Monster (Gone 7)

“It’s the closest thing we have to a plan,” Justin said. Then, slyly again, “We’ll need a name for it. Him. My monster.”

Erin was about to snarl at him again, but checked herself because he was right and she knew it. The creature needed a name to separate it from Justin. Still, she couldn’t quite suppress her snark, so she said, “Lobster Boy?”

“Funny. How about the ‘Dark Artist’?”

“No, that’s still all about you. The creature is not you, remember?” She had one finger in her mouth, poking the painful tooth, so the next part came out garbled. “Sword Master?”

He considered. “That’s not bad, but it sounds like some fencing expert in tights. It should be something scary. The Dagger. The Blade . . . no, that’s been used.”

“Colossus?”

“He’s a Marvel superhero,” Justin said.

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t want every comix nerd on earth calling me out for plagiarism,” Justin mumbled. “Wait, I have—”

And then the park ranger’s SUV came creeping down the hill and pulled in behind them, not hostile exactly, but partially blocking their escape.

Erin’s face went gray.

“Be cool, Erin, and maybe we can bluff our way out of this,” Justin said.

Erin rolled down her window as the ranger came up, wary but not jumpy.

“Ma’am. How’s your day going?”

“Fine,” Erin lied. She turned on the charm. “Now, I know I wasn’t speeding, Officer, because we’re parked.”

“Yes, ma’am, but we’re checking . . .” A definite hesitation as the ranger saw Justin, and then his tone shifted dramatically. The ranger’s hand went to his pistol, resting there, very far now from relaxed. “I’m going to need you both to step out of the vehicle and show me some ID.” He keyed the microphone clipped to his uniform. “This is Franklin, I could use some backup.” Not signaling panic, but trying to contain the situation until backup could arrive.

Justin opened his door.

“Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Justin raised his hands in a parody of surrender and Erin saw what was needed: a distraction. She pushed her door out, fast, causing the officer to take a step back and yell, “Ma’am, I need to see your hands.”

“Sure you wouldn’t rather see these?” Erin asked coyly, and pulled the top of her sweater down.

“Whoa! Ma’am, that’s not necess

ary, just—”

“Don’t you like girls?”

At this point the ranger realized she was distracting him, stepped back, and drew his weapon. Justin’s blade arm stabbed straight through the Volvo, pierced the front passenger door, the seat, the farside rear door, and with a downward twitch sliced effortlessly through the ranger’s arm.

The gun—and the hand holding it—fell to the ground.

“Aaaahhh!” the ranger shouted, staring at his blood-spurting stump in disbelief.

A second park ranger’s vehicle was rushing up the hill, and in his crack-of-doom voice Justin said, “We have to go!”

The injured cop was on his knees, his stump under his opposite armpit as he scrabbled awkwardly for the gun, yelling in pain and fear.

Erin jumped into the Volvo and started the engine, but now Justin was nearly twice the height and four times the bulk of a normal human, far too big for a car seat. So he used his massive left-hand claw to rip the seats from the back row, tossing them wildly over the side of the cliff. He squeezed through the door but could only lie down, his huge T. rex feet pressed against the windshield and his terrible blade sticking through the back window.

“Go, go, go!”