Balancer

by Patrick Wong

  Amy’s turn to read. Her gaze flickers over the first printout. She chucks it aside. Then another. Nicole rolls her eyes at the screen.

  “I saw that, Nix. Some of these are kinda R-Rated. OK — oh, this is a good one. ‘Did you see anyone on fire?’”

  Nicole turns to Amy, disgusted, and snatches the page away. “As a matter of fact,” Nicole chides, “everyone came out from the woods basically unharmed. We saw a lot of trees burn and we helped a girl who was hurt, and some clothes were kind of singed.”

  “Yeah, but I got burnt on my leg. See!” Using Nicole as a prop, Amy hitches up her skirt to her thigh and shows the redness on the back of her calf and knee. “We didn’t notice it at the time cuz we were running so fast to escape, but we were incredibly close to the wildfire. We were here!” Amy points the camera down to a mocked-up map of the campgrounds. Their tent is marked in purple, a blue splotch designating the lake and a big patch of green for the forest. “And the fire started out here.” She brings into view a gold foil flame and begins to move it menacingly around, close to the tent. “Next question!”

  “‘How long did it take you to escape?’”

  “We’d say about a half-hour. But it felt like a day.”

  Amy takes center stage again and gesticulates each turn of events wildly. “And I got so sick from the smoke. The second we got to the clearing, it was like BAM! It hit us then. People were running everywhere. Stuff was all over the place. This car, it, like — it zoomed past. It was like this.” Amy squeezes her forefinger and thumb together to show how little space there was. “An inch further and I’d’ve been toast. So after that we asked around a bit and worked out we couldn’t get back to our car and our best bet would be to run. We went back into the forest. That’s when I got real sick.”

  “Ames inhaled a lot of smoke when she asked that guy for help,” Nicole explains. “So we didn’t get very far into the forest before she had to rest. Then we found Elise with her dog, Charlie, and she looked pretty bad, so we decided to carry her out.”

  “Anyway, so Nix carried Elise to the clearing by way of a ditch and a knee-deep stream, but that is totally another story. Then the firemen found us. We’re alive! End of story. Phew!” Amy, out of breath, takes a sip of water.

  Nicole smiles and picks out another question. “‘You guys are like superheroes. So if you could have any superpower, what would you choose?’”

  “Excellent question … Super-smasher,” Amy responds, almost immediately, and leaps to her feet. “Like The Hulk, but I wouldn’t be all huge and rock-like, I’d just be me-size like I am now, but also have the power to super-smash anything I wanted. So, for instance, I could either save someone from a devastating train wreck, or … I could go and, I dunno, smash … things up.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Everything!” Amy noisily mimics the action of punching a big thing and the fallout of debris that comes crashing down.

  Nicole waits until Amy’s finished, then: “Have you truly thought this through? Because I would say that smashing things up means actually damaging stuff … which kind of goes against being a superhero. Also, remember that Hulk ends up naked whenever he goes back to being Bruce Banner.”

  “Oh yeah, forgot about that part … Nicole, you tell us all what you’d pick.”

  “Why not something like super-genius? You could use that to solve massive problems. Like cure disease.”

  “Like, all diseases?”

  “The really bad ones. The incurable.”

  “OK, so — bam!” Amy snaps her fingers. “All diseases cured! No one gets disease; no one dies. So what would you do with the population boom, hm? All those people hanging around not getting ill? How would you feed everyone? You’d have to invent a different superpower.”

  Nicole stares at Amy. “Nope. Super-genius pretty much handles that, too. I’ll solve the food crisis as well.”

  “That’s cheating. A two-fer.”

  “It’s a good catch-all. You can cure disease, end starvation, eliminate pollution, stop global warming. I’d be like Tony Stark from Iron Man, but a girl with a conscience. Super-genius is the super-super-skill!”

  “But let’s say the drug companies get mad at you because you cured all diseases and they’re out of business. So they kidnap you and lock you up in some cage in an underground secret prison.”

  “No way! I’ll escape!”

  “What with? Cuz you can only have one superpower, right? You can’t unpollute and undisease your way out of a cage.”

  It’s Nicole’s turn to furrow her brow. “So are we saying that you definitely need more than one superpower?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Fine, then. My second is … teleportation.”

  “For the cage?”

  Nicole nods. “For the cage.”

  “Well played, Nix. Well played. One last question. This one is from NewBenKenobi.” Amy’s glance slides across at Nicole, then back to the screen. “Hey, Ben. Good to hear from you again. So, you ask: ‘People have found evidence of animal remains in an odd formation at the campgrounds. Did you see anything weird there?’”

  Nicole looks confused. “Animal remains?”

  Amy stares into the camera. “Uh, Ben: Don’t know. Don’t care. You guys out there, post us the superpowers you’d like here at AmesAndNix.com. Tune in again! Byeeeee!”

  The screen fades to purple, with scrawled letters:

  Peace Out! Ames & Nix xxx

  Lost for Words

  The elevator beeped as it passed the third floor of Evergreens Hospital, and Nicole glanced across at her best friend. Amy was being unusually quiet, and Nicole half wondered whether the stress of the previous few days had gotten to her more than she’d let on.

  Nicole’s mom had been against their visiting Elise so soon after the wildfire, but the girls had insisted, and after they’d stopped to pick up a bag of fresh grapes and a handful of colorful balloons from the store, Nicole’s mom had reluctantly dropped them off before her shift.

  Amy sensed her friend’s eyes on her, and she looked up and smiled. She popped a grape into her mouth and offered the bunch to Nicole. A ding announced the elevator’s arrival at the children’s ward.

  The girls stepped out into the bright and cheery reception area.

  Elise Allerton was there to greet them, a large smile plastered across her face. Her hair was in pigtails, her face was scrubbed clean, and she wore jeans and a T-shirt as if she’d just strolled in off the street. She looked well-rested and healthy — and about as far removed from the injured girl Nicole had carried as could be possible.

  “Wow! Look at you!” Amy gasped, barely putting into words the disbelief Nicole was feeling.

  Nicole gave a smile, too, and croaked her greeting.

  “Hey.”

  Elise grinned, and from behind her back she pulled out two daisies, which she offered to Nicole and Amy. “Thank you for saving me.”

  Amy knelt down before the girl and gave her a hug — in part to check that she wasn’t some kind of apparition.

  As Nicole watched Elise hug Amy tightly, doubts raged through her mind. How could this be so? The little girl — who only a day earlier had been crushed under a heavy tree branch and was so badly hurt that she was barely conscious throughout the entire flight through the forest — was healthy and well.

  Soon they were joined by Mr. and Mrs. Allerton, who explained that, although they were still suffering from smoke inhalation, Elise had been given a clean bill of health. Together, the family had been checked out and was all set to go home.

  Nicole felt truly dazed, and she knew from the look on Amy’s face that her friend shared her confusion.

  Elise’s parents had a different reaction. They could not have been more thrilled, and they held on to their daughter as if they had inwardly vowed never to let her go again.

  “The doctors are calling her a miracle child, and you can see why.”

  “It’s just amazing!” Amy exclaim
ed.

  “We were expecting to come sit by your bedside, Elise.” Nicole handed across the colorful balloons.

  Mr. Allerton gave his daughter a big bear hug. It made Nicole suddenly think wistfully of her own dad.

  “We think you’re the miracle girls. Both of you,” Mrs. Allerton said, tears of gratitude twinkling up her eyes.

  Nicole nodded, her throat dry from the shock of seeing Elise in perfect health. This on top of Charlie’s dramatic improvement — it was almost too much.

  *

  It was Nicole’s turn to be quiet on the drive back to her house. Nicole knew about patient confidentiality, but she wondered why her mom hadn’t mentioned Elise’s rapid recovery. Perhaps, given that her mom had called ahead to let the Allertons know the girls were coming, she had wanted it to be a surprise for Nicole?

  Well, a surprise she’d gotten! This only added to the mystery. During the journey home, she could think of little else.

  After they had reached home and parked, Nicole got out and sat down heavily on the curb.

  Amy followed, planting herself on the lawn beside her.

  “No way!” Amy began. “No way!” She ripped up a handful of glossy green lawn.

  Nicole nodded, grateful for the space to process what had just happened. It was truly extraordinary news — amazing, scary and completely mind-boggling all at once.

  “There is no way that Elise was OK.”

  “I know, Ames.”

  Amy turned and stared at her, and Nicole detected a glint of fear in her eyes.

  “That branch was so heavy. And she was cut all over. I was sure she’d have one or more broken ribs. But I didn’t see any cuts on her. Did you?”

  Nicole shook her head, numbed by the sudden revelation.

  “What happened out there?”

  Nicole let out a big sigh. “I thought we rescued a badly injured girl and her burnt dog. Now … Now, I don’t know.”

  Amy nodded, trying to take it in.

  What on earth could it all mean? Before Nicole could say more, someone cleared her throat noisily behind them.

  Nicole turned to see her neighbor, Mrs. Truman, standing with one hand on her hip, the other brandishing a set of gardening shears.

  “You girls planning on loitering there all day?”

  “We might,” Nicole responded. She never had time for her grumpy neighbor, having had a long history of kicking balls and throwing Frisbees into her prized azaleas and then sheepishly having to call the Truman house to retrieve them. This routine was always followed by a sharp lecture from Mrs. Truman. Nicole once had to spend hours weeding the Trumans’ garden for accidentally knocking over the lemonade stand she had set up one summer and crushing some of Mrs. Truman’s prized roses, which especially sucked because the roses delivered their own punishment by sticking Nicole with their painful thorns.

  What Mrs. Truman lacked in kindness and humor she made up for with her overzealous gardening talent. She could often be found outside her house, caring for her roses, pruning plants and tending her lawn. Truth be told, her flowers were truly a sight to behold. Nicole’s mom once joked that gardening gave Mrs. Truman an excuse to keep her eye on the neighborhood, and then muttered under her breath that it might’ve been better if she applied that same attitude to her wayward husband.

  “We’re just sitting here minding our own business,” Amy protested.

  “It’s like I always say,” Mrs. Truman began, glaring at the girls above her glasses. “It’s not what you’re doing now; it’s what you’re likely to be up to in the next five minutes that concerns me.” The sizeable, gray-haired lady lifted up her shears and shuffled off to work her ire on the large hedge outside her home.

  Amy gave a dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes. It was no use arguing.

  “I could really use a soda anyway,” Nicole said, getting to her feet and holding out a hand to help Amy up. “You coming in?”

  Amy pulled on Nicole’s hand and stood up. “I kinda promised mom I’d spend some time with her and Troy …”

  “Oh, sure.” Nicole offered a smile.

  As the friends parted company, Nicole told herself that it was probably better for her to be alone with her thoughts for now anyway. Over the next few hours, she absent-mindedly tidied her room, burnt her grilled cheese sandwich and failed to read the novel on her bed. She did succeed in lying on her bed, staring at the wall and replaying memories of the mysterious events of the wildfire.

  Something weird was happening around her. But what did it all mean?

  Smells Fishy

  Standing in front of the WBN camera, reporter Lynn Meyers removed a handkerchief from under her nose and offered a firm, serious smile to the camera. “We’re here at the Flour Mill Run River in Fairfax County, Virginia, the site of a new case of mysterious animal deaths that are thought to be linked to the wildfire over the weekend. I’m joined by local fisherman Rob Ackerman. Mr. Ackerman, thanks for agreeing to talk. Can you tell us what you found this morning?”

  A hefty, hairy man stepped in front of the camera, clearing his throat. “Well, I got out in my boat, just at the usual time. Set up my rod. Then I happened to notice one or two fish floatin’. I thought to myself, ‘This ain’t right.’ So I went ahead and motored up a bit, and that’s when I saw ’em.”

  “Saw what?”

  “About a hundred fish. Some belly-up, some washed out on the shore. Read ’bout things like that, but it’s not something we see around here.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ackerman.” Lynn looked straight back into the camera. “This is another strange scene that greets us today.”

  The cameraman panned past Lynn and across to the shoreline, showing all of the dead fish lying in a neat pattern along the bank. The morning sunshine glinted off of their silvery blue bodies, and for a moment, all the little fish looked like they were a pattern of scales on a much bigger fish. It was an eerie sight.

  In the background, away from the camera’s gaze and Lynn’s attention, an engine roared. Although distant at first, gradually it became louder, and as the camera returned to Lynn, a large, black Suburban with blacked-out windows was speeding up behind her and moving much too fast for the dirt road it was on.

  “Is he supposed to be doing that?” Rob asked, panic edging his voice.

  Lynn turned to see the approaching vehicle, her immaculate features clouding over with anger.

  “Not again,” she murmured.

  The SUV came rushing toward them as if it were planning to knock them over. Lynn and her interviewee had to jump out of the way to avoid being hit. The cameraman lowered his camera, frustrated with his spoiled shot.

  “Hey!” Lynn exclaimed furiously at the driver. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The engine growled low and the car stopped. After a moment, the doors opened, and two men in suits stepped out of either side. Agent Bishop ignored Lynn and, barely acknowledging the people his car had almost hit, stepped across to the shoreline. From his pocket, he produced a pair of latex gloves, snapped them on, and then crouched down to get a closer look at the fish.

  His partner, Agent Carter, approached Lynn, holding up his ID.

  “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Carter, and that’s my partner, Special Agent Bishop. We’re from the FBI, and we’re investigating the area. We’ll need to confiscate your footage.”

  “No way!” Lynn recoiled and went to stand next to her cameraman, as if he could afford her protection. “I’m not giving you our video again. This is an exclusive! The people have a right to know!”

  Carter seemed to consider it for a few seconds. His warm brown eyes sparkled with something resembling amusement. “Rest assured, we can make sure you get the exclusive, Ms. Meyers. We’re looking into a possible bioterrorist threat to D.C.”

  Lynn drew in a breath, her hunch confirmed.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, this stretch of river feeds directly into the Potomac River, which runs right next to Washington, D.C., and so we’re
going to need someone to let the … people know about drinking the water, personal safety, so on. Someone people trust …”

  “No other network?”

  “If you cooperate.”

  Lynn blinked and then gestured at her cameraman. “Give him the clips.” The cameraman flicked the memory card out of his camera and handed it across. Carter accepted it graciously.

  “We’ll also need all footage you have on the Lake Fairfax wildfire, which includes media from your smartphone devices. I understand WBN found the animal carcass pattern?”

  “Sure. But we already copied what we had for the FBI, and Homeland Security. Which group did you say you were from?”

  “We’re from a special branch.”

  “Are you a fisherman?” The distinctive low growl of Bishop’s voice interrupted proceedings. Standing up and returning from the water’s edge, the agent now addressed Rob, who was quite obviously a fisherman, dressed in waders, a checkered shirt and a sun hat.

  “I sure am. Rob Ackerman.” He held out his hand. Bishop paused for a second, and then — seeming to overcome some kind of inner demon — he tore off his latex glove and shook Rob’s hand.

  “What kinds of fish d’you get out here?”

  “A mix. Mainly catfish. Some bass. Those over there are bluegill.”

  “What’s your hunch?”

  “As I said to the lady here, I couldn’t tell you. I ain’t seen nothing like it my whole life.”

  “Thanks,” Bishop said lightly.

  He stepped past the reporter and eased Carter away. Just then, a series of marked and unmarked backup vehicles pulled into the area. Lynn began to film the hive of activity on her smartphone. A mix of at least twenty FBI agents, police officers and scientists from the Environmental Protection Agency spurred into action, taping off the area. They then proceeded to take pictures of anything resembling evidence. These guys meant business.

  About ten yards away, Carter and Bishop stood side by side, surveying the fish kill. Bishop crouched down again, lifting up a specimen to his nose and inhaling. He turned back and looked at Carter with a smirk.

  “Don’t say it.”