by Jack Blaine
“. . . tornado. Or maybe it’s just an early manifestation of the changes we’re going to see from global warming. Or it could even—”
“What are you guys talking about?” Charlie butts into the conversation.
Ben nods a greeting at both of us. “Have you taken a look at the sky lately?” His voice is all dramatic, like he’s announcing a national disaster or something.
“I have seen the sky,” booms Charlie, doing his best James Earl Jones. “A storm is coming.”
Ben makes a face. “Ha. Ha. Not. Greg thinks it’s just storm clouds too, but I’m telling you, those are no ordinary clouds.”
Greg swirls a finger next to his ear and nods toward Ben. “He’s crazy.” He shrugs. “It’s just one of those summer thunderstorms. Hey, are you guys . . .”
He trails off, because Lisa Cassity is walking by us. She’s dressed in even tighter jeans than she wears at school. Her lipstick is flaming red, and she’s giggling into Jason Ono’s ear while he drapes his arm around her like she’s the smooth leather back of the passenger seat in the slickest Mustang convertible ever and he’s in the driver’s seat, ready to hit the road.
Not my type, so much, but the sight of her butt in those jeans deserves a moment of silence from us all. Once she’s passed, Greg swallows and continues. “Are you guys going to try out for any teams next year?”
Charlie and I shake our heads while Ben nods his. We all jump when we hear a crash in the kitchen.
I hop up and head in the direction of the noise. When I round the corner of the huge kitchen island, I see a girl sprawled on the floor, one leg folded back behind her at a weird angle. She obviously had too much of something. Her friends are standing around laughing, as though she’s the funniest sight they’ve ever seen. Not a single person has offered to help her.
“You okay?” I squat down and take a closer look at her leg. I don’t like the looks of it. I hope it’s not broken.
“Fine.” She’s got a pretty good slur going. “Pull me up.”
I take hold of the hand she’s reaching out and tug, hoping the leg will hold her. It does, so she must just be drunk enough that she’s extra flexible and hasn’t done any real damage. I don’t quite know what to do with her now that she’s up, so I’m relieved when Lara’s brother rides in on his nonexistent white horse.
“Somebody drank one too many beers,” Brian says, laughing, but he takes the girl’s arm and leads her toward one of the couches. Her group of friends slowly disperses now that there’s nothing to gawk at.
“My brother can be a pain when he’s being overprotective, but he’s a good guy. She’s in good hands. Looks like you are too, Nick. A good guy, I mean.”
It’s Lara, standing close to me. I didn’t see her show up. She smells like some sort of citrus fruit, tinged with vanilla.
“She’s a little wasted.” I shrug off the compliment, if that’s what it was.
“She’s one of Brian’s friends. He’ll watch her, make sure she’s okay.” She looks behind her. “I think I managed to throw Donny off, at least momentarily. He had to use the bathroom.” She winks. “Want to go back out on the balcony before he gets here?”
I feel something flip in my stomach, like there’s an acrobatic mackerel swimming around in it, but I try to look cool. “Sure, if you want.”
Before we get to the balcony, the TV suddenly switches from writhing dancers covered with gold body paint to a blank screen. Lara reaches out and touches my arm as she pauses and hesitates, waiting to see what’s wrong. We hear a high-pitched hum, and then the emergency broadcast system message starts. Everybody in the room stops talking and turns toward the noise. A news anchor flashes onto the screen, rustling some papers and looking grim. He keeps glancing off camera, as though he’s waiting for a signal. Then he straightens up in his chair and speaks.
“We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming tonight to bring you a news update on the unusual weather pattern occurring in our area. Some of you may have noticed the strange cloud formation developing today. The National Weather Service has upgraded its earlier thunderstorm warning risk from slight to severe. Additional information indicates that the anomaly is not confined to the local area but seems to be spreading over at least eleven states at this time, with no evidence of slowing. An advisory to stay indoors, away from windows, has been issued and is in force through five a.m. Sunday. As always, we’ll bring you any updates as they occur.”
The screen blips back into a blank, and then the gold dancers reappear.
Lara and I look at each other and shrug. Nobody else in the room seems too impressed, and the party starts back up as though nothing ever happened. We head for the balcony and gaze out at the skyline.
“It does look bigger now, doesn’t it?”
I nod. It looks really big, and weird—like it’s smooth and dense. Unlike any cloud I remember seeing before.
“Anyway . . . enough about the freaky weather. So, um, my parents are in Europe for a month. Brian’s home from college for the summer, and they figured it was safe to leave.” Lara laughs. “He really is a great older brother, but he’s totally acting like a third parent since they left. Always asking where I’m going and when I’ll be back.” She leans against the balcony railing, looking out at the city.
“Um.” Smooth. I start again. “Do you think Brian would let you go out with me one night? If I got you home at a decent hour?” I’m afraid to look over at her to check her reaction.
“Sure.”
I can hear that she’s smiling.
“I mean, he’d probably put you through the third degree first, but then he’d let us. Where do you want to go?”
“I was thinking pizza?” I hadn’t been thinking anything; asking her out was a spur-of-the-moment thing. But she’s being so friendly, she makes me think I might have a shot. I finally look over at her. She’s smiling, all right, and she’s turned toward me. I grin back and scoot a little closer.
“Listen, Lara.” I’ve only had one and a half beers, but I feel like maybe they’ve loosened me up some. Or maybe it’s just the way she looks right now—like she has a happy secret that she knows no one will ever be able to guess. She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for something, and I open my mouth to say something and then shut it again. I know it’s not the time for talking anymore. I missed my chance on the roof, but I’m not going to chicken out this time. Trying not to think too much about what I’m doing, I lean in and kiss her.
It feels different than I guess I expected. As soon as my lips touch hers, any nervousness I have is gone, replaced by this feeling of total certainty. She’s soft, and warm, and . . . everything. It feels totally natural, totally right. She falls into me, her hands on my shoulders. The world around us seems to disappear. Well—for a second at least. Then I hear Charlie’s voice.
“Hey.” Lara and I break apart like we’re doing something wrong. Charlie’s standing in the doorway, biting his lip and running his hand through his hair. I would want to kill him if he didn’t look so worried. I try to keep my voice even. “What’s up, Charlie?”
“Sorry. But I think we’d better get out of here. They just announced that all the buses are gonna stop running early tonight. Last one is in about twenty minutes.”
“Isn’t there somebody who drove that we can hitch a ride home with later?”
Charlie shakes his head. “They said they want people home. Something about the storm coming.”
“Jeez. Is it really that bad?” It figures. Just when something was actually happening, the stupid weather has to go and ruin it. “I’ll be right in, okay?” I wait for Charlie to leave and then turn back to Lara.
“Well, looks like I have to take off.” I touch her arm, wishing I could kiss her again.
“We’re still on for pizza though, right?” She takes hold of my hand, studies it like there’s a map on it. She doesn’t look at me.
“That is one pizza I would hate to miss.”
She finally lo
oks up, and she’s smiling. “I’ll call you tomorrow, to confirm what night.” And then she kisses me. It’s a kiss I don’t think I’ll ever forget. It’s the kiss I never once dreamed I would get from Lara Hanover.
Chapter 6
Dad’s sitting in the living room when I get home, obviously waiting for me. He looks worried.
“Oh, come on, it’s not even close to curfew.” I flash my wrist at him like I’m wearing a watch.
“Nick, thank God.” He stands and looks so relieved I feel guilty for giving him crap. But then I think about what might make him look that worried.
“I only had one beer, Dad—”
“It’s not that, Nick.” He walks over to me and grabs my arms. He just stares at me for a minute, and the look on his face is almost as bad as the look he had when he told me Mom was dead. “Listen. There are things happening. Things I didn’t want to have to tell you, but it looks like there’s no choice.”
I drop onto the sofa. “What’s going on?”
He looks at his hands for a long time. When he finally meets my eyes, his are wet. “We need to get out of here, Nick. I’m going to need your help, because I haven’t had much time to plan. But I have reason to believe that we’ll need to disappear in the next couple of weeks, maybe even sooner.”
I’m trying to track what he’s saying, but it makes no sense. “Disappear?”
He nods. “I know it’s a lot to take in—”
“Does this have something to do with your gun?”
He suddenly focuses all his attention on me. “You know about the . . . which gun?”
“There’s more than one?” I am shocked.
“Which gun did you find, Nick?”
“The one in the china cabinet.”
He nods. “Okay. So the other gun is in my nightstand drawer. They’re both loaded, Nick, so don’t play around. We’ll take them with us when we go, but I need to get some more supplies over the next few days. I’ve already got some . . .” He trails off, as though he’s trying to make a decision, and stands. “Follow me.”
I watch him head into the kitchen and follow him down to the basement.
I haven’t seen the place since they brought in all the equipment. Dad never lets me down there when he’s working, and even when he’s sleeping he keeps it locked. I never really cared; I saw his lab when he still worked in the lab downtown, and it was the most boring thing ever. Lots of measuring devices and blocky plastic machines that didn’t look like they did anything too exciting. Dad used to try to explain stuff to me, but I think he could tell I didn’t care.
The basement lab looks about the same as the one in the city. Dad heads straight for a stainless steel cabinet that’s padlocked shut. He fishes a key hanging on a nylon cord out from under his shirt. “This is the key to that lock,” he says, pointing to the cabinet.
There’s a label on the corner of the right cabinet door. The words OPTIMUS PRIME are printed out on it.
“Transformers?” When Mom was still alive, one of the things she used to laugh about was how Dad and I loved to play Transformers. I always liked Optimus Prime the best—if there’s one thing more awesome than a giant robot who can turn into a car or whatever, it’s a giant robot who can turn into a sixteen-wheeler, right?
“Hopefully.” Dad gives a weird laugh. “What’s in that cabinet is important. Remember that, Nick, if anything . . . happens.” He heads toward the basement closet. We used to keep board games and old sports equipment in it. When he opens the door, I can see it’s now filled with what look like survival supplies, top to bottom: dried fruit, foil packs of dehydrated meat, bottles and bottles and bottles of water. There’s some gear stuffed in there too, sleeping bags and what looks like a tent. “I’m going to go out tomorrow and get some more things we may need. While I’m gone, I want you in the house with the doors locked. I don’t want you to answer the door or the telephone. And I want you to keep one of the guns with you. I’ll show you the basics about how to shoot it before we go to bed.”
“Dad, what’s going on?” This is starting to get weird. Why would everyone be freaking out like this over the weather? Is that what it’s even about?
“Listen, Nick.” He leans against one of the work counters. “During the last couple of years, I’ve been working with government agencies more than I usually do in my line of research. And not the usual agencies either. These are the big boys: the Department of Defense. DARPA—the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. I was collaborating with some researchers that work on large hadron colliders. No big deal at first. But soon control of the project was transferred out of my hands to someone within DARPA who I wasn’t even allowed to meet. I kept requesting clearance to be allowed to discuss outcomes, but they kept dismissing me, telling me that if I didn’t fulfill my research contribution on the project I’d have my grant money revoked.”
“Dad, I don’t—”
“I think they were trying to make a weapon. I think they released Higgs particles.” Dad’s told me about Higgs particles before. They’re sometimes called “the God particle” because if a Higgs particle was made, it could do the one thing that’s supposed to be impossible. It could create matter.
Dad looks around at the lab like it’s a place he’s never really seen. “Nick, I think I helped them. I’ve tried to do what I can to fix it, but I haven’t had enough time—I haven’t been able to test anything.” He looks at me for a long few seconds. “Do you remember what a photon is?”
I rack my brain. “Light? A particle of light.”
“Yes. Okay. Now, usually light is pure energy. But a Higgs particle could interact with photons—particles of light—and it could change light, change the way light interacts with matter.”
“Dad, what the hell are you talking about?”
“It’s going to get dark, Nick. Soon.”
“It probably already is by now.” There are no windows in the basement, but it’s late enough that I bet it’s dark outside. “It’s gotta be past ten, and that weird cloud was making—”
“It’s not a cloud.”
Chapter 7
This morning, I wake to a note on my nightstand, anchored in place by the gun from the china cabinet.
I’m going for supplies.
Don’t leave the house. Be safe.
Love you,
Dad
Dad tells me to “be safe” all the time, but the instruction has never been accompanied by a gun before. I rub my eyes and head for the bathroom, but I back right up and grab the gun. I’m spooked.
I lock the door and take the fastest shower ever. I take the stairs three at a time to the kitchen. Dad’s left a box of cereal out on the counter, along with a bowl, a spoon, and half a grapefruit. It’s a throwback to when I was little, after Mom died. He usually had to leave for work before I was even up, so he always got my breakfast ready for me, as a way to say good morning. We had sitters until I was old enough to take care of myself, but he never let them make my breakfast.
My phone buzzes across the counter and I pick it up. Charlie’s texting me.
Have you seen the news?
I pour some milk over my cereal and take it to the living room. I grab the remote and switch on the TV. Every channel seems to be a new announcer. I stop on one and listen.
“. . . as it would be just after dusk. No explanation has been forthcoming from any government source thus far. Scientists say it’s too early to comment—that they need more data. The White House remains silent on the strange phenomenon.”
The announcer presses the bud in his ear for a moment, listening to some voice tell him what to say. “Ladies and gentleman, this just in—the White House press secretary says there will be an announcement today. The president will address the nation at seven p.m. Eastern Standard Time this evening. Keep—”
That’s when I realize that the room seems dark. I mean, the curtains are all drawn, so at first I didn’t notice anything, but now that I think about it . . . I jump up and go to
the big bay window. I’m almost afraid to pull back the cloth, but I do, just a few inches.
It’s dark. The streetlights are glowing all the way down the street, even though the clock on the wall says it’s nine thirty in the morning. It looks just like the guy said, like dusk, when you can barely see, but it’s not pitch dark yet. I switch off the T.V. and text Charlie.
WTH?
He comes back right away with
I know, right? The whole world’s gone batshit crazy. Mom is crying and calling people. Oh, hell, here she comes. Gotta go—back in a few.
I check to see if all the doors are locked.
Dad doesn’t show up until almost four in the afternoon. I’ve spent the time peeking out various windows to see if it’s really still dark (it always is) and channel surfing to see if any of the news stations say anything different. Finally I hear the garage door open and close, and by the time Dad puts his key in the back-door lock I’m ready to jump out of my skin.
“Where have you been?” I must sound like a pissed-off girlfriend.
“Can you give me a hand with these?” Dad nods toward the Subaru. He’s backed it into the garage, and there are boxes in the cargo area.
I grumble, but I pick up a box.
“I didn’t have time to pack them in right at the store. I want to rearrange so that we have some more room for stuff in the back.”
“What is this stuff?” The boxes don’t have labels.
“Survival supplies. It’s funny, you think you’re prepared until something actually happens and then you realize you’re not prepared at all. I went to that store out on the highway—The End Is Nigh, remember it?”
I sure do. We went in there one Saturday to see what it was when it first opened—must have been a couple of years ago. It turned out to be a survivalist’s paradise. They had all kinds of freeze-dried foods and water purifiers and blankets made of tinfoil stuff and knives and guns and traps. They even had a store model of a “survival cube” that you could shut yourself into in case of a disaster. The brochure said the company guaranteed the cube would keep a person alive thirty days, even in the case of a nuclear bomb, as long as you didn’t open the door. You just strapped yourself in, closed the door and locked it from the inside, and waited it out. There was a toilet built into the seat, and a tube stuck out of one of the walls that you could suck “nutripaste” from. I climbed in and sat down and wondered how anybody could stand it for more than an hour.
