She climbed the steps again and planted herself firmly at the top in front of him. “What happened between us before, it’s ancient history, Rob. What I have here,” she held out the telegram again, “like it or not, this is the future and I’m not going to let you face it alone.” Charlie spoke softly, like she didn’t want to spook him as she tried to gently push him back toward the doorway.
“There’s nothing wrong. This will be okay. Wait and see,” Robert said, but he didn’t budge.
“I know, Rob. Let’s go inside where it’s warm. I’m freezing out here.”
Her attempt at being reassuring wasn’t very convincing.
Too tired to fight, Robert allowed himself to be led back into the house. Charlie sat with him on the couch. He noticed there was snow on her lashes, making them glitter like they were dusted by diamonds.
He reached for the telegram and she pulled it away. “I have to give it to an adult. Are your folks home?”
“It’s ridiculous that we’re old enough to deliver those things but not old enough to receive them!” He had never thought the age rule would apply to him. “I think it stinks. We shouldn’t be riding all over town, giving those out like so many underage Grim Reapers.” He was angry now. It was all so stupid.
Charlie sat and took it all: the yelling, the brutal words, everything.
There was a noise in the hall as Robert’s mother bustled in the front door. They heard the sound of her taking off her boots and hanging up her coat.
“Robert!” She called up the stairs. “I’m home, dear! I’ll pop the kettle on and make you a nice cup of tea.”
She walked into the living room and stopped when she saw Charlie, in her grey CPR Telegraphs uniform, sitting beside Robert on the couch. “Oh, hello. I’m Helen Tourond, Robert’s mother. You must be Charlie, his friend from work. Are you here to check up on our patient?” She asked brightly.
Charlie stood and faced Robert’s mother. She tugged her coat down and cleared her throat.
“Actually, Mrs. Tourond, I’m here to deliver this telegram.” She held the envelope out and Robert’s mother staggered back a step.
“Is this a joke? If so, it’s in very poor taste, young lady.”
“It’s no joke, Mrs. Tourond.” Charlie stepped forward. “I’m so sorry to bring you this.”
Still seeming not to understand, the shocked woman turned to her son. “Is this a mistake, Robert?”
Robert moved to stand beside Charlie. “No, Mum. There’s no mistake. She’s here on business.”
Charlie turned to him. “And because I’m Rob’s friend.”
A noise from the kitchen signalled Robert’s father had arrived.
“William, come here please!” Helen Tourond waited for her husband to come to the living room. “This is Charlie from Robert’s work. She says she has a telegram for us.” A message of understanding flowed between them.
“Nice to meet you, Charlie.” Robert’s dad solemnly accepted the telegram.
His parents sat together on the couch and opened the letter. Robert watched as his mother’s face went through exactly the same sequence as every other person he’d delivered these to. He didn’t need to be told what the telegram said.
“Oh, my God.” His mother’s hand went to her mouth as though to stifle a scream.
His father coughed to clear his throat. “They say Patrick is missing in action.”
The words hit Robert like a fist.
His father went on with the details. “They were fighting outside a small town called Ortona in Italy. His patrol was sent to capture a German soldier for intelligence. The soldier threw a grenade, wounding some of Patrick’s men, and Pat ordered his patrol to retreat to safety. Somehow, he became separated from them and never returned. More information will be forwarded as it becomes available.”
His voice conveyed the bleakness they all felt. Robert’s mother slumped into her husband’s arms.
Charlie touched Robert to get his attention. “Maybe we should give your parents a moment alone. Let’s take a walk.”
Numbly, Robert followed Charlie upstairs. She found his room and made him sit on the bed, then wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.
“I know you’re hurting, Rob. I wish I could help.” She took in the room, her gaze lingering on his dresser with the stacks of comic books and pictures of his brothers.
Robert had added a candle for good measure. He thought the overall effect was perfect.
“Which one’s Patrick?” Charlie asked, reaching for a comic book leaning against a photograph.
“Don’t touch!” It came out a little louder than he’d meant, but he couldn’t let her disturb anything, not now. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. He’s in the middle. George is on the right and the other is James.”
Charlie quickly drew back. “So you’re the baby of the family.” It was more of a statement of fact than a question.
“That’s me, last on the list.”
“Last, though certainly not least,” Charlie amended with the merest quirk of her lips.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back? Old man Crabtree said you were swamped.”
“We are. It’s okay, though. It’s near the end of my shift and Mr. Crabtree was going to bring this one over himself, but I begged him to let me because you and I are such good pals.” The words spilled out of her.
Here, Robert raised one skeptical brow. “Good pals? Not the words I’d use.”
“Robert, this is bigger than any fat contest someone may have nudged a little to win.”
Now his other brow went up, then he gave in. They’d been mortal enemies when Charlie had cheated. But she’d been there for him when he needed a friend before and he could certainly use a friend now. Robert knew she was right. It was time to let the past go. “Truce?” he offered
“More like a stalemate,” she amended.
Robert touched the pendant around his neck. It was very warm and he felt an electric shock when his fingers grazed it. What was going on? He stood and, as if in a dream, walked to his dresser. He had the sudden urge to reread all the copies of The Maple Leaf Kid arrayed around Patrick’s picture.
Then he shifted his gaze to George’s grinning face.
His mind ticked over faster and faster. Maybe this was a test, like when George was shot down over France. He was supposed to have faith in the cosmic connection between the pendant, the comic books and his brothers. Captain Ice, his ace of the air, had shown Robert that everything would work out swell with the fly boys if he believed.
The comic had shown him what would happen, how the story would unfold and the happy ending. He thoughtfully traced the headline on the November edition of the Kid, remembering every word of the story.
Robert knew what he had to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
A CRACK IN THE UNIVERSE
Robert stood at his dresser and saluted each of his brave heroes. “Troops, duty calls and I will answer!” His eyes shone with an inner light as he urgently turned to Charlie. “I have to go to Kreller’s drugstore!”
She looked at him, obviously worried at his unexpected and irrational outburst.
“You’ve had bad news, Rob. Maybe you should hang fire a while. You know, take a breath.” She searched for some way to calm her friend down. “You’re sick and fevers can really mess with you. Why not sit for a minute? I could make you a cup of tea!”
Ignoring her, Robert strode to his closet and quickly found a pair of pants and a shirt. He was about to tear off his pyjamas when he saw Charlie’s shocked expression.
“I don’t have time for social niceties. Turn around or do whatever modesty says you should do when a guy is going to get dressed in front of you.” He pulled so hard on his flannel top that the buttons flew in all directions. He didn’t care. Yanking his shirt on, he reached for his trousers as he fumbled with the tie on the pajama pants.
“Yikes!” Charlie squeaked. “Will you please tell me what’s going on?”
�
�No time to explain. I have to get to Kreller’s – now!”
Charlie hesitated a fraction of a second and then he could see she had made her decision or, more accurately, her commitment.
“Okay, let’s go, Wonder Weed!”
She threw him two previously worn socks she found lying on the floor, then rummaged in a pile of clothes on a chair for a heavy sweater. “It’s cold outside. You’ll need this.”
They thumped downstairs and were out the front door before Robert’s parents could protest.
“Grab your bike. I’ll get mine from the garage. We’ll rendezvous at the end of the alley!” Robert called as he disappeared behind of the house.
Pedalling hard and dodging traffic, Robert felt lightheaded as they raced for the drug store. Absently, he noticed how the snow seemed to be pouring out of the streetlight in a beam of gossamer white powder. He almost giggled as he barely missed a delivery van turning left in front of him. Tonight, he was on a mission, as surely as Sedna or Ice or the Kid. Everything depended on making it in time.
“It’s after seven,” Charlie called as they skidded to a halt in front of the store. “He’s probably closed.”
“Look, the lights are still on. He’s in there.” Robert leapt off his bike, letting it fall to the ground with a fender-bending crash.
He ran to the door and pounded on the glass. “Mr. Kreller! It’s me, Robert Tourond! Let me in, please! Let me in!”
He wiped the pane with his glove, peering inside. Had the old druggist left the lights on and gone home?
A movement at the back of the store caught his eye. Robert hammered on the door again and this time Charlie joined him. The noise couldn’t be ignored and soon, Mr. Kreller was coming toward them.
“What on earth is going on? Why are you making such a racket?” he asked, opening the door a crack.
“Mr. Kreller, did the December issue of The Maple Leaf Kid come in?” Robert pressed, skipping the niceties.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Is this what the fuss is about? Comic books!” Mr. Kreller did not sound impressed as he opened the door wider and motioned them in. “Yes, yes, it finally came in, better late than never. That’s still no reason to raise the dead. I’m sure buying one more comic book could have waited until tomorrow, Robert.”
Charlie stood beside Robert. Her face told him she thought he was acting crazy.
“I need it now.” Robert started walking toward the counter. “Where is it?”
“Hold your horses. I’ll get it.” The pharmacist moved past his agitated customer and retrieved a familiar brown paper bag. “Ten cents and it’s yours.”
It was then Robert realized he’d left in such a hurry he hadn’t brought any money with him. He frantically searched the pockets on his trousers, but all he found was an old gum wrapper. Panic rose. He knew the store policy – no credit and there’d be no relaxing that rule this time. He wildly tore at his pockets once more, hoping he’d missed some hidden change.
Charlie reached out and calmly placed a dime on the counter. “Thank you for opening your store, Mr. Kreller. We won’t keep you any longer.” She took the bag and gave it to Robert, then pulled him toward the door. “Will you settle down?” she warned. “You’re acting like a madman.”
As they retrieved their bikes, Robert carefully tucked the bag under his sweater, not wanted to chance it getting wet. “I have to get home and read this right away.”
“Ah, I figured that part out, Sherlock.” Charlie shook her head as they started back.
At Robert’s house, they raced upstairs to his room, passing his parents in the hallway. His father was on the telephone, probably talking to his grandparents and Katherine about the news. Robert could hear the tension in his father’s voice as he spoke and couldn’t help but notice the strain on his mother’s face.
Once inside, he closed the door, saluted his brothers, then carefully smoothed out the covers on his bed before reverently placing the bag down. He took off his wet sweater, tossed it in the corner, then searched in his dresser drawer for the box of Eddy matches he’d stashed. Lighting the candle, he straightened the comic books next to each picture, making sure everything was absolutely perfect before returning to his bed.
Charlie stood quietly in the corner watching. She still had her uniform jacket on, and this she slowly unbuttoned and removed, the melting snow making a puddle on the floor.
Robert noted her respectful attitude and decided she must understand the importance of this ceremony. He took a breath and reached into the bag. With the utmost care, he removed the December issue of The Maple Leaf Kid.
He was rewarded with an explosion of colour and imagery. There was the Kid, being held in the clutches of two Gestapo guards while an SS officer aimed his Luger at our struggling hero. Towering above them was an ominous, cloud-shrouded medieval castle, complete with turrets and arrow slits in the crenellated stone walls. A reddish glow emanated from one tower room, like a beacon from hell.
Robert felt dizzy as he turned to the first page. He raked the panels, taking every detail in, reading each word and committing it to memory. The story was exciting, with the Maple Leaf Kid continuing to fight the enemy with his brain power and cunning. He was still in Italy and the Nazis were now hunting him as he was a known threat to the Third Reich – an enemy to be captured, tortured for his secrets, then slowly put to death by the foulest means.
The amulet around Robert’s neck pulsed. He could feel his blood zinging through his veins as he read. The action continued to ramp up; the tension kept building. This was truly a door between the two worlds.
Blinking, Robert looked around at the Italian countryside. The air was sweetly scented and the olive groves were exactly as Patrick had described them. He felt the hot cobblestones under his feet as he ran toward the foreboding castle towering in the distance.
Sweating with effort, Robert climbed the ancient stone steps leading to the interior of the fortress. Ahead in the gloom, torches flickered, sending eerie shadows dancing across the walls. He saw the Nazis dragging the Maple Leaf Kid toward his doom.
Robert’s eyes locked with the Kid’s.
They both knew escape was impossible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
STARDUST RESCUE
The Maple Leaf Kid had been captured and transported, but not to Gestapo headquarters in Rome. Instead, the diabolical brutes had spirited him to a secret fortress called Castello Della Morta, carved out of the jagged rock of the cliff itself, high in a remote area of the Italian mountains. Sinister, impregnable and so isolated no one could rescue the Kid. He was at the enemy’s mercy, of which they had none.
The Kid was taken to an old storage room, high in a turret, and locked in with a meagre daily ration of maggoty food and a single cup of water. His captors wanted him to break the top-secret Allied communications code so they could intercept information. They’d steal Allied secrets and then send false messages to cause chaos. To motivate the Kid the Nazis had rounded up local villagers – if he didn’t break the code soon, they’d start shooting their innocent hostages.
Our hero was in a jam. He already knew the secret code; he’d figured it out long ago. Although he had it, there was no way he would betray the Allies by giving it to the Nazis. He also couldn’t allow the defenceless villagers to be slaughtered. He had to stall for time until he could get help.
It was then that the Kid noticed a stack of old radios stored in a corner of his tower cell. Ordinarily, they would be of no use, but the Kid was no ordinary prisoner. He set to work tearing apart the nonfunctioning devices and found what he was searching for – the crystal detectors. These, he knew, were made out of silicon carbide; carborundum. He retrieved the silicate, ground it up and, using his drinking water, made a paste. Grabbing the metal plate he ate his disgusting meals on, the Kid dipped his shirttail into the dark, gooey muck he’d created and then rubbed the bottom of the plate.
He continued rubbing the saucer with the silicon carbide. Suddenly a noise c
ame from outside his door. He quickly hid everything.
“Ver ist your dish ?” the guard asked.
The Kid knew he had to be careful. If the soldier spotted the modification he’d made, there was no telling what they would do to him. He held the plate out like an urchin begging in the street, then wrinkled his nose. “Smells as good as it tastes.” The guard slopped a ladle of vile brown gruel into the dish then left, locking the door securely.
Emptying the plate, the Kid went back to rubbing the bottom with the silicon carbide. It didn’t take long before the metal shone like a mirror, which was exactly what the Maple Leaf Kid wanted. Moving to the arrow-slit windows, he spotted what he’d been praying for. There, at the bottom of the deep gorge, a small line of vehicles snaked its way along. It was a Canadian armoured column!
The heavy cloud bank broke and the sun shone in all its brilliant glory. Holding the plate out the narrow opening, the Kid proceeded to flash a message in Morse code to the trucks below, praying some bright Canadian trooper would scan the hilltops and spot his signal. Minutes later, returning flashes told him his message had been received and a rescue mission was coming. All he had to do was sit tight and wait.
But the Kid was out of time. He was hauled down to the courtyard where five villagers stood against the stone wall, a firing squad at the ready.
Waving his gun in the Kid’s face, the cruel commandant gave his ultimatum. “We discovered you already have the secret codes. If you don’t give them to us now, these vorthless serfs vill be shot!”
The Kid stood fast. “Killing these innocent people will do you no good. I’ll never betray my country!”
“Then you all die!” The officer grinned evilly.
The firing squad raised their rifles and the villagers clutched each other in terror. Before the fatal order could be given, ka-BOOM! The air was rent by a huge explosion! Canadian troops came storming through the smoking gates and the surprised Germans surrendered.
The Comic Book War: The Comic Book War Page 15
