Go Big or Go Home (11 page)

T
HE
C
ARVER BOYS SWUNG
into action. They attached a cable to the unweighted end of Destructo's hurling arm and began to crank on a winch. Bit by bit, as they spelled each other, the one-ton counterweight on the other end of the siege catapult was lifted high into the air.

The sling attached to the lighter end was now low enough to reach. Cal selected a bowling ball and placed it inside. “Locked and loaded,” he reported.

Suddenly, the tension was thick. The Carvers are a prideful bunch, and this was going to be an embarrassment if their demo fizzled. Max directed our attention down the meadow, where they'd painted a big bull's-eye on a propped-up sheet of plywood. Buzz informed us that the target was a hundred yards away. It was just to give
them something to shoot at for the time being. Pretty soon they were going to replace it with goalposts.

Buzz had us step close for an inspection of the triggering device. He talked us through the cleverly intricate firing sequence. A crossbow was going to shoot a short length of pipe at the propped-up lid of a garbage can. When struck, the lid would pull a trip wire attached to Micro Havoc, a whole other catapult they'd built, this one only knee-high. Micro Havoc was going to hurl a baseball at a pie plate wired to a miniature guillotine. When the baseball hit the pie plate, the blade of the guillotine was supposed to drop, slicing a rope that was attached to the monster catapult's trigger mechanism.

We gave them their proper respect. You had to hand it to these guys. They didn't lack for imagination.

“Stand back!” Max thundered, and we did, way back, everybody but Cal. Just then I felt the numbness starting up in my fingertips and toes again. I went light-headed with frustration and disappointment. I'd thought my infection was gone. Here it was again, coming back strong.

Silent Cal approached the crossbow on cat's feet, as if a heavy footfall might wreak destruction on all of us. He leaned down, pulled the trigger on the crossbow, and things started happening.

The crossbow shot the piece of pipe, which hit the garbage lid dead center with a loud clang. Unhinged by the movement of the garbage lid, Micro Havoc hurled the baseball at the pie plate. Down came the guillotine
as Cal sprinted to get clear.

For a second, Destructo's mighty hurling arm merely twitched. I thought we'd just witnessed a dud, but then,
WHAM!
The lengthy lever was unleashed. In a blur, the hurling arm whipsawed the air. In another blur, the bowling ball went flying down the meadow in a high, high arc, a home run ball if ever there was one. Incredibly, it way overshot the target and landed in the trees.

The Carvers celebrated with barbaric cheers, and we joined in. That would be all for today, they told us. We could come back for the public demo, soon to be announced. All the kids from the middle school and high school would be invited, and kids from Custer would be coming, too. Admission was going to be only five bucks.

We'll be back, we promised, and then we begged them to at least hurl one of the toilets for us. They gave in, loaded one up, and let it fly. A toilet sailing high above a mountain meadow is not something you see every day. It had to be one of the most beautiful things I'd seen in my life. The flying commode landed about ten yards short of the target, but that was hardly a disappointment. The impact was classic. It shattered into a hundred pieces.

We had actually started for our bikes when Buzz asked if we weren't forgetting something.

“Like what?” I asked. The numbness was moving up my arms and legs, and I was on fire to get home. This
time I was going to call the doctor.

“Like, this meteorite.”

Strange to say, but we'd gotten so distracted by their war machine, we'd forgotten why we came. There was Fred, right in the palm of Buzz's hand. Attila rose off his haunches and went to it like it was raw meat.

“Leave it!” Max growled. Reluctantly, Attila obeyed, eyes lasered on Fred all the while.

“Like I told you on the phone,” Buzz said, “we've got a fair way to settle who owns it.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“A simple contest,” Buzz replied with a grin at his brothers. “We crank up Destructo and hurl the meteorite. Two from each side will go after it. The first to bring it back and set it on this toilet, right here, wins for his side.”

“Sounds fair,” I agreed, “as long as there's no tackling or take-away or stuff like that.”

“Good point,” Quinn put in. “The first one to grab the meteorite gets a free pass to the toilet.”

“No problem,” they agreed. “So let's do it now.”

Wouldn't you know, the Carver boys made the contest even more interesting by wheeling Destructo around ninety degrees. They were going to hurl Fred into the dense stand of pines on the hillside.

The Carvers winched down Destructo's mighty hurling arm, and Cal placed Fred in the sling. Max and Buzz got their firing sequence all hair-triggered, and then Cal drew a starting line in the dirt with a sword he seemed
to produce from nowhere.

We lined up, Buzz and Max together, me and Quinn together. “I'm depending on you,” I whispered to Quinn. “Something's going wrong with my arms and legs. I'm buzzing and numb all over.”

“It's back?”

“With a vengeance. Just remember what we talked about last night, the promise you made, okay?”

“I'm cool it with that, Brady, but you're just freaking yourself out again. It's all in your mind.”

“I'll say ‘Ready, aim, fire,'” Cal announced, “but that only means I'm going to start the sequence. Nobody goes until Destructo's arm snaps loose. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” the four of us echoed.

“Take a deep breath,” Quinn whispered.

“Wish I could,” I replied.

“Okay,” Cal cried.
“Ready, aim, FIRE!”

As we watched over our shoulders, I noticed that Attila also had his eye on the sling. The war dog was lined up next to Buzz. I heard the pipe hit the garbage can lid and saw the baseball strike the pie plate. I didn't see the guillotine fall; my eyes were glued on Destructo's arm. It sprung in a wild blur and Fred went flying.

For the time being all five of us held back, eyes glued on Fred's flight. It was going to be hard enough to find him in the forest unless we had a pretty good idea how far up on the hillside to look. Fred's arc was incredibly high and incredibly long. He was much lighter than a
bowling ball or a toilet. At last he fell to Earth, vanishing into the trees way up the mountainside.

“Go, go!” Cal yelled, and we all bolted. Quinn sprinted to an early lead, with Max and Buzz right on his heels. Those guys might be big, but they could run like racehorses.

At the head of the pack, fast as an arrow, sped Attila. A few seconds later the war dog charged into the trees, and I lost sight of him.

“Go, Quinn!” I cried, hobbling behind the best I could.

By the time I reached the trees, I was pretty well finished. I staggered far enough to reach a patch of shade, found a log, and got down.

I had a swooning sensation, and I braced on the log with both hands. The numbness even had ahold of my lips and my tongue. Next came the lightning bolt like the one the night before, but even more powerful. I felt myself melting down again into the goo.

I collapsed. My lights went out.

W
HEN
I
CAME TO,
I was lying flat on my back and looking up at a white ceiling. I was stiff as a board but my back didn't hurt. Nothing hurt. I couldn't feel a thing. A spider was walking across the ceiling. The lights were extremely bright. I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn't. I couldn't even blink.

I tried to look to the side, but I couldn't.

I tried to move my fingers, my toes, my arms, my legs. There wasn't any feeling. I couldn't move a thing.

From my right came the sound of a door opening, then closing. Then I heard the squeak of shoes. A large man in green hospital scrubs moved through the edge of my vision.

I'm in the hospital in Custer, I thought, or else the one in Rapid City.

The green scrubs reappeared, then vanished without me catching a glimpse of the man's face. I heard the door opening and closing again.

All I had over me was a sheet. Hospitals were always cold, but strangely, I didn't feel cold. What put me in here, I wondered, my asthma?

The door was opening again. I heard hushed voices, maybe familiar, but I couldn't quite place them. Heavy footfalls were approaching. Two big guys appeared and leaned over me. They looked alike except one had dark curly hair and the other had a buzz. No wonder they sounded familiar. Buzz and Max had come to visit me in the hospital, probably sneaked into my room.

Buzz's face was all distorted. He was on the verge of crying. Even Max was all choked up. It hit me that I must be really bad off. Finally I remembered about Fred's bacteria. My infection was back, and it was worse, much worse.

They must think I'm not going to make it.

All along, I realized, I'd gotten these guys wrong. They actually cared. All this time, the only thing I'd seen was that they would never cut me any slack. And what about me? Was I any different? Had I ever cut them any slack? Everybody knew it wasn't easy being a Carver.

I tried to say something, anything, but I couldn't make my mouth move. It felt like I had zero air in my lungs. Who won? I thought. Who's got Fred? And where was Quinn?

“I guess his asthma got him,” Buzz said.

What do you mean, “got him”? I thought.

“Yeah, probably asthma,” Max agreed. “Dad'll find out.”

Dad?
I thought. Dad?

Then it hit me, where I was and what they were talking about. This was no bed I was on.
It was a marble slab in the county morgue, and they thought I was dead!
Their dad was going to open me up so he could sign off on what killed me.

You idiots,
I tried to scream.
You fools, I'm only dormant!

“I hated playing him in basketball,” Buzz went on. “He was fast. Deadly accurate, too, when he was on top of his game.”

You should've seen me dunk!

Buzz dropped a tear on my face. I saw it fall, but I didn't feel it hit.

Even more amazingly, Mean Max was dabbing at his eyes. “Oh yeah, Brady would've made varsity his sophomore year.”

Did he say ‘Brady'? Max actually knows my first name?

Buzz reached down and rapped my skull a couple of times with his knuckles. “We had some fun giving him a hard time, but I have to admit, I kind of liked him.”

“Yeah, me too. You have to admire him for never budging on Custer. Tell you the truth, Buzz, I don't give
a hang about Custer anymore, even if there is a family connection.”

“Me neither. You know what, I never could stand Custer's long hair, like in that famous photograph in our room. He's supposed to be on a military campaign, out roughing it, but here he is sitting on a big old chair in front of a big old wall tent, posing with his rifle and his Indian scouts and his hunting dogs. You get the idea he'd just been inside in front of a mirror, working on his curly locks for the camera.”

“Yeah, for the newspapers back East. Remember Brady's report way back when, how Custer was a big publicity hound? That maybe he was even planning to run for president? If you think about it, all those guys he ordered into that death trap at the Little Bighorn, including our great-great-great-great-uncle or whatever he was, died because their commanding officer was a legend in his own mind. Custer sucks.”

Buzz leaned down and whispered, “You hear that, Brady? Custer sucks!”

I
was
hearing it. I never thought I'd live to see the day.

Max began to pick his nose. “Weird how Brady's eyes are wide open.”

“Yeah, sometimes that happens, I guess. I think Dad'll fix it before Brady's family gets here. The stare would probably spook 'em pretty bad. How many people have seen as many stiffs as we have?”

“Not many, that's for sure.”

You knuckleheads!
I wanted to scream,
I'm alive!

Wait a second, I thought. Maybe I'm only having my nightmare, and it'll end like it always does.

“So, we have to make a decision, Max. Do we tell Quinn to forget it? All this crazy stuff about a disease from Mars…Brady's obviously dead as a doornail.”

Just then I heard the door. “We told you to wait outside,” Max barked.

“I had to see him!” It was Quinn's voice.

My cousin was soon at my side, leaning over me, lips trembling, scared witless. He was wearing his T-shirt that said
GO BIG OR GO HOME.
“My God, his eyes are open! I tell you, Brady's alive!”

Buzz shook his head. “Give it up, Quinn. They signed off on him at the hospital in Custer. He was DOA. No pulse, no brain activity, the works. What else do you need?”

“Like I told you, he's only dormant!”

Finally,
I thought. Finally these guys are going to get the concept through their thick skulls.

Quinn leaned down, all wild-eyed. “I know you're in there, Brady. Hang on, just hang on. I should've paid better attention. Listen, we're gonna get you out of this place. I got ahold of Cal. He's outside waiting with his Mercury.”

Max gave Quinn a poke. “Is he really, or did you just make that up to make a stiff feel better who can't hear you anyway?”

“Cal's out there, and trust me, you guys, Brady's alive! I promised him—no autopsy! I promised!”

Max ran his hand back and forth in front of my eyes, trying to get me to blink. “What did the professor say?”

“I haven't been able to reach him. I'll try again in a few minutes. It's all happened so fast, probably he hasn't even heard. No one's been able to reach Brady's father or mother either. Why can't your dad just hold off on the autopsy, at least until Brady's dad gets back from Wyoming?”

“Because he's got the green light,” Buzz said, “and he doesn't like to put stuff off. I'm pretty sure he's going to do it any minute. He'll kill us if he finds you in here!”

Max checked his watch. “We're out of here, guys. Dad said he was giving us ten minutes, and that meant us, not you, Quinn. He'll be walking through that door anytime now. Let's go! Let's go!”

Quinn leaned in and took one last desperate look. I tried to squeeze out a tear. It was useless. Buzz and Max tore Quinn away, and they hurried from the room.

It was over. Quinn had tried, but what could he do?

From somewhere across the room came the sound of a slow drip. The drips came so far apart, I filled the time between them with a rising tide of panic.
Don't give up on me,
I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream it loud enough for Quinn to hear me out in the hall, outside the building, wherever he was.
Quinn, you promised!

The door opened. Here came those squeaky shoes again, the big man in green scrubs. Old man Carver leaned over me, adjusted his glasses on his nose, peered at me through those extra-thick lenses. They magnified
his eyeballs horribly. The stench of his smoker's breath washed over me. Why could I hear, see, and smell, but not feel a thing?

The coroner went away. I fought to get up. I tried to scream.

The squeak was returning. The coroner reappeared rolling a metal tray loaded with rattling instruments.

Daddy Carver leaned over, bathing me in his hideous breath. As he pulled the sheet free of my chest, I could see every blood vessel in his hideous eyes, huge like the eyes of a praying mantis. His hands, too, rubbing back and forth, were like the hands of a mantis.

The coroner pulled on latex gloves, then turned for his instruments. His praying mantis hands reappeared, scalpel in his right, clamp in his left. He leaned in, ready to make the first incision. This was the moment I had always jolted myself out of my nightmare.

Try as I might, I couldn't make it happen. There was no leaving the nightmare. This was no dream. This was really happening, and here came the scalpel…

“Hey, Dad!” It was Max's voice.

“What is it, son? Can't you see I'm busy?”

“We just got a line on Attila!”

The coroner turned away from my line of vision. “Oh?”

The coroner put down his instruments and went to the door. I could only hear pieces of the conversation. Max and Buzz were saying something about Attila having
been seen down at Hot Springs, or Minnekahta Junction, or both.

Attila was missing, I got that much. I heard their father, all stressed, say that the autopsy could wait until tomorrow. He was going to head down to Hot Springs as fast as he could in his truck, and the boys were to head to Minnekahta Junction in Cal's Mercury. Thank goodness old man Carver was incredibly attached to that dog.

I couldn't tell what all was going on, but this much I understood: Quinn and the Carver boys had figured out how to derail the autopsy. Quinn was trying to give me a stay of execution at least until my dad got back.

A short time later—time was hard to measure—Quinn was at my side again, with Buzz and Max.

“You're out of here,” Quinn whispered.