by B. C. Tweedt
“Not my ribs! But there’s no barbeque sauce! They’ll be so dry!”
“Wibs not dwy! Bloooood saaaauce,” Asher growled, never caring about his inability to pronounce ‘r’s. “Nom, nom!”
“Nom, nom? Does T-Rex say nom nom?”
His victim laughed and so did the T-Rex. And then the man fought back with his secret weapon.
“T-Rex is T-icklish!”
The man grabbed at Asher’s sides and lifted him in the air, only to throw him onto his bed. The T-Rex tried to fight back, but his growls were snorts and his roars were of laughter. Soon it was all over. The T-Rex was buried under the heap of covers.
“Ah haha! T-Rex is defeated!”
“Nuh, uh! T-Wex died, yeah. But T-Wex comes back as…T-Wex the zombie!”
Asher pushed his jaw to the side, moaned, and waved his T-Rex claws side to side as he rose from the covers. “Bwwwwaaaains.”
His dad, Dan, laughed, but pushed him back down. “Sleeeeep.”
“Ah, man. It’s like 8 o’clock.”
“Ah, boy. That’s because I know you’ll be reading for another half hour.”
Asher smiled and reached under his bed, where dozens of books had once been stacked but were now toppled like a deck of cards. He came out with a book about pirates, looked at it and then put it back. Going down again, he came up with a book about Star Wars.
“Now we’ah talkin’.”
As Dan handed Asher his book light, his cell phone buzzed.
“Good night, buddy.”
“Night, Dad!”
“Sleep tight.” He flicked off the lights as he left and answered the phone. “What is it?”
The man on the phone got straight to the point. “The kid we’ve been looking for was spotted in Allenworth.”
“Allenworth? Here in Georgia?”
“Yes.”
“How do you know it’s not like all the other sightings?”
“Red backpack and a German Shepherd.”
“Okay. Mobilize the team. Keep me up to date.”
“Will do.”
Dan hung up and looked through the crack in the door, the report of the missing boy still on his mind. He couldn’t imagine a boy out on his own for nearly two weeks, off the grid. But he had made it this far – maybe he would get to where he was going. But where was he headed?
Concern plagued his grim face as he watched his son read. The book light illuminated the large picture book, his big eyes, and his moving lips as he read to himself about battles and weapons and war.
Perhaps tomorrow he would find him another book. One about survival.
-------------------
The kid had made it to Georgia. Survived. Hid.
He’d survived bombs. Gunfire. A plummet from a moving vehicle into a river. A nuclear blast. And Orion’s clumsy attacks.
Fate wanted the boy alive. But for what? Would Fate want him to make it to Nassau, to find what he could of his long-lost daddy?
Maybe.
While Emory at one time had thought it would be interesting to play games with Gray’s son – to see if Fate led Greyson to discover what he knew of his father, now it seemed like a nuisance. The boy knew too much. First, he was supposed to have died – been wiped from existence with the rest of the kids. And then he was supposed to have drowned. Finally, Orion was supposed to have taken care of him. But again, Fate had spared him.
Fate had been good to Emory for many years, so much so that it had seemed like it was doing his bidding. But now, Fate was showing signs that it was changing. Nothing major. Most everything was still going his way. But he had lost his brother because of the boy, though that hadn’t been a big loss. The worst was being forced into backup plans – twice. Greyson was plucking at a nerve, and it was about time Emory did something to make sure Fate would work out the way he wanted.
He had to teach it again to submit.
That’s why he’d sent the Fisherman to Nassau.
Emory leaned back on his lawn chair and thought to himself, rubbing the beard that grew red despite his brown hair. He liked the beard, but he couldn’t get used to it. His look would change in a day or two. New clothes, new wig, new facial hair – and always a hat or roof above his head to ward off pesky satellite or drone pictures. They would never find him.
They were trying. Every resource the government had at its disposal was being used. All its money, all its technology. They were in crisis mode. He was the most wanted man in United States history – more than Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wilkes Booth, or Osama bin Laden. But their armies, their drones, their hackers wouldn’t find him. Not him, the Eye of Eyes, because he was watching them. One step ahead, two steps ahead. And this wasn’t the tortoise and the hare. This was David and Goliath. For all their armor and all their strength he had speed, agility, and a plan. Every step they took he had foreseen, taking them deeper and deeper into a trap of their own making.
Though he hadn’t foreseen Greyson.
Maybe he shouldn’t underestimate him.
Emory turned to one of the six men stationed around the lake’s dock. A dozen more were in the lake house; another dozen wore civilian clothes and were posted about the town, sniffing out any suspicious activity. His personal army had fended off attacks from small countries before, but never from within the American Beast. Here, it was best to keep a lower profile – to blend in until ready to strike. And even then, it was best to let expendable men do the striking.
“Give word to the loyal militias in Georgia and Florida,” he ordered. “Don’t let the boy get to Nassau. Bring him back to me alive, preferably. If the Feds get to him first, take him back at all costs. That’s all.”
“Yes, sir.”
The messenger left in a hurry and Emory turned back to the lake. The floating dock rolled with the calm waves, a comforting flow, as if it were being rocked and consoled by a loving mother. He closed his eyes and let his head sway with the movement.
Chapter 27
“Ugh…” Jarryd moaned, holding his stomach. “How can you guys eat with all this rocking?”
Nick, Sammy, Sydney, and both sets of parents sat around the banquet table in the exquisite dining room decorated with pristine white linens, gold banisters and crystal chandeliers as waiters in customary black and white uniforms bustled around with hand towels and trays of beautifully plated dishes. Before their food arrived, many guests would wander to the south wall, which was made entirely of glass, and marvel at the view of the park running through the ship’s valley-like interior below.
“I don’t know how you can’t eat, with all this good food,” Nick said, sawing at a piece of juicy steak. “And it’s free!” Since he hadn’t been able to decide which type of potato he wanted with the steak, he’d ordered mashed, tator tots, and baked. But it wasn’t as big as Sammy’s food pile.
Jarryd watched Sammy chew on a crab’s leg and slurp at the small bowl of butter. “Ugh…”
“You know what?” his stepdad began, holding a roll in one hand, and a forked chicken breast in the other, “I heard that humming to yourself cures motion sickness.”
“I already took a pill and I’m wearing six motion-sick patches…”
“Well, have they worked?”
Jarryd shot his stepdad a skeptical look, but began humming to himself as the rest of the table snickered. Soon, he was feeling better, rocking with the music and gesturing with bold arm reaches.
“Is that the song from Titanic?” Sydney asked. “‘My Heart Will Go On?’”
Jarryd shrugged, still humming. He pulled at Sydney’s arm during a swell in the music, and for once she didn’t hit him or push him away. She even acted along, grabbing his hand and humming along, faking a romance. For the moment at least, she was happy, knowing she was free from both the FBI and terrorists and pursuing Greyson.
“You know that the Titanic was a giant ship that sunk, right?” Nick asked, still eating. “And we’re on a giant ship.”
Jarryd stopped with a smirk. “
Oh. My bad.”
The table laughed, quickly returning to their food. But as their waiter filled their drinks, Nick glanced at his nametag, which had his home country engraved beneath.
Pham. Vietnam.
The cruise workers’ nationalities had fascinated Nick. He’d seen fifteen different countries represented already, though most had been from the Pacific islands or southeastern Asia.
But Nick took a double take at Pham and froze in fear. He can’t be…
Pham was refilling Mr. Hansen’s water now, giving Nick a closer view of his face. Nick wrestled with his thoughts, convincing himself it was just a coincidence, but re-convincing himself that it couldn’t be.
On Pham’s left eyebrow was a diagonal cut, like a scar that prevented hair from growing. Just like the scar Nick had received after initiation. From Pluribus.
“Nice watch!” Jarryd exclaimed, noticing the screen on Pham’s wrist that displayed the time digitally. It also displayed the date, temperature, and a background picture – which looked like some sort of flower.
“T’ank you,” he said with a heavy accent and without a smile.
“Is that the new…?” Jarryd asked. But Pham had already left. He shrugged and turned to his friends. “Did you see that watch? It’s one of those new satellite ones that you can surf the Internet or even do video calls from anywhere in the world – no matter what. It syncs with your phone and pretty much does everything.”
“Does it cut your food for you?” Sammy inquired, holding up a lobster tail with his fork.
“I’ll cut your face for you.”
“Jarryd!” his mother scolded.
“What? He was making fun of me.”
“No, I wasn’t,” Sammy complained, trying to get his lazy eye to glare at Jarryd. “I want to know for real.”
“If it cuts your food?”
“Yeah.”
“No, Sammy. A watch doesn’t cut food. That’s what knives are –”
“Then it doesn’t do everything.”
Jarryd raised his knife in the air in a threatening gesture.
His stepdad put up his hand to stop him, but gave a concerned look to Nick. “Nick, you okay?”
Nick was staring at his plate of half-eaten steak, the blood still pooling around it. “M-maybe I’m a little motion sick, too.”
He wanted to tell them, but now wasn’t the time. And there was still that off chance that it was a coincidental scar.
He glanced around, looking for other waiters and guests with the scar, but instead noticed something else. Two…no, three more waiters wore the same watch.
“Humming worked for me, bro.”
“I heard sticking French fries up your nose works, too,” his stepdad joked.
“Or just puke. Works for me,” Sammy suggested.
“No, no. I’ll be fine.”
Ignoring the suggestions, Nick scanned the room, examining each waiter. Some waiters didn’t have a smart watch. But the three who did suddenly stopped – all at the same moment, as if they were programmed robots. If he hadn’t been watching each of them, he wouldn’t have noticed. They stopped what they were doing, looked down at their watches, and then moved on.
Nick’s stomach bubbled in fear. It could be nothing – just a coincidence. Maybe it’s only Pham who is a Plurb sympathizer. Besides, I have the mark, too, and I’m not a terrorist. Not all Plurbs are the bad ones.
But some are. And if there are more than one on this cruise…
Nick wrapped his arms over his stomach and couldn’t stop looking at his plate. Does Greyson get sick with fear when he thinks something’s wrong? Will more sit-ups make me more courageous? Probably not. But Greyson wouldn’t go around telling everybody there were terrorists on the cruise…yet. Greyson would seek more information, find out what they were up to, then stop them in heroic fashion. He’d be busy right now, thinking of plans – ways to take them down no matter how dangerous it was. The more daring the better.
But all Nick could do was stare at his bleeding steak.
---------------
Greyson stared at the can of cat vomit. Though it really wasn’t cat vomit, it was just as yellow, chunky, and pungent as the stuff cats deposit on the carpet.
Creamed corn. It even sounded nasty. But it was all he had left. And his stomach, his weakness, and his head told him now was the time. It was an emergency.
After the helicopters and then the jets had roared overhead, scaring the wits out of him, he’d given up on the hunting idea. Instead, he had searched for a good place to camp for the night, out of view of any more airborne vehicles. It hadn’t taken long to find a rocky outcropping that formed a nice ceiling overhead. He didn’t know for sure, but thought the rock would provide good cover in case anything overhead was using infrared to search for him.
“Want to try it first?” he asked Kit, holding out the can. Kit whined and took a few steps backward.
Laughing, Greyson took two fingers and dipped them in the corny mix. It had taken several minutes using his multi-tool’s tiny can opener to get the can open, and he’d carried it halfway across the country. He had to make it worth it. “Here goes nothing.” He slurped it from his fingers, cringed, and gagged, but kept it down.
“That is nasty!” he exclaimed to the curious dog. “But not as nasty as I thought.”
He took another dip and then another. Soon Kit scooted closer, showing interest. Greyson ignored him, slurping faster and faster with his two-fingered spoon, until Kit let out a sharp bark.
“Geez, dude! Quiet. There could be people out looking for us.” He glanced around the dark woods, thankful at least for the full moon, which gave a gray hue to everything that its light touched. Though he could have made a fire, he had been afraid it would give away their position. “Here.”
He poured some in Kit’s bowl and watched him sniff it, back away, and then come in full bore until it was all gone.
“You can thank Sydney when…if you ever meet her.”
Once he and Kit had finished all but a few remains inside the can, he hiked back to the trap he’d been working on. Though he couldn’t quite make a few designs work, he was satisfied with this one. In theory, once the critter pulled at the bait, it would release the bend in a live branch, snapping it forward, knocking out the thick stick that once held the rock up above the critter.
After placing the bait, he stepped back to admire his work. What animal will go for creamed corn? He didn’t know, but it was worth a shot.
Returning to camp, Greyson sat beneath his rock ceiling, staring out at the bluish green valley between the two mountain ridges. The stars above were bright, set out vividly against the blackest of black skies, and the moon was the brightest light of all, a white disc so big that each of its craters was easily discernable from the others.
“It’s almost like a giant cookie. Like an Oreo without one of its sides.”
He held out his hand as if to pluck it from the sky. Squinting, he imagined holding it between his fingers – the entire delicious moon cookie in his grasp.
Sensing motion, he looked over to see Kit pawing at the sky, mimicking him. He tried over and over again, but he could only lift his paw so far. He looked disappointed.
Greyson laughed at the clever dog, and then paused with a sudden thought. “What else do you know?”
Kit cocked his head as if he wanted to understand.
He knows “speak”, “sic”, and “stand”. What else? “Roll over.”
Kit rolled over and stared at him excitedly.
Greyson laughed. “Beg.”
Kit sat on his hind legs and whimpered. Greyson cheered.
“Play dead.”
Like he had been shot, Kit rolled onto his back, his four legs bent above him as if he were jumping over a fence. Greyson laughed and pet his furry stomach. “Might have to work on that – make it more realistic looking. But what else…” he started, thinking. He pointed toward a tree in the distance. “Go over…” he trailed off – Kit w
as already headed toward the tree at a trot.
Astounded, Greyson stood up. Kit responded to hand motions, too? Making sure not to make a sound, he motioned for Kit to come to him. Sure enough, Kit trotted back, panting in anticipation of the next command.
“Geez. What don’t you know? How about…?” He pressed his hands together and then separated them quickly, like a tiny explosion. “Teleport!”
Kit cocked his head.
“Teleport! To the Bahamas!”
The dog smacked its lips, letting out a frustrated little bark.
“Oh well. We’ll work on that one.” Greyson laughed and scratched Kit behind his ears. The dog was amazing. He would have to experiment more to see all that he knew. Maybe he could even teach him some more tricks.
He found himself looking at Kit – his glassy eyes and slobbering mouth. Man’s best friend. Loving protector. Guardian. A random thought popped into his mind. There were angels in the Bible as well as demons. Were angels real? Could they take the form of people? Could they take other forms?
Kit panted at Greyson, but didn’t give him any more evidence. But he supposed it didn’t matter. Greyson had enough evidence already. Plus, if it were true, dog’s mortal enemies – cats – would be demons.
Totally makes sense.
He smiled at Kit, and together they turned back to the moon.
Chapter 28
The moon hovered over the dark ocean like a single light bulb, reflected in the rolling waves. The moon was beautiful, but Sydney couldn’t take her eyes off the ocean. It was mesmerizing, but it was also frightening. It was as big as the sky and felt even more powerful. She could feel its weight underneath the gigantic ship, tossing it to and fro like it was a toy in a bathtub. And while she could see into the sky, millions of miles to the stars, she couldn’t see even a foot beneath the ocean’s dark waters. A whole other powerful world existed underneath her, around her, and beyond the horizon.
Nick leaned onto the railing next to Sydney on the top deck. “I once convinced Jarryd that the moon was the sun after it switched to night light.”
Sydney laughed, but kept her gaze on the undulating waves.
“Worried about him?” he asked.