We cut through a food court overrun with pigeons, even seagulls somehow, and then have to pass through a tunnel of sorts, one lined with glasswalled animal enclosures. On the right side, the boys get interested in a komodo dragon; meanwhile, I wander along the left side, reading about the koala bears, which aren’t really bears at all. There are three in the exhibit—two huddled up high on a PVC jungle gym, one below sitting in the dirt. The one on the ground is holding a single leaf, turning it in its paw and studying it with great concentration. It looks up and sees me looking. Then the koala smiles. Its eyes are bright green.
I glance over my shoulder to be sure the boys aren’t watching and hold my hand between my belly and the glass. I give the koala a peace sign. It looks at its paw, drops the leaf, and slowly extends two fingers in a V. “Hey guys,” I say. “Change in plans.” I cross to them, reach in my pocket, and fish out a twenty. “Take your brother back to the food court and get him a slice of pizza.”
Nate says, “I don’t want pizza. What about the train?”
“Then have a cheeseburger. We’ll take the train twice after we eat. It’s lunchtime now, OK. I don’t want you guys getting overhungry. I’ll be right there.”
“What kind of a word is overhungry?” Thomas asks.
I scowl. “Would you just do as I say?”
Nate, sensing tension, folds his arms and strolls to a platypus display. Thomas cocks his eyebrows and says, “What’s your deal? You seem a little more psycho than usual. This is hardly worth a spring break in Nags Head.”
“That’s how your mother got you to agree to do this? She had to bribe you to spend time with me?”
“I wouldn’t call it a bribe,” he says, then stares at the twenty.
I can’t help glancing back at the koala, just to be sure Huan didn’t shift into a gnat and slip away. But she’s still there, with her jade-colored koala eyes aimed at my son. “Thomas, I need you to watch Nate for a few minutes. Just take him back there and buy him whatever he wants. Do not leave the food court. I won’t be five minutes.”
Thomas stares at his brother.
“Tommy,” I say, something I haven’t called him in years, “this is important. It’s about work.”
“Hero work?” He’d deny it, but for an instant, his eyes shine.
I nod and feel a tightness in my throat. This was the phrase we used when he was a child and I had to explain my many absences. I’d tell him he was old enough to know a secret and that he had to be man of the house, help watch his mom, whatever. I ask him the question: “Can I count on you?”
“We’ll be in the food court.” He snatches the money, turns to his brother and says, “Come on, we’ll start with ice cream.” Nate trots off with him, and I turn back to the koala pen. The two up high still cling to one another, but Huan is gone. I’m about to say her name when a couple enters the tunnel from the train end, pushing a stroller. “Look at the teddy bears,” they say.
A monarch butterfly circles my head twice, hovers as best it can in front of my face. When it flits out of the tunnel, I follow. It floats and flutters around the side, leading me through some overgrown azaleas. But in a small walkway in the rear, between the back of the building and the zoo’s outer fence, I find overturned milk crates, a patch of dirt littered with cigarettes. The butterfly lands on one of the crates, and its flesh stretches and grows into the shape of a Great Dane. The dog, green-eyed, says, “Don’t tell me that was Tommy.”
“He goes by Thomas now.”
“Unbelievable. It’s been that long?”
“Longer still in dog years.”
The Huan-dog laughs. “It’s good to see you again, Vincent.” She closes her green eyes, concentrates, and shifts into an orangutan.
“Look,” I say, “I know this is an intrusion.”
“Not at all. I’m so glad you’ve come.” The orangutan blinks before shifting into a horse, which says, “Terribly sorry, but I can’t quite dial up human. It’s been forever.”
“Don’t apologize,” I tell Huan, who finally settles on a snowy owl.
“I’ve done it, Vincent,” she says. Her emerald eyes are glassy and still. “I made contact.”
Huan used to talk about becoming one with the bestial world, tapping into the unified spirit of the animal kingdom. Just before she left, she told me it was her destiny.
“I don’t just mean communication within a species. That’s easy. I’m talking about interspecies conversations. They may be very basic, but the animals, they all talk to each other.”
She sounds fevered, blissful, like a preacher revving up a sermon. I sit on the milk crate opposite her. “What do the animals talk about?”
“The very things we do. The weather, food. Sickness and death and new life. And love, of course love. I don’t think I ever understood love until I heard elephants murmuring in the predawn light. Their capacity for kindness, it makes me feel so small. Some of the animals tell jokes. You wouldn’t believe how wickedly funny skunks are. Giraffe humor, I have to say, is more an acquired taste.”
“I’m sure it is,” I say. As I’m wondering if Huan has gone native, she turns her owl head completely around, 180 degrees, which reminds me of Linda Blair. When her face comes back around, she says, “Sorry, I thought I heard something.”
I’m silent, wondering what she thought she heard and trying to decide just how crazy she is. At the same time, I can’t help but admire the abiding faith she possesses in this absurd delusion of the animal kingdom. On top of all I’m feeling, pity for my friend, selfish concern for my plan, I feel envy. I wish I had something like this to believe in, something huge and important to be a part of. She seems to read my mind and says, “It’s all right that you don’t believe me, Vincent. Humans don’t need to believe me for now. The day will come when everyone does. Maybe for now, we should concentrate on why you’re here.”
“Right,” I say. “Let me think where to start.”
“With the Techno-Horde, of course. They’re the ones trying to stop me.”
Something startles her, and she shifts into a mountain gorilla. Her huge hands split open a leafless azalea to her side. Two squirrels haul ass up a tree, and Huan lifts her ape face. “My apologies, dear sisters.”
“Huan,” I say. “We shut down the Horde fifteen years ago.”
“We thought we did. They’re back. And it only makes sense they’d come out of hiding now. They must realize how close I am to finishing my work. If I can unify the animal world, their plans for a society of pure technology will be in jeopardy. I’m astonished their surveillance teams didn’t attack. I’ve seen their robotic operatives all over the zoo lately. Clearly, they’ve improved their designs—these new androids are almost undetectable. Yesterday one came by the seal tank that was an exact duplicate of Jacques Cousteau. I suppose they’ve developed a sense of irony. You took a great personal risk coming here. On behalf of the animal community, I thank you.” The gorilla closes its green eyes and bows.
I know Huan’s rap on the Techno-Horde is nutty—those lame androids and their robotic creations were long ago recycled or turned to scrap metal—but her sense of lurking danger infects me. I can’t help but picture my two sons, sitting on a bench with ice cream cones, alone and unprotected. I feel an urge to get back to them, but I need to finish what I started. I’m not too proud to use her paranoia against her: “This all makes sense,” I say. “We knew King Chaos was planning something big, but we didn’t know he was in bed with the Horde.”
“Chaos,” the gorilla says as she nods. “A human behind this after all.”
“We’re closing in. If we can bring him down, my guess is that the whole Horde scheme will collapse on itself. Can I count on your help?”
“Guardians forever,” she says. Once, this credo was nearly sacred to me. At night, to ward off the anxiety that comes before sleep, I’d repeat it like a mantra to ease my mind. Now I can’t even bring myself to say it back to Huan. I reach into my pocket and pull out my Danger Ring, th
inking I’ll swipe another from Ecklar. But Huan shakes it off with a thick paw. “When you need my help, merely whisper my name. As long as one animal can hear you, word will get to me, brother.”
“All right,” I say, not sure what to believe. “I should go find my boys.”
“Of course,” the gorilla says.
I turn to go, and she says, “I assume there’s some connection between all this and what’s happening to the sky.”
I look up.
“Directly above the city,” she says.
I nod. “That’s radiation from Ecklar’s people. It’s the start of some kind of interstellar space bridge. They’re coming back for him.”
The gorilla considers my explanation, and I realize that I sound as crazy to her as she does to me. “Whatever it is,” she tells me, “the birds don’t care for it.”
“OK,” I say, not sure how else to respond. That her abilities allow her to perceive the vortex doesn’t surprise me. Can’t animals sense earthquakes before they happen?
My former teammate morphs into a squirrel and follows the two she spooked earlier up that tree. I walk away, wondering which side she’d take in a planetary war between beasts and man. Ecklar once speculated that Huan might not be human at all, that her abilities operated on a different plane from everyone else’s. He was always frustrated that he couldn’t account for the increase in mass when she changed shape. The ability to create and shape matter at will, that kind of energy, he explained, was something even his people couldn’t conceive of.
When I reach the food court, I don’t see my sons. Packs of children chew on floppy slices of pizza. Parents puncture juice boxes with plastic straws. In the branches of a sycamore, a red-and-yellow parrot sits, clearly an escapee. But my children aren’t where they should be.
I maintain my breathing and try not to think of Huan’s wild claims, that the park is overrun with sworn enemies of the Guardians, sinister androids intent on destroying mankind. That bird is just a bird, not a robot replica. But my pace quickens as I move through the Tex-Mex Chuck Wagon, the American Grill, and even Veggie Garden. Outside once more, I scan again each table, studying the faces, hoping maybe they fell in with some kids. All I get is a scolding look from a suspicious mom. I recheck the benches scattered along the perimeter, but there is nothing. Even though Thomas is angry with me, he’d never have taken Nate to those trains, and he’d have no reason to leave the court. By now my heart is starting to get away from me, and realizing what I’m about to do quickens my pulse further. I stride to the center of the court and do the thing that no parent wants to do, publicly admit abject failure. I cup my hands to my mouth and yell, “Nate! Tommy!”
The pigeons take flight, and everyone turns my way. I crank my head left and right, expecting to see them coming my way from some isolated eating spot, embarrassed but safe. All I get are the stares of strangers. I take a few steps toward the train and repeat my cry, and that suspicious mom stands from her table. “I saw two boys with a security guard by the fountain,” she says. I look where she’s pointing, but nothing is there. “He had a walkie-talkie and sunglasses.”
I can’t say why the image strikes me with such terror, but it’s like a spark on gasoline. Without making a conscious decision, I’m instantly aloft, fists clenched, eyes sharp, forty feet in the air above the civilians of the food court.
There’s an audible group gasp, fingers pointed, and a few smart parents evacuate, shoving strollers away from the area at high speed. I slowly rotate like a wrestler at the center of the ring, scanning for trouble, expecting it to come at any moment. A single scream from behind spins me around, and coming over the sycamore is a man-sized creature with an insect body, reptilian wings, and a bull head complete with horns. Now everyone is screaming.
I don’t think about what to do. When you see a monster, you hit it. I bolt toward the beast and cock one fist, thinking center mass, center mass, eyes on its shiny thorax. Just before impact, something happens to my body, and my head whips forward and back. A tightness around my ribs makes me look down, and I see a slimy coil squirming around me, squeezing me like a boa constrictor. I follow it back to the creature, which now has tentacles, feathery wings, the head of a goat—and deep green eyes. “Vincent,” it asks, “what are you doing?”
“Fuck,” I say. “My kids are gone.”
“The Horde,” Huan says, and her head becomes an eagle’s. She squints down at the scene below, where the civilians have all scurried for cover.
“I’m calling for backup,” I say, but I can’t get to the Danger Ring in my pocket because she’s still got me wrapped in her tentacle.
“Wait,” she says. One of her other tentacles points to the far side of the restaurants, where Thomas and Nate stand next to each other just outside the restrooms. Thomas has his arm around his brother and is looking my way. He does not seem afraid.
“False alarm,” Huan says. “Thank the goddess.”
I want to fly down and sweep them up, zoom off to a safe place and never leave, but Huan clenches me tight. I look her in her eagle eyes, and she says, “Vincent, you’d better go ahead and punch me. Not too hard.”
I don’t move.
“My cover,” she says. “I can’t just fly away. The Horde is surely watching. Knock me into the lake, slam me straight up into the clouds. I need to disappear.”
I don’t understand my friend’s logic, but when she uncoils that tentacle, I grab it in one hand. I gather two other ones, enough to have a good grip, and I say, “You with me?” She follows my thinking and begins flying around me while I anchor the center. From below, it looks like I’m spinning the creature against its will, and I twirl to build momentum. When I let go, she accelerates, and her body arcs over the zoo, out toward the south river. Maybe she’ll work her way to the sea.
I quickly float down and land next to my boys, ready to apologize and take the blame for leaving them, screwing up this special day like it seemed I was fated to. But before I have a chance, they rush into my arms and embrace me, together. The three of us hug, and it’s Thomas who speaks first. “That kicked ass,” he says. Nate squeezes my side, and I feel the spike of pain that likely means a broken rib, but I don’t push him away. Then comes a sound from behind us, something I almost don’t recognize. Cheers and applause.
The zoo patrons come out from hiding. They emerge from beneath the food court tables, step out from behind the boulders lining the lake. They clap and take pictures, and one of those old folks rises out of her wheelchair as if she’d just received a miracle cure. The faces beam at me with thanks and admiration and awe. It’s like yesterday at Titan’s stadium, only better. In the minds of these people, I’ve protected them and their children from a vicious monster. They think they owe me their lives.
“You did it, Dad,” Nate says. “You saved everybody.”
I think for a moment about how to answer. “Just doing my job, son,” I say, and I feel wonderful, and I feel disgusted, but I go on. “I’m a hero.”
NINE
Accounts of the Incident with the Hideous Beast. The Beginning of Something Sinister. Power beyond Reckoning. A Bedroom Scene. The Thrill of Being Desired. The Threat of Spontaneous Combustion. Fear of Falling.
There’s nothing quite like being surrounded by appreciative fans. But when you’ve got a four-year-old with you, there’s a danger of being crushed if things get out of control. To avoid such an event, and to get out of the cold, I led both my sons through the first open door I could find. And so, five minutes after my grand victory, I’m sitting now with both boys at a corner table inside the Tex-Mex Chuck Wagon, a restaurant with wall murals of tepees and buffalo. They dip corn chips in melted cheese, slurp complimentary sodas brought by the staff.
“It had six arms,” Nate says.
Thomas chews and says, “Must’ve been an alien, don’t you think, Dad?”
“Maybe so,” I tell him. The longer you let a lie go uncorrected, the harder it is to get out of it. But both my sons
seem so happy, so bright with belief in me. Telling them the truth would be cruel. This is what I keep telling myself.
A man with a two-foot-tall red sombrero delivers something he calls “Enchanted Enchiladas” on a square plastic plate. The boys dig in, and I grant the man a smile so he can walk away. He passes a zoo security guard, one of a dozen men and women dressed in odd zebra-striped uniforms who showed up only moments after the fight. They are armed only with what look to be cattle prods, and I wonder if they aren’t trained in animal control more than crowd control. Still, I can’t argue that they aren’t doing a fine job.
Through the oversized window, just past a line of these peace officers, I see the grateful civilians who didn’t leave as soon as the action ended. Their eyes are wide with wonder, and their mouths move quickly. I can’t tell exactly what they’re saying, but I know who they’re talking about. As a group, their attention shifts suddenly upward, into the sky, and those at the center of the courtyard scatter for the perimeter. I hope, for an instant, that this signals the return of Menagerie, come back as a griffin perhaps, ready for a second fake beating.
Instead, a hovercar descends into the open space. Blasts from the air jets whip up trash and leaves, sending citizens for cover behind trees or making them turn their backs. As it descends, I’m surprised to see Ecklar at the wheel, armored up in his battle suit. It’s been years since he’s had it out in the field, though maybe he was inspired by Nate’s late-night adventure. Sheila is also in the hovercar, and she vaults over the side like she’s heading into combat. She somehow knows where we are and runs straight to us, but when she bursts through the doors, the three of us just sit where we are, strangely still. She bends to embrace Thomas, who hugs her back and says, “Mom, everything’s OK. Dad was way awesome.”
She looks at me, and the fear for her son’s life melts away.
A second hovercar, this one piloted by Clyde, touches down. Dressed in her Venus costume, Deborah bolts through the courtyard and lifts a hand. The doors swing open before her, and she joins us inside. Nate scoots off the bench and charges into her arms.
The Midlife Crisis of Commander Invincible: A Novel (Yellow Shoe Fiction) Page 14
