The sky over the quarry was filled with thin molten streaks as the debris screamed into the woods around the quarry.
A twisted piece of silver metal, a few inches long and shaped a little like a question mark, fell to the earth beside Benji. He picked it up, looking at it numbly.
Gone, he thought. The saucer’s gone.
“Look out!”
Benji turned. CR was sprinting toward him, pointing overhead.
“BENJI, BENJI, LOOK OUT!”
Benji saw it coming: a final streak of light from the sky, screaming toward him with a meteor whistle. CR caught him by the waist, tackling him to the ground. CR landed on top and stayed there, shielding Benji as the fire thing slammed into the ground behind the tow truck. Benji felt the impact buzz through his whole skeleton as the truck rocked violently on its shocks. Clods of dirt rained down.
The instant CR rolled off him, Benji raced behind the truck.
Collision dust hovered like mist, so at first Benji saw the fallen object only as a shadow shape, like a silhouette behind a curtain.
The object, ejected by the saucer’s detonation and fallen from the sky, had embedded in the earth vertically. It stood just slightly higher than Benji’s waist, glowing red with explosion heat, like a weapon forged in a fantasy story.
“What the ass is that?” he heard Ellie say; she’d run down the slope.
A faint smile flickered over Benji’s face. “It looks like . . . a pod,” he said.
The glow faded a bit, revealing the egg-shaped object’s true color: quicksilver. With a gloved hand, Benji touched it. Even through the glove, he could tell the metal was cool to the touch: The heat had dissipated with amazing speed.
He took off his glove, placing his whole bare hand on the pod.
And as he did, the world seemed to zoom back, to fade far away. For a moment he felt a supremely pleasant, light electricity tingle his skin and brain. And then—he couldn’t explain it—crisp and eerily beautiful images filled his mind. He thought of endless starfields, and old black-and-white movies; he kept thinking of when he had shot the saucer down, just replaying that over and over. He felt confused, but also had a sense that he was on the verge of discovery. . . .
He only let go when Zeeko grabbed his sleeve and pulled him back. Benji would have been happy to keep touching it, forever.
“Guys,” said Zeeko, “something’s coming.”
And something was coming: police sirens.
8
Benji said, “That must be every cop in Bedford Falls.”
Ellie tightened her grip on the wheel of the RustRocket. They were barreling down spindly Old Route 62, the only road connecting the quarry to Bedford Falls. Trees blurred by like black whips on the roadside. Back at the quarry, when they’d first heard the sirens, everyone, even CR, had frozen, but for a reason Benji couldn’t really name, he had felt calm. He took control. There wasn’t time for debate. There was only time to do what Benji said: load the pod-shaped debris into Ellie’s trunk and drive toward Bedford Falls, with the hope that they could find a place to hide on the side of the road while the cops were headed for the quarry. Unfortunately, this road barely had a shoulder, let alone any convenient secret passages to Not-Get-Arrested Town.
“The cops might not even be coming for us,” Benji said now, trying to help. “It could be something else.”
“Not to be a doubting Tommy but in what POSSIBLE scenario could they NOT be coming for US?” said Zeeko, uncharacteristically bombastic. He propelled himself forward from the backseat, jutting his face between Ellie and Benji to peer out the windshield. He accidentally struck Ellie’s shoulder; the steering wheel jerked and the right-side tires slipped from the road, spraying loose gravel into the treeline. She wrenched the Rocket back onto the road. Following behind them in his truck, CR punched his horn four times, as if to say:
KNOCK! THAT! SHIT! OFF!
“Benji, what if it is for us? What are we going to say?” Zeeko said. “Oh, God, please—”
“Wait a second . . .” Benji said. He leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. A half mile ahead, around a curve, he could see silhouetted trees painted with the fire and ice of the police flashers. But something was off.
The sirens.
Growing up in the police station, Benji could recognize different cruisers’ sirens like they were people’s voices. If it hadn’t been for everyone’s panic back at the quarry, he would have realized what was off immediately after Zeeko alerted them to the sirens.
Those sirens aren’t coming closer. And they’re not just cop sirens.
“There’re fire trucks up there,” Benji said. “And ambulances. The ones the city got last year, I think?”
He was right. The RustRocket rounded the bend and the road ahead was filled with motion and light; police cruisers and fire trucks and ambulances formed a barricade that blocked the road.
“Oh, Gaaaawd,” Zeeko moaned.
“Zeek, dear, please don’t you dare throw up in my car.”
“No, you guys, I actually think we’re okay,” Benji said. “Ellie, just slow down a little.” She glanced over. “You’re speeding.”
She replied with a look that said, Right, because obviously getting a ticket is the hugest of our concerns right now.
Parallel lines of safety flares hissed along the sides of the road. As the Rocket approached the barricade, Benji counted a half-dozen police cars, and a pair each of fire trucks and ambulances.
The emergency responders didn’t even pay attention to the Rocket’s arrival: All the firemen and deputies were running toward something in the forest to the left, though Benji couldn’t see what.
“Holy Jesus, this isn’t for us,” Ellie said shakily over the wail of the sirens. She brought the Rocket to a stop at the sawhorses that formed the barricade.
Benji’s eyes adjusted to the beachhead of light. He spotted a break in the treeline on the roadside to the left, and he realized the emergency workers hadn’t actually been running into the forest. The break was the entrance road to Deedan’s Eden, an organic dairy farm run by a hippie-ish guy. Everyone at school sort of suspected he also grew organic marijuana. Maybe this was a police raid?
Ellie gasped. “Is that a plane crash?”
Benji’s stomach jolted. Ellie was right: A small, single-propeller plane had crashed down there in the middle of the farm’s pasture. He could see the trail the unplanned touchdown had ripped into the soil, an erratic line punctuated by mangled metal and pools of fire. The cockpit seemed mostly intact, though it looked like a wing had been torn off. A dozen first responders swarmed around the plane, so he couldn’t get a clear view.
“What’re they saying?” Ellie said, mostly to herself. She tried to hand-crank her window down but it got stuck. She got out of the Rocket; Benji did the same. Over the sirens, they could hear overlapping shouts from the field.
“—stretcher, bring—”
“—no good—”
“—blood, Dorinda, get those gloves!—”
Two medics lifted a figure out of the wreckage and onto a stretcher that they loaded into the ambulance. A moment later, the ambulance’s flashers ignited (“In the trade, we call flashers ‘gumballs,’” Papaw had once said). Siren keening, the ambulance peeled out toward Bedford Falls.
“Your grandpa, Benji,” Ellie said, hurrying back to the Rocket.
Papaw’s familiar silhouette strode out of all the lights, hands on his hips. He was speaking with this sweet deputy named Wally, who always let Benji eat the Peanut M&M’s he kept on his desk at the station. Before Benji could get back into the Rocket, Papaw spotted him.
“Benjamin?” he said, walking toward him. Because of the blockade’s backlight, Benji couldn’t see Papaw’s face, but he didn’t sound super thrilled. “What exactly in the hell’re you doin’ out here?”
“Hi, Sheriff!” This from Ellie, who abandoned her attempt to vanish into the Rocket and stepped out from behind Benji.
Papaw looked surprised
to see her. He’d always liked Ellie. The first time he met her, when Benji was in middle school, she’d complimented him on the six-shooter he carried in his gunbelt, telling him that .357s were her favorite, too.
Now, why would a pretty young lady like you be interested in a mean old gun? he’d asked.
Sheriff, she’d said, you’re being sexist.
Papaw had guffawed, and after Ellie explained that her (amiably redneck-y) dad sometimes took her deer hunting, Papaw said, Well, I’ll be.
You’ll be what? Ellie replied, grinning her firecracker grin.
I’ll be hopin’ to see you again real soon. You’re what I call ‘a classy, old-time country gal.’ Don’t ever change that, sweetie. Benjamin, you hang on to this one.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Ellie said now. “I sort of kidnapped your grandson earlier this evening. He was helping me with calculus.”
“Out here?”
“Well, you know. Calculus gets old. We were just cruising.”
The term seemed to amuse Papaw. His eyebrows went up. “‘Cruising’? Did’ja make an appearance at the sock hop, too? How ’bout the malt shop?”
From the backseat of the car, way too enthusiastically, Zeeko went, “Hahahahahaha!”
“Howdy to you, too, Zeeko,” Papaw said, grinning a little.
“Is anybody hurt?” Benji asked.
“No. Well, nothin’ too serious bad. That pilot—somebody said he’s a surgeon from over ’n Indianapolis—he got the plane set down pretty good. Took out some of Deedan’s livestock, though. That fella’s raisin’ holy hell about his ‘mutilated cattle.’ Word from the ambulance is the pilot’ll be fine. Worst-case prognosis, he’s got a concussion. He was talkin’ some nonsense when they pulled him out.”
Ellie glanced at Benji, obviously thinking the same thing he was: What kind of “nonsense,” exactly?
“How’d the crash happen?” Ellie asked.
“I would reckon that it was because the doctor had a copilot by the name of Jack Daniels. Found booze spilt all over the cockpit. Don’t tell anyone that, mind,” he added, and then sighed. “Though God knows it’ll probably get around this town, anyhow.”
“Sheriff!” Wally called.
Benji looked over. A civilian had come through the sawhorses on the Bedford Falls side of the blockade and was standing in the middle of all the emergency vehicles. That happened around accidents all the time; Papaw and the guys at the station called them rubberneckers or lookie-loos.
Benji’s eyes widened a little when he realized who this lookie-loo was. Shaun Spinney.
Ignoring Wally’s commands to get back into his own car, Spinney was staring at the plane crash, and, weirdly, he was also waving one arm over his head.
“Young fella,” Papaw called, “you’ll want to get back in your vehicle right now.”
Spinney looked over momentarily, nodded, then resumed his waving.
Except Benji realized he wasn’t actually waving: He had a phone in his hand, and he was trying to get a better camera angle.
Papaw had the same realization. “Mary and Joseph above,” he muttered. “Why would anyone want to film . . .” He clenched his fists, wrinkled knuckles reddening. He reached into his back pocket, pulled out tobacco—something he only used when he was angry—and put a pinch in his mouth.
Then he marched toward Spinney, purposeful and furious. There was none of the usual good-ol’-boy friendliness in the way he moved; he didn’t look like the public version of Sheriff Robert Lightman. He looked like Papaw, and a pissed-off Papaw at that.
“Young man, I done asked you once,” he said. “Now, let me see your little toy.”
Spinney looked startled to find Papaw beside him. “Huh?”
“Give me that damn phone.”
“Why?” Spinnie smirked. “Are phones illegal on public roads, Sheriff?”
“By God, you’re right: They’re still legal . . . although give Congress a little time and I’ll bet they’ll take care of that. But this is an emergency scene, and that gives me a little thing called ‘absolute authority.’ So you’re either gettin’ off my road or into my cruiser. If you think you can act like King Turd of Shit Mountain just ’cause you used to be someone in this town, well, lemme tell ya, aren’t you in for a surprise.”
Spinney visibly flinched when Papaw said used to be someone. It seemed like Spinney was giving up the fight: He turned away from Papaw and walked back past the sawhorses that marked the perimeter of the emergency scene.
But then, in an attempt to salvage a bit of his self-respect, he turned back, sneered defiantly, and continued filming. “Still gonna arrest me?”
“Yup,” Papaw replied, striding toward him, looking like a gunslinger.
“For what?”
And Papaw, reaching Spinney, replied, “For litterin’.”
Papaw’s hand whipped toward Spinney. It was so quick, the movement of a much younger man, that Spinney didn’t even flinch until Papaw had already snatched his phone.
Papaw pivoted on his bootheels and threw the smartphone, underhand-style, into a small creek that ran alongside the road.
The creek said, Ploop!
Spinney said, “OLD MAN, WHAT THE HELL?!”
“Also for disobedience and obstruction in regards to the efficacy of an officer of this municipality,” Papaw said. “Wally, cuff this fella for me. I don’t like gettin’ trash on my hands.”
Spinney stood there, flustered, his cheeks as red as the gumball flasher atop Papaw’s cruiser. He looked like he might cry. “I— You— I’ll sue your ass off! This is brutality, bitches!” Spinney sputtered while a grinning Wally cuffed him. “Guess what? That video’s already uploaded in the cloud! Joke’s on you!”
“Naw,” Papaw replied, “the joke is you.”
“Your grandpa,” Ellie said, delighted, “is the badassiest man alive.”
Benji looked over, smiling with a pride that caught him a little off guard.
After Wally loaded Spinney into the back of Papaw’s cruiser, Papaw instructed the deputy to clear a path for Ellie’s car. Benji and Ellie got back into the Rocket as Papaw moved the sawhorses and waved them through. As Ellie shifted to drive, the Rocket gave its customary crazy-high reeeee!
When Ellie stopped the car beside Papaw, Benji lowered his window to say good-bye. But Papaw didn’t even look at Benji. He just stared, hands on his hips, at his feet. “That sound was your fan belt, hon. You’ll want to get it checked out ASAP. If it breaks or slips off when you’re drivin’, you’ll be out of luck.” Papaw spoke softly, almost sadly.
Ellie, as confused about Papaw’s behavior as Benji, said, “Will do, Sheriff.”
“Papaw, are you . . .” Feeling okay? Benji thought, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. He’d never talked about, like, feelings with Papaw, especially not Papaw’s feelings. “Are you secretly practicing magic? That sleight of hand with the phone was pretty great, heh.”
Papaw raised his head. And it was odd: He looked . . . Benji couldn’t quite find the word.
“What I did was foolish as all hell, Benjamin. That boy’s parents’ll be in my office tomorrow morning with a lawsuit in their hands. Practically guarantee it. This isn’t what you sign on to this job for, it surely is not. . . .”
“All clear!” Wally informed them.
Papaw headed back toward the relative dark of Eden Farms. He called over his shoulder, “Benjamin, I got a long night ahead of me. Don’t be spooked if you hear the front door open in the middle of the night.”
After they drove through the barricade and the lights faded at their backs, Zeeko let loose an explosive sigh. “We made it. And I didn’t hurl. And people say there’s no proof that God exists.”
Ellie gave a shaky laugh.
Benji wanted to be relieved, but he was distracted. He’d been searching for the word to describe how Papaw had looked a moment ago; it finally occurred to him. And it was a word Benji had never, in his entire life, thought of in connection with
his grandfather.
Old, Benji thought, with a cut of sadness and unaccountable fear. Papaw looked really old.
“Hey, I don’t want to be the bad news bearer here,” Ellie said as she parked in Benji’s driveway, “but the camera stopped working back at the quarry.”
Benji’s heart sank. “Wait, so you didn’t record anything?”
“I got everything until you guys turned the magnet on. The camera blinked off about five seconds after that. I only got that blue light, y’know, that hit the ice.”
“It was just circles, though, wasn’t it?”
“I guess? We can watch it to make sure.”
“Oh. That’s good,” Benji replied, thinking it was not good at all. “We’ll figure out something else to record, I guess?”
“Right, well, that’s the other thing. If the camera, the school’s camera, is broken—”
“I’ll figure out a way to pay for it.”
“Indeed you will. But it made the junkyard go bananas, right? Is it really safe to keep it in your house?”
“Tree house,” Benji corrected her, pointing to his old tree house beside the detached garage in his backyard. “And all that other stuff happened because of the saucer. The thing we’ve got is just a piece of shrapnel.”
Ellie seemed to want to press the point, but CR’s truck was pulling up behind them. They hopped out. After making sure nobody was at the windows of the neighbors’ houses, Benji and CR pulled the pod, wrapped in an old picnic blanket, from Ellie’s trunk and put it on the ground.
CR groaned and whispered, “Let’s get this done. I got two-a-days tomorrow, for Christ’s sake.”
“Don’t blaspheme, if you don’t mind,” Zeeko said, though without much heart.
“Dad Clothes, I love ya, but I can’t handle any Holy Roller stuff right now,” CR said testily.
“What’s the matter?” Benji said.
“Nothing you guys would care about.”
“Okay,” Benji said, trying to not sound defensive. “Why don’t you try me?”
“It’s Spinney.” CR spat the name like poison. “I know you don’t care that much about football, which is fine. But seeing Spinney like that is so depressing. He just seemed pathetic, y’know, trying to be a big man with the sheriff. Spinney’s a douche, but he was a good quarterback.”
Mr. Fahrenheit Page 8
