Watch the Skies

by James Patterson

  Chapter 89

  I DROVE JUDY home on my motorcycle while everybody else was getting their bearings and wondering what the heck they were all doing at the civic auditorium in the middle of the day.

  “You study hard with your folks, okay, Judy?”

  We were standing on her porch exchanging goodbyes. It was a beautiful June day. The birds were chirping, the clouds were scudding, the flowers were doing their fragrance-emitting thing.

  “I just can’t believe you’re leaving. Can’t you take me with you? I’m losing my mind here with my parents and this homeschooling business.”

  “I know it seems like a drag, but they’re good people. I can tell. And there will be life after Holliswood, I promise.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said.

  “Well, I have been around the block a few times —”

  She interrupted me with a kiss. And, as the world spun and I saw the brilliant promise of summer in her eyes, I erased her memory of me.

  Chapter 90

  THE GANG AND the family and I had our final council meeting at the KHAW transmission station that we had trashed in that early skirmish with Number 5’s goons.

  “Checklist,” I said.

  Emma began. “Caviar: one hundred percent confiscated and all female residents checked to ensure no alien inhabitation. Also, all dogs from the Holliswood pound safely adopted.”

  “Good. Willy?”

  “All incubation ponds drained and all larval Number 5s converted to crop fertilizer. All battery chemicals removed from groundwater, and all electronics fully rehabilitated. Wiggers’ farm restored to its pre–Number 5 condition.”

  “Dana?”

  “All aliens imported or bred by Number 5 have been exterminated… except for the ant-lion, which is on an interstellar freighter on its way back to its home planet.”

  “Mom?”

  “All essential civic functions restored. Remainder of town police currently investigating multiple missing-person claims, including loss of entire fire department.”

  “Pork Chop?”

  “Holliswood area schools back in session. New curriculum featuring effective math and science courses. English classes now including such pillars of modern literature as Stranger in a Strange Land.”

  “Excellent. Dad?”

  Dad threw a circuit breaker on the recently repaired broadcast shack’s wall. “Holliswood is now officially reconnected to the wider world, and the government authorities will doubtless be showing up to assist in putting the town back on its feet.”

  “Joe?”

  “Video scrapbook has just undergone postproduction. Screening ready to commence.”

  I nodded, and he fired up the projector.

  We watched Number 5’s landing party. The attack on the fire department. The takeover of the TV station and the Wiggers’ farm. Screen tests of human families being forced to dance. The High School Musical practice sessions at the civic auditorium, the caviar distribution, the alien nurseries, the incubation ponds… and then the scene at S-Mart where Number 21 kicked my butt, which once again got a good laugh out of everybody.

  “That’s why we watch these things,” I tried to explain. “It’s like a football team reviewing the highlight reels at practice.”

  “Yeah, but that scene’s hilarious!” said Willy.

  “That’s nothing,” said Joe, and that’s when the real laughter began. Because somehow Joe had gotten the grainy black-and-white feed of me cutting my own hair in the bathroom.

  “I was trying to look like Billy Joe Armstrong!” I protested as they all rolled with laughter. “You know, the lead singer of Green Day?”

  “Yeah, there’s plenty to learn there,” said Dana, winking at me.

  “Okay, gang,” I said after we sat through the final battle scenes and paused a couple of times to comment on things we could have done better. “Is that everything?”

  “Oh, one last report,” said Joe, somberly.

  I nodded for him to go on, though I couldn’t think what we hadn’t covered, and what would be making him look so glum.

  “I’m still not certain that operational efficiencies have recovered one hundred percent at White Castle, Taco Bell, KFC, Burger King, Wendy’s, McDonald’s…”

  “Well, I guess we can stop by and check a couple on our way out of town,” I conceded.

  The strength of Joe’s embrace rivaled Number 5’s final squeeze.

  Epilogue

  GROK THIS

  Chapter 91

  ABOUT FIVE HUNDRED miles away, I finally stopped for lunch. The place kind of reminded me of the Holliswood Diner, although the waitstaff wasn’t nearly so cute.

  I politely declined the waiter’s suggestion—a farm-raised catfish special—and ordered a bacon cheeseburger and a milkshake. Then I set about studying The List computer.

  Number 3 was a real strange sucker from what I could tell from the few low-quality images I had on file. You know that crazy science fact about how your body’s 70 percent water? Well, his apparently is 70 percent fire.

  Suddenly I detected a possible alien presence coming up behind me, and I got ready to spring into action. My first fourteen years on Earth may have contained some harrowing moments, but, until recently, they’d been pretty well spread out. I hadn’t met The Prayer till I was three, and I hadn’t met another top-ten baddie till just this past year… but these days it seemed I was barely getting time for a nap between serious encounters.

  It was really starting to fray my nerves.

  I got ready to leap out in the aisle to deliver a roundhouse kick at whoever was approaching.

  “Don’t even think about it, Daniel,” said a familiar voice. It was Dad.

  “I didn’t summon you,” I said, regaining my breath. “How’d you just show up like that?!”

  “I think part of your brain must have known you needed some parental advice,” he said, sliding into the booth opposite me. “At any rate, let me do my fatherly duty and point out that there’s no way you should even think about going after Number 3.”

  “Yeah, well I’d go after The Prayer himself if I thought I could find him.”

  “Listen, son—you were lucky with Number 6. And you were beyond lucky with Number 5 just now. Believe me when I tell you that you won’t catch any breaks next time. The law of averages doesn’t allow for exceptions that big.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I mean it. He’ll roast you up like a kebab.”

  And then a very bad thing happened. That grainy image of Number 3 on The List computer suddenly became crystal clear, as in 3-D high-def clear. In fact, he looked so real I moved my hands away from the keyboard out of some instinctive fear that he might reach out and burn my fingers.

  But he didn’t reach out of the screen; instead, he spoke with a British-accented voice that reminded me of Anthony Hopkins from Silence of the Lambs: “Listen to your daddy, sonny boy. Why don’t you settle down with one of your imaginary friends and go to some nice American college with A&M or A&T in the name?”

  “Now just hold on a second,” I said, thinking quickly to myself. This was my computer. And if he was trying to scare me off already, that probably meant he was worried about me. Otherwise, why should he bother?

  I mean, sure, it was scary that he had been able to find me, to bypass The List’s formidable security programs, to overhear a conversation with my father, and to deliver his threat just like that… but I’d been through equally surprising circumstances just a couple times before, hadn’t I?

  “Tell me,” I said, looking at his flickering face and acting as game as I could. “An interesting statistic I came across while reading about you: did you know that you have single-handedly contributed more to global warming than the entire industrial complex of Brazil?”

  His flames visibly brightened in apparent self-satisfaction.

  “Yes,” I went on. “Only, I’d always assumed that was a result of your flame throwing, your hundreds of acts of arso
n, etcetera.”

  I had his attention and paused for maximum effect.

  “You see, what I couldn’t have known, until I’d actually had a chance to speak with you, was that really it’s the tremendous quantities of hot air you release when speaking that explains it.”

  His glow became white hot, and I could see he was about to try something, so I quickly switched off the computer.

  “You’re really playing with fire now, Daniel.”

  “Nice one, Dad,” I said, wondering what it was with him and his compulsion to make bad puns in all kinds of circumstances. “So, any chance we’ll be able to do a signal trace on him?”

  “I’m way ahead of you,” he said, looking down at some weird cell-phone-type device with long, wiggling antennas. “And your mom will probably have my hide for telling you this… but I suppose you’d figure it out on your own anyhow.… Um,” he said, slumping his shoulders, although I could tell he was secretly proud of me: “It looks like the signal was originating from London, England.”

  “Good,” I said. “I’ll go book a flight. I can probably be there by tomorrow.”

  “Or,” said Dad, “if you chose to really study the topographic data and teleport yourself, you could—in theory—be there in a few seconds.”

  “Nah, I better not push my luck, right? And anyhow,” I continued as the waiter arrived and gestured for me to move my laptop out of the way, “I should probably eat some dinner first.”

  “Good thinking,” he said, eyeing my French fries.

  I summoned the rest of the family and my friends, and waved for the waiter. We clearly were going to need some more food.

  “Who are we going after next?” asked Willy, sliding into the booth opposite me.

  “I better not be hearing any single-digit List numbers from you this evening,” said Dana.

  “How are the burgers here?” asked Joe, already scanning the laminated menu.

  “Aren’t we supposed to take the rest of the summer off like normal kids?” asked Pork Chop. “Maybe we can go to camp!”

  “Can we stop by the SPCA to thank that nice gray-haired lady again for adopting Lucky?” asked Emma.

  “Next time I’m going to have to cut your hair myself,” said Mom, shaking her head sadly.

  I must say, probably the best thing about being an Alien Hunter… is never having to be alone.

  Stay tuned.

  Beware of demons and druids.

  And everyone else.

  — Daniel

  Watch the skies for Daniel X’s next incredible adventure…

  Demons & Druids

  Turn the page for a sneak preview!

  One

  I BET I CAN SEE London from here, I thought.

  I was, oh, maybe 150 feet in the air, above a grassy field outside a small village called Whaddon. I’d only been in England a couple of weeks, and I still had a little of that excitement that hits you when you go to a new place.

  Before I had time to take a good look around from this height, though, I started to fall.

  Fast.

  The first of the evening stars became a blur, and the ground seemed to rush up at me faster and faster.

  I could hear shouting voices, but it was impossible to tell what they were saying over the blistering wind surrounding me.

  Maybe I should have been worried, but I’ll admit it—I was enjoying myself. That is, until Willy kicked me hard in the face.

  Willy, Joe, Dana, Emma, and I were playing soccer. Our own version, where I am the ball. That is correct; I had transformed myself into the soccer ball itself.

  Luckily, soccer balls don’t have a lot of nerve endings, I thought as I flew forward into the air.

  “And Willy controls the centered ball beautifully, shooting a pass to Joe. He takes it up the line. But—no! Dana sweeps in with a well-executed slide tackle and steals it!” Joe always liked to deliver the play-by-play, although talking about himself in the third person usually distracted him from, well, playing.

  “Pay attention, Joe,” said Willy, grimacing. “We’re getting creamed by girls.”

  Even Dana, in the middle of passing me to the other end of the field, cracked up at this.

  Then she kicked me pretty hard, and once again I briefly enjoyed the feeling of flying through the evening sky—until I saw Emma’s face rushing toward me. She caught me easily on her forehead and juggled me there for a moment as she turned to the “goalposts”—two trees at the end of the field.

  Then Emma bent her body back and headed me straight up in the air. Way up. I relaxed, enjoying the sensation of free fall; it’s not something I get to do that often.

  Below me, Dana and Willy were racing toward the goalposts.

  Dana got there first, and as I came down she jumped into the air, fell backward, spun, and sent a scorching scissor kick through the goal.

  “GOOOOOAAAAAAL!” screamed Joe from the other end of the field in his best international announcer voice.

  I’d known Dana’s team would win (her team always did), but her powerful kick took me by surprise. I had already overshot the goalposts by at least a hundred feet. Suddenly I realized I was headed straight for the tree-lined gorge that bordered the field.

  I concentrated for a second, and then I was back to being myself again, no longer a soccer ball. I grabbed an overhanging tree branch as I flew past. Dangling one-handed over the gorge, I frowned at Dana, who was trotting over, and gave a dramatic sigh.

  “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” I called to her. “Tried to kick me into the briar patch.”

  She laughed. “Daniel, you look like a depressed orangutan. Get down from that branch.”

  Before I could come up with a snappy reply, Joe’s voice rang across the field. “Okay, you two, now can we get going? London’s not going to walk to us! We have monsters to catch.”

  Two

  I DROPPED DOWN from the tree and dusted myself off. You think playing soccer is dirty?

  Try being the ball.

  A few minutes later, the five of us were walking along an English country road. Very picturesque, I must say.

  Our pickup soccer match had been a good distraction, but now it was almost eight, and night was starting to fall.

  “Well, let’s hoof it, guys,” I said. “In a couple of hours we can find somewhere safe to camp out.”

  We hadn’t gone far when a light from behind made us turn around.

  A large vehicle was approaching. I stuck my thumb out while my friends moved back toward the shadows, ready to disappear if need be.

  Fortunately they didn’t have to. As it pulled up alongside me, I saw that the vehicle was a beat-up van, and probably large enough to hold ten or eleven. A tiny woman with short gray hair was behind the wheel, wearing a tweed suit that was three sizes too big for her.

  She rolled down her window and peered into the darkness behind me. “Are you lost, dearies?”

  Her face looked careworn, but she had smile lines around her mouth. I liked the way she looked, and I liked her spacious van even more.

  I put on my best harmless-backpacking-tourist face. “I’m afraid we’re stranded, ma’am. We’re trying to get to London.” To catch some aliens—Number 3 to be exact.

  “Oh… Americans!” She smiled. “Well, I’m heading that way. Hop in.”

  Three

  IT DIDN’T TAKE much to convince us. We gratefully piled in, Willy and Emma in back, Dana and me in the middle row, and Joe sprawled out in the passenger seat.

  We drove in silence for about ten minutes. Joe had nodded off, and Willy and Emma were chatting in hushed, lazy voices behind me.

  I normally talk with the people who pick me up, but it had been a long day. My eyes were about to close when Dana’s lips brushed against my ear. Yeah, that woke me up.

  “Have you noticed?” she whispered.

  “What?” I whispered back.

  “The driver’s seat—it’s on the left side.”

  “So? That’s where it�
��s supposed to be.”

  “Not really, Daniel. We’re in England, remember? They drive on the other side.”

  That’s a little unusual, I thought to myself. Why would the van be American?

  And there was something else, something that had been gnawing at me since we got in. Something about what the driver was wearing. Tweed is a rough woolen fabric. It’s often used for the jackets of college professors, pipe-smoking stamp collectors, and—I now remembered—outdoorsmen, such as hunters.

  I tried to lean forward to get a better view. That’s when I realized I couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t even blink.

  “So you’ve noticed, dearie.” The driver’s voice seemed to catch in her throat, then something harsh came out, not a human sound. Not even close. “I’m a hunter. Just. Like.You. And I do believe I’ve just caught dinner!”

  Four

  SUDDENLY WE WERE all wide awake, even Joe, who we always joked didn’t sleep—he hibernated.

  “Uh-oh. I can’t move, guys, not even an eyelid. This could be bad.”

  “Since when are you the master of understatement, Joe?” snapped Dana.

  “Since when is Daniel the master of getting us caught by the bad guys?” answered Joe.

  She frowned. “Touché.”

  “Silence!” shouted the driver in an alien rasp. It seemed all wrong: that metallic, scraping voice, coming out of that kind-looking grandmother’s face.

  As she said it, though, a gray, pulsating tentacle descended from the ceiling and wrapped itself around my mouth. It felt sticky, warm, and alive. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a dozen more tentacles gagging my friends.

  Dana’s eyes met mine. “Daniel. What’s happening?”

  I had no idea.

  I couldn’t really move my head, but as my eyes scanned the walls of the van, I could see them moving, pulsating, breathing. The walls definitely hadn’t been doing that before. And the roof—it was a forest of waving gray tentacles.