Running on Fumes Read online

  Interesting reason for having no windows and a lock on the door. It didn’t seem like the most logical reason, though.

  I was getting more and more curious about Stench. No. Make that more and more suspicious.

  “Looks like the meeting of the minds is over.” Solar Man nodded to a mid-size tent. Two men walked out, followed by Petal.

  “I’ll take you over.” Solar Man stood. “I gotta frisk you first. The chief is big on security. You have to be when you’re trying to change the world. Look at what happened to JFK. And Martin Luther King.”

  “We’re not going to assassinate anyone,” Joe promised as Solar Man frisked him.

  “Standard op. No exceptions,” Solar Man said as he moved over to me. “Nothing personal.”

  When Solar Man was done checking us out, he led us over to the tent where the little meeting had just broken up. This was it.

  “I’ve gotta go catch some more rays. Go on in,” Solar Man told us. It made me feel like a little kid, but for one second I wished he was coming with us.

  I pushed my way through the tent flap. My eyes went directly to a refrigerator of a man. A massive guy. Tall. Wide. With arms like slabs of meat.

  “That’s Mondo. He’s my bodyguard. He never leaves my side.”

  I jerked my gaze away from Mondo and saw Arthur Stench looking at me. He was smaller than Mondo. Everyone was smaller than Mondo.

  But it was absolutely clear who was in charge: this man dressed in a long white robe, with a sword strapped to his waist. He looked like a cross between those pictures you see of Obi-Wan and samurai soldiers.

  His beard was grayer than we’d seen in the photo. And although he was balding on top, he’d grown a long ponytail.

  “Freak-y,” Joe whispered, so quietly that only I could hear him.

  Stench was freaky looking. Almost goofy. It was like he was wearing a costume—except that sword of his wasn’t plastic. And there was something about him that made me feel like he wouldn’t be afraid to use it.

  “Alex and J. J. Jefferson. Can I offer you anything?” Stench asked.

  Before either of us could answer, he whirled toward the wooden table to his left, whipped his sword out of the scabbard, and—whoosh, thud—cut one of the pineapples sitting there exactly in half.

  Yeah, I was right. He’d use that sword in an instant.

  Stench sheathed the sword again and gestured to Mondo. The bodyguard did the grunt work of carving the pineapple into smaller pieces. He served them to me and Joe on wooden plates.

  “As you see, Mondo has many uses,” Stench said.

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Michael “Mondo” Callihan

  Hometown: Wakulla, Florida

  Physical description: Age 42, 6′3″, blond, blue eyes.

  Occupation: Arthur Stench’s bodyguard.

  Background: Former linebacker for the Florida Gators; two ex-wives, no kids; served a jail term for manslaughter.

  Suspicious behavior: Bottle of steroids fell out of his pocket, observed flying into rages.

  Suspect of: Doing Arthur Stench’s dirty work.

  Possible motives: Seems like hired muscle.

  * * *

  “Petal seemed to think you two might want to join our family. Is that true?” Stench asked.

  “Uh, before we answer that, can I ask why you’re wearing that sword?” Joe stuck a piece of pineapple in his mouth and sucked on it.

  Count on my brother to ask the question everyone else wants to ask, but doesn’t have the guts to.

  Stench pulled the sword free again and turned it back and forth in the light pouring through the tent flaps. “It’s beautiful. Elegant. Exactly what it needs to be, and no more. Unlike most creations of the modern age.”

  He looked at the sword like he was in love with it. “I don’t allow any modern technology at the compound. That’s something you need to know. I forbid it.”

  I would have felt better if he put the sword away. But he kept holding it out, admiring it. “We live off the land here. We live in peace with each other and the planet.”

  Stench sliced the sword through the air. It gave a faint whistling sound. He smiled so widely I could see the gold fillings in two of his molars.

  “Still, sometimes people make their way to the compound who don’t believe in peace. I need to be prepared for them. I need to be able to protect myself.”

  Finally Stench slid the sword back into its scabbard again. I noticed the scabbard wasn’t leather. It was some kind of heavy plastic. Recycled, I assumed.

  “With Mondo to protect you, who needs a sword?” Joe joked.

  “Good observation,” Stench said to Joe. “But you have neglected to consider the possibility that Mondo might be my attacker.”

  Paranoid much? If he didn’t trust his own bodyguard, who did he trust?

  Stench laughed long and hard. After a few seconds Mondo joined in—but the bodyguard’s laugh sounded completely fake.

  “Now, is it true that you’re interested in joining us here in Heaven?” Stench asked.

  “We were led here, man,” Joe answered. “It’s like the place was calling to us. Our GPS conked out, and our cell phones went dead. Technology totally failed us. But we kept on coming. It was like we were on some kind of vision quest.”

  What a load of garbage. I thought maybe Joe had laid it on a little thick—but Stench was nodding in approval. I jumped in, trying to sound like as much of a fruitcake as Joe had.

  “It’s like that Buddhist expression. When the student is ready, the master appears.” I’d heard that in some kung fu movie. It seemed appropriate. “You’re supposed to be our master, man.”

  I could tell Stench liked that. The guy had an ego the size of Mondo.

  “I wouldn’t have picked you two out as part of our spirit family. A little mainstream. A little clean-cut. A little too tied to the material world.”

  Maybe Joe shouldn’t have mentioned our cell phones and GPS systems. At least he’d left his leather jacket back with the bikes. The head of the tofu-eaters would have hated it.

  “That’s what we were, man,” Joe assured Stench. “It’s not what we want to be.”

  “Looks can be deceiving,” I added.

  “Yes, they can,” Stench agreed. “Do you know much about oil?”

  I shrugged. “A little.”

  “It comes from the ground,” Joe volunteered.

  “Oil is the reason I created Heaven. The way we use oil is going to bring about the downfall of civilization,” Stench told us. “Because soon the supply will be gone. And if there are no alternatives—which no one seems interested in developing—the modern world will come crashing to a halt.”

  Stench pulled his hair free of its ponytail and shook his head. “Everyone here at Heaven is expected to help stop this world-shattering crisis. It is our mission to create alternative fuel sources.”

  That explained why Solar Man was one of Stench’s draft picks. He was all about alternative energy.

  “Is that something I can expect from you?”

  We had to come up with something to satisfy him. He had to give us permission to stay at the compound.

  “The wind turbines!” I burst out. “J—J.J. and I are fascinated by wind as a source of energy.”

  “I want to be a wind farmer!” Joe jumped in.

  “Excellent.” Stench nodded. “Excellent. Mondo, have Dave show the boys where to shower and bunk.”

  He turned back to me and Joe. “I think you two will fit in nicely. Stay as long as you like. Stay forever! There’s nothing worthwhile to return to.”

  Mondo walked to the tent flap and whistled. Almost immediately, one of the teenage guys who’d helped unload the van appeared. Mondo gave him instructions in a low voice.

  “Come with me,” the guy—I assumed he was Dave—said. “Mondo said you’d want showers,” he continued as we followed him out of the tent. “This is the best time of day for it. The water’s been heat
ing up since sunrise.”

  Forty minutes later we were showered, fed (more tofu, unfortunately), and in our own small tent.

  “So besides him being freak-y, what did you think of Stench?” I asked Joe.

  “I haven’t decided.” He rolled onto his back. “I mean, he is weird. But he’s doing good stuff here. One of the people at the compound really might come up with an alternate fuel source.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed. “But I don’t trust him.”

  Joe snorted. “You just don’t trust anybody, Frank.”

  “Well—I trust him less.”

  AN UNPLANNED MISSION

  “Good morning, morning glory!” Frank said into my ear.

  “Good morning, Aunt Trudy,” I said without opening my eyes. “Go ahead. Dump some water over my head. It would feel outstanding.”

  Frank laughed. “It would, wouldn’t it? But I’m drinking all I have. I guess it’s not poisoned after all—since here we both are. Alive.”

  I sat up. “Maybe we both had a little heatstroke yesterday. Made us think twisted thoughts.”

  “Maybe,” Frank agreed. “Let’s go look around. I want to check things out without an escort.”

  I pulled on my jeans. The feel of the heavy material was foul. It was only about ten in the morning, but the desert was already like a barbecue pit.

  That robe Stench had been wearing was probably the best thing you could wear in the heat. Not that I’d walk around in a nightgown-looking thing.

  Frank led the way out of our tent. “It’s like Colonial Williamsburg,” I said as we walked down one of the rows of tents.

  Colonial Williamsburg is this place in Virginia where we went on a vacation once. They call it a living museum, because everyone in the town acts like they’re living in colonial times. No modern stuff at all.

  The compound was a little like that. Not colonial, and people weren’t dressed funny or anything. But there was nothing high-tech.

  Which made the place pretty quiet, for starters. No TVs on. No CDs playing.

  We passed a man who was using a cactus spine needle to mend a rip in a shirt, and a teenage girl who was using a frond from a palm tree to sweep the area in front of her tent.

  “Isn’t it kind of a waste of time to sweep dirt?” I asked her. I didn’t really care about the answer. I just wanted to talk to her. She had these awesome long blond braids. And green eyes. I’m a sucker for green eyes.

  “There are a lot of creepy crawlies around,” the girl answered. Her eyes drifted from me to Frank and stayed there. “I love them and all. And I know we share the world as equals. I just don’t want them sharing my tent!”

  “I’m not a creepy crawly,” I began. “Does that mean I’m welcome to—”

  “Hey, guys!”

  The shout interrupted me. I guess it didn’t matter. It’s not like I was really expecting an invitation to share the girl’s tent.

  “How’s it going?”

  I turned toward the voice and spotted Dave a few tents down. He was using a hand-cranked clothes wringer to squeeze the water out of a pair of pants. The excess water fell into a bucket under the wringer.

  “Hey, Dave!” Frank called. He started toward the guy.

  “See you later,” I told the girl with the braids. She waved at me. “Give me a call if you need help with the sweeping. We’re neighbors now.” I pointed to our tent.

  “Both of you are staying there?” the girl asked.

  Translation: I have no interest in you—but your brother is a different story.

  “Yeah,” I said. Then I headed after Frank. There was no point spending more time talking to Braids. She’d made her choice.

  “Guess I don’t have to ask how you slept,” Dave said when we reached him. He dropped the pants in a basket made of woven branches. Then he pulled a T-shirt out of the tub next to him and started cranking it through his wringer.

  “I think I nodded off before I even lay down,” Frank answered.

  “You missed breakfast, but there’s probably some rutabaga muffins left.” He pointed to the biggest tent. “That’s the dining hall. Just go grab some if you want.”

  My stomach rolled over at the thought of eating a rutabaga anything. “I think I’ll wait for lunch.”

  “Yeah,” Frank agreed. “So, how long have you been living here anyway?”

  Dave held up his cranking hand. “You can tell how long someone’s been at the compound by the hands. I’ve still got blisters. That means I’m a new-bie. You should see the calluses on some of the guys around here. And the girls.”

  He dropped the T-shirt on top of the rest of the damp clothes. “So are you two going to hang here for a while?”

  “A little while, at least,” Frank said.

  “We’re thinking we might just have found a home,” I added. “Let me ask your advice. How’d you tell your parents you were moving out here? Or did you? ’Cause I can’t think of any way that our parents won’t freak.”

  I was trying to suss out if Dave was a runaway or what.

  “They told me,” Dave answered. “Mr. Stench convinced my mom that this was a much better place to do her research.”

  “That must kind of suck for you,” I said. “Being forced to leave all your friends and everything.”

  If Dave wasn’t all that happy being here, we might get some good information from him. Unhappy people tend to blab.

  “At first, yeah,” Dave agreed. “But there are a lot of cool people at the compound. And I want there to be a planet to live on when I’m my parents’ age, you know. And that means making some changes.”

  He took the bucket from under the wringer and dumped the water into the tub. “I’ll take that over to the gardens later. We recycle water as much as we can.”

  I wondered how they got the water to begin with. I definitely hadn’t seen any water sources on our way into the compound. And I’d been looking.

  “So is your mom one of the people trying to develop alternate energy sources?” Frank asked.

  “Yeah. You want to see?” Dave picked up the basket full of clothes.

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Dave Simkins

  Hometown: Toledo, Ohio

  Physical description: Age 16, brown eyes, brown hair, 5′11″, 140 lbs., wears wire-frame glasses.

  Occupation: Member of the Heaven compound.

  Background: On track team before he left school; one sister in college; vegan since birth.

  Suspicious behavior: Carves knives out of wood, says that humans are the worst things that have happened to the world.

  Suspect of: Ecoterrorism.

  Possible motives: Wants his mother’s inventions to be recognized

  * * *

  “Definitely,” I told him.

  “Come on.”

  Dave led us behind his tent. He dumped the basket at the feet of a short, skinny man hanging clothes on a line. “All done, Dad,” Dave said. “I’m taking these guys to see Mom’s lab. They’re thinking of joining us.”

  “Welcome,” Dave’s dad said.

  Everyone around here was so friendly. Well, except Mondo. But bodyguards aren’t supposed to be friendly. I could almost see myself living here. Except for the food.

  “Hey, Mom, you’ve got guests!” Dave called as he ushered us into the larger tent on the other side of the clothes line.

  I felt like rubbing my eyes. The inside of the tent looked like the AP chem lab at school, but with even more stuff And none of it was made with twigs or cactus needles or palm fronds.

  “Mom, this is Alex and J. J.,” Dave said. He turned to us. “Don’t be offended if she doesn’t remember your names. She’s the total stereotypical absent-minded professor. She doesn’t remember my name half the time.”

  “Not true!” Dave’s mom said. But I noticed her shoes didn’t match.

  “What are you working on?” Frank asked. He’s a science geek. I bet his fingers were itching to play with all the equipment laid out
on the long tables in the tent.

  “Mom just set up this system to generate water,” Dave explained. He sounded really proud. “Until she showed up, everyone in the compound had to trek out to this underground spring about eight miles away and haul water back.”

  “It’s nothing too innovative,” Dave’s mother said. “Everyone knows that water is made of hydrogen and oxygen, and they are both incredibly common. All it takes is some energy to combine them—solar, wind, what have you—and you get H2O.”

  “And you generate enough water for the whole compound that way?” Frank asked.

  “Well, we recycle whatever we can,” Dave’s mom said.

  “But the answer is yes,” Dave jumped in.

  “Janet!” A plump man with Einstein-wild hair burst into the tent. He wore a T-shirt with Einstein’s picture and the words GREAT SPIRITS HAVE OFTEN ENCOUNTERED VIOLENT OPPOSITION FROM WEAK MINDS on the front.

  Clearly the Einstein hair wasn’t an accident. I wondered if I should tell the guy that it was the brain, not the ’do, that made Einstein a genius.

  “Janet, you have to come look at the machine. I think I almost have it,” Einstein Wannabe said to Dave’s mother.

  He turned to me and Frank. “Perpetual motion,” he clarified. “The secret is magnets. Who would have thought it could be so simple?”

  “Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler,” Frank said.

  Huh?

  Einstein Wannabe clapped Frank on the shoulder. “Yes! Exactly! I see there is a fellow devotee in our midst.”

  Oh. I got it. Frank had just hauled out an Einstein quote. My brother can actually quote Einstein. I told you he was a science geek.

  * * *

  SUSPECT PROFILE

  Name: Samuel Fisk, aka Wannabe Einstein

  Hometown: San Jose, California

  Physical description: Age 32, prematurely gray hair, blue eyes, 5′3″, about 145 lbs., freckles.

  Occupation: Member of the Heaven compound

  Background: BS in physics, BS in biology, PhD in psychology; six-week voluntary stay in state mental facility; has daughter who lives with ex-wife.