A Stranger Thing (The Ever-Expanding Universe)

by Leicht, Martin

  I turn to look at the water. At the point where the windows meet sea level, the force of the incoming stream is severe. Past that, it shouldn’t be too bad. Weak enough for us to swim out, at least. To where, I’m not sure.

  But anywhere is better than here.

  I turn to Bok Choy and make an exaggerated, cartoony gesture of holding my breath. He cocks his head but very quickly mimics the gesture. The Devastator catches on too, roaring again and pitching forward with blades extended. Before the blades can find their intended target (i.e., my head), I dive under the surface, clutching Bok Choy by the wrist. Right off the bat the blast of water coming in feels like the strongest undertow ever, pushing us sideways away from the windows. I swim forward at an angle, letting the push guide me deeper into the well, until we’re past the worst of it. The razor-blade pain of being underwater has subsided, but it’s too fast a shift to mean I’ve adapted. More likely I’m going into shock. I make a conscious effort not to pass out (always works), and head for the broken window port that leads outside. Beside me, Bok Choy does an impressive breaststroke, even with my grip on his arm. And as we swim, it becomes evident that he’s guiding us even more than I am. Seems this kid is a bit of a water baby.

  I don’t look behind us as we push forward. There’s no point. If the Devastator is there, we’re dead. If he’s not, I’m most likely dead anyway. So why risk having the last thing I ever see be that douchebag’s ugly puss?

  We swim through the window and immediately push upward. There is a strong pull on us from behind as the Echidna continues to sink, slowing our ascent. We’re only a few meters from the surface, but it seems like we’re swimming in place. My lungs feel ready to burst, and I’m starting to see spots in my vision. After several moments the ship is completely submerged and well below us. There is a swell underneath us as the ocean swoops in to fill the space, and we get pushed upward and break through to the surface. I inhale deeply—sharp, painful air filling my chest. Blinking the icy water from my eyes, I spot a large, seemingly steady ice floe and swim for it. Bok Choy races ahead and climbs on top, pulling me up after him.

  “Bok choy,” he says sympathetically, and rubs my face with both his hands.

  “You said it, buddy,” I tell him. My whole body is quivering. Those weirdos in the Polar Bear Club are friggin nuts.

  I push myself up onto my hands and knees and look around. There’s nothing to see on the horizon, just ice and water. No sign of Dad, Mom, Cole, or Marsden. I do my best to concoct a scenario in which they might still be all right, but the odds are looking slim.

  My reverie is broken by the rudest (and, seriously, still not dead?) Devastator to ever live, when he shoots out of the water and lands on the edge of our ice floe.

  “Oh, for the love of God!” I scream. “How come no one around here just has the good grace to die?”

  The creature roars, but it’s a far weaker cry than his previous attempts. I also note that he’s moving quite slowly as he approaches us. Creaky, like a geriatric alien monster. The cold really must be screwing with his system. Sadly, though, it’s not screwing it up quickly enough to save us. I back away to the edge of the floe, the Devastator slowly dragging himself toward us, still brandishing one of his two swords. I glance around desperately. I honestly don’t know how much more of being submerged in that water I can take. My head is soaked and numb. The ice around us is completely broken up in the wake of the Echidna’s sinking, and there are no ice floes close enough to move to. Actually, looking at them, it appears that what few ice floes were relatively nearby seem to be moving away from us.

  No, those floes aren’t moving.

  We are.

  The ice floe on which we currently find ourselves perched is actually slicing through the water with surprising speed, away from any other solid ice, as if it were being steered. The Devastator seems to have noted this too, and turns from us to look over the side. I look around as well, and after a few moments I realize where we’re getting our propulsion from. A series of water spouts shoot into the air at the edge of the floe.

  And you know the old saying: where there’s water spouts, there’s a group of killer whales who have been tracking you for days, trying to eat you.

  There they are—four snouts just below the water to our left, pushing the ice floe out into no-man’s-land. I grab Bok Choy’s hand and run to the other side of the floe. The Devastator decides to take a more proactive approach—he lunges at the whales, slashing the water with his blade. And I guess that tactic was a pretty good one, because in a matter of seconds the water turns red and the whales disappear.

  Which is awesome news and all, but I’m not exactly ready to throw a celebratory party, since there’s still a frigging monster with flexible teeth standing right in front of me.

  The Devastator turns his attention back to us, the matter at hand. However, he must not be as good a whaler as he thought, because suddenly I spot, behind him in the water, four dorsal fins, heading right for us. I try to think back to every Nature Channel special Ducky’s ever made me watch, searching the recesses of my brain for some tidbit of useful information. Unfortunately, there’s not much time, because the whales are going to be on us in a matter of seconds. The only thing that springs to mind is a vague sense that we should not stay on the edge. But I don’t want to get too close to Toothy McTootherson, either. I decide to split the difference and take three steps toward the Devastator. He opens his jaws wide and winds up with his blade to make a—excuse the pun—devastating downward cut.

  That’s when the whales, swimming at full force, suddenly dive, right before hitting the ice. The result is a mini–tidal wave that sweeps across the top of the floe and sends all three of us sprawling. The Devastator loses the grip on his sword as his stroke meets the ice and slides backward to the very edge of the floe. His blade remains wedged in the ice.

  They’re trying to flush us off, I realize. They’re trying to force us into the water.

  I see the whales now, repositioned and speeding in our direction again at full tilt. I grab Bok Choy’s arm and start running toward the Devastator and the whales. The Devastator, now panicked, has the opposite idea, and passes us as he tries to run to the far side. He takes a vicious swipe at us, but I drop to my knees and lean back so that my head is practically on the ice, sliding past the alien warrior and toward the native Earthborn killing machines. As I slide by, I grab hold of the blade stuck in the ice, jolting me to a stop. Bok Choy’s momentum takes him past me, and there’s a wrenching tug on my arm as I stop him from sliding completely into the water.

  The whales reach the floe and again dive under. The wave is even bigger this time and washes over us with a chilling crash. I hold tight to the blade and Bok Choy, sliding around on the surface but holding fast.

  The Devastator is not so lucky, and seeing as he was already at the far edge, he gets washed right over into the water. His shriek is eardrum-piercing as he flails and splashes, the icy cold water freezing his joints. He claws at the edge of the ice in a futile effort to pull himself back up, but the whales are already there, waiting, and a maelstrom of churning blood and foam erupts as the four whales make a meal of the screaming alien. In a matter of seconds the would-be conqueror from another world falls victim to the ocean’s deadliest predators.

  There’s a slight lull as the water calms around the floe, but I’m not fooled. The floe has gotten considerably smaller since the whales started attacking it, I realize. They’re not going to quit now just ’cause they’ve had a snack. I huddle up tightly with Bok Choy, still holding on to the blade as an anchor.

  Sure enough, within moments one of the whales fires out of the water like a missile and lands almost the entire length of his body onto the ice, a fraction of a meter separating us. Bok Choy screams in fear as the massive mammal snaps its jaws at us. At this range I can see all the way down the animal’s gullet. Its tongue is burnt black, as if someone set it on fire with a match.

  Or like maybe it just rece
ntly ate an electric heating pod.

  The whale and I lock eyes. I know they are highly intelligent creatures, but I wonder if they are evolved enough to understand trash talk.

  “Muaah,” I say, sticking my tongue out at the creature, wiggling it tauntingly.

  The whale seems to get it and slaps the water angrily with its tail. The surface of the floe strains and cracks under the weight, and the blade comes loose in my hand. Without thinking, I lunge forward and gouge the Shamu wannabe right in the eye. It reels back, the blade still lodged in the side of its head, and slinks under the water. The other whales start circling the floe, closer and closer, nudging it, and I see tiny fragments of the ice break off and fall away. Pretty soon they’ll have us in the water, and it will be over. Aside from my cutting wit, I am officially out of weapons. The sound of something moving beneath the surface grows steadily louder, and I make out a dark shadowy form shooting up in our direction. Black Tongue is coming for us.

  But when it crests, I have another in a series of the “shocks of my life.” What comes flying out of the water and passing over my head isn’t a killer whale—it’s the skiff. It lands with a crash on the surface and comes about, zipping toward us. The plating in the front makes it impossible for me to see who’s inside. The whales scatter as the craft comes zooming in. As it pulls up beside us, we get a view of the passengers. Zee is driving, while Marsden and Cole sit in the rear. They’re all sopping wet, seeing as the skiff has no enclosed cockpit.

  I do not see my father.

  “Come on, let’s go!” Cole screams, holding out his hand to pull me in.

  “Where’s Dad?” I shout.

  “I’m right here, dearheart.” His voice comes weakly from the floor of the craft.

  Thank God.

  I pass Bok Choy across to Cole into the skiff. Bok Choy freaks out when Cole grabs him, and starts punching him in the face and neck.

  “Ow! What the hell, kid, I’m saving you, dumbass!” Cole shouts. He looks at me, all bewildered. “This is the baby?”

  Marsden pulls Bok Choy away from Cole and says something in Jin’Kai lingo that momentarily quiets the boy. Cole reaches back for me, and I take his hand. Just then the skiff is rocked to the side, and Black Tongue surfaces, locking his jaws on the bottom of the boat. He rips at one of the beam loaders attached at the rear. Cole finishes pulling me into the skiff.

  “Marsden!” Cole shouts. Marsden stoops to pick up a small sack that looks like it’s filled with gelatin and hands it to Cole. Cole shoves me behind him.

  “Go!” he shouts at Zee. She pushes down on one of the nylon tubes running along the floor, which, as Dad accurately deduced, serves as the “gas pedal.” As we rocket away, the beam loader breaks off into Black Tongue’s mouth, still active. Cole leans out the side and brandishes the gelatin pack.

  “Smile, you stupid bitch!” he screams, and tosses the pack right at the whale. Instinctively, the orca opens wide and snaps down on the projectile. The moment the pack is punctured, the gel spurts out. When it crosses the beam from the loader, it ignites in a giant blue fireball. There’s a loud pop, and suddenly whale bits begin raining down on us from above.

  “Woo!” Cole shouts, pumping his fist as he turns back around to me. “You see that! That’s the line from that shark flat pic you like so much, right? ‘Smile, you stupid bitch?’ ”

  “Close enough,” I stammer.

  “You’re freezing,” Cole says, moving back to me and wrapping me up in a big hug.

  “You’re not much warmer,” I complain, but I let him hold me. “The ship sank,” I go on, stating the obvious.

  “I know,” Cole says.

  “What happened?”

  Zee leans back as she drives. “Someone set off too many explosives.”

  She’s looking at Cole, who manages even in this temperature to blush.

  “Dearheart . . . ,” my Dad says weakly.

  “Dad?” I pull away from Cole and look down to where Dad is lying flat on the floor. My heart stops in my chest.

  My father is dying.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wherein the Benefits of Fusion-Powered Transportation Become Abundantly Clear

  I always thought that I was particularly good at holding my shit together in stressful situations. After all, I have, in order, survived a murderous school faculty, a failing space cruiser, a batch of nasty aliens disguised as construction workers, the pretty aliens that had protected me from the construction workers, a gang of killer whales, a seriously complexion-challenged baddie from Planet Disgusto, and yet another round with the whales. And I’m still standing. But right now, watching my father struggle for breath as we speed along on the Devastator skiff, Zee at the helm—I am not doing a very good job at keeping calm and carrying on.

  “Slow down!” I screech at my mother in the driver’s seat, tears pouring down my cheeks. “Slow down! The wind’s too much for him.” We’re racing across the ice so quickly that the wind is whistling around the sides of the skiff, blowing over us like a hair dryer set to “freeze dry.” It is clearly having an effect on Dad’s already damaged skin. “It’s too cold. It’s too—” I choke on my words, shaking Dad’s arm as his eyes flutter closed again. His lips are ice blue, and his eyes are glassy.

  “Wake up!” I holler.

  “Elvie.” Cole grabs my arms, squeezing me into a hug that he won’t let me out of, no matter how hard I struggle. He’s also, I should mention, literally sitting on Bok Choy, since the kid has done absolutely nothing but try to hurl himself from the skiff since we set off, and Cole can’t seem to think of any other way to restrain him. “We’ve got to get him back to base as quickly as possible,” Cole says calmly. “We can’t slow down. It’s okay, Elvs. It’s okay.”

  “It’s not okay!” I scream, struggling against Cole.

  Since Cole is busy wrestling with me in his arms and Bok Choy under his butt, he can’t make a move when Dr. Marsden moves forward and, to my horror, starts unfastening Dad’s thermal suit.

  “What are you doing? He needs that!” I bellow, trying to grab at him, despite Cole’s hold on me. “That’s the only thing that’s keeping him warm!”

  Marsden doesn’t even attempt to explain himself. When he’s tugged the zipper down as far as it will go, he uses his Jin’Kai strength to rip the seam, tearing the suit all the way down the middle and pulling each half off my dad’s goose-pimpled body. He pulls off Dad’s gloves, boots, socks, everything, leaving him naked except for his underwear. And even though such a sight might be traumatizing on a typical day, I’m much more distressed by the bluish hue of his skin. His veins are bright purple—I can actually see them in his arms, his legs, as though his blood has simply frozen up inside him into a hardened mass.

  “Dad!”

  Dr. Marsden takes something out of his pocket—a plastic pouch that seems to be filled with some sort of liquid. He certainly has a lot of those. He squeezes the pouch in its middle until I hear a small pop, then shakes it vigorously.

  “What is that?” I ask. “What are you doing?”

  After shaking it another few seconds, Marsden puts the edge of the pouch in his mouth and tears the end away. With practiced speed he squeezes the entire contents out on Dad’s chest. It’s a clear, thick gel, which Marsden begins smearing all across my father’s body. He spreads it to Dad’s arms—even working it up underneath the armpits—down to the hands, pausing to get every crevice between my dad’s fingers. Dad’s digits have all swollen to nearly three times their normal size, the pressure from the inside straining the dark purple skin so badly that I’m amazed the fingers haven’t burst right off his hands. Marsden works on my dad’s toes, his legs, his hips. I look away as the doc handles my dad’s more sensitive areas, tucking my face into the crook of Cole’s neck to weep. I don’t know what is going on, but I have a feeling I’m about to watch my own father die. And I’m not ready to see that.

  “Elvs,” Cole coos softly into my ear. “It’s okay, Elvs. Look.” And
he nudges my head up.

  “Dearheart.”

  It’s my dad, blinking up at me. And he’s smiling with his ice-blue lips.

  My heart leaps in my chest. “Dad!” I cry. “You’re okay, oh God, you’re okay!”

  I practically pounce on top of my father to give him a big bear hug, but Marsden stops me.

  “Don’t touch him,” he says all doctor-like. “Give the gel time to work. He’s still very weak.”

  Indeed, Dad’s skin is still a ghastly shade, but the veins, already, are less noticeable. He bends his fingers, as though testing their strength. That gel, whatever it was, did something good.

  “You’re a very brave man, Harry,” Dr. Marsden says. Then he turns to me. “He’s fine for now. Let him rest. He’s had a rough day.”

  I just blink at him. Talk about hard to read. Does this guy want us dead, or doesn’t he?

  I decide, for the moment, not to think about it too much. For the moment, my dad is okay. And really, that’s all that matters.

  • • •

  “I’m not sure this is a better plan,” I tell Cole as I examine the “child safety harness” he’s whipped up for Bok Choy. Using strips from Dad’s shredded thermal suit, Cole has decided to tie the kid to the backseat of the skiff, his hands bound tightly behind him. It’s more effective than sitting on him, granted, but . . . “Child Protective Services would have your head on a spike right now,” I say.

  Cole just shrugs. His bruises from the beating Bok Choy’s doled out to him are already healing, but I have a feeling he’s well exhausted from trying to rein in the world’s most savage (and most enormous) month-old infant. “Seems fine to me,” he replies.

  “Cole,” I say with a sigh. But I don’t really have anything to follow it up with. Bok Choy is making a lot of ruckus and thrashing about, just generally being an überhuman pain in the ass—but can you blame him when he has the strength of a He-man but the intellectual and emotional maturity of a U.S. Congressperson? Still, if anyone tied my darling Olivia to a car seat, I would go all caveman on his ass. I glance at Dad, sleeping as well as he can in the seat beside me. Zee and Marsden are at the front of the skiff, doing their best Flight of the Navigator to get us back to base, chatting all buddy-buddy. I can’t hear them over the engine and the wind, but when Marsden turns and sees me looking at them, he gives me a smile. It’s not his usual “charming snake” smile but rather one that seems warm, and honest—perhaps a reference to our harrowing escape, and the confusion we probably both feel about finding ourselves as allies. At least, that’s how I read it.