Early hints of the impending sunrise colored the eastern horizon in deep, yet lightening shades of blue. A cool breeze blew in a salty air scent.
“You all right?” she said.
He craned his neck and supinated his back. “Not the comfiest ride.”
“But effective, yes?”
“Fast.” Not sure what to do with his hands, he stuffed them into his jean’s back pockets. “You know the next question.”
“And now what?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s up to you.”
“What do you think you’re doing, Sasha?”
She pointed at the docks across the street. “In an hour, I’m getting on a boat. That’s what I’m doing. The real question is whether you join me, or whether you stay here and call dear Cynthia.”
He looked beyond her, at the docks. He had one more decision to make. This one would be a truly irreversible one. In his pockets, he felt the disassembled pieces of the first burner phone—the one that could tell Cynthia of his location. The battery rested at the bottom of his left pocket. He wrapped his right hand around the main body of the phone.
They felt the warmth of the sun at their backs as darkness retreated before early, golden sunlight. Seated on a rusted bench, they said little to each other. At one point she made a remark about his black jeans, how they suited him, not too tight, not too loose. He wondered whether she really meant to point out the bulges of the phone battery and the phone’s main body, and elected not to acknowledge her remark. Instead he asked her about her health, had she been OK of late. When she shrugged and gave him nothing more than a “fine,” they fell back into silence.
Something wanted to give way within Martin. Had it come to this? Would it end this way? So much to say, so few words that seemed right and worth saying.
Life stirred aboard the charter boat at 5:30 AM. No one boarded it. Instead, two men exited the main cabin stretching and rubbing their eyes.
“Stay here,” Sasha said. A minute later, she crossed the street, motorcycle in tow at her side. Martin got a better look at it now. Painted in a low sheen gray, it looked more like a dirt bike than a street model, but a tad beefier. Its tires featured the deep rubber pattern meant for off-roading. For a few moments he wondered if she intended to take it to the Sierras, whether once there she would explore the high country they had once talked about trekking together.
But she had only one ride. Even if she wanted him to come along, that lone bike confirmed it: a trip for one.
Without saying a word Sasha went by him and down onto the dock that led to the boat. The two men helped her lug the bike over and into the boat. Moments later they’d secured it against the side of the main cabin and draped a tan tarp over it.
Sasha came back, up the dock ramp, and stood facing Martin.
She hadn’t made much of a plea for him to go with her. The implication was strong enough, Martin supposed. And the moment to make the final call came now.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Martin said. “Run the rest of your life. Look over your shoulder.”
She gave him a reticent smile. “It’s an adventure.”
“I guess I shouldn’t ask where you’re going.”
“Good guess.”
He could guess enough. The charter would probably head north, drop her off somewhere above San Francisco. Or maybe south, all the way to Mexico.
“We never got to drive through the Sierras,” he said.
“Maybe someday.”
“Maybe.”
“I hope it ends well for you, Martin. I hope they don’t squeeze you for all you have and toss you aside. I hope you get to create and be yourself rather than turn into a bitter robot.”
He swallowed. His saliva went down with a sour taste to it. For the past hour his stomach had roiled with hunger pangs, but now it knotted up and weighed down.
“Be careful,” he said.
“You too.” She leaned in and lay a light kiss on his lips. Before he could react, she turned and headed back down onto the dock.
At the boat railing she turned and waved one last time. Then, after climbing over the rail, she disappeared into the main cabin. Martin sat down on a nearby rusted bench. From there he heard the engines gurgle to life, he watched the two men make their way around the boat to unleash and retrieve its ropes, and he saw the craft back out, turn, and head out to sea.
He waited for twenty minutes, until it became nothing but a dot in the horizon, to then turn north and vanish from view. He waited another twenty slow minutes before he reassembled the burner phone.
Cynthia arrived alone. Martin looked around and up to the sky. He saw no signs of backup. For now, anyway.
“Good morning,” he said for lack of anything better to tell her.
“You OK?”
“She’s gone.” He left it at that.
He’d concocted a story about her holding him at gun point, wanting him to come along, then leaving him when he’d refused to go. He’d told her, fine, shoot me, but I’m not going. She yelled at him, said, fine, be a robot, and left in a huff. At the moment, it struck him as silly. Best say nothing at all.
“Where is she?”
He shrugged. “You think she told me?”
“What did she want? Why drag you all the way out here only to leave you?”
“Her way of saying goodbye, I guess.”
Cynthia looked out to sea. She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, as if doing so would give her Sasha’s scent.
With eyes still closed, she said, “What did she want?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Martin saw her clench her jaw. “But she didn’t get it, did she? I’m still here.”
Cynthia pulled out her phone and started tapping on it.
Martin grabbed her arm and forced it down. “Don’t.”
“Martin.”
“Please.”
Cynthia kept her arm tense, offering resistance for a few moments, before she let her hand and phone drop to her side.
“Please,” he said again.
“You know I have to call it in.”
“Let’s imagine we don’t.”
“Imagining is great for inventions, Martin. Here, in the real world we—”
“Just let her go. She’s out of it. She just wants to be left alone.”
“And you think that’s going to happen?”
“She took nothing.”
“Except what she has between the ears.”
“She’s getting out of it. She promised.”
“Getting out of what.”
“Everything. She’s going to disappear. From us, from them.”
“Them. Whoever they are.”
“All she wants is to be left alone.” He waved his arms in an attempt at mocking Sasha. “Wants to fly free.”
Cynthia sighed, shook her head, and withdrew her hand. For a second, Martin wondered if she would start tapping on her phone again. But she didn’t.
“She wants out, Cynthia, and she will stay out. She’s good at it, too. We’ll never hear from her again.”
Cynthia’s blank expression turned into a bitter grin. “And all that charity money should provide for her every need.”
Martin shrugged. “She didn’t say anything about that.”
“I guess that leaves us.”
“Yeah.” He tried to stop himself, but he swallowed anyway.
“Where, exactly, does it leave us?”
He almost said, exactly where she wanted, as CFO of the company and his chief minder-handler. But something in her eyes stopped him from putting it that way. He’d seen that something before and suspected it for what turned into a surer conclusion now.
“That’s up to us, isn’t it?” he said.
“I suppose it is. Care to discuss specifics?”
He allowed himself a soft grin. “You know me. I’m chock-full of them.”
“You don’t say.”
“I’m afraid I must.”
�
�What else must you say?” she said with a grin of her own.
“Thank you.”
“Thank you?”
“Yeah.”
“Surely you can be more eloquent than that.”
But at the moment he wasn’t. He shrugged, and before she could respond, he pulled her in and buried her head under his chin.
Once more she tensed up, then relaxed. With one arm, she reached around him, her hand stopping to grip his shirt at mid-back.
He heard a thump-click sound at his feet. When he opened his eyes to look down, he saw her cellphone there. Shattered.
Staying in Touch
Thank you again for supporting me by picking up this book and reading—all the way through, no less! I would appreciate it if you could leave me a fair and honest review at the outlet where you purchased this story. To stay in touch with me, get free eBook downloads, and learn about future releases, join my Reader’s Club, at http://wp.me/P4bSlj-E7.
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Stories in this series…
Dead Beef
Pink Ballerina
Active Shooter
Decisive Moment
Beisbol Libre
Ghost Writer
Feral**
Semi*
DroNET*
Random Origins**
Recombinant**
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** In work, to be released soon
Stories in this series…
Waiting for Shadow
Shadow-7
Rover
Fleeting Shadow *
Tahoe-1
Brownie
Blood Track**
Heart Track**
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** In work, to be released soon
Eduardo Suastegui
http://eduardosuastegui.com
Feral: An Our Cyber World Prequel Page 23