4
Shortly after dawn, three loud raps on the RV’s back door jolted them awake. Grumbling, Adam opened the door. Maggie peered around him, squinting sleepily in the bright morning light.
A middle-aged man stood there smiling at them, a gray external-frame backpack on the ground at his feet. He had bright blue eyes and brown hair with white streaks at the temples, and he appeared to be in excellent physical condition: Muscles bulged beneath his safari shirt, and the legs of his faded blue jeans swelled at the quads. The most notable thing about him, though, was a sort of robust cheeriness, which set him apart from the beaten and weary folk of Sweetwater and most everywhere else in these grim days. The smile he beamed at them and the hearty and sincere “Good morning” he addressed to them were artifacts from a distant, nearly forgotten world.
Unfortunately Adam was too tired to reciprocate.
“What do you want at this wretched hour?”
The man smiled quizzically. “It’s already seven o’clock.”
“As I said, a wretched hour.”
The man shrugged. “I’ll make this brief, then. I hear you’re planning to hunt down the Marauders.”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Well, I’ve spent the last six months on their trail myself, and since we’re both after the same goal, I figure it’d make sense if we work together.”
Adam regarded the man with surprise. “Am I to understand that you have been hunting the Marauders alone?”
“Yep. I started out hunting only the Annihilator. He’s a member of my old rogue’s gallery. Now that he’s joined the Marauders, I guess I’ll have to go through them to get to him.” He clapped his hands together with an eager smile. “So, what do you say? You game for a team-up?”
Adam looked dubious.
“It cannot hurt to have another able body,” Maggie said.
“I agree,” said Adam, “but…”
“But what?” asked the man.
“I am not certain that merely ‘able’ is good enough. Battling the Marauders is a job for remarkable individuals. I, for instance, am far stronger and more resilient than any normal man. The robot who is accompanying us is, of course, a robot and thus is not prey to the many vulnerabilities of the flesh. And as for Maggie here, in the last fifteen years she has learned the arts of self-defense and can hold her own against all manner of men and monsters. What of you? I see that you sport the musculature of a strongman and the courage of a lion, but those alone will provide little protection against gigantic shovel-wielding brutes and armored madman with laser blasters.”
The man chuckled. “I appreciate your concern, but there’s more to me than meets the eye. Watch this.”
With that, he began removing his clothes. His shirt came off first. Beneath it was a form-fitting top, which was all gray except for a stylized white G on the chest. Next came his jeans, revealing gray form-fitting leggings on top of which he wore a pair of gray trunks held up by a white belt with a round gold buckle. Next he kicked off his hiking boots and pulled from his backpack a pair of gray boots, a pair of gray gloves, and a gray cape that was made of a coarser material than the rest of the outfit. He put these on, affixing the cape to two small clasps on the shirt just below his clavicles. Finally he reached back and pulled on a snug-fitting cowl that was attached to the neck of the shirt. The cowl had two oval holes for his eyes and a larger opening at the bottom, which left the lower half of his face exposed, from halfway down the bridge of his nose to his chin and from mid-cheek to mid-cheek.
When he was done, he spread his arms in show, smiling with obvious pride in his ensemble.
“Well?” he said. “What do you think?”
Adam and Maggie shared a baffled glance.
“I do not understand,” Adam said. “Are you an acrobat of some sort? We have little need for—”
“Heh. I’m no acrobat, though I used to be partnered with one. Little fellow named the Contortionist. No, where I’m from I’m what’s called a costumed crime-fighter.”
“You fight criminals while dressed like that?” Maggie said.
“Yep.”
Adam cracked a rare smile. “And do you capture them while they are incapacitated with laughter?”
He half expected an offended response, but the man just chuckled. “Actually the criminals dressed up like this too. I know it seems kinda weird, but that’s just the way it was where I’m from.”
“I see. Though I confess I am still unsure as to how well you can acquit yourself in battle against the Marauders.”
The man held up a finger. “Watch.”
He put his fists on his hips, puffed out his chest, and squared his jaw. Having assumed the prescribed pose, he narrowed his eyes in concentration and his skin immediately took on a grayish cast. As the color deepened, there was a faint crackling sound, and the man’s skin and all of his clothes except his cape lost their luster and softness until he appeared to be carved from stone. Even the glistening whites of his eyes turned matte gray. Maggie further noticed that as this transformation occurred his feet sank half an inch into the dirt, as if he had gained several hundred pounds in mere seconds.
When this metamorphosis was done, he looked exactly like an animated statue, except for the cape, which remained fabric.
The man grinned, revealing gray teeth like tiny tombstones.
“Well,” he said. “What do you think now?”
“You can turn into stone?” said Maggie.
“Technically it’s not real stone. It’s something I call organic stone.”
Adam frowned. “Is that not an oxymoron?”
The man shrugged. “It’s the best I could do. Unique circumstances require unique nomenclature.”
Maggie started to extend a hand, then hesitated. “Um, do you mind if I…you know…”
“Touch me?” said the man with breeziness, as if he had been asked that a thousand times before. “Sure.”
She lightly laid a hand on his chest, ready to pull it back after a quick feel. But her hand remained there, patting and stroking, while her mouth dropped open in fascination.
“Amazing,” she said to Adam with a wondering laugh. “It feels exactly like stone, yet his muscles still roll and quiver as he moves, and his chest rises with his every breath. Go on, see for youself.”
With obvious reluctance, Adam placed a hand on the man’s chest. A moment later his eyes went round with wonder. He jabbed a fingertip against the man’s chest. Then again, harder. And again, this time with enough force to send a normal man staggering backward. This man, however, didn’t move an inch.
“Pretty cool, huh?” the man said with a grin.
“Um, yes.”
“So can I join you?”
“I suppose so.” He looked at Maggie. “Do you agree?”
“I do,” she said.
“Marvelous!” the man said.
“If you are coming with us,” said Maggie, “you must tell us your name.”
“Oh!” The man looked horrified that he had forgotten this basic social nicety. “My name’s Robert. Robert Winston. But everyone calls me Bob. Unless I’m in costume, of course; then my code-name is Granite.”
“Well, Mr. Winston, or Bob, or Granite, or what-have-you, I am Magdalena Frankenstein, known as Maggie to my friends, and my overlarge companion is Adam Frankenstein.”
“Frankenstein, eh?” Granite eyed the duo with a closed, thoughtful expression. He seemed about to say something more when Freud appeared around the corner of the wagon.
“Is it time to depart yet?” Freud said.
“Yes,” said Adam. “And you shall have one more head to probe during our trip.”
“I shall?” said Freud.
Adam waved an arm at Granite. “This is Mr. Winston. Or Mr. Granite, I suppose, since he is wearing his costume.”
“Why’s the robot coming with us?” Granite asked.
“He recently traveled through the westlands and can show us the way. In return he asks only to subject us to a p
eculiar custom called psychoanalysis.”
“Holy smokes! The robot does psychoanalysis?”
“You are familiar with the practice?”
Granite just sighed. “This is gonna be a long trip.”