Even now Dawson knew the only reason for his continued invitation to these exclusive retreats in the forest was because Johnny Bosh liked what Dawson brought to the party. Tonight that something was burning a hole in Dawson’s jacket pocket. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think how earlier he had lifted it—that’s right, lifted, borrowed, not stolen—from his dad’s holster while his dad slept on his one night off. His dad probably wouldn’t care as soon as he heard Dawson was hanging with Johnny B. Okay, that wasn’t true. His dad would be pissed. But wasn’t he always encouraging Dawson to make friends, go do stuff that other kids were doing? In other words, be a normal teenager for a change. He wanted this year to be different.
Just holding the X-26 Taser, with its lightweight, bright yellow casing that fit perfectly in his hand, gave him a sense of confidence. The power the stun gun possessed surged all the way up Dawson’s skinny arm, so that he actually became an extension of the Taser. All he had to do was point and wham, there goes 50,000 volts of electricity. And suddenly Dawson Hayes was somebody. The powerless, suddenly powerful. He could control anyone and everyone.
So what if he wasn’t an athletic superstar like his dad wanted him to be. So what if he’d never be a quarterback like Johnny B or a tough, tobacco-chewing cowboy like Lucas or even a brainiac like Kyle? With this sleek piece of technology in the palm of his hand Dawson felt like he could do anything.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t just the Taser. Maybe the salvia had a little something to do with it. He’d been chewing his wad for about fifteen minutes and he could already feel the effect. That was just one of the highlights for tonight.
Dawson looked for the camera hidden behind some low sweeping pine needles. Though it remained camouflaged he could see the green dot blinking only because he had helped Johnny set it up earlier, making sure the tripod blended in with the branches. No one else knew it was there. Being the geek in residence did have its advantages.
Dawson glanced around at the campground they had stomped out for themselves in a secluded part of the pine forest where they probably shouldn’t have a frickin’ campfire. Johnny B said no one could see this parcel from the road or the lookout tower, though it didn’t matter. Both would be vacant. On one side was an open field, a swell of rolling tall grass separated by a barbed-wire fence. On the other side was the thick beginning of ponderosa pine. About ten yards away the Dismal River snaked by. Dawson could hear the water tonight, just a whisper running over the rocks.
They had left their vehicles about a quarter mile down in a deserted pull-off, a two-tire trail worn into the knee-high grass. They even had to climb over barbed-wire fence to enter the forest. The trek was only the first test of the night but Dawson thought it revealed quite a lot about tonight’s guests, how they maneuvered and crawled over the sharp barbs, just how capable they were. Whether they turned to help the next person get over or under the fence or if instead they looked for assistance. Or worse, expected assistance.
That was another thing about Dawson that made him different than other kids his age. He liked watching how people reacted to each other, to their surroundings and especially how they reacted to the unpredictable. His generation had become mindless zombies, mimicking and copying each other, caught up in their own little worlds of what is rather than what if. That was probably what interested him most about Johnny’s experiments.
There were only seven of them here tonight and yet they still grouped together in their cliques. Johnny was surrounded by the babes, Courtney and Amanda. Tonight even Nikki had inserted herself into the cool clique, which disappointed Dawson. He had hopes that Nikki would be better than that. All three girls looked like they were hanging on every one of Johnny’s words, laughing and tossing their hair back then tilting their chins in that way girls do to show their interest.
Smoke and mirrors. Everyone with half a brain knew exactly who was in charge, who controlled who.
That was okay. Johnny was good at looking like it was his club, his party. Like he called the shots. Quarterback, homecoming king, Johnny Bosh was charming but with just enough of a bad-ass attitude that nobody challenged him. Being Johnny’s friend was safer than being someone who annoyed him.
Dawson wasn’t quite sure why Johnny wanted the Taser. He didn’t need it. Johnny exuded confidence, even in those silly cowboy boots. The leather biker jacket was a bit much, but it fit the cool image. Kids called him Johnny B and it was the coolest nickname. Dawson had even heard Mr. Bosh call out, “Johnny be good,” at one of the football games and then the man laughed like he expected just the opposite from his son and that it was perfectly okay with him.
The first flash of light came without a sound. Everyone turned but only briefly.
The second flash crackled overhead. Dawson thought it might be lightning but his eyes blurred it into blue and purple veins that spread over the treetops like a crack in twilight’s ceiling.
Dawson heard “oohs” and “aahs,” and smiled to himself. They’re tripping out, enjoying the fireworks. He probably was too.