by Simone Pond
“Hey, Sarah,” I say, over the murmuring engine.
“Can’t hear you. Speak up.”
“Come here, I need to tell you something.”
“Why don’t you come over here?”
“There’s an empty seat right next to me. Come on.”
She rolls her eyes and unbuckles her seatbelt and comes over.
“While we were in the Excalibur, something weird happened.”
“You mean, weirder than an ambush and shooting down kids?”
“I mean, something happened in my head.” I pause, trying to figure out how to explain what happened without sounding insane. “I got a message.”
“What do you mean a message?”
“I don’t know; it’s hard to explain, but it was like an email inside my brain.”
“Was it them? The people in Denver?”
“No, it was John Dickson. My father’s research partner.”
“What did he want? Why was he contacting you? How was he contacting you? What did he say?” She’s prying open my eyes and staring into my pupils.
“Relax. You’re usually the levelheaded one. I’m a little messed up right now, so let’s try to stay cool. Okay?”
“What did Dickson say?”
“He said he wants to help us.”
“Help us? Why?”
“Said he wants out. I think he’s finished with the Repatterning. He said to go to Santa Barbara and something about a plantation.”
“Why would he want us to go there?” She stares off.
Sam comes toward the back and stands in the aisle. “What are you two jawin’ about? I heard something about Santa Barbara.” He must have bionic hearing.
I stay quiet.
“What’s going on back there?” Zach calls out from the cockpit. Dan comes over, so now both men are towering over Sarah and me. Dru wakes up and joins us.
“You gonna explain?” Dan leans down in my face.
“It’s all good. Let’s just relax. It was just something weird with my chip.”
“What’s going on, William? Something happened with your chip?” asks Dru.
“While we were getting the fuel, my father’s research partner, John Dickson contacted me.”
“Where’d you get a radio?” asks Dan.
“No. He contacted me via the microchip.”
“What’d he say?” asks Sam.
“He wants us to go to Santa Barbara and help the people on the plantation. And he said he wants to help us. But it could be a trap.”
“I’ve heard about a rebel operation near Santa Barbara, living in the woods. He might be sending us that way to inadvertently remove them, and do their dirty work,” says Sam.
“All I know is that he said he’s finished with my father and he wants to help us.”
“Do you trust him?” asks Dru.
“It’s tough to trust anyone.” I look toward the cockpit. “He’s not loyal to my father. He was screwing my mother for years.”
“Wow. That’s sweet.” Dan laughs.
“He gave me some coordinates, but I don’t know. Like I said, it could be a trap.”
“What’d you think, Sam?” Zach yells from the cockpit. Like Sam, he has some incredible hearing abilities.
After a few minutes of deep thought, Sam walks over to the cockpit. “Scratch Bakersfield and follow this lead.”
“You trust your instincts?” asks Zach.
“Either way, there’s something out there. We could be walking into a fiery pile of shit, or we could end up taking down more of Morray’s men. I say we change our course and check this out.” He looks at me. “You remember those coordinates?”
“Um, there were a lot of numbers.”
“It’s already in your brain somewhere, just close your eyes and focus,” says Sarah.
The coordinates can easily be pulled up, but I’m not sure I want to lead us into potential chaos. Seems strange they’d be willing to go to Santa Barbara based on some random communication I received in my head.
Sam kneels down. “Look, my man, I know you’re skeptical. Understandable. But this might be a good thing. If we can locate the rebel group, that’ll make more of us. We’re stronger in numbers.”
“What if Dickson’s intention is to capture us?”
“Like I said, strength in numbers. What I’ve heard about this rebel crew is a few of them escaped the plantation and they’re building an army to get the rest of their people. We find them, pool our resources, and head over to the plantation to take care of business. We won’t be walking into a trap, we’ll be making a surprise attack.”
“Sounds like a win-win to me,” says Dan.
“What are the coordinates, Morray?” Zach calls out.
I close my eyes and concentrate, pulling up the memory of the message. Something inside my head heats up and I see the string of numbers, clear as day. “He said it’s close to Sheffield Reservoir. Coordinates are 342643N, 1194125W.”
“That’s so cool you were able to recall that,” says Sarah.
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t screw us in the end.” I turn away from everyone and stare out the window, watching the plane shift directions. We veer south and just like that we’re heading for Santa Barbara. We don’t know if we’re flying into a trap. I doubt that Dickson wants to help us, but maybe he thinks if he can stop my father, he can get my mother back.
*
It’s still dark when Zach lands the plane in a burned-down shopping center somewhere in Carpinteria, far enough away from the plantation so we stay off the radar. The plan is to hike through Los Padres National Forest toward Alder Creek campground and set up our base camp. Sam told Zach he had heard mentions of checkpoints in the Los Padres forest and something about Jameson Lake. Once we’re situated, we can scope out the woods for these supposed checkpoints and this band of renegades. Seems like a long shot to me, but the fresh air coming off the ocean eases some of my weariness. It’s good to be outside by the ocean again.
We have about thirty minutes before sunrise and we need to make haste. We walk single file along the charred streets with Sam leading the way. Nobody says anything about the burned-down houses or fields of blackened dirt. At the end of the road, we come to a half-standing abandoned greenhouse where we rest for a few minutes before we head toward the forest about eight hundred feet out.
Zach uses Sarah’s digi-pad to pull up a map. “We gotta cut through and make our own path until we reach the main one. A little over four miles to the campground; looks like lots of hills and shrubs.”
“I might have to trail behind you guys,” says Sarah. Her cheeks are sunken in and pale, and she had puked about a mile back. She’s getting weaker.
“I can stay with you,” I offer.
“You might have to. I don’t know the range of this frequency jammer, and we can’t risk you showing up on their radar,” she says. “If I knew more about the tracking software on the chip, I could figure out a better solution. But I need time.”
“We’re sticking together.” Zach takes her backpack and hands her a bottle of water. “Let’s go.”
We hike through the trees and dry shrubs for miles with branches poking into our eyes and scraping against our faces. The sun’s up and it’s getting warmer. After we’re a good distance into the woods, Sam stops and holds up his right hand. The six of us remain still and wait for his instructions. He motions for us to get low. From the brush, bullets whiz overhead and crack against the trees. Chunks of bark fly everywhere. There’s movement all around and the gunshots keep coming. Sarah’s on the ground curled up in a ball.
“Wait,” Zach shouts. “Hold your fire!”
More bullets zip by. I crawl over to the nearest tree for cover. The others have scattered from the path, except for Sarah.
“Get over here,” I tell her.
“Let me die,” she says.
I crawl out from behind the bush and grab Sarah by the ankles and drag her off the path. I need to make sure Dru is safe. “Dr
u?” I call out.
“Shut up, kid,” says Sam, from the tree branches above. I climb up the tree and sit next to him.
“How many?” I ask.
“I’m assessing this situation.”
Silence rests through the forest—no gunshots or any other movement. I close my eyes and listen, waiting for someone to make a move. A faint beep emanates from someone’s watch. At first I think it’s Dru, but her watch doesn’t beep. It’s coming from the left. I get Sam’s attention and motion toward the bushes. Without a word, he leaps down, tackling the unfortunate soul. Sam stands up, pulling the other guy with him, shoving his 9mm into the guy’s forehead. “Got one of your men,” he yells. “No use in wasting any more bullets. Judging from the looks of him, we’re on the same side.”
Sam’s right, the guy doesn’t look like an officer or someone who’d be working for my father. He’s a young man, early twenties with long and unruly hair and a thick beard.
I jump down. “We’re not the bad guys,” I tell him. “We heard about your people and we want to help.”
“They’re not officers or bangers!” The guy shouts out to his people.
Everyone creeps out from behind the trees and bushes. Dan and Sarah walk over, but Zach and Dru don’t come out. If anything happened to Dru, I’ll kill every last one of them. I aim my pistol at the other men who have gathered around.
Sam looks at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Where’s Dru? Did you guys kill her?” I run around the area, looking behind the trees. “Dru!” I yell out into the forest.
“Tell him to shut the hell up. There could be officers out here,” one of the men tells Sam.
“Morray, cool the jets!” yells Sam.
About six guns cock—everyone’s aiming at each other. Someone comes from behind a tree and presses a gun into my back.
“Did you just say Morray?” asks one of the men. “As in Morray the murdering machine?”
“See, I told you guys to stop calling me Morray,” I say.
“It’s obviously not him. First of all, why would he be out in the woods and second of all, he’s a little young, don’t you think?” says Sarah.
“How should we know?” The man digs his gun deeper into my back.
“I’m his son, William. Listen, I want to stop him just as much as you do. We want to stop the Repatterning.” I turn around and look at the dude; he’s younger than me. His face is covered with freckles and he reminds me of the kid on the cover of those old comic magazines.
“And we’re supposed to believe you?” he asks.
Zach appears from out of the woods. “We just fled from the Denver Subterranea and risked our lives to get here. The kid’s okay. Trust me.”
“Who are you?” The guy that Sam tackled steps up to Zach.
“I’m with the underground,” says Zach.
“Which one? There are lots.”
Zach pops a stick of gum into his mouth and chews it for a few seconds. “The one my partner Dru and I created. We were some of Morray’s experimentals.”
All the men stand down in acknowledgment.
“Where the hell is Dru?” I yell, running over to Zach.
“She was hit. Nothing serious, just a shoulder wound, but she’s losing blood and needs some medical attention.” Zach holds out his hand to guy in front of him. “Are we good here?”
The guy lowers his gun and tucks it into his waistband. He nods and extends his hand. “I’m Aaron. Come on, follow us.”
Chapter 16
Aaron leads us to a metal bunker about a mile into the woods. Inside there are about eight cots and shelves packed with ammunition, jugs of water and canned goods. Zach puts Dru down on a cot. The young girl, who was asleep on one of the cots, jumps up in shock. She can’t be more than sixteen years old.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
Aaron addresses her. “We found them in the woods. Don’t worry—they’re on our side. This one got shot and needs your help.” The girl rushes over with a medical supply kit and cuts open Dru’s shirt to examine the wound. I stand next to the cot, feeling nauseous and shaky. I don’t like seeing Dru hurt. She’s floating in and out of consciousness, mumbling and moaning. I hold her hand and a brief smile flashes across her dirt-smudged face.
“You’re gonna be fine, Dru,” I tell her.
“You’re okay; it was a clean shot—straight through. Just need to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” says the girl.
“Why’d your people come at us like that?” I shout at Aaron.
The girl looks over at me and says, “You have no idea what’s going on out here. It’s hell. We’ve lost a lot of people. Who are you, anyway?”
“They’re part of the underground. The ones working to take down Morray,” explains Aaron.
“Okay, can you all stand back please? Give her some room,” says the girl.
Zach and I wait at the far end of the bunker while she cleans up Dru’s wound. After she’s finished, she injects Dru with an antibiotic and something to help her sleep. She puts away her supplies and comes over to us.
“So, what makes you so sure you can pull it off—taking down the great and powerful Oz?” she asks.
“I’m his son.”
“What?”
“If anyone knows Professor Morray, it’s his son,” says Zach.
“So you’re gonna go up against your own father?” she asks.
“After I figured out the real deal about the Repatterning, I couldn’t sit back and watch. It’s sick and wrong what he’s doing.”
“It’s beyond sick and wrong,” she says, staring at the floor. I can tell by looking at her, the last couple of years have been rough. I don’t know what to say, so I keep quiet.
“These guys wanna help liberate the plantation. Now that we have more resources, I think it’s time we move in. We’ll be outside putting together a plan.” Aaron grabs a few blankets and leaves the bunker with Zach. I should go, but I don’t want to leave Dru. I sit down on the cot across from Dru and wipe away my tears.
“She’ll be fine,” says the girl.
“Thanks for your help, um, what’s your name?”
“Lillian,” she says.
“Are you from the plantation?”
“Yeah, I was there with my mother for about year. She’s still there. It’s been tough getting our people out. When one of us leaves, security gets tighter. We can’t get within a mile radius before they start attacking.”
“Good thing you’ve got plenty of supplies,” I say.
“We’ve been squirreling away stuff from the plantation for a while. When we first arrived, we’d sneak off with supplies and return to the plantation, but it’s too dangerous to go back now. I need to get my mom out. She’s all I have left. The Repatterning took away all my family and friends.” She wipes away a tear.
“I’m sorry.”
“We all lost a lot, but we’re not giving up. Aaron’s dad, John, is an excellent leader. We’ve been able to build up our supplies and our numbers.”
“Where is he?”
“Still on the plantation.”
“How are you communicating with them?”
“We haven’t in about a month. I don’t even know if my mom’s alive.” Lillian’s expression shifts from soft to hard; she looks toward the door.
The door opens and Sarah enters. She doesn’t look so good—pallid and drained.
“That’s Sarah. She’s with us,” I explain. “Dru’s okay,” I tell Sarah.
“I feel sick,” she says.
“What’s wrong?” asks Lillian, walking over to her.
Sarah’s eyes roll backwards and she drops to the ground. I run over and help Lillian get her to a cot.
“Was she hit?” asks Lillian, patting down her body.
“She’s been sick lately. Some weird bug. Puking a lot.” I hold Sarah’s sweaty hand while Lillian wipes off her face with a wet rag.
“She’s not hot. But she’s dehydrated from all
the throwing up.” Lillian gets a cup of water and tries to get Sarah to drink.
“Do you have anything to help her stomach?” I ask.
“I can heat up some broth. Probably the only thing she’ll be able to keep down. Why don’t you go out with the guys and I’ll take care of these two.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to burden you.”
“Consider it a thank you for getting my mom off the plantation.” She smiles and tends to Sarah.
The sun is up, but the air is cool. The men gather around the fire, drinking coffee and discussing strategies for getting to the plantation. I join them and listen. I can tell by the way Aaron addresses the group that he’s in charge. He also seems like a good guy. “They’ve got officers in the woods, along the perimeter of the plantation, but now we have enough men to get close enough to take them out and retrieve the rest of our people.”
“After we get your people out, we wanna take down the entire plantation,” says Zach.
“You got a plan?” asks Aaron.
“First, I want to burn the crops, then I wanna wipe out the big house.”
“Security is pretty tight,” says Aaron.
“We have a secret weapon,” says Zach, glancing at me.
“Good call,” I jump into the conversation.
“You wanna use the professor’s kid for hostage negotiations?” says one the men.
“It’s a little more complicated,” says Zach.
“It’s a lot more complicated,” I tell the group. “I’ll be more like bait luring in the sharks.”
“What do you mean?” asks Aaron.
“I’ve got a tracker in me.”
“We used it in Vegas to draw in units from Denver, and we can do the same here. They’ll assume it’s just a few of us rag-tags, not expecting an ambush. We coax them in and use their fire power to obliterate the plantation.”
“He’s got a tracker in him right now?” asks Aaron.
“Don’t sweat it—the frequencies are muddied, but we can unblock them and get him back on their radar.” Zach grins at me like he’s some kind of hero, when I’m the one with the tracker. I’m the human sacrifice, not him.