A Bucket of Cola Will Make You Feel Great
T
he last song
had finished, and now that the main lights of the Patriot Center had come on to tell the crowd that the show really was all over.
Nicole and Amy began making their way toward the crowded exits in the direction of Nicole’s car. Nicole was trying not to give away her curiosity over Amy’s state of health. She had decided not to confess to Balancing, just in case it hadn’t worked properly.
Nevertheless, Amy had a bloom in her cheeks now that seemed to belie the fact that she had just spent much of the concert jumping around with the best of them. A few times she had become out of breath, but she would only stop for a moment to rest and then began dancing away again.
About the fifth time Nicole glanced across at her, Amy seemed to be getting suspicious.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” she answered, too quickly.
Amy narrowed her eyes. “Nix, you didn’t, did you?”
“Didn’t what?”
“You know what! Cuz, like, I feel … amazing. Like a miracle has happened or something.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean, I’m not aching. I don’t feel as tired. I could go on all night.”
“It was an awesome concert,” Nicole offered. “And you did drink a bucket of cola.” Amy had bought her body’s weight in candy and soda and had steadily made her way through it all as the concert progressed. Nicole hoped this excuse was a good enough distraction from her having to answer honestly. She didn’t want to tell Amy just in case things didn’t work out like she had planned.
But a new question appeared out of thin air, as suddenly the color went out of Amy’s cheeks and she grew pale. The cause wasn’t anything to do with miracles or illnesses.
It was Drake.
He was a few rows down, queuing for the exits too and chatting animatedly with a girl Nicole recognized from their year at Oak Wood — someone pretty, cute, and happy to be by his side. Drake cracked one of his jokes, and she flew into a fit of giggles and touched his arm. Amy let out a muted hum.
No one else was around from school, so it seemed the pair were there together.
“Are they … dating?” Amy trailed off, struggling with the sight.
“Um, not necessarily. Maybe they met here?”
“But he hates Jenna Kidd.”
Nicole glanced back. The girl was now standing with Drake in a very close and personal way. It was kind of a no-brainer. She searched for comforting words to offer Amy, but in this case, the truth just plain hurt, and there was no getting round it.
“Maybe he didn’t get your text messages?”
Amy shrugged sadly. One of the first things the girls had done after their YouTube filming was try to restore contact with Drake. Drake’s concern he expressed to Nicole had given Amy hope that he might now be able to understand the reasons she had backed off. She had never stopped liking him. This was apparent now, as she stood watching him with someone else.
Truth was, Amy didn’t want to text Drake the real reason for her silence, though she had tried many versions. Somehow, “I’ve got leukemia” seemed a bit too stark a statement. Instead, she could only ask for them to meet up. She hoped he still wanted to see her too.
Amy had been on the verge of sending this final message before the start of the show, but tonight’s sighting told her what she needed to know. He’d moved on. It was fair enough. It just made things all the more miserable.
Amy was glad she hadn’t spotted them earlier, but just then Drake looked up and caught her eye.
She was frozen in the moment as he returned her stare while his date was texting.
There wasn’t anger in his look, but perhaps, Amy thought, a little sadness. It pained her to think that it should be her down there with him, laughing at his jokes, hugging him.
Nicole squeezed Amy’s arm and she broke the gaze, turning away.
Spying a gap in the line, she pulled Nicole toward it, and before long, they had disappeared into a throng of people and Drake could no longer see or be seen.
Eventually they cleared the Center and were freed into the night’s clear air. Outside, the stars were as bright as the night at Lake Fairfax. Amy could have stared upward for as long as her neck held, but she soon saw Nicole’s car.
Both girls climbed in.
Amy rested her head against the side-glass of the door as the car pulled away from parking area. She should have been tired, but she was surprised to feel awake. She spent the journey home staring out of the window, watching the bright lights of cars zoom past.
Days would pass. She would still miss Drake.
But as the misery lifted little by little over time, she would realize something enormous.
She felt better.
Happy Now?
Nicole crunched her
toast while finishing the last of her Spanish homework at the breakfast table. She greeted her mom, who flew into the kitchen for the second time today and was holding a cup of coffee that she’d already spilled down one pair of pants this morning.
She was so late that she hadn’t noticed Nicole’s last-minute homework rush. Just feeling her mom’s air of hurriedness and anxiety as she brushed past disturbed Nicole.
“Not again. Rain!” her mom exclaimed, peering out the window at the dark gray clouds.
Then, without further announcement, she reached across and felt Nicole’s forehead with the back of her palm.
Before Nicole could protest, she was handed a thermometer.
“Wha-?”
“Just humor me.”
“But I’m not sick! I’ve got homework to finish.”
Her mom shot her one of her looks and turned on the cold faucet, cooling down her coffee. She glanced at the clock to really hammer home that she was running late and then gulped down the viscous black liquid.
Nicole ate her toast, drank some juice then reluctantly stuck the thermometer in her mouth. “Happy now?” she mumbled through gritted teeth with the thermometer sticking out.
“Shhh,” her mom scolded. “How’s Amy doing? She any worse?”
Nicole shook her head and made the necessary noises indicating the negative.
“Great. I want you both to fill this out by tonight, please.”
She slid across two copies of an official-looking questionnaire with the logo of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention emblazoned across the top. Confused, Nicole furrowed her brow as her mom took another slurp of coffee.
“We’ve had about fifty or so patients come to various clinics and our hospital who were all at the Jenna Kidd concert. All of them were experiencing the same flu symptoms — some aching, mainly complaints of fatigue. It’s standard procedure to report a community problem of this scale. Most cases like this, the CDC usually gets involved immediately.”
This was bad news. Nicole was grateful the thermometer prevented her from crying out.
“If you weren’t so busy cramming your Spanish homework, you might’ve seen it on the TV.”
Nicole looked over the form. It had the usual questions about general health and specific symptoms, but a table on the second page made her heart jump in trepidation.
It asked about seating in the Patriot Center. She couldn’t help but let out a little yelp.
“A few more seconds, then you can ask what you want.” Her mom sipped her coffee and smiled, enjoying the moment of peace.
Nicole didn’t want to seem overly interested in the questions. She feared that any sort of response would betray the fact that a widespread illness in this particular part of the arena had serious implications. It would confirm that her Balancing had worked and, more importantly, that Amy was on the mend.
That would be truly amazing.
But what had she actually done? She hadn’t really thought about it previously, because the people in the mosh pit had been fine. Now she was beginning to wonder whether she’d really crossed a line this time. Saving Mr. Geller was by mutual agreement — but she had never asked these people for their consent. What if the sickness got worse? Her mom, plucking the thermometer out of her mouth, interrupted these darker thoughts. She examined it, and then nodded with relief.
“Good. You’re normal. Temperature-wise.”
Nicole smiled nervously. “Is it serious?”
“You never know with flu symptoms. Means the immune system is active. The good news is that people are recovering pretty quickly.”
Phew.
Nicole experienced a serious lurch of relief in her belly. This was proof that her Balancing had taken something from those people, but not enough to cause serious harm.
“Now we’ve got the reporters coming over again for a follow-up later. I really don’t need another media circus in my hospital. The CDC is all over events like this for terrorism, and you know how the media loves a crisis.”
Nicole nodded. Her mom studied her face, and Nicole felt her cheeks color.
“You worried?”
“No.”
“Good. Because you were up in the first tier, and the flu victims seemed to be concentrated down in the front. Maybe it was some sick teen stage-diving into the crowd. Or, what if it turned out that Jenna Kidd gave her fans the flu? Ha!”
With a wave, her mom shot out the door, leaving her words ringing in Nicole’s ears.
Everything seemed just as Nicole had planned. She had skimmed a small layer of life off the people up front in the Patriot Center — the healthiest and strongest people — and transferred it to Amy. Though they had symptoms, they had actually only suffered minor effects, just like the pigeons at the mall. Enough to get noticed by the CDC, and enough to save Amy.
Imagine that.
Nicole threw out the rest of her toast, drained her juice glass and crammed her schoolbooks into her messenger bag. Once more, she had used her superpowers to extraordinary effect.
Nicole would still have to wait for Amy’s next checkup at the hospital for confirmation. And she’d still stay silent to avoid giving her best friend false hope in the face of something as serious as leukemia. But she had a gut feeling that the medical reports would tell her what she already suspected — that her best friend was in remission.
Nicole exited her house to find a sight she never thought she’d see: Amy and Ben standing united, waiting for her, arms folded.
Neither was looking particularly pleased with her.
Nicole figured they had seen the news and would have a barrage of questions. Even so, she thought, she had just saved Amy’s life, and given Ben the proof he needed that Balancing could be done in different degrees. She can dial it low for a small cold, or dial it high for something more substantial.
Beat that!
As she moved forward to meet them, they shepherded her toward her Nissan. The drive to school would be the first of many interrogations she would face that day.
As Nicole’s car pulled out of the driveway and set off on its journey to school, the FBI tracker team in the black Suburban rolled off like the Nissan’s distant shadow.
“Suspect is on the move, heading northeast onto toll road.”
“Roger that. The tracker is armed, and we have a clear signal. Keep your distance.”
I’m Actually a Fan
T
he phone calls,
emails and texts were hitting like fireworks on the Fourth of July, which was doing nothing for Bishop’s migraine. The minute the call had come in from the CDC, the agents had holed up at a hotel on the outskirts of Reston. It was time to step away from the plush, state-of-the-art suites at P.R.E.S.S. and get their hands dirty with fieldwork.
Two solid days without much sleep, and Bishop knew he looked like a nightmare. Carter, on the other hand, was sleek and honed like a lion stalking its prey. Though Carter was younger and leaner, this kind of work also suited his character better.
They were currently looking at fifty or so statements logged by the CDC of patients at Evergreen Hospital and surrounding clinics complaining of flu-like symptoms. Homeland leapt on such patterns, fearing mass poisonings and bioterrorism. Thankfully nothing major had been found, other than, of course, the date, the time, the place and the fact that Nicole Aaronson and Amy Madigan had indeed gone to the Jenna Kidd concert that night.
Just like they had said they would, much to Carter’s chagrin. Truth was, Bishop found the girls funny, and they reminded him of his niece who was about their age. He was fond of her, and she sent him long emails to keep him up-to-date with family news. He was such a workaholic that he was always missing family gatherings. She’d probably have graduated college by the time he next saw her.
The yellow and gray hotel room, which was the best they could find, was large at Bishop’s request. They had rented out two adjoining rooms for their temporary field office, one for sleeping in and the other to act as the operations room. Carter had spent the past twelve hours buried in research. The twin beds in the adjoining suite, however inviting, would not see use for the next few hours of daylight.
The operations room was covered with pictures, maps of the Patriot Center and grainy shots taken of Nicole and Amy. Piles of reports corroborated their hunch: Once more, Nicole had turned up somewhere, and some kind of odd biological attack had taken place where life forms had suffered miserably at her hands.
That was the theory, anyhow. But so far the surveillance team had only established that she had been unnecessarily still during the last song, which, in Bishop’s view, could easily be explained away. There was no evidence that she had had anything at all on her person that was achieving this result — no gas, no bomb, no ray, nothing discernable. This stumped Bishop, especially now that three of his best new agents had been watching her movements closely throughout the concert and had logged every one of her actions. Not one of them reported anything particularly suspicious.
Just then, Carter threw his tablet in front of Bishop to show him a new message.
“Tech says they’ve got something.”
“On the concert?”
“No. The hospital. Let’s watch.”
He pressed Play. It was the video of Nicole and Tim Geller on the bench outside of the hospital moments before he died. The audio was pulled up loud, and the crackle of the sound, with the ambient noise of traffic and pedestrians removed, gave the whole piece an almost disembodied feeling. At the point where Nicole sat back and Tim Geller spoke, the audio was quite clear.
“Thank you.”
Bishop paused the video and stared up at Carter.
“Thank you?”
“It must be some sort of glitch.”
“He thanked her before she killed him,” Bishop said quite plainly. He played the section again.
Sure enough, once again, at the moment at which Nicole broke away, the man uttered the mysterious words.
Bishop stopped the video and stood up.
He paced. This was his one requirement for any hotel they rented for staking people out — he must have his pacing room. It helped him think.
“No, no,” Carter protested. “It’s a tech glitch. I’ll send it back to another audio lab. That makes no sense,” he said in his deadly calm way. When his partner got like this, Bishop sometimes felt like hiding behind the couch. He had the drive of an animal stalking its prey, and it wasn’t wise to get in his way.
Nevertheless, Bishop also had an irrepressible hunch building, and he had to share it.
“So she rescues a crushed child and a burnt dog from a wildfire and kills animals and fish to heal them. She takes away a man’s life to save his dying son.”
Carter stared at him. “You make her sound like a saint.”
“We don’t know that she’s not.”
Carter scoffed at this, but Bishop was keen to pursue his instinct.
“Look at the swaps. In every one of them, there is always like for like. Our investigation is looking for a terrorist, and our suspect — this teen — is taking lives, but she’s also saving them.”
“So you’re saying she’s some miracle healer. Why is she doing this? Who asked for her help? ”
“Tim Geller did. He thanked her.”
“Or he could’ve been thanking her for her kindness and the hug before she killed him in cold blood!”
Bishop rolled his eyes, but Carter was relentless.
“OK, where was the swap at the Patriot Center then? Tell me that.”
Bishop chewed his words. He could tell Carter wanted to win this argument and would twist things to achieve that.
“We don’t know yet. We’re just beginning to find out. What about the friend? Was she ill?”
“We can pull up the files,” Carter offered reluctantly.
“You’re so set on exposing a demon. Have you stopped to think you might be persecuting an angel?”
“An angel of death, maybe.”
“Carter!” he exclaimed angrily. “You’ve got this between your teeth now and you won’t let go. But I need you to think plainly.”
“I am. You’ve had your say — now let me have mine.”
It was a standoff of sorts — the reddened fury of Bishop and the icy vehemence of Carter.
“OK, OK.” In an attempt to placate his partner, Bishop held up his hands. Of course he needed to permit Carter to let his emotions cool down. No sense in fueling the fire. He just didn’t want him to get hysterical and end up arresting an innocent kid because of some “instinct” that had been wrong before.
Carter took a sip of bottled water before speaking.
“Here’s what I see. Here is a girl who, for whatever reason, can ignite forests, burn animals alive, murder a man in cold blood and spread an undetectable virus through a crowd of innocent people. And she can do all of this without a trace of evidence against her. Hell, I’m actually a fan of her style. To me, she is basically the perfect undercover agent. She flies under the radar! What you and I do agree on is that evidence places her in these events every time. Agreed?”
Bishop nodded.
“Now, you or I might produce theories about why she did it, whether she killed the father to save the son. But who gave her the right? I’ve got a dead father, 50 sick concertgoers and enough exploded wildlife to get Greenpeace mobilized. There’s collateral damage here. In a court of law, someone who wields a gun or a knife like this ends up punished, and rightly so. It’s why you and I exist, Bishop. It’s why we wear these badges. It’s why we’re proud to uphold the law.”
Carter’s reasoning was impassioned and also highly logical.
“You’re right, though,” Carter continued. “We can’t know why she’s doing this. I think for bad; you think for good. But what if she takes to using her powers to punish others, and we had the knowledge to stop her? What then? For the public’s sake, we have to bring her in now. We need to ask her all the questions we’ve asked ourselves. Maybe she can tell us why.”
Bishop let everything his partner had said filter down. He nodded and picked up the phone.
“Division. It’s Bishop.” Bishop waited and held Carter’s gaze. “It’s me. We go to code red on her. We need permission, permits — whatever you have to get to bring her in. Also — exhibit caution. The suspect could be dangerous.”
Carter smiled and grabbed his coat.
He was ready.