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ehehehehe..... yeah, so after the last post, i lost the memory stick, so now FOR REAL THIOS TIME the rest of Spyke 3


Portsmith was on the far side of Boston. It was three hours at best, more with traffic. But we didn’t have to worry about that. We had our hover bikes. They operated just like motorcycles, just without wheels. Since we didn’t have to worry about literally burning rubber, the bikes could go faster, stop on a dime, and we didn’t have to worry about potholes.
At about seven, we met in the garage. It was in the east wing of HQ, opposite the training room. It was built like a school gym, with 20 foot ceilings, and lots of open space. It was longer than it was wide, seeing as everything had to be built inside or underneath the junk piles. The base was in a junkyard. I walked around the boxy-looking jet that was in the center of the large space. One of these days we would have to come up with a name for that thing, but as of late, we had more important things to worry about.
The others were already waiting near the bikes, already in uniform. We had recently upgraded the uniforms to be more climate tolerable. Depending on the temperature, or where we were headed, we could choose various options such as the trench coats being lined with thinsolite, or being water proof. We also had added under armor under the tee-shirts. Those would come in handy. It was only November, but traveling at 100+ miles per hour would increase the wind chill, a lot.
“Ready to go?” Conner asked.
“Let’s ride.”
The large door at one end retracted, and I squinted as the sunlight leaked through. We coasted out one by one, and then opened the throttle, and shot towards the high way. We sped in single file along the shoulder, probably looking like black blurs to all the other cars. At one point, I think we passed a motorcycle cop doing traffic control. I heard sirens, and looked behind to see the guy tailing us. He was probably breaking the speed limit just to keep up. I leaned closer to the handle bars, gunned the motor, and doubled my speed. The others followed, leaving the stunned cop in the dust.
In no time, we had reached the city limits of Portsmith. We slowed to a stop, and Conner pulled out a handheld.
“Okay, so the Church of St. James is only a short distance from here.” he said.
“Right.” I said. “Now, we’ll park the bikes in an alley close to that, and go inside. No uniforms, they’ll attract too much attention. We’ll ask around, and try too recruit him, and we’ll get out, understand?”
“Got it.”
“Okay.”
We drove for a few more blocks, and then slid down an alley. We “powered down”, changing back into our normal clothes, and then made our way to the church on the other side of the street. As we walked through the building, a nun came up to us.
“Can I help you boys with anything?” she asked in a lowered voice.
“Yes, you could actually. Do you know a James Drake?” I asked, my voice also came out lowered, big spaces do that.
The nun looked worried. “He’s not in trouble again, is he?” she asked.
“Trouble? No, no he’s not in trouble.” I assured her.
The nun crossed herself. “Thank goodness.” she smiled with relief. “It’s just that, he’s had a few run ins with the law, and.... He’s a good boy really. We sometimes get officers coming here looking for him, and that’s why.... No one actually lives here, you’re looking for the foster care home next door.” she finished.
“Thank you.” I said, and we turned to go.
“So he’s not in trouble?” she half called as we left.
“No, he’s not.” I said.
We walked back out to the side walk, and then turned left, towards the foster home.
“Run ins with the law?” Larry asked.
“Well, we’ll see about that.” I said. “He has to be it, like it or not. We’ll work out the kinks later.”
We entered the foster home, and walked up to the front desk.
“Hi. We were referred over here by one of the nuns.” I gestured in the direction of the church. “We’re looking for a James Drake?”
“Jimmy, you mean?” The girl at the front desk asked. “Well, yes he has a room here. But I haven’t seen him all day. Sorry.”
I resisted the urge to scream, and smiled instead. “Do you know where he might be?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Well, it’s a pretty big city. At least it not Boston.” she shrugged. “Sorry.”