Firebaby

Chapter 7

Mike bounced Allie up and down just a little in his arms. She made a happy sound that changed pitch at the top and bottom of each bounce. Will sat on the other end of the couch, working on a pencil drawing. He glanced back and forth between the drawing and the baby before he turned it around to show Mike. It featured a character who clearly had Allie's face, but with the green ears and brown robes of Yoda. The Yoda-Allie was lifting a muddy X Wing ship out of the swampy ground.

"Size matters not," Will said to Allie in an old, croaky voice.

"Judge me by my size, do you?" Mike added. He knew she had no idea what he was doing, but he found that he couldn't help himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mike noticed that Dustin, trying to be low-key, winked at Will. Mike was a little curious about that, but before he could mention it, the phone rang and Will got up to answer it.

"Hello?" Will said into the phone. Mike felt just a little bit of tension creep into his body. A phone call might be nothing, but it might be something, too. He glanced down at Allie and bounced her lightly up and down again. She laughed, making him feel a little better.

"Mom?! What-"

The alarm in Will's voice grabbed Mike's attention, and he jumped off the couch, feeling the need to run somewhere.

Will, still pressing the phone to his ear, spun around to look toward his front living room window, his eyes wide and afraid. The curtains were closed, though, as they had been since Mike and the others had arrived, to keep them hidden.

Mike crossed the room, squeezing Allie tight against his chest. He pulled the curtain back barely an inch and pressed his nose against the glass.

He saw it.

With a sinking feeling in his heart, he saw a black sedan coming up the street, still several blocks away. There were more behind it, following in a long line. He turned to call to El, but found her already looking over his shoulder.

The curtain slid all the way open on its own. Mike glanced at El's face as she stared hard out the window and the approaching cars. Her features tensed and hardened. Mike heard the creaking sound of bending metal, and he looked back out the window in time to see a light pole snap off at the base and topple over. It came to rest, perfectly spanning the road, and blocking the cars.

"How many of them?" Lucas asked.

"A lot," said Dustin, who had pressed up behind Mike and El.

"Out the back door, hurry," Lucas said.

"What about our cars?" Dustin asked.

"Leave 'em," Lucas said. "We'll be harder to track on foot. Let's go!"

The six of them ran out of Will's back door, not bothering to close it behind them. Dustin scooped up an armful of his custom listening devices as he passed through the kitchen. They crossed Will's back yard and pushed their way through a row of bushes and into the neighbor's yard. They neighbors either weren't home, or didn't look out their windows in time to see a line of five people and a baby sprint across their back yard. Beyond the neighbor's house, they came out onto another suburban street.

"Keep moving," Lucas said, leading the way toward the next house across the street. The sound of tires and engines drew Mike's attention. He saw several more black cars coming down the street to his right. Behind him, El paused in the middle of the street. She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly, and the lead car was spun around in place, it's tires burning against the pavement. As soon as she let go of the car to keep up with her friends, the agent in the car tried to reverse down the street toward them.

They were already cutting across the next lawn, though, and pushing their way through another row of bushes. They cross another lawn, and came out into the next street over.

"Two more blocks," Lucas urged them. "Come on. We need to get to a public place and lose them in a crowd."

Smith was only blocks away from where he knew the Wheeler family to be hiding when his radio went crazy. One by one his teams started reporting visual contact with the fugitives, then they began shouting and breaking radio protocols. From what he could gather through the audible chaos, his primary team hadn't even reached the house before encountering a roadblock in the form of a downed light pole. His backup team, moving into position on the next street over, had reported seeing the fugitives crossing that street before erupting into unintelligible shouts over the radio, after which they lost visual contact.

Trying to picture a street map of the neighborhood in his mind, Smith called over the radio to direct his third team to cut three streets over in the direction that he was pretty sure the fugitives were headed, hoping to cut them off. He stopped his car right in the middle of the road as he unfolded his paper map and double checked. One of his white vans stopped in the lane next to him and waited, the two of them blocking all traffic. People began to honk their horns behind him, but Smith ignored them.

His only guess was that someone had tipped off the Wheeler family. Nothing in the files he'd read suggested that Mrs. Wheeler had any precognitive abilities, so he didn't think she had "known" that he was coming even before he got close. Either they had an intelligence leak, which he very much doubted, or the Wheelers had been smart enough to post a lookout. He put the map down, scratching his chin. How likely was that? He hadn't read anything to suggest that the Wheeler family had any knowledge of how to run an operation like that, but sometimes people were smarter than they were given credit for. He glanced around the street, still ignoring the traffic at a complete stand still behind him.

There was a lone woman standing at a payphone at the gas station on the corner. He didn't recognize her immediately, but her nervous energy caught his attention right away. She didn't look like a Russian agent or a psychic spy, but his gut told him that she wasn't there to make a social call. Acting on his hunch, he sped down the street toward her, calling over the radio to his agents in the white van to follow him.

She saw him coming and dove into her old, green Pinto. The mystery woman tried to peel out of the gas station, but Smith intercepted her. He braced himself hard against his steering wheel as he slammed on the brakes right in front of her. He managed to keep from hitting his head as she crashed into his passenger door. Before she had time to reverse, the white van slid into place neatly behind her, boxing the green car in.

Smith slowly and purposefully got out of his car and began to walk around it, taking his radio with him. He called for team three, asking if they had a visual on the fugitives yet. They reported a negative. He slammed the radio down on roof of his car in anger. If the Wheelers escaped... He knew exactly how Director Carver would react to that news.

He finished his walk around the car, coming up to the mystery woman's driver's side window. She glared at him with fiery eyes. He glared back just as hard. Maybe the Wheelers would escape today, despite his best efforts, but now he had something to bargain with.

"Hold on," Lucas told the group as they emerged from yet another row of bushes into yet another suburban sidewalk. They'd left the last squadron of black sedans three streets back. Mike struggled to catch his breath, still hugging Allie tightly against his chest.

"The Pine Ridge Mall is ten more blocks that way," Lucas said, pointing. "We can hide in the crowds there. As long as we keep cutting across the streets, we can out maneuver them. But if they guess where we're going, they can cut us off. We need eyes in the sky." He nodded toward a metal frame power line tower that loomed above them. "El, can you get me up there? I can direct you from there."

She looked up at it, squinting against the sun, then nodded her head.

"Dustin, give me one of those," Lucas said, reaching for one of the listening devices. "I'll be able to see the agents coming from blocks away. Unless they lock down every street between here and there, I can find a clear path for you."

"What about you?" Will asked.

"I'll catch up, don't worry about me," Lucas said. "Once you reach the mall, get inside and stay with the crowds. Don't go anywhere the agents might be able to corner you alone. If they still want to keep this thing a secret, they won't be willing to lock down the mall and sort you out from the civilians."

"Are you sure you'll be-" Mike asked.

"I'll be fine. You guys go, and I'll meet you there," Lucas told him. "Ready, El?"

She nodded again.

Lucas took a deep breath and visibly braced himself as his feet lifted off from the sidewalk.

Hopper pulled into his driveway, bouncing over the familiar muddy rut next to his mailbox. As his truck bounced, Sam dropped a few of the peanuts he'd been given on the airplane.

"Here it is," Hopper said proudly. "Look how far away I live from other people. Isn't it great?" He frowned as he saw that Joyce's car wasn't there. If he remembered right, she wasn't supposed to be working today.

He and Joyce had moved into the house some years ago. He'd decided that his little trailer was only good for the habitually drunk bachelor that he'd been for a while, and Joyce's old house held too many bad memories (as well as a poorly repaired hole in one wall, and some remaining scorch marks in the hallway).

Hopper parked in his usual spot, his tires sinking into their well worn grooves in the gravel, and he and Sam went inside.

"Cozy," Sam said.

"It's just the two of us, now," Hopper told him. "Will moved out for college years ago." He went to the refigerator, where Joyce always kept her work schedule stuck to the door. As he'd thought, she was supposed to be off work today. Hopper frowned again. Sometimes she took extra shifts as a favor to old, crusty Donald, who owned the place, and couldn't run it without her. Hopper had asked Joyce plenty of times why she kept working there, since they didn't need the extra money. He'd concluded that Joyce felt sorry for the old guy.

He opened the refrigerator and motioned Sam over. "Help yourself," he said, before crossing the room to his answering machine. He checked it, and found his last message to Joyce was still there, unplayed. He frowned again. Joyce always checked her messages. He took a quick look at the kitchen trash can to see if she'd thrown away any leftovers from her lunch, but found it to be empty.

"Hey, Sam, let's head into town for minute," Hopper told him. "Joyce might be at work. After that, I can take you to Bob's Fish N Fry."

"Sure Hop, let's go," Sam said.

"Stop there," Lucas' voice same over Dustin's listening bug, which he was using as a two way radio. "Agents coming up the street on your right. There's a brown house up ahead with a pool, cut across their lawn."

"Copy that," Dustin said.

Mike crouched a little as he ran, somehow feeling that it would make him harder to spot. They were more than halfway to the mall and, thanks to Lucas' eyes in the sky, they'd been several steps ahead of the agents the whole way. A few homeowners had yelled at them for running through their back yards, but that didn't bother him.

The baby was taking their cross country sprint remarkably well, though he was sure El had something to do with that. All things considered, he felt pretty confident that they'd make it to the mall without meeting death and disaster. Mike was surprised that he didn't feel the black shadow of anxiety quite so strongly as he had for the past few days. He found that to be a little ironic, since there were literally dozens, perhaps more, men in black cars and white vans coming at them from all sides, but he felt reasonably sure they'd make it.

Once they did get to the mall, though, he didn't know what would happen next. As he continued to run across someone's lawn, jumping to avoid a garden gnome, he had visions of the police surrounding the mall like a hostage situation.

"Now turn left," Lucas told them, "and take the next cross street. At the end of that street, you'll see a red house."

"Copy that," Dustin said again.

Hopper had decided to cut across Oak street on his way into town, because most of it was an unmarked 55 miles an hour, except for that one section where it slowed to 25. Since he'd retired, he usually tried to stay within 10 miles or so of the limit. Chief Powell never gave him too much trouble about it.

Though Hopper knew about every third or forth person in Hawkins by sight, if not by name, a lot of people he knew lived on Oak street. He passed the home of George Burniss, a known liar and story teller. He passed the home of old principal Coleman, who had overseen Hawkins Middle before handing the job off to Scott Clarke. A few more blocks down came Karen and Ted Wheeler's house. Living in the same house with Will meant that Hopper had seen quite a lot of Mike Wheeler, and also El, once she'd started living with the Wheelers. They were a fine family, as far as he was concerned. Ted was pretty docile, and never caused trouble. Karen seemed to have raised some pretty good children, even if she could rarely keep track of where they were. She used to sometimes visit Joyce and bring over a casserole. He absently wondered again if he'd really find Joyce at work, and, if not, where he'd look next.

Something caught his eye and pulled his wandering thoughts back to the present.

A black sedan was parked on the curb across from Karen and Ted's house. It looked very out of place. Hopper didn't know that many people in Hawins who drove that exact model of car, and he was pretty sure that the Murphy family, in front of who's house the black car was parked, didn't own one.

"That's strange," Hopper said, automatically slowing down as he neared the house.

Sam followed his gaze and squinted at the black car. "It's got a government plate," Sam noticed. "You have a lot of those in Hawkins?"

"No..." Hopper said, now scowling at the car. He slowed almost to a stop in the middle of the road and glanced across to the Wheeler house. Neither Ted nor Karen's car were in their driveway, though the lights were on in the house.

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked.

"I don't know..." Hopper said, only just coming to a decision himself. He had very little information to go on, but his gut told him something was wrong. An idea, possibly a bad one, coming into his head, Hopper pulled over and parked right behind the black sedan. He opened his door to get out.

"What are we doing?" Sam asked, sounding more curious than alarmed.

"Just follow me," Hopper told him. He got out of the truck, slamming the door and trying to look scary. He also tried to stomp as he went over to the sedan's driver's side door.

"Hey, open up," he yelled, even though the driver was already rolling down his window. Hopper put a hand on the door to keep it from opening, and leaned his face in close. It was a posture he'd practiced many times. He usually reserved it for the times when he pulled over Hawkins teenagers he'd caught driving around with a beer in their car, when he wanted to scare them straight instead of actually write them a ticket.

"Are you the guys who've been parking on my grass?" He demanded. "Neighbor called and told me you were parked here all day yesterday when I was at work. I take care of my lawn like a golf course, you know."

"Sir, I don't know what-" the driver of the black car, a man in an equally black suit and sunglasses, began to tell hopper.

"And why are you parked in front of my house, anyway?" Hopper cut them off. "You guys cops?"

"Sir, if you'll just-" the agent, who appeared to be half Hopper's age, tried again.

"I know you're not Hawkins police, cause I'm good friends with the chief. That's right. A guy named Powell. You know him? We play poker every Thursday night."

"We're not-"

"Somethin about you doesn't look right to me," Hopper went on, not giving them any time to think. "You guys have badges, or warrants or anything? This is still a free country. I know my rights! I didn't go fight in 'Nam just to put up with this kind of thing. Hey, Sam," Hopper craned his neck to look over at Sam without giving the agent an inch of space. "Go inside and call Powell for me, would ya? I don't trust these guys."

"Sure, Jim," Sam said, putting on a little bit of an accent. "Should I call his house, or the office?" Sam left the truck and headed toward the front door of the house that Hopper neither owned, nor had a key to. Hopper held his breath for a few heartbeats, needing the agents to buy his bluff in the next few seconds before-

"That's not necessary," the agent told him. "This was just a misunderstanding. We're leaving now."

"What's your name?" Hopper asked, "I want names and badge numbers for both of you."

With a scowl that Hopper could see, even around the sunglasses, the agent started up his car and pulled away from the curb. Hopper leaned back to give them enough room to pull out, but only barely.

"I'll be watching for you," Hopper called after them. "This isn't Russia, you know!" They drove to the first stop sign and turned off of Oak street. Sam stopped just short of the front door to the random house, and turned back to Hopper.

"Who do you think they were?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Hopper said, frowning in thought at the empty street where they had been a moment ago. "It's just lucky they were kids,or they'd have known better than to let me bully them. I'm guessing we have about five minutes before they call their boss and he tells them to get back here and find out who we are."

"And your plan is?" Sam asked.

"I'm concerned," Hopper told him, now turning to stare at the Wheeler house. The lights were still on inside, even though neither of their cars were home. He crossed the street and approached the front door.

"You know these people?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Hopper told him. "And they got really wrapped up in all that... stuff that happened ten years ago."

"Ooooh," Sam said. "So it's no coincidence there are Men In Black spying on them?"

"Can't be," Hopper agreed, knocking on the Wheeler's front door.

"I'll keep a lookout," Sam said, turning his back to Hopper so his eyes were on the road where the black car had disappeared.

Hopper had to knock on the door three separate times before someone finally answered. The door swung open, and he was greeted by the youngest Wheeler girl, who was about middle school age.

"Hopper?" Holly asked.

"Hey, kid," he said. "Your parents aren't home..."

"Nope," she said casually.

"You know when they'll be back?" He asked.

"They both went to dinner. Separate dinners," she said. "Could be late. Especially for mom."

"Ok, well, this might sound a little... anyway, have you noticed anything strange lately?" Hopper asked, not sure how aware of such things the girl would be. Her blank stare wasn't very encouraging.

"Anything strange?" She asked.

"How about anyBODY strange?" Hopper tried. "Have you had any visitors? Men in suits? Have you seen anyone poking around?"

She only raised an eyebrow at him.

"Have your parents gotten any strange phone calls? Do you know?" He tried, starting to feel a little exasperated.

"Oh, are you talking about Mike?" Holly asked, as if she'd just figured out his question.

"Mike?" Hopper asked. "Is something wrong with Mike?"

"You don't know?" Holly asked. "The fire? I thought everybody knew."

"A fire? What happened?" Hopper asked, his suspicions really raised now.

"Yeah, their whole house burned down," Holly said. "It sounded pretty crazy."

"Their house? Are they alright? Are they staying here?" Hopper asked.

"They're not here," Holly told him. "They called mom the day it happened to let her know they were safe, and the baby, you know, but they didn't come over. I think they're staying with Dustin for a while."

Hopper's mind started running at full speed. He had no idea what a house fire, the sudden appearance of shady agents, and maybe even Joyce all had to do with each other, but it was too much to be a coincidence.

"Listen, I don't think you should be here alone right now," Hopper said, looking over his shoulder at the road, though Sam was still standing lookout. "Is there somewhere you can go until your parents get back?"

"Huh?" She asked.

"Yeah, like a little friend that you have sleepovers with or something? Can you jump on your bike and go over to a friend's house for a few hours?"

"My bike?" Holly asked, looking lost.

"Don't kids ride bikes anymore?" Hopper demanded.

It took Hopper several more minutes to convince the girl, during which he grew increasingly nervous that the black sedan would return and catch him in the middle of some very suspicious behavior. He didn't want to scare her too much by coming right out and saying that her house was under surveillance, but in the end she let him drive her over to a friend's house on the other side of town. After dropping her off, Hopper drove back into town and checked Donald's General Store to see if Joyce was there.

She wasn't, and Donald told him that she wasn't scheduled to work, and hadn't picked up someone else's shift that day, either. At that point, Sam started asking what was wrong, but Hopper wasn't quite ready to speculate yet. He drove by Mike and El's house, to find that it had burned completely to the ground, just like Holly said. With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, he decided to go to Dustin Henderson's house and ask Mike and El about the fire. He also thought there was a small chance Joyce would be there, because she sometimes helped El with this or that.

"You think there's something not right about this fire?" Sam asked.

"Don't know," Hopper told him. "I have a bad feeling, though."

By the time they reached Kerley road, Hopper was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He wondered what had been happening in Hawkins during the few days he'd been gone. He wanted to regret leaving for California and being absent while whatever-it-was had happened, but he couldn't. He felt good about what he'd done with Sam, and for Sam, and for the guy he now called Franc.

He came to the stop sign and turned off of Kerley. He hadn't ever needed to come visit Dustin here, but there weren't that many roads in Hawkins, so Hopper had been by before.

"Look, there," Sam said, nodding toward the side of the road.

"I see him," Hopper said darkly, noticing the black sedan parked in the trees a little way off the road. He made certain not to stop and stare as he drove by. A few seconds later, he passed Dustin's house, again without stopping. The lights were off, and there were no cars in the driveway.

"So they're watching this house, too," Sam thought out loud. "I wonder who they are."

Hopper shrugged, scowling out at the empty road in front of him. He didn't know what to think.

"Let me guess," Sam said. "This Dustin was also involved in the stuff ten years ago?"

"Up to his neck in it," Hopper told him.

"So why now?" Sam asked. "What's happened to bring up old memories?"

"Wish I knew," Hopper said.

"What's our next move, then?" Sam asked.

"Are you sure you want in on this?" Hopper replied.

"Wherever it goes," Sam told him.

The agents had gotten Lucas as he was climbing down from the power pole. He'd been afraid they would. He was exposed up there, and as easily visible to some of the agents' cars as they were to him. He hadn't expected to get away clean.

At least his friends had made it to the mall, where he hoped they'd be able to cover their trail. If the agents, whoever they were, still wanted to keep things quiet, then they wouldn't send in the SWAT team and arrest Mike and the others in full view of hundreds of civilians. He had to hope that was still the situation.

The two agents got out of their car and approached Lucas, ordering him to put his hands up. He laced his fingers behind his head and waited for them. Just before climbing down from the tower, he'd given Dustin the "radio silence" order, and promised to catch up to them soon, so at least they wouldn't hang around at the mall waiting for him. Their only chance was to keep moving, and he hoped they wouldn't realize he'd been captured and come back for him.

The agents ordered him to turn around so they could handcuff him. They hadn't identified themselves as belonging to any agency, or read him any rights, or even told him he was under arrest. Those were all bad signs, suggesting that the agents didn't need to operate within the normal laws. Lucas only hoped that his friends were still running as fast as they could.

The Monster's dreams had shown him where to go. It was a federal prison full of regular criminals that were entirely beneath his notice, with one prisoner he wanted very badly to see. His dreams had been good to him. For a long time, he'd only dreamed of those who were either too weak to be useful to him, or too difficult to be worth the trouble. But those who could control fire were the most powerful kind of psychics, and now there were two of them. He'd never had a firestarter before.

It wasn't easy to get inside the prison and walk right up to the bars which held his prize, but the Monster had skills, both physical and psychic. When, at last, he stood face to face with the man, he stared at him for a long time. The man looked completely unremarkable, but in his hands, and in his mind, he had a power far more destructive than the Monster's own. The Monster thought about using his human voice to speak, but it was a decaying and atrophied thing that no loner suited his needs. Instead, he spoke directly into the mind of the man he'd come to see, the man with the powers.

At first, the man had seemed afraid of the Monster's appearance, which wasn't unusual. But, once he'd received the monster's thoughts, he recoiled. He wanted no part of it. The Monster was not concerned. If he needed to force his will on the other, he would do it.