than the noonday sun.
6.
Good thing we don't have heat vision, Michael Guerin thought. Otherwise Max's ferocious glare would have burned a hole in the back of Joe Mortons skull.
The alien youths lurked at the back of the elevator, accompanying the mysterious gunman on his way back to the surface. Fortunately, Morton's size and girth made it fairly easy to keep track of him, even in the crowded elevator. Michael figured the odds that the scruffy stranger, who reminded him unpleasantly of his vanished foster father Hank, would recognize him and Max from the Crashdown were incredibly remote. Morton and his sleazy confederate had fled the scene of the shooting well before Max called attention to himself with his miraculous (and highly imprudent) laying of hands upon Liz. He never knew that his single bullet had changed all of their lives forever.
The baleful intensity with which Max's eyes shot daggers at Morton made Michael uncomfortable. It wasn't like Max to lose control like this. Usually he was more cautious, more thoughtful-except, of course, for that day at the Crashdown. Maybe I've got good reason to be worried, Michael thought; the last time Morton threatened Liz, Max had risked everything by using his powers in public. Who knew what rash action Max might take now that, after all these months, the deadly gunman had reentered their lives? Seven hundred and fifty feet later, the elevator disgorged its occupants into the Visitors Center atop the caverns. Morton ignored the various educational displays on the history of the park, featuring large mounted photos of such earthly luminaries as Calvin Coolidge and Herbert Hoover visiting the caves, and headed straight for the nearest exit. Max and Michael chased after him, trying hard not to be too conspicuous about it.
At the last minute, right before stepping through the swinging glass doors to the outside, Morton turned and looked behind him. Michael's heart jumped, and he hurriedly feigned interest in a map of the surrounding park- lands, but Morton paid no attention to either Max or him, glowering instead at the sealed doors of the elevator. Right, Michael guessed, with a strong sense of relief, he's not looking at us. He's checking to make sure the lieutenant is still underground and not leaving the caves at the same time.
Having assured himself that his nameless co-conspirator was nowhere to be seen, Morton left the Center. Michael counted to five, then took off after him, disturbed to see that Max was already several steps ahead of him. 'Slow down, man!' he whispered forcefully to Max, catching up with his longtime friend. 'Cool your jets, okay? You're going to blow our cover!'After spending the last few hours in the cool, artificially- lit recesses of the caverns, stepping out of the Center into the heat and glare of summer came as quite a jolt. Michael squinted, raising a hand to shield his eyes. Days like this, he wished he had a protective inner eyelid, like Mr. Spock on Star Trek. Guess we're a different sort of alien, he thought wryly, searching for the designated target of their amateur manhunt. At first he couldn't locate Morton amid all the other tourists coming and going outside the Center. Then, despite the blinding sunlight, he spotted a familiar bright orange cap rising above the stationary vehicles crowding the large, spacious parking lot. 'Over there,' he alerted Max, pointing toward the departing figure. Morton was obviously planning to say adios to the park.
Max nodded grimly, no doubt reaching the same conclusion. 'Get the car,' he instructed Michael tersely, tossing him the keys to the olive-green, army- surplus Jeep he and Isabel shared to get around. 'I'll stick with Morton.'Are you sure?' Michael asked, a dubious expression on his face. The way Max was acting, he was reluctant to leave him alone with Morton, even for only five minutes or so. 'How about the other way around?'Just do it,' Max ordered, his intent gaze never leaving their unsuspecting quarry. He proceeded briskly along the edge of the parking lot, continuing the pursuit without a single glance backward.
Fuming in frustration, Michael kicked a discarded Pepsi can at Max's retreating back. Tell a guy he's the rightful heir to a distant alien civilization, and suddenly he thinks he can call all the shots. Realizing there was no arguing with Max in his present mood, Michael hustled to carry out his friend's instructions. He raced across the overpopulated parking lot, sliding between the tightly-packed vehicles until, only moments later, he reached the Jeep, right where they'd left it. Hopping into the driver's seat, he fired the ignition and backed out of their parking space, taking care not to run over any strolling tourists or (worse yet) bang into Maria's precious red Jetta, parked right next door.
Figuring that Morton, once he got into his own car, would be headed for the exit at the northeast end of the lot, Michael drove that way as well. Sure enough, he found Max waiting alongside the exit, looking impatient enough to spontaneously combust. Michael pulled up next to him, and Max bounded into the front passenger seat, not even bothering with the Jeep's door. 'That's him,' he snapped, pointing at the access road leading out of the park. 'The blue Chevy convertible with the Texas plates.' He vibrated with frustrated antagonism. 'Don't let him get away!'The Jeep accelerated out of the parking lot, onto N. Mex 7. Michael spotted the navy-blue Chevy Max was talking about, two or three vehicles ahead, and got into the same lane. He wondered how long Max was willing to follow Morton. All the way to Texas, or to hell and back? I'm betting on that last one, he thought sourly. He still wasn't convinced that this was a good idea. We don't have enough troubles and enemies on our hands, we have to go look-ingjor more? Keeping one hand on the wheel, he snatched a half-empty bottle of Tabasco sauce off the dashboard and took a deep gulp of the bottle's fiery red contents. The refreshing liquid heat coursed down his throat, tantalizing his alien tongue and taste buds. Ahh, he thought appreciatively, that really hits the spot. He offered the rest of the bottle to Max, but Max brushed it aside with a curt gesture, obsessively focused on the blue Chevy and its occupant.
Without stopping, Morton passed through the tiny tourist trap of Whites City, heading northeast on National Parks Highway, better known as El Paso Road, toward Carlsbad itself, about half an hour away. Sun-baked desert plains, spotted with occasional stands of mesquite or yucca plants, stretched out monotonously on both sides of the park highway. Pushing the speed limit, the Jeep's forward motion generated a cooling breeze that helped to make the sweltering heat slightly bearable.
Michael cautiously kept a couple of vehicles between the Jeep and the Chevy, much to die frustration of Max, who kept urging him to close the gap. 'You're too far away,' he complained, restlessly drumming his fingers upon the dashboard. 'We're going to lose him.'No, we're not,' Michael assured him for what felt like the fifteenth time. Talk about your role reversals, he thought. I'm supposed to be the reckless, impulsive one. 'Do you want him to figure out we're tailing him?' he asked Max in exasperation. 'This snaz2yjeep of yours is pretty conspicuous.'Max did not respond, instead falling silent as he continued to stare darkly at the speeding Chevy. His icy expression and smoldering eyes spooked Michael, who tried to figure out just where his friend's head was at. I haven't seen Max so angry, he thought, since that final confrontation with Agent Pierce. 'So what's the master plan?' he asked worriedly. 'What exactly are you planning to do once we find out what this creep is up to?'Whatever I have to,' Max said, looking straight ahead, his seething gaze glued to Morton's convertible.
'What the hell does that mean, Max?' Michael didn't like the tone of his friend's voice. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as he let Max know exactly what he thought. 'Are we talking murder here, Max? Is that the plan? Are you planning to kill Morton yourself, to avenge Liz Parker's sacred honor?' Squeezing the wheel so hard his knuckles whitened, he cast an accusatory look at the obsessed alien teenager sitting next to him. 'Just how far are you planning to go, Max?'I don't know,' Max answered, after too long a pause. His expression darkened as he considered his options where Joe Morton was concerned. His jaw twitched and an angry vein pulsed along his brow. 'Far enough, I guess.'Oh yeah?' Michael challenged him, dividing his attention between the road, the Chevy, and Max Evans. 'Let me clue you in on something, glorious leader. Killing another person, human or otherwise, isn't like skipping class or lying to the cops. Itfe something you have to live with, every day for the rest of your life.'He spoke from painful experience. It had taken him months to come to terms with having killed Agent Pierce, and that had been in self-defense. Sometimes he still had nightmares about it, vivid flashbacks that woke him up in the middle of the night. He could just imagine the torments Max's anguished conscience would put his best friend through if Max actually killed Morton in cold blood. 'You don't want to do that, man.'Max looked unconvinced, but at least he appeared to be considering what Michael had said. His fingers stopped drumming violently on the dashboard and his stormy gaze turned inward for a time. Let's hope I got through to him, Michael prayed, before he does something we all regret.
They drove in heavy silence for maybe fifteen, twenty minutes or so, before Michael saw the Chevy's right turn
