“A few exits east of Columbus.”
“Columbus?” Allison felt the strength go out of her knees. She gripped the car for support. “Why’d you drive— how’d you get— where’s my cat?”
“Calm down, girl.” Macy draped an arm around her. “We got a whole day ahead of us— and you need to eat.”
Allison looked up at Macy, about to say something, but Macy was right. She was ravenous.
◆◆◆
They found a Denny’s ten miles down from the rest stop, right after a sign reading, “Wheeling: 70 miles.”
“See, girl?” Macy said, after watching Allison decimate three cheeseburgers, a plate of scrambled eggs, three strips of bacon, and a side of hash browns. “When you crapped out, I didn’t see what else I could do.”
“I understand. Are you going to eat that?”
Macy pushed over her uneaten home fries. “Flintstones wouldn’t need to be geniuses to find me. Could I go to the cops after stealing your mom’s car? After what happened to you there? No, girl.”
“So where’re we going?”
“We’re going to see your dad. At least there’s some chance he’s got some handle on what’s going on.”
Allison swallowed. It felt too much like she was abandoning Mom. She was afraid of what she had seen in Agent Jackson’s eyes when he’d said that her Mom was safe. She was afraid of her dream. Of what Chuck had said…
“Where, Macy?”
“You tell me. You said you had it narrowed down to two locations.”
Allison nodded. The thing was, so would the ASI. They had the tickets, the whole bizarre itinerary. Mom knew where they were going to meet. Dad had told her, she had overheard…
Where I first called you a “baby-killer.”
That was a Vietnam thing wasn’t it? There was that picture in the album. Mom leading some sort of demonstration, the Capitol in the background.
Why not? They didn’t have anything better to go on.
“Washington DC,” Allison said. “That’s the place.”
“Whatever you say.”
Allison shook her head. “You don’t have to do this. I didn’t mean to drag you into—”
“Stop that. This is partly my fault. I swiped the car.”
“It was my stupid idea that put us there.”
“Like I’d let you go in there alone? I got better people to be pissed at.”
“Ok.” Allison finished the last home fry. She looked at the meal she had just devoured and thought she should be on the verge of puking. Emotionally, she felt like roadkill, but her body felt the same weird sense of well-being that she’d had the morning after the headache that trashed her room.
It’s bad enough my mind is of debatable sanity. Don’t tell me my body is going nuts too. I shouldn’t be feeling like this after Mom…
She wouldn’t let herself finish the thought. “What happened to Rhett?”
“Don’t worry about your cat. When I stopped at home to get my traveling gear, I gave him to Chardine to take care of.”
“Chardine?”
“Hey, I bad-mouth my sister sometimes, but Chardine’s solid. If she promises something, she’ll do it. Besides, she’s going to get her car all to herself for a few weeks it seems like, so she owes me.” Macy gave an unconvincing grin.
“Did you tell her where you’re going?”
Macy shook her head. “I slipped in an out, told Chardine I was running away again.” Macy lowered her voice an octave and said, “‘as long as y’all don’t get in no trouble with some boy. Protect yourself, girl,’” in a dead-on imitation of her older sister.
“I grabbed stuff,” Macy said. “Deposited cat. Stole Darnel’s jacket, and I was out of there. We were in Columbus before midnight.”
“Thanks, a lot.”
Macy nodded. “But…”
“But?”
“This food and the gas we’re using tapped out my cash as well as all the change I found in the car. Got any money?”
Allison thought back. “Everything I had, money, ID, was in my backpack.” She thought hard and then said, “The police still have it.”
“We better think of something. Or this magical mystery tour will stall out somewhere in West Virginia.”
Allison nodded.
◆◆◆
Across from the Denny’s was a truck stop that was a combination motel, restaurant, gift shop, and highway whatall. Allison and Macy walked through it, trying to figure what they could do for money. It was closing on eight-thirty and the restaurant was doing boom business with the breakfast crowd. Off the corridor, between the restaurant and the gift shop, was a darkened room from which emerged a chorus of electronic computer noises.
Allison walked into a large arcade room, the walls lined with aging video games.
Macy followed and asked, “What you have in mind?”
Allison looked at the coin slot of a decrepit Centipede game. It said, “Tokens Only.”
“You see the change machine around here anywhere?” Allison asked.
“Right there, next to Spy Hunter.”
Allison walked in that direction. The room was dark and smelled of cigarette smoke. She noted three other people in the room. A trucker type was playing Pole Position and crashing often enough to make Allison nervous about his driving skills. Two nattering little kids were playing at the Gauntlet game. As Allison passed, the game’s digitized voice said, “Elf needs food, badly.” The game sounded tired.
She passed a rickety Star Wars game, Tempest, and a phosphor-burned Donkey Kong game that grunted as she passed.
“Any games from this century?” Macy commented.
As Allison reached the change machine next to the Spy Hunter game, she whispered to Macy, “You up to breaking the law?”
Macy gave her a stare and whispered, “I’ve already stolen a car, fool.”
Allison walked up to the machine, and began fumbling through her pockets as if getting a bill to feed the machine. “Stand in front of that window,” Allison whispered very quietly. “And be prepared to run for your life.”
Macy obliged by leaning up against the mirror that was set in the wall next to the door reading, “manager’s office.” As Allison fumbled in her pockets, she tried to think of the best way to do this.
The change machine was a huge floor-standing console, covered with brown pebbled vinyl. The sign said that the machine only gave tokens— five for a dollar bill, thirty for a five. There was one of those special circular locks on the front of the main panel, the kind that took a cylindrical key.
She felt inside the machine with her teek sense, amazingly easy now that she’d had twelve hours sleep and a meal inside her. Her mental fingers slipped over an interior structure that she could barely picture. It felt like she was fingering a gossamer lattice, the work of some otherworldly insects.
Allison could recognize the token repository. The bin of metal tokens felt like a web of Styrofoam shells to her ephemeral teek fingers. Then she felt the more solid structure of a box where the bills seemed to go. She locked her mind around it, as solid as she could.
Now, should I do this gradually, or should I just yank it and get this over with?
After a moment’s deliberation, Allison decided that the slow and steady method would raise the entire machine rather than pull the strongbox free. So, she yanked.
The machine groaned, shook, and then the metal top flowered out with an explosion of sparks and little yellow tokens. The metal strongbox smashed through the acoustical tile in the ceiling. Allison heard a wire snap above her, and the ceiling began to sag.
Allison took a step back even though she was expecting the explosion. Tokens clattered around her, scattering to all corners of the game room. Despite the chaos, she still had control of the strongbox. She brought it back through another tile in the ceiling, right before the manager’s door yanked open.
The manager, a large woman with bottle-blond hair, baggy sweater, and a name tag saying “Hello, my
name is Nancy,” screamed, “What in the FUCK is going on out here?”
“It exploded!” Macy said as Allison caught the descending strongbox.
Fragmented tile fell from the ceiling. The munchkins at the Gauntlet game discovered the tokens and started gathering them up like manna from heaven. The manager, Nancy, stood gaping in shock at her change machine, which had shorted, belching smoke from a hole with curled edges resembling the top of a sardine can.
Allison ran out of there before anyone could realize exactly what she was carrying. She was storming out the gift shop exit by the time she heard someone say, “Stop those girls.”
Macy drove the Taurus out of the parking lot as about a half-dozen people ran out the front of the truck stop. They made it back on the Interstate without any sign of pursuit.
◆◆◆
They passed into West Virginia when Macy finally said, “Ok, what’s the problem?”
Allison looked up from the strongbox. She had just counted two hundred and thirty five dollars— less one tank of gas— back into it. “What do you mean?”
“We’ve been driving near two hours and all you do is sigh and leaf through the money.”
Allison sighed.
“Stop that!” Macy said.
“I just feel bad about stealing this money.”
“Oh, great. What else were we going to do? You want to give it back?”
Allison shook her head. “I just wish I’d have thought of something else. It’s not just the money— how much was that machine worth, Macy? A few thousand dollars? I trashed it.”
“Sheesh, Allie. Of all the things to guilt-trip yourself over. Look, they’ll call the company and say that their blankity-blank machine blew up and nearly shredded a customer. If it isn’t under warranty the insurance’ll cover it.”
“Whatever,” Allison looked down at the money again. “What I really feel bad about is the fact I enjoyed it.”
“Say what?”
“It was fun. I used this power I have to wreck someone’s property, and I was enjoying myself.”
“Ah.”
“I thought I was better than that.”
“Oh jeez, Allie. Give that up. Everyone gets off on senseless destruction.” Macy took a hand off the wheel and squeezed Allison’s shoulder. “Don’t worry unless you go out of your way to get your jollies like that.”
“Okay.”
Macy picked up the strongbox and tossed it into the back seat. “And stop staring at that. You got other problems.” Macy steered with one hand as she continued rummaging in the back seat.
“What’re you doing now?”
“Here,” Macy said. “Play with this.” She tossed Babs Bunny into Allison’s lap.
“Where’d this come from?” Allison picked Babs up, not knowing whether to be happy or embarrassed.
“When I stopped home I picked up your paper bag.”
“Thanks,” Allison said and, somewhat self-consciously, hugged her stuffed rabbit.
US-48, MD: Wednesday October 27 1999
1:30 PM
As the miles slid by, Allison thought about Mom.
She still had no idea what was really going on here, or who the ASI people were. They seemed to be some part of the government she had never heard of. And, God, that film. Just thinking about it made her stomach turn to water. She kept seeing that doctor inserting a needle into that Ross boy’s—
That was a violation worse than anything Charles Wilson could have ever conceived of.
That was the Prometheus Research Institute, and Mom worked for those people. She knew. Dad knew.
What happened to Mom? In her dream Chuck had said—
Don’t think that!
No. Mom wasn’t dead. Mom couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be dead over something that was Allison’s—
Allison slammed her fist into her thigh. Don’t think like that. It can’t help. This wasn’t anything she had asked for. It wasn’t her fault. She wouldn’t have even concealed her headaches if she’d known where they’d lead.
While Allison tied her brain into a knot, the speakers blared something from Nine Inch Nails.
“Head like a hole
“Black as your soul
“I’d rather die
“Than give you control—”
“Cheery music, Macy,” Allison muttered.
Maryland shot by them outside the Taurus’ windows. They’d been dodging this year’s crop of orange barrels for close to two hours. Lunch had been in Pennsylvania. In the parking lot of a Roy Roger’s they had debated getting on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and decided against it. They were probably going to be in Washington in time for dinner.
“You going to complain about all my music, girl?”
“I haven’t said a word since the Nirvana tape.” She’d been thinking about other things.
“Bow down before the one you serve,
“You’re going to get what you deserve—”
Macy punched eject and yawned.
“Tired?” Allison asked, trying not to let her mental state infect her voice.
“Yes, damn it. Want to take over?”
“I don’t have a license.”
“You don’t even have a temp?”
“I’ve only been sixteen for a month.”
Macy muttered something about being a-year-older than all her friends and rummaged in her huge hand-bag. Arm-bag or body-bag would be a better name size-wise. With one hand she began pulling out tapes. “Pearl Jam, Nirvana again, Chili Peppers— U2, you can’t object to U2?”
Allison shrugged. “Go ahead.”
The cassette began mid-song. “Still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”
Allison looked out at the passing farmland. There had to be something else she could do to occupy her mind. She shouldn’t dwell on things she had no power over.
After a bit of pondering, she fished her battered yellow pad from the paper bag in the back seat. Thinking about her teek would be more productive than anything else she could do at the moment. Her yellow pad had some egg stains on it now, but it still cataloged her “Teek Rules.”
“Teek Rule #1: You can’t teek different objects in different directions. Teek embeds things in its own reference frame, then it moves the frame. Within the frame the objects remain stationary relative to each other unless acted on by an outside force.
“Teek Rule #2: The smaller it is, the harder it is for me to teek it.
“Teek Rule #3: You can’t teek liquids. The denser (more viscous?) the better.”
Allison concentrated on her recent experiences and tried to think of coherent things to add to her list, things that would help her understand this power of hers.
Much of the previous day, especially the parts with Fred, Barney and company, had taken on a nightmarish quality. She felt that she might go back to Cleveland and find out that none of this had really happened.
I wish.
She told herself to think things through, starting from when she’d stopped taking her notes. The Cherokee, what did that show?
It showed her that it took a lot of painful concentration to focus all this teek.
“#4: Max. lift aprox. three(?) tons.”
Allison wished she had her physics textbook so she might have some idea of the forces involved in that. But what she did remember from physics was the fact that she only had half her ability listed there. If she assumed that she was working off of some finite energy source— and her entire range of experimentation was devoted to putting such limits on her power— then she needed to factor in time. Couldn’t figure out energy just from the force, she needed to know how far it moved over how long a time. She added, “aprox. one foot in five seconds.” She felt she might be remembering wrong, since one thing teek did was warp her sense of time.
Which made her think of another rule, “#5: Teek is also a sense.”
She could feel around with her teek without necessarily grabbing anything. Allison thought it was a sense akin to tou
ch, much the same way that smell was related to taste. The teek sense was much more ephemeral, and that same quality allowed her mental fingers to slip through matter. Teek didn’t feel the surface of things so much as their substance.
What was so disorienting was the fact that her teek sense also seemed dimly cross-wired into her sense of vision. Teek sharpened the focus of her vision— when the pain of overuse didn’t blur everything— and gave her the sense of seeing around objects. At the peak of concentration, the sense of teek could turn the universe inside out.
“#6: If I grab an object passing through the teek frame, the frame will try to make the object stationary to itself— soak up the object’s kinetic energy.”
Allison had been picturing, off and on, her teek grasp as a gigantic lump of ectoplasmic clay. Throwing something, like a cue ball, at a lump of clay will cause it to stick in the mass, unless it travels fast enough to blow a hole through the lump.
“#7: the smaller (lighter?) the object is, the faster I can move it.”
Allison remembered the quarters she had shot through the tires of Fred and Barney’s van. Her memory of the episode had the feverish-sharp quality of a Dali painting. Every memory was sharply focused, and in spite of that— perhaps because of that— not quite real.
It remained, however, that she made twenty quarters break the sound barrier. She could still feel the shockwave. Though, oddly, she couldn’t remember hearing it.
Allison thought of her physics textbook and the only equation she could remember from it. “F=ma.” Force equals mass times acceleration. That explained rule number seven. Same force and lower mass meant higher acceleration.
Allison wished she could remember the equations of motion, then she might be able to put an approximate number on that force. No, I’d still be stuck because I have no idea what the speed of sound is.
She began to see how her “rules” went together. She connected different parts of the seven rules together with boxes and lines. Rule number seven, the smaller the faster, connected to rule four, her maximum lift and approximate power. Both of those were really one rule; she only had a finite amount of energy to dump into a teeked object.
Rule six, about grabbing objects moving through her teek field, connected back to rule number one to define the nature of the teek field itself. Her teek field was a single object, and everything connected to it acted as a single object.
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