Fourteen
Dried blood, the color of rust, wrapped around Mason’s blade as he unsheathed the Katana in the backyard. He grimaced at the knowledge that the inside of his scabbard was also contaminated. He could still use it to keep the blade safe but there would be a good chance that the sword could become recontaminated with each sheathing. Not to mention that old Ninja trick of submerging oneself underwater and breathing through the scabbard would now be impossible. Even if Mason boiled it for an hour, he would never trust its sterility again. The blade however, something he had since his youth, was impossibly important to him.
Mason washed the blade and scabbard off with the hose and was able to get a majority of the undead blood removed. He then sprayed a highly flammable aerosol lubricant, WD-40, over the metal surface. He coated the blade until it began to drip with the light oil. A voice caught his attention.
“Whatcha doing?” Veronica said from the balcony above.
“Oh hey.” He said fishing in his pocket. “Just trying to sterilize my sword.” He lit a lighter and touched the flame to the base of the Katana. The blade ignited with a whoosh and burned with a bright orange glow. He extended it and thought that it looked pretty damn cool. Small flaming droplets dripped to the ground and hissed in the moist grass. He turned the Katana slowly and let the flames coat and cleanse the blade.
“Bleach would probably do a better job.” Veronica said with an amused expression.
“Bleach huh?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, it kills just about every virus or bacteria. It’s what the junkies use to clean their needles.” She grinned down towards him.
The flame died down quickly. “Okay, I’ll try that.”
“But you gotta soak it for a few minutes. Not just wipe it down.” She said.
“Right, soak it. Gotcha.” He said.
“Good night Jack.” She said and closed the sliding glass door.
“Good night.” He said.
He walked some distance away from the house, down towards the calm lake shore that was behind the property. Jack pulled his cell phone from his pocket and turned to look towards town. He saw a faint red flicker from the top of a radio tower.
“If you see the tower…” he whispered to himself and opened his phone. He dialed his mother’s cell phone and cursed when he received the same cycling tone that signified an incomplete call. Jack spat and started dialing out a text message to his mother’s number. He disliked texting because he found the process slow and pointless but was willing to try anything to get word to his mother. He wasn’t sure she would know how to respond but he had to try. After a few minutes of careful typing Jack had his message ready.
‘Me & Tony safe in Whisper CA. Leaving for Berkeley tomorrow. Respond if possible. Love Jack.’
He reread the message three times and felt it insufficient. He wanted to say more, to be able to do more, to leave right now and search San Francisco for his parents. He would start at their home, then the restaurant, and if need be, ask the local cops where the evacuees were being taken. He was willing to turn the city upside down to find them. Looking back at the house, he wished he was on the road. Jack sent the message on his phone and hoped that the text would somehow make it through. A moment passed and the phone said, ‘Message sent.’
Tony was relieved to finally be clean. It had been a few days since his last shower at the campgrounds and he knew that all the action must have left him murderously fragrant. He dressed in his last clean shirt and a pair of shorts while throwing the rest of his and Jack’s remaining clothes in the washer. As he added soap to the machine, he heard soft footsteps from behind in the carpeted hallway. The steps were small, slow, and most likely belonged to Nikki.
“You are the sneakiest little Ninja, aren’t you?” he said without turning around. The steps stopped, and he suddenly worried that it might be the nice old lady.
This might take some explaining
, he thought but was relieved when he heard Nikki’s voice speaking low.
“Not that sneaky, I guess.” Her voice was deep and scratchy, giving her an unintentionally sexy intonation. Tony turned to her concerned.
“Got a sore throat?” He asked.
“I was yelling a lot in the shack.” She said shaking her head. “I guess it’s catching up to me.”
Tony nodded. Her hair was in disarray as if she had been tossing and turning for a while. Tony would have found this sexy if not for the sheer exhaustion weighing on her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“My ears are ringing, I can’t get to sleep.” She said with frustration.
“Oh,” He nodded, “you were shooting without earplugs today.” Tony said and took her by the shoulder to lead her back to her room.
“It was really loud.” She almost pouted.
“You were indoors too, that makes it worse. The sound just bounces off the walls right back at you. It’s not like in the movies where they pop off rounds and it’s no big deal.”
He sat her down on the bed and looked around the room. On the nightstand he saw a small clock radio.
“Your ears have been ringing all day, but you haven’t noticed it until now because the room’s quiet and you’re trying to sleep.” He said while examining the buttons on the clock radio. “It used to happen to me after Metallica concerts. What you need is something to distract your ears.”
The clock radio began playing with the voice of a news announcer. Tony quickly moved the tuner dial until the news was replaced with static. He turned the volume down so that it was just a gentle white noise.
“I set the sleep timer so it’ll turn off in an hour but you’ll be out before that.”
“Thanks,” Nikki said with a weary smile and lay down. He helped her with her blanket and turned off the light.
“Good night gorgeous.” He said and closed the door.
Fifteen
Alexandra sat alone in the starboard gunner’s seat of the Blackhawk reminding herself not to clench her jaw. Morning came too early and she was operating on only very little sleep. She also had the feeling that she had been grinding her teeth during those few short hours. She had spent the last forty minutes of the early-morning flight staring at the back of Gavin Richardson’s helmet as he sat in the co-pilot’s seat. Leaving her facility wasn’t what she had in mind but when the old man says jump, you jump. Her jaw clenched again, forcing her near perfect teeth together. She turned away and looked to her laptop computer for distraction.
Alexandra opened the personnel files for Richardson’s private security company to familiarize herself with the Aries team that would act as their bodyguards. The information wasn’t very specific. Some had more then one language; one had computer skills, another had communications training, a third demolitions experience. One contractor named Reiss, was listed as an expert in interrogation; not an unusual skill. What was remarkable was that his file said he stood before a Court Martial and served two years in military prison before being dishonorably discharged. Alexandra had heard some strange things about the contractors at Aries but couldn’t imagine that Richardson would hire a dishonorable discharge. Each contractor had at least one tour of combat in Iraq or Afghanistan which was common for contractors. It was rumored that Aries Inc. only employed soldiers with confirmed enemy kills on their record. Alexandra wasn’t sure if that was true or not, she wasn’t usually privy to their company information as they were a subsidiary of RAM but had nothing to do with her department. She didn’t doubt that Richardson’s private bodyguards all had confirmed kills; that would be just his style, but why would he hire a former criminal?
She opened the file for Lewis, the team medic. She wondered if Medics carried weapons.
Wasn’t there something in the Geneva conventions about Medics not carrying weapons so that they wouldn’t be shot at? Did the Red-cross on their helmets signify that they were non-combatants?
She couldn’t remember. Lewis’ file said he was a recent hire with high scores and commendations. She would have to remember to ask him about medics if given a chance.
As she searched she noticed that the leader of the team, Royce Denkinger, specifically requested by the old man, wasn’t listed on the roster. She didn’t think that the archive Richardson had given her would be incomplete; that would be unusual. She did a general search through the archive for the team leader’s name and nothing returned. Alexandra frowned. She spoke into her headset.
“Sir? I’m not finding a file for Mr. Denkinger.” She saw from the back of Richardson’s head that he was laughing.
“No, you wouldn’t. It’s classified.”
“Classified sir?”
“Yes, and you’re not to ask him about his experience.”
“Understood sir.” She lied.
How could a private military contractor not even have an employment record? She understood classified military records. Sometimes they only listed that a soldier served in an area, not a specific place, especially if the operation was a covert one. But each of these men received a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars a year depending on their skill set. Denkinger would probably fall into the quarter of a million dollar range. This would merit more investigation. She made a mental note to add Denkinger’s name to her list of suspicious company activities. Paying a contractor off the books wasn’t going to get anyone in serious trouble, but she had a feeling that there was a lot more to it.
“Ms. Devereaux, are you able to connect to our corporate servers?” Richardson asked in her headphone. Her fingers trotted a pattern across the keys.
“Yes sir. The Blackhawk can bounce data to the network in flight.” She said trying to hide her excitement while buying time. This could be one hell of an opportunity. If he wanted to check his e-mail or stock portfolio or log into the company server, she could capture his password. She executed an application on her laptop that would log any keystrokes made on the machine. No matter what encryption he connected through, she would have a record of the buttons he pushed and in what order. The idea of having his level of access to the trove of company secrets almost made her mouth water. With the program running, she executed another to hide it from detection. Richardson was a careful man, but she was reasonably sure he wouldn’t see through her gambit.
“Would you like to use the computer sir?” she offered, almost smiling. His head remained forward.
“Perhaps later.” He said coldly.
Sixteen
Margaret was the first to awaken in the early morning. Her legs still burned and her heels stung from her journey but she imagined that her young friends must have felt somehow worse. The girl next to her didn’t even stir as Margaret got out of bed, used the restroom, and got dressed. She didn’t know what these young people had endured but they certainly deserved their rest. Famished, she decided to have a look in the kitchen downstairs.
Making her way carefully down the carpeted stairs, her hand gripping tightly to the rail, she was amazed at the size of the home and even more so that it was a guest house on the estate. At the rear of the house stood a semi-circular assembly of bay windows with a view of a vast lawn that sprawled down to Lower-Whisper Lake. The kitchen was astonishing. Black hardwood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and finely set floor tiles adorned the area, with a large stainless steel gas stove built into an island in the center of it all. Examining the stove she found that it wasn’t very clean. Upon another glance, she found that the kitchen, which was indeed very lovely, wasn’t well maintained.
No matter
, she thought
, if I can find the cook wear, I can manage
. She began to explore the drawers and cabinets.
Margaret pulled open the heavy refrigerator door with a huff. She found treasures within that she hadn’t tasted in years; real bacon, thick cut from Empire Meats down on Pershing Street, two dozen eggs, real butter, as well as American and Mozzarella cheese. She began to pile her supplies on the island counter in the center of the kitchen. She found a bread box with wheat-bread but no white. Opening each of the cupboards she familiarized herself with the arrangement and contents of the kitchen. The frying pans were a beautiful copper, but could use a quick rinsing. She wished she had some potatoes but found none. Toast would have to do.
Those kids have been through a lot. The least I can do is make them a nice breakfast
. She thought of how her doctor would have scolded her like a child if he knew that she was going to eat real eggs, chock-f of cholesterol and salt. Margaret never liked his condescending tone or her diet of artificial food.
To hell with you Doctor Osteen
, she thought and placed a glimmering skillet on the stove.
Consciousness shook Nikki Howe with a surge of adrenalin. She bolted up with a start, swung her feet around, and braced herself on the edge of the bed. It was the dream again; the same as in the truck. It seemed so real, the hammering of hungry hands outside, Lance’s prefect smile, his cold blue eyes, and even the smell of gunpowder before it became too much and threw her back into the real world; into yet another nightmare. Wild eyed and breathing hard from the shock of the waking world, she tried to focus her eyes on the unfamiliar surroundings. Nikki slowly realized where she was and that she was, for the moment, safe. Commotion from the kitchen caught her attention. A faint smell of cooking entered the room and Nikki realized that she was very hungry. After washing her face and using the rather large restroom, she opened the door to the hall and discovered something unexpected.
She found Tony asleep on the carpeted floor in front of her door curled up on his side like a very large child. He had what appeared to be a couch cushion underneath his head as a pillow. Underneath the cushion, Nikki could see the protruding end of his shotgun. She cocked her head and studied Tony. She watched the steady rise and fall of his shoulder and how his back expanded with each breath. Under normal circumstances she would have been very uncomfortable at the thought of a shotgun wielding man sleeping outside of her bedroom. Nikki’s mouth rose into a bemused grin with the thought that Tony was sleeping there to protect her. He had done so for the past forty-eight hours without her notice. She realized that Tony had managed to keep himself between her and danger as often as he could. She wondered if his actions were chivalry or something more. Tony startled her as he spoke,
“Good morning.” He said without moving.
“You’re awake?” She asked.
“Sort of; it’s like meditation instead of sleeping.” He cleared his throat and stretched, without opening his eyes. “The nice lady downstairs is cooking something.”
“Yeah, it smells good,” Nikki’s tummy growled.
“Go check it out; eat a good breakfast, you’re gonna need it.”
Tony looked up at her with sleep-squinted eyes. “I think I have a plan to get in touch with the school.” He smiled. Nikki’s face bloomed with anticipation. He shook his head.
“Go, eat, I’ll lay it on ya when we are all awake.” He turned and scooted over a bit to allow her passage, “I’m still working it all out in my head.” He closed his eyes and resumed the appearance of sleeping.
Nikki took three steps down the stairs and turned to look at Tony. Maybe, just maybe, she would be able to find out about her parents. She heard something sizzle in the kitchen accompanied by the wafting aroma of bacon. She turned and trotted down the rest of the stairs. In the front room, she saw that a couch was pushed up against the front door, blocking it off. Jack was on the couch, his eyes closed, breathing relaxed, cradling a long shotgun. She stopped and studied him for a moment. She whispered a question,
“I bet you’re awake too.”
“Yep,” Jack replied. His voice was rough and almost cold, but his countenance gave no hint at his consciousness.
Nikki was startled by the curtness in his voice but somehow not surprised that he was awake. She continued to the kitchen.
Jack Mason had the appearance of a man in deep sleep, yet inside he was stewing. He focused on maintaining a deep slow breathing but couldn’t manage to keep his pace from quickening. He wondered what the hell kind of plan Tony had come up with. Mason wanted to get up, siphon whatever gas he could from the Bronco in the garage, load up on water and ammo, and get the hell back to Berkeley. The chicks were welcome to come if they wanted to but he doubted they would. Tony didn’t need to be worrying about trying to impress that blonde. He opened his eyes and looked up with an angry grimace to see Tony disappear into the bedroom that Nikki was using.
“Gonna go make her bed for her?” Mason mumbled.
Jack never was a morning person. He was however, a bacon person so angry or not, he could no longer resist the smells of fried delicacies floating in the air. He rose to his feet, took a look outside the window, saw nothing of note, and started towards the kitchen.
*****
Veronica rushed down the hospital’s wide hallway checking her watch. Her biology exam had run over and traffic in the rain was worse than she’d expected making her late for her father’s weekly infusion. Her rapid steps squeaked on the concrete floors causing a dour looking nurse to scowl at her as she passed. The nurse didn’t have to ask for her name; everyone was familiar with Veronica on the oncology ward. The girl spent as much time as humanly possible there with her father. She had sat with him through each Chemotherapy session while a mixture of horrific chemicals was slowly introduced into his circulatory system in an almost medieval attempt to rid his body of cancer. It was an unpleasant experience that she never wanted him to face alone. It was important to her to spend this time together because it was the times that he would be most lucid. The chemical cocktail would bring with it nausea, vomiting, and a debilitating fatigue within the first twenty-four hours. He would be sick for the rest of the week and given further medications to counteract the chemo; all with their own side-effects. The chemical wringer left her father very much unlike the man who had raised her. She was aware that he was slipping away more and more so these moments, the ones furthest from the last session, were where he was most himself. She hated being late. She dreaded the possibility that something bad might happen while she was in class. She had nightmares of rushing to his room, only to find an empty bed.
She heard her father’s voice up ahead and was relieved that they had yet to take him. Turning into the room she saw two orderlies and a nurse around his bed. The orderlies wore unhappy expressions as the nurse spoke.
“Here she is sir,” the nurse lifted a hand towards Veronica. The orderlies backed away revealing her father. His gaunt unshaved face looked horribly tired and his Beanie cap, the one used both to keep him warm and hide his hair loss had come off. Veronica pushed past an orderly and helped fit her father’s cap back on.
“What’s going on here?” Veronica demanded.
“Your father was just being difficult dear, nothing to worry about.” The nurse said, “He didn’t want to go without you. I said that you’d be along shortly and could meet him in the I.R.”
“You couldn’t have just waited a few minutes?” Veronica said in a raised voice as she pulled his cap into place and patted him reassuringly. She nodded to him and smiled. He lifted his frail hand to hers.
“I don’t want to go Sweetheart.” He said in a tired voice.
“Its okay Daddy, I’m here. We can go do your medicine now.” Veronica said. He shook his head.
“It’s not working.” He struggled to sit up for a moment but only grunted before laying back down. He lifted his arm to the nurse and waved them away.
“Tell that quack Tipton that I’m done.” Her father said and waved again for the others to leave, the effort causing him to huff in exasperation. His breath had the stinging scent of chemicals even a week out from his last treatment. The nurse and the orderlies left Veronica alone with her father.
“Daddy, don’t give up.” She begged knowing that this day would come. She knew it in her heart that it was nearer and nearer with each infusion; that each session was only weakening him.
“Tipton’s grasping at straws Honey; they’re trying everything because they don’t know what it is.” He said with his eyes closed. “Or they don’t want to know.”
Veronica kneeled by his bedside. The hard floor was cold on her knees even through her jeans.
“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they want to know?” She asked. He lowered his voice and answered.
“Some of the boys that we worked on in the war were exposed to really strange stuff; chemical, biological, even depleted uranium rounds.”
“Gulf-War Syndrome?” she whispered.
He shrugged.
“Look at Tipton; his specialty is infectious diseases not Oncology; why the hell is he overseeing my case?” Her father said.
“What can we do?” She asked.
“Nothing, but I can’t continue the treatments; it’s killing me.”
“Please don’t give up Daddy.”
“Hey,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere right away.” He put his hand on her head, “I just want to be myself when the end does come.”
His voice faded as she slipped away into the space between dreams and sleep.
Veronica lay on her side facing the balcony window. She woke with warm tears in her eyes. It didn’t alarm her to awaken so. She had woken up in such a manner for weeks after losing her father. Since then it would only happen when she was really missing him, as she was apt to do every now and again. With everything that she had been through for the past couple of days, tears in the morning was perfectly understandable.
She inhaled with a sniffle and gently rubbed her face into her pillow to wipe at her tears. She turned to check on Mrs. McCormack and was alarmed to find her side of the bed empty. Veronica stretched her arm out over the other side of the bed as if to be sure the old woman wasn’t somehow suddenly invisible. She smoothed the sheets and found that they were cold. The woman had been gone for a little while. She wondered how long she had been sleeping.
Veronica swung her legs around and felt her bruised abdominal muscles tighten. She inhaled quickly as she rose to her feet. Despite a good nights sleep, her wound had only become more painful. She walked carefully towards the bathroom door.
“Mrs. McCormack?”
The bathroom was empty; adrenalin and alarm now completely woke Veronica. She began to notice the activity from the first floor. She didn’t recognize the sounds of conflict or danger. She opened the bedroom door a crack and was greeted with the smells of cooking. Closing the door, she bowed her head to touch the wall and sighed in relief. Everything was okay; well for the moment, relatively.
*****
Margaret McCormack had laid out quite a feast for the young people who had taken her in. Each one had attempted to nibble at some toast or a piece of bacon as they filed into the kitchen, but Margaret made sure that everyone waited until all were present to eat. The kindhearted old lady hadn’t cooked a meal like this in years. She hadn’t forgotten how hard it was to cook a large meal but she didn’t remember it ever making her so tired. She had worked herself up pretty good over the several frying pans and now with Veronica’s arrival, they could all sit down to enjoy breakfast together. Taking her seat, she felt a little light headed. Margaret wondered if she shouldn’t just go upstairs and lie down for a while. But there was no way she could pass up such a meal. She thought that she probably just needed some nourishment. Looking at her young companions, she smiled and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well, please enjoy.” She said with a smile.