The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(45)

Tate grinned into the phone again. “Yes, sir. She sure does.”

“Sounds like something you need to remember next time you think about lying to her,” G-pa said.

“I didn’t lie to her! I just didn’t tell her, that’s all.”

“An evasion is little different from a lie. You want my advice?”

“Always, sir,” Tate said.

“Come clean. Tell her the truth, and explain that the two of you are still safe. You’re calling me from a pay phone to my landline—a number that’s not published and is registered in the name of a trust that’s buried under mounds of corporate paperwork and red tape meant to keep people from knowing it’s me. It’s safe to call me. And not because I knew you’d need to hide from a mad scientist and his evil minions.”

“Yeah, it’s buried so no one knows the retired biology teacher and coach is filthy rich,” Tate added.

“Yep, yep, yep. I realized years ago, when they discovered oil on my land, that folks act stupid when they find out you have money. So I decided way back when that folks just don’t need to find out.”

“I’ll tell her, G-pa. When the time is right,” Tate said.

“You know when’s the right time to tell the truth?” G-pa asked.

“When?”

“Always, boy.”

“I hear ya, G-pa.” Tate sighed heavily. “Want to know the whole truth?”

“’Course.”

“What I want more than anything is to figure out exactly what caused those tornadoes and how to stop it from happening again. Did you find out anything for me?” Tate neatly changed the subject to a stranger, though more comfortable one.

“I did! Well, first I found out that I hadn’t completely forgotten the biology I taught too many years ago for me to admit. Guess the old dog still has it.” G-pa chuckled.

“G-pa, of course you still know your stuff. You taught for, like, six decades.”

“Well, not quite, but it sure felt like it. There’s nothin’ like high school kids to keep you feelin’ young while they’re really makin’ ya old. I have a theory that teenagers are really energy vampires, but we’ll discuss that another time.” G-pa paused. “Where the hell was I?”

“You said you found something—something about what was done to us?” Tate prompted.

“Yes and no. Those equations you read to me—they’re really somethin’. Lucky I still know my way around the Texas A&M MSL.”

“MSL?”

“Medical Science Library, boy,” G-pa muttered. “Get with the program. It’s also lucky I know my way around the Dewey Decimal System and can research by looking through actual books and journals instead of the goddamned internetathon.”

“G-pa, you know it’s really not called that, right?”

“Don’t make one lick of difference what it’s called, especially when the damn thing doesn’t work for shit.”

“It’s bad down there in Galveston, too?” Tate said.

“The weather is crazy as a bedbug, especially the wind. Keeps knocking out cell towers and what the hell ever makes the internetathon work. And I’ve never seen the waves in the Gulf look like they do now. Do you know they’re drawing surfers? Actual professional surfers! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“Nope, G-pa, I haven’t.” When his g-pa didn’t continue, Tate nudged, “Um, you were talking about not using the Internet and finding stuff out anyway?”

“Yep, yep, that’s the truth. Good thing I’m used to picking shit with the chickens. I can research without it.”

“What did you find?”

“Doctor Stewart might be evil, but he’s undeniably brilliant,” G-pa said.

“Yeah, that’s what Foster keeps saying.”

“Well, the girl’s right. Tate, you might need to sit down for this.”

“G-pa, I’m in an old-timey phone booth. The best I can do is lean against the side of it.”

“Then lean, boy, and listen up. I believe you and Foster and the rest of those kids were altered on a genetic level. I can’t figure out the whole thing—wish I’d finished my damn doctorate. I might know more. But, from what I can piece together, during the gastrulation phase of in vitro fertilization Stewart inserted organic material directly into your cells and then he used gamma rays to irradiate that material and your cells.”

“Gastrulation, that’s the early phase of an embryo, when it’s still a blastula. When a bunch of important stuff happens, right?” Tate focused on accessing the science file in his brain, rather than panicking about what had been done to him.

“Yes, boy. Very important, as in setting a foundation for who or what the embryo becomes. My working hypothesis is that your DNA has been joined with organic material and altered.”

“I’m trying not to freak out here, G-pa.”

“Does it help if I compare you to Peter Parker?”

“Don’t kid around. This isn’t science fiction. This is science fact—fact that happened to Foster and me and probably six other kids,” Tate said.

“I’m not kidding around, Tate. Listen, I think the only place we can find clues about what was done to you is in science fiction. At one time flying machines and submarines and anything resembling the internetathon were the stuff of sci-fi. Sometimes reality takes a while to catch up with fiction.” G-pa’s voice gentled, “Hey, you did name your place the Fortress of Sauvietude. Seems to make sense that you’re actually a superhero.”