Four Alternative Christmas Presents by Tam MacNeil Page B

encompassed the platform in front of all the dials and switches.
    “Yes,” Dr. Destructo whispered in a low, silky voice. “You are fascinated by it, aren’t you? You are thinking back to the accident that changed you and wondering what your life would be like if only you hadn’t done whatever it was you did.”
    There was something hypnotic about the way he spoke. About his voice. Matt found himself leaning in, as if listening to a story. When Dr. Destructo began to mount the three metal steps up to the platform, he realized Fiona and Adam had let him go. He was moving around free, moving toward the machine.
    He blinked, shook his head. He looked at Jake, who was gazing into the middle distance, and the others, doing the same.
    “Hey!” he shouted, and his mouth seemed to move as if stuck together. His words weren’t a shout so much as a soft cry. Like nightmare sounds. He shook his head again, harder, and the syrupiness of the moment seemed to thin, then fall away, and suddenly Dr. Destructo was pounding on the machine and Matt and Jake were shouting, scrambling up the metal steps. There was a burst of steam, and the acrid stink of diesel filled the air, and then….
    And then the world lurched and the machine landed, as if it had been dropped from a very short height, with a clang that blew the sound out of Matt’s ears and left his head ringing. Through the haze and ringing in his ears, Matt heard someone holler, “Oh no you don’t!” before something heavy crashed into Matt’s head and sent him stumbling back against the machine. He slumped down, heard Jake shout—louder now that Matt’s hearing was coming swimming back—and suddenly Jake’s hands were gripping Matt’s arms. He looked up into Jake’s face, saw those blue eyes warm with concern.
    Oh yes, please , he thought.
    “You okay?” Jake asked. Matt nodded.
    “I’m okay. Where’s—?”
    “Getting away, come on!”
    Jake pivoted and launched himself over the machine’s rails, down onto the factory floor, in pursuit of the caped figure running pell-mell for the door at the far side. Matt stumbled down the steps, had an instant to wonder where the others were, and then pelted after Jake.
    Dr. Destructo slammed the door open and disappeared. Then he and Jake hit the door too, shoved it open, and raced out into an alternative Christmas present.
     
     
    I T WAS dark outside and hot, hot like midsummer. In California. And the air dry enough to crack lips and sting eyes. A blood-red moon hung in the sky, and the city seemed to hold its breath. There was no wind, and the air was almost thick, like the air above rotting garbage. “What the heck?” he shouted as he chased after Jake. “Where’s the snow?”
    “Alternative present,” Jake shouted over his shoulder. “Remember?”
    Postapocalyptic , Matt thought, but didn’t say it.
    In this reality, the gate to the warehouse compound wasn’t on this side of the building. Instead there was a tall chain-link fence. Dr. Destructo shimmied over with surprising dexterity for a man in pantaloons and a cape and then raced off down the dark and eerie street.
    Matt made a leap for the fence. If there was one thing he was good at, it was obstacle courses. He’d trained hard to pass the tryouts to get into the League, and that fitness, coupled with his superstrength, had really come in handy.
    He heaved himself up and over the fence with hardly any effort at all, then turned to give Jake a hand, but Jake had done it too. In fact, Jake had launched himself right over as if the fence was nothing more than a nuisance.
    “Holy crap,” Matt said before he realized it was rude. Jake staggered in surprise, then looked up.
    “Wow,” he said, suddenly grinning and delighted. “I like that.”
    Matt stared at him for a moment. It seemed to him that Jake’s skin was lighter than it had been, and his pale eyes were strange and dark. Matt dropped down beside him.
    “C’mon,” he said. “And let’s hope