From the Street to the Stars (Andy Nebula: Interstellar Rock Star, Book 1)

Chapter 12: Rain on the Run

Flash is called flash because it acts instantly (as I'd already discovered) and because its effects recur over and over, like the flashing of a light, until it's eliminated from the body. For the next few hours, I'd be out of my mind more than I was in it—and might not always know the difference.

Meta headed for the gate. "Qualls—" I said, resisting.

"The security people come with the stadium, don't they?"

Did they? Yeah, they did. I nodded.

"Then just leave it to me."

I didn't have much choice. Neither my brain nor my body were exactly at their best. Only my arm around Meta's shoulders kept me upright.

A frowning security guard met us at the gate. "Passes?"

"I'm with him," Meta said sweetly, and I managed to lift my head. The guard shone a flashlight in my face. His eyes widened.

"Sorry, Mr. Nebula—"

"Oh, label me Andy, gladeye," I said. "Everyone else does... did... didee-da-dit-da-dit... " My words turned into phosphorescent balloons, and I waved good-bye as they lifted into the sky.

The guard looked up, then back down at me. "Is he all right?" His voice started three octaves below middle C and screeched to a high C-sharp in the space of four words. I winced.

"Should be a singer, gladeye! What a range... range... range, range on the home... " The guard sprouted bovine horns.

"He's just—happy," Meta said. "Happy to be home. We're going out celebrating!"

"Looks to me like he's already been celebrating," the guard said. "Well, enjoy yourself, Mr.—Andy."

"Moo! Moooo!" I said to him, and suddenly everything snapped back to normal... or near-normal. I straightened abruptly. "Thank you very much, kind sir."

Then I turned to Meta. "I'll take my stringsynth now, my dear."

She raised an eyebrow at my suddenly grand tone, but handed me the long, slender case. I slung its strap over my shoulder so the stringsynth rested on my back, then took my bag from her. Holding it in my right hand, I offered her my left arm. "Shall we go, milady?"

With an elegant inclination of her head to indicate acceptance, she hooked her arm in mine, and in that fashion, we processed grandly down the street—

—right up until a clamour abruptly arose from the stadium and the guard's communicator squawked.

"Uh-oh," I said.

"What's going on?"

Meta started to turn around, just as the guard shouted, "Stop! Mr. Nebula, stop!"

I grabbed Meta's hand. "Run!"

"A minute ago you couldn't even walk!" Meta protested above the thudding of our feet on the pavement.

Sirens wailed from somewhere ahead. "Police—and ambulance!" I shouted. "Faster!" My blood blazed anew, filling me with energy. This was what flash was all about! I ran as fast as I could, almost dragging Meta, laughing out loud as shockwaves of colour exploded around us. Green fire burned in our wake, silver stars burst from our mouths and drifted to the ground like snow—

The flash ended. "Kit, stop! Stop!" Meta screamed.

I stopped. Meta broke free and stumbled away from me, sobbing, clutching her arm, and I saw my handprint outlined in red on her skin. "What's wrong with you? What's going on?"

The manic energy had vanished. I felt weak, sick—and lost. I stared around. How far had we run? Blank brick walls surrounded us. I could still hear the sirens, slowing, fading, back at the stadium. "Meta, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—it's the drug—"