The Impossible Fortress by Jason Rekulak

Author:Jason Rekulak
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster

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I’M SURE ALF AND Clark staged all kinds of elaborate stunts to sneak out of their houses past midnight. But my mother was working at Food World, so I just sat in front of the TV, watching Odd Couple and Star Trek reruns until it was twelve fifteen and time to go. I walked out my back door wearing black jeans, black Chuck Taylors, and a black Van Halen T-shirt; I carried a flashlight, an adjustable wrench, a twelve-inch crowbar, and the crisp twenty-dollar bill from the night before.

Wetbridge had a town-wide curfew for teenagers that started at midnight. We agreed to travel to General Tso’s independently to reduce the risk of being spotted. I cut through the Catholic cemetery and stayed off the streets; I hopped fences and crossed through backyards and alleys and vacant lots. The town was silent. All I heard were chirping crickets and the soft shuffle of my sneakers. Now and then a dog barked, but I didn’t see or hear a single person.

There was a full moon, and I knew the route like the back of my hand, so I kept my flashlight in my back pocket. It felt good to be out in the night, out on a real adventure, away from a computer screen. And I didn’t feel nervous at all. Our plan was solid, and I trusted Alf and Clark to follow the plan. This would be the caper to end all capers, a story we’d be retelling for years.

I didn’t dare walk down Market Street, not with Tack doing patrols every half hour, so I looped around to the back of General Tso’s, clinging to the shadows of the access road until I reached the empty parking lot. Schwarzenegger’s second-floor window was closed, but I could see the dog napping on the sill, a mop of white fur smooshed against the glass. On the other side of the fire ladder was another window with an enormous air conditioner; it was groaning and rattling and sputtering, and I couldn’t imagine how anyone slept in the same room with it.

I knew the noise would mask my footsteps, but I was careful to approach the building at an angle—avoiding Schwarzenegger’s sight line—just in case the dog was awake. There was a twelve-inch gap between the garbage Dumpster and the back wall of the restaurant, and this is where I found Alf and Clark, crouched on their knees and waiting for me. I squeezed in beside them and switched on my flashlight. The pavement sparkled with broken glass, like a bed of glittering jewels.

Clark was dressed in the same T-shirt and jeans that he’d worn to the mall, but Alf had changed into clothes that were full-on Rambo. He wore olive-and-brown fatigues and his face was smeared with grease paint.

“Are we going to Vietnam?” I asked.

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