The Premise

by Andy Crossfield

  He hoped the pressure he had put on Senator Deason would provide enough of a distraction to get out from under Hank’s thumb, and that at some point, he’d get the opportunity to make it up to Ramy for his lies.

  Mark looked at his watch and realized he needed to get on the road if he was to meet Colleen for lunch. He knew he had to shake off this crushing sense of guilt and keep his wits about him. He had to be at the top of his game if he was to pull off his escape. He grabbed his briefcase, sliding it onto the front seat beside him and drove off the base toward Las Vegas.

  _________________________

  Kyle was at the prison early and soon picked up the prisoners that were going to the base. A shortage of vehicles meant he had to take the van and not a more comfortable bus. It was packed, and the thirteen prisoners were shackled to their seats so tightly that movement was restricted even more than usual. Some of the prisoners were complaining about the cramped conditions; others were too sick to object and merely stared blankly into space.

  The morning was cold but clear, and it was turning into a beautiful day in the desert.

  The van topped the hill and started down the long straightaway that crossed the valley leading to the base. There was no traffic on the road, fairly unusual for a Friday morning Kyle thought. Off in the distance, on the other side of the valley, a lone car approached. Just as Kyle lifted his gaze in that general direction, all hell broke loose.

  Kyle saw a blinding flash, and then a fireball as the gas tank blew and lifted the car into the air in slow motion. Ten seconds later the sound of the blast reached his van, engulfing it a second time in the horror they had just witnessed. The stricken car appeared to hit the ground in slow motion, but the force of the landing blew the tires and collapsed the wheels. The car hit the ground and bounced onto the driver’s side and then slowly rolled onto its roof. The force of the landing snuffed out the fire, and by the time Kyle made it to the wreck, the horrific scene was quiet except for the sound of coolant boiling out of the radiator and one bent wheel slowly rotating.

  Kyle quickly secured his van and the occupants, grabbed a fire extinguisher from under the seat, and ran as fast as he could to the car. The strong smell of gasoline caused him to stop thirty or so feet away, fearing it could erupt in flames again at any second. He circled the wreck for the best view, trying to figure out what to do next. He could see a smoldering body lifeless on the desert floor halfway out of the car through the drivers’ window. Kyle recognized the vehicle’s military markings as being from Randall.

  There was a briefcase on the ground about 20 feet from the car and Kyle could see it had a medical insignia. Realizing the driver was dead and beyond all possible help, he went over and picked up the partially open case and looked inside. 'Property of Dr. Mark Moran'.

  "NO!" Kyle shouted at the top of his lungs.

  "Mark!"

  Kyle stood there fully enveloped in the horror of the scene. He thought about calling 911 but knew from experience the cell signal in the valley would not be strong enough to complete the call. He would have to drive to the top of the next hill before he could report the incident.

  As he turned to run back to the van, a thunderous explosion enveloped the van in a huge towering fireball. The shockwave threw him backwards to the ground and down a ravine. By the time Kyle was able to scramble back up the slope, the van was completely engulfed and burning furiously. He tried to use the extinguisher, but he couldn’t get close enough for the foam to reach. He tried to throw sand on the fire but couldn’t throw enough to make any difference. He could see the van’s paint blister and melt off; he heard the windshield pop and crack, then watched it melt, dripping in gobs onto the shoulder of the road. The tires roared with fire and thick black smoke. The prisoners didn’t have a chance.

  Kyle dropped to his knees and sobbed as he watched the fire rage, it’s glow casting his shadow against the cool desert sand. Most of those prisoners were his friends; some were even due to be released soon. A shudder gripped his body as he realized how close he’d come to becoming a casualty himself. Kyle dropped to all fours, vomiting at the thought of so much death. Had he not stopped to help Mark….

  His mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps, he thought, he was still a target.

  At that moment, he felt what all terrorists seek to instill. Unreasonable, ungovernable fear, the kind Kyle’s father, who had experienced the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Towers had told him about; fear that possessed him and clouded his ability to think.

  Just as on that clear September morning years ago in New York City, the realization hit him hard. One hit could be an accident; but two hits was no chance occurrence. Two hits was murder– conspiracy– execution– an attack by an unseen enemy – and with our own Predators no less!

  And just like on September 11th, Kyle had no idea how big it got, where it stopped, who was next, or even where it was safe. Mark’s words of caution replayed in his head. His greatest fears brought to life– and death. Mark suspected he could be in danger, but he had suspected ReformCo, not the military. This was unmistakably military if he ever saw it. He remembered how sudden those explosions he witnessed up in the mountains had been. One minute was sunny and clear; the next moment the world exploded and a dirt storm was falling everywhere.

  Kyle had to have time to think. He didn’t know who to trust. He knew he had to get off the road, even a drone's superior technology had a harder time finding a single person in the heat of the desert. He also knew the quicker he could get to Brisbee the better. He needed to blend in with other people, to get to a populated place before they found him again.

  Instinctively, he grabbed whatever papers littered the ground and stuffed them into Mark’s briefcase and started moving from one scrub outcrop to another, darting through the desert until he came upon an old cattle trail. Kyle constantly searched the skies, but chided himself for believing he could actually see a drone attack in advance. He began following a trail toward what he hoped would be Brisbee, until he crossed an abandoned service road that he recognized from when he went prospecting for rare earth ore a couple of years earlier.

  Kyle walked toward town for almost an hour, grateful the day was cool enough to tolerate but warming fast. The rising heat would make it harder for a drone to spot him, but was making him thirsty. He had no water and needed to find some soon.

  Kyle stopped a truck on the road and hitched a ride into town with a rancher. When he got service again, he called Warden Cooley. Kyle trusted the warden more than anyone else in Nevada, and shared a history with him that went back years. Still, Kyle stumbled almost incoherently trying to explain what had happened, and for the first time since he was a child, he started stuttering when he told Cooley that all the prisoners were dead.

  He had a hard time convincing his boss of the implications of what just happened. Hell, he saw it, and he didn’t believe it. Our own military was killing people? A Predator strike was the only thing that made sense, the only thing with enough firepower to result in that much damage, but it was utterly unbelievable!

  Bill Cooley was a serious, no-conspiracy-crap kind of guy and didn’t swallow stories like this easily, but telling someone that thirteen prisoners were dead, killed like sitting ducks while shackled to each other in a van, well, that got his attention.

  It crossed Warden Cooley’s mind that this was nothing more than a jail break… some elaborate escape with Kyle aiding in the plan; but he knew Kyle well and this just didn’t fit with what he knew of the young man. Besides, why would Kyle call with news of the killings? News like that would only start the search sooner; it would have been hours before the escape would be discovered without his call. And how could anyone ever hope to cover up a big lie like that? The only thing that made sense was that Kyle was telling the truth, …even if the perpetrator was our own military.

  Kyle told his boss he was scared, but the stutter and crack in Kyle’s voice had convinced the warden of that already. Kyle told him he was now try
ing to make his way to his brothers house in Vegas, to lay low for a few days, as far away from the base as he could get, because he didn’t feel safe in Brisbee, or even at the prison for that matter. Kyle could hear the skepticism building in Bill's voice, and because of that, he decided not to tell Warden Cooley about Mark’s distrust of Hank Caswell.

  In his defense, Kyle was just about to point out that the office had called him that morning; that he hadn’t even planned on working that day, but he lost the signal and the call dropped. Kyle shoved the phone back in his pocket.

  Kyle sat in the back of the pickup truck trying hard not to breathe the dust kicked up by their passing. He started going through the recovered briefcase and found Colleen’s name and appointment info, along with a list of questions Mark had written down to ask her at their meeting. There was an envelope with the words 'Kyle, c/o CDSP' written on it, then scratched out, and what looked like a locker key inside with '422' printed on it. He stuffed the key in his pocket.

  All Kyle had were questions. He didn’t know where to start, but he grew angry at the thought someone he didn’t even know would try to kill him, and had already killed so many of his friends. He wanted desperately to find out why Mark died, and to bring his killer to justice. Kyle had never thought of himself as an investigator, but he realized the strongest lead he had was Dr. Colleen Baker, whoever she was. Maybe she could shed some light on why he was murdered.

  When the truck stopped in town, he hopped out and waved goodbye to the driver. In Brisbee, Kyle hitched a ride with another rancher headed to Vegas and used the time riding in the truck bed to read more of Mark’s notes. By the time Kyle got to Vegas, he was more confused than ever, and looking for answers that showed no signs of appearing.

  Kyle entered the The Palazzio Hotel just as his cell phone rang. It was Warden Cooley, demanding more information.

  Warden Cooley had sent a crew out to the site that Kyle described in his initial call, but hadn’t found any vehicles or bodies, only scrub brush, cactus, and some evidence of roadwork to widen the shoulder.

  "That’s impossible sir, maybe you got the wrong place," Kyle said as his thoughts raced to find another explanation. He explained again exactly where the attack took place, and again, the warden repeated exactly where his men had searched.

  The warden demanded Kyle meet his men at the Vegas police HQ for travel back to the prison to answer some questions and fill out a report. He could tell by the warden’s voice that Kyle was fast becoming a suspect in what could be the largest jailbreak in Crimson Desert State Prison history.

  Kyle thought he’d bought some time by saying he was stuck out on the road when his ride dropped him off. Miles from town, he hadn't yet gotten another ride. He thought he had the warden convinced, but just as the call disconnected, the elevator bell rang, announcing its arrival at the hotel lobby.

  Kyle decided he was too close to meeting Dr. Baker and possibly getting some answers to stop now, so he checked the time and walked hurriedly to the Milano Grill restaurant. He was dusty and sweaty, and shell shocked by his experience, but he spanked the dust off his clothes, dabbed at his hair as he passed a shop window, and tried to think of what he would say when he got there.

  The upscale bar was just opening for the day and there was only one woman customer in the restaurant, sitting alone at a table near the front. Kyle steeled his nerve and walked up to the attractive, well-dressed woman with the quizzical look.

  "Excuse me, but are you Dr. Baker?" Kyle asked, hiding Mark’s briefcase behind him.

  "Yes?" Colleen answered, maintaining her puzzled look.

  ‘Hi, my name is Kyle Preston. I was a friend of Mark Moran’s…."

  It was the second time today Kyle had to relate the most horrifying and incredible story of his life and ask to be believed. He stood, uncomfortably at first, by her table, looking for a way to ask her why Mark was dead. Kyle was visibly shaken by his ordeal, and began stuttering again when he mentioned Mark’s name.

  Colleen had to wave off a waiter, who approached Kyle with a scowl on his face and clenching a towel as if to strangle him. He must have misinterpreted the scene and thought Kyle was a panhandler who somehow gained entrance to the hotel. She apologized for her manners and asked Kyle to sit. When Kyle put Mark’s scorched briefcase on the table Colleen froze, staring at the briefcase and trying desperately to process what she was hearing. As she stared at Mark’s case, tears welled in her eyes.

  The wave of emotion caught Colleen off guard. The circumstances of Mark’s death were sudden, gruesome, and mysterious, but she wondered why she was so shaken and disturbed. After all, she had not seen him in fifteen years or so and had not thought of or spoken to him in the same amount of time, except for the brief phone calls they exchanged in the last week.

  As they talked, Kyle realized Colleen was almost as shaken by what had happened as he had been, and he began to feel more comfortable. He spoke in a low voice, explaining the events that led up to Mark’s death. Kyle told Colleen about the conversation he and Mark had, conveying Mark’s fear that he was not safe, even at Randall, and his fear that ReformCo and Hank Caswell were somehow behind his death.

  Any other time Kyle would have been intimidated by a woman as beautiful as Colleen, but his insecurities melted and his stutter faded as he began to see in her amazing violet eyes a concern for Mark and a genuine sympathy for Kyle and his ordeal. He had to keep reminding himself he had just met this woman, despite his growing easiness in her company, he felt they had known each other over many years. The phrase 'perfect stranger' kept coming to mind; Dr. Colleen Baker was probably the most perfect stranger he had ever met.

  Finally Kyle took a deep breath and paused, having decided to chance telling Colleen the whole unexplainable truth.

  "Here’s the scary part Dr. Baker. My boss called me just before I walked into the restaurant and told me that the evidence… the two burned vehicles, the bodies, all of it, …is gone."

  With this admission, Kyle stopped nervously twisting the corner of the napkin and looked directly into Colleen’s eyes, searching for some part of her that could believe such an amazing story.

  "Gone? What do you mean gone?" Colleen asked in a tone suggesting her trust had just melted. "Could this be just another conspiracy nut that had found a briefcase and a day timer?" she asked herself. Colleen began to think of simpler explanations.

  Sensing he was losing her, Kyle backtracked and explained again how Predator strikes were completely silent until the explosion, and how both Kyle and Mark had to check out vehicles controlled by the suspected parties, so their schedules would have been known. But to accept Kyle's incredible story, Colleen would have to believe someone caused the United States military to kill fourteen citizens; on U.S. soil no less… and that was a stretch too far to consider.

  "I know it sounds fantastic. I know we just met. I know I wouldn’t believe me either," Kyle said as his head dropped into his hands. He started crying. He was overwhelmed at reliving his experience this morning, and now, as he told his story, the realization hit him that he would be sent back to prison for committing the largest jailbreak in Crimson Desert State Prison history, and there was little supporting evidence to back him up. There seemed no way to prove his innocence if he stuck to the truth.

  Colleen sat there helpless, trying desperately to sort out the story so that it made sense, but it just didn't add up. There were too many unknowns. Was Mark really dead? Was Kyle a hero or a thief? Should she trust this man or report him to authorities? Her gut said he was telling the truth about the agonizing ordeal he had just experienced. Her head told her this was some kind of scam, and Kyle just hadn’t gotten to the punch line yet.

  "Let me see your phone." Colleen said flatly.

  Kyle pulled his phone out for her to inspect.

  "Show me your last calls…."

  Kyle pulled up his recent call list, verifying that he had called the prison warden and the warden had called him back just minutes before
meeting Colleen.

  Colleen looked at the phone and its functions, then a glint of realization flashed in her eyes.

  "If what you say is true, why didn’t you take a picture of the scene with this?" Colleen said holding Kyle’s phone in front of him.

  Kyle looked stunned. "I …n-never even thought to! You have to b-believe me… I was disoriented and scared out of my w-wits… Mark was d-dead! The prisoners were too, the last thing I w-wanted to do was hang around long enough to join them!"

  Kyle could feel his credibility crumbling; he opened the briefcase and pulled out Colleen’s research. He pointed out pages that had notes in the margins as he forced himself to stay calm. He showed Colleen the list of questions Mark had prepared for their meeting… this meeting, except Mark was not here.