Mothership (36 page)

And that’s where I am, dangling with my ass in the breeze, gathering the nerve to brace myself on the beam and then shimmy the last ten or so feet to the ground, when I hear my father’s voice again.

“And here’s where you’ll find the—
Elvie, what in God’s name are you doing?
”

I look down, and standing below me are my father and six brooding hulksters in construction caps and carpenter jeans. So this is how it’s all gonna end, captured like a fish on a line by six walking clichés.

“Hello, Elvie,” the lead construction guy says, locking eyes with me. “Seems you’re just as crafty as Marsden said.”

Before my father can say a word, the Jin’Kai bruiser knocks him to the edge of the driveway and pulls a small, smooth oval disc from his back pocket, which I realize must be a weapon. He trains it on me. I close my eyes and wait for the shot.

It never comes, because just at that moment the garage door bursts off its hinges, and my dad’s shiny classic Toyota comes crashing through, with none other than Ducky at the wheel. The Jin’Kai turn around just in time to see Ducky blast right through them. They go flying like bowling pins in every direction. The car screeches to a halt, and Ducky kicks open the driver side door and looks up at me.

“Come with me if you want to—”

“Stop right there,” I command him, shimmying down to the ground as quickly as I’m able. I will not allow Ducky to indulge his sci-fi geekiness while we’re still in a life-and-death situation. The Goober shifts uncomfortably as I touch down.

Ducky shrugs as he exits the car, clearly proud of his little action-hero moment. He helps my father to his feet.

“What in blue blazes . . .,” Dad begins, totally befuddled.

“Aliens, Dad,” I tell him. “Folder three.”

With that he snaps into crisis mode. “Right!” he shouts.
He moves Ducky out of the way and slides into the driver’s seat. “I’ll take the wheel, thank you, Donald,” he says, taking a moment to assess the damage to the front of his car. “Good Lord, son. I just had this thing restored.”

I’ve made my way to the passenger seat and am opening the door when Ducky grabs my arm.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “Not with the package you’re carrying.” And he ushers me to the backseat before piling in next to my dad.

“But—” I protest.

“He’s quite right, dearheart,” my dad chimes in. “The backseat will be safer. Now, let’s
vámanos
!”

Dad peels rubber as we zoom out of the driveway and turn down the street. I twist around in my seat and see that the Jin’Kai are recovering. They’ve picked themselves off the pavement and are running down the driveway after us, but once they realize they can’t catch up, they turn toward the van that’s parked outside the house.

“They’re coming after us!” I cry.

“Not to worry, sweetie. This baby can hit one twenty if need be.”

“I don’t doubt your driving or your car, Dad,” I say, twisting again to look nervously down the road. “I’m worried about traffic.”

We’re heading down the road toward Bryn Mawr, and the late afternoon traffic is already in high gear. Or no gear, as it were. Nothing is moving, and thanks to a few goofy traffic lights that haven’t worked properly in more than a hundred years, only one car is getting through the intersection at a time. Clearly this will not do.

“Hold on!” Dad yells. He veers out of his lane, and to my astonishment/horror he hops up onto the sidewalk. Fortunately there’s no one walking on it, or we might have a few new hood ornaments. There are several honks of indignation from those stuck at the light as Dad blows through the intersection and starts over the low bridge that crosses the creek. Another car is coming from the opposite direction, and Dad has to swerve quickly to avoid clipping it. We’re going so fast that we actually hop off the road and seem to be flying for about two seconds before we touch back down lightly and continue on our way.

“How about that suspension, eh?” Dad says, beaming with pride. “Just like I always say. You get what you pay f—”

“Uh, Mr. Nara,” Ducky says, looking out the back. “We’ve got company.” Sure enough, the Jin’Kai van is coming over the bridge, flying off the road just like we did, and landing just as smoothly.

Cole,
I think.
We need Cole.
If I can just get in touch with him and let him know where we are . . . I reach for my phone, but it’s gone. I must have dropped it when I was crawling out onto the deck. So that’s
two
phones the Jin’Kai have cost me now.

“Ducky, I lost my—” A sudden pang makes me stop. Well, perhaps more than a pang. It feels like my stomach and my liver have suddenly decided to switch places. Let’s call it a
pong
. I yelp, and Ducky turns to look at me with concern.

“What’s the matter?” he asks.

“Nothing, I just—
Oof
.” Another one. “I’m fine. It’s just indigestion or somethi—
agh!
”

Ducky’s eyes go as wide as saucers. “Elvie,” he says. “You’re going into labor.”

Shit balls. What is it about these alien pod babies that they love to pop out at the worst possible times?

“It’s all right, dearheart,” Dad assures me. “Folder three, scenario four: going into labor during a high-speed chase with extra-terrestrials. We’ll be at Bryn Mawr Hospital in four minutes flat.” He makes a sharp right-hand turn against the light at the intersection as angry motorists honk at him. The Jin’Kai get momentarily stalled behind the ensuing jam. “I’ve got the route memorized.”

“No,” Ducky says firmly. “Turn around.”

“Turn around—why?”

“We’re not going to Bryn Mawr. We need to get to Lankenau.”

“But folder three—” Dad starts.

“Just do it,” Ducky says firmly. He’s so authoritative that Dad does the unthinkable and deviates from his plan. “Elvie, we’ve got this,” Ducky assures me. And somehow, in this one second, I believe him. “Just do your breathing exercises.” He leans over the backseat and grabs my hand. “Come on. That’s it.
Hoo-hoo-hoo, hee-hee-hee. Hoo-hoo-hoo
. . .”

“Keep that up,” I warn him, wincing around another contraction, “and I’m going to hit you right in your ‘hoo-hoo.’” But I squeeze his hand tightly and begin my Lamaze breathing.

Dad zigzags down some back roads until we’re rerouted and heading toward Lankenau Medical Center, right on the edge of the west city line. We rapidly approach the intersection of Wynnewood and Lancaster, a busy shopping area with left-hand turns so wiggy that they always back up traffic for blocks. To make matters even worse, on the east side of the street as we approach the shopping center is the Sunset Towers
senior citizens apartment complex. The blue-hairs who live there always pull out of that driveway like they’re putting their lives in God’s hands. Sure enough, as my dad speeds down the road, one such little old lady flies out in front of us in her enormous old Hyundai without even looking. I scream for my dad to watch out. He zips around her deftly, and we hit a bump in the road. Suddenly the hood of the car—which must have been pretty banged up when Ducky crashed through the garage—flies open, blocking the windshield and our view completely.

“Shit!” Ducky screams.

My father has a somewhat different reaction.

“All right!”
he hoots. And just like that he’s got his head stuck out the window, driving like a madman.

“Prepare for any situation, Elvie!” he hollers, his words getting lost in the wind.

There’s a screeching noise behind us. I turn and gape. The Jin’Kai are right on our tail. “Hold on. I’ll lose ’em!” Dad shouts, ducking past a pickup truck whose driver has a few choice words for us as we cut him off. Dad continues that way for several blocks, weaving around minivans and all-terrain SUVs, bobbing and darting with his head still out the window and his arms stretched to the wheel. For some reason the Jin’Kai are not shooting at us. I’m guessing that they must not want to call more attention to themselves than they already have, because Dad’s big ol’ noggin would probably make for some fun ray gun target practice right about now.

“This is like the
best
game of JetKart ever!” Ducky squeals gleefully.

We’re flying straightaway down the avenue now. The traffic is heavy but the path is direct, and Dad weaves between lanes deftly, his head still stuck out the window. He’s actually
enjoying
this.

“What are we going to do?” I ask. I can feel the perspiration dripping down my forehead. “We can’t just go to the hospital. They’ll be right behind us. We need—”

Ducky squeezes my hand even tighter and offers me a reassuring smile. “It’s okay,” he says. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ve got it covered.”

Ducky’s got it covered? I guess stranger things have happened. I try to focus on my breathing and trust that, somehow, my bestie can mastermind a plan to foil an entire Jin’Kai strike force.

We screech into the hospital complex. The hospital itself sits almost a quarter mile in from the road, with several car paths winding up and around the hill it’s situated on, making for some wicked nausea-inducing hairpin turns as Dad whips around to the ER ambulance entrance. Ducky and Dad are out in a flash, flinging open the door to the backseat, where I’m sitting in a puddle of my own fluids. No time to contemplate how disgusting
that
is. They lift me out of the seat, supporting me on both sides, and an orderly races out of the sliding doors of the hospital pushing a wheelchair.

“My daughter’s in labor!” Dad cries. He and Ducky plop me into the wheelchair and spin me around toward the door. I can just make out the Jin’Kai van bursting over the horizon, heading straight for us. I grab Ducky’s sleeve.

“Ducky, they’re here!” I grunt out through the contractions.
Ducky just trots by my side as the orderly wheels me into the ER.

“Elvie, I
told
you . . .” And then he points, straight ahead, as we pass through the sliding doors.

Leaning against the reception desk, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, is Cole. He’s tabbing through a chart as if he were a flipping doctor or something. When he sees me, a goofy grin crosses his face.

“Hey there, good-lookin’.”

My heart does about fourteen somersaults, which syncopate nicely with the rapidly increasing contractions.

“Cole, the Jin’Kai—”

“It’s okay, Elvs,” he assures me, making his way to us. He brushes some matted hair off my forehead. “Ducky told me everything.”

I turn to Ducky, incredulous, and he shrugs with a sheepish grin.

Our reunion is interrupted by the six faux construction workers who run into the ER behind us. I try to leap out of my wheelchair, but Ducky puts a hand on my shoulder.

The Jin’Kai stop cold when they see Cole. He walks calmly toward them and goes toe-to-toe with the lead baddie, the one who nearly zapped me while I hung midair from the deck.

“I think you guys are turned around,” Cole says. “The new construction is over in the east wing.”

The Jin’Kai edges closer to Cole and whispers menacingly, “Get out of our way, Almiri. We’re here for the girl.”

“And here I thought you came for the cherry blossoms.”

“Don’t make a scene,” the Jin’Kai growls, “or we’ll be
forced to kill you
and
the girl. You’re outnumbered.”

Cole scratches his chin. “Well, math was never my strongest subject,” he says. “But it seems to me”—he looks to either side of the ER—“that you may want to count again.”

The Jin’Kai look around the room, and so do I, and that’s when I notice it. The two dreamy blond doctors talking next to the vending machines. The lithe strong-armed male nurse writing in a chart and his two equally hot-tastic buddies standing by the elevator bank. Even my orderly, now that I stop to take notice, is a fox. I realize the situation at the same time as the Jin’Kai—the entire ER is populated by Almiri, who are now not so subtly tracking the construction workers with their eyes.

“How did they all get here?” I whisper to Ducky.

“Elvie, they’ve
been
here,” he tells me. “Round the clock since you’ve been back.”

Cole leans in to the lead Jin’Kai, that smug grin of triumph plastered on his face. “Now, about not making a scene . . .”

Before the Jin’Kai can back out of the sliding doors, a team of security guards that look like they stepped out of a bachelorette party catalog step into place behind them, weapons already drawn. But even as the head baddie and his cohorts are placed in restraints, the guy finds it in him to smirk.

“When all is said and done,” he says with disdain, “you may wish you’d lost here today.”

“This is our home now, Jin’Kai,” Cole replies very seriously. “Our planet. We don’t have room for noobs.”

The security guards drag the Jin’Kai away, and Cole returns to my side, his face immediately lightening.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Was that badass or what?”

“Very,” I grunt. “And I’d love to celebrate with you, but right now we’re kinda—
oof!—having a baby.
”