by Jay Vielle
The rise was steep, and he could feel his lungs filling with each step, but he kept low and out of sight. After about twenty yards, he had caught up and passed Oleg and the girls. He looked ahead for a good spot for an ambush. Nothing. He ran some more up the path, getting farther and farther ahead, until finally, he spotted it. Two enormous boulders side by side that would hide him. In the stream bed, rocks abounded. He squatted down, fiddled around with some, then selected a fairly heavy rock about the size of a grapefruit. Then he crouched down between the two boulders, looked for his quarry, and waited.
It didn’t take long. By now the girls had stopped screaming and were only crying. They had all but accepted their fate, realizing that their earlier screams went unheard. Well, almost unheard.
“Move. That way,” said Oleg flatly. “A little farther.
The girls walked right past the two boulders without noticing Mark. That was good, he thought. If they didn’t spot me, it’s less likely that Oleg will. He took a deep but somewhat shaky breath, and realized that his hands were shaking also. He closed his eyes a moment to get his mind right, exhaled slowly, then sprung up behind Oleg and smashed the rock into his head.
Oleg dropped immediately, dropping his gun. He went still for a few seconds, and Mark feared that he’d killed him. Then he shook his head slightly as if to try to regain consciousness. Mark hit him once more in a different spot on the head, and Oleg went still.
“Oh dear God, where did you come from?” said Morgan. “I recognize you, from the high school,” she said.
“He’s one of my father’s friends,” Estela said.
“Acquaintances,” said Mark. “Your father’s a little too intense for me. Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Mark grabbed the gun and shoved it in his pocket. Then he looked down and found a think stone with sharp edges and picked it up. He sawed at the duct tape wrapped around the girls’ wrists. After getting some initial tearing, he was able to unwrap them both.
“Thank you,” Morgan said tearfully hugging Mark. He awkwardly patted her back.
“Follow me. Down that dry stream bed. We’ve got to get out of here fast.”
“Is he dead?” asked Estela.
“I don’t know,” said Mark. “But the longer we wait here, the quicker we find out. And if he is alive, I don’t want to be here when he comes to.” Estela nodded.
“De acuerdo,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They ran down the dry streambed until coming to the fence that separated the woods from the shrine. They quickly climbed through it, then found the path and ran as fast as they could to the welcome center.
“Wait,” said Estela. “The van. It’s there.” They all ran to the white van that Oleg always drove. The doors were unlocked. They got in, and Mark looked above the sun visor, in the pockets, and under the seat for the keys.
“No keys,” he said.
“Can’t you hot-wire it?” said Morgan. “Like they do in the movies?”
“Movies,” Mark said, rolling his eyes. “Hurry, down the path to the college. We can disappear in there.”
The three sprinted down the hill to the college. Once they hit the campus, they slowed to a walk, catching their breath and looking for a good place to hide and regroup. They went inside the dormitory that the international students had come out of. Inside was a lobby and general meeting area with couches and a television. They all three collapsed. Estela and Morgan hugged one another, crying.
And back in the woods, up the mountain, past the Shrine of the Grotto of our Lady of Lourdes, a man groaned, touched his bleeding head, and slowly got to his knees.
CHAPTER 18
Laura Fisher screamed one more time. It was long, and it was anguished. Her body contorted, and the cry seemed to come from a soul that her oddly orange-hued skin color belied the existence of. It was almost moving. Then she stood up straight, audibly exhaled, and took off running back up the mall towards the Smithsonian castle where we had been parked before. We lost her in the trees that we were next to down by the reflecting pool, then in the trees that circled the Washington Monument.
“Eddie, get in!” yelled Jake. There was a hoarse desperation in his voice. I was still wet and recovering from the exhausting chase.
“Come on!” he yelled. I summoned up the last bit of energy I had and climbed into the open hatch in the rear and collapsed on top of briefcases full of weapons and military packs. There wasn’t even time to close it as Jake spun wheels and sped towards his fleeing wife. She was less than a football field away—closer than she had been to Jake in two weeks—and when we lost sight of her you could see the veins in Jake’s head and neck pulse. We raced up Independence Avenue and near the monument Jake zoomed onto the walking path. On a normal day, before the Cataclysm, he would have scattered dozens of people like in some action movie, but today there was nothing but space. We could see Laura’s form racing away from us now along the tree line.
“Got her. Hold tight everyone!” Jake yelled. We were flying, and everyone was white-knuckled, especially me. I had re-settled myself on all fours in the back, pushing aside some of the stuff we had stacked up, and was bending down like a dog looking out the front window as we bounced wildly on and off of streets, sidewalks, and wherever Jake felt he had to go to capture his quarry. Even the Colonel looked a bit uneasy as he watched Jake’s demeanor turn into one of serious intensity. Jake had been following her on the walking paths of the Mall, made dry and dusty by the May heat. We were beginning to gain serious ground, but as we neared the 13th Street intersection, we saw her veer slightly to the right into the cover of the trees. Jake made an instant decision and turned hard right onto 13th Street, all of us slamming into the left of the vehicle.
“Shit Jake!” I yelled.
Jake then banked hard left back onto Jefferson Street, hoping to block her way towards the museums, fearing we would lose her among the buildings if she crossed. We could see her to our left now, and Jake looked at her as we matched her speed and yelled frantically out the window.
“Laura!”
She glanced into the Humvie at Jake with a flat expression and continued her pace with businesslike focus despite sharing eye contact with her husband. A few more feet of running, and Jake veered left again onto the wider 12th street and back towards Laura. She slowed and tensed, seeing our nearness. Then Tommy and Vinny, who, unbuckled since the reflecting pool, had been pushed hard to the left of the vehicle on Jake’s turns, leaned out the window and yelled, almost simultaneously.
“Mom!”
Jake slammed on the brakes, and there we were, fifteen feet away from one another, after a frantic chase, now at a deadly silent standstill. Laura Fisher looked over at the face of her children and stopped hard. Her eyes widened and her mouth went slightly agape. A slightly mewling sound came out of her as she stared at them for a moment. Then she screeched and sprinted down the steps to the Metro stop below.
“No!” Jake yelled. Jake fumbled with the door handle, reached across his seat to snag his tranquilizer gun, and started after her. Then, remembering he hadn’t loaded it yet, turned frantically towards the Colonel.
“Colonel, toss me a dart, fast!” The Colonel, realizing the folly in tossing a weighted, balanced, needle-pointed tranquilizer dart towards anyone but his quarry, instead pulled out the small case that held all of them, got out of the car, and tossed that to Jake. Jake caught it like a football, then raced down the stairs, having lost precious seconds. He stumbled and hit a knee, trying to catch himself on the railing with the hand that held the case. Jake, the case, the darts, and the gun all tumbled to the concrete steps below.
“Shit,” he yelled, and winced as he stood. He reached for one of the darts, quickly loaded it, then ran the rest of the way down to the tunnel. He raced down to the level of the tracks. The tunnels were eerily empty. She was gone. Though the Capital Metro system was famously spacious and well-lit compared to other systems all over the world, it shared one trait with all
subway lines everywhere. It was an endless catacomb of tunnels at many levels. We would never find her now.
Jake hollered a guttural “no,” as he hit both knees and pounded the floor with his fists.
“Good try, Marine,” said the Colonel. “You did more than I ever thought possible. But you’ve got to cut your losses now, and use what you have in front of you.”
Jake wheeled on him with an expression mixed with grief, anger, frustration, and confusion.
“We have captured a mutate. Alive and in good condition. Any treatment we had was going to be experimental. I know you lost your chance this time to get your wife back, but this could be a blessing in disguise. Wendy can try her treatment on this one and see what the reaction is like. We have nothing to lose here, and a great opportunity to learn more about these creatures. Things that might help us even more with Laura,” the Colonel said. He reached out his hand to Jake. Jake nodded painfully, reached up, and let the Colonel pull him to his feet. Behind him, we all stood at the top of the stairs silently. I looked at the boys for a moment. The lingering guilt that they had put on their father was gone. Their faces revealed what their eyes took in—a man who had literally given everything to the cause physically and emotionally—and had failed. That failure was written all over Jake Fisher’s face, and his boys could see that. Their silence towards their father seemed in deference to his effort. Tommy even put a hand on his Dad’s shoulder and patted it in silent solidarity.
We gathered the spilled dart case and made our way back up the stairs. Wendy was waiting. Her expression was one of empathy. She hurt for the Fisher men who had lost their mother and wife. She hurt for Jake, whose expression was pitiful and crestfallen. She tried to offer a pained smile for us. I offered one back. She was wise enough not to utter a sound as we all trod our way back up to the ground level at the Mall. Tommy, Vinny, the Colonel and I climbed back into the Humvie first. As Jake, the last straggler, made it back to the surface, I saw a glance that he and Wendy shared. She hurt for him, and he could see that. His eyes offered a silent thank you, but no words were spoken. The boys weren’t looking, which I was thankful for, but I had caught their shared glance, and a quiet part of me ached for both of them.
The silence was shattered with the staccato voice of Echo One over the walkie-talkie.
“Eagle One, this is Echo One, do you copy?” The Colonel picked up his radio and answered.
“Echo One, this is Eagle One. We copy,” said the Colonel.
“Eagle One, Medic One has the downed target secured and is awaiting orders,” the voice said.
“Echo One, copy that. Please advise Medic One to meet us at the original rendezvous point ASAP, over,” said the Colonel. We heard the Colonel’s orders repeated to the paramedic unit and acknowledged on the same channel. I smiled a little at the irony and wondered why they didn’t skip the middleman, then realized that Echo One had been watching us race around the Mall for the past fifteen minutes and was giving us a chance to catch our collective breath and get a moment to think.
“Back to the Pentagon, same loading dock we picked this thing up in, Jake,” said the Colonel. “Guys, keep your suits on. Since this isn’t Laura, I think that maybe only Wendy and I should be in the room on this one. This stuff is pretty highly classified, and I’m already a little out on the limb with all of this. Even I have superiors,” the Colonel said.
“You aren’t the Top Gun?” I asked, now sitting in the back seat, closer to the Colonel.
“Ha,” he said. “By no means. Things are by the book here in D.C., Eddie. Hell, I’m even breaking protocol calling Jake ‘Marine’. I probably shouldn’t do that in front of other military, but I kind of wanted to drive the point home that he is—or at least was—one of us.”
“Wait, why can’t you call him ‘Marine?’” I asked.
“He’s not active anymore,” said the Colonel. “If you are inactive, retired, discharged—you are no longer officially military. You’re not supposed to retain title and you’re not supposed to be in uniform. Times being how they are, most folks have bigger fish to fry, but in general, military regulations are pretty strict,” the Colonel said. “I’m actually a little surprised Jake hasn’t corrected me on it after a week.”
“Semper fidelis, Sir,” said Jake. “Once a marine, always a marine. And fuck regulations.”
The Colonel laughed at that, and it was a nice tension breaker to see somebody laugh after our ordeal.
“You never sounded more like a marine than just then,” said the Colonel.
We drove for ten or fifteen minutes, crossed the river again, and suddenly we were back in the Pentagon. Sergeant Ambrosian took the HAZMAT suits from me, Jake, and the boys, and hung them up on hooks in a designated area of the large room full of uniforms and gear that we had been in before.
“Why is this one wet?” Sgt. Ambrosian said.
“Don’t ask,” I answered.
“Eddie couldn’t out-run them, so he thought he’d try to out-swim them,” said Jake. I turned smiling towards Jake, hearing an invitation to be a smart ass again, but looked at his face and realized there was no play in it. He was sitting slumped over, staring at the floor, all life seemingly drained from him. His tank was empty.
“There’s a waiting room just outside the Colonel’s office with some couches, everyone. I’d suggest you all wait there until they’re done. It could be a while. There’s coffee there, and some vending machines just down the hall, next to the bathroom. Nobody else is using that area right now, so you’ll be by yourselves,” said the Sergeant.
“Thanks,” I said. “Shall we?” Vinny and Tommy--looking almost as grim as their father--trudged their way back to the office area suggested by Sergeant Ambrosian. I realized that as bad as I wanted a snack and a soda—remembrances of a time of normalcy just two weeks prior—that nobody had any money. We hadn’t really had to exchange money with anyone for two weeks, and had used credit the old fashioned way in Lexington and Blacksburg when picking up the boys. I was almost crushed at the thought as I futilely patted my pockets for any remnants of cash, when Vinny shouted.
“Holy shit, you don’t need money for these,” said Vinny. “Look, you just press the button and what you wants comes out. Holy shit!”
“Well I’ll be damned,” I said. “Now we see the perks of high-level government work. And I used to feel lucky that we paid fifty cents less for a soda in the teachers’ lounge at Hunter’s Run.”
Tommy brightened immediately and grabbed a Diet Coke and some crackers. Vinny snagged a Sprite and a chocolate bar. I grabbed a couple of Diet Cokes for me and Jake, then followed him into the bathroom where he had gone while we were admiring cashless vending machines.
“Hey Jake,” I said, entering the large men’s room. “I got you a treat. A real Diet Coke. When’s the last time you had one of these, huh? I know it’s been a while.” I looked around and saw no one, but I knew he came in.
“Jake?” I called. Nothing. I looked at the six or seven stalls. In the last one on the end, the handicapped one, I saw feet underneath. I walked over to it. The door latch was slightly off, and the door swung gently opened when I pushed. Jake was sitting, pants on, with his face in his hands. He was sobbing. Not just crying, but sobbing. Water was pouring through his fingers, his shoulders were tensed and hunched, he was squeezing his face with his hands, and he refused to look up.
“Hey, hey man,” I said gently. “It’s gonna be alright. Really. We’ll find her. This is probably for the best, like the Colonel said. Now we can be sure, you know. More sure at least, with no danger to Laura.”
Jake wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t look up, and I stood there awkwardly in front of him holding our Diet Cokes when it hit me.
I had never seen Jake cry. Ever.
I guessed that no one else had, either. I had seen him down. Seen him depressed. Even morose. But never saw him cry. He didn’t strike me as the type to ever cry, but knowing that everyone has their own tough moments, I knew he woul
d never allow anyone to see him cry. And now I had. I felt like I was violating a sacred space. I didn’t know what to do.
“Jake?” I asked in a whisper. Nothing from him. He bobbed up and down slightly, almost keening there on the toilet. After a minute or two of awkwardly listening to him try and regulate his breath, he finally got control of himself and exhaled.
“Jake, buddy, we’re gonna find her. I know it,” I said.
“It’s not that,” he mumbled. He still had not released his face. His hands were pressed hard against each other, covering every possible space on his face. It was hard to understand him.
“Okay, what was it?” I asked.
“It’s not that,” he said again. I just let him be for a moment.
“It should be. I should be crushed. I failed her. I failed the boys. I failed everyone,” he said.
“No, no you didn’t, you—” I interrupted him.
“No, it’s not that either. You don’t understand, Eddie,” he said, gripping his face hard with both hands. It was then I realized there was more going on than I understood.
“Okay,” I said. He took deep breaths, still partially sobbing, trying to regain control of himself.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Tell me when you’re ready.” He breathed for another thirty seconds or so, and I saw the grip on his face tense and relax several times. He almost growled at least once. He was punishing himself, but apparently not for the reason I thought.
“There was—is—a part of me Eddy, a part I’m not proud of, who was hoping,” he began. Then cut himself off again and started breathing and gripping his face.
“Just say it, buddy. I’m not judging.”
“There’s a part of me who was secretly hoping she was dead,” he said, silently beginning to cry again. Tears and spit started sliding down his hands.