Zero Sum

by Jan Thompson

  No one wanted to sacrifice their vehicle—or airbags—for it.

  Stella pointed that way.

  Cayson nodded.

  There was no way to get the car out of the VenomLabs compound. Even if they drove to the back gate, Stella could see the swarm of vehicles already moving that way.

  Two gates and hundreds of cars.

  VenomLabs was open around the clock, and researchers often stayed for long hours.

  This was the price to pay.

  Car horns of all decibels mixed in with shouts asking the night guard to manually open the gate so people could leave.

  There had to be a manual override somewhere, but Stella wasn’t sure she wanted to wait around.

  “Let’s walk,” Cayson suggested.

  Stella swiped her iPhone. It was still working. “I’ll call the field office to send us a vehicle.”

  After hanging up, Stella told Cayson that they’d get their new vehicle at a gas station down the road.

  They scaled the fence, rolled down a landscaped slope, and started walking.

  The entire area was dark. No traffic lights. No street lights. No moon light.

  There was a wreck at an intersection where the traffic lights were out.

  Distant police vehicle and ambulance sirens drew nearer.

  They didn’t wear any reflector vests. By the grace of God, they were not run over as they jaywalked across the street toward the gas station. Stella’s flashlight helped.

  When they reached it, the gas station was dark and silent. There was movement inside the convenience store, but the door was locked.

  Stella knocked on the glass pane on the door.

  The man inside, standing at the counter in the dark, didn’t move.

  Stella lifted her FBI badge and shone her flashlight on it.

  Still, the man didn’t move.

  “Help us!” Stella mouthed.

  The man ambled around the counter, something long and large in his hand.

  It looked like a double-barreled hunting rifle.

  “What do you want?” he said from behind the locked door, weapon pointed at Stella.

  “Water and a Georgia map,” she said as clearly as she could through the intercom.

  “Money?”

  Stella pulled out some twenties and tens. She had about a hundred dollars of spending money she could flash. She pressed the bills against the glass.

  He seemed satisfied.

  Just as he unlocked the door, bright and high headlights swept across the entire front of the gas station as someone opened fire.

  Fourteen

  “Get inside! Get in!” Mr. Shotgun shouted at them as he unlocked the door.

  Stella got off the floor, and covered Cayson’s head with one hand, pushing him inside. When Cayson looked at her again, her other hand was holding a Glock pointing away from him.

  Mr. Shotgun locked the door and ushered them to the back of the convenience store.

  Cayson wondered what that man was going to do to them.

  Enemies came in two sizes: the bad, badder, baddest.

  Okay, three sizes.

  Cayson was sure that his tenth-grade English teacher would have failed him two times out of three for not using the comparative worse and superlative worst.

  But when life and death were at stake, who had time to speak properly?

  “We better get out of here before they come around the back,” Mr. Shotgun explained. “I don’t have ballistic windows in the back, and that’s where I parked my truck.”

  “You’re not going with us,” Stella said.

  “All we want is a Georgia map,” Cayson said. Paper map didn’t require a battery. He knew where they needed to go, even though he hadn’t told Stella. She’d just have to trust him on this.

  “Map?” Mr. Shotgun scratched his few-days-old beard.

  “Yeah, paper map. Do they still print those?”

  Mr. Shotgun went to a desk, pulled out drawers until he found a crumpled old map of Georgia, folded incorrectly, torn in a couple of places. “Fifty dollars.”

  “Say what?” Stella’s jaw dropped.

  “Supply and demand.”

  Cayson took the map from him. “This is not even a new map.”

  “It’s Georgia. Landscape hasn’t changed since 1732, young man.” Mr. Shotgun stretched out his palm. “Cash, please.”

  “Unmarked bills?” Cayson asked.

  “If you have any.”

  Cayson shook his head. “I don’t carry cash.”

  “No cash, no map.” Mr. Shotgun dropped the worn out map into the drawer it had come from.

  “I’ll take the map.” Stella flashed fifty dollars and her badge. “We’ll also need food, tote bag. Batteries. Ponchos.”

  Mr. Shotgun didn’t move. “Why you carrying a Glock, ma’am?”

  “Why you carrying a shotgun, sir?”

  “Touché.” He dug into his pockets. Dangled the keys in the air.

  Truck keys.

  “You’re going to let us drive your truck?” Stella asked.

  “You need a vehicle. I’m serving my country.”

  “And if anything happens to the truck, you claim insurance.”

  “That too.”

  Fifteen

  Stella drove the rusty old truck that smelled like leaking oil because she was afraid that the Icarus implants in Cayson’s head might have other ideas for their trip.

  She reached for the air conditioner, and realized that it didn’t work. There was duct tape over the glove compartment because the latch was broken.

  No wonder Mr. Shotgun gave them the truck key. He wanted to collect insurance. Maybe he’d get himself a new truck.

  “Just tell me where to go,” Stella said.

  “Dahlonega.”

  “Where?”

  “I forget you’re not from around here. Take Interstate 75 and keep going until we get to 575.”

  “What’s in Dah…”

  “Old MacDonald.”

  “I heard Leland mention that back at VenomLabs. What did she mean?”

  Silence.

  “Cayson?” Stella knew he wanted to trust her.

  Cayson started shutting down his iPhone. “Shut down your phone. Better yet, we should throw them all out.”

  “Wouldn’t it be enough to shut them down?” One hand on the wheel, Stella’s other hand reached for her phone. She tossed it to Cayson.

  “Not to Mole Rat…”

  “That’s some name.”

  “Or Molyneux or whatever. Creatures of the grand sewer.”

  Stella reached Interstate 575. “Take that road?”

  Cayson nodded. “We’ll go through Holly Springs, Canton, Ball Ground, Dawsonville, then Dahlonega.”

  “How long?”

  “An hour and a half.”

  “Then what?”

  Silence.

  “You know you can trust me.”

  “I don’t trust myself,” Cayson confessed.

  Stella had heard that before. It had been a warning from Jake Kessler.

  Trust no one. Not even me.

  Stella had half-expected to be shot at the gas station. How did their attacker—intimidator—know where to find them?

  Stella had only called the FBI field office in Chamblee. No one else knew where they were heading.

  “Something is out of place,” she said.

  “Because we survived?”

  “Because they let us live.” She almost shrieked when she saw Cayson toss their phones out the window.

  “If we survive this, we both get new phones,” Cayson said casually. “I could use more memory in mine.”

  “That’s my work phone.”

  “Ah, even better. If there’s a mole in the FBI, they can’t follow us now.”

  Makes sense.

  “And one nice thing about old trucks… No one can hack into it.”

  “No Wi-Fi.” Stella smiled. “But oh, the irony.”

  “What?”

  “Ic
arus.”

  That was all she had to say.

  Color drained from Cayson’s face. “They’ll find us sooner or later. We need to get to Old MacDonald fast.”

  “Who is this Old MacDonald? Never heard of him before.”

  “After this is over, you won’t hear from him again.”

  Why not? Stella decided not to push. The truth would come out later.

  “Do you know how to use a gun?” She asked instead.

  “Sure. I was a paintball champion back in college.”

  “Did you say paintball?” Stella pressed the gas pedal, and noticed that there was only a quarter tank of gas in this old Toyota pickup truck.

  “Those were the days.” Cayson nodded, some distant, undecipherable happy memory etched on his face.

  “I bet.” We’re dead.

  Sixteen

  Outside Dahlonega, Stella stopped at the first gas station that came into view. It was almost two in the morning, and Cayson was asleep on the passenger seat.

  She filled the tank quickly, paying for it in cash, drove off to a more secluded, less well-lit parking lot, and woke Cayson up.

  “Where to next?” She handed him a bottled water.

  “We’ll have to hike. I’m not sure if we have enough water and food.”

  “Hike? We’re unprepared.”

  Cayson nodded. “I’m wearing flip-flops.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “We’ll have to stop somewhere to buy me some closed-toe shoes.”

  Stella sighed. “Wonderful. We’re going shoe shopping right in the middle of an assassination attempt.”

  “You’re referring to the vehicle that showed up at the Marietta gas station.”

  “I’m sure they weren’t shooting the breeze.”

  Silence between them.

  Stella had nothing more to say to Cayson.

  He could talk to Icarus.

  She just wanted some peace and quiet.

  The last day of her job couldn’t come fast enough.

  I don’t need this.

  “You want me to drive?” Cayson asked. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to the trailhead.”

  At the edge of the forest north of Dahlonega, Cayson parked the truck on the gravel between the road and a kudzu-covered ditch.

  Stella stirred. “We’re there?”

  “No. We’re here. There will take us maybe a whole day of hiking.”

  She unbuckled her seat belt. “We start now?”

  Cayson nodded. He stepped outside the truck and lifted one foot in the air. “New hiking boots.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “While you were sleeping. I also bought provisions for our journey. I kept everything under a hundred dollars.”

  “Where did you get the money?”

  “I don’t carry cash. But you said I could use whatever I needed. I would have you know I only used two hundred-dollar bills. You still have several more in that pocket.”

  “Wait—you had a conversation with me while I was asleep?”

  “At that time, I thought you were awake.”

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “You need a memory upgrade.” And Cayson laughed all the way to the back of the truck.

  Stella followed him. “I can’t believe I talked to you in my sleep.”

  “I can ask Icarus to—”

  Oh. Cayson really didn’t want to tell her that Icarus could replay their entire conversation. He’d do that only if Stella insisted.

  Stella.

  She had been Stella since the end of Project Pericarp, when she had arrived to replace the agents fired for dereliction of babysitting duty, though that very term had insulted Cayson.

  We hackers don’t need babysitters.

  “You owe me a cup of coffee, Stella,” Cayson said.

  “Did you buy a cup just now? With my money?” Stella asked.

  “I should’ve, but that’s not what I meant. You do know what I meant.”

  Stella glanced at her watch. “What did you get us for lunch?”

  “We’ll have doughnuts for lunch.”

  “Seriously? You should’ve woken me up. We’ll need protein.”

  “You looked exhausted. Plus, we’ll be hiking all day, and I didn’t want you to pass out from the heat.”

  “What?” Stella stepped toward Cayson. Her eyes came up to his cheeks. She jabbed his chest with a finger. “You stop insulting me. I might be a city girl, but I know what a hike looks like. I’ve been a Girl Scout. And I saved your life on Trolltunga.”

  Jab. Jab.

  Cayson was suddenly speechless.

  He placed his hand over hers.

  And she pulled away.

  The moment was lost.

  Without a word, they unloaded the two backpacks off the truck.

  Cayson told her to step back. He drove the truck slowly down the ditch. The incline was steeper than he had expected, and he had his boot on the brake the whole time. The truck rolled to a stop between the road and grove of kudzu-covered trees and bushes.

  Putting it in neutral, Cayson gave the truck a little nudge, and it rolled farther into the forest and disappeared into the trees, completely covered by the ivy-like kudzu.

  “How are we going to find the truck later?” Stella asked.

  “If we succeed, we won’t need it later. We’ll be home free.”

  “Then we’re littering.”

  “It’ll surface in the winter when the kudzus die out.”

  Ping!

  Startled, Cayson froze.

  Attempted access on Icarus detected.

  “Icarus, who?” Cayson asked.

  Point of origin unknown.

  Before Cayson could say a word, Stella was already hoisting her backpack over her own shoulders. She helped Cayson with his.

  He tried to speak.

  “Shhh. Talk later. Let’s go.” She stepped forward. “Which way?”

  Seventeen

  Running through the forest without knowing which way to go was a bad idea. After zigzagging like lost dogs, Cayson suddenly knew where to go.

  It surprised Stella, but she wasn’t one to question Cayson’s judgment when she had no options to offer.

  She prayed that they hadn’t been running around in a circle, because geometrically and geographically, they could very well come upon their pursuers. Then what?

  Cayson led Stella westward toward the setting sun over the North Georgia mountains and then north toward who knew where.

  When they sat down to catch their breath, the echoes of broken twigs in the distance freaked them out so much that they ran again.

  The crunch of drying leaves beneath their boots probably didn’t help their cause. Again, Stella said nothing.

  She was listening for unusual sounds, knowing that she was outside her element. She had not chased criminals through such forests and over uneven clearings where there could be black bears and copperhead snakes and suchlike.

  Stella’s environment was the city. City streets, backroads, alleys. Those were her jungle, her forest.

  Not this.

  She half expected to hear gunshots in the air, but she knew their pursuers would not make that much—

  Noise.

  And then she heard it.

  It was the sound of a drone coming closer, weaving in and out of trees.

  Cayson’s eyes grew big, and Stella could see the white of his eyes.

  He grabbed her hand and sprinted into the forest.

  “Molyneux sent a drone to Santorini to chase after some people Leland worked with last year.” Cayson spoke as calmly as any running man could.

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “I’m not privileged to see the full report, and I don’t know the PI who witnessed the event, but Leland said the drone was armed.”

  “If they send a drone, it’ll whizz through the forest faster than we can run, with all this undergrowth.”

  Cayson nodded. “And my hiking boots are brand n
ew.”

  “You bought thick socks?”

  “Yep. Should help, but normally, we would be hiking, not running through the forest with loaded backpacks on our backs.”

  “Normally? Has anything been normal the last several years for you?” Stella asked.

  They continued to run due north until Stella could not hear the drone—or drones—anymore.

  Insect sounds rose like choruses as the sun grew brighter in the sky. The trees around them provided canopy and shade for them as they trekked through the forest, heading north.

  A trail appeared with wooden signs saying that somehow if she hiked that way and over there, they could somehow magically end up on the Appalachian Trail that stretched all the way from Georgia to Maine.

  Stella didn’t feel adventurous today.

  She felt hungry. “If we lose them, let’s stop for lunch.”

  The doughnuts were probably squashed in their backpacks by now, but sugar was sug—

  The engines were loud, but the rapid gunfire was louder still—and fast approaching them.

  “Hide!” Stella pulled Cayson along. They leapt over a fallen and decaying tree trunk and rolled down a slope that ended at a tiny stream.

  The leaves and branches stirred above them, sunlight peeked in, and Stella could see sparkles in the water. Specks of gold?

  They crawled to an overhang where tree roots jutted into the air and downward, looking for soil.

  Stella threw off her backpack, and Cayson followed her.

  They packed themselves into the crevices among the roots of an overturned tree and the other trees perching precariously at the edge of the river.

  Stella glanced back to see a flash of metal heading their way, coming through the trees.

  How many drones are there?

  “I see only one,” Cayson said.

  “How about you run one way, and I’ll go around it and shoot it down?” Stella asked under her breath.

  “You mean I’m bait?”

  “It won’t be easy.” Stella pulled her Glock out of her waist holster. “Have you ever done skeet shooting?”

  “All you have is a Glock. You don’t have a hunting rifle.”

  “All I have to shoot is the CPU.”

  Cayson kept his voice down. “All we have to do is survive.”