The Ables (29 page)

“Doing it in broad daylight probably isn’t the best way to keep it a secret,” I grumbled, still nervous that someone would see us.

Henry continued looking up and down the block, as he had been all afternoon. He was acting as our lookout, Bentley was doing all the work, and I guess I was the doubting Thomas. I didn’t seem to have any other task to fulfill.

“Do you see anyone around?” Bentley asked petulantly. Of course he knew that I didn’t; the street was empty. “I think every adult in this town is at that caucus, Phillip. Seriously … it’s a ghost town out here.”

The caucus was a pretty big deal, at least if my Dad was to be believed. It’s an annual event where the adults of the custodian world gather in Goodspeed to vote on all kinds of things—new officials, new rules, and stuff like that. I had to admit that Bentley was right: our town was eerily quiet.

It was also cold as the dickens. Christmas was only two weeks away, which meant that even in the middle of the day, Freepoint was a chilly thirty degrees. I shivered from the cold and thought about the hot chocolate that would await us back at Bentley’s house.

“Man, I hope the bad guys never decide to attack us on the day of the caucus,” I said with a chuckle. “We’d be screwed.”

“If the bad guys attack on caucus day, they’ll be attacking the actual caucus,” Bentley reminded me. “You know, where all the heroes will be holed up together in one building?”

“I suppose,” I agreed, with none of Bentley’s confidence.

“How do these things even work? Man, they are so tiny!” Henry was examining one of the micro- cameras, which was the size of a pencil eraser.

Another
thud
, then more scampering sounds as Bentley continued making quick work of this street. We ambled down the sidewalk a few feet at a time with every successful camera planted.

“All these cameras are networked together wirelessly. Like a net,” Bentley explained.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean they are all satellite parts of the same system, which I can control from my computer. They can be used independently of one another, or … they can work together.”

“How can cameras work together?” scoffed Henry. If he hadn’t heard of it, then it didn’t exist.

“They’re programmed to,” Bentley explained patiently. “If one camera picks up something interesting, the other cameras in the network that are nearby will turn and focus cooperatively with the first camera, which will give us a much larger picture of whatever action is going on.”

“A better question is to ask if it’s legal,” I muttered, voicing my reservations for the thousandth time.

“I’m telling you: it’s legal, Phillip. These are public streets! If you and I are walking down the sidewalk and we stop to take pictures of some skateboarders doing tricks, we don’t need permission from them to take their picture, because they’re in public.” I was tempted to argue, but I also knew that Bentley had spent part of last summer studying copyright law—you know, for fun.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, signaling that I wasn’t interested in repeating the exact same argument we’d had over breakfast. “You may have found a technical loophole or excuse, but I’d bet good money the bulk of these townspeople would be bothered to know they’re being recorded.”

“That’s just it, Phillip,” Bentley said excitedly. “We’re not recording a thing!”

Thud
. Bentley walked over to Henry and me, breathing a little heavy from all the climbing.

“The camera system is designed to be live, but it’s incapable of recording. It’s disabled.

This network will never be used for anything but live images, which should be all the advantage we need to keep the next competition more even.”

“I don’t know, Bentley. A hundred cameras is a lot, but I’m not sure it’s enough to guarantee we’ll see anything on them come the next SuperSim. For all we know, the crimes will take place in locations where we don’t have coverage.”

“Then what are you so worried about?” he said, smiling in response. “Besides, it’s worth it to try. Considering the number of fake crimes they had prepared for the first challenge—and we can assume they’ll have the same amount or more for the next one—we’re bound to catch something on camera. And if it’s enough to get us into the action instead of falling behind, then we just might make a respectable showing this time. Plus,” he said with a devious grin, “I just ordered a thousand more of these puppies from a Chinese distributor.”

I had to admit, the upside was attractive. We’d been embarrassed in the last SuperSim—annihilated, actually. Almost every team helped apprehend a criminal or scored some points. We did neither, and there was no getting around the reason: our disabilities. We’d gone into the challenge with two blind kids, two crippled kids, a mentally challenged boy, and an asthmatic. With those kind of handicaps, we never stood a chance.

“Come on,” Bentley said, zipping up his duffle bag. “Let’s head over and get some coverage of the high school.”

***

The weekend of the caucus was notable for one other reason: the return of Chad Burke, my old lunchroom nemesis. Chad’s father, the head of the board, had obviously gone to Goodspeed for the caucus with the rest of the Freepoint adults. Apparently, Chad had completed enough banishment time that his father decided he’d earned a second chance, so he brought him back home.

We didn’t know any of this until that next Monday at lunchtime, of course. We were in our usual spot—a rectangular table in the far back corner of the cafeteria—just munching on snacks and chatting about Bentley’s cameras, filling in the rest of the gang on the plan.

“Is the image quality any good?” It struck me as an odd question for a blind kid like James to ask, but it definitely made sense. How would we make use of the cameras if the picture was too blurry?

“These things record in crystal-clear high definition, guys. It’ll look better than your television. I’ll show you a demo on my smart phone after school when they aren’t blocking Henry’s powers, okay?”

“Okay. Sounds good to me,” said James, appearing to be convinced by Bentley’s description alone.

I decided to seize the temporary lull in conversation to squeeze in a topic that I’d been worried about for a while. “I’m still worried about whom we’re going to get to join our team.” We had always been one-man down compared to other teams. We had Bentley, Henry, Freddie, James, Donnie, and me. That made six. But we were allowed seven.

We thought about trying to recruit Penelope, but Bentley said her parents were too strict to let her compete in the SuperSim. We also briefly thought about recruiting Darla. Bentley was confident that Henry would be able to supply her with audio the way he now regularly supplied me with “video,” but we never got the chance to try.

So we were ultimately still a team member short of an entire roster, not that we technically needed to have the full number. But it had been nagging at me for weeks, because there didn’t appear to be any solution, and I felt like we were already a team with natural disadvantages. Having fewer members than other teams would only make it worse. There didn’t appear to be too many other options. No one else in the special education class could do it, and no one outside the class was likely to stoop to joining our team.

“Who needs another teammate?” Bentley asked. “It’ll just be the six of us guys.”

“Did I just hear you say you were looking for a new teammate?” The voice coming from behind me was unmistakable. It was Chad Burke. The last time I’d heard it, it was followed almost immediately by physical pain and public shame. The voice was burned in my brain, and I wouldn’t ever forget or mistake it.

For a split second, everything froze. It was like déjà vu. I was here—in the same seat, in the same cafeteria, with the same friends. It was happening all over again.

But Donnie must have felt the same sensation—and must have also had far better hearing than I realized. Before I could even decide what I wanted to do or say, Donnie whirled around with lightning speed and socked Chad Burke right in the gut as hard as he could.

Chad went flying back with a surprised yelp, the linoleum squeaking as he slid on the floor.

It was a shocking object lesson on the protectiveness of Donnie, despite him being the one who really needed protecting from us. Before I could find myself in a situation where I might get hurt or embarrassed again, Donnie stepped in to act as my protector. He’d probably been carrying a grudge against that kid since the last incident. I had no idea Donnie’s hearing (or memory, for that matter) was that exceptional.

Pandemonium ensued. I stood there in the cafeteria trying to make sense of Chad’s return and Donnie’s reflexes, but I couldn’t. Teachers came rushing into the fray determined to break things up before any more fighting occurred, and poor Donnie got hauled off to the principal’s office.

It would be several more days and a few conversations with Chad one-on-one before I would really be able to understand what had just taken place.

I was listening to the television. The news was on. Even with Mom in the hospital, Dad still kept his same routine. He watched the same shows at the same times, but he wasn’t paying attention to any of it these days. Maybe he was on some passive level, I guess. They were still talking about superheroes after all, and this was the national news.

The incident in Central Park that had been caught on film had ignited a massive story across the country—as though an alien flying saucer had crash landed right on the White House lawn. Who was this man? Are there more like him? The public was rabid for information, so the news kept finding a reason to talk about it. There were several reports of similar incidents around the country, but none had produced any evidence to date and were considered by the mainstream media to be hoaxes or attention-seekers.

I heard the phone ring, but since Patrick and I got so few calls, Dad always still got up and answered, taking a few more rings to make his way over to the counter than he used to. I paid more attention to the news anchor’s voice than to Dad’s phone conversation, so I was surprised to feel him tapping my shoulder with the phone.

“Here, it’s for you.” He dropped the receiver into my open hand and slowly ambled back to his easy chair to continue sitting in silence. He thought that because I was blind, I wouldn’t know that he’d taken to simply doing nothing but staring and thinking.

“Hello?” At this point I knew it was Bentley or Henry, as they were the only two human beings on the planet who ever called me.

“I’m ready.” It was Bentley.

“Ready for what?” I quickly scanned my memory banks for some forgotten appointment or plans but found nothing.

“It’s time to go back to the library, Phillip.”

“Wait … what?”

“It’s time for us to stop reacting to Finch and start being proactive.”

I still didn’t understand, and I guess my lack of response communicated that fact.

“We’re going to find out what he was after. Tonight. Midnight. Be in your room, ready to go.” The line went dead.

I was naturally intrigued by the cloak-and-dagger nature of Bentley’s message. Short, concise phrases in a hushed tone, followed by a surprise hang-up? Who wouldn’t be intrigued? And despite the fact that the plan called for us to sneak out of our homes at midnight—something we’d all surely be punished for if caught—I didn’t even think about
not
going.

The wait for Christmas morning has nothing on the wait I endured that evening.

Long after I’d pretended to go to bed, I heard Dad shuffle down the hall and shut the door to his bedroom. A few seconds later, I heard the click of the light switch being turned to the off position.

I reached down to my watch, Braille, of course, and found it to be 11:45 p.m. Only fifteen minutes. Would Dad even fall asleep that fast? Would Bentley be quiet enough? I assumed he was bringing James, but what if he started throwing pebbles at my window or something?

I was such a neurotic kid; I managed to kill the last fifteen minutes just frightening myself with all sorts of scary possibilities. I was actually surprised when I heard the unmistakable sound of a teleporter’s arrival.

Ooph!

“Phillip?” I heard Bentley whisper.

“Yeah? Be quiet! My dad just went to bed!”

“You ready?”

“For what?” I asked cautiously.

“You’ll see. Come on.”

I crawled over the foot of the bed and reached out my arms, feeling for James or Bentley. I found Henry—the left wheel of his wheelchair, to be exact. “Oh,” I whispered, as politely as one can whisper, “hi, Henry.”

“Hey,” he said back. “Oh, I guess I can let you see now.”

I received a very grainy image of my completely-darkened bedroom about one-tenth of a second before we jumped.

Ooph!

Man, am I ever going to get used to that?
I wondered.

“Are you kidding?” Henry asked incredulously. “It’s like a roller coaster!” He put his hands above his head. “Woo-hoo!”

“Shh!!” Bentley urged.

“Why?” Henry asked. “We know they don’t have any kind of security or anything, now don’t we? Learned that firsthand, I believe.”

“You don’t think they maybe thought about upgrading since then?”

“No, actually,” Henry said, “I don’t think they did, because I don’t think they believed us, remember?”

“They believe us now,” Bentley said quietly. “Phillip’s father saw Finch in the cornfield. The kids at school may still be jerks, but the people who matter in this town—the grownups—they believe us now, Henry. So I know it’s a long shot, but just in case … just in case someone in this town is wondering the same thing we are about what Finch was doing here … will you please keep it down or shut your trap entirely?”

“Okay, okay,” Henry protested, hands out in front of him. “You win.” He lifted up his right hand and pretended to zip his mouth shut. Then he looked around a little while Bentley started unloading his gear.

We were in the main hallway of the library. It was as quiet as the last time we’d been inside after hours. Actually, it was quieter since there wasn’t a crooked old geezer in the References section tossing things around. It was also colder than ever, with the building’s heat turned down for the overnight hours.