Annihilation Day, page 8
“I need a minute,” he said. “Nerves.”
“What the hell was that?” Johnny asked.
“I shouldn’t say,” said Betty.
“Betty, this seems serious,” I said.
“Okay. But promise not to say anything. How much do you know about Butters’ powers?” Betty asked.
“He can make Spectors appear,” I said. “We know this.”
“Well. Not exactly. Or rather, not entirely. He has mental projections. Which are like daydreams made real. Or day nightmares. There was a time before the Spectors, when he first got his powers, when they were out of control. He said it was like, one day someone hooked a projector up to his head and everyone could see his weird fantasies. Which made him isolated and depressed so pretty soon they reflected that. They grew dark.
“Soon he was plagued by visions of monsters and demons. But not just his visions, everyone could see them. So even more people stayed away. They frightened him and this fear fed on itself. Even his parents stayed away and mostly kept him locked in his room for his and their sake. He saw doctor after doctor until finally they got the right medication and they went away, but it just made him into a zombie. Finally he found a therapist who helped him channel his projections. He always liked singing as a kid, in choir and all that, and was a fan of girl groups, so that, after much trial and error, became his happy place.”
Wow. We were all a bit dumbfounded. We hadn’t known about any of that when Butters was the weird kid in school. Mostly we just knew him and the Spectors, always together, like a team. “And now?” I asked
“Well, with all the pressure and this thing with Doris. I’m afraid he’s starting to crack,” Betty said. She bit her nails. They were chewed down to the nub.
“We should get a closer look,” Alice said.
“What do you mean? I thought he was confident and in control.” I asked. “No. It’s all false bravado. He’s a nervous wreck. He kept pestering Johnny for a drink to calm his nerves. He’s becoming a monster,” Alice said.
“So this is like what, a psychotic break?” Johnny asked.
“I don’t know. Oh god, I don’t know. I’m afraid what’s going to happen if she performs without him. And he breaks,” Betty said. She was becoming incoherent.
We watched as Doris, a mental projection from the head of Butters, had a completes and coherent conversations with the judges, laying out an argument that she was part of a winning team, and was entitled to a spot on the roster even if her name wasn’t on the list. Betty was stunned. So was I, but I was able to keep it together. I turned back to see Butters and he wasn’t even watching her. He was staring at the mirror, yelling at the Spectors in his reflection.
He’d completely lost it.
“It will be fine,” I said, still looking at Butters as he shouted at the remaining Spectors. “Fine.”
We went back to the table and Butters was gulping down a large glass of water and joking with Johnny. I looked at Johnny. Was that really water? Johnny shrugged. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Butters got more and more belligerent after each song, and found a new reason to castigate the Spectors. Doris sat talking with Skylark at the bar and smirking at Butters whenever he caught her eye.
Based on a lucky draw the final three contenders, in order, were Skylark, Butters, and Doris. Betty explained the situation to the judges in order to get Doris pulled. She wasn’t… real, just Butters’ mental projection fighting his other mental projections. No matter what shape he was in, competing against his own mind couldn’t be good. A pleasant but severe woman explained that, because of a quirk in the rule book, which Doris pointed out, since she competed and qualified with Butters, she technically could compete.
Then she whispered, “Your friend may need more help than I can give. I’m just a karaoke judge.”
Skylark got on stage and did his usual bird tricks while singing “Wind Beneath my Wings.” It was a bad selection. His bird show was spectacular. But his booming voice and opulent display paired poorly with the song, which was low-key and maudlin. When he sang, “I can fly hiiiiiiiii-gher than an eagle,” he produced an enormous eagle that swooped over the crowd. Everyone was so impressed by the eagle they spent more time watching it than watching him sing.
“Okay. So Butters has a chance,” Johnny said to me.
“At winning? Yes. But at what cost?” Betty asked. She was trying to cheer up Butters, but he was completely ignoring her, focusing on the judges. His intensity was terrifying.
The judges announced the scores for Skylark. He got straight 8.5 by all the judges, who noted that he should spend more time on singing and less time on the stage show. Butters pumped both fists in the air and shouted, “Yes!” Skylark glared at him, but Butters didn’t care. He just stared right back. It was a Butters I’d never seen before. He strode up to the stage and just as his name was being called he grabbed the mic away from the announcer. The Spectors trailed behind him as opposed to spontaneously appearing on stage, and he made sure they were in the right position. He closed his eyes, the mic in one lowered hand, and his other hand in a fist raised to his head. He looked possessed.
A saxophone started and soon Butters burst into “Young Americans.” It was powerful and the Spectors were perfect. He strutted around the stopping only to belt out a line so loud it hit the back of the room like a missile. By the time he sang, “Ain’t no one damn song that can make me break down and cry,” tears were streaming down his eyes, sweat was pouring out of him, and everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering.
The first judge scribbled something down. He raised it up. A 9.5. “Amazing performance. Just amazing. One of the best I’ve ever seen. But not the best.” Butters looked disappointed but shook it off.
The second judge raised her placard. 10. “Perfect, just perfect,” was all she said.
The last judge raised another 10. “Best rendition I’ve ever seen. You could teach Bowie a thing or two.”
Butters jumped up. “Yeah! That’s how you do it.” He screamed. Everyone went crazy again. He was in the lead. The Spectors came over to hug him and wrapped him in their arms, which went right through him, being ghosts and all. They walked back to the group, making sure to pass Doris’s table. Butters ignored her and the other Spectors “accidentally” checked her with their hips.
“Okay, and last but not least, Ms. Doris,” he flipped over the card, looking for more.
Doris got up and took the mic. “Just Doris, honey. You can sit now. I’ll be singing “The House That Jack Built” by Aretha.”
She took off the trench and threw it on the floor. She was wearing the dress that she had on when she quit in Butters’ room. Unlike the previous two songs she had no elaborate show, no magical birds or spectral back-up singers. Just a perfect voice and a charisma that oddly seemed like Butters. She didn’t move or dance, just swayed slightly in place. But she sang it spectacularly, hitting every high note with such clarity it could shatter glass and make you want to weep openly. Also, oddly, she was sweating, which seemed unusual for a spectral being. Everyone gave her a huge applause at the end.
“What happens if she wins?” Alice asked.
“I guess they both go to nationals and knock out Skylark,” Johnny said.
“So he could be competing against himself at nationals. What if she wins and he doesn’t?” Alice said.
“I don’t know. Can spectral beings win money and have a solo career?” I asked.
“This is getting too weird,” Alice shrugged.
“If she’s still around as a solo act after nationals,” Betty said, “Butters will probably end up in an asylum. He can’t maintain this that long. It will drive him insane.” Betty had put a damper on our speculation.
The first two judges gave her 10’s, which elicited even more clapping. We all stared at each other. This couldn’t be good. The last judge waited for dramatic effect. Finally, he said, “Mrs. Doris, I must say, that was the best performance I have ever seen. You are going places. When this is all over, I’d like to manage you.”
“Give me the score and we can talk about it,” she said.
The judge was charmed. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, raising his 10.Butters’ jaw clenched tightly and Maybeline’s and Beverly’s eyes turned completely black and their skin started to glow a crimson red. Doris, however, smiled widely, waved at the audience, and walked off the stage to thunderous claps.
“COME CHECK this out,” Sam said over the phone on a Saturday in September.
I hadn’t heard from Sam since I’d gotten back. He had stayed in the Amazon to do more work while I helicoptered back, but I really had no idea what his plan was, generally. He was the kind of guy who could disappear for weeks on end and then pop up again like nothing had happened. “What are you talking about? School just started and I can’t go running off again,” I said. “I have homework,” I added, lamely.
“No running. It’s at the PeriGenomics building. You’ll love it.”
I was getting more and more curious about what he was selling but had other things on my mind.
“When did you get back in town? How long have you been here?”
“Six days. Maybe a week.”
“Maybe a week? And you didn’t think of calling me?”
“I’ve only got some time now. I meant to, it’s just I’ve been training myself. I’ll tell you about it, just come over.”
“Okay,” I said, unable to pass up a chance to practice at PeriGenomics or see Sam. The summer with Sam was intense. We lived together, trained together, and worked together. But the thing is, we never touched each other. Well once. When we were in the jungle.
It was the first few days there and people gave us this strange drink. It tasted absolutely awful, and it got me drunk or hallucinating or something.
Sam and I made out. It wasn’t anything like when we created weather together, but it was fun and I had felt guilty about it afterward, thinking about Freedom Boy. But I forgave myself once I heard Alice’s voice in my head, saying Who cares? You know Freedom Boy’s constantly fending off attention. Go for it. You deserve this. Maybe I did. All I knew was that I really liked kissing Sam and I thought about it a lot.
I MET Sam at our old haunt, Hanger X. He rolled up in a small golf cart with the PeriGenomics logo on the hood. Everytime I saw that logo a shudder ran up my back. I couldn’t help it. It was the same logo that was on Dr. Mann’s machine. I had some unanswered questions that the logo—and all it stood for—raised.
“Hop in,” he said.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“It’s a surprise,” he said.
“I hate surprises,” I replied.
“Yeah? And I hate lame people who aren’t excited by adventure.” Sam laughed.
I jumped in the cart and he stepped on the pedal. The engine whirred to life and we took off at a lightning-fast fifteen miles an hour. It seemed like a turtle passed us. We drove through the back paths of PeriGenomics, zooming by large hangers that gave way to smaller storage buildings, large plastic tanks, and finally, on the edge of the property, maintenance equipment piled up in an unwieldy, Wicker Man-ish tower like lawnmowers and cans of paint.
“Are we leaving the property?” I asked.
“No. Not technically. But we’re heading off the main campus. It’s a secret place. It’s a little dangerous.” I thrilled to hear him describe whatever this was as dangerous. Yes. I was all for more danger in my life. Sort of. Within limits.
The path dead-ended at the Miskatonic and we took a right, following the river into the deeper woods on the outskirts of town. The small path cut a neat track through the trees, until the forest opened up to reveal an enormous building ten stories tall, made of corrugated steel. It was as long as the Harpastball field.
My mind was blown. How did this exist? So large and so close to my house? I hadn’t seen any indication on Google Maps, either. As far as I remembered, there was just forest. Looking at the building, it felt magical in some ways. Or a tribute to the ability of industry to just build things in the span of a minute.
Sam parked the cart in front of a large steel door.
“We’re here,” he said with a sing-song ring.
After passing through the usual seven layer burrito of PeriGenomics security with card swipes, retina scans, full body MRIs, and stern glances from men with laser guns, we got to one final door. It opened with a simple key Sam had in his pocket.
When I stepped inside, I was so overwhelmed by the size of everything that it took a minute to get my bearings. I was in a room with giant black cylinders that looked like cellphone tower trees, the sort that look like real trees gone wrong on the highway and utterly plastic when you got close enough to see them. The trees had the range of a forest—some skinny, some fat, and some of them were monoliths, as wide as a small house and twenty feet high. There was a strange AstroTurf-like substance on the ground, but it was longer and felt more like silk than rubber. And the ground beneath the turf was squishy, like real dirt.
It was like being in a biodome, but an aggressively fake one. Like I was standing in front of a green screen with a forest behind me. I walked up to one of the black cylinders to get a closer look. The grass felt cool against my feet. When I looked at the cylinders, they showed a whole world. They had microscopic holes and small diamond shaped metal and glass pieces spaced in an elaborate harlequin pattern. From afar it all blended in, a virtual forest, but up close I could tell this was some kind of fancy equipment. Presumably not a cell phone tower.
“What’s all this?” I asked.
“I’ll show you,” he said, “if you wouldn’t mind stepping back to the safe zone.”“The safe zone?” I gave my voice the proper note of confusion. I took a few steps back wondering what difference the safe zone made from the rest.
“Here goes nothing,” he said, and flipped a switch.
I was blinded by a sudden burst of light. Reds and yellows swirled in my vision. I clutched my eyes and practically toppled over.
“Too much,” he screamed, clutching his eyes as well and swinging wildly for the controller.
I placed my hand over my eyes but it did no good. It was so bright that the light poured through my eyelids like they were windows, making the light slightly pinkish. Finally he hit the right button and the world went dark again. But the after image still swirled before me.
He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sorry about that. Still getting used to this.”My vision slowly returned. “Get used to it quicker!” I snapped. “Sorry.”
“Okay, take two,” he said before I could protest.
This time the world remained the same. But in the distance I could see one of the black cylinders glowing yellow. When I squinted, I could see that it was on fire. A slow flame, at first, but it grew and grew until the entire cylinder was consumed. And then the one next to it caught the spark. And the next one. Pretty soon the trees in the center of the field were all aflame, flicking yellow, red, orange, and blue into the air. The chain of fire caught until a few trees in front of us were on fire. It wasn’t as bright as the first time but was starting to get there ever so slowly. This time it was easier to adjust my eyes. The trees right in front of us burst into flames, and I stepped back when a single flame sprung out toward us, hitting some kind of shield. The fire flattened out in front of me.
“Safe zone,” Sam said, and knocked on the shield. It made a hollow ringing noise. “Put this on.”
He handed me a giant gray overcoat. It was heavy and said fire retardant on it. I slipped it over my shoulders and it hung over me like a sack. I noticed that, in spite of the flames, the room wasn’t warming up. “What’s with the temperature?” I asked.
“It’s controlled. It’s also why you can breathe. We’re in a practice forest fire simulator. It’s the only one of its kind. Colorado and California paid to build it after the last drought took out a few towns. It’s pricey, but at the end of the day it’ll be less than rebuilding a whole city from scratch.”
“What are we going to do with this fire, then?” I asked.
“We step out of this cocoon, out of this shield and try to put it out,” he said.
“Put it out? Cool!” I said.
“You got it.” I swear I saw a twinkle in Sam’s eye. Or the reflection from the fire and the glass. “There’s a sensor that means it won’t get too hot and cause too much damage. But be careful. Follow my lead. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He grabbed my hand and we stepped through the shield. The room got hot. Face, meltingly so. I clutched my chest. It was hard to breathe, and each breath felt like fire. I felt woozy. I was having trouble seeing. I just wanted to get low to the ground, regroup. I was having trouble thinking. I just wanted to get low to the ground. I felt my knees give out and my body slowly fall.
Sam caught me. “You have to fight it,” he said.
I tried but the fire was too strong. Every gust of wind we thought about paled at the wall of flames. Every attempt to cool the air was thwarted.
“Just a little at a time,” he said. “Make it safe around you and then take on the fire.”
I focused on the space in front of me. Just a small envelope of cool air. Just enough to catch my breath. I could feel it get cooler. I was able to channel my emotions, keep my head clear, and make some space.
“Good,” he said. “Very good. Now, one section at a time. You can’t fight it all at once. Not until you build momentum. We can do it together.”
I followed him around the field, isolating fires with cool air, trying to cut off their oxygen supplies, and reducing the flames until they were burned out. We were able to stop most of them. It was exhausting. In a real fire, we’d work with other Heroes to build firebreaks—gaps in the trees and grass that deprived the fire of things to eat—to stop the spread of the fires.
We cut into the fake ground to build imaginary firebreaks, and create airflows around the trees to push the wind inward and blow the fire away from other sections. When we got to the center of the fire there wasn’t much left to put out. The few remaining trees were just glowing a soft yellow. My shirt was soaked through with my sweat and every muscle in my body was sore. I’m not sure if it was my powers draining me or all the walking around with the shovel.
