Earth Geeks Must Go! 3 page

I race across the room. Trip on a bump in the carpet.

"Owww!" I cry out as my forehead hits the bookshelf.

I put out one hand to catch my balance and rub my aching head with the other. "Whoa."

I see a bright flash of sparkling white light.

I blink. Once. Twice.

"Hey, Arlene—" I say shakily. "I just had a flash. I just remembered something."

She narrows her eyes at me. "What is it?"

I rub my forehead. "I'm from Wisconsin," I tell her. "It just popped back into my head. I guess from bumping into the shelf. I'm from Madison, Wisconsin."

Her mouth drops open. "What else, Jacob? Think hard. Do you remember anything else?"

I shake my head. "No. That's all."

I grab the stack of magazines and shuffle through them quickly. They're all art magazines featuring artists I've never heard of. They're not written in English. They're in the squiggly, bumpy alphabet we saw in the library.

"These can't be my magazines," I say with a sigh. I drop them back onto the floor.

Arlene slumps down on the edge of the blue bedspread. She shakes her head sadly. "We're not getting anywhere."

I rub my throbbing head. I can feel a bump there. "At least I remember where I come from. That's something."

"You're ahead of me," Arlene says, lowering her head. "I don't remember anything. It's like I'm a blank. I have no past. I have no ... identity."

I stare at her "Maybe we're robots," I say. "I read a story once about robots whose programming got all messed up. Maybe that's us. Maybe we're some kind of computerized humanoids whose memory programs failed."

Arlene rolls her eyes. "Yeah, right," she mutters.

She pinches her arm. "It's skin, Jacob. I don't know about you, but I'm not a robot. I'm a person."

The bump on my forehead still throbs. "You're right. My robot theory is lame."

I turn to the bookshelf. "Maybe if you bump your head, Arlene, some of your memory will come back."

She frowns at me. "There's got to be a better way."

Suddenly I have an idea. "School," I blurt out.

She squints up at me from the bed. "What about it?"

"We must have school records, right? The school has to have files on us. Maybe the files are in Enghsh. Maybe they can tell us about ourselves. Come on. Let's go."

She hesitates. "You mean... break into the school?"

I open my mouth to answer — but I hear a sound from downstairs.

The front door closing?

Arlene jumps to her feet, her face twisted in fear. "Who is that?" she whispers.

I hear heavy footsteps. A door slams downstairs.

I tiptoe to the bedroom doorway. And listen. The hall has no windows. It's completely dark. I can't see a thing.

I hear the creak of the stairs under someone's shoes.

"He — he's coming upstairs," I whisper.

"Hide," Arlene whispers back. "Quick. The closet."

We both run to the bedroom closet.

The heavy THUD of footsteps reaches the landing.

I grab the doorknob, twist it, and pull.

Stuck.

The door is either stuck — or locked.

I frantically pull it again.

No. The door won't open.

We're trapped.

I spin around as a tall figure barges into the doorway.

The dark-haired man in the stained raincoat.

The frightening-looking man who chased us from the Hbrary.

He steps heavily into the room, blocking our escape. A grin spreads over his stubbled face. "Gotcha!" he cries.

He closes the door behind him. His eyes move from Arlene to me.

We stand huddled together with our backs pressed against the closet door.

My throat is choked with fear.

Who is he? What does he want?

Has he figured out our secret — that we are different? Has he come to capture us?

The man moves forward slowly. His open raincoat reveals a gray sweat suit underneath.

"Please —" Arlene whispers.

The man stops halfway across the room.

His smile fades.

"Hey — don't you recognize me?" he asks. "Why do you look so frightened?"

I stare hard at him. Should I recognize him?

"Hey, give me a break," he says. "I'm your father!"

Arlene and I both gasp.

"B-both of us?" Arlene stammers.

He nods. "Yes. I'm your dad."

My head spins. "You mean ... Arlene and I are brother and sister?"

The man nods again. Then he studies us. "You really don't remember?"

"Our memories ..." I say. "They're messed up."

"We hardly remember anything," Arlene adds.

He frowns. "Me too."

He steps forward to hug us.

I pull back. "Prove it," I say.

He stops in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Prove it," I repeat. "We don't remember you. We don't even remember each other. If you're our dad, prove it."

Arlene nods agreement.

He blinks. Then he pulls off his soiled raincoat. Tugs up his sleeve. And shows us his armpit. "See? I'm like you, not like them."

"But —" I start.

"You'll have to trust me, Jakie," he says.

I gasp. "You know my nickname? You're really our dad?"

He wraps us in a hug. The three of us stand there with our arms tightly around each other for a long moment.

I pull back first. "Why don't we remember anything?" I ask my dad.

He shakes his head sadly. "I can't answer that. I don't know."

"Where are we? How did we get here?" I demand.

"Jakie, I don't know," he replies. He brushes back his thick black hair. "I've been struggling to remember. But it's gone ... all gone."

He tosses his raincoat onto the bed. "I've been searching everywhere for you both," he says. "I found you at the school. But you ran away."

"I didn't know who you were," I explain.

"Is this our house? Do we have a mom?" Arlene asks, her voice trembling.

"I can't answer that, either," Dad says. "I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry. I only know one thing for

sure."

'What's that?" I ask.

"The three of us — we're in terrible danger."

We make our way down to the den to talk. Dad peers out the window, making sure no one is out there. Then he pulls the drapes shut.

He drops down on the chair across from us. He leans forward tensely, his hands clenching and unclenching in front of him. "Have you seen the TV news?" he asks.

Arlene and I nod. "We just saw it. Are we the Earth Geeks they were talking about?"

He frowns solemnly. "I guess we are."

"Why do they want to kill us?" Arlene asks. "How did we get here? Are we on another planet?"

Dad can't answer any of our questions. His memory is as empty as ours. I can see that every question hurts him. He wants to protect us. He wants to save us.

But he doesn't know how.

"They all want to capture the Earth Geeks," he says. "But they don't know who the Earth Geeks are. We're safe until they figure it out."

"We have to get away from here — right now!" Arlene declares. She jumps to her feet and moves toward the front door.

Dad moves quickly to stop her. "Not yet. We need to know that we can escape safely. We need to plan our escape carefully. I need time to think, Arlene."

"But... where do we hide in the meantime?" Arlene asks.

"We're safe here tonight," Dad repHes. "Tomorrow, you should be safe at school."

"Excuse me?" I cry. "We can't go back there. We—"

"Yes. You go to school tomorrow. That's the best place to hide. Out in the open. While you're there, I'll search around. Come up with an escape plan."

He puts his arms around us again. "Don't let anyone get suspicious at school," he warns. "It's only for a day or two. Try to pass as one of them. Can you do it?"

I stare back at him. Can we do it?

Can we?

The answer, sadly, is no.

The morning passes without any problems. It isn't easy. I don't understand the math equations, and I can't read the geography assignment.

I try to hide behind the kid in front of me, praying that Mr. Kray doesn't call on me.

My hands are cold and sweaty. I'm alert to every sound.

But no one notices me — until gym class.

As we march into the gym, I'm almost paralyzed with fear.

Will we have to change into gym clothes?

If we change, the other guys in the locker room will see that I have no food hole in my armpit. They'll know I'm an Earth Geek.

Luckily, Mr. Grody, the gym teacher, doesn't ask us to change. He lines us up against one wall of the gym. We wait as the other trelth-grade class enters. Both classes are taking gym together.

I look for Arlene. She's the very last person in her class to enter. She hangs back, hiding behind a group of other kids.

"Class against class," Mr. Grody announces. He raises a square black object, about the size of a toaster. "Who wants first blett?"

I lower my eyes to the floor. I wonder if anyone can see me trembling.

Please don't pick me, I pray. Please, don't hand that thing to me.

To my horror, I feel Mr. Grody's hand on my shoulder. As I look up, he slides the square object into my hand. "First blett!" he announces. "Everyone, get set!"

The black cube is hght and softer than I imagined. It's kind of rubbery.

I stare at it, trying to keep my hand from trembling.

What do I do with it? What?

I look up to see all eyes on me.

Members of my team have spread themselves out behind me. Kids on the other team lean forward, hands on their knees. They are positioned over the other half of the gym.

I see Arlene, looking lost, unable to keep the fear off her face. She stares at me. I know she is wondering what I am going to do with the strange object in my hand.

Do I throw it? Do I kick it?

Do I bat something with it? Pass it to someone?

Mr. Grody blows his whistle.

Cheers ring out.

I raise the cube above my head.

I can't move. I can't breathe.

They're all waiting. All watching.

What do I do?

What?

I stand there frozen with the cube raised above my head.

Over the cheers and shouts, I hear Mr. Grody's whistle again.

"That's a throol, Jacob!" he shouts. "One throol!"

Another whistle blast.

I can't move. I can't think straight.

I heave the cube across the gym. I just want to get rid of it.

I gasp when I see it flying straight to Arlene.

She catches it in both hands.

Kids on her team shout angrily.

"No! No throol!"

"Harb it, Arlene! Harb it!"

I can see tears ghsten on Arlene's cheeks. She stands uncertainly, red-faced now, holding the cube in front of her.

The whistle blows again.

Mr. Grody signals for Arlene to come to him. Then he waves me forward.

His eyes move coldly from Arlene to me. "Why didn't you blett, Jacob? You had first blett."

I swallow hard. I know that everyone can see my legs trembling. My teeth actually start to chatter.

"I — I don't know the rules," I blurt out.

A mistake. A horrible mistake.

The kids circle us. They stand stiffly, eyeing us in silence. I glance at their cold, suspicious expressions.

Mr. Grody brings his face close to mine. "You don't know the rules?"

Too late to take it back. I shake my head.

"How about you?" he asks Arlene. "Do you know the rules of a game that everyone starts playing at the age of throo?"

Arlene lowers her eyes to the floor. "Not really," she confesses.

The chant begins. ''Earth Geeks ... Earth Geeks .. . Earth Geeks ..."

The circle of kids grows tighter as their ugly chant grows louder. "Earth Geeks . .. Earth Geeks ... Earth Geeks ..."

Mr. Grody shakes his head. A sneer twists his lips. "Did you really think you could get away with it? Did you really think we wouldn't find you out?"

I think about running. I turn to see the circle tightening even more. No way to break through.

No way to escape.

The circle of kids starts to move, forcing us forward. Forcing us to the gym door.

They herd us down the hall. Chanting the whole way. "Earth Geeks ... Earth Geeks ... Earth Geeks..."

"Let us go!" I scream.

"You're making a big mistake!" Arlene cries. "Where are you taking us?"

The chant drowns out our frightened protests.

They force us to the principal's office. The chant doesn't end until Mr. Trager takes us both into his inner office. He closes the door and bolts a latch.

His face is grim. His eyes reveal no emotion at all.

He motions with both hands for us to sit in the chairs that face his gray metal desk.

He doesn't say a word until Arlene and I are seated. Both trembling. Both gripping the chair arms so tightly, our hands are pale white.

Then he lets out his breath in a long whoosh. He leans across the desk, his hands clasped on the desktop.

"Are you the Earth Geeks?" he asks softly, calmly.

"Of course not!" I declare.

"They all made a stupid mistake," Arlene adds. "We don't know what they're talking about."

Mr. Trager raises an eyebrow suspiciously. "You don't know what Earth Geeks are?"

"Uh... yes. Of course we know what they are," I reply, my voice cracking. "But we're not them."

"No way," Arlene says, shaking her head. She returns his stare, trying to convince him she's not afraid.

Mr. Trager doesn't blink. He studies us coldly, thoughtfully. He picks up a pencil and taps it rapidly on the metal desktop.

"You're really not the Earth Geeks?" he asks finally. "You're telling the truth?"

I feel a spark of hope.

Maybe he is starting to believe us. Maybe if we keep lying, keep protesting, he'll let us go.

"They made a mistake," I repeat. "We're not good at sports. But that doesn't mean —"

Mr. Trager raises a hand to stop me.

I study his face. Does he believe me? Is he going to let us go?

"I'll give you a simple test," he says.

A test?

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I suddenly feel sick.

"I'll ask a few really simple questions," he says, tapping the pencil more rapidly on the desk, his

eyes moving back and forth between us. "It will be easy to see if you are telling the truth."

He waits, as if expecting Arlene and me to give up, to confess.

But we remain silent.

"Jacob, name the seven continents," he demands. He stops tapping, holds the pencil in the air. "I'll give you the first two — Plosia and Andrigia."

I utter a weak cry.

"Go ahead," he says in a whisper. "Name the other five."

I take a deep breath. 'Well..."

"Jacob, do you know that there are seven continents?" he asks.

"Of course," I reply. I feel drops of sweat rolling down my burning cheeks. "Of course I know there are seven."

Mr. Trager frowns again. "Well, there aren't seven, Jacob. You just failed the test. Seven is an Earth number. There are gleventeen continents. We teach that in the firth grade."

"Oh," I say weakly. I slump back in the chair, feehng hght-headed, dizzy, barely able to breathe.

Mr. Trager turns to Arlene. "You knew there are gleventeen continents — right?"

Arlene glances nervously at me, then back to the principal. Her chin is quivering. "Right," she says softly.

"Well, then, Arlene, I'm sure you can name our last grelve mayor-governors," Mr. Trager says, pencil poised in the air like a baton.

Arlene blinks. She doesn't say a word.

"Go ahead," the principal urges. "Name our present mayor-governor."

Arlene lowers her head. Her shoulders tremble, up and down.

Mr. Trager picks up the desk phone. He punches in three numbers. Waits a few seconds.

Then he speaks into the receiver "Send someone over right away. We've captured the Earth Geeks."

I glance at the office door. Can we get out the door before he can stop us?

No.

The latch. The latch is bolted shut.

By the time I slide it open, Mr. Trager will grab us.

"Yes, yes. You may inform the mayor-governor," the principal is saying into the phone.

I turn to Arlene. I signal with my eyes.

She nods. She understands.

We both leap for the open window at the same time.

Mr. Trager cries out and drops the phone. I see him jump up from his desk chair.

But he is too late.

Arlene and I dive headfirst out the window.

My knees bump the window ledge on the way out. Pain shoots up my body.

I land hard on the grass. But I scramble to my feet.

I pull Arlene up, and we start to run. We jump over the low wall beyond the parking lot. And race across the playground.

I hear a clanging alarm inside the building.

Shouts. Someone waves and points at us from an upstairs classroom window.

We cut across the playground, running full speed.

"Where are we going?" Arlene cries.

"Away!" is my answer.

I let out a gasp as I hear sirens from down the street. Rising and falling, coming closer.

Sirens all around now.

Police?

Three men in dark suits run from the school. Teachers? One of them points in our direction, and they chase after us.

We cross the street, jump over a hedge, dart across someone's front yard, around the house to the back. The backyard has a picket fence around it. We hoist ourselves over the fence, our arms and legs scrambhng frantically.

Into an alley. Our shoes pounding the pavement.

I gasp for breath as we turn a comer and find ourselves in another backyard.

"Whoa. Wait a sec," I cry breathlessly. I stop, panting hard, my chest heaving up and down.

Arlene wipes sweat off her forehead with one hand. Her eyes widen in fear as we hear rapid footsteps in the alley.

Where should we hide? Where?

Before we can move, a figure rushes up to us. His raincoat flaps wildly behind him. He waves frantically with both hands.

"Dad!" I cry

"What happened?" he asks. "The sirens —"

"We were caught," I tell him. "They're coming after us."

Dad glances back to the alley. "No place to hide there. Let's go."

He pulls us toward the street. Sirens wailing nearby. Angry shouts behind us.

"We'll steal a car," Dad says, glancing up and down the street. "We'll drive away. We'll get out of here and then figure out what to do next."

Dozens of little square cars are parked up and down the street. We run up to the nearest one, a green car with bright yellow tires.

Dad tugs at the driver's door. "Locked."

The sirens grow louder, closing in on us.

We run to the next car, a black car with open windows.

Dad reaches inside, pulls the door handle, and the door swings open. He lowers himself into the driver's seat as I climb in front. Arlene dives into the back.

I slam the passenger door and turn to Dad. He's staring at the steering wheel.

It's not a wheel — it's a square panel, and it has a dozen red buttons in the center.

"Is this the wheel?" he murmurs. He lowers his head and searches for the ignition. "I should have known the cars would be strange here. I'm just not thinking clearly."

"That's okay. You can drive it! Hurry!" I urge. I peer out the window and see three black cars turn into the street, tires squealing.

"But how do you start this thing?" Dad cries.

He frantically begins jabbing at the buttons in the middle of the square panel.

We all cry out in surprise as the engine roars to life.

"Gear shift!" Dad shouts, fumbhng with his right hand. "Gear shift! How do you shift? Where is it? Where?"

He can't find it. He stabs at another button on the panel.

"Whoa!" I let out a shout as the car lurches from the curb.

The tires squeal as we roar out into the street.

"No pedals!" Dad cries, gripping the square panel with both hands. "How do I slow down?"

The wail of sirens grows deafening. I poke my head out the open window — and see a line of four black cars chasing after us.

"Get going, Dad!" I shout. "They see us!"

"I — I don't know how!" Dad cries. He slams his hand on the buttons on the panel.

The car screeches to a hard stop. We slide over the pavement, tires scraping the road.

I jolt forward. My head slams against the windshield.

Dad hits more buttons. We roar forward again.

"They're catching up!" Arlene shouts. "Can't you go faster, Dad?"

Dad pounds the buttons wildly. "If only I knew how to drive this thing! It doesn't make any sense! No gas pedal! No brake!"

"They're going to catch us! They're going to catch us!" Arlene shrieks.

The sirens ring in my ears.

We're roaring over the road now. Dad struggles to keep control.

"Faster!" Arlene cries. "We're losing them!"

I see the tall redbrick wall up ahead.

My breath catches in my throat.

I try to scream. But I can't make a sound.

Dad pounds the buttons with his fist. He tries to turn the panel.

He can't control the rocketing car.

The brick wall is in front of us.

And then it fills the windshield.

I hear a horrible CRAAAACK, the sound of shattering glass and metal.

Then silence.

Everything goes bright red ... then black.

I wake up in darkness. Try to blink it away.

Gray shapes begin to form. I see black lines up and down against dim gray light. A window.

Bars in a window.

A stone wall comes into focus. I stretch my arms. They ache. My shoulders ache.

I bhnk again, trying to clear my throbbing head.

I clear my throat noisily. And gaze around.

It takes me a long while to realize I'm sitting on a wooden bench in a small prison cell.

In the dim light, I see a figure on the floor.

Dad?

He has a bandage on his head. Arlene is hunched on a low cot against the wall. One arm is in a heavy cast.

She blinks and stretches, opening and closing her mouth as if testing her jaw. She raises her eyes to me. "Jacob? Are we in prison?" Her voice sounds hoarse and weak.

"Are we ... okay?" I ask.

Dad stirs. He sits up. Feels the bandage on his head with both hands.

"The brick wall..." he murmurs. "The car..."

"Are we okay?" I repeat. My own voice sounds unfamiHar.

"My arm—" Arlene gasps. "Was it broken?" She gazes around the small cell. "Who brought us here?"

We don't have time to talk.

I hear heavy footsteps. The clang of metal. The cell door swings open.

Two black-uniformed guards step into the cell. One of them pulls Dad to his feet. His partner motions to Arlene and me. "Let's go."

"Where are we?" Dad demands. "Why did you bring us here?"

The grim-faced guards don't answer. One leads the way down a long, low-ceilinged hall. The other walks behind us, his hand resting on his gun holster.

"Is this a prison?" Dad asks.

"We didn't do anything wrong!" I tell them.

The guards don't say a word. We walk in silence, except for the thud of our shoes on the concrete floor.

It seems as if we walk for miles. My head throbs. My shoulders ache.

We turn a comer and make our way down another endless hall, closed metal doors on both sides. Finally, we stop in a yellow-tiled reception area.

One guard opens a door. "Inside," his partner orders.

"Where are you taking us?" Dad demands.

The guard shoves him in the back. Dad stumbles through the doorway. Arlene and I follow — into a wood-paneled office, bookshelves on three walls. A maroon carpet on the floor Bright light from a large, cone-shaped ceiling fixture shines down on a dark wood desk.

The man behind the desk stands up as we enter He appears to be about fifty or so, balding, with gray hair, a round, pale face, and steel-gray eyes. He wears a navy blue suit with some kind of red-and-yellow crest on the lapel.

"The three prisoners, Mayor-Governor," one of the guards announces.

The mayor-governor studies us as he makes his way around the large desk. "Close the door and stay at attention," he orders the guards. "These prisoners may be dangerous."

"We're not dangerous!" I protest.

He stares at me for a moment with his cold gray eyes. Then he turns back to the guards. "If they try to escape, kill them."

"What do you want?" I cry. "Why did you bring us here?"

He ignores my questions and steps up to my dad. He studies the bandage wrapped around Dad's head. "You need driving lessons," he says. A cruel smile spreads over his face.

"I am Mayor-Governor Dermar," he tells Dad. "Tell me your name."

"Eric Miller," Dad repHes. "These are my kids, Arlene and Jacob."

We are standing awkwardly in the center of the room with the two guards at attention behind us at the door. I see foui' chairs in front of the desk. But the mayor-governor doesn't offer them to us.

"Why did you come here?" he asks Dad, a sneer on his lips.

"I — I don't really know," Dad stammers.

"I shall repeat the question," Dermar says soldly, through clenched teeth. "Why did you come here?"

"I don't know," Dad insists. "We don't even know where we are."

"You are lying," Dermar says softly. His pale face reddens.

"We're not lying!" Arlene screams. "We've lost our memories!"

Dermar ignores her, keeping his eyes on Dad. "Why did you come here?"

"My daughter is telling the truth," Dad replies. "All three of us don't remember. We've lost our memories."

"That story won't help you," Dermar says. He speaks softly, but I can see his teeth grind, see his face darken even more.

"We know why you have come, Mr. Miller. We know you have the weapon."

"What weapon?" I blurt out, turning to Dad.

Dad shrugs. Beneath the heavy bandage, his eyes reveal his confusion. "I don't know anything about a weapon," he tells Dermar.

Dermar brings his face menacingly close to Dad's. "It won't help you to lie or to pretend you don't remember," he seethes. "We know you have the weapon, Mr. Miller."

"But — listen —" Dad sputters.

"We're telling the truth!" I insist.

"Where is the weapon?" the mayor-governor demands angrily. "We know you have come to destroy us."

"Destroy you?" Dad replies. "We don't even know who you are. Or where we are. Or how we got here."

Dad utters a desperate sigh. "You've got to believe us. I'm telling you the truth."

Dermar stares coldly at Dad, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

Does he believe Dad? I wonder. He's got to believe Dad. Dad is telling him the truth.

"Hand over the weapon now," Dermar insists.

He doesn't believe Dad at all.

"Hand over the weapon now," Dermar says again. "If you want to save yourself and your children a lot of pain."

"Pain?" Arlene whispers.

"If you do not give me the weapon of your own free will," Dermar threatens, "I will have no choice but to torture you."

Dad's mouth drops open. But no sound comes out. The color drains from his face.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 868