The Fellowship for Alien Detection (24 page)

Harry was lying.

Vee had been down in the mine with Dodger. Which meant Harry had found his way down into this mine on his own. Why would he do that? Had he seen Dodger go down into the mine shaft with Vee? Had he been
spying
on Dodger?

More than everything he'd learned just in the last few minutes, it was this newest revelation that struck Dodger.
Harry's lying to me. He knows something
. But what did Harry know?

As they followed a series of ascending zigzags up out of the mine, Dodger checked his pocket. His notebook was still there, the coordinates to Juliette inside. He glanced nervously over his shoulder. Why weren't those aliens after him right now? Maybe he'd lost them by using the crystal interface. Dodger wondered if his abilities had been a surprise to them, too. Maybe they needed to regroup before they came after him again. They would though—Dodger felt sure of it.

But still . . . if Dodger wasn't what the aliens had expected, what was he?

And yet, despite all that, Dodger found that he was worried as much about the strange figure in front of him as he was about those behind him in the dark.

Roswell, NM, July 6, 3:45 p.m.

The next afternoon, Dodger found himself gazing at the barren landscape of eastern New Mexico. Vast miles of brown plains, mountains in the distance, pure blue sky arcing overhead. They were approaching one of Dodger's dream places to visit, yet he wasn't excited. He'd spent the hours since Lucky Springs, including an evening in the southern canyon country of Utah and a mostly sleepless night in a Relaxation Depot in Farmington, NM, wondering when those aliens might appear again and expecting it to happen any moment.

He'd also been worrying about his dad.

Harry drove in silence. The radio was off.

There had been no talking. Barely any talking since the day before, since they'd walked out of the mine tunnel and back to their car and driven out of Lucky Springs. It was just Harry gazing out at the road, and Dodger just staring out the window, except for—

There it was again.

Dodger felt a tingling sensation and when he looked over, he found Harry looking at him. But then Harry's eyes immediately flicked away.

There had been at least five or six other moments like this since they'd left the mine.

What does he know?
Dodger wondered again. What had brought him into that mine yesterday? Dodger had considered that Harry's story could be true. It was possible that he'd just gotten tired of blackjack and decided to come find Dodger, and then when he wasn't in the map room, he'd tried the mine.

But Dodger didn't think so. Not after the way Harry had stared at the radio back at Heavenly Frequencies. Dodger felt certain that he knew, or at least suspected, something. But what? Not that Dodger was actually being chased by aliens, or manipulating crystals, or teleporting. He couldn't suspect that, could he? If he really knew what was up, he'd have turned the car around by now, right?

Dodger was no longer sure. Not about his dad, or about the aliens and their plans, or even what he was. All he knew was that he had to get some answers. He had to get to Juliette. Yet that was a whole different problem. And Dodger wasn't even sure if his latest plan was going to get him there.

Because even though he had the Juliette coordinates in his pocket, when Harry had asked Dodger
where to next?
as they were leaving Lucky Springs, Dodger had said: “Roswell,” which was hundreds of miles from Juliette's location. In fact, by heading for Roswell, they'd spent nearly an entire day driving in the wrong direction.

But Dodger had chosen Roswell for two reasons. The first had to do with the aliens. Dodger assumed they were watching him, and so if they saw him heading to Roswell instead of Juliette, he hoped they might assume that they'd intercepted him in the mine shaft before he'd had the chance to get the coordinates. And so maybe then they'd think he wasn't a threat and leave him alone, or at least sit back and wait to see what he'd do next.

The second reason had to do with his dad. If Harry really was starting to suspect that Dodger was somehow actually connected to real aliens, the trip to Roswell might ease his suspicions. After all, Roswell was probably the last place that actual aliens would show up. Dodger had also told Harry that Roswell's UFO museum might have vital information about Juliette, but judging from what he'd read online, finding any real alien information in Roswell was pretty unlikely.

But hopefully, all of this would buy Dodger enough time to figure out how to actually get to Juliette. Currently, he had no idea how he was going to make that happen. He was just stalling. Somehow he had to lose these aliens, and, if Roswell didn't seem to throw Harry off the trail, then . . .
You might have to ditch him, too
.

This thought caused a nervous flutter inside. He couldn't tell if it was fear or excitement or both. But how was he going to get to Juliette on his own? Hitchhike? Hide on the roof of somebody's RV? Steal a bike? And could he even do it? Could he really ditch out on his dad and try to make the journey to Juliette alone?

If I have to
, he thought, trying to convince himself,
I will
.

“This place looks like another tourist trap,” Harry mused. They had arrived on Main Street.

On one side of the street, Dodger saw the Visitors Welcome! Café, and on the other, Crash Site Gifts. The sidewalks were lined with black lampposts with frosted white tops. These globes had been decorated with giant black alien eyes. Ahead, a tall marquee with a small, golden flying saucer on top announced the International UFO Museum and Research Center. The streets were nearly empty in the searing heat.

Dodger was glad to see that Roswell lived up to its kitschy reputation, but also maybe a little disappointed by it, too. Roswell was the site of an alleged alien crash in 1947. There was ample evidence that the crash was actually an experimental weather balloon, and yet, there were also curious facts that didn't add up and had kept the story alive for decades. Either way, Harry's assessment of the shops and museum was probably right.

“I'm starving,” said Harry as he swung the car into a public parking lot. “Maybe we should get lunch before the museum.”

“Sure,” Dodger replied. Lunch would kill time. Keep Harry's guard down. Yet it would also bring Dodger an hour closer to the moment when he needed to know what to do next.

They got out of the car. Dodger looked around. The parking lot was empty except for a large mobile home. The driver was sitting behind the wheel, reading a book. Dodger wasn't totally sure, but it looked like the white-bearded gentleman was wearing a hat made out of tinfoil. There were maybe antennae sticking out of it, too.

Dodger caught the man's eye, and the man seemed to flinch. It almost looked like he tried to duck, but then one of the antennae got caught on the rearview mirror, and since the tinfoil helmet seemed to be attached with a chin strap, the man proceeded to start yanking his head, trying to get free. He clutched at the hat. Dodger wondered if he should be worried about the man. Finally, he clawed the chin strap off. He looked at Dodger again, breathless, and then slid slowly out of sight behind the dashboard, leaving the hat hanging there. Dodger guessed that, in Roswell, a man driving an RV and wearing a tinfoil hat and acting odd was fairly normal.

They headed up the sidewalk. “Wow,” said Harry, checking his watch. “We sure are a long way away from Seattle, huh?”

“Mmm,” Dodger grunted.

Suddenly a hand fell on Dodger's head, ruffling his hat. Dodger flinched.

“Sorry,” said Harry, snatching his hand back. “Didn't mean to embarrass you.”

“No, it's . . .” Dodger trailed off. He hadn't been embarrassed, really. Just surprised. He couldn't remember the last time Harry had done that.

“Well, anyway, I was going to say that this has been fun,” said Harry.

“Yeah.” It had? Dodger also couldn't remember a single time that Harry seemed to be having fun.

“I'm glad we got this time.”

“Mmm.” Dodger glanced at his dad. Harry's hands were shoved in his pockets. He was walking slightly hunched, gazing at the ground. Dodger didn't know what to make of it, but it was freaking him out.

Main Street was bathed in sun, the air burned dry. In between the storefronts catering to alien enthusiasts, the other businesses looked a little run-down. Some stores were vacant. The museum was beyond the next intersection.

“How about here?” Harry pointed. They were passing a Denny's on the corner.

“Okay.” Dodger actually didn't feel like eating anymore. The head rubbing, the statement about having a good time . . . There was definitely something weird going on with Harry. As they walked into the restaurant, Dodger felt a nervous alarm ringing inside. He felt like he was being walked into the room where the mob hit was going to take place. Something was about to happen, he could feel it.

They sat in a brown booth. Looked over the menus. Ordered beverages. Then food. Harry ordered a breakfast that somehow managed to include french toast, home fries, and biscuits and gravy. Dodger ordered the Super Mega Pancake Slam. The whole time, there was no eye contact or conversation. The waitress returned with coffee for Harry and a chocolate milk shake for Dodger.

“Jeez,” Harry finally said after sipping his coffee. “There's another alien gift shop.” Harry nodded toward the store across the street, the Extra Tee-rrestrial Shirt Company.

“Mmm,” Dodger grunted.

“You seem like you're feeling better,” said Harry. “You know, other than that stomach bug yesterday.”

That was how Dodger had explained his post–teleportation barfing.

“Yeah,” he said.

“And no bloody noses,” Harry continued, “or those headaches that would get bad. Unless you haven't told me.”

“Oh, um, no,” Dodger said.

“I—” Harry's eyes flashed back out the window. “I worried about those, you know.”

“Okay,” said Dodger, thinking,
you did?

“It had to have an effect, is what I mean.” Harry picked up his coffee, but then put it back down without drinking. “On your schoolwork, and other stuff. It makes sense . . . you can't exactly do your best when you're feeling ill.”

“Guess,” said Dodger. Inside, he was knotting up. There was a metallic taste in the back of his mouth that even his milk shake couldn't erase.

“Point is, you seem better.” Harry nodded. “Like this trip has helped. Getting away from it all for a few days. It seems like you've been figuring some things out, maybe?”

Dodger shrugged. Some things? Like how to interface with crystals? What was Harry getting at? Dodger felt his nerves winding tighter. “Sure.”

“I was thinking that when we get back we can try to make . . . more of an effort with everything.”

“Oh.”
What “everything”?
And when they got back? The thought sent a chill through Dodger, and he realized that he'd been so focused on finding Juliette that he'd never really even considered the idea of going home. But what if, after all this, after all he'd learned, they just turned around and in three days he was back in his old room with his old life? The thought was nearly unbearable. . . . And worst of all, he'd have to live with the certainty that there was something different about him, something he had come so close to finding but would never know.

“Listen,” said Harry, his eyes darting around the restaurant, out the window, everywhere but at Dodger. “There's something I want to talk about, you know, father-son. Since we're out here, together, with all this time . . .”

Dodger's heart was racing. Somethng was coming, but what?

Yet Harry didn't seem quite ready to reveal it. “But, I mean, you might have things, too. Is there anything, um, on your mind? That you want to talk to me about?”

“Um . . .” said Dodger.

Their food arrived. Dodger felt like he'd been saved. He dumped syrup on his pancakes and shoved a huge bite in his mouth. Maybe it was the burst of sugar, but Dodger had a wild thought:
Tell him
. Not just about the events of the last couple days, but . . . maybe he should tell his dad about everything. The months of radio station, or how even before that, his whole life, really, he'd
never
felt right, how it wasn't just the headaches, or the clumsiness, but more like a gnawing, deathly scary feeling of emptiness . . . of pointlessness. Because how could there be a point when you always felt different, always felt alone, and didn't know why? If he couldn't trust his dad with it, who could he trust?

But did he trust Harry? Did Harry even really want to know? Dodger had always felt like he didn't. He'd never understood and he was never going to. These were the roles they'd always played . . . except here was his dad, changing his role, asking Dodger.
Tell him. . . .

But no, no! What about the part where Dodger was hoping that when he found Juliette, he might find a new home, a new life? How did you explain that to your own dad?