Every Day is Like Doomsday (27 page)

Oranges. Why do I smell oranges, Elliot wondered?
Then he opened his eyes. The light in the room was dim,
just enough for him to see that he was in a hospital bed.
He blinked a few times to try to see more detail and then
closed his eyes as the room suddenly spun to the right.
Elliot gripped the arms of the bed as if bracing himself
against being tossed out into the blurry, swirling kaleidoscope of the room.

Through it all he managed not to puke, which he
considered a big plus. When the room settled down once
more again came the aroma of oranges wafting across his
bed. He opened his eyes, slowly this time, and found the
source of the smell.

Mr. Ian Woon, Dean of Students at the Villains
Academy, was sitting in a plastic chair beside Elliot’s
bed. The chair looked uncomfortably small for the
Dean’s angular frame but he didn’t seem to notice, so
engrossed he was in peeling off sections of his orange
and popping them into his mouth.

“It’s not an orange,” said the Dean.
“Huh?”
“I said it’s not an orange. It’s a tangelo.”
Elliot’s head was throbbing and he wasn’t in the

mood for games. He rubbed a hand roughly over his
face, which for some reason hurt terribly and made him
whimper. He dropped his hands to his lap and sucked in
a quick breath against the short burst of pain as it peaked
and then slowly ebbed, leaving behind a dull ache that
echoed the one on the inside of his head.

“You just made that word up, didn’t you? That’s really
not nice.I’m obviously concussed here and already confused
enough without you lobbing made-up words at me.”

“Not made-up. It’s a mix between a pomelo and a
tangerine.” He offered a slice to Elliot, “Care you try?”
“No thanks,” said Elliot, “I’ve known better than to
take food from a Villain for a long time.”
“Suit yourself.”
The Dean went back to feeling apart his fruit, which
he hadn’t looked away from during their conversation.
Elliot slowly moved his eyes around the room, noting
how things had changed since his last visit, namely that
the infirmary looked a lot more like a hospital than it
had before. To the left of Elliot’s bed a series of monitors mounted on a pole bleeped and blipped and made
other random computerized noises. Wires ran out of the
machines. One was connected to an O2 sensor attached
to his left pointer finger, the others went inside the neck
of his hospital gown and when he peeked beneath the
fabric he saw that they were connected to various green
patches stuck to his chest. An IV bag on a pole slowly
dripped into a line that fed into the back of his left hand.
This is some serious shit, thought Elliot. A series
of questions shot through his mind so rapidly they made
him dizzy all over again. Am I in a real hospital? How did
I get here? Where’s Innya? Why do you even care where
Innya is considering she left you there to die? Did I really
almost die? What the hell happened?
“Let’s take your questions one at a time so as not to
tax your newly-recovered consciousness,” the Dean said in
response to Elliot’s unasked questions. He licked the juice
of the tangelo from his spindly fingers and finally looked
over at Elliot. “You are in the infirmary at the VA, but in
a special area because of the higher level of care you’ve
required. You’ve been sleeping for most of the day and it’s
now,” he checked the large gold watch on his wrist, “Ten
thirty at night. Unless your monitor alarms start to go off
you won’t see the doctor until his morning rounds.”
Elliot took a moment to process that information.
He was alive. He was still in school. And he needed a
higher level of care. “Okay,” he said.
“I’d like to know what you remember.”
Elliot thought. Then he thought some more. His
last memory was of walking into the Use What You Have
Available classroom but he knew that that alone couldn’t
have been what had given him this concussion. Or maybe
it could…
“Did Red throw a sink at me again?” Elliot asked.
“No. Though from what I have learned Red was
indeed involved.”
“In what way?”
“You were struck in the head by the front bumper
of a 1967 Chevy Impala. Red was the one holding it.”
Elliot scowled, which hurt his face tremendously,
as he tried to remember some argument or fight leading
up to this alleged event. But nothing came to mind. “I
can’t remember,” he finally admitted, frustrated with the
apparent malfunctioning of his brain.
“Sometimes amnesia is a good thing, Elliot.”
“But why did he do it? There was no way in hell
I would have willingly picked a fight with him without
Innya on my side.” At the thought of Innya Elliot felt
lust, love and absolute loathing all spring to life in his
head and start duking it out for supremacy.
“Coach asked you to demonstrate your powers.
Innya may be a genius for coming up with this scheme
but she was also a bit short-sighted.”
“Why’s that?”
“She should have known that eventually you’d be
asked to demonstrate. And when your only power is coming back from the dead the demonstration was likely to
end… badly.”
Elliot nodded. It seemed like such a rookie mistake
for someone who considered herself above everyone else
at the school. She should have anticipated this. In a way,
Elliot told himself, this is all her fault. But, he argued
back, if she hadn’t come up with this scheme you would
have been dead a long time ago so you should be grateful
for the time you’ve been given.
“Don’t be so hard on the girl, Elliot. After all, she
was the one who called the doctor. Don’t you remember
talking to her in the warehouse?”
“Not at all.”
Dean Woon lifted an eyebrow and said,“That’s good.”
Elliot got the feeling that the Dean knew something that he didn’t but Elliot wasn’t up for playing
guessing games at the moment so he let it slide.
After a moment the Dean continued. “You might
want to reconsider being angry with the one person
who’s been nice to you all this time despite knowing
what you are.”
The Dean was right, of course. No one interacted
with him except to insult him or hit him before he became
The Zombie. “You’ve been nice to me, too,” offered Elliot.
“If you knew what I know then you wouldn’t be
saying that.”The Dean stood up in a movement so fluid it
was as if he had been poured onto his feet, then turned to
Elliot and asked, “Did you ever find a use for that phone
charger I gave to you?”
Elliot had forgotten all about that lost cause. “We
tried to charge the phone I stole from my dad’s assistant
but the phone was gutless. It won’t charge and it certainly
won’t make calls. I don’t know how Craig did it.”
“Who answers your dad’s phones when you call?”
The Dean asked with a slight grin that widened as the
conversation continued.
“Craig.”
“No matter which number you call?”
“Before I ‘died’ I called every line we had except the
landline because dad turned that off last year since we
were never home.”
“I think you should try it. See what happens.”
“Call a disconnected number?” Elliot asked. He
briefly wondered what the Dean had been smoking to
suggest such a thing.
“Cannabis. For medical reasons, of course. But call
the number.”
“OK,” said Elliot, agreeing to the weirdness just to
be polite. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”
“Please don’t,” said the Dean and then he stepped
through the curtains.
Elliot heard a door open and close and then he was
alone with his nausea, his headache and his very strong
desire to call his old home phone number despite the fact
that he knew he’d just get a disconnected message.
Elliot looked around but didn’t see his clothes or
his belongings anywhere in the room and he couldn’t very
well get up and search for them. He turned to the bedside
table to see if there was some sort of call button because
despite the time of night he thought that if there was
even a small chance of getting through to his dad then it
was worth feeling foolish for a few seconds. The bedside
table didn’t have a call button but it did have a squat,
brown, old-fashioned-looking telephone.
Elliot grabbed the phone and pulled it into his lap.
Feeling like an idiot, but an idiot with nothing to lose,
he dialed his old home number without missing a beat.
He held his breath during the pause, fully expecting the
creepy tri-tone that indicated a disconnected number.
Instead there was a ring.
Elliot still couldn’t breathe.
Then another.
Maybe his dad had reconnected the phone after
Elliot went into the VA.
Another ring. And then…
“Hello?” It was Craig.
Elliot couldn’t speak. Craig had answered a disconnected phone line. There was no way that this could be
happening. Craig said nothing else and hung up the phone.
Elliot let the receiver fall back into the cradle and
sat back in shock. His head was throbbing and he wanted
nothing more than to go to sleep but his bruised brain
had other ideas. It suddenly let him remember speaking
to Innya in the warehouse. He remembered her saying
that she knew who had paid her to kill him. She had
asked about his dad’s assistant. He remembered her saying “The Ginger”.
So he had been right to despise Craig for all this
time because Craig was a Villainous mastermind. Craig
must have arranged for Elliot’s stint at the VA to get him
out of the way. Then he must have written the letter telling Innya to kill him. Elliot had few illusions about his
father. Senator Vane must have known something was
wrong but things had started going so smoothly when
Craig showed up that he probably never bothered to
wonder if his new assistant was an evil Super Villain set
out to conquer the world.
Elliot eventually drifted off to sleep, imagining all
the ways he could take out Craig and reclaim his rightful
place beside his father, go back to his normal school and
clear his name.

Elliot woke the following morning with fire in his
heart.There was no sign of the doctor having come in and
though gray sunlight filtered through the dingy curtain in
the room he had no way of knowing what time it was. All
he knew was that he needed to save his dad. That alone
propelled him to move.

Before he sat up he carefully snapped off the cords
that tethered him to the heart monitors.Then he gingerly
traced the outline of the IV on the back of his left hand
with the fingers of his right. The skin was sensitive as he
worked his fingernails under the edge of the tape and prepared to rip it off. People do it in movies all the time, he
thought, I’ll just close my eyes, take a deep breath and…

“Ow,shit!”he hissed as he ripped the tape holding the
IV in place off of his hand. A quick glance told him that the
IV had come out as well and a bubble of blood was welling
from the hole and starting to run down his arm.He grabbed
a wad of tissues from the box beside the bed and pressed
them against the wound, hoping it would close soon. He’d
seen enough blood to last a lifetime.

Using the bedrail for support, he stood. Every muscle in his legs shook as they accepted more of his weight.
He moved slowly, sweat beading on his chest and forehead as he tried to keep himself in check. Soon he was
standing. He was also sweating and breathing hard and
terrified that he would keel over at the first step.

Elliot reached out and moved the curtain aside to
see if there was anything he could use but there was only
the closed door. There was nothing else for him to do but
keep moving. He used the bedrail as a guide at first and
then shuffled unassisted the last few steps to the cabinets
on the far wall, hoping that his belongings were inside.
When he finally made it there he found the clothes he
had been wearing during the attack, including his body
armor, along with his wallet and the keys to his dorm.

Elliot reached into the cabinet and grabbed everything at once and winced when one of his shoes brushed
against his bruised ribs. He carried the pile to the bed,
sat down in the plastic chair beside it and started pulling
items from the pile. There was no way he was going to be
able to don his body armor so he set it aside and pulled
on his black T-shirt instead. The left shoulder and chest
were crusted with dried blood that flaked onto his lap
as he moved. Next he put on his pants, which required
standing up once more but it wasn’t too bad with the bed
for support. Then his socks and shoes.

Bending over made his head throb but he clenched
his jaw and kept going. He wasn’t going to let a little
headache keep him from getting his life back now that
he knew who the real Villain was. He sat back up and
felt like he was in a Salad Spinner and for a moment he
wished that Innya were there to help him.

Elliot wadded up the sheet in his hand at the
thought of her and stared hard at his scuffed-up Chucks.
Innya. The girl who used to be his friend. The girl who
had beaten him up and ignored him and said such horrible things to him.

“Fuck Innya,” Elliot said with such scorn that he
almost believed it, followed instantly by a pang of guilt.
Did he really mean it? He wanted to. She certainly
deserved it. Elliot released the sheet he had crumpled in
his fist and took a deep breath. He couldn’t hate Innya
even after all of the really shitty things she’d said or done
to him because there were just as many not-shitty, sometimes even bordering on nice, things that she had done, as
well. Besides, he hadn’t treated her much better.
Elliot scowled at his own lack of conviction and
concentrated on slowly putting on his black leather
jacket. He was about to prove who wanted him dead and
he wished that she could go with him. Of course, Innya
was as likely to speak to him again as she was to suddenly burst into a show-stopping musical number during
Weapons class. That meant Elliot was on his own. He
could do it but he didn’t have to like it.
He stood up and took a few hesitant steps toward
the door and with each one felt his strength returning. It
could have just been adrenaline preparing his body for the
task ahead but he wasn’t about to question it. He opened
the door, winced when his ribs smarted at the movement
and walked out of the infirmary.
It was mid-morning and most of the students were
in class so there was no one to impede Elliot’s progress
across the deserted campus to the nearest hole in the
fence. He was on a mission and with every step he took
he felt strength returning to his limbs, fueling him for
the task ahead, moving him forward.The pain in his head
faded as he moved and he could barely feel the bruises
and scrapes from yesterday’s fight. Today was the day he
would get the information he needed to clear his name.
Craig, that evil, plotting bastard, was going down.
The frozen streets were not exactly bustling. To
protect his bruised face from the frigid wind he pulled
his hood over his head and kept his jacket zipped up to
his neck. He kept his eyes covered by a pair of sunglasses
with oversized frames that Innya had left in his room.
They were ladies glasses but they covered a large portion
of his face and so he wore them because he really didn’t
want to be recognized by any of the residents who used
to know him on sight.
As he walked the streets he felt separated from the
world around him as if he moved in a bubble that didn’t
quite touch the ground. He wasn’t sure if it was the influence of Innya that made him feel different or if it was
the fact that the few people who passed him did double
takes and moved out of his way. Maybe this wasn’t his
town anymore. Maybe these weren’t his people. He wasn’t
a part of any of this anymore and it made him kind of sad.
He was the Zombie, the only Villain in history who
could die and come back swinging.Tears of self-pity gathered in his swollen eyes.He was about to take off the glasses
and wipe the stinging moisture away when he saw the reason for this mission, Craig, walk out of the store where
Elliot had made Innya her Christmas present. Craig was
carrying a green bag like the ones stores use for their bank
deposits. He unlocked his sleek black BMW, opened the
passenger door and tossed the bag inside. Then he locked
up his car again and sauntered into the business next door.
Elliot slipped into the store behind him and went
immediately to the back, where he pretended to be
engrossed with a display of ceramic angels. As he locked
eyes with the lifeless, painted blue orbs of a beautiful, blonde angel, Elliot eavesdropped on the exchange
between Craig and the shopkeeper, Mrs. Shue, whom
Elliot had known since he was a child. She had to be
about 75 years old now but was still running her little
curio shop that she had bought with her late husband’s
insurance policy money a long time ago.
“Good morning, Mrs. Shue,” said Craig, his voice
revoltingly saccharine, “And how are we this morning?”
“Oh,as good as can be expected,Mr.Baker.And you?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“So what are you doing here?” she asked and Elliot
swore he detected a note of suspicion in her voice, which
gave him both hope and vindication.
“I’m sure you heard about the break-ins and robberies we’ve had recently.”
“Of course. Oh, it’s such a scary time to be alive and
a small business owner. You never know what is going to
happen next. First it’s teenagers and their baggy pants
and loud music, and now Villains. It’s scary, I tell you.”
“I certainly agree. And so I suppose you’ve also heard
the reports of a new character in town named the Zombie?”
Elliot snapped to attention at the mention of his
pseudonym and the sudden movement jostled the display
of angels.The one with the blue eyes looked irritated with
him. He turned it around to face the wall.
“Oh yes. Didn’t he rob Zimmerman’s?”
“Zimmerman’s and others.”
“And they didn’t catch him?”
“No, Mrs. Shue, they did not.”
“I see. And what does this have to do with me?”
“I’m glad you asked. You see, Senator Vane is working on a new task force to help Mr. Magnificent fight this
new crime wave.”
“And?”Without even looking over at the pair Elliot
could tell that Mrs. Shue was unimpressed.
“And we need funds to pay for this task force. We
are approaching the local business owners to ask for help
with funding.”
“And you want us to contribute…”
“Ten thousand dollars each.”
“Oh my!”
“That’s the price of safety, ma’am. Your business is
your life. Don’t you want it to be protected from Villains?”
There was a pause and Elliot hoped that Mrs. Shue
would say ‘no’, but she dashed his hopes when she asked,
“And the other business owners?”
“Some have paid already. Others needed a few days
to collect the money. But so far everyone is on-board with
this public safety campaign. So what do you say, Mrs.
Shue?”
“I don’t just have that kind of money lying around…”
“Perfect. I’ll come back on Saturday. Will that be
enough time?”
She hesitated only a moment before answering, “It
should be.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Shue. Your community thanks
you and your Senator thanks you.”
“How is Senator Vane doing these days? I heard
about his son. So sad…”
Craig snapped, “It would be sad if he was a Norm.
But he was a Villain and we mustn’t mourn the death of
a Villain.”
“I don’t believe that,” said Mrs. Shue softly. “You
mourn the loss of a child no matter the circumstances.”
“Well, you say tomato… Have a good day, Mrs.
Shue. I’ll see you on Saturday.”
Elliot let go of the breath he was holding as the
door swung shut. Elliot made his way slowly toward the
front of the store so that he could watch Craig’s progress
out the window. He had always suspected that Craig was
a weasel. Now if he could just expose him…
“May I help you?” asked Mrs. Shue and Elliot
jumped and turned around. Mrs. Shue’s eyes widened at
Elliot’s disheveled appearance but she recovered quickly.
“What can I get for you, young man?”
“Um… nothing.”
“Ok then,” she said, adopting the same distrustful
tone that she had used on Craig. “Please let me know if I
can help you.”
“Don’t give him any money,” Elliot blurted out
before he could stop himself.
“Excuse me?” she asked, squinting her eyes as if trying to see him better through her thick, lavender-tinted
glasses. Mrs. Shue hadn’t changed her style for as long as
Elliot had known her. She always kept her gray-streaked
black hair teased into a low beehive and she only ever wore
different shades of purple. Today she looked like a plum.
“Don’t give him any money. It’s a scam. The Zombie isn’t a threat to you.”
“And how would you know?” she asked, her eyes
narrowing.
Elliot slid his glasses down his nose and met her
gaze. Even though his face was a mess of swelling and
bruises Mrs. Shue’s eyes lit up in recognition.
“Elliot?” she whispered as she brought her hand
to her chest in the classic ‘shocked old lady’ pose. Elliot
smiled as best he could with his ruined face. “What have
they done to you?” She asked.
“I’ll be okay. But you don’t need to be afraid of the
Zombie, Mrs. Shue. I promise you that he’s not a threat.”
“I understand, Elliot.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Shue.”
“Goodbye, and good luck with whatever it is you’re
doing. Be careful.”
“I will.”
Elliot left the curio shop with his heart feeling
lighter than it had in weeks. Mrs. Shue had not only
remembered him but she had mourned his death more
than his best friends and his father. He turned left outside
and almost walked right into Craig, who was standing
just outside the door and texting furiously. Elliot hung
back and pretended to be interested in some real estate
postings in the front window of the curio shop.
“Call Muddy,” Craig said loudly into the phone as
he passed behind Elliot. Elliot was about to follow him
but Craig stopped on the empty street corner to talk.
Elliot hid behind a nearby hedge and listened.
“Hey,” said Craig.
“Hey yourself,” said a deep, rattling voice on the
other end of the line. The man’s accent was Scottish
or Irish and it was thick, made even less intelligible by
the fact that he badly needed to clear his throat. Elliot
cringed at the sound but he was grateful that Craig was
one of those special douchebags who thought using a
speakerphone in public was okay. Seriously though, what
an arrogant amateur, thought Elliot, even I know not to
voice evil plots in public.
“Everyone check in?” Craig asked, nonchalant.
“Madrid and Paris are set. And Wales, of course.
Still working on Rome. The Vatican is holding out on us
but we’re wearing them down.”
“Who’s on that job?”
“Billy.”
“Ah, that’s right.” Craig grinned sadistically and
opened one side of his coat. Inside, Elliot could see at
least ten other cell phones, each one different, each one
tucked into a separate pocket in the coat lining. Craig
pulled out a pack of cigarettes, shook one free and pulled
it out of the pack with his lips. After tucking the pack
back into the only empty pocket inside his coat he tapped
one finger to the tip and a blue spark flashed against the
cigarette. He inhaled deeply and sighed out a cloud of
blue smoke.
“How’s the take in Hicksville?” asked the phlegmatic voice.
“A lot of them had the cash at hand. Small town
distrust of big banks, I guess, but there are a few I have
to come back and shake down on Saturday. Either way
they’re all in.”
“Did you use the Zombie line?”
Craig shrugged. “Seemed the easiest.”
“We did the same here so we’ll have to make it look
like we’re doing something globally about the Zombie.”
“Won’t be a problem.We’ll hire some guys,have them
run a few visible patrols in the target cities. Simple stuff.”
“Did you find out anything more about this Zombie character? We really should put him down before the
big show.”
“Not yet, but I have some feelers out. We met with
Mr. Woon but he isn’t talking, which means no one else
in the VA is talking. But we’ll figure it out.”
“Good. And just so you know, news of the Senator’s
kid has made it across the pond.”
Craig sighed in exasperation. “The boy is dead and
he’s still a thorn in our sides.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you kill a media
whore.”
“How were we to know he’d turn out that way?”
“Everyone wants their 15 minutes, right?”
“I suppose,” said Craig, then, “The noobs are doing
well overall? Anything I should relate to the boss?”
“They’re exhausting, as new Villains tend to be. But
they are almost set up and understand what they are supposed to do.”
“Taking over the world isn’t supposed to be easy. If
it was, everyone would do it.”
“You can say that again.”
Craig ended the call before Muddy could say
anything else and tapped the screen a few times. Elliot
couldn’t see what was on the screen but whatever it was
made Craig smile and shake his head. Then he turned
and walked around the corner, presumably to shake down
some more local businesspeople.
Elliot slumped against the wall, his head reeling.
He didn’t quite understand what he had heard. So Craig
wasn’t in charge but he was certainly high up in the organization and the Zombie was giving these Super Villains
pause in their plans to take over the world? Why him? It
didn’t make much sense.
Elliot started walking back to the VA. His chest
felt as if an elephant were sitting on it and with every step
it grew heavier. His dad was in trouble and needed help.
But first Elliot needed more info. And he knew exactly
how to get it.