Chapter 25
An entire day in and out of upscale car dealerships and all June Darby had to show for it was a bad case of sticker shock and a splitting headache. No one had heard anything about (or from) a well-polished Aston Martin with a novelty plate and custom rims.
It was dark now, the car dealerships were all closed, and June and Ratchet had temporarily suspended the search for Knock Out in favor of a search for food.
Food for June, at least. Ratchet said his fuel was still "at acceptable levels." ("And if it comes to that, I'd rather refuel at the base, not crouched in a dirty alley or hiding in a parking garage," the medic grumbled.)
"I see a couple food places over there," June said, automatically flipping the ambulance's turn signal on. Ratchet huffed in annoyance and turned it off; June gave an embarrassed laugh. "Sorry. Force of habit."
"Hrrrm, well . . ." Ratchet let the statement hang as his steering wheel moved under the human's loosely curled fingers, completing the turn.
The sky was dark, but the street they were driving down was well lit. Bars and night clubs brightened the night with neon signs. Cheap eateries had opportunistically sprung up along with them, knowing that the more people drank the more they ate. All of them vied eagerly for the patronage of the crowds of twenty-somethings drifting down the sidewalks.
"Why are there so many taxis?" Ratchet groused, stuck behind one for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. "And why aren't there any parking lots?"
"I'm guessing those two things are related," June said. "Listen, just drop me off. I'll call you when I'm done."
"Ehhh—all right. Maybe this infernal traffic will have let up by then."
June doubted it, but she let Ratchet have his illusion and got out of the ambulance's driver's seat. Fortunately only one person, a young woman with electric blue hair, noticed when Ratchet proceeded to drive off by himself. The nurse ducked into the nearest eatery as the girl stared after the vehicle in confusion.
It wasn't until she reached the counter and heard an adolescent voice croak, "Hello-my-name-is-Tyrone-and-our-special-today-is-the-Uppercut-Combo-Meal" that she realized that she was in a KO Burger. Oh, it was more upscale than the one in Jasper—the manager had decorated the place in neutral tones instead of kid-friendly primary colors—but the menu was the same. And, just like in Jasper, a display next to the register advertised flimsy plastic cars as the latest toy prize in the Kiddie Kombatant meals.
"Uh . . . Combo Meal #1, please," June said without bothering to look at the menu.
"Thank-you-for-your-order-at-KO-Burger-where-every-patty-is-a-knockout," the teenager rattled off, pushing a tray towards her.
As June had suspected, Combo Meal #1 consisted of a burger flanked by limp french fries and an empty soda cup. She set the tray down at a tiny table made of actual wood (or at least wood laminate) rather than the usual KO Burger plastic. But upscale or not, the floor in front of the soda machine was sticky. Some things never changed.
"I wonder . . ." June murmured as she sat down. She set her cell phone on a napkin, pulled up her browser, and searched for 'street racing New York City'. To her surprise, an article came up with the sensationalist title of 'Illegal Street Racers Terrorizing NYC Neighborhoods'.
Fishing a piece of paper out of her purse, she jotted down the neighborhoods in question (Queens, mostly) and when the races took place (2 AM). Hours from now. Plenty of time to strategize with Ratchet.
"Good thing I'm used to working night shifts," she muttered, rereading the article as she ate. The burger was marginally better than the ones from the K.O.B. in Jasper; the fries were exactly the same.
The smell was the same, too. Oh, the struggles she'd gone through, trying to get the stink of fry grease out of Jack's clothes. She'd gone through every detergent in the supermarket in turn, until the deceptively named ColorSafe UltraBright had bleached a whole load of Jack's clothes ultra-white. He'd thrown a fit, she'd crossed her arms and used her Mom Voice, and when they both calmed down they mutually concluded it was high time he did his own laundry.
The lighter workload was a blessing, and she did her best to ignore the way she was suddenly hyper-aware of how old Jack was getting, how tall he was. She was glad he was spreading his wings, but she dreaded the empty nest she saw in her future.
I am NOT going to get sentimental about fry-smells in a KO Burger, June told herself sternly. It wasn't really about the fries, though. Jack was out there somewhere, Raf and Miko too, and until she knew they were safe—
In an emergency, the most important thing is to keep calm. This is just a long, drawn-out emergency. Trust in Jack. He's not a child anymore. He's intelligent and reliable. He can do his own laundry.
She didn't physically jump when her phone rang, but her heart did give a little leap.
Probably Ratchet, she rationalized, but she felt a swell of cautious hope as she picked it up. An unfamiliar number. Jack borrowing someone phone, maybe?
"Hello?" June said, unconsciously gripping the napkin in her free hand.
"Mrs. Darby? This is General Bryce of Unit E."
The man was noxious but June would have put up with worse for the sake and safety of the kids'. "Have you found them? Do you have news?"
"In a manner of speaking. I just received a report from one of our operatives, a helicopter pilot." A pause. "And may I just say I am very sorry for your loss."
"Well, Agent Pierce?" Bryce said, unplugging the cord from his cell phone.
"She's in downtown Manhattan," answered the agent, a middle-aged woman wearing a neutral expression and a pair of headphones jacked into a laptop.
Bryce sighed regretfully. "I suppose that will have to do. It's just too bad we have so little to go on. I thought if we rattled her . . ."
Agent Pierce continued disconnecting wires from the laptop at a steady place. She measured success by her own personal metrics. She had successfully inserted the tracking virus into the video clip of the car plummeting off the hill and had gotten a fix on the Darby woman: mission accomplished.
"So they think he's headed for the Big Apple," Bryce mused. He glanced down the slope. A few flashlights were still visible, flashing across the brush and between the trees. "Time to wrap it up here. Just wish I knew how he got away."
"You didn't tell me because you didn't want to worry me?" June's voice rose as she paced from one end of the ambulance to the other, hard enough to make Ratchet wince internally. At least he was spared June's wrath; no one had told him anything either.
"I apologize, Nurse Darby," Optimus said over the comm. "We did not expect you to find out about the incident."
June put her hands on her hips, not that anyone but Ratchet knew it. "Optimus, there's an Earth saying: when you find yourself in a hole, stop digging."
"I'm really sorry," Bumblebee broke in, sounding it. "First we were busy trying to stall Unit E, and then we were so worried about Smokescreen—it took him forever to get back—"
"Hey, you try finding your way through the forest when you're optics are only a couple inches off the ground. It ain't easy, I'll tell you that."
"What were we supposed to think, you didn't reply when we commed!"
"My mouth was underground."
"Speaking of people not calling," June snapped.
"Nurse Darby, I am truly sorry," Prime said gravely. "I know how concerned you are about Jack and the other children. I should have made every attempt to keep you 'in the loop'."
June took a deep breath. She couldn't stay angry at Optimus when he tried to use human idioms; they always sounded misplaced, even when he used them correctly. And she knew who she was really angry with. "Apology accepted, on one condition."
"What is that?"
"Make General Bryce regret everything about this."
The steel in Optimus' voice surprised her. She was not the only one who found Bryce's actions unconscionable. "I shall certainly endeavor to."
Knock Out was glad when the smallest human feel asleep again. It gave him the illusion of being alone as he drove and drove and drove. He had pushed himself into a state of overtiredness where it was easier to keep going than to drift off. Once upon a time the field hospital had devoured his days and nights alike, but he had grown comfortable and lazy first on the Nemesis, now with the Autobots.
It didn't matter. He could still bring it when he needed to.
Night edged into dawn as he reached the city.
"This is it," he murmured. "Countdown to zero."
A/N: The article about illegal street racing in Queens is a real thing.