This continues an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel of calamities, creatures, and college matriculation. The novel will be available 12/16/2011, but you can read the beginning here first!

He made a sudden turn through a red light and then veered into a parking garage that he knew had an exit on the other side of the block. After he pulled through to the far street, he saw no more bikers behind him.

His impulse was drive directly home to be with McKenzie, but he didn’t want to risk it. Instead, he headed out towards the coastal highway, where the long narrow roads would expose any pursuers. Only after he was satisfied that he had lost his tail did he return home.

It was early evening by the time he pulled into his driveway, and he was relieved to see his big blue truck awaiting him. Dean hopped out of the car and rushed to the front door, intending to throw it open and announce his victory. But when his hand touched the doorknob, his excitement evaporated. The door frame had broken away from the lock. Someone had kicked it in.

In a flash, Dean was inside, but the house was dark and silent. When he flipped the switch, the lights didn’t come on.

“McKenzie,” he called. There was no answer. He called louder, but still there was no answer. He moved through the dining room hallway and found that the lights didn’t work here, either. In the kitchen, the microwave and stove clocks were blank. Power outage, he thought, but when he looked through the window he saw that the neighbors had their back porch light on.

At the small kitchen table, he found one of the chairs had been overturned. A black suitcase was stashed neatly beside the next chair, and a laptop set up on top of the table. These must be her things, which meant McKenzie had definitely been inside. The question was: where had she gone?

He righted the chair and put it back in its spot and jabbed a few of the laptop’s keys. The screen remained as dead as his lights, but he noticed a white pad of paper tucked underneath the computer. He pulled it out to find a note in her handwriting:

Dean,

They’re coming. They’re here. Whatever happens, I want you to know something.

My answer is yes. With all my heart, yes. I should have said it years ago.

McKenzie

Dean suddenly felt frantic. He must have failed to draw them away. They figured it out, and then they found her here, kicked in the front door, and cut the power somehow. But maybe it wasn’t too late—if McKenzie had gotten away, then he could still find her before they do.

He looked around, desperate to find some clue as to where she might have gone. Then he saw something black and shiny on the second step of his staircase. It was one of her shoes. He ran over it and up the stairway to find her there, on the landing, halfway to the second floor. She was laying face down, one hand underneath her and the other resting limply beside her.

Desperately, he rolled her over and brushed her hair from her face to find her eyes open and staring. There was no pulse. There was no breath.

Even as he began CPR, he knew, with the full weight of his professional experience, that it was too late. His futile rescue breaths would amount to nothing more than a goodbye kiss.

This continues an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel of calamities, creatures, and college matriculation. The novel will be available 12/16/2011, but you can read the beginning here first!

Dean felt light-headed as he fumbled his fat key-ring out of his pocket while she shoved her electronic key-fob into his hand.

“Wait! What about this?” he lifted the box with the ring off the table and placed it in her hand.

“I—I’ll think about it. Let’s just get home first, okay?” She slid her hand around his neck and pulled him close for a hard, urgent kiss.

“One more thing,” she whispered in his ear. “What they want is in our founder’s head.”

“…The founder’s head? McKenzie, what’re you talking about—”

She was already out the door. He followed her, each ducking into the other’s car. They pulled out onto the three-lane arterial, she heading straight and he pulling a u-turn at the intersection.

Dean wanted to believe that the whole thing was crazy, but it wasn’t like McKenzie to act irrationally. Why would she be running from that big biker? For that matter, why would she want him, of all people, to cover for her job? And what was that business about the founder’s head?

He felt distracted and uncertain of what to do—until he glanced into his rear-view mirror and saw the huge man on the black motorcycle behind him. The danger, he could now see, was very real. He may not have understood why someone would be chasing McKenzie, but now all his worry and confusion fell away and in their place remained only clarity of purpose. He had to keep her safe, which meant he had to lead them away.

Dean slouched down in the seat to prevent his pursuer from recognizing that it was not McKenzie driving the car, and then he took a circuitous drive through the city streets. Before long, the big man peeled off and another black-clad biker picked up the pursuit in his place. The bikers, whoever they were, were taking turns shadowing him. They were pretty good at the tag-team pursuit, too. In other circumstances, Dean might not have noticed they were following him, even though they were not exactly inconspicuous individuals. He considered leading them to the police station, but he would have nothing to report—other than the big man’s lack of a helmet, they weren’t breaking any laws. As long as he had her car, he could make sure they didn’t find her, so he kept luring them on, making sure they didn’t lose him and yet not letting them get close enough to see his face.

Dean led his pursuers through the downtown streets for more than an hour. He had counted five different bikers by then, and the latest one was the most aggressive. Like the others, this biker rode a heavily customized but older-model motorcycle, but this one wore no shirt. He frequently navigated between cars at red lights to get closer and closer, until he was so near that Dean could see the large swastika tattoo over the left side of his chest.

Dean decided it was time to get a little more elusive.

This continues an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel of calamities, creatures, and college matriculation. The novel will be available 12/16/2011, but you can read the beginning here first!

He looked at her hopefully as he produced the worn little box containing his great-grandmother’s ring. The matching groom’s band was in his pocket. He had hoped that they might wear them out of the restaurant.

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” He realized her hands were shaking. And so were his.

“You know I can’t,” she said. “Especially not right now.”

“I know you can. Especially right now.”

She opened her mouth to say something but her words were cut off by the roar of an engine in the parking lot. Dean watched McKenzie’s eyes as they widened first with recognition, then with fear.

Dean spun in his chair to see a huge motorcycle weaving its way through the lines of parked cars outside. The bike was glossy black and adorned with airbrushed skulls; its handlebars, muffler, and other chrome fixtures were lined with jagged spikes. The rear wheel had been modified to ride on two wheels instead of one, giving the machine a distinctive wedge-shape. On the enormous gas tank was stamped a huge, white swastika.

As big and as evil as this bike seemed, its rider was even bigger and meaner. He wore black, studded leather from head to foot, but wore no helmet to cover his scalp. It looked as though an avalanche of fat and muscle had started on top of his head and tumbled down his body, piling up around the ledge of his shoulders before spilling over to land in a heap at his midsection.

The biker was moving slowly through the parking lot, turning his head side to side to look at each car he passed. He paused by a silver Lexus with Minnesota plates—McKenzie’s car. Revving his engine twice, he put on a burst of speed and roared away.

McKenzie stood up so fast that she bumped the table, sloshing water out of her glass and onto their shared plate of sushi.

“What?” Dean said, also standing. “You know that guy? Is that—is that the guy you’re running from?”

“I have to go.”

He grabbed her by the wrist and held her until she looked into his eyes. “We go together from now on.”

She shook her head. “First we need to get somewhere safe.”

“My house.” Dean said. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a statement.

“Okay, but… give me your keys. We’re switching cars. You drive around for a while to throw them off. If they catch up to you, they’ll see it isn’t me and they’ll leave you alone.”

“They?” Dean repeated.

“I’ll meet you back at your place. Hurry—before they come back.”