet beside him; when he opened his eyes, he was staring at a tray containing a decanter of liquor and some glasses. He pushed the button again and it slid back inside—the woodwork was so expertly made it almost disappeared.

He began feeling more like a spy and enjoying himself, so he pushed the second button and watched a tray slide out from another location in the cabinet. This one had a cover over it; when he lifted it up, he saw that it contained a gun and some spare ammunition clips. He hit the button again and it too receded back into the cabinet.

The third button revealed the treasure he was hoping for; a tiny television with a built-in video player. He pushed the play button and a picture of the school flashed onto the screen accompanied by the voice of an announcer.

“…in a partnership between Doctor Angstrom and Doctor Leitz. You are to deliver the equipment and determine the status of his experiments, and if the results are satisfactory, contact Miss Moon at the head office.”

As the tape ended John wondered what he had missed. He scanned the schoolyard once again and pushed the rewind button as he turned his attention back to the television, and just as he did, the driver walked out of the building and headed for the car.

What is the strange nature of videotape that makes it take forever when it’s going backwards?
John thought to himself. Even though it’s going super-fast, it just goes on, and on, and on, and on.

The driver stopped in front of the car and scrutinized the grill. Pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket, he crouched down.

John glanced out of the window again, and saw nothing. “Come on!” he said softly, and slapped the top of the television set. Outside, the driver stood up; he put the handkerchief back into his pocket and walked toward the car door.

The tape finally stopped at the beginning, and as John was about to play it, he heard the door open. He immediately scrambled down onto the floor again, his heart beating hard in his chest, but as far as he could tell, nobody got into the car.

He sensed that something was up; there was an air of anticipation coming from the direction of whoever it was who had opened the door. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of a car fast approaching. He got to his knees and peeked out through the window as a second limousine screeched to a halt.

He watched as a very beautiful Asian woman climbed out of that limo and walked toward the school. Her driver got out of the vehicle too, and walked toward the car he was in. He was trapped!

He wanted to die. Suppose he was caught in here; what would that look like? What would they do to him? What an idiot he was! What a stupid, stupid idiot! The thoughts cascaded around his brain like water sloshing in a bucket, and all they did was make him feel worse about an already bad situation.

He hit the button and the tiny television slid back into its hideout as he scrambled hurriedly down onto the floor. He had learned absolutely nothing; as a spy he was totally and utterly inept. He needed to do something, create some really neat diversion that would get both drivers to look the other way so he could slip out of the door and off to freedom. Try as he might, he could think of nothing.

The passenger side door opened and the two drivers climbed into the front of the limo. “What the hell is going on down here, Steve?” said the young driver who had just arrived, a punkish-looking young man with hair that stuck out in all directions.

“Well, Jack, it’s like this,” said Steve, a tanned Adonis with a tiny intellect. “They were up to something last night. I could tell because I was sitting out here in the car and this low rumble started up that made me feel like I was coming apart at the seams.”

“But what is this place? Isn’t it a school?” Jack asked.

“Sure, it’s a school, but there’s something else going on. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’ll know soon enough. I’m working with Hunter now, and he knows everything,” Steve bragged.

“Well, I’ll tell you this,” Jack volunteered, “She had me run every red light between here and Manhattan, and she kept asking if I could go any faster, even when I was doing seventy.”

As John lay looking up at the roof and listening, a hand appeared over the top of the seat. His heart thumped so loudly he was sure they would hear it, so he tried holding his breath, but it didn’t make a difference.

“I think we need a drink, man,” Steve began to feel around for the drink tray directly above John’s nose.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Jack replied.

John reached over and pushed the button, and the drink tray slid out just as the hand grasped for the bottle. He sighed softly as the bottle disappeared over the seat, then he watched the hand come back and grab two glasses. These two knew even less than he did; they were complete morons, and even worse they seemed to be settling in for a party.

“What do you think they’re up to in there?” Jack queried.

“I don’t know,” Steve said in a suspicious tone, “but I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall.”

It was weird,
John thought, those last few words became the only thing that existed in his whole universe. He actually felt time begin to slow down almost to a stop.
Fly on the wall
. He examined each word, scrutinized each letter; they became huge sculptures that he stood beneath on a bleak and desolate landscape. He heard nothing more, only the blood pumping through his ears, and then he vanished in a cloud of particles.

***

Suddenly he was flying; he swooped, he dove, he looped the loop, and the wind whistled around him—it was like being on a roller coaster ride without the car.

He sat on a flower; he could see everything perfectly from a thousand different angles. It was a very peculiar feeling because he could see behind and in front at the same time and it took a strange shift in mental focus to concentrate on one or the other, but neither ever went away.

He flew around a coffee cup, over an inkwell with a pen, and over that flowerpot with the flower in it again. It was exceedingly odd; time was completely disjointed—huge chunks of it went missing as he kept finding himself in different places.