Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact)

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Wherever Seeds May Fall (First Contact) Page 13

by Peter Cawdron


  “You are safe,” the driver says.

  The car accelerates toward a traffic light turning green, yellow, and then red. They rush through the intersection. Horns sound.

  “Stop the goddamn car,” Nolan yells, kicking the seat in front of him.

  Kath slips her tablet into the side pouch on the door. She holds onto the handrail as the vehicle swerves onto the wrong side of the road. They race past cars coming to a stop at the next intersection.

  “What’s happening?” she yells.

  “Please. No alarm,” the driver says. “You are safe. We need to talk.”

  Kath’s heart races.

  Nolan reaches forward, grabbing the back of the front passenger’s seat. He clips a button on the side of the headrest and pulls it up, removing it from the seat.

  “What are you doing?” Kath asks.

  “Improvising,” Nolan says. It’s only then Kath notices the long steel prongs below the headrest cushion. “Call 911.”

  “R—Right,” she replies, searching for her phone in her jacket pocket.

  “Calm, please. No alarm,” the driver says, swerving madly through the traffic as he increases speed. Tires squeal and skid on the slick concrete.

  Nolan unclips his seatbelt, increasing his range of motion. He sits forward, grabbing the headrest with both hands.

  “Seatbelt,” the driver says, glancing in the rearview mirror. “For your safety.”

  Nolan ignores him. He begins hacking at the Perspex barrier. He hammers the plastic, hitting it with thundering blows. Cracks appear, but the Perspex holds.

  “Please. No,” the driver says, peering over his shoulder.

  Nolan wedges the steel prongs between the Perspex and the roof and pulls. He tries to dislodge the thick casing, but it’s screwed in place.

  “No signal,” Kath says, staring at her phone in disbelief. “How the hell is there no signal?”

  It’s then it strikes her. She loaded the articles on her tablet before she got in the car. Somehow, the driver has jammed their electronics. She flicks the button to open the window beside her, but like the door, it’s locked.

  “Talk, that is all,” the driver says, swinging hard on the steering wheel and taking a corner at speed.

  Nolan is thrown outward against the door. Being unable to break the Perspex, he turns and strikes at the window beside him. Metal prongs punch through the glass as he yells, “Do not fuck with the US military!”

  Fragments of broken glass cascade out onto the road. Nolan’s clinical and yet ferocious. With determination, he runs the prongs around all four sides of the window, clearing away the shattered glass. On the street, people point and yell in alarm. Cell phones are raised, filming the car as it races past.

  To Kath’s horror, Nolan leans out the empty window. He’s got his upper torso through the opening and is yelling at bystanders as they whizz by. He lines up a group of pedestrians standing beside a restaurant on the next corner.

  “Call 911,” he yells, tossing his wallet to them. “We’re being kidnapped!”

  A bewildered-looking teenager catches the wallet. At the same time, the driver slams the vehicle into a hard turn, running a red light. Cars race through the intersection, braking and skidding to avoid them. A truck swerves, tipping.

  The wind whips past. Nolan slips. He doubles over, leaning against the outside of the car door. The concrete road rushes past just inches from his head. His fingers grip at the door frame behind him. He’s doing all he can not to fall from the vehicle. The headrest bounces down the street.

  Kath is terrified. She grabs his ankles, desperate to pull him inside the car. Traffic signs flash past inches from his head, threatening to decapitate him. With all her might, she pulls, trying to haul him in, but he’s too heavy. The vehicle fishtails on the slush and ice leading to a darkened backstreet.

  The road ahead is blocked. There’s road work on one side. A construction worker waves a flashlight. A glowing orange cone signals them to slow down. Red brake lights shine through the gloom immediately in front of them.

  The driver rides up onto the sidewalk, squeezing between buildings and streetlights. Trash cans go flying. Pedestrians duck into doorways.

  Kath has hold of Nolan’s belt. She pulls, dragging him back into the car. The side mirror is smashed as the car scrapes along a brick wall. Nolan falls into his seat. Sparks fly through the night.

  Having passed the roadworks, the car swerves onto the road again.

  “What the hell were you doing?” Kath yells at Nolan.

  “Getting help,” he says. “At least now they know who’s in here.”

  “You scared me!”

  “I scared you?” Nolan says, pushing against the rear seat. He arches his back, kicking the driver’s Perspex cage with both of his feet. The car rocks, but the Perspex holds. “This asshole scares me!”

  “Please, only talk,” the driver yells.

  It’s then the realization strikes her. This has all gone wrong, and not just for them. The driver’s terrified. He’s clearly well-trained, but he’s panicked. What should have been a slight diversion hasn’t gone according to plan.

  “We’re going to die,” she says, rocking with the car as its engine screams into the darkness. Sirens sound in the distance. Red and blue lights wash over the buildings around them as police vehicles close in. A helicopter flies low overhead. Its thumping rotor blades are right above them. A blinding white light illuminates the vehicle.

  “We’re all going to die,” Nolan replies.

  “Great. That’s just bloody great. Thank you for that insight,” Kath says, struggling against her seatbelt. The tension sensor has locked, holding her firmly in place.

  Nolan pushes himself over into the front passenger’s seat and grabs at the Perspex guard. His fingers pry at the point it meets the dash. He begins jerking at the clear plastic, edging it away from its mounts.

  “If we’re going to hell, this asshole’s coming with us,” Nolan says, gritting his teeth and tugging at the plastic. Rivets give way. The padding on the dash starts to tear as he pulls on the screen.

  “Stop. Just stop,” Kath yells, appealing to both of them.

  “Stop this goddamn car,” Nolan growls, able to make eye contact with the driver.

  Nolan bends the mounting point of the Perspex shell, ripping it from the dash. There’s enough of a gap for him to reach through. With his neck buckled against the windscreen, he strains but he can’t quite grab the steering wheel.

  The driver panics, running another red light.

  Kath never even sees the truck that hits them. Eighteen wheels tear at the concrete as the truck’s brakes scream into the night. She tries to brace, but nothing can prepare her for the ferocity of the impact.

  The truck’s chrome bumper slams into the rear of their car, crushing the thin sheet metal. The trunk lid pops open. The vehicle spins, pivoting around the front right tire. The driver swings on the steering wheel, trying to counter the force.

  Kath’s hair flies sideways. Shockwaves race through her petite frame, rattling her skull. Her head flicks over on her neck. Every muscle in her body seems to contract, stiffening as her arms are flung out before her. Shattered glass rains sideways through the cab of the vehicle.

  Nolan bounces off the dash. He flies into the front passenger’s door and ricochets up into the roof before coming to rest on the front seat. He’s inverted, with his legs up and his head in the footwell. He tries to brace himself, but the erratic driving has him barely able to avoid bouncing around.

  The car accelerates, pulling away from the intersection. Five other vehicles are involved in the collision. The police helicopter loses them in the confusion. The sudden loss of the blinding spotlight causes darkness to descend. Kath’s eyes struggle to adjust to the low light. As they rush down a service road leading to the wharves, she catches sight of the chopper circling. It’s trying to find them but is heading in the wrong direction.

  “Only talk,” the driver
says. He’s bleeding from a gash to his head. His hands are shaking.

  “Fuck talk,” Nolan somehow manages from the front of the car, but all his fight is gone. He raises an arm, trying to right himself. His hand falls across his chest as he slumps upside down in the footwell.

  At least one police car has seen them. It goes airborne as it races down the road behind them. Its siren blares. Emergency lights flash, chasing them toward the docks.

  Their car slides into a steep corner, peeling away from the main road as the offramp passes under a rail bridge. To Kath’s horror, a dumpster rolls down the embankment toward them. Dark figures guide it, but it’s out of control. The dumpster bounces wildly as it careens over the rough ground beneath the bridge.

  The driver slams on the brakes, pulling in hard against the curb. The dumpster rushes at them from the side. The car lurches to a stop as several men run from the shadows.

  The dumpster jumps the curb, coming to a halt behind their car. Someone slams their hand on the roof. Kath winces.

  A parked car in front of them roars to life. It pulls out onto the road with its wheels squealing. Kath is dazed. It’s a dark brown Buick with a smashed rear window and a dented trunk. There are mannequins in the back seat. Before she can say anything, the car accelerates, burning rubber and racing away.

  “Wh—”

  Someone’s beaten the back of that car with a tire iron. Her staff car probably looks worse, but that someone’s tried to replicate the damage is bewildering. It implies a level of sophistication, planning and coordination she never expected.

  To her horror, two police cars speed past, chasing the other car, racing right by them. A spotlight illuminates the other vehicle as the police helicopter rejoins the chase. Kath is in shock. She sits there stunned, watching as their doppelgänger passes under several other bridges along the riverside.

  The silence around her is unsettling. It takes a moment to realize she’s no longer in motion as her inner ear is still swirling. The engine is off. The driver’s door is open. There’s no one around. She peers out into the shadows.

  They’re alone.

  Abandoned.

  Nolan groans.

  Kath tries her door. Unlocked. Gingerly, she unclips her seatbelt and gets out. Her legs are unsteady. She holds onto the side of the vehicle as she makes her way around it.

  The dumpster has been pushed hard up against the back of their car, obscuring them from the main road.

  A metallic sign has been slapped on the open front door of the car.

  Papa Ricci’s Pizza

  “What the hell?”

  Kath holds onto the hood as she works her way around the dented vehicle. Someone’s positioned a sign on top of the roof, advertising what she’s sure is a fictional pizza store. It must be battery power as it’s illuminated, glowing softly in the shadows. Suction cups hold the sign in place. The caricature of a Roman chef smiles at her, holding a drooping slice of pizza.

  “I don’t understand,” she mumbles. Her hands are shaking. She fumbles with the door handle on the front passenger’s side. “N—Nolan.”

  For his part, Nolan has almost righted himself. He’s facing sideways, leaning against the shattered Perspex shell. His bloodied hand holds onto the dash. He’s half in the footwell, half on the seat. Kath reaches in, grabbing his arm and helping him out. Snow swirls around her but she’s beyond feeling the cold.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  “Me?” she says, looking at the gash on his head and his bloodied, torn uniform. “Are you?”

  “I’m fine,” he replies. “I’ll be fine.”

  His use of the future tense is a correction of his previous lie.

  A phone starts ringing. In her confused state, Kath pulls her own phone from her pocket. The screen is dark.

  Nolan has his back to the car, leaning against the door frame. He’s shaking, looking down at his trembling fingers. Behind him, a phone rattles on the roof, vibrating as it rings. It’s been abandoned in front of the glowing pizza sign.

  Nolan turns, throwing his arm over the roof of the car rather than reaching across the thin sheet metal. From how he moves, it’s clear he’s in pain and doing all he can to push through the hurt. His bloodied fingers grab at the phone. He drags it closer until he can pick it up. Rather than pulling the phone back, Nolan steps away from the car, allowing his arm to fall from the roof.

  “Let me,” Kath says, taking the phone from his fingers. She presses the green button to answer the call and switches to speakerphone. “Hello?”

  “Dr. McKenzie?” a strange voice asks.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Is General Landis with you?”

  “Yes,” she says with a quiver breaking in her voice.

  Nolan waves at her, mouthing the word, “Phone.”

  “General Landis?” the male voice asks.

  Kath holds out the phone for him, but he shakes his head, mouthing but not saying, “Your phone!”

  She hands him her phone. It’s locked. He presses the photo button, bypassing security and going straight to the camera.

  “This is Landis,” Nolan says for the benefit of the conversation on the abandoned phone. He switches Kath’s phone to video and hits record, holding the two phones next to each other. Smart.

  “I am sorry for any discomfort you may have endured.”

  Nolan looks pissed. His jaw is clenched while his lips are pulled tight. Veins appear on the side of his neck. It seems it’s all he can do not to explode in rage.

  The voice on the phone continues.

  “There has been a... misunderstanding. Our agent was too, how shall we say, zealous.”

  Kath and Nolan lock eyes. He mouths the word, We. Kath caught that too. As much as she wants to blurt out a bunch of questions, she remains silent. She wants to ask, Who the hell are you? But she follows Nolan’s lead.

  “American generals are… challenging in ways we did not expect,” the voice says. The speaker is baiting Nolan, but he’s determined not to give anything away.

  “You must understand,” the man says in response to a reply he never actually received. “These are sensitive times. There is much unrest. We do not want to inflame internal or international relations.”

  This time it’s Kath that mouths, ‘We.’

  Nolan replies to her, mouthing the word, ‘China.’

  Kath doesn’t know how he arrived at that conclusion as there’s no hint of a foreign accent. If anything, the man they’re speaking with, or listening to as is the case, seems to be from the Midwest. He senses Nolan’s reluctance to engage in conversation and anticipates his questions.

  “We have concerns about our neighbor to the north.”

  Kath mouths, ‘Russia?’

  Nolan nods.

  “We feel they are taking us on a path to war. Our intelligence suggests they will take the least provocation as an excuse to attack our new friends. You understand, of course?”

  Nolan and Kath look at each other. Neither speaks.

  “We cannot be seen to support American policy. You must appreciate that as it would be counted as weakness and used against us. We are a proud sovereign nation. We will assert the interests of our people, but we need America to know we stand with her. Were war to break out, we would side with the eagle, not the bear.”

  There’s silence on the line, but Kath can hear the faint sound of talking in the background. To her, it sounds like something is being discussed in Chinese.

  “I am authorized by the highest power to grant you one request as a token or proof of our solidarity with America. Anything you ask will be granted.”

  The wind whips around the decrepit rail bridge. Snow swirls through the air. The cold creeps up Kath’s legs. She cannot imagine what Nolan could ask for. An all-expenses paid holiday to Waikiki? The notion of being gifted anything by a sovereign nation-state is surreal. They’ve been abducted and abandoned. Now they can have anything they want? WTF?

  “Anything,
” the voice says.

  Nolan’s focus is absolute. He could be standing in the middle of a rock concert and he wouldn’t blink. Say something, damn it! Kath is on the verge of grabbing his arm. She wants him to snap back and reply, but he’s waiting, outplaying their adversary.

  Finally, the voice offers some suggestions, qualifying what can be offered as proof.

  “A blackout in Beijing? A shift of the Renminbi in favor of the US? A fall in the Shanghai Stock Exchange? Name it, and it shall be done as a sign this conversation is genuine.”

  Nolan is tightlipped, staring intently at the phone. To be fair, given all they’ve been through, this is an outlandish request. Kath has no idea what they should ask for.

  Nothing more is offered.

  Nolan looks up at Kath. She can see it in his eyes—the anger, the rage, the hurt. He wants them to feel the pain and fear they felt. He wants them to bleed, but there’s nothing he can do. Ask for anything you want? Nolan will take them for all he can get. With a loud, clear voice, he says one word.

  “Spratly.”

  Kath leans forward, unsure whether she’s heard him correctly. Did he say, ‘Actually?’ Actually what? She wants him to explain, but there’s no way she’s interrupting the conversation. Personally, she would have asked for their driver in cuffs.

  There’s a flurry of conversation in the background in what she assumes is Mandarin Chinese. After a few seconds, their abductor replies, “It will be as you say.”

  The phone goes dead.

  No sooner has the call ended than smoke begins seeping from the thin cracks in the phone casing. Nolan drops the phone in the icy slush on the side of the road. Flames appear, licking at the metal. They both step back, walking around the front of the car as a pungent grey cloud rises from the phone. Arcs of light flicker before the flames subside.

  Nolan stops recording. He hands Kath’s phone back to her, saying, “Time to call this in.”

  The Situation Room

  Red and blue emergency lights flicker across the railway bridge.

  Paramedics arrive first. Two ambulances park on either side of the road, blocking traffic beneath the bridge. The drivers are strategic, parking so their doors open toward the fake pizza delivery car. Light spills out from within the EMT vehicles as the rear doors are opened.

 

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