Max Quick

by Mark Jeffrey

  June 5, 1954

  . . . he likes Elvis. Well, who doesn’t like Elvis, it seems, these days. But he’s not remembering things again, his memory is slipping. Anything past ten years ago, he just can’t hang on to it. We have to show him pictures, tell him again what happened, how he fell into the pool at the zoo, how he climbed that tree already, things like that . . .

  December 6, 1961

  . . . we moved yet again. We’re getting older and the moves aren’t as easy as they used to be. It’s harder to tell the same lies about him again. Already, we tell everyone he’s our grandchild, as we are far too old now to be his parents. Oh, how I wish he could grow up! I dreamed of the man he would one day become, and I fear I will never see it. Did I do something wrong? I can’t help but feel guilty, like it’s my fault . . .

  January 4, 1962

  . . . it’s getting more unnatural. It’s like he was put here on this Earth for something, and he’s waiting for it. When the moment is right he will do something. Something nobody will like.

  Something evil.

  There, I finally worked up the nerve to write it.

  January 30, 1962

  He’s obsessed by someone he calls “Mr. E” in New York City. He won’t stop talking about him, although he won’t tell us who “Mr. E” actually is, or how he found out about him. All he says is that “Mr. E” knows everything.

  Max is preparing to leave any day to go to New York.

  Hess and I are downright terrified. We watch him out of the corner of our eyes, terrified of our own son. I can only hope he never knows this . . .

  The Diary of Hess and Romey Bloom dropped out of Max’s hands and landed on the ground with a dull thud.

  Chapter 13

  Aftermath

  It was some time before Casey and Ian felt ready to approach Max.

  After dropping the diary, Max had whooshed off by himself to a thin gully a mile away.

  His friends knew how upset he was. Casey wasn’t in much better shape. She’d been visibly shaken by the farmhouse experience and sat outside the house crying softly into her sleeve.

  Ian went back inside. He killed time by looking for any additional clues to Max’s past, while Casey and Max screwed their heads back on.

  But after an hour or so, Ian hadn’t found much more than a couple of additional pictures of Max, and he was getting antsy. It was dangerous to remain. Those . . . what had Siren called them? Sky Chambers? Those Sky Chambers might come back.

  But it was Casey who broke the silence.

  “Ian,” she said, “Max didn’t look so good when he took off.”

  “Well you read the diary,” Ian answered. “Something bad happened here with his foster parents. And he just found out he’s probably an alien. Plus it looks like his people are the ones behind the Pocket.”

  “But just because Max is related to them doesn’t make him bad, right?” Casey asked.

  Ian regarded her curiously for a moment. “No, of course not. He’s still Max, no matter who his parents are. Even if they’re bad people or . . . well . . . even if they’re aliens. That’s not his fault.”

  Casey breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, we should go talk to him.”

  Ian nodded gruffly. The two of them whooshed down to the gully.

  Max heard them approach but didn’t turn around.

  He stared across the gully, throwing little stones that he’d heated up. They bounced off the murky time-frozen surface before stopping in the temporal molasses of the Pocket.

  “I don’t know what to think of any of this,” Max croaked. “The more I find out, the more scared I get. I don’t even know who I really am.”

  Casey wasn’t having any of it. “I know who you are . . . even if you don’t. You’re someone with a good heart who—”

  But Max cut her off violently. “NO! NO, YOU DON’T KNOW! That’s just the point! Nobody knows who I am! Not even me!”

  Casey’s head snapped back as though some physical force had popped her in the nose.

  Max brushed his long bangs from his forehead and took a deep breath.

  “Well, that’s not completely true. My foster parents . . . they knew me. And they ended up scared to death of me. I mean . . . why was that? What am I?”

  “They just didn’t understand you,” Ian said quietly. “You were a child who didn’t grow up. That would scare anyone—that’s only human.”

  Max shook his head. “I’ve been around for at least a hundred years. My real name probably isn’t even Max Quick. I’m one of them. An alien. Like Johnny Siren. For all I know, he’s my father.” Max snorted out a laugh. “Maybe my real name is Max Siren.”

  Casey looked startled. Then she shook her head and said quietly, “That’s not possible.”

  Max put his hands to the sides of his head like it was going to explode. “And why can’t I remember anything?”

  Ian thought for a moment. “Maybe there was some kind of accident that made you lose your memory. You got left behind, and your people lost track of you . . .”

  Max’s head cocked to one side, his intuition leaping. “You don’t think they’re looking for me, do you? Is it possible that that’s what the Pocket is all about? Just so they can find me?”

  Max and Ian locked eyes.

  “Possibly.” Ian nodded. “It would make sense. The Pocket only works on humans. Well, most humans anyway. Maybe they figured that if they froze time, froze humans, it’d be easy to spot you.”

  “But that doesn’t explain you and me, Ian,” Casey said. “Why are we immune to the Pocket? Or the rest of the Serps?”

  Ian shrugged. “That bit I haven’t figured out yet. There must be something special about us—and the fact that we’re kids—that makes us immune.”

  Max stood and whizzed another stone into the gully. “But why now? After a hundred years? What took them so long?” Max asked.

  “Maybe they just noticed you were missing,” Ian said with a twinkle in his eye.

  Max managed a wry smile back.

  “Or maybe . . .” Ian continued, serious again, “maybe they visit lots of planets or something, and they didn’t know which one they left you on.”

  “Great,” Max muttered. “I’m galactic lost luggage.”

  Ian ignored him. “All I’m saying is that there are a lot of reasons for ‘why now’ and not sooner.”

  Max paced. “There could be another explanation, you know.” He hesitated, as though this one hurt him even more than the others. “It could be like what my foster mom wrote.

  “Maybe they planted me here on Earth intentionally. I could be a sleeper, waiting to be activated. There might be a word or an event that brings my memory flooding back. And then I’ll remember I’m supposed to do something. Something evil.”

  Casey shook her head. “No, Max. I don’t believe it. Remember the woman in the bookstore you told me about? Didn’t she say that you saved her in 1912? That you were braver than you thought and that a lot of people owed you their lives, including her?”

  Max shook his head. “Even my foster parents loved me at first.”

  “Max,” Casey said softly. “Some people are born mean, but you . . . well. You’re just not that kind of person.”

  Ian nodded in agreement. “So. Let’s review for a moment, shall we? You got pounded daily at the Starland Home for Boys, and here you are, actually scared you’re the superalien secret-double-agent kid.”

  Ian cocked an eyebrow.

  Max looked up. “You’re right. That does sound pretty ridiculous.”

  All three of them burst out laughing.

  “So, what do you think happened?” Max said. “I mean . . . to Hess and Romey Bloom?”

  Ian cast a glance back at the house. “Well, something happened in 1962. That’s pretty clear from the dates on the magazines. Hess and Romey either left or they were taken away.

  “But as for you, Max . . . I think you left on your own. Just like the diary says. I think you tried to go to New York, to lo
ok for this ‘Mr. E’ person.”

  “Do you think Mr. E is an alien, too?” Casey asked Ian.

  Ian nodded. “I also think he has a sense of humor. Notice how ‘mystery’ and ‘Mr. E’ sound identical when you say them out loud?”

  “You think that’s on purpose?” Max said.

  Ian nodded.

  Max sighed. “So . . . what happened? Did I make it? Did I find this Mr. E?”

  Ian sighed. “My guess is no.”

  “What? Why not?” Casey asked.

  “Because nothing changed,” Ian replied. “Nothing got solved. Max still can’t remember anything. And he ended up homeless in Starland. That doesn’t sound like something that worked out well to me.

  “Plus that nam-shub thing was specifically meant to keep Max out of this house. Somebody didn’t want him learning about his past.”

  “So what now?” Casey asked.

  “We go to New York,” Max growled, straightening his shirt out. “That’s where Johnny Siren and the Sky Chambers went. That’s where Ian thinks the heart of the Pocket is. And that’s where Mr. E is. Everything points to New York.”

  Ian and Casey didn’t look so sure.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Casey whispered.

  “Why not?” Max asked.

  “What are we going to do when we get there?”

  Max shrugged. “Sneak around. Spy. See what Siren is up to. See what’s causing the Pocket.”

  “I think we should hide,” Casey whispered.

  “I agree with Casey,” Ian chimed in. “Especially now that I’ve seen a Sky Chamber up close. We’ve got to lay low. What you’re suggesting is like storming a castle with forks and spoons.”

  Max shook his head. “No, it’s not. Ian, you said they don’t know about us. Right? They think everyone is frozen in time.” Ian nodded. “We can hide in broad daylight. All we have to do is just stand still! They’ll think we’re time-frozen! When you think about it, we actually have a lot of advantages.”

  Max straightened his shirt and faced them squarely.

  “These are my people who did this,” Max said. “They created the Pocket. So I’ve got a responsibility to set things right, whether I like it or not. I have to go. You two can either come, or not.”

  Ian and Casey exchanged glances. “Oh, all bloody right!” Ian said. “I’m coming. But we only spy for now! And we keep hidden. Agreed?”

  Max nodded. “Agreed.”

  Casey nodded as well. “Then I’m coming, too.”

  Chapter 14

  Jadeth

  The next few days passed without incident. The threesome traveled and made good progress. They whooshed along the freeway for eight or nine hours at a stretch, then they typically pulled off for some food at a 24-7 or Regal Roast and got some sleep.

  Max was still not very good at heating up bigger objects. Casey scowled as she watched him struggle to pull a burger off a plate, finally batting his hands away and doing it for him. Ian, on the other hand, was a master at it. After all, he’d had a year’s worth of practice. Ian was able to heat up an object so quickly that it almost seemed like it wasn’t stuck in stopped time at all.

  On the third day of their travels, Ian said over lunch, “You know, when we first moved to California from England, I told my dad that I missed the seasons. Especially around Christmas. There needs to be snow on the ground for Christmas! And nothing beats a crisp fall day, nothing at all.

  “But now, it’s even worse. Now, I miss mornings and evenings, the sun rising and setting. For a whole bloody year, it’s just been eclipse o’clock, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

  “Me too!” said Casey. “I was just thinking that yesterday or whenever. See? I don’t even know. I hate that.”

  “Me three,” agreed Max.

  As Max, Casey, and Ian got closer to New York, they were noticeably more wary of the skies, as if they half expected Sky Chambers to appear out of nowhere and abduct them.

  “I think we’re whooshing faster now,” Max remarked during one of their breaks. “Doesn’t it feel like we’re going faster?”

  Casey nodded. “We definitely are. I can feel it also.”

  “I was, like, bounding more than whooshing back there,” Max said. “Did you see when I was doing that?”

  “You’re not imagining it,” Ian said. “And stuff is getting harder to heat up.” Ian struggled presently with some food. “The effects of the Pocket are getting stronger the closer we get to New York.”

  In the final sweep up the east coast, the speed at which states sped by increased. Now a new one whizzed by every several hours. Tennessee. Virginia. Maryland. New Jersey.

  And then, sooner than they dared hope . . . New York.

  The traffic, however still it was, became noticeably thicker and clogged. And even in the Pocket, the air was muggy with heat and pollution. Great buildings loomed on the horizon like a crowd of standing stones.

  New York City.

  The crossroads of the modern age.

  If the world had a capital city, New York was it—in every way that mattered. Shining buildings reached into the sky like modern obelisks. At the sight, shadows of memories darted in Max’s mind.

  “Ian. Give me your binoculars,” Max said breathlessly. Ian fumbled through his pack and handed them over to Max.

  Through the binoculars, Max could see the United Nations building standing like a black slab of obsidian on the shores of the river. The Chrysler building gleamed, encased in a silver shining suit of armor, magnificent in its art deco quirkiness. And there was the Flatiron building, a wedge of white-gray marble, like the prow of a great ship slicing into Broadway.

  No pyramid, no ancient city, no temple of ages past rivaled the supreme grandeur of New York City.

  But now in this, the greatest of cities, something was terribly wrong.

  Hundreds of thousands of New Yorkers were still as statues. Countless cars were time-frozen to the grid of roads. Helicopters hung unmoving in the air.

  A new enemy threatened from between ticks of the clock.

  To his dismay, Max saw that Sky Chambers now freely roamed the low skies. They buzzed in droves like glowing hornets—unchallenged, unopposed—between stark buildings of glass and steel. A massive mother ship perched like a great wheel of fire in the middle of Central Park.

  Between the buildings, Max saw armies clad in gold armor going to and fro, hither and thither. The sound of a thousand jackboots crunching against the pavement was the only one now heard in the city.

  Overhead, the eclipse was finally in full bloom, the sun completely blotted out by the moon. Only a ring of fire remained.

  “Well, let’s go get this over with,” Max muttered.

  With that, the trio struck out to close the remaining distance between themselves and the city.

  Three lone figures threaded their way between the cars in the Midtown tunnel (their inhabitants frozen in mid-glare, mid-curse, and mid-hand-gesture), doing their best to remain unseen.

  When the trio emerged, Ian took charge, familiar with the city from his travels with his father.

  The threesome inched forward one city block at a time. They peered around each corner to see if anything was moving.

  And it was a good thing they did: On several occasions, they encountered Sky Chambers drifting like zeppelins of light. They eyed the unmoving masses below. And each time, once satisfied that nothing was out of place, they floated on behind the rows of buildings and out of sight.

  Before long, the threesome turned onto 6th Avenue and whooshed their way past Rockefeller Center, then Radio City Music Hall, and then across the street into Central Park itself.

  They descended a staircase and entered a tunnel running beneath a road. This opened into a spacious, nineeenth-century plaza. In the center was a large round fountain adorned with stone angels.

  The plaza was mobbed for the eclipse. People strained to glimpse it with pans of water, pinhole cameras, and video
cameras.

  “‘Bethesda Terrace’” Ian read aloud from a sign near the tunnel. The carved stone was brown with time.

  “Very nice,” Casey remarked, impulsively whooshing out onto the small paddleboat pond. “Hey, look at this!” She skipped along the surface of the time-frozen water, delighting in the novelty of being able to do so.

  Suddenly, Max hissed, “Casey! Don’t move! Pretend to be frozen!”

  Casey turned around. To her astonishment, Max and Ian were standing completely silent, completely still.

  She was about to ask, Why?

  But then she heard a man’s voice.

  “Ma’at! Mafdet! Ament!”

  At the sound, Casey’s heart thundered. Immediately, she froze.

  Another voice answered: “These are the ones Siren discovered. The children unaffected by the omphalos. I know not by what sorcery they remain so, but no matter, we shall discover it.”

  Three tall figures emerged from the tunnel.

  They were dressed in ornate gold with an extremely reflective surface. It sparkled brilliantly, even in the low light of the eclipse. It appeared to be meant for protection, a sort of body armor, yet it fit more like fabric than metal plating.

  Max and Ian stood mere steps from these men.

  Max sweated. He strained to stay absolutely still and not to breathe visibly.

  But the figures in gold didn’t even look their way. Instead, they focused their attention on the tunnel.

  Out of the drenched darkness came the sounds of clinking and sobbing. A small army of children emerged. They shuffled along miserably, chained at the wrists.

  Almost at once, Max saw Sasha Fwa. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her eyes were puffy and raw from crying.

  Next came Ace. His shoulders were slumped in defeat, and his trench coat was in tatters.

  With a start, Max realized that these kids were all Serpents and Mermaids. Ian had been right once again: A Sky Chamber must’ve finally spotted Serp-town.

  Max risked flicking a glance at Casey. Her face was white with terror.

  But then, Max noticed something else: