Greyson Gray_Deadfall_Thrilling Adventure Series for Preteens and Teens

by B. C. Tweedt

  After taking a deep breath and examining the compassionate sparkle in Sydney’s eyes, Greyson turned. “You can cry for me, okay?”

  “I already have.”

  He paused, not knowing how to respond. Choosing to ignore it, he looked out the window again. “Crying doesn’t make anything better. I have to do something. I have to make their lives mean something. I have to make their…deaths mean something.”

  A sudden gasp coming from the bed startled them both. “Greyson! Did…are you seeing this?”

  Hearing the urgency in Nick’s voice, Greyson threw the pillow down and ran to the laptop. “What?”

  “Look! Do you see him?”

  Greyson looked from Nick’s frightened face on the phone to the laptop’s shaking image of a bunch of shifting heads and backs. People were milling about, but besides that, he couldn’t see anything or anyone in particular.

  “Tell your parents to keep it steady…and to…”

  “We can’t,” Sydney declared. “Until they unmute us.”

  “What is it, Nick? Who’d you see?”

  Jarryd’s face popped on the screen. “It was Orion!”

  Greyson and Sydney dropped the phone on the bed and peered at the laptop. Her parents were now walking down the aisle. They could see the backs of several heads – some with long hair, others with short hair or even bald – but none were recognizable. Not until one of them turned.

  “Is it?” Sydney asked, pointing at the screen.

  “Guys?” Nick started from the phone below. “This isn’t a pleasant view.”

  Greyson looked down where the phone was pointed up toward his and Sydney’s nostrils. “Sorry.”

  When he brought the phone up again, they all gasped in astonishment. It was him.

  “Orion.” Somehow, he was alive. How? “We have to warn them,” Greyson said. He’d seen what Orion could do. He’d taken his punches. He’d seen him kill Kip in cold blood. Greyson hated his guts.

  “How?” Sydney asked. “My parents can’t hear us or see us.”

  “Then get their attention. Take off the tape.”

  Sydney pulled it off and the two of them waved at the webcam, hoping their mother would notice.

  “Wait,” Nick warned from the phone’s small screen. “I bet he’s fishing right now.”

  “Fishing?” Jarryd said. “In a church?”

  “For clues, moron. He was seeing if we’d show up.”

  Sydney nodded. “That’s why the FBI wouldn’t let us go.”

  “Right. Pluribus thought you guys were dead. But now…maybe they’re not so sure.”

  Looking at the laptop, they could see Sydney’s parents make their way down the steps to where Liam’s coffin was being loaded into the long, black hearse. A small crowd gathered with them on the steps. They scoured the crowd for Orion’s face, but he had disappeared.

  Greyson stood up suddenly, still gripping the phone. He stared at Nick. “We have to go get him.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Tell the FBI to go get him. They’ll be a hundred times faster.”

  Greyson watched Sydney’s door for any movement or shadows of someone listening. They had experimented with phone calls before, to test if the FBI could listen in, but he still wasn’t sure. He’d have to be careful.

  “I don’t trust them.”

  “What harm will it do? If the FBI wanted to, they could have killed you already.”

  “Only a few of them know where we are. But if I tell Agent Gavin about Orion, he’d have to tell someone else. Emory said he had men in the FBI. If a bad one finds out about us…”

  “We have to do something.”

  Greyson sighed. “Fine. Call the Shepherd line or whatever they call it – so it’s anon…anoma…so they don’t know who’s calling.” He turned the laptop toward him and eyed the crowd again. “But if Orion’s snooping around, he already thinks I’m alive. And now the FBI will clamp down on us again. I better get started.”

  “Now?” Nick knew Greyson was referring to his escape.

  “Yeah.”

  Nick and Jarryd’s face were sullen, crammed together on the other side of the little screen. Even Sammy was looking over their shoulders, his lazy eye just as dismayed as the other one. “This stinks,” Jarryd whined. “Why can’t we all…together, you know?”

  “You have parents,” Greyson said matter-of-factly.

  The boys nodded, a sudden and tense silence covering them. Suddenly the moment was too emotional.

  “I like your glasses, Nick.”

  Nick smiled, a little embarrassed. “Thanks.”

  An awkward silence.

  “Well, goodbye.”

  “Bye, dude.”

  “I’ll talk to you in a few days I hope. Call them right away!”

  They faked smiles again. “Will do. Bye.”

  Sydney leaned toward the phone. “Bye guys!”

  Greyson ended the call and hung his head for just a few beats before the urgency returned. Turning toward the laptop, he was about to close it – but he froze in fear. Sydney’s mom had pressed the wrong button again and the laptop’s screen was filled with her black dress – and the boy lurking behind her shoulder. Greyson locked eyes with him across the great distance of cyberspace, but the hatred burned just as hot. Orion smiled with surprise just before he darted away.

  He saw me. He knows I’m alive.

  Greyson gulped down the welling emotions and slapped the laptop closed, staring at Sydney. “It’s time. Right now.”

  Chapter 6

  The campaign office seemed busy, but Sam’s dad said it would be twice as busy in January – when Iowa had the nation’s first caucus of the year to start deciding their party’s nominee for President. Since President Foster had already served his two-term limit, their party needed to elect someone new. There were half a dozen others fighting with Governor Reckhemmer for the nomination, but the field would narrow and narrow until there was only one to run against whomever the other parties chose as their nominees.

  Until then, the campaign office in Iowa City would be furiously calling, fundraising, creating yard signs, and a hundred other tasks that, to some, were the most important things to do in the world. To Sam, something told him his dad would be the nominee no matter what. How could the nation reject the exact person it needed?

  Sam watched out the large office window into the main room where lines of volunteers cold-called citizens from tables filled with phones. Others rushed around without looking at the campaign slogans draped on the walls, the statistics written on wall-sized marker boards, or the map of Iowa that detailed their strategy almost street by street. It was rather intense – almost like a miniature war. And soon, with primary season coming up, it would be fought from state to state until his dad would be officially appointed the party’s nominee next August.

  But it’s not like that would make things normal again. Sam dropped his head to the homework on the table. He didn’t really have a home for the next year or so, they’d be traveling so much; so maybe he shouldn’t call it homework – maybe it was just ‘work.’

  He’d scrawled in a few answers he knew off the top of his head, but he hadn’t worked up the ambition to open the textbook yet. His tutor would be upset; he’d be upset with him no matter what. No amount of effort was enough.

  Buuuuzzzzz. Buuuuzzzzz.

  The phone vibrated in his pocket and he welcomed the distraction. Flinging the homework to the side, he glanced at the caller ID and ran to his laptop. After connecting a cable to the phone and a few clicks, he answered.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Greyson.”

  Sam paused. He had expected Sydney’s voice. “Hi.”

  “Hi. We need to talk. Privately if possible.”

  “Um…” Sam peeked out the window and typed in a few more commands on the computer. “The line’s secure, both ways. Is Sydney there?”

  Greyson paused. “She’s here. Look. I need to go right now.”

  “But I tho
ught you said you’d be going – ”

  “I know. But Orion was snooping at Liam’s funeral and…he saw me.”

  “Orion? Did you report it?” He was already typing in the search on the Shepherd Database.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Yeah, I see it. Nick and Jarryd call it in?”

  “Yeah – wait. Wait. I thought the line was supposed to be anon…anomy…private or whatever.”

  “Right. Not for normal citizens. Plus, nothing’s really anonymous anymore.” He took pride in pronouncing anonymous correctly when Greyson couldn’t.

  “Okay. But anyway, today. I need to go.”

  “Alright. How soon?”

  “As soon as possible. An hour? Less?”

  “Wow. Okay.”

  “Sorry,” Greyson said.

  In the background, Sam could hear Greyson and Sydney whispering.

  “Just a sec.” Sam typed furiously and continued glancing toward the window. He could hear his father in the adjacent office, still in a meeting. If he heard their chairs being pushed in, he would know his father would check in on him soon.

  After another minute of frantic computer work, he was nearly done. “The taxi will be in the block behind your house in an hour. Have him take you to the bus station. I’ll have your ticket at the Will Call window. Your name is Nolan Willis. Thought you might want to keep the first name.”

  “Not really.”

  “No, it’s better so you don’t slip up. Now, you’re going to have refugee status. That allows you to travel as an unaccompanied minor without an ID. The password is Blue Ribbon.”

  There was a pause and a scoff. “Got it.”

  Sam heard chairs squeaking in the adjacent room and men’s loud voices. He had to hurry.

  “Remember – don’t show your face. Cameras will pick it up, anywhere. Facial recognition software is – ”

  “Yup.”

  “ – and only use cash. Don’t use a phone – don’t even bring it. It can be tracked. They probably have your voice recorded somewhere, so maybe just avoid all calls. Anyway, now that Pluribus knows you’re alive, the government won’t be afraid to tell everyone you’re missing. You might have to adapt. It will make it even harder to stay hidden.”

  The government, Pluribus, and the nation will be looking for him. Harder was putting it lightly.

  “I’ll manage.”

  “The bus will get you to Florida. You can’t fly, remember. Security is too tight. You’ll have to use the money to hire a private ship. Or something. That part’s on you for now. I’ll keep thinking.”

  “Got it.”

  The door to the other office opened and suited men and women poured into the main room.

  “Gotta go.” He watched his dad say goodbye to the entourage of adults. There was silence from the other side of the phone.

  “Thank you,” Greyson whispered finally. “For your help.”

  “Of course. You helped me escape once.”

  By pushing him out of a moving vehicle – but it still counted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. Tell Sydney that security will probably be increased at the house – or they’ll move her again.”

  “Okay. Hopefully they don’t know she’s alive. And they’ll be too busy looking for me.”

  For a moment, both boys were nodding their heads in agreement. For all their past disagreements, they had always had one thing in common – an affection for Sydney.

  Sam’s dad greeted the tutor at the front door. In a second they’d be making their way straight to him. “Got to go.” In a flash, Sam hung up, pulled the cable, and closed the laptop. When the tutor and the Governor walked in, Sam was busy scribbling an answer on his worksheet.

  ------------------

  Greyson hung up the phone and returned it to Sydney. “We have an hour.”

  “An hour?”

  “Yeah. I think I’ll need sunglasses to cover my face. And something with a hood.”

  Sydney shot to her closet, searched for a bit, and came out empty handed. “I have a hooded sweatshirt, but it’s downstairs in the coat closet. And my dad’s sunglasses are above the keys.”

  Greyson nodded to himself, thinking through the plan. A sudden wave of fear prickled his skin, but it passed quickly. There was no use being afraid. It would only tempt him to change his mind. In a few days, he would be in the sunny warmth of the Bahamas with his dad. Fear wouldn’t stand in his way.

  “Do you need me,” Sydney began coyly, “to get the transponder out?”

  Transponder was the word Agent Feldkamp had used to refer to the GPS tracker the FBI implanted in his shoulder. At least this time they had told him they were tracking him – to keep him safe, of course.

  “No, I got it. Used a mirror.”

  “You check for other ones?” she asked awkwardly. “You know? In case the first was like a diversion or something.”

  Greyson rolled his eyes. “Yes, of course. Like a hundred times.”

  “That’s a lot of checking.”

  He smiled. “They’re really small.”

  “Did you find any?”

  Greyson shook his head, pointing to his fanny pack. “Just the one. I’ll ditch it as soon as I get out. Put it in someone’s car or something to throw them off. But anyway – you go first, then later bring the bag down the back stairs when no one’s looking. I’ll do my workout routine so he’ll give us privacy.”

  “Got it. Then we sneak out the basement window right after the guard makes his rounds.”

  Greyson’s shoulders slumped and he blinked an extra time or two to illustrate his disapproval. “We? We’ve talked about this.”

  “Yeah, but things have changed. The Plurbs will be looking for all of us now. Orion saw my parents.”

  “So? They didn’t see you. They saw me. Plus, Sam will help to increase the security here. You’ll be safer here than out there with me.”

  “But – ”

  “Fifty-five minutes. We don’t have time to argue,” he averted his eyes to her dresser. “Plus we couldn’t carry all your clothes and make-up and shoes.”

  It was Sydney’s turn to show her disapproval. “Meet you in the basement in twenty minutes.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Sounds good.”

  She left, leaving the door open long enough for Agent Gavin to see Greyson still inside, staring at the Polaroid picture in the silver frame.

  Thinking there was something about Sydney’s smile that was especially attractive, he suddenly had second thoughts about leaving her behind.

  -------------------------

  “Dad?”

  “Yes, son?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “He?”

  “Greyson. I saw him. Not at the funeral, but on a video call.”

  “Whose video call?”

  “Parents of the girl.”

  “Did you follow them?”

  “I am now.”

  “Good.”

  “What do I do? If he’s there.”

  “I trust you will know what to do.”

  “Kill him?”

  “I can send the Fisherman.”

  “No. I’ll handle it.”

  “With a team. Call Bartlett. He’ll follow your orders.”

  “Got it.”

  “I trust you’ll get it done.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.”

  Everett Oliver Emory tapped his smartwatch, hanging up the call as he cursed to himself. The boy was alive. And as they suspected, he was one of the witnesses the government was hiding.

  Emory put his face in his hands and thought. This complicated things. The fact that the witnesses knew he was behind the bombing was no problem. They would only tell the world what they already wanted to think – the Plurbs had nuked Des Moines. If the government wanted the world to believe it, they’d believe it, with or without child witnesses.

  The problem was, with Greyson alive, the government had a witness who may
know something no one else did. Greyson may know where the next attack would happen.

  Emory remembered whispering in the boy’s ear. “Your dad’s in Nassau.”

  But perhaps Greyson didn’t know the significance of what he knew.

  Perhaps he actually thought Nassau was where he would live happily ever after with his father. He was just a child after all, with lofty dreams and a wild imagination. A child wouldn’t have caught an adult’s macabre sense of humor and irony.

  Either way, the boy had to die. Nothing could get in the way of this attack. He’d put a lot of effort into training Orion, so he’d give him his shot. But if he failed, the Fisherman wouldn’t fail.

  The boy had to die.

  Chapter 7

  DOOF-DOOF-DOOFDOOF!

  “Good,” Greyson praised quietly. “Just like that. Make it noisy. He has to believe it’s me.”

  Sydney smiled, but had to shake out her knuckles. The punching bag was more solid than it had looked when Greyson was punching it.

  Greyson put Sydney’s hoodie on over his shirt and straightened it. “Fits well.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she whispered.

  Sydney hit the bag again a few more times, a little more gingerly. Agent Gavin was just up the flight of stairs leading to the living room, giving Greyson the privacy he desired in the basement, assuming he was up to his familiar routine.

  Greyson tried on the sunglasses and smiled at Sydney. “How they look? Like I got swag?”

  Sydney smacked the bag. “Swag? Sure. Greyson, we have to talk.”

  “I won’t use that word again.”

  Sydney laughed briefly, and then stopped herself for fear of being too loud. “No, it’s not that.”

  Glancing at his watch, he went to the basement’s window, which was head level and just big enough to crawl through to the back yard. In a minute or two, the FBI agent would be making his way around the perimeter. As soon as he passed, Greyson would be free to go. “Ok. What’s up?”

  “You’re happy, aren’t you?”

  Greyson felt his smile pushing at his cheeks and pulled off his sunglasses. She’s right. I am. Why?

  Greyson shrugged, which was pretty difficult with the backpack weighing his shoulders down. “I guess so.”