Bill dashed back to his car, with Tree striding close behind him . . . then stopped when he got to the driver's side door. "Damn it," he cursed, glancing back at her enormous wooden frame. "There's no way you're going to fit inside."
"Don't worry," Tree said, "I can follow along behind you."
Bill frowned. "You can run fast?"
"No," Tree said, "But I . . . have another way of getting around. Just keep your speed under forty."
Bill blinked. No time to sort this out. "Okay, then," he said, got in his car, started it, and pulled out onto the street. In his central rearview mirror, he saw her just standing there, dwindling behind in the lengthening distance. Then she took two sprinting steps forward and sprang into the air. She was up above his mirror's line of sight almost instantly. So! She could fly, then?
Two-and-a-half seconds later, she slammed back down onto the pavement feet-first, right behind his car. He could feel the jolt through the ground. She took one more running step, and jumped forward, again disappearing above his line of sight. She wasn't flying, she was leaping! And she'd landed awfully close that time; she might just land right on top of his car the next. He pressed down on his accelerator pedal, hoping the extra speed might open up the distance between them. But a little over three seconds after her last launch, she landed right behind his car again and took another bound, as though she'd been expecting him to speed up.
He glanced at his speedometer after she left the ground again. Nearly 40 miles an hour. Right at her speed limit. Sure enough, after three seconds and change, wham, she landed right behind him and took back off again. She was having no trouble keeping up. Now, though, he had to turn the corner to the right. She landed well behind this time, part of the way through the intersection he'd just cleared. But she pivoted in mid-landing and leapt straight toward him, coming down right on course behind him with her next bound.
And off they went into the warehouse district, a Chevy with an eight-foot-tall jumping bean tailing along behind.
As the dilapidated parking lot came into view, Bill's trepidation returned. This was still the Warehouse District. He imagined rougians lurking in every alleyway. The thuds and jolts of Tree bounding off the ground behind him actually felt reassuring. He finally pulled into the lot, but the tan Vanagon that had absconded with his boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. Tree landed near his car and switched to a leisurely walking pace. Bill turned off his car and got out — he doubted the car would still be there later, what with all the thugs and car thieves his mind had peopled these streets with — and said "This is the parking lot I saw Joe's kidnappers pull into. The van must've pulled into a neighboring building."
Tree glanced around and pointed at what might have once been a delivery entrance. "There's only one building they could've gone into."
Bill looked at the building, and had to raise his gaze half way to the sky. It was one of those giant old dilapidated warehouses that rose three stories high, covered in window panes that were either broken or too grimy to see through. Exactly the kind of place you'd expect to find an evil hideout. Tree looked down at him and said, "Our best bet is to look inside from a high vantage point. Do you trust me?"
Bill frowned. "Uh . . ."
"Too bad," said Tree. She wrapped one powerful wooden arm around his torso and, before he could object, leapt into the air with Bill pinned to her side. He let out a shriek, terrified that he was going to fall and splatter against the pavement. Instead, she landed with Bill in tow on a precariously narrow ledge right in front of one of the warehouse's third-story windows. She gazed through a broken pane. "Hmmm," she whispered, "There's something going on down there all right. Take a look inside and tell me if you see your boyfriend."
Bill glanced slightly downward to one side, then shut his eyes and jerked his head back toward the window. Damn, they were high up off the ground. Don't look down, don't look down, he told himself, then forced himself to look in through the broken window. He was expecting to see the third floor, but instead he stared down into an abyss. There was no third floor. Or second floor. This was one of those gigantic warehouses that was just one great big open space inside. There was just as big a fall in front of him as there was behind him. He took two nervous breaths. No, he thought, Don't close your eyes. Joe's life depends on it. He fought off the vertigo, gripping tightly to Tree with one hand and the edge of the window with the other, and looked down.
Most of the interior was dark. There was a little natural light coming in from all the broken and dirty windows, but the space inside was almost entirely in shadow. Almost. Near the center of the far wall were sharp shafts of bright white light. Artificial light. His eyes hadn't quite adjusted to these new light levels yet, but he could make out a few people-shaped silhouettes, some standing, some sitting. His vision started to clear. All six of the people sitting were arranged in an arc facing toward a wall . . . no, they weren't facing the wall, they were facing some free-standing doodad near the wall. All five of the people standing were mulling around on the other side of that doodad.
Finally, his vision fully adjusted. He could make out the white form-fitting uniforms with the twin blue stripes down the sleeves on the ones who were standing — the same uniforms worn by the guys who kidnapped Joe. The six people sitting were tied to their chairs, and on their heads . . . were those tinfoil hats? No, more like shiny, metallic bandanas tied around the tops of their heads. And —
"That's him!" Bill hissed. "The fifth one in the chairs, that's my boyfriend!"
Tree nodded. "I think I know what they're going to do with him. Unless I miss my guess, that gizmo pointed at the guys in the chairs is a mind control device."
Bill did a double-take. "What? How — how can you tell?"
Tree's wooden face made its best imitation of a smirk. "Operational security on Dockran's Island wasn't exactly rock-solid. Secrets had a way of getting loose. Before I left the island, I'd heard rumors that one of Eternal Mankind's eggheads was working on a mind control ray. I can't believe they built it right under my nose, here in L.A.."
"Oh, crap!" Bill whispered. "One of those goons just started fiddling with the gizmo. I think they're about to use that mind control ray on Joe! I've gotta get down there and stop 'em!"
"We need to be careful how we intervene," Tree said. "They might have guns. I'm bullet proof, but you and those hostages are —"
"I'm going down there now!" Bill interrupted her. He looked like he was ready to jump down, the three stories between himself and the warehouse floor be damned.
"Okay, then," Tree shrugged, "The direct approach it is." She wrapped one powerful wooden arm around Bill, and bounded forward and down.
Her cybernetic wooden feet smashed down onto the floor not ten feet away from the T.H.E.M. operatives, right in front of the business end of the free-standing device. Gasps erupted. For a second or two, both the kidnappers and their victims were utterly confused. Then one of them blurted out, "The test!"
At that instant, the experimental Neural Override device switched on, thrumming with a low booming hum while bathing Bill, Tree, and the six kidnapped subjects in intense red light.
And Bill's mind exploded.
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