Brainboy and the Deathmaster Page 19
47
“It’s an important experiment, Darryl,” said Mr. Masterly, standing beside him in Chem. “It may hurt a little, but afterward you can take some G-17, and your skin will be young again. Go ahead, try it.”
As Darryl stuck his right hand over the flame of the Bunsen burner, he yelped—and his eyes popped open. He wasn’t in Chem at all. He was lying in tall grass under a dove-gray sky. The none-too-soft pillow under his head was one of Abs’s calves. Nina was curled up in a ball beside him, her glasses lying in the grass, one of the lenses broken.
Darryl sat up without waking either her or Abs. The meadow glistened in the soft dawn light—or at least the dew in the tall grass glistened. It was pretty chilly, but his right hand felt scalding hot. That’s what had awakened him. His palm was bright red. Rope burn.
His ankles were still sore from the chimney climb, but he got to his feet and hobbled around the circle of sleepers, taking a head count. Everyone present and accounted for—except Mr. Masterly, who’d flown away in the helicopter.
“Hey, everybody, wake up!”
A dozen heads lifted from the ground. He’d gotten his voice back.
“He might fly back to make sure we’re dead.”
“Huh?” said Boris, rubbing his eyes. “Who?”
“You could be right,” said Ruthie, who didn’t need to be told who “he” was. “We shouldn’t be out in the open like this.”
“He must have heard the explosion from the helicopter,” said Billy.
“Yeah, but he’s a careful man,” said Nina, putting on her half-broken glasses. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Anybody have anything to eat?” Boris asked.
“Yeah, I’m starved,” said Paul.
Hedderly pulled something out of a pocket: a packet of yeast for bread making.
“I got hot dogs in my pack,” Boris said. “I’m going back.”
“Are you nuts?” BJ said. “It’ll be buried under a ton of rocks. Let’s go. Ma’s waiting at base camp.”
“You go ahead,” Boris said stubbornly. “I’ll catch up.”
Nina tried to talk him out of it, but it was no use, so she went back up the trail with him while the rest of them headed down. Thanks to Darryl’s ankles and Paul’s knee and Snoodles’s age, the larger party didn’t move very quickly, and after about four miles Nina and Boris rejoined them in a clearing by a river.
“I hate to admit it, Beege,” Boris said, “but you were right.”
“It’s just a big pile of rubble,” said Nina. “Paradise Lab’s Paradise Lost.”
“Good riddance,” said Suki.
“G-g-good riddance,” echoed Snoodles.
As if to underscore this sentiment, the morning sun peeked out over the shoulder of a peak off to their left.
Thanks to their early start it was still morning when they reached the campsite. As BJ led them toward the parking lot, where two campers and a big beige-and-green RV were parked, Darryl stared at a young couple frying eggs outside a tent. They reminded him so much of a photo of his parents on their honeymoon hike that he had to fight an urge to cry. The young couple stared right back—for Darryl and the rest of them made a pretty odd procession. Except for BJ and Boris, all the kids were in space-age jumpsuits, while the three adults had crescent-shaped scars on their foreheads.
When they reached the RV, BJ went in alone. Darryl heard Mrs. Walker’s “Sugar pie!” through the screen door. In a minute BJ hopped back out. His mother followed but stopped in the doorway.
“What in the name of Pete?” she said, agog.
“Hey, Mrs. Walker,” Boris said, sniffing the air. “Is that bacon? I could eat a friggin’ horse.”
Mrs. Walker stood there in her purple UW sweat suit, blinking in the sunlight. “Who in the world are … honey child!”
“Hi, Mrs. Walker,” Darryl said, stepping out of the crowd.
She came down the two steps and folded him in her arms. “Is it really you?”
“It’s me,” he said.
She smelled wonderful—coffee and bacon—and suddenly he couldn’t hold his tears back. But she held him long enough that he managed to wipe them away on her sweatshirt. Then she took him by the shoulders and peered into his face.
“Where in Sam Hill did you come from, child?”
“Up there,” he said, cocking his head to the north. “We all came from the lab.”
“The lab? What lab?”
“We’re starved, Ma,” BJ said. “How about we drive down to that pancake house we passed? We’ll explain everything.”
“Yeah!” Boris cried.
“But who are all these people?” Mrs. Walker said.
“This here’s my sister, Nina,” Boris said, pulling Nina forward.
“You broke your glasses, sweetie,” Mrs. Walker said.
“It’s okay,” Nina said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Where’d you get the RV?” Darryl asked.
“It’s the Bottses’,” Mrs. Walker said.
“If you don’t mind,” said Darryl, “could we all get in? We don’t want to be seen.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“Pile in!” BJ said. “Ma, I’ll sit up front and explain.”
But the front seat wasn’t divided from the rest of the RV, and as Mrs. Walker guided the lumbering vehicle back down windy Route 20, everybody joined in telling her about Paradise Lab and the great escape—everybody except Abs, who sat doing stretching exercises in a corner, and Boris, who raided the little fridge. However, it wasn’t easy to convince Mrs. Walker of the existence of a luxurious, multileveled laboratory embedded inside a mountain.
“I’m sorry to doubt you all,” she said. “But how on earth could you build something like that way up here in the wilderness?”
“Using people like Abs and Hedderly,” Nina said. “A whole construction crew handpicked from the mental institutions Mr. Masterly backs with all his donations. It’s all in his MasterPlan. Isn’t that right, Hedderly? Didn’t you help build the lab?”
“That’s right, kiddo,” Hedderly said.
“That’s r-r-right,” said Snoodles. “I just w-w-wish I could r-r-remember it. I’m s-s-so s-s-stupid!”
“No, you’re not,” said Ruthie.
Mrs. Walker braked, and they fell in behind a slow-moving logging truck. “But what happened to the rest of this construction crew?” she asked.
“I don’t like to think about that,” Darryl said.
“It must have taken them ten years to build,” Ruthie said, “because he started almost thirteen years ago. Mario and I were the first kids there, and I don’t think it’s been three years.”
“And he just blew it all to bits?” said Mrs. Walker.
“It was like an atom bomb!” Greg said.
Boris didn’t contribute to the general conversation till he heard that they were passing up the pancake parlor.
“But I was psyched for a plate of those silver dollar guys!” he cried.
“We can’t all troop into a public place,” Ruthie said. “Mr. Masterly might have spies.”
“I want pancakes!”
“Hedderly makes buttermilk pancakes every Thursday morning,” Greg pointed out. “Can you make them on a Monday, Hedderly?”
Hedderly nodded, grinning, and Mrs. Walker made a pit stop for the ingredients at a small grocery store in the town of Newhalem. Soon they were back on the road with Hedderly whipping up skillet after skillet of silver-dollar pancakes on the RV’s range. Darryl ate seventeen—third most after Boris (nineteen) and Paul (twenty-two)—after which he passed out on the plaid sofa.
“Wake up, Dare. We’re home.”
Darryl rolled over onto a sore elbow and blinked at BJ. “Home?” he said groggily.
“Come on.”
The two of them were the only ones left in the RV. Stumbling after BJ to the doorway, Darryl saw that they were pulled up in front of the familiar little sky-blue house. Here in Seattle it was raining, b
ut instead of going into the house Darryl stood on the sidewalk feeling the drops on his nose and the back of his neck, staring at the pretty little rock garden, the neatly painted shutters, a bicycle left out on the lawn next door. In spite of the rain a robin was hopping around the grass near the bike, listening for worms. Over the rooftops a seagull was wheeling in the woolen sky, dirty-white against gray.
His stupid eyes pooled up again.
“Welcome back, buddy,” BJ said, draping an arm over his shoulder.
Darryl wiped a sleeve of his black jumpsuit over his face. “I want to go see my old house,” he said.
“Sure, that’s probably a good idea. I’ll go with you tomorrow.”
“I don’t have a key.”
“We’ll take Boris.”
Darryl gave BJ a sidelong look.
“He broke in on Friday,” BJ said. “Where do you think we got the ropes and stuff?”
“Huh,” Darryl said, opening his hand to let the cool rain hit his raw palm.
“That hurt?”
“Sort of. But in a way it feels good.”
“Come on, we’re getting soaked.”
Darryl let BJ pull him up the path through the rock garden, but he stopped again before they reached the front door.
“What is it, bro?”
“Just … how’d you ever find the lab?”
“Later for that. It’s a long story.”
“Well, however you did it, I’ve got to thank you.”
“You’d have done the same for me. What are best friends for—right?”
Darryl grinned. “Right,” he said, holding out his raw hand to shake.
“Later for that, too,” BJ said. “Come on.”
48
What with a dozen people and a half dozen cats squeezed into the living room, there was barely room for Darryl and BJ.
“Listen up, everybody,” said Mrs. Walker. She was standing in front of the TV, facing the rest of them. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds as if you’re all pretty much alone in the world. And after what you’ve been through, you must be feeling awfully disoriented. I wish to goodness I could take you all in. I really and truly do. But as you can see, it’s impossible. So what I’m going to do is call Ms. Grimsley and—”
“Not Grimface!” BJ cried. “No way!”
“She works for Child Protective Services, sugar pie. I’ll bet she has enough beds in the shelter to—”
“She works for Masterly, Ma.”
“He’s right, Mrs. Walker,” Darryl piped up. “If he finds out we’re alive, we’re done for.”
“I think you’re being a bit melodramatic,” Mrs. Walker said. “But if you really feel that way, then I’ll have to call the police. Or maybe I should call Henry Botts first. …”
“We ought to lie low and find out what’s happening with Mr. Masterly,” said Nina.
“Couldn’t they stay with us for a while at least?” BJ said.
“I could cook,” said Hedderly.
“I’m g-g-good at cleaning,” said Snoodles. “And Abs could do the y-yard work.”
Abs nodded eagerly.
“This kitty’s darling,” said Suki, who was stroking Galileo. “We had two Siamese at home.”
“I think we should all stay together,” Greg said, sniffling.
“Yeah,” Mario and Billy chimed in.
“We could join a think tank and pay you rent,” said Ruthie. “We’re all smart.”
“You’d all have to sleep standing up, dear,” Mrs. Walker said ruefully. “I’m afraid it wouldn’t work.”
“What if we got a bigger house, Mrs. Walker?” Nina suggested. “One with lots and lots of bedrooms. With a nice view of the water.”
Mrs. Walker laughed, her whole body jiggling. “I’m a librarian, sweetheart. Librarians don’t make much money.”
Nina stepped up to her, reached into a pocket of her jumpsuit, and set something on top of the TV. Peering around Hedderly, Darryl saw that it was a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
“Do you smoke, dear?” Mrs. Walker said.
“Of course not,” Nina said, dumping something else on top of the TV.
Hedderly leaned forward, blocking Darryl’s view. Mrs. Walker gasped.
“Where’d you get ‘em, Neen?” Boris cried, squeezing up to the front.
“From down on L. I grabbed them just before I got in my pod.”
“L?”
“You don’t mean to say they’re genuine?” said Mrs. Walker.
Darryl saw Boris hold up something small and glittery to the light: one of the diamonds Mr. Masterly had brought them to study. “Sure looks real,” Boris said.
“They’re the best quality money can buy,” Nina said. “Put it back, Boris. They’re for Mrs. Walker.”
Boris, who’d already pocketed the stone, made a face as he put it back. Craning his neck around Hedderly’s shoulder, Darryl was delighted to see that there was a whole heap of diamonds.
“You could buy a mansion with those, Ma,” BJ said.
“You could buy a friggin’ skyscraper,” Boris said.
“Way to go, Nina!” Greg cried. “Now we can stay together!”
“W-why didn’t I think of it?” Snoodles said, bamming his skull. “I’m s-s-such a knucklehead.”
“I didn’t think of it either, Snoodles,” Ruthie said, putting an arm around the old man’s bony shoulders. “I’m sorry for ordering you around all the time. It was those darn vitamins.”
“I’m sorry for always making you get me seconds, Hedderly,” said Paul.
“I’m sorry for never getting in touch with you and BJ, Mrs. Walker,” Darryl said.
“Jeez,” Boris said. “If we’re having a sorry-fest, I’m sorry for ripping off your GameMaster.”
“What did you do with it?” Darryl asked.
“Sold it.”
“Boris!” Nina cried.
“I used the money for bus tickets, for cripe’s sake. I was looking for you.”
“Really?” Nina said.
“What do you think?” He made another face as Nina put an arm around him, but he didn’t squirm away. “I’d never have thought to take a bus up to that lab place, though. Beege came up with the GPS idea. Hey, did I tell you we went to Masterly’s house?”
But the name Masterly cast a pall over the room.
“What if he finds out we’re alive?” Greg whispered.
“Don’t you worry—nobody’s going to lay a hand on you,” Mrs. Walker said. “This is a free country.”
“He’s awful rich and powerful, Ma,” BJ said.
“If you’re all telling me the truth, we can have him arrested,” Mrs. Walker declared. “I’ll have Henry build a case against him.”
“I wish I’d brought his MasterPlan,” Darryl muttered. “That would be good evidence.”
“Maybe we could find it in the rubble,” Nina said.
“Nah, he took it.”
“I wonder if the explosion made the news,” Ruthie said. “Or was it too far away from everything?”
Mrs. Walker turned on the TV. A man in a chef’s hat appeared on the screen, demonstrating a food dicer.
“Will you look at that!” Hedderly said, wide-eyed.
After the commercial the six-o’clock news came on. A woman with stiff-looking blond hair reported that she was filling in for the regular newscaster, who would be back from vacation tomorrow.
“Our top story this Labor Day is the oil spill in Alaska, where teams of conservationists are working round the clock to save as much of the wildlife and waterfowl as possible. But closer to home we have a strange story unfolding—a very strange story. Last night a helicopter crash-landed twenty miles east of Seattle, just north of Lake Sammamish, narrowly missing a roadside tavern called the Stop On Inn. Three patrons and the bartender went out to try and save the pilot. They had to use a crowbar to jimmy open the door to the half-mangled cockpit—and all they found inside was an infant boy. KING-TV has just gotten an exclusive interview with Chuck Lu
ndquist, one of the men on the scene.”
Darryl was smiling to himself as a red-faced man with a gap-toothed grin appeared on the right half of the screen.
“Tell us, Mr. Lundquist, what do you think became of the pilot?”
“Beats the heck out of me,” the man said, poking at his ear piece.
“Could the pilot have escaped before you arrived at the scene?”
“Houdini couldn’t have got out of that thing.”
“What’s your theory then?”
“I ain’t got no theory. We pries open the door, and there’s this little nipper sitting strapped into the pilot’s seat.”
“What was he wearing?”
“You could barely make him out. He was all swallered up in one of them Star Trek outfits, big enough for me. Darnedest thing you ever saw.”
“May I ask what you do for a living, Mr. Lundquist?”
“Logger. Laid off, at the moment.”
“Were you drinking last night prior to the crash?”
“We’d all had a couple. But nobody’d tied one on or nothing like that.”
“Interesting. Thank you for taking the time to speak with us, Mr. Lundquist.”
“Any time, lady.”
Mr. Lundquist disappeared as the newscaster took over the whole screen again.
“There you have it. And in another bizarre twist, KING News has learned that the helicopter belongs to none other than Keith Masterly, founder and CEO of MasterTech. As yet KING News has been unable to get a comment from Mr. Masterly himself, but a spokesman for the company informs us that the helicopter was probably stolen. As for the infant ‘pilot,’ he remains in a coma in Sammamish Hospital. The doctors there hold out little hope—though of course even if the infant lives, he won’t be able to enlighten us as to the circumstances of his presence in the helicopter. Also found in the cockpit were a briefcase and a suitcase, but the authorities have yet to disclose their contents. KING News will keep you updated on this unlikely story as more details come in. …”
The newswoman moved on to the upcoming primaries for Seattle’s mayoral election, and Mrs. Walker flicked the TV off. By then no one was watching it anyway. They were all gaping at Darryl.