The Only Ones

by Aaron Starmer

  This was only part of the answer. Martin also knew that Felix, for all his talk about technology, really didn’t have a firm grasp of it. The mainframe he had been working on for the last couple of months was a calamity of wires and circuit boards. Even Martin, who knew nothing about computers, could tell it was all wrong. Felix’s genius wasn’t for mechanics or electronics. It wasn’t for computers. It was conceptual. Firefly lightbulbs. A World Wide Web that was actually a web. These were his gifts to the world, but Martin wasn’t going to tell him that. Perhaps he didn’t need to be told. He still hadn’t asked Martin to hook up the power to his house. Things were obviously not on track.

  “And you never mention your session with Nigel. It makes me wonder, you know? Does that have something to do with all of this?”

  The temptation to lie was strong, but Martin owed Felix more than that. “It does,” he admitted.

  “Did he tell you Chet would die?” Felix asked.

  “No.”

  “They’re convenient, his predictions.”

  “I have reasons to believe them,” Martin explained.

  “Most people do.”

  When the door to Nigel’s house opened and Darla strutted to the front steps, Gabe, who was perched in a tree, hollered, “She’s back!”

  Darla placed a hand to her heart, feigning shock. Then she gave a little curtsy to the crowd, even though she wasn’t wearing a dress, just a long peacoat and tights. Martin noticed they were spotless. Maybe deer heads weren’t always on the menu at Nigel’s house.

  “Well, well,” Darla said with pouty lips, “were y’all waiting for little ol’ me?”

  Everybody stopped what they were doing.

  “What’d Nigel say?” a girl named Tiberia yelled.

  “Was it good?” Ryan said.

  “Is it a secret?” Henry asked, his eyebrows at full mast.

  “A secret? Heavens, no. I don’t keep secrets.” As she said this, Darla stared at Lane and Martin.

  “So what’d he say?”

  Darla smiled widely. “He said we should all be Spacers.”

  “I do not believe it,” Sigrid said. “Nigel does not say things like that.”

  “Okay,” Darla admitted. “You got me. Then he implied that we should all be Spacers. After all, we’ve got ourselves a spaceship.”

  The crowd reacted with confused silence, so Darla continued. “Oh, is that a secret? I’m so sorry, but how can we keep secrets if we’re expected to rebuild civilization?”

  “Out with it, Darla!” Tiberia yelled. “What’s this about a spaceship?”

  “Remember a few months ago, when Kelvin was banished, and Lane was all weepy and more suicidey than usual? And remember how Nigel summoned her and she was way too cool for school to tell us his prophecy?”

  In the shade of a nearby tree, Lane leaned and seethed, but she didn’t say a word. Her eyes were injecting poison straight into Darla’s jugular.

  “Out with it!” Tiberia shouted again.

  “Chill, rock star,” Darla said, putting a hand up. “I’m getting there. Nigel told Lane that the next person who appeared in Xibalba was gonna have a plan to fix everything. And wouldn’t you know it, a few weeks later, Martin Maple comes strolling in, all smiles and sunshine and solar panels. And you know what Martin Maple knows how to build?”

  “A spaceship,” Martin stated with a humble nod. He thought it best they heard it from him, even if Darla was now running the show.

  “Hallelujah!” Darla shouted. “A sky-scorching spaceship! And Nigel told me that you all have to pitch in because we don’t have much time. We need to get this thing fired up as soon as possible.”

  “He said that?” Felix asked, his eyes narrowing in doubt.

  “In so many words. You know what he also said?” Darla was truly relishing the moment, punctuating her speech with gestures, winks, and smirks. “He said that Martin doesn’t have everything he needs to finish the job. But don’t worry, kiddies, Darla does.”

  It was unbelievable. Nigel had done it again. How could he have known about the missing piece?

  “What are you talking about?” Lane finally asked, turning from Darla to Martin, whose hanging head didn’t seem to instill any confidence in her.

  “Is the rifle loaded, sweetie?” Darla said softly to Henry, who had snuck his way to her side.

  Henry gave her the thumbs-up.

  “Then you’re forgiven for laughing earlier. I’m going to need your protection.”

  Henry took the rifle off his shoulder and held it at the ready.

  “What are you talking about?” Lane asked again.

  Darla pushed Henry forward so he would take the lead, and then they both started down the steps. “Kelvin might not have known it, but he had the key to our salvation all along. And now I have it. The fuel to a spaceship.”

  Darla stopped, put her thumb and forefinger up as if she were holding something very small between them, and looked at Martin. “When you’re ready for it, come see me. We’ll make a deal.”

  Martin knew exactly what she meant.

  —— 19 ——

  The Sleigh

  A braid of extension cords ran from Darla’s pantry up two flights of stairs and into the master suite, where the individual cords forked off and joined up with a refrigerator, a TV, a DVD player, a stereo, and a spinning mirror ball. Darla sat on her bed, happily chomping on slices of apples and watching Martin and Felix push the refrigerator against the wall.

  “Thank you, boys,” she said. “You made quick work of that, didn’t you?”

  Next to Darla on the bed, Henry sat cross-legged. The butt of his rifle was held firm between his bicep and ribs as he pointed it outward.

  “If everyone’s going to work on the machine,” Martin said carefully, “we’re going to need to bring it to Xibalba.”

  “Sounds about right,” Darla said, continuing to munch the apple slices.

  “With all the snow out there,” Martin went on, “Kid Godzilla is the only truck that can do the job.”

  “Maybe,” Darla said with a shrug. From her nightstand, she grabbed the only set of keys to Kid Godzilla and spun them around on her finger.

  “But you’re not going to help?” Martin asked.

  “Don’t you remember?” she said. “It’s your job to build the machine. Henry and I were supposed to get supplies. Since we now have the most important supply, we figure our job is done.”

  “Really, Darla? We’re still talking about a marble, aren’t we?” Felix asked.

  “I prefer to call it the Magic Bean,” Darla said. “And I prefer not to tell you where I’ve hidden it until you meet my conditions.”

  “Conditions?” Martin said.

  “Yes. The first you’ve met fabulously by setting up my little palace here,” Darla said with a wink. “I’ll be in communication about the rest. And when all my needs are satisfied, I’ll give you the Magic Bean. In the meantime, you’d be smart to figure out on your own how to get the machine here.”

  “Yeah, you two,” Henry teased, “go be smart.”

  After they left, Darla locked the door to her room. Henry escorted them down the stairs at rifle-point and pushed them out the front door. Lane was waiting in front of the house.

  “They want to know what’s next,” Lane explained.

  Martin didn’t have a clue. The machine was miles away. The weather hadn’t gotten any warmer since the storm, so the snow was still almost four feet high. He turned to Felix for help.

  “Santa uses a sleigh,” Felix joked.

  * * *

  Impossible Island was broken into four sections: The Weird West, Volcano Jungle, Confederacy of Robots, and Land of the Neverseens. Land of the Neverseens was dedicated entirely to those imaginary entities that kept children up at night. There was the Boogeyman’s Closet, a haunted house where kids were whisked along in a bed as animatronic hands grabbed at them. There was a two-acre maze of giant glittering teeth that led to the Tooth Fairy’s Carousel.
There were spinning pastel eggs in the turf-lined Easter Bunny’s Meadow. And there was a massive candy cane that swung back and forth and sometimes upside down as it held a chariot of red fiberglass and dark wood, the main attraction in the Land of the Neverseens, the enormous ride known simply as the Sleigh.

  To accomplish the mission Martin had in mind, nearly everyone in town would need to be involved. He approached Felix first.

  “I don’t think our future should depend on a nutcase, a liar, and a marble,” Felix told him.

  “I do. And your idea for the sleigh was inspirational,” Martin countered.

  “It was a joke.”

  “It was clever. If we’re going to succeed, we’re going to need clever,” Martin told him.

  Felix had no choice but to relent. He might not have trusted Darla or Nigel, but he trusted Martin. To add to that, Martin had built the security system for the Internet. In the quid pro quo world of Xibalba, that meant Felix owed him one, and Martin was ready to cash in.

  The others didn’t require nearly as much convincing. When he told them the plan, everyone except for Darla, Henry, and Nigel was packed, outfitted with snowshoes and trekking poles, and ready to go by the next morning. Martin suspected that it had less to do with their trust in him than it did with their desire to find something (anything!) that would reunite them with their friends and family. He was the only one currently offering that.

  The hike to Impossible Island took two days. As soon as they got there, they split into two teams. Lane’s team was tasked with taking the sleigh from its giant candy cane arm and then converting it into something they could use. Martin’s team scoured the park, stripping rides of all the materials he thought they might need.

  “What are we gonna use that for?” Trent asked as they removed a piston from the bowels of the Tilt-A-Whirl.

  “Well,” Martin said, handing him the greasy piston, “that’s kind of complicated. Do you know much about mechanics?”

  It didn’t weigh much, but Trent’s shoulders sagged as he held the piston. It was no wonder he was known as Tiny Trent. While he wasn’t tiny by a kid’s standards, he was the definition of meek.

  “I’m willing to learn,” Trent said.

  Martin hadn’t spoken to him much. Trent mostly kept to himself. His contribution to their community seemed born more out of necessity than out of interest. He was the kid who purified water. His home was full of carbon filters and iodine and giant cauldrons used for boiling. Kids would leave an empty jug or two on their doorsteps, and Trent would come by and replenish their supplies. He could usually be seen in the morning, riding a bike while towing a little red wagon full of water jugs.

  “Wanna learn how to take a gear train out of a log flume?” Martin asked him.

  Trent nodded enthusiastically.

  Enthusiasm was less evident in the other helpers. The mood was beyond gloomy. They were dutiful, though, and within a couple of days, they had collected the materials they needed. At the same time, Lane’s team had detached the sleigh and equipped it with sturdy skis.

  Together, using an elaborate rig of ropes and pulleys, all thirty-eight of them hoisted the machine in the air, tied it to nearby trees, and left it dangling. Then they harnessed themselves to the sleigh and guided it underneath. When they lowered the machine, it barely fit, filling up the cavity of the sleigh with only inches to spare on each side. So they stuffed the materials in cracks or bound them to edges and piled on as much weight as the skis could bear.

  Exhausted sighs and a small round of applause followed, but the work was hardly over. Lane ordered everyone back into the harnesses, and Martin cried out, “Mush!”

  —— 20 ——

  The List

  The going was slow but steady. In three days, they made it nearly halfway home. Most of their energy was spent pulling the sleigh around and over obstacles, but when they found flat straightaways, they coordinated their movements—the stronger evened out the weaker; the faster adopted the rhythms of the slower.

  Conversation was sparse during the day, and at night, when they sat by a bonfire, it was mostly whispered. Martin could sense he was losing them. He noticed more and more sideways glances at the machine, the type that said, “Really? This is our spaceship?”

  So he decided to address the issue.

  It was the third night of their journey back. With the sleigh as a backdrop, Martin stood on a tree stump near the bonfire and cleared his throat. “I want to thank you all again for your dedication.”

  They responded with solemn nods. Martin figured he ought to cut to the chase.

  “I also want to ask you something. How many of you have doubts that this machine will work?

  Almost every hand went up.

  “And how many of you are still only here because Nigel said this is what we should do?”

  Again, almost every hand went up.

  “Okay,” Martin said. “I personally believe in Nigel. But I find it hard to believe that everyone is making such an effort just … because.”

  “What? Just because we want to stay alive?” Tiberia shouted out.

  “Stay alive? I don’t get it,” Martin said.

  There were murmurs in the crowd, but the only words Martin could make out were collapse and diggers.

  “People who don’t do what Nigel says,” she responded slowly, “are people who end up dead.”

  Martin hesitated. “He kills them?”

  “No,” Sigrid said quickly. “It is more like if he is to warn you of something, it is best for you to listen.”

  “Kelvin definitely didn’t listen,” Tiberia added.

  “I’m not Kelvin,” Martin said firmly. “I need you all to know that.”

  The crowd reacted with raised eyebrows and contemptuous breaths through their noses.

  “All I can say is that if you continue to help, and if you can trust that I can bring you to your families, then you’ll be seeing them as soon as we finish this thing,” Martin told them. “Count on it.”

  He stepped down from the tree stump and Felix put a hand on his shoulder. “Word to the wise: Want to be different than Kelvin? You probably shouldn’t stand next to bonfires and give speeches.”

  It was dusk when they arrived home. An endless necklace of rainbow lights was strung along the main street of Xibalba. From lamppost to lamppost they dipped and twirled and splattered their drops of color on the snow, and on the packed sleigh, and on the pack of weary kids. Smiles, something rare in this crowd, bubbled to the surface of their faces. They were home, and they were surprised. The welcome was a warm one.

  As they pulled the sleigh into Town Square, they came upon Henry, who was hard at work on a nativity scene, stuffing a manger with hay.

  “I’m shootin’ anyone who thinks of laughin’,” he told them. Harsh words, but understandable. Henry was dressed from head to toe in green. Little green hat, with a pom-pom on top. Green jacket with big gleaming buttons. Green bloomers. Green tights. Green boots that curled at the toes.

  “Did you do all this?” Martin asked.

  “I did,” Henry said cautiously. “ ’Cept for the costume. That was … requested.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Martin said. “A wonderful thing to come back to.”

  “It’s Christmas in a couple weeks. Darla likes Christmas,” Henry said plainly, and got back to the manger.

  They took off the harnesses and began to unload. The machine would be placed where Chet used to set up his farm stand every Friday, at the northeast corner of the square, near the firehouse and the bowling alley.

  They were attaching the ropes and pulleys to nearby trees when Darla emerged from the bowling alley. Her outfit was just as festive as Henry’s, but much more flattering. Clad in tight red and white velvet with a furry hood and cuffs, she skipped over to greet them.

  “Spotted you a few hours ago, chugging up a hill,” she said. “Very impressive. So which one of you is Rudolph?”

  No one bothered to answer. They kept
on with their work.

  “Kidding, of course. I’ve got cocoa brewing and … Lookie here. Is this my Christmas list?” she exclaimed as she pulled a folded piece of paper from somewhere deep in her blouse. She handed it to Martin, who moved to pocket it. She grabbed his wrist and rolled her eyes. “Otherwise known as my conditions.”

  Martin stopped. As he began to unfold the paper, Darla prefaced things. “Now, Henry has borrowed some power to make it all possible. Sadly, it means most of you are gonna have to go without for a few days. The price of negotiations.”

  That was when Martin noticed all the black extension cords slithering from nearby houses through the square and into a few surrounding buildings. He read the paper.

  My conditions:

  1. Free your schedule for Friday night.

  2. Get a haircut.

  3. Be at my place by six.

  —— 21 ——

  The Alley

  “Chocolates,” Lane muttered. “And flowers. She’s definitely the type of girl who wants flowers.”

  Noticing a ripple in the front of his shirt, Martin pulled down on the tails and saw that he was off by a button. He started over.

  “Am I expected to kiss her?” Martin asked.

  “Beats me,” Lane said. “We need what she has, though, right?”

  “Would you expect a kiss?”

  “I wouldn’t not expect one,” Lane said. “But don’t ask me to get too deep into Darla’s head. Not a place I want to be.”

  As Martin buttoned the top button on his shirt, Lane reached forward to stop him. Her hands clasped his. “No one does the top one.”

  * * *

  Martin knocked. Darla was there in a flash, opening her door and presenting herself with a quarter twirl. She was dressed in a blue coat with a fur-lined hood, a simple green dress, blue tights, and a pair of fuzzy beige boots. Martin looked down at his attire—sports jacket, plain white shirt, black pants, black shoes.

  “Am I overdressed?”

  “You look cute,” Darla said, liberating the box of chocolates from his hand. “Caramels?”