Turnabout r-8 Read online

  This is a generation that uses cell phones the size of business cards, and computers they can slip into their pocket.

  They'll adapt.» Before she could stop herself, Shelby snorted. «And what if the populace decides that the aliens among us are really here to steal our water, eat our mice, or blow up the White House?» Phillip grinned ever so slightly. «I don't think it will get to that point. I think the Special Unit won't let things go that far.» «What, you think they're going to back off just because I threaten to blow the whistle? What's to stop them from paying me a visit in the dead of night with a very silent gun?» «What do you want me to do, Shelby?» Phillip pulled back from her, settling into one of her office chairs. «This is my family we're talking about. This is not an abstract 'someone.' This is Max and Isabel you used to read to them when they were younger. And it may be Diane and me they come after.» He paused, his brow furrowing. «You won't have to carry this burden all alone. Call Jesse Ramirez, and follow the other instructions I'm leaving with you.» His next sentence had chilled her to the bone. «They won't be able to stop all of us, Shelby.» Now, twenty minutes after she got the fateful telephone call, Shelby pulled her Toyota into her driveway and let herself into her modest house. Her hands trembling by the time she'd reached the kitchen, she poured some sherry into a glass. The cell phone hadn't rung again since Phillip's previous call, the one that confirmed that his worst fears had finally been realized. She was certain that he had destroyed his phone before they took him. But how long will it take for them to reconstruct it and find a way to determine who he called last? How long until they figure out where those nanny-cam pictures went? She didn't know at this point whether Phillip and Diane or the other alien-affiliated parents in Roswell were dead or alive. But she did know that now she was involved. Phillip had saved her, not only on that long-ago day on the playground, but also many times since. Now she was determined to do whatever she could to return the favor, both for Phillips sake and for that of his family.

  Shelby went to the kitchen and opened a cupboard that held a pull-out spice rack. She tugged it forward off its tracks and gingerly placed it on the countertop. Reaching in, she depressed a small button in the back of the cabinet, and the back paneling popped free. Inside the recessed space were all the files and information Phillip had given her.

  On the first page was the Boston number of Jesse Ramirez. Since Shelby lived in Newton, she could meet with Jesse in less than an hour if everything went smoothly.

  Ij they haven't gotten to him already, she thought with a shiver.

  She picked up her cell phone and dialed Jesse's number. One ring. Two rings.

  «Hello?» The voice was male, but she didn't recognize it; she had never actually spoken with Ramirez before.

  «Jesse Ramirez, please," she said as calmly as she could.

  «This is he.» «Mister Ramirez, my name is… Denise Prinze, and I'm a lawyer.» She wasn't sure if Jesse's phone was bugged, so she played it safe by using the fake name Phillip had given her. «I need to consult with you immediately about a client I have.» «Immediately?» She bit her lip and continued, scanning the notes Phillip had made about Jesse. «It's about a Mr. Antar.» There was a brief silence before he spoke again. «Where do you want to meet?» «Antonio's Cucina Italiana on Cambridge Street.» «Across from Mass General Hospital?» «That's the one," Shelby said. «In an hour?» «See you then," he said. And then the line clicked and was silent.

  Shelby hoped that it was Jesse to whom she had been talking, and that she hadn't just delivered herself or both of them into enemy hands.

  When did I become so paranoid? she thought as she began to fill a bag with some clothes and a few other necessities.

  She already knew the answer to her question.

  It had happened the day she had learned the truth about Roswell.

  Boston Jesse Ramirez hung up the phone, his eyes wide. After the earlier incident with Isabel calling and him finding out his phones were bugged, he had almost been afraid to come home. Now, he found that he was even more afraid of going out.

  Whoever the woman who had called him was, she knew the name of Isabel's homeworld. Is she working with the Special Unit? Or is she the one Phillip said might call me one day? He knew that if the latter scenario were true, then something had gone very wrong indeed.

  Against his better judgment, Jesse dialed the Evanses' phone number in Roswell.

  It had barely rung once before it was picked up.

  «Hello.» The voice was crisp and authoritative. And clearly not Phillips. Jesse checked the phone display to make sure he had dialed the number correctly He waited another beat, but the man didn't speak any further. Jesse punched the «End» button as hard as he could.

  Whatever is going down in Roswell, I'm sure as hell not safe here at home, Jesse thought. He grabbed a duffel bag and put several things into it, including the gun he had carried ever since he'd left Roswell. It was the same gun he had used to kill the Special Unit agent who'd tried to make him turn on Isabel.

  Making sure that the front door was locked, Jesse toggled on the television, and then slipped out the back door and into the small yard behind his apartment building.

  2. Sidney, Nebraska

  I hey had all sat in silence ever since leaving the Bushnell, Nebraska, picnic spot in their VW Microbus. As Michael Guerin drove, Max Evans sat in the front passengers seat, feeling more determined than ever before in his young life.

  He looked back toward the others, and forced back a sudden pang of guilt.

  I'm the reason this has happened. It's my fault. I was deposed as the king on Antar, and now I've been driven from my home all over again. Just like everyone I love, and everybody who's stood by me ever since all this alien-hunting crazxness started.

  Liz Parker slumped in the Microbus's middle seat, staring abstractedly out the darkened side window. Though her forehead was clearly showing worry lines, she was as beautiful to him as ever. He had harbored feelings for her since the third grade, but it wasn't until three years ago that he had expressed them to her. 0/ course «expressing myself meant healing her bullet wound and revealing to her that I'm actually half-alien, Max thought with a wan smile.

  Leaning against Liz was Maria DeLuca, her hair wavy and tinted a coppery red thanks to Isabel's powers. Maria appeared to be asleep, but Max wasn't sure. She was the only one of the humans Max hadn't healed, and thus was the only member of the group who had shown no sign of developing extra-human abilities. He knew that her lack of alien powers made her feel like the odd person out in the group, and that this was one of the things that fueled her temper. Michael was the other thing that got her itching for confrontation; even though Max knew they loved each other, their relationship was tempestuous at best.

  Gazing toward the back of the van, Max caught the eye of Kyle Valenti. They certainly had come a long way over the last several years. Kyle had been Liz's boyfriend prior to Max, and he had been a sore loser at first after she'd left him. Max knew that Kyle's father's obsession about the strange goings-on around Max, Isabel, and Michael hadn't helped matters, even after the truth of their half-alien natures stood revealed. Kyle had been pulled into the cover-up against his wishes, and once Max healed him from an accidental gunshot wound, Kyle had become a part of the «team» for better or for worse. Lately, Kyle had been showing signs of manifesting psychic abilities of some sort, a development no doubt spurred by Max's healing touch.

  Isabel Evans's head was on Kyle's chest as she attempted to sleep, but Max could see that his sister was as restless as any of them. Max didn't remember much about their past life on their homeworld of Antar, but he did know that Isabel believed that she had unwittingly betrayed the Royal Four, leading to their deaths and their genetic essences subsequently being sent to Earth.

  But Isabel hadn't been the one who had betrayed them here on Earth; Tess Harding the replica of the woman who had been Max's wife during his previous life on Antar was the one who had brought their lives crashing down
around them. Max was well aware that Isabel, more than any of the others, wanted to be normal, to lead an ordinary existence with her human husband, Jesse Ramirez, whom she hadn't seen during the months since the Special Unit had forced the group to flee Roswell.

  Max's gaze returned to Michael, who was steadily guiding the VW down the road as the afternoon shadows lengthened. The wind coming through the open driver's side window blew Michael's long hair, creating an odd tangled halo behind him. But Max could never see Michael wearing a halo. On Antar he had been Max's or, more correctly, King Zan's second-in-command, the man in charge of the troops. As with Isabel, Max didn't remember much of Michael's Antarian past, but he imagined that to command Zan's armies of Antar meant that Michael had been as potentially violent there as he was here on Earth.

  Max sometimes thought that Michael was never far from striking out against anyone and everything he perceived as a threat. Sometimes, that quality had been a definite liability. But maybe that ferocity is exactly what we need, now that we've decided to stand our ground against the Special Unit, Max thought.

  «We're coming up on Sidney in another ten miles or so," Michael said, turning his head briefly toward Max.

  «Unless I read the map wrong, we can find the train stations there.» He held Max's gaze for a moment, and Max saw the energy of a chained tiger flickering in Michael's eyes.

  «Let's get some food before we figure out what we're going to do next," Max said.

  «Should we wake them now?» Michael asked, gesturing toward the back.

  Max was about to say, «No," when Maria spoke up. «I don't think any of us are really asleep. The lack of music didn't really help.» She cast a wistful eye toward her guitar case, as though wishing the van had enough room to allow her to remedy the problem herself.

  Isabel chimed in from the back. «Not to mention the other problems we have on our mind right now.» Michael made a sour face, and Max leaped to his defense. «Sorry. I thought it would be better for you guys to rest without a lot of noise.» He clicked on the radio and the strains of an ancient Pat Benatar song immediately filled the Microbus. Other than «Hit Me with Your Best Shot," the next several minutes passed in silence.

  Michael suddenly let out a snort. «Look up ahead," he said, pointing.

  Up the road next to several small retail businesses was an old-fashioned fast-food place. Max felt himself smiling at the same thing Michael had. The neon sign that stood atop two poles had a UFO mounted on it, and bore a logo that read, ORBIT BURGERS. Just beneath it was a Coca-Cola sign.

  «Looks like home," Max said. «I almost think we're fated to eat there.» The others leaned forward to get a better view as the van neared the restaurant. Maria rolled her eyes and put up her hands, palms outward, as if to push the vision away. «Tell me they don't have waitresses wearing alienhead aprons and bouncing dealy-bobber tiaras.» «Yeah, that would be too much of a coincidence," Liz said, smiling.

  Michael pulled into the Orbit's driveway and parked the Microbus as far back in the parking lot as he could.

  Piling out of the VW, everyone grunted and stretched to shake out their cramped muscles.

  Michael walked forward, his head swiveling from side to side. «You all order your food. I'm going to get a paper from across the street.» Max didn't argue with him, nor did any of the others.

  Max didn't think Michael was being antisocial; he was being proactive. Since their pictures had been broadcast on the news the previous night, Max knew they needed to find out how much of their Wyoming adventures had made it into the papers way out here in the Midwest. Were they wanted fugitives everywhere? As Kyle and Isabel ordered, Maria excused herself to use the bathroom. Max came up from behind Liz and put his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her long hair.

  Isabel had changed Liz's hair color last night, before they had sneaked into the hospital.

  «How you doing, Blondie?» he asked, his voice a low growl.

  Liz crossed her arms over his and pulled him in tighter against her. «Much better now that you're holding me," she said, smiling.

  «I love you," he said into her ear.

  «I love you too," she replied quickly.

  «Your turn to order, guys," Kyle said, stepping aside.

  Max couldn't be sure whether he'd just seen a flicker of jealousy in his eyes or not. He thought that Kyle was long over Liz especially now that Max had married her but he knew that none of Kyle's romantic overtures toward other women had succeeded. Max had witnessed the sexual tension between Kyle and Tess, back when Max himself had been blinded by his own «predestined love» for the reincarnation of his Antarian wife. He still didn't know for sure whether their romance had been natural, genetically preprogrammed, or was the result of one of Tess's mindwarps. He doubted the last possibility, even though Tess had certainly turned out to be far more manipulative than anyone could have guessed.

  «I'll have a Starship Chicken Burger Meal, but can you substitute Moon Rings for the Space Fries?» Liz asked.

  When the preteen girl behind the window nodded, Liz continued. «And a Men in Blackberry Shake.» She turned to Max and grinned. «I feel like I'm back at the Crashdown. Except in some parallel universe.» He smiled and stepped up to the window. A few minutes later, after Maria had returned and ordered, they all sat down at tables shaded by a canopy and waited for their food.

  Michael walked over, holding multiple parts of a newspaper in his hands. «We aren't in here," he said with an uncharacteristic uplift to his voice. «I'll check again, but I couldn't find any articles about our misadventures at all.» «No news is good news," Maria said. Then, looking at the others, she added, «Right?» «Not necessarily," Liz said. «It could be that the papers didn't get any pictures of us before they went to press. Or it could be that it wasn't big enough to make the news way out here in Nebraska. But that doesn't mean the local police might not have gotten a report about us.» «Spoilsport," Maria said, pouting a bit.

  «Well, at least we probably don't have to worry about John Q. Sixpack ratting us out to America's Most Wanted," Kyle said.

  Isabel ate an onion ring. «It could be that the Special Unit clamped down on the news coverage. The pictures they showed on the news last night couldn't have been the only footage they had of our daring escape from Cheyenne.» Max had continued to wonder about that as well. Yesterday, they had been trapped at a shopping mall in Cheyenne, Wyoming, by the FBI Special Unit's agents and local law enforcement people. He and Michael had been forced to use their powers in a very public fashion, in view not only of civilians but of the mall's security cameras as well. From what Kyle had said about the footage aired on the news, some of the security camera images had been broadcast, though their faces had been nearly unrecognizable.

  «I think Isabel is right," Max said, and he was pleased to see that Michael nodded in agreement as well. «The Special Unit isn't going to want everyone else coming after us.

  I'd imagine they think a lot of lives might be at risk if they got us really angry in public.» «We can thank Tess for that," Maria said, her tone grumbly. «Driving a car bomb into an air force base isn't exactly subtle:" Max ignored the comment. «Beyond that, everything they've done has been under a cloak of secrecy. They want a cover-up. If there's anything I learned while working at the UFO Museum, it's that the federal government has been hiding alien-related things since 1947, and probably even before that. So, it wouldn't serve their agenda for the world to learn that we really exist.» «Yeah," Michael said. «They want us all to themselves so they can dissect us and find out " He stopped abruptly.

  All eyes turned to Isabel, whose face had suddenly drained of all color. Yesterday, Liz had seen a future flash of Isabel being cut apart by Special Unit doctors.

  Max broke the silence. «He didn't mean anything by it, Iz.» Isabel waved a hand dismissively. «It's okay. We need to deal with this sooner or later. And the sooner we find a way to stop Liz's premonition from coming true, the better.» «That's actually why we came here today," M
ax said, realizing the time had come to announce yet another critical decision. «I think it's best that you split up from the rest of us, Isabel. Liz says that whatever was supposed to happen to you might happen in California. So, let's keep you as far away from there as possible.» «You want to send me off alone?» Isabel's voice raised almost a full octave. «Yeah, that will protect me! We decided early on to stick together; that's how we'll be strongest.» «I never said alone," Max said, putting down his burger.

  «I think Kyle and Maria should go with you. And I think you should go to " «What, so I'm a liability now, Maxwell?» Maria asked, interrupting him. He could tell that she was truly angry; Michael was the only one who ever called him by his full name. «I don't have alien superpowers, so I get carted out of here so I don't get hurt?» «That's not what I meant. If you'd just " Now it was Michael's turn to interrupt. «She stays with us.» His tone was adamant, his expression stony. «Just because we aren't married doesn't mean that she should get shipped off. Ill protect her.» Maria's eyes flashed anger again, this time in Michael's direction. «Goddess! Like I'm so helpless! Fine, you know, Justine!» She got up from her seat. «Why did you even want me on this trip if all I am to you is a potential damselin-distress? Maybe I should get myself shot so Max can heal me and give me crazy superpowers so I can finally be somebody important.» She stalked away, clutching her soda cup.