Sanctuary (34 page)

Touchdown Eagles…

14-13, Dragons still winning. Our contingent of fans was delirious.

Croc looked like he’d been wrestling a tornado. His jersey was torn and unrecognizable from dirt, and his hands and face were bleeding. I knew the vast host of cameras were enjoying his embattled figure; he’d always been photogenic, and now he was a sports hero too.

Samantha told him pointedly, “You keep this up, Mitch, and I might be tempted to rub ointment all over your body later.”

“Only on our honeymoon, sheila!”

Dragons’ ball again. This time Tank was ready. He stomped on Croc and went through me like a Peterbuilt diesel truck. Our impact was so violent I thought he crushed my soul. I tripped him from the ground, and the Eagles piled on but Tank still fell for the first down.

I could
hear
Katie holding her breath. Not possible, but I could.

Croc and I got back on our feet and did it again. Again he crushed us, almost breaking free for a touchdown. Our combined weight wasn’t much more than his. Another Eagle defender limped to the sidelines, this one holding his shoulder.

Croc grinned wearily. “A corker, ain’t he.”

Coach Garrett paced the sidelines, fists in his hair, watching his quarterback get steamrolled play after play. Samantha clapped and cried encouragement. There’s no way she could help; it would arouse too much suspicion.

We battled to a stalemate and the Dragons kicked a field goal. 17-13, Dragons.

Samantha helped shove chocolate granola bars and apples into our mouths during a pause in the action. “Doing good, boys! Keep it up!”

I gasped, “Why isn’t Tank getting tired??”

“Samantha, love,” Croc said and placed his hand into hers. “Pop my finger back into place, yeah? I get a little squeamish.”

Back onto the field. We bashed and crashed and exchanged punts, moving deep into the fourth quarter. Time wound down and so did our energy, even Tank’s. He moved like a tired lion with a limp. Neither team could score, and Samantha kept booming punts far into the night.

The Eagles got the ball back with two minutes left.

“Do or die, boys,” I croaked in the huddle, all of us bloody and broken. Cory’s eye was swollen shut from an illegal punch.

“Let’s go!” Brad Atkinson yelled. “I want to live forever!”

“Meh,” Croc panted. “S’not that great.”

The final drive was a legendary contest of wills, two minutes of valiant blocking, tackling and running for our lives. Katie would tell me later that, during the last quarter of the game, a mounting sense of apprehension settled over the stadium, an awareness that maybe something else was happening other than a mere football championship. The crowd no longer watched Tank, entranced and entertained, like they once had. Instead, the colossus on the turf, flinging around healthy young men, caused a sense of dread and sick apprehension. Perhaps he was more than just a genetically gifted giant. Something wasn’t
right
.

“Last play of the game,” Coach Garrett chomped and grinned anxiously. “Ten yards from a touchdown. Ten yards from victory. Want to run it in? You haven’t done that yet.”

I took a deep breath and said, “No. I want to throw it to Josh, in the end zone. Let the normal kids decide the outcome.”

“Normal kids?”

I nodded, still trying to catch my breath. “I’ll throw it up. Whichever team catches it deserves the victory.”

“Hell, son, just make it a good throw.”

“You got it.”

The stadium bawled and thundered, with the players at the base of a massive noise funnel. The world shook beyond my facemask. Katie was whispering prayers and chewing on her thin silver necklace.

Tank dug in like a bull. He wanted to decide this game, to beat me himself. I wasn’t going to let him.

“Hike!” I cried.

Tank and Croc crunched in midair again, fighting and shoving, all kicks, claws and wrath.

The two lines smacked together.

Linebackers howled and raced to cover the running backs.

Josh Magee zipped towards the far corner of the end zone. I lofted the pass towards him, a full half-second before Tank reached me.

He hit me anyway, a tsunami washing over a hill, and we both toppled.

Time expired.

The ball floated forever, arcing over intrusive fingers.

Josh Magee wanted it more. He out-jumped the Dragon defender, hauled the ball in, and landed on his back for a touchdown.

Game over. 19-14, Eagles victory.

We won!

The Dragon band stayed quiet. The prepped fireworks were doused. No eruption of confetti.

And no time for celebration. Tank released a peal of frustrated rage, grabbed me by the facemask, and Threw me. I mean,
Threw
me! My neck popped painfully and I soared. The stadium spun end over end, ground sky ground sky ground sky, until I landed forty yards away at midfield with an awkward, “
Oof!”
My impact shoveled up a thick divot in the ground.

The stadium rang in stunned horror. That wasn’t possible. Not even close. Not even human.

Tank grabbed Croc’s limp body by the ankle and hurled him like a discus into the Eagle bench, scattering coaches and players, defying human limitations.

He can’t do that! He shouldn’t be able to do that!

A monster among us!

Madness! The crowd panicked. Dragon coaches timidly tried calming Tank. The loud-speaker announcer stumbled through his post-game rituals. Police came stomping down the stadium steps.

“No no no,” I groaned, watching the world’s reaction; pure fear. “Tank, no!”

He raised a terrified referee by the throat and started to squeeze, but that’s when Samantha Gear arrived. She carried a football helmet by the facemask in each fist, and she cracked one against Tank’s skull. The impact sounded like a gunshot. He dropped the referee as the second helmet shattered against his temple, black and red Eagle colors. He hit her, a sucker punch, and she tumbled backwards into the Dragon coaching staff, who now slowly retreated.

I finally got to my feet. Croc was still trying. This was a disaster. A nightmare. Tank was revealed, unmasked, Infected. And he made us all look like aggressive barbarians. Fiendish demons. The cameras still rolled and thousands watched, but we had to stop him. No other choice.

We police ourselves
, Carter once told me.

Tank’s quasi-normal life was over. He was a Hyper Human. Thousands knew it. Soon millions. No college scholarships. No professional football.

I had no energy. No more muscle power. But Tank had to be running low, too. I hoped.

Before I could move, an eerie high-pitched scream throttled through the nearest tunnel, a piercing siren that silenced all other sounds. The echo bounced around like ghosts in the bleachers.

What the heck?? What was
that
?

Through the tunnel came a little girl. No, regular-sized girl. She just looked little. It was one of our cheerleaders. Soaking wet, like she’d walked through a waterfall.

She came onto the field, this streaming, angry girl. We all watched warily, even Tank. Something about her.

Uh oh. Oh no.

Hannah Walker’s chest was heaving, her baleful eyes fixed solidly on Tank. “Stay. Away. From him,” she whispered, spitting water with each word.

How’d she get out of the hospital?!

She had a lighter. What was she…

That wasn’t water.

“Hannah no!” I cried. Too late. She flicked the flint. The spark caught, and the gasoline lit. Whoosh! She blazed to life. An immediate conflagration, an inferno-shaped cheerleader.

The crowd screamed again, but not louder than Hannah’s angry ear-splitting cry. She Moved, a comet streaking across the field, a banshee trailing ash and vapors, far too fast to be human.

Tank was too agitated to dodge. The fireball launched herself and grabbed onto his upper body. Bright coils of fire splashed off the struggling pair. She held fast, like napalm, as Tank bellowed and pried uselessly at the slippery figure clinging and biting him.

“Showers!” I cried, hurrying closer. “Tank, get to the showers!” Hannah was protecting me!!?

He couldn’t hear. He and Hannah were both making too much noise. An Infected once told me our hardened bodies could be burned to death. It was happening right before my eyes!

Police and coaches tried to tackle them with jackets but Tank bolted. No way he’d be stopped or caught, speeding like a smoldering torch from the field. I was too exhausted to chase. They disappeared into the stadium bowels but his screaming remained long after.

The whole freaking world was talking about the football fiasco. Puck sent me a constant stream of news updates that I didn’t bother reading. The planet, apparently, was coming apart at the seams with this new fresh devil. Now we had to hear about the Chemist’s terror group of mutants, the Outlaw and his band of merry mutants, and the football mutant.

Ugh. No thanks.

Tank was missing. So was Hannah. No one knew where they went, not even Puck. The city’s over-taxed law enforcement offices launched a massive manhunt for the enormous Kid Who Defied Physics. The acrid smell of burnt flesh was almost potent enough to track. But I didn’t want to try. I wanted to get out of here.

And that was the plan. Tomorrow. We’d fly out of Van Nuys, a private airport on a private jet.

If
I can get Chase to come. And that’s a big If. Otherwise I’m not sure what I’ll do.

I drove to Chase’s house that evening. First time since the big fall-out with Carter; I couldn’t bear to face the piercing truthfulness of the Outlaw. His innate trust in me, his innocent belief, flayed me alive and stripped my professional defenses.

It was Halloween and half the kids in Los Angeles dressed like the Outlaw. I carefully wove around the late Trick-or-Treaters and parked in his driveway. Chase sat on his front porch with a bag of candy, staring southwest toward towers in the dying light. Of COURSE he’d be giving candy to kids.

“Come to say goodbye?” he called.

I slammed the heavy truck door and said, “We don’t leave until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ah.”

“And you’re handing out candy.”

“Yep,” he nodded and took a long unsteady breath. “And working up the courage to tell Katie. About the Outlaw. About everything.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Finally.”

Wow. This would be huge. I kinda wanted to tag along. Maybe PuckDaddy would record it for me. Although I’m not sure why I cared. But I did.

“I’m nervous.”

I laughed. “I don’t blame you.”

“She didn’t handle the news well, about Tank being Infected. Pretty disturbed.”

“That’s different. Katie loves you, and she’s a smart girl. You’ve always fought for her. She’ll see that.”

He changed the subject. “Whither shall you travel?”

“Whither?”

“Yes. It means, ‘to where.’ I’ve been working on English homework. Whither shall you and Carter’s consortium travel?”

“We’re flying to Houston.” I sat beside him, wincing. My facial fractures needed a few more hours of knitting. Tank threw a mean left hook.

“Houston?”

“I want you to come with us.”

He chuckled and presented candy bars to two approaching little kids, one ghost and one Outlaw. He said, “I like your costumes!” They waved and walked off with their father. Chase mumbled, “That’s what I’ve seen tonight. Vampires and zombies and skeletons and Darth Vader and the Outlaw. All monsters.”

“Think about it, Chase. Carter would welcome you back. I know he would. Give you a job. An identity. A team.”

“I don’t need Carter to provide those things.”

“Chase-”

His voice was urgent, full of concern. “You don’t need him either. You’re stronger than him. He’s just mystery and shadow and money. Nothing real.”

“You said it yourself. You’re a kid in high school. But I’m not. This is my life.”

“Waiting around for Carter to beckon so you can go murder another kid isn’t a life, Samantha.”

His words were like a slap. I recoiled away from him and my eyes stung.

“Besides,” he continued, “do you want to work for a maniac? A maniac that terrifies you?”

“Better to work with him than against him. What would you suggest I do?”

“Stay here. Los Angeles needs you.”

I shook my head. “Los Angeles is lost, Chase.”

“I disagree.”

“The Chemist will attack in the next day or two and destroy as much as he can. He has the firepower and manpower and there’s nothing we can do about it. Then he’ll withdraw before the might of the American military can fully focus against him, and he’ll relocate to Houston.”

“How do you know this?” He was alarmed. He ground his teeth and his muscles swelled.

“Carter has sources. The Chemist is going to Houston next, the biggest port in southern America. We think he’s planning on leveling Los Angeles as an example, and then declaring Houston an independent province where Infected can roam free, instead of hide. He’s going to bully his way into a new kingdom. That’s our best guess.”

“Impossible.” He picked a piece of fuzz from his pants and threw it into the grass. The muscles in his arms bunched and coiled, like thick knotty ropes. “The people of Houston won’t let him. They’ll kick him out.”

“The people of Los Angeles haven’t.”

“We’re not done yet!” he snapped at me. “Samantha, I’m not leaving until I know the city is safe. Understand? This is my home. And it’s yours, too.”

“No it’s not,” I scoffed. “I’ve lived here less than a year.”

“Oh yeah? Then where is your home?”

“I told you. I have two. One in Atlanta-”

“And one in Germany, I know. But I didn’t ask where you keep your stuff. I didn’t ask where you have houses or apartments. Where is your
home
?”

“I don’t…I mean, I’m not…”

“Our home is wherever our family is.” He tapped himself on the chest, just below the hollow of his throat. “I’m your family, Samantha. Me and Puck. And Katie and Lee. And Dad. We’re your home.”

“Jeez, Chase,” I grumbled, and I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes as they began to burn. Something deep inside me ached. I didn’t want to leave.