Together We Will Go

by J. Michael Straczynski

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  AdminMark

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  Hi, I’m Audio Recorder!

  Tap the icon to start recording.

  MARK ANTONELLI: Here they come, get the door!

  KAREN: You okay?

  TYLER: Yeah, just let me catch my breath.

  DYLAN: There are cops all over the place, Mark. We saw cars taking up position and cutting off traffic south of here.

  PETER ROUTH: How do you know this has anything to do with us?

  TYLER: As we walked past one of the police cars, we heard the dispatcher confirming the description of the bus, how many people were inside.

  SHANELLE: How did they even know we were coming?

  LISA: Theresa. Shit, that fucking bitch, she told them.

  VAUGHN: You don’t know that.

  MARK ANTONELLI: No, she might be right. When I was talking to Dylan about the next stop here at eight, I turned around and Jim was standing right behind me. I didn’t think too much about it, but he must have heard us and she got him to tell her.

  PETER ROUTH: Fuck!

  SHANELLE: I didn’t see any police cars when we came in.

  DYLAN: Maybe they just got the call, or if Theresa told them we were coming at eight, they might have decided to wait before deploying, and we got in just under the wire.

  MARK ANTONELLI: Doesn’t matter, screw the pickup, we’re out of here.

  DYLAN: We can’t leave, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. This whole town is one big cul-de-sac in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing to the north, west, and east of here, just a couple of access roads way on the other side of town and the police would nail us before we even got close. Every other road north dead-ends except the 21, and from what we heard they’ve just blocked off the on-ramps. The only other way out is the Lincoln Freeway going south and they’ve got roadblocks there too.

  SHANELLE: How do they have that many cops in a town this small?

  DYLAN: County courthouse and county jail are right up the street. Places like that always have lots of cops who don’t have much to do, and besides, the way this town is built there aren’t a lot of roads they need to cover. This is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened here all year.

  LISA: Why come after us like we’re terrorists? We didn’t do anything wrong.

  MARK ANTONELLI: In Nebraska, assisted suicide is a felony, no different from murder. Add in conspiracy and illegal disposal of a body and we’re talking three or four felonies each times eight of us, that’s a huge haul.

  LISA: So what do we do?

  MARK ANTONELLI: I don’t know.

  SHANELLE: Mark, I got on here to take care of business, not spend the next two years of my life in jail.

  LISA: Or a psych ward, those fuckers.

  MARK ANTONELLI: No one’s going to jail, we just need to figure a way out of this.

  VAUGHN: What about a distraction? Something that’ll get the police to pull some of their cars off the blockade long enough for us to slip out?

  PETER ROUTH: Like what?

  VAUGHN: I don’t know.

  MARK ANTONELLI: I saw a dumpster down the street, we could set it on fire.

  DYLAN: Not big enough, it’d just take one car to escort the fire trucks.

  LISA: This whole situation is a dumpster fire.

  TYLER: How about me?

  PETER: We just need to figure out our options, there has to be—

  TYLER: Guys, listen, I can do this, let me—

  KAREN: Tyler, no.

  TYLER: I don’t think we have much choice. Dylan, you saw what they’re doing, same as me. The way they’re spread out, is there any way out of here? At all? Do we have even a chance to get out?

  DYLAN: No. Like I said, it’s south or nothing, and south’s buttoned up tight.

  THEO: What if we just wait them out?

  TYLER: Sooner or later they’ll figure out we got here early and start looking for us, block by block, security camera by security camera, and they’ll find us. Even if we ditch the bus and split up, there’s no place to hide.

  PETER: Okay. So what’s your idea for a distraction?

  TYLER: I go out and make a scene, get them to focus on me.

  THEO: Tyler, you can barely stand up, nobody’s going to see you as a threat.

  TYLER: They will if I borrow the katana Peter showed us the other day.

  PETER ROUTH: Wakizashi.

  LISA: Seriously, now?

  TYLER: It’s light enough for me to hold, but enough of a threat that they’ll send squad cars in to swarm me. They won’t stay on the blockades waiting around for a possible threat when they’ve got a real one right in front of them. With luck that’ll open a door for you to get away.

  LISA: And then what? What about you?

  TYLER: I don’t know, Lisa. I’m making this up as I go.

  KAREN: You’ll go to prison.

  TYLER: Karen, the way I’ve been feeling lately, I won’t even make it to trial. I didn’t want to say anything before, but even without all this I’m honestly not even sure I can last long enough to reach California. If I can’t save me, I can at least save the rest of you. Let me do this. Let me do something with my life that I can feel good about.

  PETER ROUTH: I hate to say it, but he’s right. We don’t have a lot of options. A diversion is the only thing that might work.

  MARK ANTONELLI: Okay. I don’t like it, but we need to get out of town and this is the only play I can see. Tyler, I want you to FaceTime us every step of the way so we know where you are and what’s going on.

  DYLAN: I’ll jump online and download a police scanner app—that way we’ll know when the cops call in their cars, which ones and where. As soon as I see a clear road out, we go.

  SHANELLE: And if we do get out, then what?

  VAUGHN: We get the hell out of Nebraska as fast as we can. We’re less than an hour from the state border. As long as the police aren’t in direct pursuit, they’ll have to turn this over to the Colorado state police and that’ll take time.

  DYLAN: We should figure out a way to let Tyler know we’re clear so he can surrender to the police.

  THEO: Dylan, Tyler, please, don’t do this, there has to be another way.

  TYLER: It’s okay, Theo. I’m okay. It’s—

  END RECORDING

  * * *

  Karen_Ortiz

  I can’t stop crying.

  This wasn’t how he wanted to go. It’s not how any of us would want to go. But he was brave and gentle, and even though he was afraid, at the end he did it anyway, and the best way to honor what he did is to tell all of it. So I’m going to try and calm down so I can remember every detail.

  After he left the bus, Tyler turned on FaceTime so we could see what he was seeing. It wasn’t much of a downtown, just a few blocks that hadn’t changed much since the town was built, so they still had that frontier look. Low red brick buildings with an old Chinese restaurant, a bookstore, an appliance store, a furniture store, and a Western Union office. For some reason, they had three different drugstores all on the same block. There weren’t a lot of people around and most of the shops had closed for the night. The rest were empty or looked like they’d been shut down a long time ago. How do you make a scene when there’s no one there to see you do it?

  He kept walking until he found a jewelry store that was still open. It was so smart, and so Tyler, to pick a place that would have a direct line to the police.

  He put his phone on the back of a parked car and angled the camera toward the store. The plan was that as soon as we had a way out, we’d put a sheet of paper over the camera at our end. That would make Tyler’s screen turn white and he’d know that we were making a run for it and he could go ahead and surrender.

  Once he went inside the store, we couldn’t see what was happening, but suddenly we heard the alarm go off and the salesclerks ran out into the street.

  When Tyler came out again, the cover of the katana or whatever Peter called it was gone. He held up
the blade, yelling, I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!

  He was trying so hard to look dangerous, but even through the FaceTime and the darkness, you could see he wasn’t a threat to anyone. He was alone and scared and my heart broke watching him trying to be something he wasn’t.

  Nothing happened for what felt like forever. He’d raise the blade, wave it around, and pace back and forth, yelling at people who weren’t there, then go back to the doorway of the store and lean against the wall, breathing hard.

  “Cars coming in from the north,” Dylan said, listening to the police scanner.

  “Shit,” Mark said. “North won’t help us. Even if the road’s clear, it’s too far, we’ll be seen and stopped.”

  I heard police sirens racing down the street and looked back at the screen. The cars were outside camera range, but through the speaker I could hear them screech to a stop, doors opening and slamming shut. Put the weapon down! one of them yelled. Drop it! Now!

  Tyler didn’t. Stay back! he yelled, and stepped inside the doorway to make it harder for them to come after him. I’ll kill you!

  He was trying so hard. But in his condition, it was like watching a mouse trying to intimidate six pit bulls.

  “They’re calling for backup,” Dylan said, listening to the police scanner.

  “Who’s responding?”

  “Not sure,” Dylan said, “dispatch is putting the word out… I’m getting vehicle numbers but not locations.”

  I glanced back at the screen. Tyler must have felt the same urgency as us because he wasn’t seeing nearly enough police cars, so he used the blade handle to break one of the store windows.

  “He just upped the ante,” Dylan said. “Code 56, property damage. That should—”

  Then he straightened, focusing on the chatter. I don’t think any of us breathed. Then he looked up. “Four more cars coming in.”

  “Where?” Peter asked.

  “From the south.”

  “Where from the south?”

  “I don’t know, goddamnit!”

  We could hear more sirens approaching. If they grab him before the blockade clears, then he’s suffering all this for nothing.

  “Grant Street!” Dylan yelled. “Blockade unit moving north from Grant!”

  “Is that an on-ramp street? Can we get there?”

  Dylan checked the GPS. “Four blocks east, then two down, yeah, there’s an on-ramp to the 80, we can—”

  Then he paused, listening to the scanner again. “Shit, they’re sending a unit from the north end to cover Grant.”

  “Then we need to go right now,” Mark said, “before they slam the door.”

  Dylan was already behind the wheel. The engine turned and he hit the gas. “Hang on!”

  We sped out of the alley and turned right down a big wide street with no place to hide if even a single cop car swung by.

  I held on to the seat and craned my neck to watch the screen as bright lights from the arriving cars hit Tyler and whited out the windows. He covered his face, blinking hard against the glare.

  “Will he be able to see the phone when we give the all-clear?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dylan said, never taking his eyes off the road.

  “How far are the replacement cars?”

  “Close,” Dylan said, the pedal jammed all the way down. “Come on, you piece of shit, move!”

  When we hit Grant, he turned right so hard the wheels on that side came up off the ground and the bus almost flipped. Then they slammed down and he white-lined it down the street. We could see the freeway entrance just a few blocks away.

  Tyler stepped out of the store, shielding his eyes so he could check the phone.

  “We’re close enough,” Peter said. “Give him the go-ahead.”

  Vaughn put a sheet of paper in front of the phone camera, whiting out the image on Tyler’s side, then pulled it away again, going back and forth to make sure the contrast would be noticeable.

  Dylan hit the on-ramp and swung the bus onto the freeway.

  Shielding his eyes, Tyler checked the phone at his end, and when he saw the white screen, he nodded in acknowledgment and the stress seemed to go out of his face.

  Okay, Tyler, I thought, now just put down the blade and surrender.

  Instead he rested against the doorway and closed his eyes, like he was gearing up for something.

  Don’t do it, I thought. No no no. Please don’t do it. Not like this.

  Then he opened his eyes and, with whatever strength he had left, pushed away from the door, holding the blade out in front of him. Breathing hard. Scared. But ready. Resigned.

  Already gone.

  He raised the blade above his head and, with a yell, charged the police.

  I looked away.

  The others cried out as the sound of gunfire came over the speaker. I don’t know how many times they fired, but it seemed to go on forever. When I looked back, Tyler had fallen out of camera range. Several police came forward, guns raised in the ridiculous precaution that he could still be alive after taking that many bullets.

  Everybody was crying. Peter leaned against the seat in front of him, arms folded in front of his face while Theo sat facing the window, away from everyone else. Beneath the tears Dylan was angrier than I’d ever seen him, and I got the sense that if he didn’t have to be responsible for getting us away he’d go back there and tear the whole town apart with his bare hands. Nobody spoke until Mark cleared his throat.

  “Um… okay, it’ll… it should take them a while to figure out we’re gone, so we have half an hour, maybe more before they radio for support, and they won’t know which way we went so—”

  “Not now,” Vaughn said, his voice hard. “Not goddamn now, okay?”

  Mark nodded and looked down at the floor.

  The Nebraska police wanted us because we’d helped a friend check out early, because that was what he wanted. Because that’s a crime.

  But for the police to shoot someone who was clearly incapable of hurting anyone rather than tasing him, that was okay, that was legal.

  Suicide by friend? Wrong.

  Suicide by cop? Perfectly fine.

  In what universe can that possibly make sense?

  After we turned onto the 76 and crossed into Colorado, Vaughn suggested we find someplace to sleep for the night where nobody’d notice the bus.

  Dylan said we couldn’t risk a hotel until we knew how bad our situation was, so he pulled off the freeway south of Julesburg and found an empty fireroad that led to a tree-lined cutout well off the main road. We’d sleep in the bus and figure out what to do in the morning.

  Lisa, Shanelle, and I took the bunks. Dylan was going to sleep on one of the front benches, but Theo insisted he take the fourth bunk, and he was too exhausted to argue.

  As I cleared a space to lie down, I noticed my phone had an unread notification. I almost ignored it but decided to take a look anyway.

  And I found this.

  I realized Tyler must have sent it after leaving the bus but before switching on the camera so no one would see him doing it. Because he trusted me.

  And as I thought about that, I started crying all over again.

  Tomorrow. I’ll look at the folder tomorrow.

  Sleep first.

  Goodbye, Tyler.

  See you soon.

  * * *

  AdminMark

  I keep looking out the bus window, waiting for the splash of blue and red lights. We’re deep in the woods and far enough off the main road that there’s no passing traffic, but I can still hear cars in the distance, and every time a siren goes by I hold my breath until it Dopplers away from us.

  Brain wired up on adrenaline, I keep running everything that happened with Zeke and then Tyler through my mind over and over, looking for ways to protect myself from being arrested and having the material confiscated before we reach our destination. Even if we have to abort before reaching San Francisco, with luck there might be enough in the fi
les to make this work, if I can get out of here with my skin intact.

  D said he has a friend who’s a lawyer with a big firm in New York, so I asked him to fire off an email to find out how much trouble we’re in and if there’s a way out of it. I’ll hold off making any final decisions until I hear what he has to say, but right now my gut says to pull the plug. I can tell the others that it’s too risky, that we’re too exposed and we can’t risk going forward, which by the way is totally fucking true. Some of them probably can’t afford plane or train tickets out of here, but Vaughn apparently has a chunk of cash stashed away, and I think he’d be open to chipping in to help everyone get clear.

  Best to quit while we’re ahead, if “ahead” is even still an option.

  * * *

  Update: Two a.m. D just forwarded me the lawyer’s reply.

  And yeah, it’s about as bad as I thought.

  * * *

  To: Dylan Mack DylanMack@dylanmackservices.com

  From: Jamie Delarossa j.delarossa@tldslegal.com

  Subject: Re: Inquiry

  Hey, Dylan!

  I was going to drop you a note this weekend, so good timing (at least in that respect). The Lieutenant is putting together another reunion for the weekend of September 23rd and he wants everybody there but he doesn’t have your new email. Wanted to make sure you were cool with me forwarding your info given the circumstances of our last gathering. He says the theme this year is Drink Until You Puke, Puke Until You’re Sober, Then Start Drinking Again, which I’m pretty sure was the theme of the last two reunions, but I’m not going to be the one to tell him that.

  Okay, on to business.

  I listened to your voicemail a couple of times (sorry I missed the call, I was prepping for a deposition), and did a little digging to try and answer your questions. I need to emphasize at this point that because I haven’t been engaged as your attorney, and technically can’t since we’re friends, anything I say can be produced in discovery should any legal issues arise out of your situation. So this email is intended as strictly informational and not advisory in any way. I am speaking as your friend, not your attorney.