by Jon S. Lewis
“If I’m going to die, I might as well go big,” Colt said, adding an order of onion rings to his tray.
Danielle excused herself to go back and grab a salad before she met the boys at the cashier. After Oz paid for everything with his father’s credit card, they headed over to grab a table next to the wall.
“I never see you in the cafeteria,” Danielle said.
Oz shrugged. “I usually go to the gym and run on the treadmill, but I promised Ms. Skoglund that I’d stick with McAlister, so here I am. What about you?”
“Mr. Bradford gave me a key to the computer lab, so I generally eat in there.”
“Why?” Oz asked, before taking a gigantic bite out of a chicken sandwich.
“I don’t know,” Danielle said, shrugging. “I guess I’m one of those techie needs. I’ll surf the net or play video games.”
“Wait a minute,” Oz said, nearly choking. “You play video games? How about Orion’s Revenge 3: Rise of the Dog Star?”
“It was okay, but I like Zombie Extermination Squad better.”
“She’s pretty good at it,” Colt said.
“What do you mean ‘pretty good’?” Danielle asked. “Last night I broke into the top one hundred, and that’s a global ranking, thank you very much.”
“You’re not making this up, are you?” Oz said, stopping before he took another bite of his sandwich.
“Why would I?” Danielle asked. “Can’t girls play video games too?”
“It’s just that I’ve never met a girl like you who’s actually a gamer, that’s all.”
Danielle furrowed her brows. “And what kind of girl am I?”
Oz took that bite. “I didn’t mean anything by it,” he said, revealing lumps of his sandwich with each word. “Let’s put it this way. When I think of computer geeks, I don’t think about girls who look like you, that’s all.”
“I guess that I’ll take that as a compliment,” Danielle said, before turning to Colt. “What about you?”
“Are you trying to rub it in because I’m not ranked yet?”
“I already know that you’re a terrible zombie exterminator,” Danielle said. “I wanted to know how your day is going.”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
“He has a crush on Lily Westcott,” Oz said, causing Colt to choke on the corn dog.
“Get in line,” Danielle said. “She’s the most beautiful girl in our school.”
“It depends,” Oz said. “Everybody has different taste.”
Colt watched as Danielle and Oz smiled at one another. “It doesn’t matter,” he said, “because I don’t have a crush on her.”
“Give me a break,” Danielle said. “Your neck is bright red. I’ve never seen you blush like that before.”
“I’m not blushing,” Colt said. He lifted the collar of his T-shirt to cover his neck.
“You’re definitely blushing,” Oz said.
“Don’t look now, but I think Colt’s little crush is staring at him,” Danielle said.
Colt took the bait. He slinked his neck around to see if Danielle was lying, and as soon as he did, his eyes locked with Lily’s. She smiled and waved as the girl sitting on her right whispered something in her ear. Colt nodded in her general direction, realizing almost immediately how ridiculous that must have looked. Why hadn’t he just waved to her like a normal person?
Lily turned her focus back to her friends, but Colt’s eyes lingered. He watched a guy walk over to kiss her on the cheek and sit down in the empty chair on her left.
“That’s Graham St. John,” Danielle said as Colt turned back around. “In case you couldn’t tell, he’s Lily’s boyfriend.”
“Yeah, I kind of got that.” Colt hoped the disappointment wasn’t evident.
He managed to avoid staring at Lily for the rest of lunch, at least directly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye on two separate occasions, and each time he was certain that Graham caught him gawking.
“If it’s any consolation,” Danielle said as she watched Colt wince, “Graham is a senior, and he’s heading to Boise State on a football scholarship next year. Everybody knows that long-distance relationships never last.”
“What are you talking about?” Colt said as a phone started ringing. He patted his pockets. “Whose phone is that?”
“It’s not mine,” Oz said.
“Me either,” Danielle said.
“That doesn’t sound like my ringtone.” But it was coming from Colt’s backpack. He unzipped a small pouch on the front and pulled out a phone that was heavier than most handhelds, with a shiny black case and a simple touch display that flashed blue each time it rang.
“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Danielle asked.
“It’s not my phone.”
“Well, it’s in your backpack,” Oz said. “So if it’s not yours, whose is it?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Danielle reached over and hit the Send button.
Colt stared at the phone until she pushed it to his ear. “Um . . . hello?”
“Is this Colt McAlister?” The voice was creepy, as though masked by sound equipment.
“Yeah,” was all Colt could manage.
“Please listen carefully. Your parents weren’t killed in a random act of violence.”
“Who is this?”
“Your mother was writing an investigative story about an organization that preferred anonymity. She was about to go public, so they assassinated her.”
“If this is some kind of joke—”
“I’m afraid it’s not a joke, and I am willing to prove my claim. You will receive a text message later today with instructions on what to do next. If you ignore the message, you will never hear from me again.”
: : CHAPTER 15 : :
Who was that?” Danielle asked.
Colt turned to her, his face drained of any color. “I’m not sure.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“That he knows who murdered my parents.”
“Can I see the phone?” Danielle asked. She turned it over in her hands a few times, considering it like a master jeweler looking at a diamond. Then she removed the battery before putting it all back together. “Did you leave your backpack sitting around?”
“I’ve had it with me all day,” Colt said. “Before that it was sitting in a box in my bedroom. I just got it out this morning.”
“What about the caller ID?” Oz asked.
“It was a blocked call,” Colt said.
“It’s one of those prepaid phones that you can’t trace,” Danielle said. “I bet whoever called you has one just like it. It’s too bad we don’t have the number because we could probably trace the signal to a cell tower.”
Oz looked at Danielle. “How do you know about that kind of stuff?”
“She’s a hacker,” Colt said.
“No, I’m not.” Danielle glanced around the lunchroom to make sure that nobody was looking. “I just watch a lot of movies, that’s all.”
“Now she’s a hacker and a liar,” Colt said.
The bell rang, announcing that lunch was over. Colt put the phone back in the pouch. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see if I get a text.”
Even though there were only three classes remaining, time crawled. Colt kept looking into the pouch in his backpack to see if the text had come through. The teacher in charge of his study hall nearly confiscated the phone, but he let Colt off with a warning since it was his first day.
Danielle was clearly upset when she dropped Colt off at his grandpa’s house after school. “I have a bad feeling about that phone,” she told him.
“I’ll be fine,” Colt said. “Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“Just be careful. Okay?”
“I promise.”
Danielle drove off, and Colt found his grandfather in the garage working on a 1946 Chevy pickup. It was over one hundred degrees in the shade, but Murdoch McAlister was still wearing his jumpsuit. All he had
to cool himself was an oscillating fan and a glass of lemonade and the ice was long gone.
“Hey, Gramps.”
“You’re home already?” Grandpa McAlister said, his voice echoing from under the hood.
“It’s almost four o’clock.”
Grandpa McAlister lifted his head so he could see the clock that was hanging on the wall. “I guess it is,” he said. “So how was your first day? Did you make any new friends?”
Colt smiled. He wanted to point out that he wasn’t in kindergarten any longer, but he decided to give his grandpa a break. “A couple,” he said. “A kid told me that he knew you . . . or at least his father did.”
Grandpa McAlister nodded. “Was that the Romero boy? His father was the best soldier I’ve ever seen.”
“Really? Oz said that you were the legend.”
“Pfft,” Grandpa McAlister said—the sound he used when he thought somebody was talking nonsense. “I was no more a legend than the man in the moon. I was just lucky enough to survive, that’s all.”
“Have you been out here all day?”
His grandfather shut the hood to the truck and wiped the grease from his hands onto a blue towel. “A couple of hours or so, I suppose,” he said. “I was helping the Broeks put in some fence posts to keep their horses from running away.”
“Are you sure you’re eighty-five?”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re only as old as you act. That’s why I like to roll up my sleeves and put in a good day’s work. It keeps you young and your back strong. Which reminds me, I need to take my pills.”
“So what’s for dinner tonight?” Colt asked.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own. There’re some cold cuts in the meat drawer and potpies in the freezer, but it’s poker night and I have people depending on me.”
“That sounds pretty serious,” Colt said.
“If I’m not there, who’s going to take all their money?” Grandpa McAlister said with a wink.
“Then you better get cleaned up. I wouldn’t want you to leave grease prints on the cards. They’ll think you’re marking the aces.”
“By the way,” Grandpa McAlister said. “I found a box of your father’s things, so I put it in your bedroom . . . not that you’ll be able to find it in that mess.”
At the mention of his father, Colt felt his throat tighten. “Sorry about that,” he finally said. “I’ll pick everything up tonight.”
“There’s no rush.”
Colt went through the door to the kitchen and grabbed a couple slices of cold pizza before heading back to his bedroom where he found a box filled with his dad’s old Phantom Flyer comic books. The pages were starting to yellow, and most of the covers were ripped or bent, but his dad had never bought comic books as an investment.
Before long Colt found a Phantom Flyer ring and patch that were part of a mail-in offer from the Phantom Flyer radio show. Without thinking, he placed the ring on his finger, wondering if his dad used to run around the house pretending to fight Nazis and space aliens.
As Colt paged through the comics, he thought about all the times that Dad used to read them to him before Colt went to bed. Then there was the year that Mom made him a Phantom Flyer costume for Halloween. It took almost a month of shopping at thrift and army surplus stores. Even then, she had to enlist an old college roommate to help. Ellie Salinger was a costume designer in Hollywood, and Mom talked her into sewing a replica of the Phantom Flyer’s leather mask.
After Colt paged through the comics, he decided it was finally time to put his things away. His first order of business was to wrap some of his grandmother’s old ceramic figurines in hand towels before placing them in a now empty cardboard box. Then he attacked the massive pile of clothes on the floor. Once a load of whites was churning in the washing machine, he turned back to the boxes, figuring he’d rather clean than do his algebra homework.
“I’m heading out now,” Grandpa McAlister said, stopping by Colt’s bedroom before leaving. “Do you want me to put anything in the oven for you?”
“I’ll grab something later.”
“Don’t say I didn’t offer.”
“Thanks, Grandpa. For everything.”
“I’m expecting you to carry your weight around here, so don’t get ahead of yourself.”
“No, sir. I won’t.”
“Besides, don’t you have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on?”
“I’ll stay on top of things.”
With that, Grandpa McAlister headed to his car. Colt decided to stack a few more boxes in the closet before standing back to survey his progress. “Not bad.”
An hour later he was ready to wander into the kitchen to scrounge for dinner when the phone in his backpack started to beep. It was the text. Colt could feel his heart pounding. He thought about ignoring it, but that wasn’t an option. If his parents had truly been murdered, Colt needed to know who did it.
Slowly, carefully, he reached over to unzip the pouch. A flashing light showed that there was a text waiting. He took the phone in his hand before punching the button to call it up. The message was brief: A car is waiting for you outside.
: : CHAPTER 16 : :
Colt peered through the blinds of his bedroom window to find a sedan waiting in the street. It looked like one of the cars used to shuttle traveling executives back and forth to wherever they need to go.
He slipped out the front door, careful to make sure that it locked behind him. His palms started to sweat and his skin was itchy, but he willed himself to walk across the lawn. The driver got out of the car, and Colt felt short of breath. There was no turning back now.
The driver had olive skin and dark stubble that covered his head as well as his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. He was dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. Colt couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses.
“Good evening, Master McAlister,” the driver said in a British accent as he opened the door.
Colt hesitated. He looked back at the house before turning to the driver, wondering if he should have left a note for his grandpa. At least, Colt thought, he had his cell phone in case something went wrong.
After a deep breath, he slipped into the backseat. The door slammed shut with a finality that made Colt feel like a corpse getting sealed inside a coffin. As his eyes adjusted, the driver started the car. That’s when Colt realized he wasn’t alone. Someone—or something—was seated next to him.
Though it seemed impossible, Colt was certain that there was a robot dressed in a dark suit identical to the one the driver was wearing. The robot had a shiny metal hide and glowing eyes that reminded Colt of two flashlights. There was a slit in place of a mouth, and it had five mechanical fingers on each hand.
It turned its head to regard Colt, who moved as far away from the machine as he could without jumping out the window. Its eyes flashed bright before dimming to a dull glow. Then it turned away without a word.
“Is that a . . . ?”
“Robot?” Even though the driver was wearing sunglasses, Colt could tell he was looking at him through the rearview mirror. “You’re looking at a prototype of the latest P-RC unit.” Colt must have looked confused, because the driver continued to explain. “You know, a Private Robotic Combat unit? It’s part bodyguard and part tank, with an advanced artificial intelligence system that would make you think it was alive. You can even program it to cook like a gourmet chef or walk your dog.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Not at the local hardware store, if that’s what you’re asking. It has retractable hands that turn into plasma cannons.”
It wasn’t long before they ended up on the freeway heading westbound toward Phoenix. Traffic was light as they cruised at the speed limit, never straying so much as a single mile per hour over or under.
“What’s your name?” Colt asked as the desert landscape blurred outside his window.
“You can call me Salaam.”
“Where’re you from?�
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“I was born in Jordan, but I grew up in London. What about you?”
“I just moved here from San Diego.”
“It’s bloody hot, isn’t it?”
“You could say that,” Colt said. “So do you know where we’re going?”
“I’d better, since I’m the one who’s driving,” Salaam answered, flashing an infectious smile.
“You know what I mean.” Colt sat back. His breathing was getting back to normal, and the tension in his chest was gone.
“Sorry, but I’m not at liberty to say,” Salaam said as he merged the car onto Interstate 10. “You’ll know soon enough.”
It wasn’t long before they exited on the ramp that led to Sky Harbor Airport. Salaam steered them through construction and roadblocks, passing all the terminals before he turned into a private drive.
“We’re not flying anywhere, are we?” Colt asked.
“I’m just the driver,” Salaam said as he pulled up to a gate.
Colt watched as the robot’s eyes flared three times. The gate opened up, and Salaam drove toward a small hangar that looked like a giant tin shed with a concave roof. The door slid up, and he parked next to an armored truck.
“This way, please,” Salaam said after getting out to open Colt’s door. He led Colt past a row of vehicles that looked like hybrids between motorcycles and fighter jets.
“What are those?” Colt asked as the robot followed.
“Think of them as military-grade ultralights,” Salaam said.
He led Colt to a door at the far end of the room before placing his hand on a biometric scanner imbedded in the wall. There was a series of clicks after a light turned green, and the door swung open.
“Please,” Salaam said. He motioned for Colt to go inside what looked like the remains of an office. The walls were empty, and the only thing left on the desk was a lamp. Filing cabinet drawers were cocked open, with manila folders and an assortment of paperwork littering the floor.
“Wait, are you the guy who sent me the message about my parents?” Colt asked.
“No, he wasn’t,” a voice said as the door shut behind him.
