Slideways

by Jeffrey Grode

  The ANG Commander stationed a medical unit and an Army Special Forces detachment at the rear of the property and away from the anticipated battle zone.

  Miller shook his head. He walked through the light rain to the command post to speak with the commander. After showing his credentials at the tent entrance, the sentry ushered him through the metal door and down a plank ramp to the bunker.

  Inside, the well-lit command post boasted metal walls, paper maps, TV monitors, and the scent of strong coffee. Ten people in military fatigues checked computers, communication equipment, live feeds, and remote weapon control hardware. The commander studied aerial photos on a flat folding table.

  Colonel George Armstrong was a tall beefy man with a round face, and a scalp covered with short gray hair. Miller remembered working with Lieutenant Armstrong during the 2006 Katrina event in Louisiana. They knew each other well. “Good morning, Colonel.” Miller offered his hand. Armstrong shook it after a moment’s hesitation.

  “What can I expect, Agent Miller? What are the enemy’s capabilities?”

  “Conventional. So far, the Terran’s have used automatic weapons. We don’t know if they’ve prepared for battle since the original skirmish, though they’ve had time. They may be waiting in force for a chance to return. There’s a lot we don’t know about them, or Terra. Honestly, George, we should just destroy the beacon and lock them out. Why take the risk?”

  Armstrong made a sour face. “That’s a no-go, Agent Miller. Command wants the beacon tested. The beacon is our bridge. We can always blow a bridge, but eventually we’ll need a passage to attack, retaliate, or conquer. They invaded the United States, attacked a police officer and civilians, and tried to steal our technology. I think a turnaround action is fair play. Don’t you?”

  “We need more intel. We may be opening Pandora’s shit storm.”

  “Shit storm or not, I have my orders.” Armstrong pressed his lips together.

  Lovitsky entered the command post. “Sir, we’ve had a report from Agent Gendrick and her team.” Lovitsky glanced at Colonel Armstrong and back to him.

  “Report.” Miller’s jaw tightened when he noted Lovitsky’s downward gaze.

  “We lost Ben Fuller and his friends thirty miles from Carmichael. Agent Gendrick believes they may have teleported.”

  “Are you kidding me? How? We haven’t even turned on the goddam beacon yet.” Miller clenched his teeth and stared at Lovitsky.

  “Appears they don’t need the beacon.” Lovitsky eyes hugged the floor.

  Miller’s face grew red and he turned toward Armstrong. “See what I mean about not having enough intel? We don’t know what the fuck we’re dealing with.” The room became quiet as all eyes stared at him.

  “I hear you, Mike, but I have my orders.” Armstrong sounded apologetic, but his lips betrayed a condescending smirk. He turned toward his command team. “Back to work everyone.”

  Shit. Miller remembered one of his FBI subordinates had filed a negative report on Armstrong’s activities during Katrina.

  Miller turned to Lovitsky. “Has our team arrived at the hospital? What about Albert?”

  “They may be there in an hour if they’re lucky, Sir. The red team reported an accident on Highway 99. Traffic’s jammed.”

  “How much time before the test?”

  “Ninety minutes.”

  Miller eyed Sanborn. “Can you delay the test for an hour?”

  “No can do.” Armstrong turned his back and picked up a headset. “I have work to do here, Mike. Please take your . . . briefing outside.”

  “Hold on there—”

  “You are dismissed,” Armstrong said. “Sergeant, please show our friends outside.”

  Miller’s carotid artery throbbed. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, as he and Lovitsky left the bunker. Outside, a gray squirrel bolted across their path, jumped to a gnarly oak tree, and climbed to safety. No one and nothing will be safe if I can’t sort this out.

  “Get a car ready,” Miller said. “I want to leave in five minutes for Holy Rosary and speak with Albert myself. Tell John Fuller he’s coming with me.” Miller lit a cigarette as Lovitsky hurried toward the house.

  John watched the ANG deploy. If the Guard were forced to use those tanks, then this place would be a killing ground. Why hadn’t Ben, or Patty, called back? He dialed his wife, but her phone jumped straight to voicemail. “Patty, please stay home. Call me back when you can.”

  Where was Patrick when you needed him? Genius, or not, if anything happened to Ben or Patty . . . Damn that beacon.

  Ben, Jack, and Albert were all on Earth now. If he destroyed the beacon, Jack could live with them in Carlston. Though Jack would miss his true family and friends on Terra, at least he would be safe. Albert would also be stuck on the wrong planet, but he could recover from his wounds.

  John sighed. Without the beacon, Patrick might be marooned on Terra, and though Patty would be devastated, saving Ben and the planet took precedence. John took a deep breath and made up his mind. As soon as he had what he needed, he would leave the area.

  John found Bootsie drinking from her water bowl and picked her up gently. “Good girl. Need you for a minute or two.” John walked to the cellar door, opened it a few inches, and set Bootsie on the top step. She ran downstairs immediately looking left and right. He counted to ten and followed her down.

  “Sir, you’re not supposed to be down here.” A young female agent stood by the cellar bulkhead door. “This place is off limits.” Her arm hovered near her sidearm. A loose strand of brown hair fell from her tightly wrapped bun.

  “Sorry, Joanie,” he said. “Looking for Bootsie. I think she’s down here somewhere.”

  “Again? Let’s have a look.” Joanie searched around boxes and under the tables. “Here Bootsie. Come here, girl.”

  John studied the beacon quickly and knelt down near the frost-covered tank. Under the table he discovered a small shaped explosive charge, C-4 or something comparable, attached to the table below the beacon. A detonator with a small antenna poked from the charge. “Here, Bootsie.” John called. Taped to the underside of the table, were two small walkie-talkies. Radio signal detonation.

  “There you are, you bad kitty.” Joanie moved toward the cat with her back toward John.

  “Ah, you found her. Good.” John stood up, stuffed one of the walkie-talkies into his pants pocket, and used his hand to hide the bulge.

  Joanie tried to catch Bootsie, but the cat ran back up the stairs. “John, you really shouldn’t be down here.”

  “Sorry. Hey, if it happens again, I’ll just call you on your cell. What’s your number?”

  She told him her number and blushed.

  “Thanks, Joanie.” John programmed the number into his phone.

  “Hey, did you just use the cat to scam my number?” Joanie said with her hands on her hips.

  “No, ma’am. I’m married.” He hoped she didn’t notice anything missing. “Just planning ahead in case we have an emergency. Don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  John ran up the stairs and through the kitchen.

  “Stop.” Agent Lovitsky caught John by the arm.

  Shit. Busted.

  Lovitsky cleared his throat. “Agent Miller wants you out front immediately. He has a car waiting.”

  John exited the house and saw a white Homeland Security van drive past him and around toward the back of the house. Dr. Caliban had been in the van’s passenger seat.

  John walked to the black Chrysler sedan, opened the back door, and slid in next to Agent Miller. “Why is Dr. Caliban here?” John asked.

  “He’s our science guru,” Miller said. “His team will conduct today’s test.”

  John kept his hand over his right pants pocket. “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “Holy Rosary Hospital.” He nodded to the driver. “Let’s go.”

  “To see Louis?”

  Momentary confusion crossed Miller’s face. “No, but you can visit your cousin late
r if you wish. We need to speak with Patrick.”

  Hah. “You told me Patrick had died in the fire. Remember?” He kept eye contact with Miller. Gotcha, you sonofabitch.

  “Okay. Let’s speak clearly. You knew we didn’t have Patrick. We have Albert, the guy with the tattoo, from Terra.”

  John let that sink in. Yes, he knew, but Miller essentially admitted to tapping his cellphone. Shit. They must have heard Ben too. “Look. We need to work together, so let’s cut the bullshit. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Miller’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why do you need to talk to Albert?”

  Miller folded his arms. “Tell me where to find Ben.”

  “I don’t know,” John said. “Haven’t seen him since Sunday. Thought you guys were supposed to find him for me.”

  “We did find him, but he ducked our agents. He and his friends teleported.”

  “When?” John tried not to smile.

  “Today.” Miller had a better poker face when he wasn’t so angry.

  John raised an eyebrow. “Thought that was impossible without the beacon.”

  “So did I.” Miller cracked his window and lit a cigarette. “That’s one reason we need to speak with Albert.”

  John nodded. “What’s the other?” He rolled his window down too.

  “I need to know in advance what might happen when S&T tests the beacon. I tried to delay the test, but I don’t have any support from Homeland Security or the Pentagon. We’re losing precious time.”

  “Why not just destroy the beacon? Save us a lot of trouble.”

  Miller frowned. “I have standing orders to test and protect the beacon at all costs. I’m not sure I want to follow those orders. You need to encourage Albert to trust me. Are we on the same team, Mr. Fuller?”

  “Hey, I love my country and I want to protect this world.” John’s eyes grew hard. “But I want my son back in one piece, and without any charges. He’s a victim. Okay?”

  “Okay. I hear you. Help me and I’ll help you.” Miller held out his hand.

  He nodded and shook Miller’s hand. “Okay.” John’s cell phone buzzed. The display read Lori.

  “Hello,” John answered.

  “Dad, its Ben.”

  “Hi, go ahead.” John watched the morning traffic as they left the highway and crawled toward downtown. He kept the phone against his right ear so Miller couldn’t overhear.

  “Dad, don’t let them test the beacon. Tell them it’s too dangerous.” Ben told him about the Erde’s beacon, and what he saw through the portal.

  “This is bad news.” John said. “Where are you now?”

  “Carlston. Up by the reservoir. Where are you?”

  “Going to visit a friend in the hospital. Stay away from GranPat’s house. Could get ugly. I’ll let the FBI know.” John hung up.

  “Who was that?” Miller’s jaw tightened.

  John swallowed. “Ben. We should stop the test immediately.” He told Miller about the invasion force.

  Miller’s forehead turned red. “Damn it. We need to question him. Nobody’s going to believe all this shit third hand.”

  John let out a long breath. “We’re talking about my son’s safety, Mike. You have what you need to know. Ben stays put until this is over. If you need more, talk to Albert.” He checked his phone. 9:20

  Ben and Jack stepped through the portal from the sodden ridge above Carlton’s reservoir to the tunnel below Holy Rosary. If the FBI traced his call, they would be looking for him in the wrong place. Ben smiled when he saw his friends.

  “Welcome back,” Lori said. “I knew you’d make it.”

  Ben pushed his damp hair back from his forehead. “Thanks.” He turned to GranPat. “Dad will tell the FBI about Erde.”

  “Good.” GranPat said. “Before we go inside, does anyone have experience usin’ firearms?”

  Lori shook her head.

  Ben wondered what GranPat expected them to do. Shoot FBI agents? He hoped not. He didn’t want to kill anyone, or go to jail. He’d rather have the FBI on his side, and hoped Dad could make that happen. Regardless, he would rescue Albert.

  “I scored five hundred sniper hits on War Banshee,” Brandon offered.

  GranPat winced.

  “I practiced with Mom’s pistol back home,” Jack said.

  “Do you know how the safety works?” GranPat sounded hopeful.

  “Yep. The safety stays on until you mean business.”

  “Good.” GranPat handed Jack the thirty-two. “Keep it hidden for now.”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “This is Mom’s gun.”

  “It saved me life in Carlston, but I have a spare.” GranPat patted Hoss’s thirty-eight in his waistband. “Look, we really don’t want to shoot anyone, but we need some leverage. Let’s rescue Albert, and leave quickly. Ben, do not give the portal watch to anyone. No matter what.”

  Ben nodded. “You can trust me.”

  GranPat’s eyes softened. “Okay. Lori, stay here. Boys, follow me.”

  “No. I’m coming with you.” Lori crossed her arms. “You may need my help.”

  GranPat blinked. “So be it.”

  Ben shivered. Here we go. He rode the metaphorical rollercoaster when it clicked up the first big hill and tipped you into the fall. Nothing else you can do, but hold on tight and ride it all the way down. GranPat looked serious, Lori brave, Brandon hyped, and Jack determined, but hopeful. Ben borrowed that hope. “Let’s go.”

  GranPat unlocked the subbasement door and led them into the hospital morgue.

  Chapter 44

  Lightning flashed on the horizon as the storm front raced toward Holy Redeemer Cemetery. Standing on sacred ground, Patsy had disparaged Patrick’s tale of Ben’s visit and Jack’s escape to another world. She’d scowled at Patrick, until he opened a portal to Earth and disappeared. Now Patsy stood near Ben’s grave on Terra in silence.

  Betsy’s cheek still tingled where Patrick had kissed her goodbye. Her scarf, an old gift from Albert, fluttered in the chill wind. She waited fifteen minutes should Jack decide to return, but she knew he wouldn’t. Not without Albert. Glancing at the darkening sky, she touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Dear. We need to leave. The storm—”

  “Why didn’t Ben come to see me?” Patsy’s eyes glistened with anguish. “He’s . . . my son.”

  Betsy put her arm around Patsy and turned her toward the car. “He may have been afraid.”

  “Afraid?” Patsy shook her head. “But I’m his mother.”

  Betsy led Patsy away from the family plot, walked to the access road, and helped her inside the car. Betsy climbed into the driver’s seat and felt the portal watch snug in her pocket.

  The watch may be the only lifeline to draw her husband, Jack, or even Patrick, back to Terra. Albert and Patrick were similar, but their differences were extraordinary. Enough for her to choose one love over the other? Had she done that already? She shivered.

  “Do you love him?” Patsy sniffed.

  “Who?”

  “Ah, there it is. I meant Dad. But you had to ask—”

  “I love your father. I want him to come home. Safe.”

  “And . . .?”

  “And Jack. Patrick and Ben will help him find your father and bring him home.”

  “You seem very fond of Patrick.”

  “He’s risking his life for your father. He’s a good man.”

  Patsy smirked. “A man who takes what he wants.”

  Betsy gripped the wheel and drove past the silent stones.

  Patsy sighed. “You’ve met Ben. What’s he like?”

  “Very kind, brave, and smart. You would love him.” Her eyes watered. She slowed the car near the cemetery gate. A row of wrought iron spears pointed toward the growing storm above. She wondered if the fence kept people out, or something else inside.

  “Would I love him?” Patsy asked. “I . . . I can’t remember much about him.” Her hands shook. “I feel so dead inside. I can’t stand it anymore.”

&
nbsp; Betsy utilized her memory implant and ran a series of Patsy’s facial expressions through her mind for the last two years and compared them to— “Dear, are you all right?” She pulled out into traffic.

  “No. I’m not. I’ve got a bitch of a migraine coming.” Patsy thumped her head with her open palm. “I have to make it stop.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a metal nail file.

  Betsy frowned. She checked the road ahead quickly and then Patsy, causing the car to swerve. “What are you doing?”

  Patsy’s face grew mottled and tears rolled down her face. She took the sharp end of her metal file, stabbed the blade into the back of her left arm, and ripped a slit into her muscle. “Owww!”

  “Patsy. What have you done?” A horn from an oncoming car blared. Betsy pulled the car off the road and into an empty parking lot.

  “Something I should have done a long time ago.” She grunted.

  Blood ran down Patsy’s arm and soaked her white shirt and yellow pants. She laid the file in her lap, dug her thumb and forefinger into the jagged hole, and ripped out her implant. “Damn this thing to hell.” She pitched the bloody crystal out the car window.

  “Jesus, Lord,” Betsy gasped. She grabbed her daughter’s arm and applied pressure to the wound.

  Patsy laughed and cried. “I want to feel like me again, Mom. And I need to see Ben, whether he’s my son or not. I miss him so much.”

  Cool rain washed over the car and fogged the windows. The outside world disappeared, save for headlights flashing past the car. Betsy examined the wound. “You need stitches.” She removed her scarf and bound Patsy’s arm, hoping to staunch the blood loss. “We’re going to the hospital now.”

  Patsy rocked slowly in her seat.

  “How’s your migraine?” Betsy wiped the interior windshield. She waited for a break in traffic and turned toward the hospital.

  “Look, Mom,” Patsy laughed. “I stabbed my arm and my head ache disappeared.”

  “Honey, that’s not funny. You could have cut an artery.”