by Keith Taylor
Fuck, Shep, why are you kidding yourself? Embrace the dark side. Become your father.
He was so lost in self-pitying introspection that he almost ran over the girl before he noticed her unconscious on the ground, just a few yards ahead of the truck.
΅
:::11:::
THE YOUNG WOMAN didn’t speak as Shepherd pulled her to the back seat of the Jeep. The side of her face was sticky with dried blood and her skin was a ghostly white, and by the time he’d found the bag with the medical supplies he worried she might be on the way out. Her breathing was shallow, and it took almost a minute before he managed to find her fast, thready pulse.
He gave the girl a quick, awkward once over to check for injuries besides the head wound – loudly explaining what he was doing as he ran his hands up and down her body, just in case she could hear him and got the wrong idea – but it looked like her only serious problem was the blood loss from her forehead. The wound had clotted over and was no longer bleeding, so he dug through his medical supplies until he found an 18 gauge catheter, tubing and the single IV saline bag he’d been able to buy without a prescription. It had come from a buddy at a local veterinary medical supply depot, but Shepherd figured it was all that same. Saline was saline, or at least that’s what his buddy had assured him.
The head wound was easy to treat with butterfly stitches, but the saline was a different story. It took three attempts to find a vein for the catheter, and when he was finally done he had to awkwardly remove his belt with his one free hand and use it to strap the IV bag to the handle above the rear door of the Jeep, hoping all the while the girl wouldn’t wake up suddenly and tug the needle from her arm. Shepherd wasn’t a huge fan of blood, either his or anyone else’s, and he’d prefer not to have to see what happened when a catheter was suddenly tugged out of an open vein.
He was pretty sure he’d done everything right. It had been six years since he’d trained in first aid and at least three since he’d last needed to stick someone, but after a few minutes of observing her it looked as if the color was slowly returning to her cheeks. The bag seemed to be feeding properly, and when he checked her pulse it seemed a little more steady than before.
Shepherd finally turned his attention to the trunk, dreading what he’d find in the back. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was already two in the afternoon. The sandwich he’d eaten at ten felt like much longer than four hours ago, and he already felt like he was running on fumes.
Even before he opened the trunk he knew that damage would be severe. The drunk back on the road had taken out the side window, but just below the frame two ragged holes puckered the steel inwards right where the bulk of his supplies sat. There was no way those strikes hadn’t shredded his stuff, and sure enough the moment he pulled open the trunk a flood of water and gasoline came pouring out the back.
Both of the Jerry cans were a dead loss. Right away Shepherd could see that one had been punctured close to the base while the other was hit halfway up the can. Nothing in the first was salvageable, but he emptied the remaining half can into the tank before tossing them both to the ground. That was about a hundred fifty miles of range gone right there, maybe more if he drove carefully. What a waste.
The water bottles told much the same story. The bullets had continued on through the gas and taken out all but two of the five gallon bottles, and just for good measure the sack of trail mix was punctured at the bottom and had given up most of its contents. It was like the shots had gone out of their way to do as much damage as possible in a straight line.
Shepherd sighed as he pulled the ruined supplies from the trunk, dumping them on the ground so he could climb in and salvage the rest. The bags of medical supplies and camping equipment had been sitting right on top along with – thank the Lord – the toilet paper, and apart from getting a little wet they were fine. The freeze dried food was mostly OK too, though he had to toss a few packages that smelled strongly of gasoline. He had no idea how permeable the packaging might be. Maybe they’d be fine, but tainted food was worse than no food at all. Better safe than doubled over with crippling intestinal cramps.
When the trunk was fully emptied out he grabbed a roll of toilet paper from the pack and laid strips on the bare steel bed to soak up the spilled gasoline and water. He knew he couldn’t get all of it, but some was better than none. He didn’t need a gasoline headache on top of everything else, and the fumes had already made him a little woozy.
It took a half hour to clear out the back as best he could, and by the time he was done he felt shaky and weak. From the bag of camping equipment he grabbed two small plastic bowls and shook out what little remained of the trail mix evenly between the two. He returned to the front of the truck and took a small bottle of water from his bug out bag, set it down with one of the bowls in the foot well beside the unconscious girl, and then finally dragged his exhausted body back into the driver’s seat. He reclined it as much as he dared, poured some trail mix into his mouth and leaned back, closing his eyes.
He was asleep before he’d even finished chewing.
΅
:::12:::
ABI AWOKE TO snoring.
For a moment she struggled to remember the events of the day. It all seemed foggy, as if it had been a dream, but as her mind caught up the reality hit her like a lead weight.
She reached up to touch the cut on her head and panicked as she felt the catheter tug at her arm. What the fuck? Where am I? She looked around, and after a moment the image resolved into something she could make sense out of. She was in the back seat of a car. Above her an empty IV bag swung from a hook, the tubing leading into her arm. The catheter wasn’t taped down, and the needle shifted painfully beneath her skin as she moved. She bit her lip and slid it out, holding firmly on her arm after the needle emerged and the blood started to bead on her skin.
“Ow ow ow, oh fuck,” she whispered to herself, pulling herself up in the seat.
In the driver’s seat a man lay snoring, his mouth hanging open and a bowl resting in his lap. Abi didn’t recognize him, but a faint memory started to come back. She remembered passing out at the edge of the forest. She faintly remembered opening her eyes and seeing a car or truck approaching, but she didn’t have the energy to get up off the ground. She’d passed out again, and the next thing she remembered was the sound of an engine and a man’s voice.
She turned and checked the label on the IV bag. 0.9% sodium chloride injection, USP. Looked like regular saline, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of tampering. Her heart stopped racing so fast as she began to understand that this probably wasn’t some kind of abduction. Whoever this guy may be he’d given her medical care. He might not be a friend, but he more than likely wasn’t an enemy.
She quietly opened the side door of the truck and climbed out, grabbing the water and bowl of trail mix as soon as she saw them. Her throat was parched, and she finished the bottle in just a few gulps before a dizzy spell hit her. Shouldn’t have stood up so fast, Abi.
She tipped the bowl of trail mix into her mouth in one, almost choking in her rush to eat. When was my last meal? Lunchtime yesterday? The trail mix was awful, the cheap unbranded stuff that tasted like it was bulked out with sawdust and the crushed dreams of poor people, but she didn’t care. Food was food, and if she didn’t get something in her stomach she’d puke fresh air.
“I left some clothes out for you at the back of the truck if you wanna change.”
Abi almost jumped out of her skin. She’d been too focused on chewing the gritty trail mix to notice that the snoring had stopped and the guy had opened his eyes. She saw from the look in his eyes that he’d noticed her shock. His voice settled into the kind of tone you’d use with a skittish dog.
“I found you passed out by the tracks. Looks like you took quite a whack to the head,” he said, pulling himself slowly upright and holding his hand out the window. “I’m Jim. Jim Shepherd.” He nodded his head back in the direction of the wreck a half mile up t
he track. “ Were you on one of those trains?”
Abi nodded cautiously and took his hand, shaking for a moment before cautiously pulling back. “Yeah, I was. But... before. I got off before the crash. I’m Abigail Ross. Abi.”
“Well it’s nice to meet you, Abigail Ross. Is it safe for me to get out of the truck without you clocking me in the head? My knees are killing me.”
“Yeah, sure.” She felt herself relax a little. He seemed normal enough. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge. Just... just trying to get a grip on things.”
Shepherd climbed out of the truck and stretched. “Like I said, I laid out some clothes for you at the back of the truck if you want to get out of… you know, that. They’ll be a little big, but they’re better than nothing.”
For the first time Abi looked down at her body, and she almost didn’t recognize herself. Her skirt was torn almost to the waist, and her white blouse was covered in dark red dried blood from the shoulder all the way down to her elbow, with splashes covering everywhere else. She looked like a damned Jackson Pollock painting that had been dragged through a hedge. Twice.
Shepherd stepped to the front of the truck and lit a cigarette as Abi limped her way to the back, finding a neatly stacked pile of clothes and a pair of sneakers three sized too big resting on the floor by a pile of packaged food and a couple of water bottles. Checking first that Shepherd couldn’t see her she slipped the ruined skirt down her legs, quickly stepping in to a pair of gray sweatpants with a drawstring waist. They were clearly made for a man about four inches taller and much broader – Shepherd’s size, she guessed – but they fit well enough for now. The shirt was another matter altogether, though. It fit her like a muumuu, draping almost down to her knees and the sleeves hanging beyond her fingertips, but with a little strategic rolling and some clever knotting of the excess material around the waist she managed to make it look at least halfway normal.
Abi tried to run her fingers through her hair, but they got stuck about an inch in. It felt as if every strand of hair had been plastered to her scalp. She took a fearful look at her reflection in the window and recoiled at the sight. Dried blood covered the right side of her face, and beneath her eyes were the kind of dark, puffy rings women go through painful, expensive surgery to erase.
Abi had never been all that concerned about her appearance, but the blood was freaking her out a little. The thought of going through the rest of the warm day with this sticky, tacky film covering her face and hair left her with the shivers, so she unscrewed the cap of one of the enormous water bottles and began to clean herself. She felt the fog clear from her mind the moment the cool water hit her.
“Woah woah woah, what the hell are you doing?!”
Abi looked up with surprise as Shepherd ran to the back of the Jeep and snatched the bottle from Abi’s hands. She’d been standing beneath it, clumsily upending it over her head, and as he grabbed it from her she was confused by the expression on his face. He stared aghast at the half empty bottle, and then at the water soaking into the ground at her feet.
“What? I’m just trying to wash the blood out of my hair. What’s the problem?” She wiped the water from the face with her sleeve, throwing her blond hair back to keep it out of her eyes.
Shepherd grabbed the cap from the floor and screwed it back on tight. “We have to conserve this stuff. God knows when we’ll be able to get clean water again. Hell, you just blew through two days of emergency drinking water with a quick rinse. Jesus.”
Abi’s brow knitted in confusion. “What are you talking about? Why do you need an emergency water supply?”
Shepherd’s mouth dropped open. For a few seconds he was struck dumb. From the look of her, standing beside a crashed train, her clothes torn and bloody, he’d just assumed…
“Hold up. Are you telling me you don’t know what’s happening?”
΅
:::13:::
ABI SAT IN the shade of the Jeep holding a Camel between her trembling fingers. She could barely take any of this in. If she hadn’t seen it first hand she would have assumed this Shepherd guy was just crazy, but this explained everything she’d seen. It explained the fried transformers on the power lines by the rail track. It explained why the emergency brakes had kicked in on the train, and why the antique steam locomotive following on the track behind it hadn’t been able to stop in time. When the power went down the train must have lost its radio, as well as the signal lights beside the tracks. The engine driver probably didn’t even know the Amtrak train was blocking the track until it was too late.
Finally it explained why hours had passed since the train had crashed, and still the area wasn’t swarming with emergency service vehicles. It explained why there weren’t any news choppers buzzing over what must be the biggest train crash Virginia had seen in years.
She listened as Shepherd told her about what he’d seen. The cars fried on the roads. The power out in the town. Her eyes grew wide as he described how the drunk had fired on his Jeep. She walked over to the of the side of the truck to double check that he wasn’t feeding her some bullshit story, but sure enough the bullet holes were right there, exactly as he’d described.
As Shepherd finished his story Abi felt a memory trigger. It was something important... something she’d read long ago.
Finally she remembered. She turned to Shepherd.
“I think I know what’s going on.”
΅
:::14:::
SHEPHERD PACED BACK and forth beside the Jeep, and for the first time since meeting Abi he felt out of his depth. An hour ago he’d been a hero coming to the rescue of this defenseless young woman, but now he felt like a kid in school as she took charge of the situation.
“I work in D.C. for the I&A, the Office of Intelligence and Analysis. You ever heard of us?”
Shepherd shook his head. He didn’t keep up to speed with the dozens of intelligence agencies that had popped up in the years since 9/11. As far as he could tell they all seemed to do almost the exact same job, some vague security related tasks that required billions of dollars each year.
“I’m not surprised. We’re not exactly what you’d call a front line agency. We’re part of the Department of Homeland Security, and in terms of the intelligence community we’re pretty much the equivalent of the bossy mom who tries to run every PTA meeting. We’re pencil pushers, and it’s our job to make sure that our intelligence agencies are properly integrated with one another; that they can share information quickly and efficiently. Basically we manage the collection, analysis and fusion of intelligence throughout the DHS, and if that isn’t enough to send you to sleep nothing will.”
Shepherd cocked his head curiously. “So you’re, what, some kind of spy?”
Abi laughed out loud, tickled by the suggestion. “Only if your definition of ‘spy’ is about as broad as you can get without writing your own dictionary. No, my job title is Assistant Deputy Administrator for Inter-Departmental Communications. I sit in a little windowless office in a sub-basement of a building in D.C. surrounded by stacks of intelligence briefings nobody will ever read. I’m what you get when someone graduates in political science but doesn’t want to climb the ladder by blowing a congressman or taking a job with a lobbying group.”
She flipped open her pack of Camels, then decided against it. Who knew when she’d find her next pack? “My job is to read through intelligence reports, security analyses and anything else even remotely related to counter-terrorism, and to look for ways to streamline the process of intelligence sharing between the DHS and other intelligence agencies. It’s total scut work, and about as exciting as flipping burgers at McDonalds, but since most of the intelligence I work with is classified top secret every once in a while I get to see some really crazy shit.”
Shepherd was obviously impressed. “You have top secret security clearance? Wow.”
Abi waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not a big deal. There are more than eight hundred thousand Americans with top secret cl
earance, both in the public and private sector. Trust me, it isn’t all that special. You probably know at least a couple of people who have clearance without even realizing it. Anyway, we’re getting off track here.”
Shepherd nodded, falling silent and allowing her to speak.
“This is all way before my time, but in the early Nineties there was a massive brain drain after the Soviet Union collapsed. Thousands of scientists suddenly found their research programs canceled without warning. Thousands more were unable to apply for funding in the chaos as Russia struggled to reform itself, and as a result almost all of them started to look overseas for opportunities. And we’re not talking about just a few guys here. The Soviets had invested heavily for decades in weapons technology, space exploration and a hundred other fields with practical security applications. Their scientific community was enormous and their skills were almost as great as our own – they were even ahead of us in some fields – so when the money dried up it was an absolute disaster for them.
“A lot of them came to the US, and many more went to Israel and around Europe. These were first class scientists, some of the best in the world, and western countries tossed out visas like candy to grab as many as possible. We hoovered up thousands, not only because we wanted them working for us but more importantly because we didn’t want them working for anyone else. Better have them on the inside pissing out, know what I mean?
“We managed to secure most of them, but a few got offers from… well, let’s just say less conventional parties. A few went to Iran. A few more were hoovered up by Saddam, Gaddafi and the Saudis, and in the mid-Nineties we heard that a small group had been taken on by North Korea. Unfortunately for us most of them were nuclear weapons experts. These were the guys who helped get the Korean nuclear program off the ground.”