Spark, p.13
Spark, page 13
He continued to skip around to cameras across the city, like changing channels on the TV, until he saw a black military truck rolling slowly up the Art Walk on massive tires. People wearing black tactical gear patrolled ahead of it with rifles and radios. They were Special Ops - he saw the white SO on their backs - going door to door, searching for the bomb. He also felt his hold in LA slipping. He was running out of strength, and his vision kept whiting out. Sweat poured down his face.
“They’ve got it! We’re all clear!” someone shouted.
A cheer went up, and Lucas opened his eyes. Dozens of people gathered around the Bullpen, clapping and hooting, and he got to his feet. Kowalski was a few yards away, receiving slaps on the back and high-fives from other agents. Apparently, the Special Ops squad had discovered a suitcase full of explosives in a minivan parked just outside the Art Walk, and with an hour to spare.
“Once the bomb squad is through with it, have the device brought here for research,” Kowalski said quietly to one of the agents.
Lucas was both exhausted and relieved. He was happy that they found the bomb and nobody died, but he was more relieved that they had done it without any help. His intervention was unnecessary, and he didn’t want that kind of pressure anyway. This place, this whole situation, was all too ridiculous. It was too far beyond him.
I don’t belong here… I’m just a kid. I shouldn’t be involved in this at all.
Now that it was all over, he just wanted to sleep.
Suddenly, Dr. Gill was beside him.
“Lucas, come on,” he said. “You should rest now.”
Lucas nodded, and followed him away from the busy noise of celebration. Behind him, champagne bottles popped open. No one acknowledged him or Dr. Gill as they made their way back to the golf cart, then the elevator, then back down to his room. He said nothing to Dr. Gill as he performed a check on Lucas’ vitals. Once that was done and he was declared healthy, he was allowed to shower, then left alone to eat and climb into bed. He could still feel the upstairs racket inside his head as he closed his eyes and drifted off.
He woke up ten hours later. The room was dim, and there was no one else in it. Things seemed to have quieted down upstairs, and he felt calm and rested. Several minutes passed and he simply lay still, enjoying the silence. Not long ago, he would have quickly become bored and wanted to watch TV or listen to music. Now, all he wanted to do was see his mother.
He dearly ached for his own home. He missed his room, the smells of his grandmother’s cooking drifting through the house, the old oak pedestal table where they all sat down to eat (it had his crayon marks scrawled across its underside), and the sight of his mother’s smile. He wanted to be in her arms, and have her tell him that everything was going to be alright. Even if it wasn’t true, at least he could pretend it was and feel better.
He remembered how he had projected his mind through traffic cameras and security cameras to view the streets of LA. He wished he could visit the streets of Austin the same way, even see his own apartment. He imagined watching his mother step outside, lock the front door, then cross the sidewalk to work wearing her old brown uniform. He knew he wouldn’t be able to say anything to her, even to tell her that he was alright, but at least he would know that she was okay.
But he couldn’t do that here. When he reached out with his mind, he felt nothing. His mind was stuck in this room. What was the good of having powers if you couldn’t use them? And how on earth was he going to find the Rising and punish them for what they did to her?
What am I supposed to do? he pleaded silently.
The door hissed open, and Lucas sat up. Dr. Gill entered with a tray and his medical bag. The aroma from the food on the tray made Lucas’ stomach growl.
“Good morning,” he said. “How about some breakfast?”
“Absolutely,” he said, quickly wiping his eyes.
“Check-up first though.”
“Now?” Lucas complained.
“Yes, you exerted yourself a great deal yesterday.”
He set the tray on the table and his medical bag on the bed. Lucas fidgeted impatiently as Dr. Gill shone a penlight in each of his eyes, then listened to his heart and lungs. Last of all, he drew a sample of blood, then packed up his equipment and Lucas was allowed to go to the table and eat. Dr. Gill sat across from him, his hands folded on the table.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine,” Lucas answered with a shrug.
“You should be happy; your information helped save a lot of people.”
“Yeah, but I couldn’t do what Kowalski asked me to.”
“Why not?”
“I’m still learning, I guess. It’s not like there’s anyone to teach me this stuff.”
“You learn very quickly, and will continue to get better with practice, so don’t worry. You’ve gotten this far on your own, and that’s no small feat.”
“But I need to find them, Dr. Gill,” Lucas said through gritted teeth. “They tortured my mother, and it’s because of them that all of this stuff is happening. I owe it to her and everyone else they’ve hurt to stop all of this.”
“Well, you still have a long way to go before you’ll be ready for that,” Dr. Gill replied. “All in good time. For now, you should eat.”
Lucas shook his head, then shoveled large forkfuls of pancake into his mouth. A small carton of orange juice sat to his right.
“When you’ve finished,” Dr. Gill said after a moment. “There’s someone I want you to see.”
“Who?”
“Your friend, Brick.”
Lucas nearly choked on his food.
“Brick is here?” he gasped. “Why?”
“We brought him to the Bunker for observation. He is the only human to have survived an infection from the nanomachines.”
“Yeah, because I saved him. I took them out of him. And he’s not my friend.”
“Well, he’s very lucky all the same. However… he suffered a lot of damage, even during the short time they were in his body. And I think he will still be very grateful to see you.”
“I doubt that,” Lucas replied drily. There was no way that Brick would be glad to see him after what happened. He had nearly died, and Lucas knew exactly how that felt.
“Will you come see him?” Dr. Gill asked.
Lucas sighed, then nodded and pushed back from the table. Dr. Gill knocked on the door, and it opened. He turned left, and Lucas followed him down a wide hallway. They walked past a security guards’ station to a door with a small window in it. Lucas wasn’t tall enough to see anything through it. Dr. Gill swiped a keycard through a slot by the door; a beep sounded and Lucas heard a lock turn. The door slid open, and through it he saw a room that looked very much like his own. The walls were white, and in the middle of the floor was a small table and chair. A hospital bed was off to one side, and in it was a long-limbed boy with flaming red hair and a thick, jutting forehead. His hair was matted to his head, his cheeks were sunken, and his blue eyes had dark circles underneath. Dr. Gill was right: Brick was… different.
Lucas had a hollow feeling in his chest as he followed Dr. Gill to the side of Brick’s bed. The entire way, he avoided meeting Brick’s eyes. He noticed shelves of books against the wall. They were large chapter books, which surprised him. Then he began to feel sick in his stomach when he saw an electric wheelchair beside the bed.
“How are you doing today, Brick?” Dr. Gill asked. “I’ve brought someone to see you.”
Brick lay propped up against some pillows, reading a book he held with one hand. He lowered it as Dr. Gill took his pale, bony left hand that had been resting at his side. Lucas noticed with a start that his sunken eyes were open wide and fixed on him. He looked like he was seeing a ghost.
“Uh… hi, Brick,” Lucas said weakly.
Brick continued to stare as Dr. Gill felt along his arm, from his hand up to his shoulder. Lucas watched with morbid curiosity as he seemed to massage it deep between the knuckles, then extended each of the fingers. Brick had no reaction, as if his hand wasn’t even part of him. When he finished, he placed Brick’s arm back down at his side.
“How are you feeling today, Brick?” Dr. Gill asked once more, in that high, cheerful tone that Lucas despised.
“Fine,” Brick said. His voice was soft, like a whisper, and reedy, like he didn’t have enough breath.
“Is it alright with you if Lucas visits for a while? I’m sure you boys have a lot to catch up on.”
Brick nodded slowly, his eyes still locked on Lucas, who felt his stomach turning somersaults. He watched Dr. Gill leave, and as the door slid closed, he turned back to face Brick. He looked very similar to a vampire from one of those old movies. Or a cadaver.
“You’ve been here this whole time, haven’t you?” Brick said, his voice suddenly stronger. Lucas jumped.
“Y-yes,” he answered. “My room is down the hall.”
Brick furrowed his brow, his face twisted in confusion.
“W-well… I was kept asleep until yesterday,” Lucas offered. “And I didn’t even know you were here until just a few minutes ago.”
“What are you talking about? You were, what, in a coma?”
“They kept me sedated, because they were worried I might break out.”
“Could you?”
“No… I’ve tried,” Lucas admitted. “How long have you been here?”
“Seven… maybe eight months, I think. I don’t really know - I don’t have a clock in here, and I stopped asking because it’s depressing.”
Brick sighed. He dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. He was silent for a long time, and Lucas wanted so badly to leave.
“You must hate me,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because this is my fault. I wanted to go to the warehouse.”
Brick smirked, seemingly amused. He turned his head to look at Lucas. His blue eyes were a sharp as steel. Lucas was taken aback; he’d never seen anything more than dull stupidity in Brick’s eyes before.
“No it isn’t. I asked to go with you. You didn’t want me to come, remember?”
“But - ”
“Lucas, shut up,” Brick interjected. “This is my fault, and no one else’s. I was an idiot because I wanted to be like you, have your powers. But it’s clear that this is no picnic for you, either. We’re both victims here.”
Lucas was baffled, though he kept his face still. This new Brick was smarter. Definitely more articulate. The bully Lucas known back in school could barely put two sentences together. Did the nanomachines do this? He wondered if they might have damaged some parts of his brain, but somehow improved others. Maybe, he thought, this is similar to the way blind people develop sharper senses of smell and hearing. Brick was crippled, but his mind was stronger.
“Had I known… I would have stayed far, far away from that warehouse,” Brick continued darkly. “I would have burned it to the ground.”
Lucas moved closer, taking one small, careful step.
“Have they been taking care of you?” he asked.
“More or less. They treat me alright, and Dr. Gill is nice enough. It’s been really boring when they aren’t doing tests.”
“Do you ever see anyone? Besides the doctors, I mean.”
“No. You’re the first.”
Lucas felt sick to his stomach with guilt. At least he had been asleep for all that time.
“That sucks,” he said.
Brick looked at him. His expression seemed to brighten slightly.
“So does being in a forced coma,” he said. “What are they keeping you here for?”
“Same as you, basically: observation. But I also see the agents. They want me to do work for them.”
“Like what?”
Lucas hesitated again. But, he reasoned, who was Brick going to tell? He was trapped here just like he was.
“The CIA is catching terrorists; they want me to help track them.”
“How?”
“With my powers… I can monitor them, remotely.”
“What happens if you say no?”
“They kill me.”
Brick raised one eyebrow.
“What makes you so dangerous?”
“I don’t know,” Lucas said slowly. “Kowalski said it’s because I’m unpredictable. If I wanted to, I could see all their government secrets. That makes me a threat, I guess.”
Brick nodded pensively. This new, intelligent Brick intrigued Lucas.
“They must be real scared of you.”
“Maybe,” Lucas shrugged, but he liked the idea. He pointed to the bookshelf.
“I didn’t know you read books.”
“Don’t have anything else to do,” Brick shrugged. “Do you have anything in your room?”
“No.”
“You can borrow some, if you want.”
“Thanks,” he said. He stepped around the foot of the bed to the shelf, and squatted down to examine the titles. Among them were Dracula, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, and Moby Dick. He also had a dozen Stephen King novels and collections of the works of H.P. Lovecraft, Lord Byron, and John Keats. Being so close to Brick’s wheelchair, Lucas began to feel uncomfortable again. He quickly picked out two Stephen King books and retreated. Then he felt awkward holding the books, so he set them down on the table and pulled up a chair to Brick’s bedside.
“You like horror?” Brick asked.
“Not really.”
“I like it. The creepier, the better. They bring me the books I want. I’ve also been reading a bit of philosophy and mythology—Greek, Norse, and Hindu. It’s very interesting and… well, it passes the time.”
Lucas nodded, then pressed his lips together, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to upset Brick now that things were going so well, but he was dying to know.
“Um, Brick,” he said. “What did the blue stuff do to you?”
Brick didn’t answer right away. Lucas feared he would get angry, but then he sighed and spoke very quietly.
“I can’t walk anymore,” he said. “It damaged my spine pretty bad. The docs said it ate through parts of it, and that I’m lucky to be alive. If anything else had been damaged, I’d have been completely paralyzed from the neck down, even unable to breathe on my own. But I can still use my right arm.”
“I’m really sorry,” Lucas said, and he meant it.
“You can quit saying that. It was my fault. You and the other guys tried to tell me not to do it, but I didn’t listen. If you hadn’t done what you did, I know I’d be dead.”
“You remember that?”
“Some parts. Mostly, I just remember hurting a lot.”
He looked at Lucas. In his hollow eyes, Lucas could see pain and fear. He could remember well the terror that he had felt watching Brick writhe on the ground, the blue liquid pouring from his eyes and mouth.
“My name isn’t Brick,” Brick said suddenly.
“What?” Lucas replied, surprised.
“Well, technically it is, but I don’t want it to be. It says ‘Brick Daniel Wallach’ on my birth certificate, and that’s what my mom wanted everyone to call me. She thought it sounded tough or something. But my dad had always wanted me to be called Bernard.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’re the closest I’ve got to a friend now. And, let’s face it, I’m not very tough anymore.”
“Which do you like better?” Lucas asked.
He seemed to think for a few seconds.
“Bernard.”
“Bernard,” Lucas repeated. “Okay. But you’re still the toughest person I know.”
He gave a weak smile.
“Promise you’ll come back to see me?” he asked. “I don’t want to be alone here again.”
Lucas nodded. “I promise. Whatever it takes.”
Hours passed, during which time Lucas told Bernard how he’d helped the CIA find the bomb in Los Angeles, and described in detail the building above them, because Bernard had never seen it. Lunch was brought in for them, and two nurses lifted Bernard out of the bed and into his wheelchair. Lucas saw clearly then that he was truly a shell of his former self, physically at least. He was thin, and his shoulders hunched. His knees were knobby, and his left arm hung limp until it was placed in his lap. The nurse steered his chair to the table, while Lucas brought his chair over and sat down.
They ate pizza, and Lucas did his best to keep the conversation lighthearted. Fortunately, Bernard asked a lot of questions, so it wasn’t that much work. He was obviously grateful for the company, and Lucas was, too. It was also clear that they didn’t know much about each other, since they’d never spent time together in school, but Bernard seemed eager to share. He asked Lucas about his family, and then told him all about his own. Then he told Lucas what movies he liked, and his favorite subject in school, and his favorite books, admitting that he had never liked reading before coming here. To Lucas, the experience was a bit bizarre, but he listened and enjoyed himself.
