Chapter 6: Dean

When the knock came on his broken door, Dean was laying on the couch in the darkened front room, his left hand clutching the two slips of paper that McKenzie had left him. He wasn’t sure if he had been asleep or awake, which was how he had felt throughout the past two days as the police had crawled all over his house and grilled him with questions. When he had arrived for his next shift, the station chief took one look at him and sent him home on sick leave. That was probably best, because Dean was having trouble concentrating. He kept remembering McKenzie’s face at the moment he found her, with her wide-open eyes and the orange hair against her blue cheeks. The memory was tearing him up. “Whatever you’re selling,” Dean called to whoever was on his porch. “I’m not buying any.”

“Mr. Lazarcheck,” said his one of his visitors. “We’re with the FBI. I’m Agent Brian Nash and my partner is Agent O’Grady. May we come in? I’d like to ask you a few questions about Professor McKenzie.”

Dean rubbed his eyes and stood up. His limbs felt stiff and heavy as he went to let them in. One was a short black man with close-cropped hair, a pleasant smile, and a tired look in his eyes. The other was older, maybe in his fifties, with gray-white hair combed straight back and a hard, trim physique that made him look as if his body had been stamped from boiler-plate steel. Both wore matching black suits.

“Your door is broken,” Nash said.

Dean just nodded. Right then, he didn’t care if it ever got fixed, but he wasn’t ready to admit that to a stranger.

“And the room is dark,” Nash observed.

“Everything’s dark.” Dean meant it metaphorically, but it was also literally true of his house. Every light bulb, appliance, and electrical socket had burned out.

The older agent stood by the door while Nash pulled up a seat across from Dean.

“Mr. Lazarchek, I’m sorry for what happened to your girlfriend.”

“She was my fiancé,” Dean muttered. Somehow, calling her a girlfriend seemed to undervalue his history with McKenzie. A girlfriend might have been someone he knew for a day, but she had been so much more than that. He wanted to argue the point, but decided he didn’t have the strength. Besides, the note McKenzie had left wouldn’t prove anything to anyone other than himself. Nash cleared his throat and began again. “According to the autopsy, the cause of Professor McKenzie’s death was her pacemaker. It shorted out.”

Dean just nodded. Considering the state of his house, he had guessed that the same thing had happened to her. But medical implants like her pacemaker would never simply short out on their own. They were too carefully designed and too rigorously tested. What had happened to McKenzie had not been an accident. Someone had shorted out her heart along with his entire house and then kicked open his front door to make sure the job was complete.

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.”

This continues an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel of calamities, creatures, and college matriculation. (type “J” to skip back one post; type “K” to skip ahead one post)

Mad Science Institute will be available 12/16/2011, but you can read the beginning here first!

“May I ask why you think so?” Now she was using her professor voice. It made her sound dethatched and objective, and Dean knew it would get him off track, just like always. He wanted to skip to his counter-proposal, but he decided he might as well show why her idea was a bad one before he brought up his own plan.

“Okay, for starters: why would you want me to take care of a bunch of college kids? I don’t know anything about teaching or colleges or whatever it is you need me to do. Can’t you find somebody else pack their lunches and wipe their noses?”

“They need someone prepared for emergencies,” she looked at the L.A.F.D. emblem on his blue t-shirt. “This group doesn’t need someone with an advanced degree, they need someone to keep them from causing disasters. Don’t sell yourself short: you’re smart, and with your military and firefighting background you’ve got an honorary Ph.D. in disaster control as far as I’m concerned. Besides, it should only be for a few weeks. I didn’t know I would need your help when I sent the offer to your cousin, but I thought with her there now, you might…”

He popped a salmon roll into his and studied her while he chewed. “A few weeks?” he asked. “Where will you be during that time?”

“I have to take care of some business. There’s a… professor. He wants something only I can find. But—never mind. I just need a few weeks to take care of it, and in the mean time I need you to watch over my students. Please.”

“No dice,” Dean said. “I’m going wherever you go. Besides, what do you expect me to do—lie on my résumé? In case you forgot, I don’t have a lot of experience teaching biology or whatever it is you need me to teach.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she shook her head. “It isn’t necessarily a teaching position. I get sole discretion in naming my replacement. It’s in our school charter. Here,” McKenzie rummaged around in her handbag and produced a pen and an old pad of yellow sticky-notes. “I hereby name Dean Lazarchek as my replacement at the Mechanical Science Institute. Signed: Prof. Denise McKenzie,” she wrote the words as she spoke them. “I’d prefer to write you a proper letter when we get some real paper, but this is all you really need.”

“I’m still not taking the job,” he said, handing the note back to her without even glancing at it. She folded his fingers closed around it and gestured that he should keep it anyway.

“You still haven’t given me a good reason why not,” she said.

“Because I’ve got a better idea,” Dean looked right into her green eyes. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” She almost choked in surprise. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m serious. As long as you’re running away, let’s run together.”

This continues an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel of calamities, creatures, and college matriculation. (type “J” to skip back one post; type “K” to skip ahead one post)

Mad Science Institute will be available 12/16/2011, but you can read the beginning here first!

From his parked pickup, Dean took a moment to study the front door of the Ichiban Sushi Buffet while he wondered if he might be going crazy. McKenzie always had that effect on him. That fact, along with his desire not to spend the rest of his life twiddling his thumbs in some little cow-town as a professor’s husband, was probably the reason why they had never been able to stay together. The trouble was, he was even worse off without her, and he knew it. There had been plenty of women in his life, but McKenzie was different. She was like a drug addiction, and withdrawal always left him shaken and stupid.

The first time she had dumped him, he had transferred to the fire academy just to get away. The next time it was his turn to break it off, but that hadn’t stopped him from needing to escape the pain again, so he joined the army and shipped out to the Middle East. When he returned, they got back together, but the long distance between their lives was too much to overcome. When they split up again, Dean crawled so far into a bottle that the chief had to give him a choice between the psychologist’s office or the unemployment line. The thing that hurt Dean the most was that he knew each of these breakups wounded McKenzie just as deeply. Even when he got angry, he couldn’t stand to see her in pain: anything that injured her felt like it hit him twice as hard. Over the years, their romantic collisions had left a lot of debris on the road behind them.

When he had seen her on the street yesterday, he had realized that he never wanted to lose her again. Still, he feared something was terribly wrong. She had seemed so distracted and worn down, and her request that he take over her job was both bizarre and worrisome. He didn’t know what was happening, but he knew he wanted to be the guy who would save her from it.

After work, he had swung by the bank to open his safe-deposit box to retrieve his great-grandparents’ wedding rings. Damn the consequences, Dean thought. McKenzie was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with.

The sushi buffet had just opened for lunch, but when he walked in he found that McKenzie was already seated in a booth with a good view of the parking lot so she could see him coming. They exchanged a deep, warm hug, and then sat down as she slid a plate of sushi across the table at him. “You have to tell me what’s going on,” he said.

He watched as the conflict played out across her face. “You can’t help with it. It’s best you don’t know.”

“Dammit, why?” There was silence between the two of them. She looked like she wanted to answer, but when it became clear that she wouldn’t, Dean went on. “This idea of yours,” he said. “Me running your school? It’s crazy.”

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!

Chapter 2 Continued…

When she looked up at him he saw deep, dark circles under her green eyes. She was smiling, but her mouth was strained. “What’s wrong,” he asked. “Is it your heart?” Her blouse covered the scar that had long since faded into a nearly invisible white line down her chest, but he knew it marked the implantation of the tiny electronic pacemaker that corrected her congenital heart defect.

“My heart’s fine. Listen, I have a lot to tell you and not much time. First of all, I sent a letter of acceptance to your cousin, Sophia. She should be getting it any day now.”

“Is that what this is about?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Look, I told you, I’m not that close to her or anything. You didn’t have to take her on my account.”

“That’s not why I accepted her. Believe me, she’s more than qualified. She’s…extraordinary.”

“Okay, you didn’t come all the way out here just to thank me for the recruiting tip. Spill it.”

She seemed hesitant to speak, hesitant even to look at him. “I need a favor,” she finally said. “A really, really big favor. Dean, I need you to run my school for me. I need you to be the Dean of Students at the Mechanical Science Institute.”

Dean just looked at her. He couldn’t imagine why on earth she would want him, of all people, to run a science college. He could disconnect a sparking car battery and predict the movements of flames within interior walls, but he wouldn’t have been able to pick out the difference between Avogadro’s number and Newton’s Laws if his life depended on it.

“I’m sorry,” McKenzie said “I wouldn’t have come to you if I had any other choice.”

“This is one of your games, isn’t it? Another one of your Mensa brain-puzzles? You’re always over my head with these things. You have to tell me plainly: what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer. He held her at arm’s length so he could study her face, hoping to find some clue that would help him unravel the riddle or catch the joke. But the only clues he found were the dark circles under her eyes and the worried crease in her brow. Dean felt confused and worried, and the more he tried to figure it out the more he felt like there was a giant hand inside his stomach making fists with his guts.

“Hey, Dean!” The booming voice of the fire chief called to him from the engine. “Were you planning to join us?”

Dean glanced back to see that the rest of his crew had finished loading up and were ready to go. McKenzie took that moment to pull away from him.

“Tomorrow morning, after your shift ends, meet me at that sushi place where you took me the first time I came out here.”

“McKenzie, wait.” He reached out to her like a blind man trying to find a doorway. “Whatever it is, let me help. I’ll get you a doctor or a lawyer—or a hit-man, if that’s what it takes.”

She gave him a slight smile, her green eyes suddenly sad. “The Institute,” she said. “I need your help with that.” And then she was gone.

This concludes chapter 2. Chapter 3 begins tomorrow with Soap at a science fair. Hilarity and destruction ensues.

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!

Chapter 2 Continued…

She was standing on the far corner, just past the ring of plastic cones that marked the civilian safety zone, with the other spectators. It was her hair that made her so easy to spot: orange-red, the color of a daffodil’s heart, and vivid even at a distance as it flowed over her shoulders. Her arms were folded across her chest, and she wore an earth-toned pants suit that allowed his eyes to follow the long journey of her legs all the way up from her black pumps.

Dean felt a surge of happiness at seeing her, followed almost immediately by a cold splash of regret. He had known her since their first day as college freshman, and since then he might have measured his life by the cycle of intense love and bitter heartbreak they traded with one another. The last time he had seen her had been two years ago, when she rejected his marriage proposal for the second time. All that seemed like so long ago, and his mind raced to come up with an explanation for why she might be here, now, standing on this very street corner.

She saw him and waved, then pushed past the other spectators to follow the safety line closer to him.

“McKenzie,” he called out as he ran to her. He had always called her by her last name, ever since they had first met as freshman in college. Originally it had been a sort of joke, a jock’s nickname for someone who couldn’t have been less jock-like in attitude or upbringing, but the name had stuck with her. Even years later, her new acquaintances mistakenly believed that it was her given name because that’s what everyone else called her. He raced her to the edge of the safety line, but when he reached her he suddenly felt awkward and unsure of what to do. When they had last seen each other, they had been enemies after another ferocious break-up. By their usual pattern, they would now be lovers again, but Dean didn’t want to make any assumptions. McKenzie, however, had no reservations as she flung her arms around him.  He laughed, scooped her off her feet with a bear-hug and inhaled deeply, finding that even the clinging stench of the smoke was powerless to cover her scent of jasmine and honeysuckle–scents he couldn’t name, but which he had learned to love. It meant they were about to re-discover all the ways they were so perfect for each other. Maybe, if they were lucky, this would be the time they would forget to explore all the reasons it could never work out.

“Sorry,” he said, releasing the hug. “I’m all sweaty. But I’m so glad to see you. What are you doing here? And—how did you find me out on call?”

“I just followed the smoke,” she said. “Wherever there’s disaster, there’s Dean.”

This chapter concludes tomorrow!

This is an excerpt from Mad Science Institute, a novel that will be available 12/16/2011. This chapter introduces Dean, the second of two point-of-view protagonists.

Dean is a tough-guy, which is good because he’s going to get knocked around a lot during the course of his adventure. But, hey, someone’s got to keep the school from burning down.

Chapter 2

Dean

As the curtain of black smoke pulled back, Dean yanked the oxygen mask from his face and dropped his heat-warped helmet to the pavement. His fellow firefighters rushed in to offer assistance, but he didn’t need any. He was on his feet, and so were the rest of his crew. One man had a hurt shoulder—a broken clavicle, Dean guessed—but the fire was out and their job was done.

He unclipped the air-tank from his back, and when he shucked his insulated jacket from his shoulders, a light rain of charcoal chunks and burned brick chips fell from him. The late summer Los Angeles wind was hot and tainted by the coppery scent of smog, but it still felt refreshing as it hit his broad chest and played through his short, black hair. He was not the tallest firefighter at his stationhouse, but he was far from the shortest, and his sturdy frame was wrapped in ample muscle and minimal fat, allowing his body to shed heat with the greatest possible efficiency.

His colleagues gathered his discarded clothing as he dropped it and one of them shoved a canteen in his hand. Dean upended it over his head, then accepted a second canteen and gulped down the chilled water. By the time he finished, the station chief arrived and swapped Dean’s canteen for another full one.

“Not exactly the best-case scenario,” the chief said, pointing with his chin back towards the remnants of the building from which Dean had just emerged.

“I’ve seen worse,” Dean said with a shrug. He had once remained on his feet for three days to battle a jet-fuel fire at a hanger outside of Bagdad. By comparison, today was easy. Half the building may have fallen down, but he had read the impending collapse in the sagging interior walls in time to hurry his men to safety. The apartment building was lost, but the fire would not spread.

“Take a rest,” the Chief said, jerking his thumb towards an awaiting ambulance. “I don’t want to see you back on the line for thirty minutes, minimum. That’s an order.”

Dean had a seat and allowed the paramedics to record his vitals before he found a shady spot from which he could watch the clean-up operation. Exactly thirty minutes later, he got up and went to lend a hand.

He took only three steps before he saw someone who stopped him short. There, across the street, stood a figure he instantly recognized but couldn’t believe: Professor Denise McKenzie.

As the curtain of black smoke pulled back, Dean yanked the oxygen mask from his face and dropped his heat-warped helmet to the pavement. His fellow firefighters rushed in to offer assistance, but he didn’t need any. He was on his feet, and so were the rest of his crew. One man had a hurt shoulder—a broken clavicle, Dean guessed—but the fire was out and their job was done.

He unclipped the air-tank from his back, and when he shucked his insulated jacket from his shoulders, a light rain of charcoal chunks and burned brick chips fell from him. The late summer Los Angeles wind was hot and tainted by the coppery scent of smog, but it still felt refreshing as it hit his broad chest and played through his short, black hair. He was not the tallest firefighter at his stationhouse, but he was far from the shortest, and his sturdy frame was wrapped in ample muscle and minimal fat, allowing his body to shed heat with the greatest possible efficiency.

His colleagues gathered his discarded clothing as he dropped it and one of them shoved a canteen in his hand. Dean upended it over his head, then accepted a second canteen and gulped down the chilled water. By the time he finished, the station chief arrived and swapped Dean’s canteen for another full one.

“Not exactly the best-case scenario,” the chief said, pointing with his chin back towards the remnants of the building from which Dean had just emerged.

“I’ve seen worse,” Dean said with a shrug. He had once remained on his feet for three days to battle a jet-fuel fire at a hanger outside of Bagdad. By comparison, today was easy. Half the building may have fallen down, but he had read the impending collapse in the sagging interior walls in time to hurry his men to safety. The apartment building was lost, but the fire would not spread to the rest of the neighborhood.

“Take a rest,” the Chief said, jerking his thumb towards an awaiting ambulance. “I don’t want to see you back on the line for thirty minutes, minimum. That’s an order.”

Dean had a seat and allowed the paramedics to record his vitals before he found a shady spot where he could watch the clean-up operation. Exactly thirty minutes later, he got up and went to lend a hand.

He took only three steps before he saw someone who stopped him short. There, across the street, stood a figure he instantly recognized but couldn’t believe: Professor Denise McKenzie.

Read more of chapter 2 tomorrow!

I’m pleased to officially announce my new novel, Mad Science Institute!

What’s Mad Science Institute about?

Sophia “Soap” Lazarcheck is a girl genius with a knack for making robots—and for making robots explode. After her talents earn her admission into a secretive university institute, she is swiftly drawn into a conspiracy more than a century in the making. Meanwhile and without her knowledge, her cousin Dean wages a two-fisted war of vengeance against a villainous genius and his unwashed minions.  Separately, the cousins must pit themselves against murderous thugs, experimental weaponry, lizard monsters, and a nefarious doomsday device. When their paths finally meet up, they will need to risk everything to prevent a mysterious technology from bringing civilization to a sudden and very messy end.

When, where, and what’s next:

This novel will be available in ebook and paperback on Amazon.com, Barnes & Noble, and other major retailers in December. Between now and then, I’ll post Mad Science Institute news, images, and excepts so you can keep up to date on all the pulse-pounding action. I’m super excited about this, and I’m confidant that if you like the Hollow Earth Expedition serial stories, you’re going to love Mad Science Institute.

Is it December yet? Is it December yet? Is it December yet?…