Greg Cox: A Touch of Fever

“One way or another.” There was nothing more they could do, Myka realized. Pete was in Clara Barton’s hands now, so to speak. “Um, guys?” Claudia called out. “Maybe you should back up a bit more?”

Probably not a bad idea, but just a second too late. The blue light merged with the gray fog like matter colliding with antimatter. A burst of pristine white energy knocked Myka and Artie backward, sending them tumbling across the lawn. The shock wave radiated outward, uprooting Claudia and Nadia as well. The carriage horse whinnied in fright. Rising up on its hind legs, it pawed the air with its front hooves. Pete himself was lost at the center of the eruption.

And then, in a heartbeat, it was over. The intense white glare blinked out of existence. The shock wave exhausted itself. Myka found herself sprawled upon the grass at least three yards from where she had been crouching before. Fallen leaves cushioned her body. Artie moaned a few feet away. He rescued his glasses from the leaf litter. Miraculously, they appeared to be unbroken. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Forget me.”

She jumped to her feet. “What about Pete?” Thankfully, the blast had not scattered him all over Central Park. She saw him lying on his back, still in one piece. The grass was flattened around him like a crop circle. But was he alive or not? Had the gloves saved him or killed him? Myka ran toward him, holding her breath. She couldn’t tell if he was moving or not. Please, Pete. Don’t let this be the end. I don’t want to do another job without you. He sat up abruptly, coughing. His eyes blinked in confusion and he shook his head. He still looked thinner than usual, but his color was already looking better. His skin no longer had that awful grayish cast. He licked his lips. “Wow,” he mumbled. “My whole mouth tastes like fudge.” Myka gasped in relief. Joyful tears streamed down her face. Dropping to his side, she hugged him as hard as she could. “Ohmigod, Pete…” “Hey, not so tight!” he griped. “I’m trying to breathe here.” She let go and punched him in the shoulder instead. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, you jerk!”

CENTRAL PARK

“How’s he doing?” Pete asked. Nadia cradled Jim’s head in her lap as her battered boyfriend came to. A fresh bandage, courtesy of Artie’s satchel, had been applied to his brow. Nadia pressed gently on the compress. “His head’s stopped bleeding. I think he’s going to be okay.” “Nadia?” Jim looked up at her. “What… what happened?” “It’s all right,” she shushed him. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” “But that man?” He shuddered, remembering Worrall’s attack. He clutched Nadia’s hand. “Are you all right?” “It’s okay, man,” Pete said. “Everything’s under control. Just take it easy.” He gave Nadia a reassuring nod. “Head wounds can be tricky,” he told her.

“Lots of time they look a lot worse than they are.” From what he’d seen, he doubted if Jim would even need stitches. “You probably ought to have him checked out for a concussion, though.” Nadia contemplated her naked right hand. “I don’t suppose…,” she asked him tentatively. “Just once more?” Pete shook his head. The gloves remained on his hands, just in case they needed a little more time to fix him, but he wasn’t tempted to use them. They had caused enough trouble already. “Let’s not push our luck, okay?” Calm had finally descended on the Sheep Meadow, which they had all to themselves for the time being. Worrall’s panicked victims had all fled the scene.

Chances were, they would have only foggy memories of what had happened to them. The local authorities were staying away as well. Pete wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Mrs. Frederic had quietly pulled strings to arrange for a temporary quarantine, just to give the agents a chance to take care of any loose ends. She was good at that kind of thing. After all, she had been doing it since who knew when.

One of these days, Pete thought, I really want to find out what her story is. For the moment, however, he was just happy to be alive. The storm clouds had all dispersed, leaving behind a beautiful fall afternoon. Pete took a deep breath, filling his lungs. He was still a little wobbly, but he was definitely starting to feel like his old self again. Thanks to Myka and Artie and Claudia. “Hey, partner.” Myka strolled over to join him, after returning Artie’s first-aid kit to his bag. She looked Pete over. “How are you feeling?” “Honestly, I’m starving for something beside hospital food.” He patted his stomach.

“I feel like I could eat a horse.” The brown nag lifted its head over by the carriage. Pete shrugged apologetically. “Present company excluded, of course.” The horse whinnied indignantly. Its passengers were still out cold. Pete figured the tourists and the carriage driver would be pretty confused when they finally woke up. Not that they’d actually remember anything. The Tesla blast would have done a number on their memories. And speaking of loose ends… Pete held up his hands, showing off Clara Barton’s gloves. “How about we finally neutralize these puppies?” “Already?” Worry creased her brow. “Maybe you should keep them on a little longer? Just in case they’re… well, keeping you alive.” “I feel fine,” he insisted. “Anything they’re going to do, I think they’ve done.” He did his best to alleviate her anxiety. “Honestly, Mykes, I want to get these things off me.” He scratched at the back of his hand. “They’re starting to itch.” Myka nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.” She took out a silver retrieval bag and held it open. “Any time you’re ready.” She didn’t need to ask twice. He unbuttoned the gloves and peeled them off. Into the bag they went without a second thought. Golden sparks erupted the minute the gloves hit the goo inside. A pyrotechnic flash left his eyes watering-just like usual. “All right.” He punched the air triumphantly. “Now, that’s what I call a proper neutralization.” “And none too soon.” Myka sealed the bag shut. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to declare this case closed.” “You and me both,” Pete agreed. Seated on the carpet a few feet away, Nadia sighed ruefully as she watched Myka put the bag away. “It was nice while it lasted, I guess.” She gazed at her empty hands. “I should have known it was too good to be true.” Pete didn’t want to leave her feeling like she had lost something irreplaceable. “Look, there are still plenty of ways you can help people if you really want to. Do volunteer work, become a doctor, a teacher, a Secret Service agent, whatever. You don’t need some spooky Civil War gloves to do good, just a big heart and a willingness to go the extra yard for folks who can use a helping hand.” He smiled down at Nadia and Jim. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve already got plenty of both.” She looked at him hopefully. “You really think so?” “I know it. Just don’t make yourself sick this time, okay?”

Jim squeezed her hand. “Trust me, I’ll take good care of her.” “Take care of each other,” Myka stressed. “You’ll be okay as long as you have someone watching your back.” She punched Pete again. “Even if they scare you to death sometimes.” “Ouch!” Pete said. “Stop doing that!” “Ah. There you are.” Artie found Brigadier General Laverlong’s cane lying not far from where Pete had dropped it. To his relief, the artifact did not appear to have been damaged in its travels. He had been uneasy about shipping the elephant cross-country. Past attempts to transport artifacts by post or special delivery had not always turned out well, as in the case of Philo Farnsworth’s 3-D TV projector. Handling the cane carefully, he tucked it under his arm.