Wayward State

by A. R. Shaw

  The Washington ferry system had begun running again…though intermittently and with guarded escorts since the Kittitas and the Kennewick had sunk in Puget Sound from terrorist attacks in the last year as they made their way to Seattle on their routine commutes. Over 2,500 human beings had died by the hands of domestic lunatics that day in the sinking of those vesicles. Since then, like what happened after 911, Seattle had locked down and become of a fortress of their own making. That’s where she was headed next. Vehicles were heavily screened by TSA before boarding the ferries due to security risks. Which meant she could waste an entire day just going through the screening process. She wanted to get in and out of there, but it would take time. And though she wanted to take the truck, in the end, it might not be possible, and she wouldn’t make that decision until she closer to the ferry line and then she’d determine whether or not it was worth the hassle. She could also stash the truck somewhere before she made it to the ferry terminal. More time than she wanted in a landlocked area. It made her feel trapped and vulnerable. She didn’t like that. It made her skin itch. But that’s where he was. The advantage was, that Bill was too. He was also landlocked and he didn’t know she was coming after him. He was the next step in ending her nightmares of the past. And it wasn’t going to be easy.

  It was hard enough getting through the Narrows Bridge connecting the sound between Tacoma and the Kitsap peninsula. Security was still too tight getting into Seattle by the highways, and the waiting lists were too long. There was no other way unless she wanted to wait weeks for revenge after applying for what amounted to a foreign visa just to get into Seattle and Dane, wasn’t that patient or that stupid. That meant paperwork and alerting Bill of her presence since you had to have contacts within the Emerald city to enter. They called it a sponsor. Not exactly the stealthy entrance she’d intended. That was too much like tattooing, “I’m here to murder you,” across her forehead. Although, she wondered what he’d think if she’d done just that. If she put his name down as a sponsor to her little visit to Seattle. Nope...she didn’t want him to see her coming. She needed the element of surprise because he was like that. He was a monster and he’d enjoy the chase if he knew she was there to get revenge.

  After she rinsed off the soap, Dane realized she’d forgotten to snag a hotel towel off the rack across the room. “Crap. Why did they put it all the way over there?” she said knowing she needed to get herself together. Even these little slips meant that she’d screw up the bigger ones in time. “Get out of your own head.” Without the alcohol constantly running through her system she saw how much these the little slips cost her. Masking pain cost you. Get a grip.

  Now, she was gearing up…for something bigger. Killing a man like Bill wasn’t going to be easy. This wasn’t like Cal…nor like Kim. This was different. She knew this. She needed her wits about her. She needed…everything she had, to get through this and that meant no alcoholic luxuries. That meant drying out and it was a painful task. It wasn’t like letting go of caffeine…those headaches pulled at your brain for days but ended. It wasn’t like letting go of opioid use…the shakes rattled you lose like a jackhammer for days until you were weak enough to seek relief again thinking, it would never stop. Or sticking it out come hell or high water. Letting go of alcohol was different. It was psychological. It wasn’t a physical torment. It was a gnawing longing…that challenge seemed innocent enough in the beginning, but still, it was the worst thing to Dane ever. The knowing that with one sip of relief from the mental stress would mean more and more drinks to vanquish her conscious existence in a world where nothing was right and everything was wrong. It meant, she had to feel all of it again, stripped bare. Assess her past, her mistakes, her future, all over again. All the pain all at once, from regret to terror. She had to face it all again, day in and day out. But all she needed was a little bit of strength to get started and it was Matthew that gave her that strength after killing Kim, though he didn’t know that. And now he was gone. She was on her own and she had to constantly keep the beast at bay.

  Getting dry wasn’t easy either. And besides the gnawing longing, there was a sleuthy side tactic of alcohol addiction…it was sneaky as hell. Had Dane just run into the store for anything from tampons to a sandwich, she’d find herself staring at a bottle of wine or a box of Rebel Blaze packets in various new flavors in her bag by the time she got back to the truck. They’d somehow made their way into her bag without her knowledge. More than once, she found herself breathing deeply as she threw the truck in drive, and often at high speeds, she’d roll down the window and fling the unwanted contents out into the blurry grass ditches along the way before she could change her mind. “That’s right. Call me a litterbug.” It was the only way. You had to take advantage of the moments of clarity amongst the many of haze.

  Dane swiped the mirror with a towel to rid the moisture. She stared at herself in the darkened mirror. She looked young for her age despite her circumstances. Her long dark hair needed a trim. She scratched her scalp and then looked at her nails. No soot. Nothing black beneath her nails. She hadn’t fought a fire in weeks. It was finally becoming apparent. Her body was adjusting to normal life. Normal conditions and she didn’t like it. She missed the burning woodsy smell. She missed the seclusion. She hated being surrounded by so many people all the time. There were just too many of them nearby and they bore that look of worn terror as if they were prisoners…and they were to a degree. Prisoners of their own making. Only they didn’t know their own way out. There was a difference between them and her. She did something about the problems. She put out the fires. She killed the killers. They just wandered around with that same expression day in and day out like chickens in a coop running from one corner to the next. It scared her. She was entering the coop and she was afraid of becoming one of them. This was a life she could not live. Not trapped amongst them. She needed the open skies, the solitude of the forest and less damp air. She’d get in. Do what needed doing and get out as soon as she could.

  Taking a deep breath. She towels dried her hair and got dressed. People dressed differently in the Seattle area than any place she’d been before. That was one of the things she’d noticed at the grocery store where she picked up dinner before checking into the hotel. The locals seemed to layer Patagonia or Columbian outerwear over t-shirts in drab colors. That didn’t bother her. It was the sandals that bothered her. Wearing any open-toed shoe made your feet vulnerable and you couldn’t run in them to save your life. She was used to wearing a bright red shirt under a vest in temperate climates as most firefighters do but that would cause her to stand out here. She chose a navy long-sleeve crewneck and jeans. She added a black quilted vest zip-up vest in an off-brand over that and her lace-up hikers. Her usual no-makeup routine and bare nails fit right in with this world so that wasn’t an issue. But she left her hair down and used the tiny hotel blow dryer that screamed like a weed eater until she could run her fingers through her strands without a tangle. She figured that was enough.

  Then she pulled her few belongings into her bag and left. After closing the door to the hotel, the moist air hit her face. It wasn’t like the humidity of the Midwest. It wasn’t really humidity. She was used to the dry forest of Montana and Idaho. This was different. Once you crossed over to the west side of the Cascade mountain range…you had to deal with moisture in the air. You saw moss growing on shingles and mold grown on concrete. Everything was constantly moist. It was like living in a foggy soup. She didn’t dislike it, but it was a different existence living in what they called the Pacific Northwest.

  Tossing her bag in the back, Dane sat in the truck and checked her phone for the latest ferry news which meant delays. The only course of action was to just get in line with all the others as soon as you could. She’d already looked up the local fire department and intended to lie her way on the next available ferry.

  Because they no longer shared the ferry delay details online, Dane had no way of knowing what the day would bring. So once she
drove the few blocks to 305, she saw for herself the long snaking line of vehicles in the ferry line. It looked as if some had even spent the night. There was no way she would take the truck with her to Seattle. It would be public transportation while on this mission and she hated that. Hated people touching her, smooshing her on trains, buses, and sidewalks. But that was the way it was going to be. “Okay, plan b,” she said with a huff. “Where to stash the truck?” She continued, past the line of cars headed to the ferry and stopped at Winslow Way. Right on the corner, there was a police station. Some of them were even out in the street directing foot traffic, and randomly checking ID’s. “Interesting.”

  She put on her blinker and turned left when the traffic light turned green and followed the road up to Ferncliff, turning left along the shoreline embedded with various residences. Everything from condos, apartment building to houses built far too close together.

  She was used to Montana now, where space was abundant. She couldn’t understand how people lived right on top of one another like this.

  Coming to a stop sign, Dane turned left on High School Road and saw an Ace Hardware in the distance. She could easily walk back to the ferry from there. “This’ll work.” She parked in a spot and put a Seahawks baseball cap in her backpack, along with a grey hoodie. Then she slung her bag over one shoulder and headed into the store as if she were going in to purchase something with her head up and smiling. Then she just walked straight through to the back of the store but before she exited the backdoor, she scanned the area for cameras. Then she took out the baseball cap, twisted her hair up and tucked it inside and put on the gray hoodie. If…and it was an if, she was caught doing something, she knew they’d review the parking lot footage where she took measures to conceal her image from the facial recognition cameras after she left the hardware store. Dane went in, but someone else came out. Of course, they’d picked up her image with the truck she drove several times along her trip already. Losing them now, only bought her a little time when and if the authorities came after her. And they would come after her…if she was successful.

  It was better, in her mind, for them to find an abandoned truck and run the facial recognition software to see that she’d come a long way only to disappear after entering an Ace Hardware on Bainbridge Island. They’d still find her, but it would take a little longer. She was buying time.

  Beyond the backdoor, Dane found herself skirting through a short blacktop parking lot lined on one side with a large cardboard crushing machine on one side and bordered with five-foot-tall blackberry brambles on the other where there was a dirt trail leading into the forest. She walked into the forest that led to a paved path along 305 and the ferry line traffic. She looked around and saw no one in the general vicinity. She took off the baseball cap and untwisted her hair. Then she flipped on the hoodie top over her head, carried the bag in the other hand as she walked away. Just that little difference would help disguise her appearance from the woman that parked the truck, the woman in the store with the cap, and the woman who was about to board the ferry along with the masses of daily commuters. Showing her face on purpose in one camera and never again in the others would buy her a little time. They’d piece it all together eventually if it came to that but she wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

  She continued to walk down the block knowing she’d pass the police station soon and their id checking officers. Dane didn’t really have a plan for this one. Inevitably, it was those that made eye contact that stopped you. They were just doing their jobs and the path of least resistance was someone that made eye contact with you first. It was an invitation. You’d already given them an opening. So Dane had no intention of making eye contact with any of them and simply, walked closer to a group of commuters and kept her head down or looking straight ahead at the ferry in front of her and did her best to avoid their bodycams as well.

  “Miss,” she heard an officer say despite her avoidance. But she ignored him and kept going.

  “Hey, you. In the blue shirt,” Dane kept walking, resisting the urge to run for it as her pulse sped up like a piston.

  His voice amplified, “You there. Stop her.”

  A man touched her shoulder. She twisted away. “Hey, he’s asking for you.”

  Dane turned and saw the policeman held her hat in his hand. “I think you dropped this.”

  With a hammering pulse, she pasted on a quick smile. “Oh, sorry,” she said and walked back to him.

  He stared at her for what felt like an entire minute with liquid brown eyes. This wasn’t good. Not only did the officer have a mental picture of her image too was captured for longevity by his bodycam and there was nothing she could do about it now. So much for avoiding detection. “I’m just in my own world, today. Not enough caffeine.”

  “Well, here you go. Watch where you’re going, though. Easy to get tripped up…especially on the other side.”

  She smiled again, “I will. Just thinking about work.” Please don’t ask for my ID.

  “Where do you work?”

  Crap

  “Um…at the medical center.”

  “UW? You a doctor?”

  “Uh, no. I’m a…researcher.”

  “What…like a…” but then the ferry horn went off. “Oh, hey, you better go get in line. Don’t want you to miss your ride.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh right. Thanks again,” she said and nearly ran the rest of the way to the ticket counter where she paid the fare and stepped in line with the next group to board. When they ushered them on, it was like herding a group of cattle. She could not get that analogy out of her mind. People did this to-and-from-work every day. But they were used to this way of life. She’d once heard if you trapped a group of fleas under a glass container they would initially jump and hit the ceiling hard. Then they adjusted to their new prison, jumping just high enough to not damage their wee brains, and even if you took away the glass ceiling, later on, they would only jump enough to keep from hitting their perceived limit again. Fleas adjusted and so did humans. This wasn’t something she could fathom adjusting to her whole life. She missed the wide-open spaces of Montana, she missed Matthew. She missed what she’d come to think of as home. Now…she didn’t know where home was. But, this was temporary. This was what Churchill called hell…and to get through hell, you must keep going.

  As she stood with a group of people shuffling their way onboard the metal boat, she couldn’t help but mumble. “Get in. Get out. Get in. Get out.”

  3

  Matthew

  Trying to shake the feelings of de ja vue, Matthew held the tablet as Tuck did not long ago and called off the names of a few new recruits joining their ranks. “They said we were getting seven. We need ten. They only sent three of you.”

  “What you need to know at the moment is that we’re not fighting fires right now but given the rains we’ve seen lately, we’re keeping an eye on northern Washington State. Who can tell me why? Don’t be shy. There’s only three of you. You can’t hide. You, there,” he pointed to the big guy whose skin was the color of dark honey. “Akoni Lee.”

  With a quick nod, Lee said, “Landslides, sir. I’m from that area. It happened in the town of Oso, north of Seattle, in 2014. Massive mudslide over four miles of land. Took forty-nine homes across the North Fork of the Stillaquamish River. Forty-three people died that day. Their lives were swept away in an instant.” He shook his head. Matthew could tell the travesty ran to emotion with this guy though the event happened long ago. He wanted to ask him if he’d lost someone that day but didn’t. Remembrance was not what they were there for. Preventing that tragedy from ever happening again…that’s what they were there for. They couldn’t get too close to the human toll. It happened of course but not if you could prevent it.

  He nodded instead. “That’s right. We’re on standby for aid in the event the Department of Emergency Management indicates a need. The landslide of Oso, they said, was a completely unforeseen event, though the locals had complained of
slides in the past. It came out of nowhere just like the Big Burn of 1890…we keep in mind the power of Mother Nature and what she’s capable of.”

  Matthew took a deep breath. “We are also on call for human screw-ups this week.” Tipping his head to the muted television, he said, “As you can see on the screen, we have coordinated arson groups in our midst. Someone’s setting campuses on fire across the country and we’re not too arrogant to think they wouldn’t come here. The police have amped up their surveillance but as you know emergency services is understaffed as it is. They’ve already hit colleges in our area including the Spokane Community Colleges and Idaho State. There’s no reason to think they won’t try here as well. They’ve hit nearly every state college in the nation. We’re just awaiting our turn, but I’m assured we’re ready for them. In any event, sleep often and don’t get into the habit of sleeping lightly…it won’t last. We’ve been called out every night since this began. There’s the bunk room right behind you. Do not take mine and if you snore…sleep on the other end near Owen. God knows you’ll be in good company. Good night.”