Cartoon Heroes: Book One of the Dark Skies Series

  According to the clock, seven fifty, he had an hour and ten minutes to get to work. Plenty of time. He liked getting there early anyway. Meant all the cleaning could be done, all the odd jobs gotten out of the way.

  He could catch the CAT buses (City Automated Transport) to get him there in fifteen minutes or so. Luckily he didn’t have uni today or he’d have to drive, paying a fortune for parking. He found most of his income went on parking or petrol these days. It was even worse than his rent. But he got by.

  Grabbing his keys, badge and wallet from the counter, he locked up the apartment, both upstairs and down and made his way to work.

  * * *

  “Look at this blood culture.”

  Doctor Eryn moved away from the microscope, allowing the taller man access.

  He moved in to take the doctor’s place, looking at him briefly before bending to the eyepieces.

  “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  The Doctor was in a state of excitement, even more so than usual, “This is a sample of blood taken from the lad found at the explosion.”

  “So?”

  The Doctor moved forward, his frustration and excitement both obvious as he replaced the first sample with a second on the microscope, “So, this is what normal blood looks like.”

  There was a pause as the tall man stared into the sterile white piece of machinery.

  “Oh.”

  The Doctor smiled, “Exactly my point. Mister Peerson, do you know what this means?”

  The taller man reclaimed his normal height, glaring down at the squat man in the lab coat beside him.

  “He’s a freak?”

  “Not just that! He’s an anomaly. And it’s quite possible the explosion caused it.”

  Fire seemed to flare in Peerson’s eyes, “And what caused the explosion?”

  Hesitating slightly, his excitement waning, but only for a moment, the Doctor moved to the other end of the large examination room.

  “Well… There was an unexpected contingency we hadn’t planned for.”

  Peerson all but growled, “You told me everything had been taken into account.”

  “Yes, but not this.”

  Peerson moved around several large metal examination tables to stand beside his underling.

  “Look here,” the Doctor pointed down at a computer screen, on it a black and white image of two elevators and a door set in a window application. He clicked the mouse once and the video began playing. A time counter raced by in the bottom right hand corner but nothing happened on the screen.

  “I’m growing impatient Doctor.”

  Eryn smiled smugly, “Keep watching.”

  Numbers continued to pass in the corner until finally the door to the stairwell opened and a young, somewhat dorky looking individual stepped into sight. Then there was static.

  “What is this supposed to prove?”

  “Look,” some typing, the enter key and a reloading of the screen later and Peerson had a general idea what his associate was on about.

  Large pixels filled the window, but the image was still recognisable. A hand and something between its fingers.

  “A car alarm?”

  “That’s no car alarm. We’d taken all of those frequencies into account, with it being set up in a car park.”

  Peerson leaned closer, “Then what?”

  The Doctor stretched back in his chair, turning to regard his employer, “That’s what I would like to know. But whatever it was, it caused some sort of chemical reaction in the bomb that in turn affected that boy’s genetic make-up.”

  A possibility sprung to Peerson’s mind, “And what about our men?”

  “Currently having tests run. I have suspicions they may have been affected in a similar way, what with being so close to the blast, but not so dramatically.”

  “Let me know when you have any results. I want to find out just what all of this is about.”

  The Doctor watched as the tall dark suit turned and left his lab, “You’re not the only one.”

  * * *

  Dim red lights hung from the ceiling, the walls bloodied by their glow. Along one wall, a long tub, inside four trays filled with foul smelling liquids, above was a wire line with pegs clamped higgledy-piggledy along its length.

  Along the opposite wall, three enlargers, and a curtained doorway.

  From within, a moan of interest.

  The curtains were flung aside as Stacey Brownlin entered the larger room; his attention focussed solely on the photographic paper in his hands. In the red light, little of the coloured image was discernible, but when Stacey reached the only other exit in the room, he flicked a switch and the room flashed into brightness. The image in his hand took on a new appearance as his eyes made out the colours and shapes, adjusting to the change in light.

  “Interesting… Very interesting.”

  He put the photo on a table standing in the centre of the room and vanished back inside the curtains.

  * * *

  “Hello Russell.”

  It was her. It had to be her. He let his eyes roam the shopping floor in front of him, searching for her face amongst the fixtures. Having just stepped off the escalators, he kept moving until he had a clear view of the computing counter.

  There she was. Kristen. As beautiful as ever, her eyes positively glowing and her mouth smiling at him. He could feel his own mouth responding of its own free will.

  “Come over here.”

  Interesting, Russell thought, certainly very direct. But he did what he was told.

  “What?”

  She leaned over the counter, peering deeply into his eyes. He wasn’t going to complain, but he did wonder what she was doing.

  The expression on her face changed to one of slight confusion.

  “Your eyes aren’t that blue.”

  “They change with my moods,” he explained, unsure where she was going, “Sometimes they’re a deep blue, other times, grey. Why?”

  “I saw you on TV this morning. Your eyes were so blue.”

  He nearly choked, “You saw me on TV?” What was she talking about?

  “Yes, before I came into work. I was watching the news. Are you okay?”

  “Um… Yeah I’m fine.”

  “I meant your arm. It looked pretty bad.”

  He paused, blinked. His arm. Something had happened. What was going on? Almost out of the blue, his arm began to throb ever so slightly. Then it all came back in a flash. The explosion, the police, the reporters, the silvery wisps of wind. It was a dream. Wasn’t it? Just a dream.

  “Um… I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. I wasn’t on TV.” It sounded like a lie, even to him.

  She looked a little disappointed. Not at his loss of star appeal, but at his need to lie. He could tell by the look in her eyes. And such pretty eyes. So rich in colour and life. A perfect blue in a perfect face.

  “I…uh… I have to set up confectionery.”

  She nodded, a smile creeping back onto her face.

  He smiled back and moved away from the counter.

  He could have hit himself. He cringed as he thought about the lie.

  But, if she had seen it, how many others? Who else would recognise him?

  He looked over his shoulder at her as he moved behind his own counter.

  She was still watching him, her mouth smiling, but her eyes puzzled. She quickly looked away and he proceeded to remove the cloth covers from over the lollies and chocolate bins that made up his counter. If he could, he would have assured her that he was a lot more confused than she was. But right now, he had a job to do.

  * * *

  “I’ll have a dollar of Chico babies and a dollar of… hang on. Aren’t you the lad on the news?”

  He nearly let a groan escape his lips. This was the twelfth customer in less than an hour that had asked. And it was only ten thirty.

  Instead, he smiled stupidly before shaking his head, “Sorry, Ma’am. Not
me.”

  The old lady nodded and went back to her order. He was beginning to get a hang of the lying business.

  A few minutes later he had a quiet patch. He moved from one end of his counter scooping the lollies forward in their bins with large metal scoops, trying to keep his mind occupied with work, and to look busy in case a manager came wandering by. But, as usual, something else filled his mind.

  He glanced quickly up at computers. They were busy. Customers stood around the counter while two guys, Matt and Reagan, were hard at work trying to get rid of them all.

  She wasn’t there, or so it seemed.

  As if on cue, she stepped from behind a column, located just behind the counter, carrying a small plastic container. She was obviously busy.

  He continued to scoop the lollies and watch her as he went, until she finally looked over while serving a customer.

  He could feel his face go red with embarrassment, but she smiled and gave a little flick of her head in acknowledgment. Russell had become familiar with that particular move. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been caught out staring. But she would usually smile and flick her head upward in a backward form of nod, like she would if her hair were long enough to get in her eyes. He found it quite endearing.

  “Flirting again, huh?”

  He spun on his heels, still holding the scoop, “What?”

  It was Emma, one of the girls who worked with him in confectionery. Obviously she was just starting her shift.

  “You were flirting.”

  Squinting at her, as if scrutinising her sanity he said, “What makes you say that?”

  Emma was an attractive girl. Twenty-four, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, reaching just to her shoulder blades. Her round face seemed so smooth and cuddly, like if it were a teddy bear, you’d want to reach out and hug it. But of course, you would end up suffocating her in the mean time. If she weren’t practically married and not interested in younger men, Russell would have asked her out straight away. Then again, he would have done the same to all the women in confectionery. Ironically, they were all attractive women of varying heights, hair colours and statures, but they were also nice people to work with. Not the sort of people you would think of seeing selling lollies.

  That all fit into a theory Russell had developed, however. To look at the way people are allocated departments; it would really be hard not to notice some aspects.

  Russell himself had applied for a job a year before hand, putting on his form a request for Books, Music or Computers, having had experience and knowledge in each of these fields. They were located at various points around Confectionery. Funnily enough he was put in confectionery with a lot of good-looking women.

  Good looking women and a skinny young chap? Quite the opposite look from people who would eat a lot of lollies. Sort of a commercial con job to fool the customers into thinking you can eat all the lollies and chocolates you like and still stay thin and pretty. Not that Russell minded, in so far as it was a good job with a lot of nice people. But he still wished he was in another department.

  The truth of the matter is that no one behind the confectionery counter actually ate lollies any more. It became a form of character trait of the job. You worked with the stuff so much, smelt it all day and found yourself wanting to throw up at the mere thought of putting a chocolate bar in your mouth. Even the bright coloured jellies didn’t seem as appealing as they did when you were a kid.

  But it wasn’t only Confectionery. Computing was staffed by young and attractive men and women, sort of contradicting the notion of the stereotyped computer geek being the only people who know about computers. Unfortunately, apart from a few exceptions including Kristen, most of the people in that department didn’t know a thing about computers and found themselves lost when asked a more detailed question than, “Does the keyboard come with the computer?”.

  Books are the same. Older women, seemingly wise and knowledgeable – as if you read books and become a respected and wise member of the community. And music is full of hip and trendy young kids that wouldn’t fit anywhere else, except maybe in the clothing departments.

  “Rebecca thinks so too. It’s just the way the two of you talk.” Rebecca was the head of the department. A very tall blonde, who had a lovely personality. Smart, funny and brutally honest. Very popular around the store, and not for her looks. People liked her.

  But the point was everyone seemed to be noticing what was going on between Russell and Kristen.

  Okay, He had hardly been discrete about it, but he hadn’t expected it to be that obvious. He could feel his face going a brighter shade of red.

  “I’m right aren’t I?” She was actually amazed she had caught him out.

  “No.” He had to play the obligatory denial card.

  She let out a small laugh; “You like her. Does she know?”

  Russell didn’t even bother continuing his charade, “I don’t know. I’ve tried to make it obvious.”

  “It looks like she likes you back, though.”

  ‘If only,’ Russell thought to himself, “It doesn’t bother me,” what a lie.

  “Why don’t you ask her out?”

  Duh! “Yeah right,” Like you can just approach a girl and ask. The annoying thing was that Russell had already had this running through his head. Admittedly it was good to talk to someone about it, but even with Emma egging him on to make the next move, he couldn’t do it.

  “What?”

  Like it wasn’t half-obvious why he couldn’t. He shook his head, “Look at her. Then, look at me.”

  It dawned on Emma what he was talking about. “Oh, come off it.”

  He tried to change the subject. His point was made and he was going to stick by it.

  * * *

  “As I suspected.”

  Eryn was once more peering into the microscope. Beside it lay three slides. He moved the receiver to his other ear and continued.

  “Burns and Lyall were both mildly affected. As for what this means, I still don’t know. They’re lucky it didn’t kill them.

  “You mean like the bomb was supposed to do?” Peerson sounded tinny over the phone, his gruff voice no longer sounding as foreboding and threatening as in person. It also helped not having a giant of a man shadowing you as you worked, thought Eryn.

  “But that was what I was getting at earlier, Mister Peerson. That device. The boy somehow affected the chemical reaction, effectively mutating the bomb which, in turn, affected both his and the men’s biology. If I could some how replicate –”

  “I haven’t got time for this Doctor.”

  “But, sir, if I could closely study what occurred; we may have a scientific breakthrough on our hands.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “We could make millions, sir!”

  There was silence on the other end. Eryn knew he had pressed the right buttons.

  “Millions? What are the chances?”

  “It all depends on what it is we have discovered. All we’d need do is alter the facts on how we made the discovery and then release it, whatever ‘it’ is and we could rake in the profits.”

  Again, silence before Peerson answered shortly, “I think you’re limiting yourself. Do what you must.”

  His voice was replaced by the engaged tone. He had hung up.

  Eryn practically whooped for joy. He moved away from the scope and went to one of the three large windows that divided his lab from another examination room. This one was more “inviting”, the term he preferred, with its two white padded surgical tables surrounded by all manner of equipment. On each table he could see the two men caught in the explosion. They were alright, for now.

  But he may need to sacrifice one; to get a better idea what further changes may have occurred. Peerson probably wouldn’t like that. But what choice did he have if he wanted to find out…

  Eryn stopped mid thought.

  The boy. The cause of it all. The only witness. The only other person affected
.

  Rather than sacrifice one of Peerson’s men, who would miss the nerdy looking fool that had stumbled over the bomb in the first place.

  He let out a little chuckle before heading back into the operating room.

 

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Greyson’s. That was where he worked. Stacey had heard Pam saying it last night. The largest department store chain in Australia. Pam was a journalist friend. They had studied together at university. She focused on print news while Stacey preferred Photo media.

  Turning off the engine and grabbing his Olympus camera, he got out of his Colt and made his way to the store. It would be packed this time of day. Lunch time.

  He managed to get inside without too many hassles, though he suffered a great deal of path-rage. People walking too slow, not looking where they’re going, nor checking their blind spots when they step sideways to avoid someone else. Basic consideration went out the window and down the drain when it came to people walking in the city. Their brains switched off as their eyes led them where the lights were pretty or the sale is good. Like giant moths swooping into a light bulb, head-butting it when they reach it, not being able to tell where things are when it’s staring them right in the face.

  Stacey remembered working in retail while he was studying. He also remembered the worst part about it was the customers.

  Screw “The customer is always right”. Not in his experience they weren’t. Bloody idiots, was more accurate.

  The only problem he had once inside was finding which department this Russell chap worked.

  He spotted the information desk behind a wall of customers.

  “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath.

  Lifting his camera from around his neck, he spun around aiming it this way and that, snapping the odd photo when he thought he may have gotten a decent shot, but mainly to make it look as though he was a tourist. He felt the use of a film camera rather than digital helped this, though that was a personal preference. Film gave a better image, truer, rawer. He did use digital at work sometimes, but if it came down to it, film all the way.

  He backed slowly toward the information, bumping into people and apologising, his thick London accent aiding him in his guise. Londoners had a chance of getting two responses: one of drunken respect out of the stories you hear coming out of England about them being avid soccer fans or pub crawlers, or absolute disdain for exactly the same reasons. Fortunately in the eight years he had lived in Perth, Stacey’s accent hadn’t changed a bit and the customers around him eyed him with blatant contempt or stifled amusement. Heck, even the young girls gave way to him without hearing the accent. He was too darn cute to hold back, even if he did say so himself. It was true. He was a striking man. Short, but well built from his soccer training and rowing practice. He was into sport as well as photography; it’s just one came above the rest. His own short cropped hair and round face gave him the typical cockney look, but his good spirited eyes could always open doors with the right glance.