For himself, Morton looked almost as stunned as the young woman he had so roughly unmasked. "You!" he blurted, crushing the stolen shades inside his fist. "You're the witch who stole my case last night." Outright fear and confusion came over his coarse, ill-shaven face as he realized that he was remembering a dream. "What the hell?" he exclaimed, loud enough to attract scandalized looks from the staff and patrons of the restaurant. "What kind of freaky head game are you playing?"Next to him, the scrawny scientist panicked. "What's the matter?" he squealed, shrinking into his seat. "What's happening?"Morton shoved the techie out of the booth in his haste to get away from Isabel. Lurching to his feet, the frothing gunman pulled out a handgun and waved it in front of Isabel and Michael. "Gimme that pack!" he roared. "Now!"Terrified shouts and screams greeted the surprise appearance of Mortons weapon. "Watch out! He's got a gun!" someone shouted as cashiers, waitresses, and customers ducked for cover. "Someone call die police!" another voice yelled.
It's the Crashdown all over again, Isabel realized, flashing on her borrowed memories of the shooting. Horror melded with deja vu as, her heart pounding, she gladly surrendered the backpack and its worthless contents to the volatile hoodlum. Morton snatched the pack by its taut straps and tossed it over to the science nerd, who clutched it against his chest. "Nobody follow us!" he shouted for all to hear, firing a bullet into the ceiling for emphasis.
Leaving the disguised aliens alone in their booth, Morton and his accomplice ran for the exit. "Oh my God," Isabel gasped. What if the two men went back to their motel room to reclaim the vital briefcase? "We have to warn Max and Liz!"Her hands shaking, she found the cell phone in her purse and somehow managed to dial the number for the Motel 6. Meanwhile, Michael stood up and, exploiting his phony uniform for all it was worth, tried to calm the upset denizens of the Denny's. "Everyone remain calm," he ordered with mock authority. "Remain in your seats. We'll be taking statements shortly."C'mon, c'mon," Isabel muttered fervidly, waiting for the motel operator to pick up. Standing up in the booth, she watched through the restaurant's clear glass windows as Morton and the other man plowed dirough an approaching party of tourists, shoving the startled bystanders aside in their headlong flight from the restaurant. She listened anxiously to the ringing of the cell phone, knowing there wasn't a minute to lose. They couldn't let Morton catch Max and Liz in his room! "Hello, Motel 6 here," a voice said chirpily into her ear, on about the fourth or fifth ring. "How can I help you?"Finally/ Isabel thought. "Connect me with room #19, right away, please! It's an emergency!"The operator obligingly transferred the call, but, to her intense distress, nobody answered. The cell phone gripped in her sweaty palms, Isabel waited in an agony of suspense to hear her brother's voice at the other end of the line. Come on, Max! Pick up the damn phone! Michael gazed at her with a worried, mystified expression, obviously wondering what was taking so long, while the phone continued to ring maddeningly. "I'm sorry," the operator broke in after a minute or so. "There seems to be something wrong with that line. May I take a message for you?"Isabel hung up the phone. "I can't get through to them," she told Michael, scared to death. "Something's gone wrong."Damn!" Michael swore, fully aware of the danger their friends were in. "Come on," he said, grabbing onto her hand and pulling her out of the booth, onto her feet. "We've got to get over there!"They ran, hand in hand, for the exit. "Wait!" someone shouted after them. "What about those reports?" A hefty male cashier tried to block their escape, but Michael knocked him aside with a blast of concussive force. Isabel hoped to heaven that their disguises were still working.
Dashing out the door, into the full heat of the afternoon, they saw Morton and the science guy pile into the blue Chevy and speed out of the parking lot. Horns honked and brakes squealed as the Chevy recklessly cut straight across the highway, causing pileups and rear-end collisions in both north and south lanes of traffic. The nerve-jangling thunder of crashing metal only heightened Isabel's acute feeling of dread as she watched Morton's convertible roar into the parking lot of the Motel 6, where her brother and his girlfriend were about to be caught snooping by a psycho with a gun.
Get out of there, Max! she thought, climbing into the driver's seat of the Jeep as fast as she could. Michael buckled himself into the seat next to her, staring furiously through the windshield as Isabel started the ignition and pulled out after the Chevy. Even with her foot flooring the gas pedal, she knew she couldn't catch up with Morton in time.
Now, Max.' Get out of there now!
19.
Max let the light from his hand dim as he followed Liz toward the door of Morton's messy motel room. They wouldn't need any artificial illumination once they were back outside; Max just hoped that Michael and Isabel were still keeping Morton and his scientific consultant occupied. Liz is right, he thought apprehensively. The sooner we itch this place, the better.
Liz was reaching for the doorknob when they suddenly heard footsteps and angry shouting right outside the door. Morton's gruff, raspy voice sent Max's heart racing. "Hurry up, will you?" the gunman bellowed impatiently as someone rattled the doorknob from the other side. Max and Liz looked at each other in alarm, frozen in place with nowhere to run. The teenage alien stared in confusion at the phone on the end table. Why didn't Michael and Isabel warn us Morton was coming back? Suddenly, he noticed that the phone cord was no longer attached to the back of the cheap plastic phone. "No!" he whispered out loud, realizing that Morton must have unplugged the phone before leaving the disorderly motel room. But why? "Oh, crap!" another voice exclaimed outside, with audible shock and dismay. "The door's unlocked."The science guy, Max guessed. Instinctively, he extinguished his silver glow, throwing the room into murky darkness.
"What!" Morton snarled. The door slammed open, almost hitting Liz, who had to jump backward to avoid being whacked by the swinging door. The intense New Mexican sunshine flooded the room, exposing Max and Liz to the two men who now crowded through the narrow doorway, blocking their escape route. The scientist barely preceded Morton, who shoved his learned accomplice out of the way in order to charge at Liz like a wild boar, his florid face a mask of malevolence. "What the hell is going on?" he shouted, spittle flying from his lips, then did a double take when he got a better look at Liz's face. "Wait a second," he muttered, confusion briefly supplanting rage upon his porcine features. "I know you." He grabbed onto Liz's arm and pulled her closer, struggling visibly to place where he'd seen her before. "Where…?"Max raised his hand, aiming his open palm at Morton's broad frame. A faint silver aura outlined his fingers as he summoned the concentration to blast Morton to kingdom come. At the last minute, though, he remembered the rattlesnake he had so thoroughly obliterated the night before, and Michael's disturbing warnings regarding Max's current lack of control-and the awful consequences of taking a human life. The rattlers smoking remains sprang from his memory, superimposed on Mortons repugnant face, and Max hesitated before unleashing his psychic energy.
He paused just long enough, in fact, for the overlooked lab worker to tackle Max from the side, knocking him to the floor amidst a clatter of upset beer cans and plastic Coke bottles. Max landed hard, the bone-jarring impact causing him to grunt out loud. He almost lost his grip on the attache case, but he held onto the handle with all his strength, unwilling to let go of the precious alien artifacts. The surprisingly aggressive techie kicked viciously at Max's head, and Max barely managed to roll out of the way in time to avoid the blow. Reaching out desperately from his position on the floor, he succeeded in catching hold of his attacker's sneakered foot with his right hand, forcing the techie to hop precariously on one leg while Max, still lying on his side, used his other arm to swing the briefcase like a club, smashing the case into his opponent's hip. Too bad the contents are so insubstantial, he thought; ironically, the amazingly lightweight nature of the alien technology undermined his use of the case as a weapon.