5 A Message in the Sky

Chapter 5 A MESSAGE IN THE SKY At this point, you're probably wondering when Coke McDonald is going to be thrown into a giant shredder. You may, in fact, be angry that he hasn't been thrown into a giant shredder yet. Patience, dear reader! Our story is just beginning. Good things come to those who wait. A promise is a promise, and my promise to you is that before this story is over, Coke will most certainly be thrown into a giant shredder. The McDonald family walked north from the Lincoln Memorial, stopping to pay their respects at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Then they crossed Constitution Avenue and wandered around the side streets for a few minutes until they found a little Italian

restaurant for an early dinner. Pep was still a bit nervous and on edge about everything that had happened to her up to this point. But oddly enough Coke, who remembered everything, had a way of putting the bad experiences out of his mind and looking toward the future. He was starting to relax. And why shouldn't he? Dr. Warsaw was away on his honeymoon with Aunt Judy. He couldn't do anything to harm anybody. Even if that lunatic wanted to, he was severely injured and in a wheelchair. It would be a long time before he'd be able to walk, much less hurt innocent children. By the time Dr. Warsaw's broken bones healed, Coke figured, they'd be back home in California and could deal with him then. In the meantime, they might as well enjoy themselves while they could. That was Coke's attitude. "Are you kids excited about the fireworks tonight?" Dr. McDonald asked as he bit into his second slice of pizza.

"You know it!" Coke shouted, giving his dad a high five. He had nearly forgotten that it was the Fourth of July and that there was a big fireworks display on the National Mall. It's a fact that making stuff is interesting. Taking stuff apart is also interesting. But destroying stuff and blowing stuff up is cool. It doesn't matter what it is—firecrackers, cherry bombs, M-80s, bottle rockets, Roman candles, mortar shells. Anything you can light up that will explode with noise, light, smoke, flames, and flying debris is cool. Coke and his dad had a gleam in their eyes just thinking about the fireworks. It's a guy thing. That's sexist, I know. And there are exceptions, of course. But in general, it could be said that girls like fuzzy bunnies, puppies, and kittens, while guys like throwing water balloons at each other and setting Ping-Pong balls on fire. Girls get pleasure from shopping and trying on new clothes. Guys prefer watching cars crash

into each other at high speed. I could go on, but you get the idea. We're different. Nothin' wrong with that. Dr. McDonald paid for dinner, and the family walked back to the National Mall. It was already getting crowded on the grass. Some people had camped out for hours so they would get the best view of the fireworks, next to the reflecting pool between the Lincoln Memorial and the World War II Memorial. Mrs. McDonald found an open spot and spread a blanket on the grass. A few kids were throwing footballs around, so Coke pulled his Frisbee out of his backpack and flipped it to his sister. They moved off to the side to have a catch. "Fireworks were invented in seventh-century China to frighten evil spirits, y'know," Coke informed his sister. "They would roast bamboo to create a loud bang that would scare away imaginary one-footed monsters." "Do tell more, O wise one," Pep said, rolling

her eyes as she purposely flung the Frisbee over her brother's head to make him go chase it. Ever since they left California, she had been getting better and better. Now Pep could effortlessly whip a Frisbee long distances with nearly pinpoint accuracy. She was better than her brother, not that he would ever admit that. "Did you know," Coke told her, "that a simple sparkler can get as hot as one thousand degrees Fahrenheit? You can actually melt gold at that temperature." "I was being sarcastic," Pep replied. "I didn't really want to hear any more about fireworks." "Why not?" he replied. "They're gonna shoot up thirty-three tons of explosives out here tonight! Can you imagine? Thirty-three tons of potassium, zinc, titanium, sulfur, and phosphorus, igniting and exploding before our eyes! How awesome is that gonna be?" "Awesomely awesome," Pep said with zero enthusiasm. "Y'know," Coke continued, "I heard about

some guy who was shooting off rockets in his backyard on the Fourth of July last year. One of them didn't fire right away, so he looked into the tube to see what was wrong. Then the thing fired and it blew his head off! It blew it clean off! He was still standing there five seconds later with no head!" "Will you shut up already?" Pep shouted. She stopped tossing the Frisbee. "Okay, okay!" Coke said. "What's your problem?" "It's just that I have a bad feeling—" Uh-oh. Feelings. Those things that girls have. Coke couldn't relate. "—I have a feeling something's going to happen during the fireworks show," Pep admitted. "Something bad." "Like what?" Coke asked. "Dr. Warsaw is on his honeymoon. He's not going to bother us here." "What about those bowler dudes?" Pep asked. "They got away in the helicopters. Who