Max Quick: The Bane of the Bondsman (Max Quick Series Book 3)

by Mark Jeffrey

  “Well, you’re not special. I have one too.” Casey looked at the famous mask. “Everyone does. Every room in this stupid world is supposed has to have a picture of golden sourpuss, apparently.” She paused for a moment, and then said: “Something’s weird with Enki. I can’t put my finger on it completely yet.”

  “How? What do you mean?”

  “Well … for instance. Where the hell was he when we were shooting it out with Jane Willow back at the Shell Hotel? Why didn’t he help us?”

  “You heard him. He was —”

  “He’s older than humanity and he was old then. He has powers we can’t even imagine. And yet, when we get into a scrape, he’s nowhere to be found?”

  “You’re being unreasonable, Case. Even he can’t be in multiple places at once.”

  “No. No, I’m not. We’re in Nightmare World, we’re his only friends right now, and he’s a superbeing and he vapes on his right when we need him?”

  Sasha was taken aback at that. “Hmm.”

  “For that matter, how do we know it’s even really him?”

  “This is how,” Sasha said, holding up one of the White Roses. “He gave us our guns back.”

  Casey nodded. “There is that. That’s a big plus for him. Still. I feel weird about him. And … same thing about Max, actually.”

  “At least that one I can understand,” Sasha confided. “Max is acting weird, for all the reasons we all know. Even Ian is a bit cautious now around him, he told me. He still fundamentally trusts Max, mind you — but no doubt that Max is not himself. Not completely.”

  “Yeah. I wonder what that even means,” Casey mused. “Max has spent so much of his life not even knowing who he was, he’s probably as much of a mystery to himself as he is to us.”

  Casey put her head on her pillow and tried to sleep, but all she could do was think about Cody Chance.

  And I saw someone who looked like you today …

  Six: Iron Valley

  THE DURANGO sped across the barren wasteland.

  After several hours, Max found he had regained control of himself again. He kept this to himself and debated jumping Marvin Sparkle — he could just light up where he sat and fry him. But Sparkle started chuckling and just gave him a knowing look: he knew exactly what he was thinking. And Sparkle was unafraid and accepted that as a risk.

  “So,” Max said. “Now you’ve got me. I hope we’re not just going to knock on the front door of this City-State of the World Emperor.”

  Marvin Sparkle gave a hearty laugh. “No. Not quite yet. First we will make contact with the Resistance. I wish for you to have all the aid you will require in your task, and they can provide much assistance and knowledge.”

  The landscape the sped by out the window was a vast plain of desert. Nothing could grow in it. It was just miles and miles of sand and rock, like a lunar surface. On the horizon in either direction spun sandstorms — tornadoes of heat and dust. The gyres whirled mindlessly, tearing up the ground and sky, gnawing on the world for no particular reason. But yet, to Max’s heightened senses, he saw that these were more than just sandstorms. They were fundamental rips in reality — in a way he could not explain, only experience.

  “Weather’s not so good,” Max commented.

  “Never is,” Sparkle countered. “Not in the Bondsman’s world.”

  AFTER A TIME, Marvin Sparkle became visibly worried. He kept looking in the rear view mirror.

  “What is it?” Max asked.

  “We’re being followed. A white Cadillac. He picked us up some time ago and is trying to keep his distance.”

  “Who is it? Do you know?” Sparkle shook his head.

  The terrain had altered: it was hilly now and there was a thin forest on either side. When they crested the next hill, Sparkle stomped on the gas. The Durango flew at over a hundred miles per hour for short distance, and then Sparkle made a sudden right into the foliage. He flipped off the lights and stopped the engine.

  “Make yourself as mentally blank as possible,” Sparkle said. “And ready yourself in case we have to fight.”

  Oh great, Max thought. Still, he strove to remember everything Carlos Gustav had taught him. By degrees, he felt himself become calm and slip into a stream of no-thought.

  The Cadillac drifted past slowly but did not stop.

  After a time, Sparkle started the engine again and they pulled out of the brush. “We’ll have to take a different way now, a longer way. But I think it will be necessary.”

  On a sudden intuition Max said, “You don’t know who that was. But you’ve seen that Cadillac before. Haven’t you?”

  Marvin nodded. “He has followed me from time to time. But not recently. I have tried to turn the tables on him and catch him unawares now and then, but he has thus far been too wily. Yet now is not that time for that.”

  THEY CONTINUED ON and just as Casey, Enki, Ian, Sasha and Maurice had seen (though Max could not know this), miniature versions of the Machine on stalks began appearing alongside the road. Max’s heart sank when he saw them — and instantly understood their purpose. But they were like a personal insult to him after his failure in 1912. Row upon row upon row passed by, monuments to his own weakness and lack of foresight.

  Marvin Sparkle saw this but chose not to dig Max’s wounds any deeper.

  In silence, and undisturbed by the white Cadillac, the duo drove on through the night.

  THE DEWY morning creaked to life. Deep shadows rolled over rows of houses, all identical, all lined up at attention. The chug-chug-chug sound of a sprinkler coming to life echoed off a glassy expanse of lake nearby.

  Max turned to Marvin. “What about the Durango? Is it going to be okay where we parked it?”

  “Do not worry. It is hidden,” Sparkle said. When Max returned a dubious stare, he said, “In Africa, I used to conceal things so completely that you could be inches away and still not know it was there.”

  Max turned his gaze to the town below.

  “Iron Valley,” Sparkle explained quietly. “There is a rebel presence here, as I have said. We’ll try to make contact. But we’ll have to be careful.”

  Max stared down. From here, Iron Valley didn’t look particularly threatening. It was just another sleepy, small American town. There was probably a high school and football and parades and cotton candy and fourth of July fireworks and swimming pools and …

  But there was no America. Not any more.

  Movement overhead caught Max’s attention. Something was coming.

  “Get down,” Max rasped at Sparkle. “Hurry!”

  Sparkle was already crouching behind a broken stone wall. But it was no use: his massive bulk was simply too large to conceal. He shot a look of exasperation at Max. He looked like an elephant trying to hide behind a teacup.

  Max rolled his eyes.

  Four boys emerged from the woods. They all wore uniforms of some kind. Boy Scouts? No. But the uniforms were similar: they were sort of green-beige, with patches and badges sewn on, with a neckerchief cinched by a metal slide.

  But there was something malevolent about these uniforms. They were more … military. Yes, that was it. They were somehow more aggressive, angry. More red and black, more badges and medals.

  At first Max thought they were hiking. But then, he realized these boys were too disheveled, too feral. Sure, they wore wearing uniforms, but it was immediately clear to Max that they didn’t like them. One wore his kerchief around his head like a bandana. Another wore just a t-shirt, with his uniform shirt tied around his waist.

  Max liked them immediately. Impulsively, he stood up and waved.

  Sparkle spat a curse. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You’re not fooling anybody behind those rocks,” Max said. “If we’re hiding and being all weird, they’re going to be suspicious. This way, we’re just hanging out.”

  One of the boys pointed at Max. Cautiously, he waved back. Max waved again and motioned for them to approach.

  Sparkle w
ent to stand, but Max pushed down on his shoulder. “Wait. With your size, you’ll just scare the hell out of them if you just stand up like that. Let them get closer.”

  Sparkle grunted in annoyance, but acquiesced.

  Within moments, the boys arrived.

  “Hey,” one of them said nervously with an English accent. “What’s going on?”

  It was immediately clear that the foursome was jumpy. It was like they’d just gotten caught doing something. Their eyes bounced furtively from Max to Sparkle and then to each other as if communing silently on how to proceed.

  Max could see their uniforms more clearly now. Each wore a shoulder patch with the golden mask of the Bondsman on it. A ‘Bondsman Youth’ outfit? Max thought.

  “You tell us,” Max replied evenly. “We just got here.”

  The boys looked at each other. “Oh?” said another. “You’re not from I-Val?”

  I-Val? Oh, right. Iron Valley.

  Max shook his head. “No.”

  “So … you’re not going to bust us?”

  Max laughed aloud. So that was it. “No. Of course not.” Of course, Max wasn’t exactly certain what it was they were doing that was bust-able. But at the moment, that mattered less than relieving their worries.

  “That’s you. But what about him?” another asked, head-nodding in Sparkle’s direction.

  At that, Sparkle got to his feet slowly. He purposefully emphasized each movement, drawing himself to his full height. He let his arms hang wide and opened his fingers. The impression of his usual immensity was further magnified.

  The kids all stepped back a few inches without realizing they had even done so.

  “He would appreciate not be spoken of as though he were not here,” Sparkle growled. His basso voice seemed to shake the very bones of the earth. “But if you are asking if I will ‘bust you’ – the answer is no, I will not.” Sparkle paused, and then added, “For now.”

  Max whirled on him. “For now? What do you mean, for now? Tell them –”

  Sparkle’s eyes narrowed. “I wish to hear whether they will ‘bust’ us.” The giant black man pointed to the one kid who had yet to speak. “You. What is on your mind?”

  The kid almost smiled. Max suddenly realized what Sparkle had spotted from the beginning: this quiet kid was actually the leader. He was smart enough to remain silent and let his cohorts do the talking – while he studied the situation and strategized.

  “I think we’ll be cool if you are,” this kid said slowly.

  Sparkle nodded. “Very well.”

  Max extended his hand. Without thinking, he said, “I’m Max. Max Quick.”

  As the words vibrated through the air, the look on Sparkle’s face was nothing short of utter horror.

  But the kids just burst out laughing. To them, this was incredibly funny. “That’s awesome. ‘I’m Max Quick’. Nice!”

  “Naw, just kidding,” Max said, flicking a nervous glance at Sparkle. “My name is …” He hesitated only a moment. A twinge of pain over Venetia flashed through his mind. “… Harry. This here’s Marvin.”

  “Harry. Well, I’m Tim Timson,” the leader said. “And this is Will Turnip, Justin Blue and Cadillac Fenton. Pleased to meet you.” Tim stuck his hand into Max’s and shook it vigorously.

  And now it was Max’s turn to suffer a dropped jaw.

  For he suddenly realized that he was talking with the four future members of the world-famous rock band Planet Furious.

  FOR SEVERAL moments, Max struggled to wrap his head around what had just happened.

  His favorite band in the entire world was Planet Furious. Why, he knew every album by heart! Even during the horrible time he’d spent at the Starland Home for Boys – even there, he’d had his secret stash of Furious tunes.

  And now here they were. All four of them. They were all just twelve years old!

  A mini-Planet Furious was standing in front of him.

  But that made sense. It was 1977. And that’s how old they all were in 1977.

  What were the chances of this happening?

  He was now a synchronicity magnet, Max reminded himself. Chance did not operate normally around him. All of this was not out of the ordinary. Not really. Not anymore.

  Tim Timson – he would become Sophisto. He was the leader – and the quietest of the bunch.

  Justin Blue, he would become Johnny Jupiter, and write of most of the band’s hits.

  Will Turnip – the angry one – he would become Sid Venus. It was he would one day name the band Planet Furious. And it was his ‘guitar of fire’ that created the trademark sound of the band.

  And Cadillac ‘Caddy’ Fenton – he would become Frankie Mercury, the golden-throated voice of the group.

  But not yet.

  Or, it occurred to Max with a sudden jolt, maybe not ever. There was no rock music in the world of the Bondsman.

  And although that was a small thing compared to the other horrors the Bondsman had inflicted, it was still an important thing. Back at the Home, when Max had been so depressed that even sunlight itself felt painful, it had been good old PF that had pulled him though.

  “Where exactly are you four supposed to be right now?” Sparkle asked.

  “Camp Griswold,” Timson replied sheepishly. “Well, technically on march with our troop. We were on a hike.”

  “Yeah,” Justin Blue picked up, “we were swinging through. But when we realized we were only like an hour out from I-Val, we decided to ditch.”

  “How long have you been hiking?” Max asked.

  “Two days,” Turnip replied grumpily. “Two miserable, stinking days. Ho! Yo! Go! Up! Down!” He pantomimed marching, swinging his arms wildly and rolled his eyes. “I’ve had enough of that noise.”

  “The main camp is over there,” Fenton explained. He pointed to a large mountain in the far distance. “That’s Mount Griswold. It’s right at the base.”

  Max turned to where Fenton was pointing. The top of Mount Griswold poked over the tree line, cutting across a ragged sky. Wisps of cloud whirled over the peak, like frozen frothy waves breaking on a shore of sky.

  “We’re going to the town,” Max said. “If you want to come with –”

  “No,” Sparkle said sharply. “They cannot come with us.” In response to the flare of anger in Max’s eyes, Sparkle explained, “Our … friends, the ones we hope to meet … they will not approach us if we are so accompanied.” Sparkle turned now to the foursome. “I am sorry. We simply have other important business that cannot be interrupted.”

  Timson nodded. “No problem. We’ll do our thing, you do yours. Cool?”

  Max nodded. “Cool.”

  “Well. I guess, see you later, then,” Timson replied. And with that, the foursome started shambling towards Iron Valley.

  AN HOUR LATER, Max Quick and Marvin Sparkle walked through the center of Iron Valley.

  It was at once a very familiar site and a jarring one.

  It was familiar because there were the usual buildings one sees in every town square. There was the brick courthouse, complete with imitation Greek columns and concrete steps. The Firehouse. The Town Hall. The Barbershop. Even an Ice Cream Parlor.

  All of these buildings were situated around a traffic circle. Inside this was an oval-shaped mini-park, a town green. There was a festive-looking bandstand at the center, its white-and-green chipped paint testifying to the long passage of time.

  The sound of a lawnmower and the smell of freshly-cut grass filled the air.

  In the distance, peeking between the buildings, Max could see a glassy expanse of water. The town of Iron Valley was situated on the shore of a large lake. Mirror Lake, Max saw it was called, just now noticing a sign pointing to beach parking. He could see several boats out on the water, leaning in the morning breeze. The bright yellow and red color-stripes of their sails stood out sharply against the rich velvety blue of the lake.

  But there was one difference. A terrible difference. One that changed everything. One t
hat colored this otherwise Norman Rockwell-esque setting with a splash of horror.

  Instead of American flags, the totems and signs of the Bondsman were everywhere.

  Instead of war memorials in the park and cannons, there was a great black-and-copper silhouette of the Bondsman. Three times the height of a normal man, this ominous sculpture depicted him in a business suit. Of course, his ever-present mask was affixed to his face beneath the brim of the hat. His gloved-and-ringed hand was outstretched, as though he were giving an impassioned speech to the town square.

  The flag of Bondsman, a red flag, the exact color of blood from a fresh cut, snapped on flagpoles everywhere.

  In the distance, near the Lake, was one of those miniature-Machine ‘wireless power generators’.

  Pictures of the Bondsman were painted on the sides of several of the town buildings. Logo-ized line drawings of ‘Bondsman masks’ were on the parking meters, the traffic signs, even the Welcome to Iron Valley sign.

  There was a billboard depicting several rosy-cheeked kids in uniforms very much like the ones worn by Tim Timson, Justin Blue, Will Turnip and Caddy Fenton. It said:

  Join the …

  Bondsman’s Young Explorers!

  Real Heroes Are Made Young!

  Free Uniforms! Free Basic Orientation at Nearby Camp Griswold!

  Max turned away in disgust.

  The Bondsman. His cold, gold metal face – with eyes black as space – was everywhere.

  In the dappled, deep shade of trees, tickled by a cool breeze from a nearby lake, lay Iron Valley, a town that was an inverted opposite of Main Street, USA in almost every imaginable way.

  A trio of kids pedaled past on bikes. Max noticed that they weren’t smiling. They weren’t playing. Instead, they were afraid. Max got the sense that they weren’t even sure what they were afraid of, only that there was a subconscious, persistent undertow of fear at all times in their souls.