Exo: A Novel (Jumper)

by Steven Gould

  Davy’s eyes locked with Millie’s and she said, “I’ll wait here with Mom.”

  He jumped away.

  Thirty seconds later he walked back through the door, the sweeper in his hands, staring at the readout.

  “Was it in the mattress?” Millie said.

  Davy shook his head. “It moved. In here. Seeana, could you stand on that side of the room?”

  Seeana, frowning, stomped over to the far side of the bedroom.

  Davy shook his head. “Not on Seeana. Millie—move over there.”

  Millie joined Seeana.

  Davy said, “It’s on Sam.” He made adjustments to the sensitivity and moved it down her body.

  “There.” He pointed at her hip. “Millie?”

  Millie pulled the covers back. Sam was wearing a flannel nightgown and underwear. Sometimes she resorted to adult diapers but lately she’d been managing with a bedpan. “Excuse me, Mom.” She ran her fingers over the cloth but could feel nothing but cloth, skin, and bone. “Are you sure, Davy?”

  Davy picked up Sam and moved her over to the other side of the bed, then ran the sweep again.

  “It’s not on Sam,” he said.

  “It’s in her.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  Cent: Soot and Ashes

  The night before, I’d built a fire in the Eyrie’s stove to fight the chill. I had been fighting the urge to go get Joe, to let him warm me, but I was still afraid, still … cold. I overdid the fire a bit—nothing dangerous, but I made the Eyrie so warm that I ended up sleeping in the buff. When Dad shook my shoulder I snatched the covers up to my chin.

  “I thought we had an agreement about privacy!” I couldn’t see his face in the shadows.

  “Get dressed. I need your help.”

  Adrenaline flooded through me. He was dead calm, but something about his voice was wrong and I smelled something that reminded me of last night’s fire, but with a chemical component.

  I reached out and hit the light switch.

  His face was streaked with soot and his hair had ash in it.

  “What happened!”

  His expression looked numb. “Everyone is all right, but the cabin is gone.”

  “Fire?”

  He shook his head. “Missile. Probably a Hellfire II with a metal augmented charge for an extended pressure-wave kill.”

  “Is Mom all right!?”

  “Yes. Everyone got out. I went back for an oxygen tank and I saw the exhaust trail out of your grandmother’s window. Nice clear night. Thought it was a meteor at first, but it curved in toward the cabin and I jumped away.” He blinked. “Came back after two minutes. The only part still standing is the springhouse. I’m not positive but I think I saw a drone complete a circle and head south.”

  “Turn around and keep talking! Where is Mom? Grandmother?” I jumped out of bed and pulled clothes from the dresser.

  “Sam’s in the vault and so is your mother. Seeana’s with them. I dropped the other girls at the Vito Cruz train station.” At my blank look he said, “On the Manila Light Rail. It’s a good thing they were sleeping in their scrubs.”

  I dressed for the cold, my base layers and then my snowboarding boots, pants, and jacket.

  “You got them all out before you saw the missile? How did you know?”

  “The radio frequency alarm went off. There was a transmitter in the house. 406 megahertz. Digital signal. Data. Probably GPS coordinates.”

  “Who brought that in? One of girls?” I really didn’t think that was likely, but I suppose somebody could’ve planted a tracker on them.

  “Sam.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s in her hip. It’s still in her hip. It’s still transmitting. That’s why I took her to the vault.”

  “Her hip?” I still wasn’t getting it.

  “Her hip surgery. Looks like they added a bit more than plates and screws when they went in to fix it.”

  I was dressed now. “What do you need?”

  “Your mattress, to start. Sam’s lying on a comforter spread on the table. We’ve got the Resmed and a portable oximeter but we’re using one of the small O2 bottles from the spacesuit and we’ll need more, soon. I figured you had a source, yeah?”

  I nodded.

  “Right. I’m gonna take the mattress and bedding there, then go get a screen and a portable toilet. You get oxygen, right? And if it’s a medical supply grab some adult diapers and a bedpan.”

  “They won’t be open now,” I said.

  “Look into my eyes,” he said. The remainder went something like “You have clearly mistaken me for someone who cares.”

  I winced, then nodded. “Okay. It’s an emergency, I get that. We can pay later.”

  He began stripping the bed.

  “Someone is going to pay.”

  *

  Oxygen first.

  I showed up with the first tank, setting it down in the corner of the room with a clunk. Dad had obviously been there because the table was up against the wall and Grandmother was lying on my mattress. Mom and Seeana both looked over at the noise I made and Mom burst into tears.

  I stepped forward. “Is Grandmother all right?”

  Seeana was looking at Mom, surprised. So was Grandmother.

  “Sorry,” Mom said. She was using a disposable wipe on her hands and I saw they were streaked with soot. I looked at her feet. Her sheepskin slippers were caked with more soot and ash.

  “You’ve been to the cabin,” I said.

  She looked at my clothes. “You haven’t.”

  “Not yet. What’s wrong?”

  “I just … you were conceived in that house. You were born there. You were raised there. When I saw you—” She looked away.

  I worked my mouth for a moment. I guess it hadn’t sunk in yet. Perhaps it would be better if it didn’t sink in until I’d finished gathering supplies.

  “I’ll be right back. This tank holds ten times as much as the ones we had, but it uses a different regulator.”

  I returned with the regulator, the bedpan, and a box of adult diapers.

  Mom had stopped crying. Her face was calm and she was even laughing at herself a little. “Things. They’re only things. You’re okay. Dad’s okay. Mom’s okay.”

  I hugged her. “Right. Just things. I’m grabbing some more things right now—cylinders, okay?” I ferried three more from the gas-supply warehouse. “What else do you need immediately?”

  Mom said, “Dad’s taking care of the critical one and I can deal with the others. We could use some more room, though.” She jerked her chin toward the suit rack and the life-support pack supplies.

  I nodded. “Right. I’ll put them in the Eyrie. That way I can access them without disturbing Grandmother.”

  “Ah. Good thought.”

  I looked down at her ash-and-soot-covered slippers. “Some of my clothes will fit you.”

  She nodded, “So they will.”

  I ferried the suit and supplies to the Eyrie, filling up some of my empty bookshelves.

  Okay, I thought. Time to see for myself.

  *

  I didn’t go directly to the cabin. I’d seen the state of Mom and Dad’s clothes. I appeared on the ridge above, in the shelter of the pavilion that overlooked the valley and marked the start of my snowboard run.

  The wind was still for January and it was cold and clear, at least five below zero. Even dressed for snowboarding I wasn’t dressed warmly enough, but at least there wasn’t windchill on top of it.

  I could smell the cabin: smoke, something metallic, and something sour. And parts of it were still burning. I could see embers and a bit of flame at the corner of the foundation and, in the light of the moon, I saw what looked like dark straw scattered across the snow, but I realized the straw had to be at least wrist thick.

  Shattered logs. Those were the walls of the house.

  As my eyes adjusted I made out jagged pieces of metal roofing in the mix, and less-identifiable scraps
of furniture.

  They were targeting all of us.

  I remembered six-year-old me running around the living room pretending I could jump. Mom would close her eyes and I would run into another part of the cabin.

  “Where did she go?” Mom would say.

  And I would pop up and say, “Boom, I jumped!”

  Boom.

  The smoke was making my eyes water. I think it was the smoke. Anyway the tears were freezing on my cheeks.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  I jerked, but it was Dad’s voice so I didn’t jump away. I couldn’t even see him until he moved, and even then I had trouble telling what was snowbank at the edge of the pavilion and what was him.

  “What are you wearing?”

  Dad sighed. “Layers. You’re going to freeze.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t twin to someplace warm.”

  He said sarcastically. “If I wanted to show up on their instruments like a blazing torch, I would do that.”

  I looked back out at the valley. “Whose instrum-m-m-ments?”

  “They aren’t here yet,” he said. Then, less firmly, he added, “I don’t think.”

  “What are you ga-ga-ga-going to—”

  He jumped to me, grabbed, and we were in the Michigan warehouse.

  Now I could see why I had so much trouble seeing him. He was wearing an arctic camouflage ghillie suit over a white arctic parka, overmitts, insulated pants, and musher boots. Beneath the parka hood he was wearing a thick white balaclava and goggles, which he pulled down around his neck as the lenses fogged in the warehouse’s heated air.

  “Warm up,” he said pointing at one of the building’s electric radiant heaters. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  I dropped to my knees in front of the heater and unzipped my jacket. The heaviest shaking stopped almost immediately, and then Dad was back, dropping boots, overmitts, an insulated bib overall, a balaclava, etc. Everything was white. The goggles and boots were still in their boxes. Everything else was on store hangers, with the tags still attached.

  “Join me when you’re dressed for it,” he said, and then he was gone.

  I had the feeling he hadn’t gone through checkout. I glanced at the tags and was sure he hadn’t—it was 2:30 in the morning in Edmonton, Alberta, so the store in question was definitely closed.

  I was still chilled, but I moved away from the heater. By the time I was dressed, I was overwarm and it was a relief to feel the icy cold of the ridge. Dad was back in his snowbank, tucked at the side of the pavilion but well under the roof.

  “We’re still much warmer than the surroundings,” he said. “But there has to be three feet of snow on the roof, so keep it above you and I think we won’t stand out.”

  I joined him in the snowbank, kicking out a niche and letting it shape to my butt.

  “Why haven’t they arrived? Why didn’t they arrive immediately after?”

  “They didn’t know where we were. Not until their transmitter began broadcasting.”

  “How long after that did the drone fire the missile?”

  “Twenty minutes? I’m thinking they already had it in the air, prestaged, ready for the transmitter to come on.”

  I frowned. “Isn’t that a little like throwing a dart in the dark while blindfolded? How many drones did they put up?”

  “You’re thinking they already knew where? At least roughly?” He was silent for a bit. “Everybody I brought to the cabin was checked for electronics.”

  “Except for Grandmother.”

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. You made sure that Joe, Tara, and Jade never had their cells, right? Or any other electronics?”

  “Right.”

  “You’re positive?”

  I wasn’t. I remember once grabbing Joe and taking him directly to my bedroom for some exceedingly satisfying sex. I didn’t bother making sure Joe didn’t have his phone and I’m pretty darn sure he was too busy to be looking at the GPS readout, but I didn’t want to get into that level of detail with Dad. “Pretty positive,” I said. “Consider this—what if Grandma’s tracker didn’t go off because of a timer? What if it went off because the drone was broadcasting some sort of command?”

  I couldn’t see his expression, but he went, “Hmmm.” After a minute, he said, “I prefer that. That would be less scary.”

  “Less scary? Somebody put a tracking device in my grandmother’s hip so they could shoot a missile at my house and you think that’s not scary?”

  Dad clucked his tongue. “Less scary. Less scary than people we trust giving up our location. Less scary than the thought that they put lots of drones up at the same time. That scenario would pretty much indicate the full cooperation of the air force.”

  “You don’t think this was the NSA and the CIA?”

  “I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel right. You’ve been working pretty closely with USSPACECOM. They know your capabilities and they’d be a lot more cautious about going after you. I mean, you take out one keyhole spy satellite and, with launch, that’s two billion dollars out of their budget.” He shook his head. “No. I think it’s the Daarkon Group—Hyacinth Pope’s people. They have the resources to field one drone—to get hold of one or two Hellfire missiles. I’m already after them, which they know, so they probably know it’s not like I’m going to change that if they miss me. They’ve been hiding from me. I think they’re tired of hiding, but they don’t dare come out unless we’re all dead.”

  “You think they’ll come check for bodies?”

  Dad nodded. “It was a few minutes between the time we moved Sam and the missile hit. They might think the signal stopped transmitting because of the explosion. But they’d want to be sure.”

  “Dad, what if they just call Yukon Search and Rescue? The Mounties would look through the wreckage and count the bodies. Those assholes wouldn’t have to expose themselves.”

  Dad frowned. “It’s possible I suppose, but they can’t count on the Mounties to finish up. I guess we’ll just have to see who shows up.”

  I peeled back the cuff of the overmitt to check my watch. “It won’t be light until ten eighteen, but of course they could time their arrival for first light.”

  “You think they won’t come tonight? It’s clear weather and you know how rare that is.”

  “What’s the weather forecast?”

  “High-pressure ridge until tomorrow night. So, yeah, clear during the day, too.”

  “I have no idea.” I yawned suddenly and felt my jaw pop.

  Dad said, “We’ll take it in shifts, then, until morning. How does ninety minutes on, ninety minutes off sound? Off shift at the Eyrie. On shift comes and gets the other if there’s action.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Are you really going to come get me if I’m the off shift?”

  Dad sighed. “Unfortunately.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You were awfully handy when we extracted Sam from her nursing home. I don’t know what will happen, but your Mom would feel better if we were both here.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  *

  I was right about first light. I’d only had my eyes closed for fifteen minutes when Dad shook me awake at 10:30 Pacific time.

  “What?” I said.

  “Helicopter. Coming up the valley from the south. It’s not yellow and red. You awake?”

  “Go!” I said. “I’ll be there.”

  I’d been lying on the platform bed sans mattress, but adequately padded in the insulated bib and unzipped parka. The boots, gloves, overmitts, balaclava, and goggles were in a pile beside me and I scrambled into the boots and gloves, zipped up the parka, and carried the rest of the gear with me. Dad was crouching low behind the snowbank at the front of the pavilion, only his head above it.

  I pulled on the rest of the gear, cinched my hood closed, and joined him.

  The Canadian Search and Rescue aircraft, helicopters and fixed wing, are all painted high-vi
sibility yellow with red trim. This large helicopter was gray with bright orange highlights. We got a good look at the lettering on the side as it did a pass over the cabin foundation before settling out in the valley, where winds kept the snow from piling too deep.

  “CHC?”

  Dad said, “They’re a transport provider for the oil industry. They have lots of heavy, all-weather equipment like that Super Puma.”

  The eight figures who jumped down from the starboard-side cargo door were dwarfed by the helicopter. It was twice as tall, landing gear to the top of the rotor, as the tallest of them. They began moving across the flat in a familiar shuffling motion and standing taller than I expected in the snow.

  “Snowshoes,” I said.

  Dad said, “Yes. Somehow I don’t think these guys are my boys from Costa Rica.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “We watch. I’ll probably grab some of them—scare them a little, but we want to leave someone capable of running. Can you follow them? See where they go?”

  “The helicopter? I guess. Hardly orbital velocities. Now?”

  “No.” Dad shook his head. “First we watch.”

  I felt odd when they started picking their way through the debris field, and Dad actually growled when the first of them climbed over the remnants of the front door. I knew how he felt and I expected him to move then, before they walked in our home, but he put his hand on my arm as if I might go after them.

  “Don’t.”

  “Project much? I wasn’t going to.”

  We were whispering. They were about a thousand feet away, but with the air as still as it was, sound carried. We’d already heard some of their spoken words and now I heard something else—a small-plane motor, like a small Cessna.

  Dad pointed.

  It was circling, perhaps two miles out. It wasn’t a Cessna. It was hard to see against the lighted sky and I bet it was invisible with even a small amount of overcast.

  Dad vanished and I searched the ground below, looking for him to appear, or, more likely, several of them to disappear, but Dad was back beside me in seconds, his hands holding Mom’s fancy image-stabilized binoculars.

  He studied the drone and swore.

  “Are you upset that it’s back?”

  “It never left. Look.”

  He handed me the binoculars and I studied it. The long narrow wingspan, the inverted-V tail, the pusher prop. “What am I looking at?” I asked.