by Sahara Foley
I gently take her hand in mine, look at her and softly confide, “Long ago, when I first discovered most of my abilities, my powers terrified me, and my closest friends were frightened of me. Because I didn't know whether I would ever be able to control my powers, I had no choice but to leave them. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?”
“Yes. No. What are you saying?” More wrinkles appear.
With a sad sigh, I say, “Never mind, Ruth. While you're preparing dinner, sing or talk to yourself, whatever you want. I'll be back before you know it. Okay?” I head for our tent, as sand flies at me from behind.
Sitting on a sleeping bag in the tent, I watch Ruth with pots and a pan, then try to scan back into the trees. With much effort, I'm finally able to focus on a tree in the last row of trees by the cliffs. I focus on the pine tree, and BLIP! Ruth is singing It's My Party.
Holy Shit.
Arms pinwheeling, I snatch onto whatever's in reach. Clutching a few small branches and pine cones, I stop from falling to the ground. Instead of appearing on the ground by the pine tree, I'm twenty feet up in the tree.
Yuck. Pine tar, needles, goo all over me, and no shirt or shoes. Carefully, I crawl out on a big branch. I'm not worried about the fall hurting me, but the resulting noise will attract attention, and that I don't want. I search around. Leaning out to look each direction, I realize I'm not even in the right tree. Damn. The pine tree I focused on is over there, sixty feet away. How in the hell had I missed it by so far?
Leaning out again, I can see for a good half mile each way, pine trees, lots of big rocks, weeds and grass, nothing suspicious or unusual. This is hopeless. Wherever they went, I can't see any sign from up here. I'll have to search from the ground. After what happened with my teleporting, I decide to climb down. At least that way I know where I'll land.
Turning towards the tree trunk to begin my gooey climb, I think, damn, Ruth is right. Whatever's affecting me is really messing me up. I must be right on top of the ores. Hell, even the wrong tree.
Down on the ground, there's movement.
I freeze, with one arm above me, one leg below on another branch. There, by those rocks, just a damn rabbit. I take a deep breath, heart pounding. Relax. He can't see me up here, but if I move, he might spook and run. Too noisy. So I slowly, cautiously lower myself on the next branch and watch Peter Cottontail hop, hop from plant to plant.
I nervously shift around. I feel as though I'm close to where I'm supposed to be, but at the same time, want to be elsewhere. I want a smoke, but my cigarettes are back at camp, where I wish I were. At the rate this damn rabbit is moving, it'll take him an hour to get past me. Too long. Gathering a handful of pine cones, I get ready to drop a few to hurry him along, when I see something I should've noticed before.
I don't claim to know everything about furry bunnies, but the rabbit is crawling and hopping over the plants he's not nibbling on. There's enough room to hop around the plants, but he's hopping on top of them. What catches my attention isn't the fact he's not eating them, but as he crawls over them, they smash down, and stay down. The plants he's eating, when he hops on top of them, spring back up as he passes on by.
There, a circle of the same smaller plants, plastic, like the plants in front of the grate guarding the cavern. And the circle of plastic plants is right around that rock. It's not the biggest rock there by any means. In fact, it's smaller than the other rocks around it, only seven feet high and four feet wide. All the other boulders are huge suckers. Glancing up and down the line of pine trees, I realize this rock is the only small one. Trying to focus on the small rock gets me nowhere. I should be able to see and feel every damn molecule. I feel zilch.
Peter Cottontail forgotten, I lean out and flip a pine cone at the rock, which is deflected by the branch I'm sitting on, and hits a big boulder. Tink. Scratch. Plunk, the pine cone falls into the weeds. That's too much for Peter; he hops off in a hurry. I lean out farther and flip another one. This one hits the right rock. Tunk. Scratch. Plink, into the weeds. Well, well, a hollow fucking rock. Now, this is exciting.
Then, I freeze again. My breath, heart, all of me freezes this time.
There, on the ledge, almost even with me. A black tube, like a periscope from those old war movies, turns and raises a hair. The tube's eight feet below me. Why didn't I see it before? The periscope is easy to spot, now that it's moving. Before, when it wasn't moving, the black tube looked like a tree branch in the shadow of the rock. The head of the periscope swivels down and in each direction then, begins rising.
Holy Shit. The periscope's moving up, and here I sit, in the open, like a big, white turkey. They can't help seeing me, and there's no place to hide. In a panic, I focus on the tent, and BLIP!
AAAHH. Goddamn.
Because I'd been in such a hurry, not wanting to be seen, I hadn't focused when choosing my exact landing site, and find myself materializing midair, fourteen feet over the tent, between the branches of the pine tree. I body slam with an UMPH on a big branch. I lie there face down, my head and ass hanging out over the end, and see below me the tent. I'm clinging to the branch with my toes, but every time I move, I slide farther off the branch. This won't do, I'll fall on top of the damn tent. Over by the fire, Ruth is singing, Last Kiss. I focus on the ground near her and hope I won't shake her up too much, and BLIP!
AAAHHH. Goddamn.
Jumping up, I race towards the water, leaping in with a sizzle, smoke drifting from the surface. AHHH.
Ruth runs over, yelling, “Are you alright, Arthur? What the hell happened? Why did you jump into the fire? Are you bloody crazy? You spilled the fish all over the sand.” I never knew she could yell so loud, arms waving like she's signaling a boat.
Standing, I remark, “That's not very ladylike, Doctor.”
“Neither is some madman jumping over my head and landing in a pan of hot grease with fish fillets, plus a pot of boiling water with potatoes. And—Oh my God, are you alright?” she asks, pale-faced, looking down at my body.
I fearfully glance down. Most of my skin is scorched, and my shorts are mostly burned. Of course, you'd expect that when landing on your ass in a two-course dinner being cooked over an open fire.
Ruth wades into the water, holding out her hand to help me. “Are you sure you're okay? What the hell is going on?”
This isn't going very well. Did they see me? I shake my head, irritated with myself.
“I'm okay, kid,” I say with a sheepish grin, “the grease was pretty damn hot.” I didn't tell her I was hanging in a tree by my toes, about to fall on our tent. I figured the fire would be easier to replace. “I'm sorry, Ruth. I was aiming to land near you, not in the fire. I guess you're right, whatever's messing me up is doing a damn good job.”
Since I've discovered my powers, I've become a pretty cool customer, calm and in control. Now, I feel as though I'm in a B- grade movie, a comedy, and I'm the star and audience. This isn't good. Not good at all.
Ruth helps me as I walk painfully, like an old-crippled person, back to the tent, and when we get there, I glance up at that damn tree. A handful of needles pulled loose with my toes, fall on our heads.
“What?” She looks up startled, brushing them off.
“Nevermind, kid, just Mother Nature having the last laugh.” Ruth doesn't understand the reference, but doesn't question me as we duck into the tent. I carefully remove what's left of my shorts and gingerly lay down.
“Whoo. You smell like burned chicken feathers.” She holds her nose.
“Thanks, kid, I love you too.”
“Uh, what should I do with your burns?”
Not mentioning anything about having a doctor around who's not a doctor, instead, I instruct, “Just rub hand lotion on the burned areas. The outer layer of skin is dead and the lotion will rub the black skin off.” I've dealt with burned flesh before.
Ruth rummages through her luggage until she finds her lotion, then kneels. “And this, sir?” I flinch in pain, as she holds my recently awoken beast.
<
br /> I panic, jerking up to look. How bad is it? Oh, man, all black and peeling, my pubic hair mostly singed off.
“Well, mister, you're going to be out of action for a while. No way am I letting you near me with all that black skin hanging off. No way.”
Shit. What's next? I wonder, dropping my head back on the pillow with a loud sigh.
After turning over on my stomach, Ruth begins rubbing my back, which feels great. The dead, black skin is sloughing off. After she finishes my backside, she rolls me over, and starts rubbing from my bellybutton to above my knees. And damn if I don't get hard.
She peers down at me with a wicked grin, then flicks my black-skin-hanging, one-eyed monster with her finger, hard. “Too bad, I said no. Not until the flaky, black skin is gone. Suffer, sir, and next time, think before you jump into my dinner.” She stands, heading outside. As she ducks out the tent, she says over her shoulder, “You do that part. I would rather remember you the way you used to look.”
Funny girl. Hilarious.
One-thirty second of an inch of skin isn't much and my burned flesh is coming off in strips, but mixed with lotion, all that black skin is a mess. I rub and rub, but it doesn't feel nearly as good as when Ruth did it. There's just enough left of my wilted beast to hold, and cause pain. But my dead skin is almost all off. Good. Enough of this for now, I'm getting to the point I'll be too sore to pee. I lie back for a moment to relax.
Ruth leans through the tent door. “The phone is ringing. Should I answer it?”
“Uh, no, I'm coming.” Ouch, I'm sore. I waddle bowlegged to the phone in the boat.
Ruth is staring with revulsion at the naked mess I am. “Yuck. What a sight you are.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” I pick up the phone.
“Hello? Dobie here, are you alright there?”
I glance down at myself. “Sure, Commander, we're fine.”
“Right. I don't know what you found on your, er, exploration trip, but my men have been deployed, and I think you two should get the hell out of there, Arthur. Don't pack, just leave, fast,” he orders in his blustering manner.
“Why, Commander, I never knew you cared so much?”
“Enough levity, Merlin. You were right. The photos show no discrepancies until a year and a half ago, then the concentration of influx increases dramatically.” There's an edge to his voice I've never heard from the cool Commander before.
“So what?”
“Man, are you deaf? You're right. Something is down there, under the cliffs. It's being masked by the iron ores, but, Merlin, it shows the signature of a nuclear reactor. Get in your damn boat, and get the hell out of there. Now.”
“Whoa, Commander. This is our show here, we aren't leaving. You said your men have been deployed?”
Faintly, “Damn you.” Then, “Yes, two teams, as we discussed earlier. Deployed about a half hour ago, to keep hidden until dark.” The edge is still in his voice.
“Okay, now do you think whoever is down there will care whether we left? No, they won't. If we leave, nothing will happen tonight. But if we're here, they'll have to come and see what we're up to. So, we stay.”
“Merlin, you're insane.” He's on the verge of yelling.
“Yes, that's what the good Doctor here tells me.” Ruth almost kicks me.
From the pause, I know Dobie's carefully thinking something over. If I were functioning normally, I would've already focused on him and retrieved whatever it is he's thinking about. Instead, I have to wait him out.
“Damn you, Merlin. Are you sure this phone isn't compromised?” He decided.
“I'm not positive, but I doubt it, at least not yet.” I silently hope.
“All right. Our computers indicate the best guess scenario is a Russian nuclear sub down there. How? We don't know. But given the amount of iron ore in the area, the signature is as close to a Russian nuclear sub as our computers can find. You have no choice but to get out of there.” he vehemently stresses.
“Calm down, Commander. Remember your blood pressure. Hold on a second.” I lean over and start the boat motor. “Dobie, you need to record our conversation in case you can't hear me over the motor, because I will not repeat. Got that?”
“Yes, go ahead, I'm recording now.”
“I agree with you. We found an underwater cavern, and it's not on any maps. The cave entrance is forty foot by thirty foot, and ten foot under the surface. It has a plastic grate over the opening, with cables so the grate can be controlled from the inside, and the grate is covered with plastic plants and nylon. I also found on shore, about two miles back up the tree line, in the rock face, a hollow rock. The rock is four foot by seven foot, and has plastic plants and flowers around it. Up on a rock ledge is a black periscope, watching. I don't think they saw me, but I can't be sure.”
Silence. Just the boat motor chugging away as Ruth starts breathing faster with everything she's hearing.
“My God, man. Get Dr. Burns and get the hell out of there.” Like a broken record.
“Relax, Cecil. Hope you don't mind me using your first name. We're staying here until we nail this down.”
“I can force you to leave, Arthur. And Dr. Burns works for me,” he threatens in a low voice.
“I'd like to see how you can force me to do anything, Cecil, and please remember your toupee.” I angrily hang up. “If the phone rings, just let it. From now on, we'll call him.”
“Okay, but … ,” Ruth begins, clutching her necklace.
“Hold it. If you're going to ask me if I'm sure, don't, because I'm not, kid. Let's eat, try to relax and later, we can take shifts watching for our friends. Unless you want to take the boat and leave right now, Ruth?”
She's definitely thinking the option over, brows knitted in frustration. With a soft sigh, she says, “No, I don't want to leave.” She shuts off the boat, and heads for the fire.
Chapter Twenty
Picking up a towel and a bar of soap, I wade out into the lake to wash off. The hand lotion has done its job, and soon, from knees to bellybutton, I'm a pretty pink. Even my sore, black-skin-hanging beast is finally clean, but still looks bad. Half my pubic hair is gone. If I were functioning normally, I'd burn off the rest of the hair myself. But now, I have no idea what I might do to me, or Ruth. Better leave it alone. I pull on clean shorts and gingerly sit on the other chair by Ruth, who's eating a peach and potato chips.
She points to the cooler. “Dinner, sir.”
Shit. But, it's better than not eating.
Munching on a peach, I catch a whiff of the cooked fish fillets. Looking around, I see scattered across the sand going towards the water, fish fillets and potatoes, smoking pieces of wood and a pot and pan. The strewn mess sure looks bad, but still smells delicious. My stomach rumbles in protest.
Ruth pats my hand with a lopsided grin. “I wish I could've taped that whole fiasco, Arthur. No one's going to believe me. You jumping into the fire, right on top of dinner.”
“I didn't do that on purpose, Ruth. I'm sorry I ruined your dinner. It could've happened to anyone.”
Gracefully rising, she steps over behind me. “Sure, I know. It's an old joke, jumping over the cook into hot grease, boiling water and fire, just to surprise her. Right?”
“No, okay,” I grumble with an irritated shrug, “I can't be sure where I'll land when I teleport now.”
She massages my shoulders, then tenderly pats my arm. “I know, Arthur. I even tried to warn you it could happen. Remember?”
I acknowledge her foresight with a nod, giving a contented sigh, enjoying the massage.
“Think about that, Arthur. How come I realize what's happening to you, but you don't?”
“You're right,” I grudgingly admit. “I apologize for not leveling with you. It's just that I've teleported so often, and under so many conditions, I really didn't think I'd have any problems.”
“Thank you, sir, you're too kind.” Leaning over, she kisses the top of my head. Still rubbing my shoulders, she continues,
“And tell me this, why haven't you noticed since we arrived here, how you've been acting differently? You're up, Arthur, on a constant high. Your powers are the same, but you don't seem to have the control over them you did. And, you're like a man obsessed with sex. I'm not complaining, but you're not the same person I met a few days ago. You're different, but I can't pinpoint the how.”
“I can't help you, kid,” I softly answer, shaking my head. “I haven't felt these kinds of sexual feelings since puberty.”
Sitting back down, she plays with the new can of beer I just popped in. Miller's this time. I'm getting worse, not better.
“What do we do if the men from last might come back here tonight? I mean, will you try to capture them, or what?” She glances over at me with a hint of worry and fear in her compelling eyes.
“I'm not really sure. First, we should see who 'they' are.” I take a long cold drink.
“What do you mean 'who they are'? Dobie said it was a Russian sub, didn't he?” she asks, taking a sip from her beer.
“No, not exactly. He said their computer program estimated it was. There has to be at least five nations who either have Nukes, or have access to them. Hell, it could be American, or British, on a mission so secret even old Dobie doesn't know about it.”
Time to make more beer, this time I try for a cold case of Pabst instead of two cans. Maybe that'll work better. Aha, I did it, a cold case of PBR. Ruth strides to the case, tears the cardboard off one end, goes “UH,” and backs up a step.
“C'mon wench. Don't be a dawdling there, give me me pint, wench.” Said with all the clarity of one of the Dewhursts. I'm pleased with myself. Or is that meself?
The look on Ruth's face reminds me of something. What? Oh yeah, the night I ate the dog food.
With a smirk, she says, “Yes, sir,” throwing me a can of beer.
Holy Shit. Square beer cans. The tab opening is along a flat side, not in a corner, so when you tip the can up to drink, the beer will dribble all over your face. Yep, she has that dog food look all right. She has suppressed laugh lines and a green glint in her eyes. Not to be upstaged, I pop in two round, beveled glasses, pouring as if nothing unusual has happened.
