by Alan Janney
“Yes.”
“Is that the same girl?”
“Yes.”
Her mouth curved up in a victorious smile. “I’m getting closer to the truth. I’m tight on your trail, Outlaw. I actually met the girl. In the hospital. Did I tell you?”
“She told me she met you,” I lied. It was partially true. I’d been there when they met, lying in a hospital bed as the world swirled around me.
“She’s very pretty.”
“I think so.”
“And she doesn’t know you rescued her?”
“No. I couldn’t tell her. There were complicating factors.”
“Like what?”
“Her captor is still at large. I know who it is, but I can’t prove it. And he threatened to kill her if I ‘snitched.’”
“Do you believe him?”
“Not anymore.”
“I want to tell her.”
“Natalie,” I growled, and she started and grinned. “I will tell her.”
“Okay! I’m just envious and angry at her, that’s all.”
“Don’t be. You found a good man. A great man. Not many guys are worth your affection. But I think Isaac Anderson comes close. He was brave that night, facing down angry gods. He was prepared to die.”
“Ugh.” She let her head drop onto my shoulder. Somehow during our conversation she’d gotten closer. She was good at that. “Don’t remind me. I chewed through three sweaters that awful night, staring at the news, waiting for word. He was the only…normal human that made it out, right? From the gunfight on that college campus?”
I nodded. “As far as I know.”
“Why on earth did you let him go into that place?”
“He’s not a man that takes orders well, from what I’ve seen.”
She fixed her hair by pushing it all behind her ears, and she issued a deep sigh. “What bizarre and frightening men you two are. I am drawn to the attractive and the foolish, apparently.”
Better than the attractive and the evil, I thought. Like Tank. Stupid Tank. He and Katie should have returned from the movies over an hour ago. I hoped he was home by now. Thinking about him staying at her place past midnight made every part of my body hurt. I could ask Puck to locate him. But I’d rather not know, actually.
Natalie North said, “Time Magazine is going to name you and the Chemist both the person of the year.”
“Yippee.”
She laughed and pushed me. “Don’t you care?”
“Not at all. I have bigger things to worry about. I’m barely passing…err, I mean…you know…I’m barely sleeping.”
“Do you want to be interviewed?”
“Nope.”
She squeezed my hand. “Everyone has a story to tell. Yours is the most fascinating of all time.”
“I’ll let you know if I change my mind. They should interview Captain FBI instead.”
“He can’t. He’s besieged. By the government and the media. I’m not positive which is worse. We can’t communicate, or they’d know immediately. Our secret would be out. And there’s no way they’d permit an interview.” Somewhere in the midst of her words, her face fell two octaves, from happiness to anxiety.
“He did his job well. What does the government want with him?”
“You. But he’s not giving away any information, which has him in hot water. But he’s their only link to you, and you’ve become a hero even to the soldiers.”
“Oh yeah?” I grinned, which may or may not have been detectable through the mask. “That’s nice to hear. Even the soldiers?”
“The police and the military whole-heartedly support you. They all wear red bandanas around their necks or belts, which is against dress code or whatever, but they all do it.” She pointed at a long Outlaw banner festooned across a nearby building. “The Outlaw Fights For Us,” she quoted. The words rippled as the banner flapped like a cape.
I grunted, unable to find any words. Gratitude. They were grateful. What a powerful emotion. “I’m glad people know. That I’m trying to help.”
“The people love you.”
“Maybe too much.”
“Definitely too much. I know I do.”
“Tell them I said thanks?”
“Tell them yourself. It would mean the world to everyone if you’d do that interview.” She squeezed my hands and searched my eyes. “You know?”
“Maybe.”
Chapter Seventeen
Thursday, October 8. 2018.
I texted Lee and told him the wing-suit worked, and five days later he still talked about it. Our crowd at the lunch table wasn’t sure we believed him until Thursday, when Channel Four news released footage from their tower camera. They superimposed a red circle around the Outlaw, highlighting Friday night’s harrowing journey across the skyline. The flight was short and hard to see, and the Outlaw quickly dropped out of sight but not before providing Lee enough visual evidence to vault himself into stardom. Lee really HAD made the Outlaw a wing-suit?!
Our lunch table was three chairs deep. The cafeteria monitors shook their heads at us, but eventually shrugged and smiled and left us alone.
“The monitors let all these kids sit here because of you,” Katie told me. We were sharing a seat again and her left calf was touching my right calf and I swear she was doing it on purpose. She was a dancer and runner, so her legs were good and I was in heaven.
“What do I have to do with it?”
“You’re the most popular boy in school.”
I protested, “I don’t even know these people. And I don’t think I’m that popular. It doesn’t feel like it.”
The cute blonde girl beside me smiled and said, “Yes you are, silly.” I really needed to learn her name. She’d been sitting beside me for weeks, and it was WAY too late to ask now.
“And besides,” Katie continued, pointedly ignoring the blonde girl, which made me love her all the more because it hinted at jealousy. “You are a nationally-ranked quarterback. You are being given perks.”
“The cafeteria lady is not the girl I want to give me perks.”
The beautiful skin of her cheeks turned pink and she playfully bumped her leg harder into mine. “You want a perk? Maybe you’ll get lucky and my butt will fall completely asleep on this stupid chair and I’ll have to sit in your lap.”
My heart quickened. “Could be dangerous. You might like it. And I’d certainly never let go.”
Lee banged his hand on the table and we all jumped. “You’re not even listening!”
“Sorry Lee,” Katie apologized. “Please continue.”
“See here?” He jabbed a finger at his iPad and glared. The rest of his audience was already silent. On screen, the gliding figure waffled uncertainly on repeat. “The Outlaw’s not used to having triple the surface area. He hasn’t figured out how to use subtle movements.”
I leaned in and scrutinized the screen. “What do you mean subtle movements?”
“Everything is exaggerated, bro, when you’re going a hundred miles an hour. He needs to make smaller corrections.”
“A hundred?! He was going that fast?”
“Maybe a little faster. It’s a wild ride, dude.”
Katie sighed deeply. “He’s so fantastic. I miss him a lot.”
“But he’s not flying!” Lee scolded us all in turn with fiery gaze. “Don’t believe the Outlawyers or the blogs. He can’t fly. It’s my wing-suit.”
Samantha Gear, in a loud and irritated voice, asked, “Lee, did you explain to the big OAF that he could have died? And that someone with zero base jumps shouldn’t try a wing-suit?”
“Oh Gear,” I groaned, “Don’t be such a mom. It’s not like you’re the Outlaw’s parent. Jeez.”
For the longest second of my life, her eyes blazed and she debated between smiling and shoving her apple down my throat. Finally, after an eternity, she decided not to kill me. Instead she smiled dangerously and said, “Not yet.”
“I dunno, Samy-girl,” Croc was saying. “I thin
k it looks wicked fun. Well done, mate. Next time, Lee, tell the Outlaw I want to tag along.”
“Mitch.” Lee shook his head with a condescending chuckle. “Dude. This is only for Hyper Humans, bro. I designed the vest and wing-suit specifically for him, and they only work for him because he’s a god and he could survive a fall.”
Samantha snarled, “No he couldn’t and no he’s not.”
“Either way, mate. I want one. How much?”
Lee asked, “How much what?”
“Hundos, Lee! Crikey! Hundees! Pineapples! Money! How much would it cost for you to make me one?”
“Yeah man,” Cory nodded solemnly, briefly looking up from his reuben sandwich. “Make me one too. I’m down.”
“You…you idiots aren’t even listening…” Lee’s exasperation at dealing with mortals was monumental. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took deep breaths. “…I don’t know how to explain this to you…You can’t have one. You. Would. Die.”
“All the same,” Croc grinned and all the girls at the table smiled with him. I almost did too. “How much did it cost to make?”
“I don’t know, Mitchell.” Lee steepled his fingers and closed his eyes. “Off the top of my head, I’d guess…two thousand for materials. Plus thirty hours of work.”
“Thirty?!” I yelped. “Thirty hours? That’s way too much!”
“Whatever dude!” he thundered, red in the face. “It’s a sophisticated piece of aeronautical equipment! They take a long time to make!”
“That’s not what I meant.” I backtracked quickly. Katie snickered and pinched my leg. “I mean, you shouldn’t spend that much time on the Outlaw.”
Samantha said, “I agree.”
Croc mused, “Two thousand dollars? Your oldies lend you that much credit for your projects?”
“My oldies?”
“Parents, mate.”
“Oh. No, the Outlaw left money a couple times. Always straight cash, bro. I think he’s loaded.”
“He’s rich, too?” Katie said. “Of course he is. He’s perfect in every way.”
Her hand was still on my leg.
* * *
When I returned home from practice, Dad’s car was in the driveway but he wasn’t in the kitchen and he wasn’t watching television. I went to his room but it was empty.
He was in my bedroom. Sitting on my bed. Head down. The room was dim in the fading evening. The Outlaw’s vest lay between Dad’s feet. The Outlaw’s black mask was in one of his fists, and the red bandana was in the other. His hands trembled.
All the air rushed out of my body.
He knew.
Dad knew.
He held my secrets in both hands.
I am the Outlaw.
I couldn’t breathe. I tried to speak but nothing happened. Dad, I said silently. My pulse was so loud it sounded like the walls were throbbing. Dad.
He wouldn’t arrest me. At least, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He was a detective charged with apprehending the Outlaw and other Hyper Humans, but I knew him; he couldn’t do it. And I wouldn’t let him, if he tried.
Oh gosh Dad please don’t try.
“It’s you,” he whispered. His voice wavered. “You’re him.”
“I’m him.” My throat was tight. My voice wavered too. “I’m sorry.”
He stood up. He was a giant man who looked tired and sad. Tears carved lines down his granite stubbly face. He grasped me by the neck with both hands, a long-range embrace, still holding the mask, and said, “You could have died.”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Why didn’t you?”
I shrugged and failed to find the words.
“The whole world is looking for you, son. What did…why are you…how? How are you the Outlaw?”
“It’s a long story.” My voice was strangely loud in my own ears. I couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Dad…first…I need to know you won’t tell anyone. You know? This is a pretty big secret.”
“Hell, Chase, it’s more than that.”
“Dad, I’m serious. Only, like, five people know the whole truth.” My knees were weak and I was dizzy. Dad knew.
“Five others? That squad you’re with? The Fearsome Five or whatever crap name the media cooked up?”
“Yes. They’re the only ones who know the truth.”
“Samantha,” he said, and the muscles in his jaw worked. “She’s the girl in the pictures.”
“…yes.”
He sank back onto the bed and I shakily lowered into my desk chair. “Christ. You two are the monsters she suggested sending into Compton.” He rubbed his thick hand across his forehead, still visibly trembling.
I nodded.
“I knew,” he grunted. “I didn’t know what, but I knew she was lying. About something. Mitch too?”
“Mitch too.”
“Why are you like this? You are…you are different than the rest of us?”
“Yes. I’m different. So is Samantha and so is Mitch.” I was speaking in short phrases until my air came back. He was handling this better than I’d have guessed.
“Why? How?”
“We’re sick. A very rare disease. A virus that kills most of its victims in adolescence. We survived. Now the disease just sits inside our body, over-producing muscles and adrenaline, and making us…weird.”
He stared hard at me with red eyes while he processed that. “Have you been to a doctor?”
“No. It’s nothing medicine can help.”
“And the Chemist?”
“He’s sick too. Like us. We’re trying to stop him.”
“Wow,” he said and he screwed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a deep breath. “My son is trying to stop the Chemist. This is a lot to…how long have you been like this?”
“I’m not sure. Around twelve months.”
“So it was you on the rooftop last November?” he asked sharply, remembering past Outlaw exploits.
“Yes.”
“Of course it was you.” He chuckled without humor. “The kidnapper had your Katie.”
He still does, I wanted to say.
“And you were in Compton earlier this year? With the bus explosion?”
“Yep.” I nodded. “That was me.”
“I bet that was an awful night. You saved Katie but couldn’t get to Hannah.”
“Very awful.”
“I’m sorry. That’s…that’s rough. I didn’t know.” He paused and studied the vest at his feet. “Where do you get this stuff? Like the mask and the vest.”
“Lee makes them. He hasn’t realized I’m the Outlaw.”
“I’m not surprised. You fooled me too. I can’t believe that was you in Compton!” He shouted the words, like trying to force their meaning into his ears. “I thought you were at Cory’s house that night. What about the hospital shootout over the summer? That was you? And Samantha?”
“That was us. We barely got home before you woke up.”
“You shouldn’t take her to gunfights, Chase. Doesn’t sound very chivalrous to me.”
I barked a laugh. That’s hilarious. “Dad, she’s a lot older than me. I’m not her boss. And she’s one of the most lethal people alive.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty, I think.”
“How old is Mitch?”
“Not sure. Maybe…forty-five?”
“My age?” He sat up straighter. “He looks closer to twenty-five.”
“The disease slows our aging. The Chemist is over two hundred years old.”
“Two hundred?!” he roared. He stood up in a rush. “Two hundred? You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Fortunately he’s about to die of natural causes. But there are more maniacs waiting to take his place.”
“I’m a detective, Chase. My job is to apprehend him. Hell, my job is to apprehend you. What am I supposed to do now?”
“I suggest focusing more on him.”
“Ha ha, k
id.”
“Actually, no. Don’t focus on him. Don’t go anywhere near him. He’s a madman. He came very close to feeding me to his tigers. I got bit before escaping.”
“You what?!” His face turned white and he grabbed my dresser for support.
“Long story. But I’m fine. Mitch ran the tiger over with his truck.”
“Okay…we will…I need to lie down.” And he did. He dropped heavily onto my bed (it squeaked and protested and nearly broke) and covered his eyes with a beefy forearm. “This…this is a lot for a father to hear. We will continue this discussion in a few minutes. I might be sick.”
“I’ll get you some water.”
He grunted approval.
I hustled downstairs to the kitchen. As I was filling a glass from the refrigerator filter, my phone buzzed. It was Puck. Odd. He usually texted.
“Hey Puck.”
“Sup man. That was brutal. Sucks your dad found out that way,” he said.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“You probably shouldn’t have mentioned the tiger, dummy.”
“I agree. In retrospect, it was…hang on, how do you know?”
“I listened on the microphones Carter planted in your room, dummy.”
I didn’t say anything, just glared vacantly as the cold water overflowed the glass. I had NO privacy!
“…sorry. I might be addicted to eavesdropping,” he admitted.
“You think??”
“In my defense, all hackers are. We crave access. And your life is extremely entertaining.”
“What do you want, Puck?”
“Well, in a magnificent twist of irony, I’ve been eavesdropping on a few other people and decided to alert you.”
“No. I don’t like this. It’s creepy.”
“It’s about Tank and Katie.”
“……go on.”
“Hah! You see? It’s addictive! PuckDaddy isn’t creepy.”
“Puck! Just tell me. What is it?” I set down the glass, Dad momentarily forgotten.
“Well…okay. Here’s the deal. So, Tank and Katie have a date tonight-”
“On a Thursday?! I HATE that guy.”
“Don’t interrupt PuckDaddy. Tank told her it’ll be really romantic, right?”
