by Greg Cox
Besides, she reflected, I could have been even more blatant, given the setting. Stalagmites, caverns, unexplored nether regions… the possibilities for smutty double entendres had been almost too readily available. Not that 1 needed them, she thought with a smirk.
Her confidence in her own time-tested techniques and tactics gave way to unsettling fears and suspicions as she considered the information she had managed to extract from the lecherous lieutenant. Classified military experiments at White Sands? Isabel chewed nervously on her lower lip, disturbed by the possible implications of Ramirez's background. Visions of top secret alien autopsies and extraterrestrial artifacts paraded behind her fretful brown eyes, awakening deep-rooted fears and anxieties that were never very far from her thoughts.
What was an air force test pilot doing with the man who shot Liz two years ago? Could these shady goings-on have anything to do with RosweUs hidden alien secrets? The last few years had taught Isabel to be distrustful of almost everything and everyone, including herself. A high school counselor, a congresswoman, a deputy, a waitress, new friends and admirers… all had proven to pose hidden dangers. She couldn't help worrying that her unearthly heritage was about to catch up with her again.
Won't it ever end? she asked bitterly, waiting in line for the elevator back to the surface. Won't we ever be safe, anywhere on this planet?
5.
"So," Alex said, flagrantly trying to take Liz's mind off her nerve-racking brush with Joe Morton, "there's just one thing about this whole alien royalty bit I don't understand. If Max is Luke Skywalker, Michael is Han Solo, and Isabel is Princess Leia, what does that make the rest of us?"Hmm, I can't speak for myself," Maria said, "but I always thought there was something very C-3PO about you."Thanks a lot!" Alex replied in mock indignation. He balanced on the back of a wooden bench outside the Visitors Center, his tennis shoes resting on the timbered seat of the bench next to Liz and Maria.
"Hey, don't complain," Maria warned. "I could've said Chewbacca. Or Jar Jar Binks." She glanced at Liz, playfully punching her preoccupied best friend in the shoulder. "What do you think, Liz? Is Alex more of a 'droid or a Wookiee?"Liz mustered a feeble smile at her friends' lighthearted banter. She knew they were both working overtime to raise her spirits, and she didn't want to disappoint them, but she couldn't help it; she still felt like an emotional basket case.
Her nerves were shot, and she jumped at every unexpected noise or movement. Her eyes restlessly scanned the surrounding scenery, half-expecting to see Joe Morton, gun in hand, reappear without warning. I've never felt this scared before, she thought, not even when tfie FBI or the Skins were chasing us.
Granted, there was nothing overtly threatening about their present location. The three teenagers, all one hundred percent human, sat outside the Cavems's bustling Visitors Center. The blazing sun, burning brightly overhead, baked the packed parking lots and arid desert terrain around them, keeping the temperature in the upper nineties, even in the shade. Spiny cacti and flowering red agave and ocotillo bushes sprouted stubbornly from the dusty brown soil surrounding the low, one-story Visitors Center. A nearby wooden kiosk displayed a variety of posted notices regarding park safety and regulations. None of the notices, Liz guessed, said anything about how to cope with fearsome, trigger-happy monsters from your past.
She watched a vulture circle slowly in the cloudless blue sky stretching over the desert, the grim harbinger of death doing little to dispel the disturbing memory of her own excruciating brush with mortality, lying wounded and bleeding on the scuffed tile floor of the Crashdown. Nor did the scorching sun drive away the numbing chill that seemed to have settled into her flesh and bones for good. The rocky Guadalupe Mountains loomed on the horizon, harsh and forbidding, like her life now seemed to be.
"How're you holding up, kid?" Maria asked sympathetically, abandoning her and Alex's happy act.
"I don't know," Liz confessed, grateful for a shoulder to cry on. "I can't stop thinking about it. The shooting at the Crashdown, I mean." Her yellow, formerly green, sweater was crumpled into a ball on the seat of the bench, but she was still overdressed for the torrid heat of the New Mexican summer. The Visitors Center, only a few yards away, was air-conditioned, but she just wasn't ready to deal with a building full of strangers right now. Despite the raging sun cooking the three teens to a crisp, Liz craved privacy and quiet more than she needed relief from the heat. "I know, I should be over it, after all this time. Max healed me right away, so I was really only hurt for a couple of minutes, but, ever since I saw Morton again, it's like it's happening all over again!"Perched atop the back of the bench, Alex kept looking over at the front door of the Center. Iiz knew he had to be wondering what was keeping Isabel. "That's perfectly understandable," he assured Liz. "I got beaten up on the way home from school once, and for weeks afterward, I couldn't walk that route without looking over my shoulder the whole time." He squinted into the glaring sunlight, keeping an eye out for Isabel and/or Morton. "I got over it, eventually," he told Liz. "So will you."I hope so, she thought despairingly. She hated feeling so weak and fragile. I've been captured by alien shapeshifters for heaven's sake, and lived to tell of it, so why has this left me such a wreck? She choked back a sob as she buried her face against Maria's shoulder. Tears streamed from her eyes.
Sighing in sympathy, Maria held onto Liz's shaking frame. "Oh, gee," she murmured, sounding choked up herself. Maria took a restorative sniff from a vial of rosemary oil, then waved the tiny glass bottle under her distraught friend's nose as well. "Look, Liz, if you want, I can drive you home in the Jetta right now. Alex can wait for our alien buddies, and hitch a ride home in the Jeep."Sure," he volunteered readily. "No problem. You can take off whenever you want." His gawky frame, seated above Liz and Maria, provided a bit of welcome shade for his friends. "Don't worry about me."Liz shook her head vehemently. The rosemary oil had done little to soothe her anguished spirit. "No, I can't. Not yet." She was in no shape to face her parents, not in the frazzled and fragile state she was in. They had no idea what had almost happened to her in the Crashdown that day, let alone everything she'd been through since. There's no way I could hide what I'm feeling from Mom and Dad, she realized.
"Okay," Maria said soothingly. "No rush. Just wanted you to know you've got the option, whenever you feel up to it."Thanks," Liz managed with difficulty. She knew she couldn't stay here, sitting on this bench forever, but the mere thought of doing anything else, taking any kind of decisive action, was just too daunting. Where are Max and Michael? she fretted in an agony of suspense, terrified that something horrible would happen to them while they were trailing Morton to who knew where. Shouldn't they be back by now? She needed to know that Max was safe and coming back to her soon. Who will heal him, she tormented herself, if both he and Michael are shot? In her mind's eye, she could see Morton taking aim at the only boy she had ever really loved BANG! A sudden loud explosion caused Liz to leap to her feet and let out a gasp of sheer terror. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer, and she was suddenly back at the Crashdown again, feeling the bullet slam into her belly, knocking her to the floor. The smell of smoke and burned gunpowder filled her throat, and she clutched her stomach in alarm. Help me! Max! Maria! I've been shot! "No, Liz! It's okay!" Maria grabbed onto Liz's arm to keep her from running away in fear. She thrust her face in front of Liz's, trying urgently to penetrate the instant panic stampeding through her friend. "It was just a car, Liz! Backfiring in the parking lot." Behind her, Alex jumped awkwardly from the bench onto the sidewalk, coming to their assistance, a dismayed look upon his face. "Only a car, that's all!"A car? Liz didn't understand. Adrenaline flooded her body, spurring an uncontrollable urge to run for safety She tugged on her arm, trying to break away from Maria's steady grip. Her frantic eyes searched wildly for Joe Morton and his smoking gun. A car? she dimly registered, blinking in fright and confusion. But I was shot, wasn't I? Pain, or the memory of pain, throbbed below her ribs. She looked down apprehensively, expecting to see bloo
d gushing from her abdomen, seeping through her lightweight cotton T-shirt, but saw nothing of the kind, not even a single, charred bullet hole in her shirt. "A car?" she asked uncertainly.
Her friends flanked her on both sides, offering her reassurance and support. "That's right," Maria insisted once more. She took Liz's hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. "It was just a car, Liz."Alex seconded Maria's emphatic assertions. "It's okay, Liz," he said, taking hold of her other hand. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Everything's fine."Really? Liz wondered hopefully. The unreasoning panic began to subside as her friends' calming words sank in. She felt her pulse slowing to something closer to normal. Her breathing grew softer and more regular as she shakily contemplated the adjacent parking lot, which was crammed with dusty station wagons, SUVs, and vehicles from all over the country. It could have been a car, her fear-stricken mind gradually conceded. That ear- shattering, nerve-jangling bang might have been just a routine backfire, brought on by a faulty muffler or carburetor. But what about the pain, the agonizing impact of the bullet striking her flesh? She could've sworn that she'd been shot once more.
Liberating her hand from Marias consoling clasp, she gripped the bottom of her T-shirt and tugged the fabric upward, needing to see for herself that she was indeed unharmed. Her worst, most dire fears and expectations were not at all allayed when both Alex and Maria gasped out loud at the sight of her exposed belly. Filled with fear and trepidation, she looked down and let out a startled cry herself. "Oh, my God," she whispered.
There was no wound, no blood, but something else caused her eyes to widen and her jaw to drop. There, emblazoned on the quivering flesh of her bare stomach, was a phosphorescent silver handprint, glowing brighter than the noonday sun.
6.
Good thing we don't have heat vision, Michael Guerin thought. Otherwise Max's ferocious glare would have burned a hole in the back of Joe Mortons skull.
The alien youths lurked at the back of the elevator, accompanying the mysterious gunman on his way back to the surface. Fortunately, Morton's size and girth made it fairly easy to keep track of him, even in the crowded elevator. Michael figured the odds that the scruffy stranger, who reminded him unpleasantly of his vanished foster father Hank, would recognize him and Max from the Crashdown were incredibly remote. Morton and his sleazy confederate had fled the scene of the shooting well before Max called attention to himself with his miraculous (and highly imprudent) laying of hands upon Liz. He never knew that his single bullet had changed all of their lives forever.
The baleful intensity with which Max's eyes shot daggers at Morton made Michael uncomfortable. It wasn't like Max to lose control like this. Usually he was more cautious, more thoughtful-except, of course, for that day at the Crashdown. Maybe I've got good reason to be worried, Michael thought; the last time Morton threatened Liz, Max had risked everything by using his powers in public. Who knew what rash action Max might take now that, after all these months, the deadly gunman had reentered their lives? Seven hundred and fifty feet later, the elevator disgorged its occupants into the Visitors Center atop the caverns. Morton ignored the various educational displays on the history of the park, featuring large mounted photos of such earthly luminaries as Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover visiting the caves, and headed straight for the nearest exit. Max and Michael chased after him, trying hard not to be too conspicuous about it.
At the last minute, right before stepping through the swinging glass doors to the outside, Morton turned and looked behind him. Michael's heart jumped, and he hurriedly feigned interest in a map of the surrounding park-lands, but Morton paid no attention to either Max or him, glowering instead at the sealed doors of the elevator. Right, Michael guessed, with a strong sense of relief, he's not looking at us. He's checking to make sure the lieutenant is still underground and not leaving the caves at the same time.
Having assured himself that his nameless co-conspirator was nowhere to be seen, Morton left the Center. Michael counted to five, then took off after him, disturbed to see that Max was already several steps ahead of him. "Slow down, man!" he whispered forcefully to Max, catching up with his longtime friend. "Cool your jets, okay? You're going to blow our cover!"After spending the last few hours in the cool, artificially- lit recesses of the caverns, stepping out of the Center into the heat and glare of summer came as quite a jolt. Michael squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes. Days like this, he wished he had a protective inner eyelid, like Mr. Spock on Star Trek. Guess we're a different sort of alien, he thought wryly, searching for the designated target of their amateur manhunt. At first he couldn't locate Morton amid all the other tourists coming and going outside the Center. Then, despite the blinding sunlight, he spotted a familiar bright orange cap rising above the stationary vehicles crowding the large, spacious parking lot. "Over there," he alerted Max, pointing toward the departing figure. Morton was obviously planning to say adios to the park.
Max nodded grimly, no doubt reaching the same conclusion. "Get the car," he instructed Michael tersely, tossing him the keys to the olive-green, army- surplus Jeep he and Isabel shared to get around. "I'll stick with Morton."Are you sure?" Michael asked, a dubious expression on his face. The way Max was acting, he was reluctant to leave him alone with Morton, even for only five minutes or so. "How about the other way around?"Just do it," Max ordered, his intent gaze never leaving their unsuspecting quarry. He proceeded briskly along the edge of the parking lot, continuing the pursuit without a single glance backward.
Fuming in frustration, Michael kicked a discarded Pepsi can at Max's retreating back. Tell a guy he's the rightful heir to a distant alien civilization, and suddenly he thinks he can call all the shots. Realizing there was no arguing with Max in his present mood, Michael hustled to carry out his friend's instructions. He raced across the overpopulated parking lot, sliding between the tightly-packed vehicles until, only moments later, he reached the Jeep, right where they'd left it. Hopping into the driver's seat, he fired the ignition and backed out of their parking space, taking care not to run over any strolling tourists or (worse yet) bang into Maria's precious red Jetta, parked right next door.
Figuring that Morton, once he got into his own car, would be headed for the exit at the northeast end of the lot, Michael drove that way as well. Sure enough, he found Max waiting alongside the exit, looking impatient enough to spontaneously combust. Michael pulled up next to him, and Max bounded into the front passenger seat, not even bothering with the Jeep's door. "That's him," he snapped, pointing at the access road leading out of the park. "The blue Chevy convertible with the Texas plates." He vibrated with frustrated antagonism. "Don't let him get away!"The Jeep accelerated out of the parking lot, onto N. Mex 7. Michael spotted the navy-blue Chevy Max was talking about, two or three vehicles ahead, and got into the same lane. He wondered how long Max was willing to follow Morton. All the way to Texas, or to hell and back? I'm betting on that last one, he thought sourly. He still wasn't convinced that this was a good idea. We don't have enough troubles and enemies on our hands, we have to go look-ingjor more? Keeping one hand on the wheel, he snatched a half-empty bottle of Tabasco sauce off the dashboard and took a deep gulp of the bottle's fiery red contents. The refreshing liquid heat coursed down his throat, tantalizing his alien tongue and taste buds. Ahh, he thought appreciatively, that really hits the spot. He offered the rest of the bottle to Max, but Max brushed it aside with a curt gesture, obsessively focused on the blue Chevy and its occupant.
Without stopping, Morton passed through the tiny tourist trap of Whites City, heading northeast on National Parks Highway, better known as El Paso Road, toward Carlsbad itself, about half an hour away. Sun-baked desert plains, spotted with occasional stands of mesquite or yucca plants, stretched out monotonously on both sides of the park highway. Pushing the speed limit, the Jeep's forward motion generated a cooling breeze that helped to make the sweltering heat slightly bearable.
Michael cautiously kept a couple of vehicles between the Jeep and
the Chevy, much to die frustration of Max, who kept urging him to close the gap. "You're too far away," he complained, restlessly drumming his fingers upon the dashboard. "We're going to lose him."No, we're not," Michael assured him for what felt like the fifteenth time. Talk about your role reversals, he thought. I'm supposed to be the reckless, impulsive one. "Do you want him to figure out we're tailing him?" he asked Max in exasperation. "This snaz2yjeep of yours is pretty conspicuous."Max did not respond, instead falling silent as he continued to stare darkly at the speeding Chevy. His icy expression and smoldering eyes spooked Michael, who tried to figure out just where his friend's head was at. I haven't seen Max so angry, he thought, since that final confrontation with Agent Pierce. "So what's the master plan?" he asked worriedly. "What exactly are you planning to do once we find out what this creep is up to?"Whatever I have to," Max said, looking straight ahead, his seething gaze glued to Morton's convertible.
"What the hell does that mean, Max?" Michael didn't like the tone of his friend's voice. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he let Max know exactly what he thought. 'Are we talking murder here, Max? Is that the plan? Are you planning to kill Morton yourself, to avenge Liz Parker's sacred honor?" Squeezing the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened, he cast an accusatory look at the obsessed alien teenager sitting next to him. "Just how far are you planning to go, Max?"I don't know," Max answered, after too long a pause. His expression darkened as he considered his options where Joe Morton was concerned. His jaw twitched and an angry vein pulsed along his brow. "Far enough, I guess."Oh yeah?" Michael challenged him, dividing his attention between the road, the Chevy, and Max Evans. "Let me clue you in on something, glorious leader. Killing another person, human or otherwise, isn't like skipping class or lying to the cops. Itfe something you have to live with, every day for the rest of your life."He spoke from painful experience. It had taken him months to come to terms with having killed Agent Pierce, and that had been in self-defense. Sometimes he still had nightmares about it, vivid flashbacks that woke him up in the middle of the night. He could just imagine the torments Max's anguished conscience would put his best friend through if Max actually killed Morton in cold blood. "You don't want to do that, man."Max looked unconvinced, but at least he appeared to be considering what Michael had said. His fingers stopped drumming violently on the dashboard and his stormy gaze turned inward for a time. Let's hope I got through to him, Michael prayed, before he does something we all regret.
