Running on Fumes Read online

  “See you guys at lunch,” I said when we reached the door to my first-period class.

  Chemistry. Final number one.

  It wasn’t that hard. At least not with my superr hydrated brain. Which was lucky, because Joe and I hadn’t gotten much studying done last night.

  Make that no studying. None. Although the story for Mom and Aunt Trudy was that we’d come home so late because we’d pulled a late-night study fest at Chet’s.

  English was a little more difficult. But only because I sit behind Belinda in English. And that’s sort of distracting.

  Next up, PE. A break from the brainwork. Nice. I was looking forward to it. That is, until I found out we were fencing. And who did Mr. Zwick assign to be my fencing partner?

  Yep. Brian Conrad.

  I slid my mesh-front mask into place. Brian and I faced off.

  “Don’t forget what I said this morning, Hardy.” Brian thrust his foil at me. Going on the attack.

  I parried. Now it was my turn to attack.

  “Have you ever noticed how people who talk all the time never actually do anything?” I asked.

  I jabbed my foil and hit Brian on the arm. That didn’t count. To get a point in fencing, you have to touch the tip of your foil to the torso of your opponent. Head and arms don’t get you any points.

  “If my sister could see you now, she’d get over her little crush. She goes for jocks.”

  I didn’t bother to reply.

  Brian came at me again. I blocked. Thrust. He blocked.

  We circled each other, foils clashing. A line of sweat trickled down my back as the clanging of metal on metal filled my ears. Brian’s eyes stayed on mine. I could see them through the double layers of mesh—mine and his.

  Then he glanced left. I jerked my foil in that direction, sure he was going to strike that way.

  Instead he brought the foil to my heart. “If this was a real fight, you’d be dead,” Brian announced. “This steel would slice right through your heart.” He turned and walked away.

  I was still thinking about his words at lunch when I met up with Joe at my locker. If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.

  Brian was right. If there hadn’t been protective tips on our foils … if I hadn’t been wearing padding … if we hadn’t been just two guys in gym class …

  I would be dead right now. I’d blown it.

  I twirled in the combination and opened my locker. Brian’s voice continued in my head. This steel would slice right through your heart.

  My heart.

  I blinked twice. It was still there.

  There was a heart inside my locker.

  THE NEXT ASSIGNMENT

  “Oooh! Frank’s got a secret admirer.”

  I reached for the big, red, heart-shaped box of candy jammed in the bottom of my brother’s locker. “I call the ones with nuts.”

  Frank slapped my hand away.

  “Is there a note?” I asked. “A mushy note? ‘Oh, how I love you, Frankie, baby, honey, dollface.’ Whoever sent it is calendar-challenged. Valentine’s Day isn’t this week.”

  Frank blushed. My brother actually blushes.

  And girls still like him. I seriously don’t get it.

  He opened the heart-shaped box. And suddenly I wasn’t thinking about girl psychology anymore.

  There was no candy in the box. Only a nice wad of cash, a folded map, and a video game disc. The label on the front read: RUNNING ON FUMES.

  We were about to get our next ATAC assignment. This is how they always came. Disguised as video games.

  “We need some privacy.” Frank led the way out onto the quad and over to the oak tree at the far corner.

  I pulled my portable game player out of my backpack and plopped down on the grass. Frank sat next to me and handed over the “game.” I slid it into the slot.

  I love the sound of that click when the disc is in place. My heart actually starts to beat faster. Every single time. I never get tired of the moment when we’re about to find out the next assignment.

  I hit PLAY. The Earth appeared on the small screen. A small blue and white ball. Spinning.

  That didn’t tell me much. Our assignment was somewhere in the world. Duh.

  “Humans share the earth with as many as one hundred million other species.” As the narrator spoke, trees and fungus and animals and insects and single-cell organisms took over the screen, new ones appearing every second. Filling every inch.

  “But two hundred and seventy thousand of these species become extinct every year.” Red Xs slashed across the monitor, crossing out creatures I hadn’t even known existed in the first place.

  “This extreme extinction rate has occurred only five times before in the history of the earth, caused by meteors, volcanic eruptions, or rapid climate change.”

  “Meteors. That’s one of the theories about what killed off the dinosaurs,” Frank commented.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Sometimes my brother sounds like a research librarian himself. “What I want to know is what this has to do with us.”

  “But nature has nothing to do with the massive extinction going on today,” the narrator continued. I couldn’t get my eyes off all those red Xs. How could that many species disappear every year?

  Entire species. It made my head hurt to think about it.

  “The current extinction explosion is caused by” —a photo of Frank and me appeared—“humans.”

  “Somebody at the home office has a warped sense of humor,” Frank said.

  “I’m still not seeing the connection to us,” I complained. “What’s the mission?”

  Pictures of tons more people appeared on the screen. “Humans consume nearly half of all the Earth’s resources. This man wants to change all that. His name is Arthur Stench.”

  One man replaced all the people filling the screen. He looked like he was in his fifties. He was losing his hair, but he had a long beard—with enough hair for his whole body. It looked like he worked out.

  “Arthur Stench has a compound in the California desert. It’s a place where people gather to live in harmony with the land. Where they can give back to the earth.”

  I felt like giving the game player a shake. Was I watching a PBS special or what? Where was the assignment?

  Stench’s photo faded and a picture of a desert came up. All scrubby brush and cactus and rocks, with some mountains in the background.

  “We have no visual of the actual compound. Visitors are not welcome. That’s where you two come in. Many of Stench’s followers are teenagers. Your assignment is to infiltrate the compound.”

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Stench sounds like one of the good guys.”

  It was like the narrator had heard me. “Stench may be a harmless man. Even a hero. But we have received information about his using extreme measures to force people into following his beliefs. Threats. Arson. Bombing. Even murder. We need to put an end to it. But first, we need to determine whether or not he really is a threat.”

  “So it’s not all about recycling,” I muttered. I stared at Stench’s picture, like if I stared at it long enough, I’d be able to see into his brain.

  “There are no roads leading to the compound. You won’t find any hotels or fast-food places. It’s unlikely you’ll see any people until you arrive. We recommend using your motorcycles.”

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Arthur Stench

  Hometown: Santa Cruz, California

  Physical description: Caucasian, age 55, 5′9″ 175 lbs., balding, beard, left-handed, muscular.

  Occupation: Leader of the Heaven compound.

  Background: Both parents died while he was attending the University of Southern California; founded several companies that went bankrupt; divorced; estranged from chldren; antitechnology.

  Suspicious behavior: House has no windows; needs a bodyguard so must have enemies; overheard making threats against oil companies.

  Suspect of: Ecoterrorism

&nb
sp; Possible motives: Willing to use violence to enforce his beliefs if that is what it takes.

  * * *

  Our juiced-up bikes appeared on the screen, flying across the desert. No roads—no speed limits! Cool.

  “This mission, like every mission, is top secret. In five seconds this disc will be reformatted into a regular music CD.”

  Exactly five seconds later, some Cher song started playing at top volume.

  I heard a few laughs from some of the other kids on the quad before I could rip the disc out of the player.

  “You know what this means?” Frank’s dark brown eyes were gleaming.

  “Yes, I do, my friend. It means—”

  “Road trip!” we said together.

  No boring stay-at-home summer for us. We were taking the bikes all the way across the country. How excellent was that?

  Good or Evil?

  Joe flopped down on my bed the next morning. Without bothering to take his shoes off. Did I mention my brother is a slob?

  “Got the GPS on both bikes programmed,” he announced. He blew a big purple bubblegum bubble. The hypercharged fake grape smell almost made me sneeze.

  He sucked the gum back into his mouth and started chomping. “The route is 2,741.3 miles. Almost a two-day drive.”

  “If you drive nonstop. Without eating. Or sleeping,” I corrected him. I slid a set of lock-picking tools into my backpack. They’d been useful on other missions, and I liked having them along.

  “I was thinking about that. I know we need to get out to the compound and check things out. But we probably have a little time to—”

  “—see some stuff,” I finished for him. I was totally with Joe on this one. “I was thinking a little detour to Mount Rushmore might be nice.”

  “Wait.” Joe used the corner of my bedspread to clean out one of his ears. “Say that again.”

  “You’re washing that.” Joe kept on cleaning, but I didn’t bother repeating myself. I knew he’d heard me just fine.

  “We have the whole country to see. And a bunch of stone heads are at the top of your list? Unbelievable.”

  I added some underwear to my pack. Joe was probably planning on wearing the same pair of boxers for the whole ten days. He thought if you turned them inside out it made them clean again.

  “What’s at the top of your list?” I asked him.

  Joe sat up. “Okay, tell me if this is not cool. I read about this place where they train animals for fairs and stuff. All the tic-tac-toe-playing chickens come from there.”

  “You’d rather see farm animals playing the dumbest game imaginable than go to one of the most famous places in the country?”

  Before he could answer, Mom came into the room. “I printed out some info on petroglyphs for you guys. Some of them could have been carved eight thousand years ago.”

  I felt my face getting hot. It’s not just being around girls that makes me blush. Lying to Mom does it too.

  Joe and I had told her we wanted to use part of our summer break to check out the petroglyphs in the Mojave Desert. The designs Native Americans had chipped into rocks sounded pretty cool.

  But that’s not why we had chosen this cover story. We picked it for two reasons. One: Mom was likely to approve something so educational. And two: There were petroglyphs in the same general area as the compound.

  If you’re gonna lie, it’s better to put some truth in there.

  Joe took the printouts from Mom and started scanning them. “Is any of this talk about the connection between the petroglyphs and aliens true? I heard that some of the glyphs are actually of UFOs the Indians had seen.”

  Can you tell my brother is a fan of Art Bell? That guy’s talk show is all about UFOS and conspiracies and how there are real vampires roaming around. Joe eats that stuff up with a big spoon.

  “Actually, I did come across one site that talked about ’glyphs and aliens,” Mom told Joe. “I didn’t print anything, but there’s some great stuff about how some archeologists think the petroglyphs were drawn by medicine men while they were in a trance state.”

  “You mean they were wasted?”

  “Well, there may have been some mind-altering plants used in some of the ceremonies,” Mom admitted.

  I zipped my backpack and slung it over one shoulder. “Ready?” I asked Joe.

  “Yep.” He grabbed his own backpack off the floor and stuffed Mom’s printouts in the front pocket.

  “I guess I don’t have to give you any mother speeches. Like, always wear your helmets. And try to eat something that’s not fried once in a while.”

  “Don’t worry. Aunt Trudy’s made her mark on us,” I told her.

  “You know when you two are gone it’s me she lectures,” Mom complained.

  “She means well,” Joe teased. That’s what Mom always tells us when we complain about Aunt Trudy. We love our aunt and everything, but she can be a pain sometimes.

  I was surprised Aunt Trudy wasn’t upstairs right at that moment, supervising the packing. Her absence was explained when we headed outside. She was already out there, polishing the handlebars of Joe’s motorcycle.

  It took us fifteen minutes to get through all the good-byes and Aunt Trudy lectures and Mom suggestions. It would have taken longer if Dad hadn’t been at another one of his “breakfasts.” He always has a lot of advice before a mission.

  We were outta there.

  Once I’m on my bike, I never want to get off. It’s nothing like riding in a car. It’s like the motorcycle is an extension of your own body. Like you’re running down the highway. Wind blasting past you. We’d been riding for a day and a half now—with a short stop for sleep—and I still wasn’t tired of the bike. I could ride forever.

  Our first major stop was Mount Rushmore. Joe and I had made a deal—we got to alternate destinations on the way across the country.

  And, yeah, he was right. Mount Rushmore was just a bunch of big stone heads.

  But big stone heads of men who helped make America what it is. Washington. Lincoln. Jefferson. Theodore Roosevelt. It was like being in the presence of a hundred and fifty years of history.

  “Okay, my turn now,” Joe said when we got on our bikes in the monument’s parking lot.

  “The brainiac chickens, right?”

  “Nope. Even better. The Thing in the Desert.”

  “I need more information.”

  “It’s this thing. Someone found it in the desert. It’s supposed to be amazing.”

  “But what is it?”

  “That’s what’s so cool.” Joe pulled on his helmet. “It’s indescribable. You have to see it for yourself. People come from all over.”

  “Where did you even hear about it?”

  Joe tapped his helmet. He couldn’t hear me.

  Whatever. It was his pick.

  When we hit Arizona, we started seeing signs for the Thing. YOU ARE A HUNDRED MILES AWAY FROM THE THING IN THE DESERT. WHAT IS THE MYSTERY OF THE DESERT? That kind of stuff None of the billboards gave any indication of what this famous thing actually was.

  About twenty-two billboards later, we finally arrived at a big gas-station-souvenir-shop combo. Joe was practically dancing as we headed inside. We each paid two bucks and started following the big green footprints that we were told would take us to the Thing.

  “How cool is this?” Joe asked, making sure to place his feet right inside the monster tracks.

  “Right now all I’m seeing is pieces of wood that are supposed to look like animals.” I squinted at the closest log. I guess it looked sort of like a squirrel. A mutant squirrel.

  “You’re the one who wanted to see rocks that looked like heads.” Joe picked up his pace. The monster tracks led us out of the shed we were in and into another one. We passed some bedroom furniture from France. And a car that Hitler supposedly rode in once. Maybe.

  Finally, in shed number three, we reached the Thing. I’m sure you all want to know what exactly it is, right?

  Sorry. I can’t tell you. I cou
ldn’t figure it out.

  It’s kind of a mummy. Maybe. With possibly a mummy baby. The sign above it says, YOU DECIDE.

  Great.

  I looked over at Joe, figuring he’d be ready to demand his money back. Or at least admit that Mount Rushmore was a much better destination.

  “That thing is unholy awesome!” he declared.

  Okay, so I was wrong. But at least the next destination pick was mine. Had to wait for the trip back, though. We needed to get our butts in gear and get to Arthur Stench’s compound.

  We decided to continue on to Phoenix, then crash. The next day we’d have about a four-and-a-half-hour ride to Palm Springs. Stench’s group was set up in the desert, about another hour from the city.

  “So, want to place a bet?” Joe asked when we stepped into our motel room.

  “On what?” I pulled off my boots and stretched out on the closest bed. It felt like the mattress was vibrating. It always takes a while for the sensation of being on my bike to fade.

  “On what we’re going to find tomorrow.” Joe did his usual shoes-on bed flop.

  Didn’t bother me this time. Wasn’t my bedspread.

  “Do you think Stench will be just some tree-loving guy? All peaceful? Or do you think he’ll have a tent full of bombs and stuff?”

  “I don’t think ATAC would have sent us out here if there wasn’t some chance the guy is dirty,” I answered. “Not that I’m complaining. It’s been a great trip.”

  “I knew you were grooving on the Thing!”

  “The gift shop was better. Too bad we didn’t have enough cash for that stuffed rattler.”

  “Yeah,” Joe agreed. “Although Aunt Trudy probably would have made us keep it in the garage.”

  I closed my eyes. The image of Arthur Stench filled the blackness behind my eyelids. Good guy? Bad guy?

  Trying to protect the earth was definitely good. But not if you used violence to do it.

  The image of Arthur Stench seemed to smile at me. Daring me to figure him out.

  Tomorrow Joe and I would get the chance. We’d be face-to-face with Stench.