Hold On! - Tomorrow (A Sci-Fi Thriller) Page 18

  He removed his helmet and touched the release sensor for the left hand glove. Once he’d taken it off, he hit the redial button on his Z-Watch for the last number who’d called him. After a few moments, the dial-out tone abruptly ended. A hologram of the geek with the glasses appeared before his eyes. “Hey, Woody? It’s me.”

  “Interceptor!” Woody said, his glee unmistakable.

  B.J. chuckled at the kid’s passionate adoration. If only he knew. Nevertheless, he already owed this guy more than he could repay him for taking care of Heather. Now he needed him again. “Buddy, I hate to ask this, but I really need your help.”

  “Absolutely. Where are you?”

  “Utah, I think. Somewhere near the Colorado border.”

  “Utah?”

  B.J. smiled. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll take me just over an hour to get to L.A., but I can’t afford to be seen. The nearest I could think of was the Mojave Desert. I know it’s still quite far from you, but I can’t think of anywhere else remote enough. Is there any way somebody could come pick me up when I get there?”

  “Yes, sir. You bet. But it could take a few hours for us to reach you. When you arrive, I’ll need your GPS coordinates.”

  “You got it. I’ll call you with my location when I arrive, and I’ll cover all your costs. OK?”

  “I’ll leave right away.”

  “Thanks, Woody. First, do you think I could talk to H?”

  “Sure.”

  There was a moment of indecipherable shaking as Woody took his watch off and handed it Heather. She appeared in moments. “Hey, babe,” she said.

  “H, Woody’s gonna pick me up in the desert, but I need your help too.”

  “Sure, just name it.”

  “I have no clothes. All I have is the armor. No pants, no shirt, and no shoes. I can’t afford to be seen in this thing.”

  “Just leave it to me, babe. And don’t worry about anything. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “I sure hope so, because right now, I have the whole damn world on my case.” He ended the call, put his glove and helmet back on, and activated the jet boots. With the screech of nano rockets, he shot through the trees and into the sky.

  Within seventy minutes, B.J. came in over the Mojave Desert and began his descent. He looked around, satisfied it was just a barren stretch of desert. There was no hint of civilization in any direction.

  As he settled beside a huge scab of rock, he became concerned that the blistering heat would bake him inside the silver armor. Then he looked at his left arm. Frost seemed to be forming on the armor, only to evaporate as soon as it appeared. The strange, constant alternation of ice and water continued, prompting a memory. Tito had told him the armor was equipped with temperature balancing circuitry. No matter the climate, it would bring the suit’s temperature back to normal.

  He sat back against the rock and lowered his head, mournfully. He hadn’t been given the time to grieve for his friend. Had they given him a funeral yet? If so, he hadn’t even been able to pay his last respects. He suspected Tito would’ve much preferred he’d been out there, using the armor to save lives. He was satisfied he’d succeeded in honoring that.

  For now, he had to let Woody know his location. He removed the glove and hit redial on his Z-Watch. Woody’s hologram appeared again, but it seemed faint in the bright sunlight. “Woody?”

  “Oh, my God!” Woody said with a tone of astonishment.

  “What?”

  “I had to do a double-take. You’re wearing the helmet. That is so freakin’ cool.”

  “If I take it off, my head is gonna fry out here. The temperature controls in the suit are keeping me cool. My coordinates are on the visor screen, so I’m gonna send them to you.” He tried to punch in the digits on the watch, but it was hopeless. He took a moment to remove the glove and then resumed.

  “You OK?” Woody said.

  “Yeah. I just realized I couldn’t punch it in with the glove on. The numbers are too small. I’m sending it now. Where are you?”

  “I-15, just coming up to Victorville. We should be with you in about two hours. Heather’s sitting next to me, but I have to keep my hands on the wheel.”

  “I understand. Two hours isn’t as bad as I thought. What are you driving?”

  “It’s . . . a blue van.”

  B.J. wondered why Woody had hesitated when he answered. “OK, Woody. It’ll be good to meet you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’re doing for us.”

  “The pleasure is all mine. Just hang in there.”

  “You got it.” He ended the call.

  For the next two hours, B.J. wandered back and forth around the immediate area from his initial vantage point. The rust-colored, mountainous terrain quickly became a mind-numbing sight. Aside from a liberal distribution of Joshua trees, there was nothing to stimulate his mind.

  In the distance, he thought he detected movement and focused the helmet’s zoom vision toward it. Sure enough, it was a blue van that looked like it had seen better days. The condition of it must’ve been the reason for Woody’s hesitation when he asked him about it.

  With a smile, he activated the boots and rose a few feet off the ground. He carefully controlled the speed and gently glided toward the van, arriving in less than a minute.

  Heather and Woody stepped out, and he removed the helmet. Heather ran up to him and threw her arms around him. “I have been so worried about you,” she said.

  “Yeah, I’ve been pretty worried about me, too.”

  They broke the embrace, and B.J. approached the kid who’d climbed out of the driver’s side. “Woody?”

  “Yes, sir.” Woody held out a shaking hand.

  B.J. took it, albeit gently, conscious of the damage the armor could cause to human bone.

  However, upon seeing this timid-looking, bespectacled kid, with a jet-black side parting and an Interceptor t-shirt, a lump formed in his throat. Tito. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally, Woody.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Nah. Just call me B.J.” He walked around the van and immediately noticed the deep dents. Moving around to the back, he saw the left tail light was smashed, and his heart sank. Oh, boy. “You seriously drove over two hundred miles in this?”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Woody said. “It’s what those maniacs did to it the other night on the freeway.”

  “Oh, right. Of course.” Damn, they’re lucky they made it.

  The rear doors opened and B.J. was momentarily startled. Three individuals stepped out: some skinny kid with lank, blond hair and an almost-homeless look, a woman with black hair and skin painted white, and a fairly normal, even handsome dude with a fairly buff physique. “Hi, there,” B.J. said.

  Phil and Sharon introduced themselves with the same sense of amazement Woody had shown. Phil’s eyes seemed to be scanning the armor with intense focus. The other guy didn’t say anything.

  “OK, guys, we’ve got a problem,” B.J said.

  Woody came toward him. “What’s that?”

  “The van is terrific. I can hide in the back and nobody will see me. But the damage and the busted tail light presents a serious danger of us getting pulled over by the police. I’m wanted.”

  Woody swallowed hard.

  “Oh, damn,” Heather said. “He’s right. I can’t even figure out how we didn’t get stopped on the way here.”

  Sharon stepped forward with an aura of confidence. “I think I’ve got this covered. Heather, would you mind traveling in the back with us?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  Sharon took out her purse, held it up in front of B.J., and winked. “I have an idea.”

  Woody drove without incident for almost three hours. Then, on the I-15 approach to L.A., a blue flashing light in his wing mirror alerted his attention. His heart pounded and he swallowed hard. “Oh, no.”

  Shaking, he took his driver’s license out of his wallet, then reached across to the glove compartment and took out his v
ehicle’s documents. Fear impaired his ability to think straight. He knew that when the time came for them to check his vehicle, his nervous intensity was sure to give the game away. Keep calm.

  He moved a few feet farther on, and then pulled over to the side.

  “What’s wrong?” B.J. said from the back.

  “Our worst fear. We’ve been stopped.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  Woody held his papers tightly. Everything was in order. He made the decision to focus on the documents and be as co-operative as possible.

  The officer appeared at his side window, causing Woody an abrupt start. “Lower the window please, sir.”

  He touched the window sensor on the dashboard, and lightly wiped his brow. The tall, burly official caused the butterflies in his stomach to go into overdrive. “Good afternoon, officer. How can I help you?”

  “Let me see your driver’s license.”

  You don’t need to see my identification, shot through Woody’s mind in a visit to his sci-fi fantasy world. “Certainly, sir.” He handed over his license.

  “What are you doing driving around with a busted tail light?” the officer said.

  “Oh, I’m looking around for a reasonably-priced body shop. My van was vandalized a few days ago. I figured it’d be OK because I’m not driving it at night.” Woody’s blood pounded in his temples under the realization that his response was hopelessly lame.

  The officer stared at him, adding to his excruciating distress. “And where does not using your turn signals fit into this theory?”

  “Y-you’re right, Officer. I apologize.”

  “Where are you going to?”

  “H-home. I live in San Fernando.”

  The officer tilted his head with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “You live in San Fernando, and you’re looking for a body repair shop all the way out here?”

  “Times are tough for me at the moment, so I had to go a little farther out to find the best price.”

  The officer repeatedly glanced back at him as he sifted through the van’s documents. Finally, he handed him his papers back. “Would you mind opening up the back?”

  Woody felt the blood drain from his face. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t even swallow. Consumed with fear, he slowly opened the door and stepped out.

  Thirty-One

  Close Call

  Woody opened the rear doors of the van. B.J. turned his head sharply, his heart pounding with the possibility that their outrageous contingency plan might fail. He hadn’t checked a mirror, and he had no idea how ridiculous he must have looked.

  He glanced forward at the armor perched against the adjacent side of the van. With all the power switched off, the lights and sensors were not active. It didn’t look as impressive as when it was in action, but it still appeared to be an extraordinary piece of hardware. Oh, boy. This is gonna be a close call.

  The cop looked around the interior, his gaze quickly latching onto the INT-Nine. His hand gripped his pistol without hesitation. “Hold it right there! Stand up slowly and remove the helmet.”

  The armor stood up and the right arm reached out toward the officer.

  B.J. glanced at the officer again. He could see from the look in the cop’s eyes that he suspected this wasn’t who he thought it was.

  “I am The Interceptor,” a female voice said from behind the helmet in a corny, contrived, staccato tone. “I am the protector of the innocent and the powerless, evildoer, and I will save them from you.”

  The cop rolled his eyes and took his hand away from his gun. “All right, cut it out. And take that thing off your head.”

  She reached up and removed the helmet. “Didn’t you like it?” Heather said, feigning disappointment.

  The cop cracked a smile. “I have to admit, you had me fooled for a second. But only for a second. The Interceptor is taller than you. Nice workmanship, though, I’ll give you that.”

  Heather looked around at Phil, Sharon, Payden—and B.J. wearing a purple t-shirt bearing a transfer image of a classic, 1970s superhero comic.

  B.J. wondered what must’ve been going through Heather’s mind. With his face covered in white make-up and black lipstick and a baseball cap bearing the Superman emblem, he must’ve looked bizarre. Sharon had done an amazing job. He could never have imagined himself passing for a geek.

  “Did you hear that, guys?” Heather said, faux-beaming. “Nice workmanship. We pulled it off.”

  B.J. silently marveled at her performance. The look of gleeful excitement in her eyes was so convincing, she almost had even him fooled.

  The officer turned back to Woody. “All right, Mr. Schuster. I can understand you wanting to get your van fixed, but I can’t let you drive another yard with that busted tail light. Are you in the Auto Club?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “OK, if you call them while I’m here and get them out to fix the light, I won’t give you a ticket. I can’t be fairer than that.”

  “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate this.”

  Woody and the cop moved away from the rear of the van.

  Phil’s expression sank, dejected.

  “What’s wrong?” B.J. said. “We just got a major break. Either that cop is at the end of his shift and eager to get home, or he’s the most altruistic guy on the force.”

  Phil took a sharp breath. “Woody has no money. There’s no way he’ll be able to pay the Auto Club.”

  B.J. gestured to Heather. “I have two-thousand dollars in the pouch pocket on the armor.”

  “Yeah, but how do I get to it?” she said.

  B.J. glanced at the open door fleetingly, and then moved over to her. Taking her right arm, he activated the armor with the wrist controls. It lit up spectacularly, and a mild hum filled the air. “We have to move fast.” He touched a sensor at the groin area and the pocket sprung open. He quickly took the money out, closed the pocket, and depressed his thumb on the wrist sensor again. Come on, come on, dammit.

  It took a couple of seconds to kick in, but the lights went out when the sensor completed the command. B.J. grinned as a familiar rush came over him. It reminded him of being a kid clowning around in class with his friends, hoping the teacher wouldn’t see them.

  The cop appeared at the rear doors again. “What was that?”

  B.J. looked at him, hoping the white ‘Goth’ make-up was disguising the sheepishness in his face. “What was what?”

  “That strange humming noise.”

  B.J., Heather, and their new friends looked at one another faking bewilderment.

  “I don’t know.” B.J. moved in with a prime opportunity for changing the subject and held up the money to the cop. “We have the cash for the Auto Club, Officer.”

  “Yeah, I was wondering how you were going to pay for it. I thought you guys were going through hard times.”

  “Woody is, but my mom always encouraged me to save my pocket money.”

  “And who would you be?”

  “My name is David Banner. The world thinks I’m dead. I travel alone. I try to keep the beast caged—”

  “All right, knock it off, Hulk.” The cop’s patience was obviously strained. “So, what’s this all about? You guys celebrating Halloween early, or what?”

  “Nah,” B.J. said nonchalantly. “We just do this stuff for fun.”

  The officer chuckled. B.J. felt the tension leaving his muscles under the realization they’d not only pulled it off, but they’d actually won the cop over.

  The Auto Club arrived within thirty minutes. The officer came around to the back of the van again. “OK, I’m satisfied everything is in order. Good luck to you all.”

  “Thank you, Officer,” Heather said.

  The cop returned to his squad car while Woody greeted the Auto Club guy and pointed out the damage to the tail light. After a minute, the mechanic proceeded to remove the damaged light in preparation for replacing it with a basic, temporary fitting. At least it would enable them to get home legally.

  Heather
sat back, raised her left arm, and tilted it back and forth. “This armor is so awesome. I want one.”

  B.J. looked at her thoughtfully. An obvious concept came to his mind he’d never considered before, and yet he knew it was inevitable. “Uncle Jed told me the ultimate aim has always been for the creation of an Interceptor Squadron.”

  Phil, Sharon, and Payden’s faces lit up with astonishment.

  “Are you kidding?” Phil said.

  “Just what I was told.”

  “Oh, wow. All the years the Interceptor comics have been coming out, and nobody ever came up with an Interceptor team. I can’t believe it.” Phil lightly slapped his forehead. “It’s so damn obvious. Why have none of us ever thought of that?”

  “You’re not alone,” B.J. said. “I’ve just spotted an idea that’s even more obvious.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A female Interceptor.”

  They all looked at Heather and gasped.

  “I am so on my way,” Phil said. “I’ve got precise details of the armor to draw from, a proposal for an Interceptor team, and a female Interceptor.”

  B.J’s brow crumpled with confusion. “So what?”

  “Oh, I should’ve explained. I’m an artist, and I’ve always wanted to draw comic books. Every comic publisher in America has rejected me, and I just can’t move forward.”

  “Damn. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  “Thanks. But I really believe my life is about to change because of you.”

  “Me?”

  “Absolutely. What other artist can claim to know the real Interceptor? What other artist would have access to the precise design of the new armor? Not to mention the other ideas you’ve just given me. Woody and I went all out to get as much material as we could so that we’d have a fighting chance. We even made a pilgrimage to the original Interceptor’s cabin in Aspen.”

  B.J. stood and bumped his head on the van’s roof. Oww. “Say that again.”

  “Woody and I went to the cabin in Aspen to get some holo footage.”