In Limbo

by E. C. Marsh

  “Marty, you're pregnant?” I was stunned. I couldn't believe my ears. Marty pregnant ? She had gained a ton of weight with her first pregnancy, had been really distraught about it, and then had worked hard to lose it. Bless her vanity! And then she got pregnant again and again she gained weight. I don't know how much she gained. I doubt it was a lot. But to her it was a ton, and before the baby was born she had Sam go for a vasectomy threatening no sex unless he got fixed. Never again did she want to get fat. I had to repeat my question:

  “Marty, are you pregnant?”

  She looked at me startled. “Why yes, can't you tell? This baby is due in 3 weeks and I am absolutely hideous. I can't believe Jack is making me go on this trip.”

  There was no way on this earth that Marty was nine months pregnant. No way! She was sitting in front of me in a skimpy hot pink bikini. And who the hell is Jack?

  “You're looking gorgeous! But tell me about this new medication. You know me, I'm always curious about things like that.”

  I wanted to ask her who Jack is, but I didn't dare.

  “Oh, it's nothing special, I can't remember the name. It's a mood elevator and it also suppresses your appetite. I like it and I think it's helping me. Of course you can't talk to Sam about anything like that. His cure for feeling down is going out and chopping wood. And that's just not my way. I've been working too much in the shop lately too. You know, taking care of all those little blue haired old ladies that seem to wander in, and they all have to have bright red nails. If I see one more head of blue hair and red nails I am going to puke.”

  “What about your pregnancy?”

  “What pregnancy?”

  “You just said you're pregnant, didn't you?”

  “Me? Chris, really, you should know better. No way, I'm done having babies. Let somebody else get fat, not this body. How did you come up with that?”

  I was confused, I knew I had clearly heard her say that she was pregnant. Hmm, weird. “Marty, who is Jack?”

  “Jack? I only know one Jack, Jack Brittenstein. We were in high school together and dated before I met Sam. I almost married him. Sometimes I wonder.” And with that she slipped those damned headphones back on and leaned back, her eyes closed. I stared at her. Her face was bright red and swollen, blisters forming on her cheeks, lips, chest and belly. I had told her to put on a T-shirt or something, but she hadn't. I reached over and touched her upper arm. Her skin felt dry and hot and hard. Marty never reacted to my touch. I called to Sam and waved him over to us.

  “Listen, Marty has had way too much sun. She's too hot and she's also badly burned. We need to find a way to cool her off. Let me have one of your T-shirts. We'll get it wet and slip it over her. Maybe that will cool her off just a little bit.”

  He handed me the faded blue one he had been wearing, and I dipped it in the river while Sam woke up Marty. She was giggling with him and denied feeling ill and just couldn't figure out why he would be worried. And so he left us, rejoining the others to get everyone supplied with wood and back on the way. Without so much as a fuss, Marty slipped into the wet shirt and took two more aspirin from me with a big gulp of water.

  “Jack is just such a hunk,” she said as she slipped her headphones over her red ears and closed her swollen eyes.

  I just stood there staring at her. She is hallucinating, I finally decided and that spelled big trouble. You just don't spend time in the sun and then start hallucinating without having a heatstroke or something like that. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get Tom's attention.

  I was also bothered by something else. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but everything around us looked strange. Okay, I told myself, enough of this, your imagination is now working overtime. Go take a break and regroup. And so I walked a little inland, away from the group, in hopes of being able to sort out why I felt so nervous. Normally I relax when we're out and about like this. Can't get me worked up! But this trip was different. I hadn't felt comfortable about it from the beginning. I found a quiet spot and just stood still, inhaling deeply and letting sunshine, slight breeze, scents, everything soak into my skin.

  Suddenly it became much clearer. Yes, I said out loud. Yes, the vegetation was different and it was too quiet. There should be noises all around me, bugs, birds, squirrels and stuff, but there wasn't. I heard nothing. Aside from the noise we were making, there was no sign of life. Weird, I thought, as I made my way back. And, as I kept looking around, I noticed more and more clearly that what I had thought were bushes looked an awful lot like oversized weeds. And everywhere I looked were dead insects and birds. I didn't see any dead larger animals, but still, this was upsetting enough. My heart was pounding as I rushed back to our group, back to Tom.

  “Where were you?” he asked when I burst through the bushes. “ I was beginning to worry. I'm a little too old to take on a whole army of little green men, you know.”

  Before I could say anything he had me in the canoe and we were back in the water. “Tom,” I finally managed turning slightly and carefully toward him. “There is something very, very wrong. I know what you're gonna say, you're gonna say that I'm reading too much science fiction, but there is something very, very wrong here and I am really scared.”

  He stopped in mid stroke. “OK, you have my undivided attention, what has you so spooked?”

  “I don't know for sure. Look at the shore, the right side, the military side.”

  “Honey, I'm not sure, but I think we're already past Camp Crowder.”

  “Oh,” I couldn't think of anything more intelligent to say. “Well, look around you at least. Look at the shoreline, look closely at the weeds, the bushes, all that green stuff.”

  He nodded and looked. “Ok,” he finally said. “What am I looking at?”

  “Tom, the weeds are too big. They are the bushes. Look how high the grass is! Now look at the bushes. They look way too big, too. Look at the colors of the trees. The leaves are slowly turning brownish, like early fall. This is all wrong. It's, well… it's weird! And back there, when I went into the brush, there were dead insects and birds and stuff everywhere.”

  I know I had an edge in my voice, and Tom did not respond right away. He slowly looked around. Then he steered the canoe back toward the shore, beached it, and actually walked over to some of these strange plants and touched them. He returned with a puzzled look on his face.

  “You know, you're right,” he said quietly. “It's all off somehow. I can't explain it, but the weeds are way too big and the bushes are too. Plus, they all look out of season. And there are no insects either. I can't detect a chemical odor, but that doesn't mean that these crazy bastards at that base didn't conduct some sort of test and it affected this area. Let’s talk to the others. I don't like the idea of being someone's guinea pig.”

  But, as we got back onto the river, they were well ahead of us moving toward the camp site. The talk would have to wait, at least for now. We hurried to catch up with them, but we didn't make it.

  I tried to turn to look at Tom, but he grunted at my movement, so I just paddled. Up ahead we saw the landmark Sam had talked about, the huge, flat topped rock in the river. It sure did look strange but that didn't matter to me at this time. To me, it looked strange but beautiful because it meant that we had reached the halfway point on our trip.

  And, for some reason, I just wanted to get off the river.

  Chapter 6

  Kansas City, Saturday, 4:30 a.m.

  The three men approached the airline's customer service counter from different directions. After shaking hands and exchanging the customary greetings, they headed toward the terminal exit. Although it was still dark outside, the sky to the East was starting to be tinged in shades of red and gold. Thanks to the surrounding flat countryside of Missouri's western prairie land, they were presented with the beginnings of a spectacular sunrise. Expecting a limo curbside and not seeing one, they stood at the exit, for a moment perplexed. They knew each other by name, had communicated for years,
but had just now, at long last, met in person.

  The tallest of the trio broke the silence.

  “Well, gentlemen, what do you think of all this? They drag us out here at an ungodly hour, and then the limo is late. Let's go back inside and see if the coffee shop is open. I need some caffeine and somewhere in this dump I will find some.”

  David Smith turned to reenter the terminal, stopping momentarily to check his reflection in the glass door. He was tall, well over six feet, with ebony skin many female models would kill for. He wore a stylish dark gray pinstripe suit with matching, obviously imported, leather shoes. His shirt was a soft creamy beige, complemented by a red paisley tie. He ran his hand over his short hair, squared his shoulders and reentered the terminal.

  The other two men looked at each other and shrugged. The older of the two, a man of medium height, bordering on chubby, was comfortably dressed in well-worn jeans, an equally aged tweed sports jacket and obviously-broken-in leather loafers. He carefully set down his bulging briefcase and brushed his unruly hair with his hand. Kenneth Messer had just arrived from Seattle, and although his eyes told him the day was beginning, his body still was on Pacific Time and wanted more sleep. He made a mental note to himself not to accept any future special assignments that involved sudden travel east of the Rockies. I'm getting too old for this nonsense, he thought.

  The third man of the trio seemed unconcerned. He had arrived at the airport well ahead of his travel companions and spent his time on the phone making last minute arrangements. Jeffrey Craft was only in his early thirties, of average height, with short brown hair and a bushy red mustache. He was the ‘golden boy’ of the group, had graduated early from high school and equally early from college. Although money had always mattered to him, prestige mattered more. He enjoyed his six-figure income, but cherished his title, expense account and the big office at the corporate headquarters.

  Together, the three walked through the terminal building. They followed their noses to the food court.

  “I wonder when SERPAC's driver will finally show up?” said David Smith, known for his impatience.

  “Relax, Dave,” said Jeffrey Craft. “I talked with the man earlier. He was already on his way. It does take a couple of hours to drive up here. I'm sure he'll be here any minute now. You guys arrived about thirty minutes early, so be grateful. Airlines are so famous for running late, we all expect it, and then we get irritated when we're actually on time. Ken, how was your flight from Seattle?”

  “Too long, but otherwise not all that bad. I just hate to fly, passionately! When they called me yesterday and confirmed that we were really on, I had to leave on the spot to make my flight out of SeaTac and then I had to change planes in Denver. So, with the delays and time zones, I've been on the go for more than twelve hours. Couldn't say goodbye to the family. They were at the movies when the call came. I had a chance to call from Denver, so at least they know I've not been kidnapped by aliens.”

  “You didn't tell your family where you're going or why, did you? You know what Jonathon told us,” said David Smith.

  “I told my wife I had to go to a big shot, emergency corporate meeting in Chicago. When you have a family, my friend, you can't just up and disappear! Families have a tendency to report you as a missing person. If Jonathon can't understand that, well, that's just too bad.”

  “He understands, I'm sure.” Jeffrey Craft sounded calm. “He just didn't want details leaking out and I think your excuse sounds great and believable. Dave, how come you're so uptight?”

  “I'm tired and I want to get this show on the road. This waiting for the damn limo is for the birds. Why can't we just get a rental car, drive out there ourselves, something like that.”

  “Two reasons. First of all, we are being picked up by the chauffeur because that's policy and that's the way Jonathon wants it done. Second, there are no rental cars at this airport. If you want a rental, you notify the airline counter, they notify the agency, they come and pick you up, you go into town and then you may rent your car. The agencies do not open until eight-thirty a.m. We knew that when we planned this little adventure. It's now almost five-thirty a.m. Accept the fact that the people here roll up the sidewalks at ten p.m. and do not unroll them until eight o'clock in the morning. Accept that and relax. Trust me, you'll live longer.”

  “What a crock! They knew when we would arrive. Don't they have clocks? Why do we have to sit and wait?”

  “Because, because, because.”

  They sat down on concrete benches in front of the terminal doors, just as a dark green, four wheel drive vehicle pulled up in front of them. The driver jumped out.

  “Are you the gentlemen with SERPAC?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Good Morning and welcome to God's country. My name is Ron. I'm your chauffeur, your guide, your jack-of-all-trades during your stay. Officially, I'm an administrative assistant to Jonathon Brooks, but in reality I'm just his local gopher.” He laughed. “Like in go for this and go for that. Do you gentlemen have any luggage I might get?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Well, in that case, hop in and let's get going. We'll need to stop for gas before long. I suggest you make that your comfort stop, because once we're back on the road there will be nothing worth stopping at.”

  They made it out of town well ahead of rush hour traffic. Ron slipped a CD of some classical music into the stereo and the three men sipped their coffee and munched on their donuts in without speaking.

  Brushing crumbs off his shirt, Ken Messer turned to his travel companions.

  “If you don't mind, I'd like to review a couple of things.”

  “Come on, Ken! Get some rest, enjoy the scenery. I know you get off on all that nature stuff. Save the business for later.” David Smith had a whine in his voice. “I'm tired and I wanted to get some rest.”

  “I have concerns. I just want to see if your data supports these concerns, because if it does, then we need to get hold of the SPC team ASAP.”

  “Oh come on! What do you have? We've covered every possible scenario. SPC's been over it all, you've seen the reports.”

  “Of course I've seen the reports, but I've done some refiguring on my own. And I am beginning to think that we are not allowing a wide enough range for the contaminant filters. And I've found inaccuracies in the calibration of the targeting program. I think that's enough for us to run a diagnostic program and rethink our strategies! Plus, I'm not satisfied with the environmental analyses. And for heaven's sake, let's make sure we're hitting the right area, at the right time.”

  “Ken! We've done all that in the lab. What's your point?”

  “We've done it in the lab! That's precisely my point. We are using data from the lab and just modifying it to account for the different distances and the size of the target area. But we did not take atmospheric conditions into consideration. We've not run any tests to cover that, for example. And I'm just not at all convinced that our security measures are adequate.”

  “Define!”

  “It seems to me, we are operating on the assumption that the area is unpopulated. But people are in the area, rural people, farmers. That's an unpredictability that did not get factored in. I've read and re-read the whole thing and I'm telling you that we are not ready, regardless of what Jonathon seems to think.”

  David Smith had pulled out a thick folder and started reviewing document after document as they traveled the interstate. He looked at Jeff Craft and sighed. Jeff, fighting carsickness, had folded his coat neatly and placed it under his head. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sound asleep.

  “See,” David said to Ken, pointing at their travel companion. “He is not concerned with the contaminant filters and quality controls of the targeting program. That ought to tell you something, 'cause that man worries about everything twenty-four hours a day. It's his job. He is satisfied and so I'm satisfied. They don't pay me enough to worry along with him. I've done my share!”

  “
As far as environmental impact is concerned, now you're treading on my turf. I've done the homework! The demographics and surveys clearly show we have the appropriate time frame. Yes, we'll have changes, but they'll be at the cellular level and could not possibly be visualized! We are programmed for that! Definitely no human effect! We've ruled that out conclusively. Even if those filters fail, we still have enough redundancies built into the system that we are virtually fail-proof. We've been through all possible scenarios in the lab, in real-nature conditions, Ken. We've covered it all. Argue the security with Craft, I'm taking a nap.”

  “ There are some travel pillows behind the back seat,” offered the driver. Ken tried to focus on the music and on the lovely scenery around them. Try to relax, he told himself as he inhaled deeply several times. Just try to relax.

  “This road is following the same route wagon trains used to take in the old days”, said Ron the driver. “I've often wondered what that must have been like. What we're traveling now in a matter of hours, they did in days, maybe weeks.”