by Patrick Wong
With a panicked glance at her mom and then to Amy, Nicole realized that unless she wanted to bolt off air and make an even bigger fool of herself, she had no choice but to do this interview. All Amy could do was stand helplessly by the door as an observer to something she so desperately wanted. What made it worse was that Drake would be tuning in at home.
Nicole’s mom took her hand under the dining room table and gave it a squeeze.
Nicole took a breath.
“Welcome back. I’m here now with Nicole, the girl they’re calling the ‘Reston Superhero,’ and her mom, Dr. Lucy Aaronson. Nicole, first of all, why don’t you take us through what happened?”
After a pause, Nicole felt herself quite automatically begin to talk about the night of the wildfire and how she and Amy had stumbled upon Elise and Charlie. All the time she was talking, in the back of her mind ran a mantra that pounded as furiously as her nervous heartbeat.
Seem normal. Seem normal. Seem normal.
As promised in the advance questions, the satisfied interviewer now turned her attention to Nicole’s mom.
“Dr. Aaronson, how proud are you of your daughter?”
Nicole watched her mom smile thinly and think about her answer. “Well, Rhia, naturally any parent would be proud. I know her dad can’t wait to get home and give his girl a hug.”
She looked across at Nicole and smiled, then, looking back into the webcam, her expression changed.
“But I work in a busy ER downtown, and I see people taking risks like these every day. It worked out OK this time, but I do need to stress this: Unless you can be sure you can get out of that fire alive, then please, don’t double our workload. Leave it to the professionals to do their jobs.”
Rhia nodded.
“I kind of want to say …”
“Yes, Nicole?”
Nicole thought she might stumble, but kept on talking. “I just did what I could and it was a one-time thing. But my mom, like everyone who works in emergency services, has to do this every day. They’re the real superheroes.”
Rhia gave a smile. Nicole sat back and looked hopefully at the dining room clock to see that their time was just about up. Surely they’d gotten the interview they’d wanted by now?
But Rhia glanced down at her notes and raised one of her eyebrows.
Nicole knew what this meant. Something big was coming.
“We’re getting some Tweets in from viewers, one who asks what was wrong with Elise when you first saw her?”
It was like Rhia had reached through the laptop screen and punched Nicole in her stomach. Nicole was fumbling for an answer; this was exactly the kind of question she had feared.
She glanced up quickly at Amy for guidance. Her best friend had heard the question too and was looking pretty shocked. But, true to form, Amy pulled a clown-like “I dunno” face with massive swinging arm gestures and a full-body shrug.
Her gesture lightened Nicole’s sense of fearfulness while also giving her the answer she needed.
“She looked pretty bad, actually. She was trapped under a tree branch when we found her. But all we knew was that we had to get her out of there. ‘We’ being me and my best friend, Amy Madigan.” Nicole said Amy’s name a bit too firmly — she wanted to get her name in at least. She wondered just how much her mom had picked up on her nervousness, but before she could say anything more, her mom leaned forward, taking up almost the whole screen.
“One final thing I’d like to say as we finish is that my daughter doesn’t have to save children and animals from a wildfire to make her dad and me proud. She does that anyway.”
Having brought the interview to a close herself, Nicole’s mom glared defiantly at Rhia, and Nicole knew she could relax at last.
The next few moments involved Rhia wrapping up the interview and Nicole and her mom being thanked again for appearing on the show. Nicole sat with her smile fixed, her mind racing, hoping beyond hope that she’d done enough to avert suspicion.
The interview over, the laptop shut and her mom in the next room talking animatedly on the phone with Nicole’s dad, Nicole ran up to Amy.
Hiding her disappointment, Amy explained that Nicole’s mom had told her what was happening while she was fixing her hair clip upstairs. “They just wanted you anyway, Nix. You were the one who rescued Elise, so what would I have said?”
“I only did it cuz you wanted me to.”
Amy gave a little smile.
“So I’ll just go say hi to my dad and then we can catch up on last night,” Nicole said. “We’ve got so much to talk about!”
Amy’s face faltered a little then, and Nicole braced herself for what was coming.
“I just got a text from Drake, so … I kind of said I’d head over there.”
Nicole hadn’t realized Amy was this disappointed. She fought with some of her own disgruntlement, wondering whether she was being unreasonable, but she still felt annoyed. This whole stupid thing today had been all for Amy. Nicole hadn’t wanted her face plastered all over TV, and somehow it had all gone horribly wrong.
“I thought we were going to hang out?” Nicole offered.
An awkward silence fell between the friends.
“Nix …”
“I didn’t even want to be on stupid TV! You know how much I hate that. I only did it for you, and now you’re upset about it and I don’t even know what to do!” It all came blurting out, and Nicole was almost as surprised as Amy by the end of it.
Nicole’s mom could not have timed her interruption more inappropriately. She poked her head around the door.
“Nicole? Your dad wants to talk to his superstar daughter!”
“Um … OK …” Nicole stalled. “Amy, my dad’s call will just take a minute. You wanna grab some lunch outside?”
Eyes were on Amy, and although there was a moment of hesitation, Nicole was disappointed to see that her friend’s heart hadn’t changed.
“I promised mom I’d get back, so … thanks for this morning.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out the way you had hoped,” Nicole apologized.
With a small smile — and none of her usual enthusiasm — Amy tripped out of the house.
Nicole’s heart sank.
Conspiracy Theorists
From his passenger seat, Agent Carter watched the now familiar tree-lined landscape and then the looming bridge of Flour Mill Run edge into view.
He was getting frustrated, and it was showing. It had been a full week since the animal death anomalies, and he and Bishop were no closer to determining the cause. The toxicology reports had ruled out any chemicals or pathogens in the woods or entering the water, and, as Bishop had suspected, the U.S. Geological Survey and the Fish and Wildlife Service couldn’t find any sign of disease either — too many different types of fish and animal life had been killed at once. With every crime lab or toxicology report that returned inconclusive, the possibilities narrowed in some areas and widened in others.
Carter gave a cursory wave at the officer on guard who knew not to stop the agents. Bishop had his head buried in his tablet, scrutinizing the new lab reports of the charred animal carcasses from the Lake Fairfax wildfire.
Carter had been right to reorder lab results. It seemed the first-response agents had been looking for the wrong thing — or at least had been focusing too narrowly.
Hours after sending the carcasses over to a particular forensic pathologist they knew at the Fish and Wildlife Service, Carter and Bishop had received a baffled phone call. The concerned pathologist reported that the animals had indeed been burned as the photos had initially suggested, but they hadn’t perished from external heat. They’d burned from the inside out.
The closest thing either agent knew of that could cause this would be some form of microwave, and their subsequent investigation into radioactivity in the area had drawn a blank. Spontaneous combustion theories — traditionally discredited by the FBI — had been considered.
The car pur
red into the investigation area and came to a standstill. Carter noticed that the police officers guarding the area seemed weary — understandable after standing around for days watching over a dwindling pile of rotting fish.
The site had been photographed and documented from every conceivable angle, and each specimen of fish had been collected and tested. The diggers had spent 24 hours solid scooping up the great mounds of decaying fish and animal matter, and now the final cleanup operation had begun.
Carter knew the inevitable wild theories were circulating on the Internet about government tests and the radio waves from them destroying wildlife, but he had also been assured that those types of tests weren’t currently operating nearby. UFOs and Armageddon — the other two favorites of the conspiracy theorists — he couldn’t rule out yet.
What Carter did know was that something extraordinary had occurred. He and his partner exited their car and stood before the placid river once more.
Although the lab’s water report had shown no toxins and normal oxygen levels, it appeared that a mass suffocation of all animal life in the water had occurred. And like the wildfire carcasses, the fish had somehow burned themselves from the inside out.
As the agents stood gazing across the water, Bishop exhaled loudly. Both men had spent some very long days and nights puzzling over this mystery, which had been complicated by pressure from the Senate security office. It wanted reassurance that Senator Jennings wasn’t the target of any hostile plot, rogue group or mentally disturbed individual.
“Anything new?” Carter indicated to Bishop’s tablet.
“No. No notes or threats or people claiming responsibility. No established natural or human anomalies. The seasonal temperature was normal, so the fish didn’t get too hot or too cold. No disease, no toxins, no bad rain.” Bishop thought about it. “Essentially, we are dealing with something that internally combusts stuff. Small stuff, granted. But stuff nevertheless.”
“Weaponize that, you got yourself some power.”
“You know, DARPA isn’t far from here …”
Carter nodded. The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency was known for its development of classified military weapons.
“I read a paper on a system being tested for nonlethal crowd control defenses. Made you feel like your skin was burning, which should cause crowds to disperse. But it was also capable of becoming lethal with just some minor modifications.”
“We should send somebody there. Maybe a rogue scientist … or an unsanctioned test that has gotten out of control?”
They heard the crunching of footsteps behind them, which abruptly stopped the conversation.
They turned to find Officer Gillespie.
“You gentlemen any closer to solving it?” Officer Gillespie stared at them patiently. His question was in earnest.
Bishop gave a quick glance to Carter, who chuckled. “Well, Officer, the wildfire looks like it was caused by a camping accident. We’re fairly confident of that. That type of thing happens all the time. But we’re continuing to do analyses on the animal deaths. It’s a needle in a haystack now,” Carter said.
“Well, when you run out of things to test, maybe it’s time you think about finishing up around these parts?” The officer indicated to the forensics. “I got about a dozen families wanting to know if they can come camp while the weather’s still fine.”
“We can bring the barriers down in about a day or two,” Carter explained. There was no need to keep the park closed much longer.
The officer nodded. “Oh, and I got a lady over there. Says she has an appointment with you for an interview?”
Sure enough, Lynn Meyers was standing on the other side of the barrier, in front of an impatient group of TV and newspaper reporters. The media interest in the mystery was certainly intensifying.
As in all situations like this, Bishop turned to Carter, who understood what he had to do. He strode up to the group, and the closer he got, the louder the questions became. The reporters seemed like a gaggle of geese, each goose trying to out-screech the other.
Carter sighed inwardly before waving them down.
“First question, Ms. Meyers?”
Lynn nodded. “Special Agent Carter, you’ve been investigating this site for a week now, and WBN understands you’re about to leave. Can you tell us if you know any more about what happened here?”
“As a matter of fact, Lynn, I can confirm that we’re satisfied in our investigations of this area. The wildfire appears to have been caused by a campfire that was started outside of the designated campgrounds and without usage of a proper campfire ring. We have no suspects at this time, but we believe the devastation was unintentional.”
The clamor rose again, and as previously agreed upon with Lynn, she was given the second question too.
“Thank you, Agent. That explains the wildfire. But what can you tell us about the strange animal deaths at Lake Fairfax and here?”
Carter’s face was indecipherable. “As you know, Lynn, we’re looking into several possibilities. We do believe the wildfire and the animal deaths are two coincidental, unrelated events, and we are treating them as two separate investigations. And we’ve recently followed up on an important new lead, which, as you can appreciate, must remain confidential for the time being. But our recent tests have not detected any contaminants of any kind, so we no longer believe there is any cause for concern over the public’s health. Starting today, we’re lifting the water recreation advisory for the surrounding area.”
It was a bluff, and Carter knew from the look on Bishop’s face that it hadn’t come off quite as he’d intended. The press weren’t too thrilled with the lack of detail either, and as Carter thanked them and turned away, he caught a few disgruntled expressions and some looks of — what was it? — derision.
Bishop, however, knew better than to point out any of that to Carter, and he let the silence speak for itself. He tended to regard the media as an unnecessary evil, one that usually hampered investigations or sent the perpetrators advance clues, and so his attitude toward reporters was gruff at best.
What Carter had done was thrown them off the scent, but he’d also given them some actual breaking news in the cause of the wildfire and the lifting of the water recreation ban. It would be good enough for now, but time was running out.
Every person in the campground wildfire had a file with the FBI, even the Jennings family. Two people in particular stood out to Carter — the “Reston Superhero” and her sidekick — but his quick review of Nicole and Amy hadn’t sounded any alarms. The girls didn’t fit the profile of a terrorist or an anarchist.
“Take a look at this.” Agent Carter brought up AmesAndNix.com and started one of the girls’ more recent postings. Bishop watched as Amy appeared and whispered “… I’m going to put my personal safety at risk just to show you what a sleeping superhero looks like. Let’s see if she exhibits any of her superpowers this morning…” Agent Bishop formed a small grin and struggled to withhold a laugh while watching the show unfold. Carter was not amused and stared in poorly concealed disgust as his partner enjoyed the video.
“Come on. Really? I don’t think these girls have anything to do with this,” Bishop said. “They’re just goofy kids. Look at them. The only tragedy taking place here is the one girl filming her friend without makeup.”
Carter snapped Bishop back to reality. “One just went on national TV to talk about the wildfire and how she rescued a child. These girls were central to the event, and that makes them people of interest.”
With leads and angles leading nowhere, Bishop searched in his memory over his long experience at the FBI for something — anything — he and Carter could be missing. Biological? Chemical? Military? Still could be terrorists. And if somebody was trying to send them a message, it wasn’t a clear message. Right now, they had nothing.
A Box Marked “Weird”
Nicole eased the messenger bag strap from her shoulder and got out her English homework. She rubbed h
er neck, reddened from the weight of the bag’s books. Then, kicking off her Converse sneakers, she dived onto the bed and lay there, face down.
It was Wednesday. Only Wednesday, and it had been the longest of weeks already. A small groan escaped her.
Her mom gave a brief knock before entering. Nicole raised her head from the pillows to offer some kind of lively response. She’d thought she had the house to herself, having forgotten that her mom had swapped shifts and was on a late one again tonight.
Her mom came in with a pile of folded-up laundry and set it down next to Nicole’s dresser.
“How was school today?”
“Yeah. OK.”
“Really?” Her mom didn’t seem to believe her, and she sat down beside Nicole on the bed.
School had been challenging because the main topic of discussion had been her and entirely her. Nicole’s classmates envied and admired her in equal measure, and she was exhausted by the endless questions about what it felt like to be famous, on TV, seen as a superhero … the list went on.
Following several nights of fitful sleep, she had shoved most of her wildfire and rescue thoughts in a mental box marked “weird” and attempted to get on with her week.
Thankfully, communication had been restored with Amy on Monday night, after they had barely spoken two words to each other all day. Arriving home in a foul mood Monday evening, Nicole had checked her email to find a barrage of funny messages from Amy. After Nicole had responded, Amy had pleaded tiredness and grumpiness at not being on national TV, and Nicole had understood and accepted the apology.
The girls had made plans to drive out to Lake Fairfax over the weekend to discuss the latest developments. Finally, Nicole had something to look forward to.
Her mom began to put in her stud earrings. “So, I have a favor to ask you, and I’d like you to think about it before giving me an answer.”
“A favor, huh?” Nicole suspected this was going to be something she wouldn’t necessarily like. She was right.
“There’s a boy in my hospital and he’s pretty sick at the moment. In fact, he’s terminally ill.”
