by Lou Paduano
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Morgan,” Lincoln said.
“All right, people,” Metcalf interjected. She stood, but leaned heavily on the table. “Answer Lincoln’s question, Zac.”
“Right,” Zac said. He stared at the ground. “I don’t know.”
“What?” Metcalf said in disbelief. “This must have come through channels.”
“It didn’t, actually,” Zac replied. “This just popped up in our priority system. No idea how, but it seems to have been directed solely to us.”
“No one else is aware? Homeland? None of the Council?” Zac shook his head. Metcalf rapped her fingernails along the cherry tabletop. “You’re looking into it?”
“Of course, yes,” he said. “I could toss this to official channels if you’d—”
“No,” she said quickly. “It’s ours. It came to us, so we’ll handle it.”
“But if you’re worried about proced—”
“We’ll handle it, Zac.”
Agent Heller dropped the tablet to the table. “What’s blocking the signals?” The tension between Metcalf and Zac fell away as eyes returned to the charts displayed overhead. The agent stood, pointing at the moment of activation, little more than twenty-four hours ago. “No radio waves, no television signals. Nothing, right? You said Bellbrook was a dead zone, but that isn’t accurate. There’s something covering them up.”
Zac stared mindlessly, joining the rest of the room in silence. Then he grumbled and buried his hands in his pockets. “Yes. Right. Exactly. I obviously can’t pinpoint it from out here, but I believe—meaning the research team and myself—theorize another signal is overlapping or cutting off all others. Something we don’t know how to track through our current systems.”
“For what purpose?” Metcalf inquired.
“No idea.”
“So you don’t really know anything,” Ben announced from the back of the room.
Zac’s jaw hit the ground. Metcalf’s ire was audible in the form of a deep growl slipping from her lips. All around the room the attention diverted from the briefing at hand to the sound of a newcomer to the affair.
“What… the… hell?” Zac said, struggling for anger in his confusion.
Ben stepped forward. “Hey there.”
Metcalf squeezed the bridge of her nose. “Not what I would call the best ice breaker. Everyone? I’d like to introduce you to our newest agent, Benjamin Riley.”
Ben grinned. “I did try to keep quiet.”
“Well, I appreciate the attempt.” Metcalf circled the table. She showcased the players all sizing him up with their silent gazes. “Say hello to the rest of the field team and your direct supervisors. Morgan Dunleavy, Lincoln MacKenzie, and Lead Agent Ruth Heller.”
“He’s filling Grissom’s spot?” Ruth asked, irritation on her face. It forced Lincoln to laugh and Morgan’s eyes to fall to the tabletop. “You should have told us, Metcalf.”
Zac offered a slight nod, one matched by the surrounding analysts. This wasn’t how Ben had hoped to step into his new role—one he knew little to nothing about or how to make it work.
“I am now,” Metcalf said. Her gruff attitude added to the tension in the room. “This isn’t a democracy, Agent Heller. I handle personnel and recruitment when it comes to—”
The ebony-skinned woman with the deep brown eyes stood from the table, and silenced her superior in the act. She approached the new recruit with the bloodstained tie, towering over him in stature.
“Morgan,” she said softly. She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “Welcome to the team.”
“Ben,” he said. “Already established, I know.”
“Ruth,” grumbled the woman in the leather jacket. She continued to study the display, merely raising a hand in acceptance of his presence.
“That a Ruger LC9?” Lincoln asked. The black man was shorter than Ben, but hardened, his muscles packing muscle of their own. Not that he needed it with the twin pistols strapped to his shoulders. He held out a hand. “May I?”
Ben withdrew his sidearm from the holster and laid it upon the man’s waiting palm. “Be my guest.”
Lincoln caressed the instrument more like it was a Stradivarius instead of a weapon to be used only as a last resort. “Well maintained. Not cheap either.” He flipped the pistol around, catching the barrel, and returned it to Ben. “Full clip?”
“I try to keep it that way,” Ben responded, curiously.
Lincoln shook his head. “Good luck with that around here.”
Metcalf cleared her throat, eyes scanning the crowd. “All right, everyone. We are in the middle of something here. Anything else, Zac?”
“Nothing,” the tech said. “Not until that signal is taken out. Then we can assist from our end.”
Metcalf nodded. “You heard him. Pack your bags. Flight leaves in an hour. Let’s see where the fine people of Bellbrook are hiding.”
Chapter Thirteen
Silence was the watchword of the day, something Ben quickly noticed from his new colleagues. No one spoke about Bellbrook or the situation within. Ruth ran through notes. When questioned about what they headed toward, she snapped a fast response, unwilling to engage. Nerves rattled her and no one pressed. This was new terrain for her as well. For them all, it seemed.
Lincoln listened to music—Ben assumed it was something classical like the organ music at a hockey game. His machismo struck Ben as false, or maybe it was his belief that club-wielding alpha-males couldn’t possibly still exist in the modern age that was false. Lincoln must have read his mind, flipping him off for his effort. Morgan stared out the window, a book on her lap. She picked at the pages every once in awhile.
Who were these people? Out of everyone qualified to handle situations as unknown as the one currently affecting the people of Bellbrook, how had an organization like the DSA settled on these three? What made them special? Ben couldn’t see it and doubted his colleagues could either. They merely answered the call, hoping to do their best.
The landing at Lunken snapped them back to the situation at hand. Before long, the team found their rental car waiting and hopped inside. Arguments flew over the driver’s seat, Lincoln’s attempt for control immediately overruled by the ladies of the squad. Ben stayed quiet, falling against the leather of the SUV’s back seat.
He remained undecided about the DSA, and about working in law enforcement in general, if this even qualified as that. The DSA was just like every bureaucracy. They dressed the department up as covert ops, but there was required paperwork, as well as superiors pressing an agenda. Did they make a difference in spite of that? Were they able to effect change in a positive light? What did they fight for? Better still, what was he fighting for as a member of their field team?
Route 675 opened up and the Suburban streamed along the double-lane highway west toward Bellbrook. Traffic surrounding Cincinnati flowed heavy, but with each exit passed—with each suburb and township left behind in their travels—fewer and fewer vehicles surrounded them until at last they were alone.
“You keep looking at your tie.”
Ben shook his head. The green by the side of the road reminded him of day trips with his family as a child, but Ruth’s voice had ended his nostalgia. His fingers rested on the bloodstain marring his otherwise black tie and he dropped it along his chest once more.
“I like this tie.”
“It certainly has character,” she remarked, eyes in the rearview mirror.
“Thank you,” he said. “It also serves to remind me how insane my life has become.”
“You get used to it,” Morgan said as she stared out her window. Lincoln let out a low chuckle from the front seat, a Steelers cap resting over his eyes.
“Seriously?” Ben asked, incredulous. He inched to the edge of the seat. “No real intel from local authorities and we jet right over? Four agents with no backup or a way to call for backup once in this so-called dead zone, which we can all agree need
s a name change unless Anthony Michael Hall shows up.”
“Or Stephen King,” Lincoln muttered.
“I actually would not be surprised by that.”
“In Ohio?” Morgan shook her head. “Never happen.”
Ben shrugged. “Neither should a disappearing town, but say hello to the new world.”
“What do you really want to ask, Riley?” Ruth’s question hung in the air, a soft, knowing stare in the mirror.
“What makes you think I haven’t asked already?”
“We all went through the confused, sarcastic phase of recruitment. The doubts… well, let’s just leave it at that, I guess.”
“Well, while we’re on the subject—”
“Don’t even try asking her,” Lincoln interrupted as he pointed to Morgan, who returned to the window, head resting along the cool glass.
“Why not?” Ben pressed. “I’m willing to share.”
“Not necessary,” Lincoln said.
“Why?” Ben stopped. Ruth slammed harder on the accelerator. She raced against an invisible clock to reach their destination, or perhaps to avoid the conversation entirely. Morgan did the same, unwilling to pull away from the scenery. Only Lincoln engaged. His cheerful grin irritated Ben. “Ah. You already know.”
“Looked you up after the briefing,” Lincoln replied. “I can’t believe you sat through that farce of a trial. If it was me, I would have killed every one of those bastards for what they did.”
What they did… Just like that he was back in the courtroom, surrounded by friends and colleagues calling for his blood. Betrayed and broken, his entire life stripped from him. A career he had never cared for, decisions never his own, yet he appreciated the opportunities—especially now that they were gone.
“You have no idea—” Ben paused. He settled against the seat, hand to his tie.
Lincoln laughed. “All I’m saying, new guy, is—”
“Knock it off,” Ruth snapped.
Lincoln tried to respond, locked in her glare. Instead, however, he swallowed the words and retrieved his lost hat.
“Okay,” Ben said, pushing through his own failures. “So I get to be an open book and everyone else is in the restricted section?”
Ruth sighed. “Fine. Former NSA. I didn’t play by the rules and ended up here.”
“I’m guessing there’s more to that story.”
“Definitely is,” Ruth groaned. Her knuckles turned white against the steering wheel. The engine shifted gears as the SUV rumbled along the highway. “You’ll live with the disappointment.”
“Fair enough. Agent MacKenzie?”
Lincoln’s gun slipped from the holster and he set it on his lap. He grazed the cold metal. “Secret Service,” he answered, his voice lost to memory. “Six years. My charge didn’t make it.”
“Assassinated?”
“No, Riley,” he seethed. “A damn head cold.”
“Morgan?”
She shook her head, shadow falling over her from outside. The random shrubbery decorating the side of the road faded and they entered a lush forest. A tall canopy of oak trees surrounded them on both sides, full of leaves fighting against the approaching winter.
“That’s it, then?” Ben asked. “Really?”
Ruth turned, irritation building to anger. “Yes, Riley. Team-building exercise over.”
“Great. Four rejects versus Bellbrook. Can’t wait.”
Lincoln cracked a smile. “That’s why we’re the DSA. The Department of Stupid Asses.”
Ben laughed. “Please tell me our badges say that. Wait… we do have badges, right?”
Lincoln nudged Ruth, who groaned. She reached into the side compartment of a nearby bag and tossed Ben a plastic package, the contents spilling out on the seat between him and Morgan. Ben collected the items, flipping open the badge to see the same emblem from their briefing. The DSA logo shone against the paper. Ben’s name was marked in bold black font next to the image—like it was meant to be there.
“Zac’s working on a new version of the logo,” Lincoln said.
“Why?”
“Something about not being iconic enough,” he grumbled. “Kid’s got too much time on his hands.”
“That should turn out well,” Ben remarked.
“Exactly.”
They laughed as the forest ended. A large sign decorated the side of the road and Ruth sighed loud enough to draw their attention.
“Get serious, people,” she said. The sign beamed in the afternoon sunlight, a picturesque village along the bottom and the words WELCOME TO BELLBROOK at the top. All fell silent as they entered the city, wondering what was coming for them.
Ben reached for his tie. “We’re here.”
Chapter Fourteen
The Suburban slowed, following the winding trail through Bellbrook. Ruth took her time. She scanned the streets ahead, the same as the rest of them. Open fields in front of Primrose Elementary turned to the town proper. Businesses occupied blocks upon blocks, some decrepit and all abandoned.
Cars dotted the road. Some were parked. Others halted along mailboxes or against buildings and other vehicles. It was as if the occupants simply stepped out and never looked back.
Red lights held no meaning other than to act as a momentary pause, allowing them to search for some sign of life. No one walked the sidewalks. No one raced with glee around the playground at the end of the road. There was no one in the restaurants or the shops in the quaint village setting.
“It’s empty.”
Ben turned away from the window. He caught the sadness in his companion’s eyes reflected along the glass. “Morgan?”
“I mean, I knew it from the briefing, of course. It just seems so—”
“Empty.”
She nodded, fixated on the scenery of downtown Bellbrook.
“Where do we start?” Lincoln tapped at the gun in his lap, anxious. “Circle the town for signs of life, split the town in quarters, take them on foot? How do you want to play this, Ruth?”
“Local authorities are standard procedure for us, but I don’t think we’re going to get anything there.” She pointed to the precinct across the street. The front door flapped in the wind. Clouds rolled in behind them—dark, like their spirits.
“Looks like no one’s home,” Ben whispered, reaffirming their feelings.
“We need to start somewhere,” Ruth said.
Lincoln smiled. “Well, I know I could go for—”
“Don’t,” Ruth snapped.
“I’m just saying—”
Her eyes thinned and Morgan jumped between them. She leaned close and patted the man’s shoulder. “You know how he is when he doesn’t get his daily microwavable burrito. No matter how inappropriate the situation.”
“It’s tradition,” Lincoln retorted. “Like a good-luck charm or something.”
“Or something is right,” Ruth mocked. The rental left the road, skirting the curb at the corner of Main and Franklin. It came to rest beside the gas pumps that took over most of the parking lot in front of Mainly Convenience.
Lincoln clapped his hands. “You’re the best.”
“We’re not here to satisfy your Fifty Shades of Mexican craving, Linc,” Ruth said. “Look.”
The roadside sign buzzed, pointing to the store. The doors were closed, but the open placard remained along the glass. No people presented themselves in the form of employee or customer, though the shop held one thing none had seen anywhere else upon arriving.
“The lights are on,” Ben said.
“Exactly,” Ruth replied, then reached for the door handle. The cool wind rushed in as she headed out.
Lincoln followed suit. “Just means the juice is still running for a late lunch.”
Morgan rolled her eyes and the pair in the back of the Suburban joined the rest of the crew outside. The wind whipped at Ben’s coat, so he buttoned it up, locking his tie within. Sidearms were drawn and Lin
coln led the pack toward the door.
“Slow it down,” Ruth called. She pushed to the front of the caravan. “I’ll take point. Lincoln?”
He nodded and resumed their momentum to the store. Her hand fell on his chest and she shook her head. She pointed to the rental resting quietly by the gas pumps.
“No,” Lincoln exhaled, finally following her lead. “No way in hell.”
“I need—”
“You need me in there,” Lincoln said. “Watching your back.”
“Mister burrito…”
“Was joking,” he said. He pulled her away from the others. Anger never entered in his voice. Instead, there was disappointment. “I ain’t joking about this.”
“You will be watching my back,” Ruth said. “On lookout.”
“Don’t—”
She turned away. “Keep watch, MacKenzie. That’s an order.”
Lincoln swallowed his response. His tongue ran the length of his stark white teeth. “Got it.”
Ruth rejoined the others, letting out a long breath as she did. She made for the door, but paused on the left side. “Agent Riley?”
Ben shook his head, hesitant at the sound of the title. “Going to take some getting used to with that.”
“Just get through today,” Ruth said. “Manageable goals.”
Ben took the right with a nod. They paused at the door to ready their weapons for what might lie within. Morgan took up position in the center, gun in hand and medical kit strapped to her shoulder, the first aid symbol a deep red over the black case.
A doctor? Ben thought. He should have learned more ahead of time about those making up the team, about anything more pertaining to those he now entrusted his life to in the desolate town of Bellbrook.
His ignorance had to end. So did the distraction.
They opened the door and Morgan led the rush inside. Ben and Ruth followed close, each covering the angles. Ruth nodded to Ben and he accepted the unspoken directive, taking the far side of the store while she cut across the first aisle near the windows.
Morgan hung back, offering an overview of the store and a means to relay any information necessary to Lincoln, who paced the parking lot while he scanned the surrounding area. Ben, in the meantime, checked over the counter for signs of life before eliminating each aisle as he tracked toward the back of the shop.