by Rob Dircks
Pete puts me down on his next leap, and I check my butt. The bleeding has almost stopped – the bullet really just grazed me. It still hurts like hell, but it looks totally bad-ass. (“Bad-ass,” get it babe?) So I manage to keep up with Pete the rest of the way to the city, leaving a little rain of blood droplets for the next three hundred miles. My gift to you, people of lighter-gravity Earth!
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Re: About that meteorite…
Hi Julie,
So we’re trucking it up to New York at Hulk speed, and practically crash into the Columbia electrical engineering building, running down to the lab where we last saw Meg. She’s sitting there soldering something together. Pete catches his breath, reaches into my backpack, rushes over to her, and clunks the device down on the table. Meg’s confused.
“What is this?”
“It’s an INTERDIMENSIONAL NAVIGATION CONTROLLER.”
“Duh. I got that much.”
“The government had it. They knew about Tesla all along, but couldn’t get through the ITA. They want access through it to find weapons. Weapons! And they’ve been watching us. We’re in danger. You’re in danger, too. You have to come with us.”
“What? Me? No!”
“Meg, I can’t leave you here and let them do God-knows-what to you. I can’t.”
“No, Pete. Listen. I can handle them. I’ll say you threatened me, that I did all this under duress. I’m a smart girl. And I’ve got clout. I’ll figure it out.”
“No. You don’t understand.”
“What’s there to understand?”
Pete sits down next to her, cradles her face in his hands.
And kisses her.
Julie, it’s maybe the longest kiss I’ve ever seen. No tongues wagging all over the place, or groaning or groping or anything. But come on, get a room or something.
Then the floor rumbles like an earthquake.
“Wow. That was some kiss, dude.”
“That wasn’t us, wise-ass. Something’s happening outside. Or below us. Meg, what’s under us?”
“The Broadway subway line.”
“Okay. On the way out, we’ll check it out, just to see if anybody needs help. Meg, you get to the hotel.”
Pete gets up, grabs the Controller and we start up the stairs. Meg catches up and grabs Pete’s sleeve.
“Wait. Before we go.”
She reaches up and kisses him. “I’ll go with you. For now. But I’m keeping the hundred thousand dollars.”
Pete smiles. “We’ll negotiate that later. Now get to the hotel. We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Out on the street, people are streaming out of the subway station, drenched, screaming about a flood. And sure enough, when me and Pete descend the stairs to the platform, we’re completely underwater. There’s a subway train about forty feet down the track inside the tunnel, packed with people, trapped.
Now Pete can probably hold his breath for a year, but I’m only good for a minute max, so shit’s got to move fast. Pete manages to swim down, squeezing between the tunnel’s roof and the top of the subway car.
20 seconds.
He gets to the end of the train and starts pushing. I pull.
30 seconds.
We’re pushing a goddamn subway train, all eight cars, down a track. Underwater.
40 seconds.
I’m not gonna make it.
60 seconds.
Holy shit - we get the train into the station. I shoot up the stairs for another gasp of air, then swim back down and crash through the windows (that’s right, window-crashing, my new full-time job) and start grabbing people out and getting them to street level as fast as possible.
Finally the last person is out. Now I’m REALLY feeling like a superhero. Saving lives. This is awesome. But time’s a wastin’, and General Dickhead should be here any minute with his personal attack helicopters and S.W.A.T. teams and shit. So me and Pete shake off and get ready to leave.
And that’s when the ground rumbles again.
It’s BOK time.
12
The Demon
And The
King
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
The Demon and the King
Hi Julie,
So we’re standing there, about to be killed by BOK, and I realize the stupid kid’s story Meg talked about is REAL. When she first told us we were like, “Blah, blah, blah, Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, whatever. Can we go get some pizza now?” But now that I know the story’s not bullshit, I wish I had paid more attention. Not that it would’ve helped. Because neither one of us has a Magical Sword, so we’re screwed.
Wait. Magical Sword – you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Okay, while we wait to be killed, here’s the full legend:
The Demon and the King
As told by Margaret Thatcher (no relation)
(Interpretation and notes by Chip Collins)
Once upon a time, there was an all-powerful Demon, whose name has long since been forgotten, an enormous monster with a single horn. The very tip of this horn held the Gleaming Stone, a mysterious metal (can you say “chunk of rhodium,” kids?) that gave him his powers.
This despicable Demon terrorized the people of the countryside, and kidnapped small children for afternoon snacks. (Obviously this story is told to kids to keep them in line, like “you better be good goddamnit or the Demon’s going to gobble you up!”)
When the daughter of the King was kidnapped, he swore to avenge her death by ridding the land of the evil Demon forever. Mounting his trusty steed and carrying his Magical Sword (not magical enough to prevent the daughter’s kidnapping in the first place? kind of lame if you ask me), he set out to find the Demon in the dark woods.
He found the Demon resting by a river, using the daughter’s leg bones as toothpicks (I made that part up, sorry, she was actually still alive in his belly). The King told the Demon he would be dead by sundown, and the Demon laughed. And when he opened his mouth to laugh again, the King could hear his daughter’s cries. She was alive! (Really, what are the chances, she would’ve been dissolved by stomach acid in like three seconds. But it’s a legend, so whatever.)
The King had an idea. Knowing that the Demon was vain, he posed a challenge: “Sharper than razors, they say of your teeth. But sharper, I say, is the sword in my sheath.”
“Impossible,” said the Demon, and he laughed again. So the King drew his Magical Sword, swung it at a small tree, downed it, and sliced it to pieces. (Pretty bad-ass, I must say.) The Demon, not to be outdone, sunk his head low to the base of a tree and opened his mouth to cut it down. (Don’t do it, Demon! It’s a trap!) At that moment, the King rushed into the Demon’s gaping jaws, all the way to his stomach, where his daughter lay near death.
The Demon laughed again at his good luck. But then he felt his stomach rumble. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t gas.) The King sliced open the Demon’s belly from the inside, and walked calmly out holding his daughter under his arm! (My father never did shit like that for me. He dropped me off at Laser Tag Kingdom one time. And forgot to pick me up.) And before the Demon could heal its own wound, the King mounted its back, climbed the horn, and cut off the Gleaming Stone, vowing to keep it far away so that the Demon should never return. As the Demon slid into the river, its watery grave, it uttered its last words: “I shall return when the Gleaming Stone is near, whether tomorrow it be, or a thousand year.” (Spoiler alert #2: he does return. He’s standing right in front of me. Drooling.)
So here he is now, the man (or beast) of the hour, the Demon. BOK. Stupid name, but scary as shit. And he’s here to reclaim the Gleaming Stone that me and Pete conveniently delivered right to his riverside grave (hey, nobody told us BOK was buried in the Hudson River, three blocks from Columbia University), near enough for him to rise up, become all-powerful, and terrorize th
e world again. Whoops. Our bad.
“RUN!!!”
13
We died.
Kidding!
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
We died. Kidding!
Hi Julie,
I’m writing this email, so you know I make it out alive. But just barely. Here’s how:
As we turn to run, BOK’s super-long tongue reaches out and lassos me and Pete (hey, Meg - your stupid story didn’t mention anything about a super-long tongue!). And the last thing I hear before we’re swallowed whole by BOK is somebody in the crowd: “That’s gonna hurt, Awesome Man and The Brute.” That’s New Yorkers, just saying shit like it is.
Gulp.
Alone.
Pitch black.
Slimy.
Stinks like a baby’s diaper after he eats Gerber Flaming Curry Chicken Dinner (now with extra hot sauce!)
So I’m whimpering (no surprise, I know), while I feel myself being sucked down to certain death.
But then I feel Pete’s hand on my foot, groping around.
“Pete!”
I grab his hand, and we squirm until we’re face to face.
“Goodbye, dear friend… I shall always-“
“Shut up. Just shut up. God, you have to get better in these situations.”
“What? You mean everyday situations like being digested by something out of Monster Week on Channel Eleven?”
Pete smacks me. I deserve it. “Yes. Like this. Listen, we have no time to do this bullshit, we’re headed down to the stomach. You ready?”
I’m starting to blubber. “R-ready for what?!”
“Get ready to jump. Right back up. As hard as you can.”
I am NOT fucking ready. Who’s ready for this shit?
“One…”
I don’t even know which way is up!
“Two…”
Hold on! I lost a sneaker!
“Three…”
Wait – are we going on Three, or Go?
“GO!!!”
We both jump. And if we were natives of this dimension, it wouldn’t have done shit. We’d still be coasting down to a belly full of death. But we’re not from around here. We’re built for heavy gravity. Ohhhh yeah.
So we shoot up BOK’s throat at a million miles an hour.
KER-SPLATTTT!!!
This is my favorite part: BOK’s mouth is closed, so instead of shooting out, we shoot through – through his skull, smashing it to pieces, and sending BOK brains all over the place. And this thing’s brain was huge, so there is literally brain matter covering everything you see for a whole city block. Gross. BOK’s lifeless, hulking body drops to the street with a loud, wet THUD. Sucker’s dead as a big giant disgusting doornail.
The crowd doesn’t know whether to puke – I mean, they’re covered in slimy BOK brains – or go back to naming their kids after us for saving their ungrateful asses. They’re totally stunned. But after a second, they decide puke it is, and every last one of them is retching on the sidewalk. It’s like that joke:
What’s grosser than gross?
Thousands of people covered in brains
puking on the sidewalk.
But we’re ALIVE, so Ewww, gross takes a back seat to Yay, I’m still breathing. Pete manages a smile. “That’ll teach him to mess with Awesome Man and The Brute.” And then he does something I never thought he’d ever do.
He hugs me.
And I can’t resist doing my Pete impression. “Get off me. Now.”
He grins. “I wouldn’t want to be smashing the skull of an ancient giant demon with anybody else, dude.”
I’d be wiping away tears this is so sweet, but I’m covered in slime and brains, so I think I’ll keep my hands away from my eyes for a little while. And then I hear the attack choppers.
“Uh, dude. Okay, now it’s really time to go.”
Pete nods.
“To the Bat Cave!”
And we’re off, leaping, leaving a trail of disgusting goo in our wake.
Thirty seconds later: imagine two brains-covered, herky-jerky-walking, wanna-be superheroes trying to nonchalantly stroll through the lobby of the New Yorker Hotel like it’s perfectly normal. Thank God there’s no one around. Everyone’s outside trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
Uh-oh.
Except some army guy.
He rushes over to us, he’s maybe nineteen years old, pistol drawn, all forty pounds of him shaking like a leaf.
“O-On orders of General Arnold, a-and the U.S. Government… y-you two need to come with me.”
I point to the TV in the lobby. CNN’s showing the disaster area we just left. A scrap of brain drips from the end of my finger.
“Dude. You saw what happened just now, right? Uptown?”
He nods, still shaking.
“And you’re seriously going to try to detain us?”
He’s not so sure. The gun is drooping.
“How about we just go up to our room, and you say you never saw us? Or… we could just splatter your brains all over the lobby. Either way is fine.”
No hesitation. He drops his gun.
“Thanks, dude. Peace out.”
We rip up the stairs, and practically run over Meg when we get to Room 3327.
“Yikes. What happened to you two?”
“Long story. Okay, who’s got the room key?”
“I do.” Pete grabs the doorknob and pulls the whole door off the hinges. (That’s five this week. Apparently his job is yanking off doors, and mine is crashing through windows.) We run in. Meg stops.
“Wait.”
“No time. Let’s go.”
Pete shushes me and takes Meg’s hand. “What’s up?”
“Pete, I just don’t know. This is my home. Once I step inside, I’ll be homeless. Like you. Trying to help you find your home, and leaving mine behind. I have a life here.”
“You’re right. We need you to help us. Help us with the Controller. Help us find Tesla. But I promise, I’ll bring you home, when it’s safe for you. And…”
Meg stands there, looking in Pete’s eyes for the rest. “And…?”
“…And …I’m afraid if I let you go now, I’ll never see you again. I’ll never get a chance to see what might have been.”
Meg puts her hand over her mouth. A little tear runs down her cheek.
“I’m - I’m sorry. I can’t go.”
She leans forward and kisses Pete softly on the cheek. Then she retreats, turns away, and walks out the door.
Bummer.
Pete’s shell-shocked, but I know better than to make a wise-ass remark right now, and if I try to pat him on the shoulder he’ll probably rip my arm off. So we just stand there for a few seconds, listening to Meg’s footsteps down the hall.
Then something else.
Gunshots.
Shouting.
Footsteps. Lots of them. Running.
Towards us.
Meg bolts into the room. “Forget everything I just said! I’m coming! HOLD THE DOOR!”
And in the blur of us dodging bullets, running like hell, getting through the ITA, I catch a look at Pete’s face.
He’s smiling.
14
You’re Not
Going To
Believe This…
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
You’re not going to believe this
Hi Julie,
You’re not going to believe what I just got…
From: Julie Taylor
To: Chip Collins
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Hi, it’s Julie
Hi.
It’s Julie.
Julie Taylor.
But there is no Chip Collins, or Pete Turner, so I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. And thank God I don’t know who you are, because you sound like a douche.
I mean, that’s
not entirely true. When you’re not being a douche, you can be kind of sweet. I hope you find whoever you’re looking for.
But whatever, can you stop emailing me?
- Julie
From: Julie Taylor
To: Chip Collins
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
Hi, it’s Julie again
Hi. It’s Julie again.
I just got your last couple of emails. You guys were Awesome Man and The Brute? Jack-ass names, what were you thinking? But defeating BOK? Unreal. You saved the city.
Maybe this Julie girl you’re looking for isn’t so unlucky after all.
- Julie
From: Chip Collins
To: Julie Taylor
Date: June 4, 2015 5:43am
