“Where is his body?”
“Are you screwing with me? They killed him just like they killed the girl. Did you listen to the 911 call? I know you can get the recording. Two people. A girl and man.”
He didn’t believe her. Working in Acacia’s field, it was easy to pick up on when a man wasn’t impressed. The detective looked at her with his frustrated expression, rubbing his fingers against his caterpillar eyebrows, and acted like he was waiting for the truth. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know. She was new. Cherry or Cheyenne, another unoriginal.”
“Not like Acase. The most ridiculous name for a Caucasian whore.”
“Ah. Kay. Sha. Acacia. It ain’t hard to pronounce if you try. Why don’t you take that tooth pick out of your mouth and give me your best shot.”
“And this is why you’re still cuffed, Acacia. You have a very bad attitude and quite the history of being non-compliant with police.”
“I’m a hooker, detective. Do you know anyone in my line of work who trust your kind? One minute you’re busting us and the next you’re scheduling a private appointment. Excuse me if my attitude isn’t what you’re used to in here. Not to mention, detective, I watched two people get killed tonight like they were attacked by a pack of animals.”
“What kind of animals?”
“Like animals, sir. LIKE!” Acacia shouted. She looked up at the camera and said, “Is there someone else out there who can help me? I don’t think Detective Unibrow is capable of appropriately discussing anything other than buffet lines.”
“Poor, Acira. Very poor. There are holes in your story and you don’t seem concerned with fixing it. You’re hiding something. Next question; how long have you known Silvio Peretti?”
She knew who he was talking about, but didn’t know the mobster personally. Peretti lived in a world of expensive call girls, he wasn’t going to drive down the boulevard. He flew his girls in from foreign countries. She knew all about his expensive tastes, and the butcher knife he used to cut off a mouthy hooker’s fingers. If this policeman was trying to connect her to Peretti, she needed to leave. It was too dangerous for Peretti to find out his name came up in an interrogation, and he always found out.
She folded her arms. “I want a lawyer.”
The detective stood over her. He tried to intimidate her with his three-hundred pound, box-like frame, but he was trying too hard to be an actual threat. Acacia wasn’t new to a man’s game of abuse. Detective Unibrow was harmless.
He huffed. “No need. I don’t want your filth sticking to the walls of my police station, I want you gone. I’ll let Mr. Peretti find you.” He walked over to the door and knocked. “The man you saw, the one you say was murdered, he was gone. When police arrived there was only your dead whore… co-worker.” The door opened and an officer in uniform handed the detective a picture. The detective walked over to Acacia and slid two pictures across the table. “This is what we found. I hope you have a better story next time you’re here. Unless you end up downstairs in the morgue.”
The first picture was another police officer, a black guy with a mustache. Acacia didn’t recognize him, but he was cute. “Never seen him,” she said.
“His name is Markie Nelson. His car was at the scene of the crime.”
“The car wasn’t at the scene of the crime, officer, it was the scene of the crime. And he wasn’t driving, I’ve never seen him before. A sleazy Italian was driving the car. And he was by himself.”
The detective nodded in a fake agreement and pointed to the next picture. This one was of the dead hooker. Her eyes were scratched out and her neck had long lines of wrinkled flesh.
That wasn’t the worst part though.
It was the dark liquid covering her mouth and nose. It was too dark to be blood, even the worst of blood didn’t look like that. Acacia knew, she used to be a nurse before moving to Vegas. This was black, pitch black, like melted coal over her face.
*******
General Conrad Greene
0730 (Eastern time)
Washington, DC
General Conrad Greene waited in the lobby for his mentor. It was time for Operation Red Wave’s debriefing. It was less than twenty four hours since Red Wave was complete and Salt Lake City was bombed by a United States owned incendiary drone. Conrad accepted his responsibility, albeit didn’t like it. Orders were orders, and a soldier always follows orders.
President Watt was finishing up his press announcement pertaining to the newfound knowledge obtained by FEMA in reference to the Salt Lake City disaster.
Not by coincidence, new aerial footage confirmed the original theory of massive leaks of flammable gases throughout the city, which resulted in massive explosions. The report explained how the atmospheric conditions of central Utah made fires even more dangerous to spread. Apparently, there was an actual, historical example of a small town in Wisconsin where a massive fire spread through numerous states and several cities overnight. American scientists were quick to validate the Peshtigo effect.
Following the President’s initial announcement, there was an educated breakdown by the leading expert, Dr. Hemant Chatra, confirming the propaganda. It was a strong case, for being a lie. Conrad didn’t understand why there was a need to mislead the country with added false-information. The argument may be valid, but it was unnecessary.
Conrad was unwilling to join for the announcement, and decided it would be better for him to wait for President Watt outside of the Oval Office for debriefing. There was no need for another person to join the greatest lie, nor would Conrad have been capable of hiding his feelings during the procession.
Instead, Conrad sat in the small lobby outside of the Oval Office waiting for President Watt. There was much to discuss, in private.
First and foremost, there was the issue of Gathe. Sergeant General Paul Marshall’s errand boy was appointed as the Satellite-Recon Operator. Conrad reviewed the sat-reads, and found his all clear to have been a blatant lie. Marshall likely had already approached President Watt, as Gathe probably notified Marshall the very instant after leaving Red Wave’s control room. Marshall would attempt to soften the blow. However, by President Uriah Watt’s standards, this act was treason.
Arthur Hale was the first man to greet Conrad. He was wearing a deep black suit with matching dyed hair. The old man’s face was permanently frowned as he always looked as if he recently received bad news. “Colonel,” he said, “The POTUS has meetings for the remainder of the morning, we will need to postpone until the fire mess has blown over.”
“I beg your pardon?” Conrad asked. It was foolish for Hale to believe this was in the best interest of the President. Uriah would want a full debriefing, he would want details, he would want discussion. Most of all, he would want the truth. Too much time had passed since Red Wave’s completion; it was unlike President Watt to delay such a pivotal conversation.
Hale smiled at Conrad’s question. The expression looked too difficult for his face. “Is there a message you would like to leave with the President?”
“I would rather give it to him on time. We’re scheduled for a debriefing.”
“As I said, President Watt is very busy for the remainder of today. There’s nothing that cannot wait until tomorrow. He has meetings pertaining to more important issues than an old war chum. I’ll organize a meeting first thing tomorrow, okay?”
“Hale. Look at me.” Conrad said. He knew when he was being avoided, and he knew when someone was trying to stonewall him. “I’m meeting the President today, in the next ten minutes, or I will make your eyes match your suit. You and I know, it would be bad for everyone involved, if you to have to explain why one of President Watt’s closest friends assaulted an elder.”
Hale opened his mouth to speak.
Conrad put a finger over his lips.
“Shhh. It is not the time to respond. I am not as aggressive as Marshall, but I’m not one to offer empty threats. If I don’t like your response, this ends in violence.�
� He lowered his finger away from Hale’s wrinkled lips.
Hale’s slender shoulders slumped forward with embarrassment. He silently nodded and said, “All of you warheads are the same. The second someone gets in your way, threats. One day, Colonel, this attitude is going to kill you.”
Conrad smiled. “And may it be by the hands of an honorable enemy. Until then, when can I expect President Watt?”
“He should be finished within twenty minutes. Just one final presser with Sarah Francis. She asks too many questions.” He shook his head in disapproval.
“Why don’t you get me a glass of water while we wait?”
*******
Mickey Kyle
Early morning, maybe
Capitol Building - Salt Lake City, UT
A light bulb.
Last night, Mickey asked Asher to train him to fight. Asher was the baddest, toughest, most skilled fighter in the world, probably, and Mickey needed to know how to be the Robin to his Batman.
Instead, Asher unscrewed a light bulb and gave it to Mickey. No instruction, no teaching, no encouragement. Asher handed him a burnt out bulb and smiled. “Turn this on, and we’ll talk.”
Mona didn’t help, either. She laughed about Asher’s gesture before saying, “It’s step one, grasshopper. Light it up like a candle and let’s see what you can do.” Mickey could see her gentle smile through the remaining lights of the bunker. Everyone was lucky they weren’t relying on Mickey to power the electricity in this little room. They would be in the dark until they got the leave. Whenever that was.
Mickey couldn’t make himself power it up. That’s not how it worked. He turned on the taser before because it meant saving Shelly’s life. If it weren’t for that, she (and he) would be a German Shepherd’s chew toy.
Instead, he lived and now sat alone in the corner of the small bomb shelter on Capitol Hill in Salt Lake City playing Asher’s game, hoping the light would turn itself on. Mickey was too frustrated to make any real progress or learn anything. He never worked well under pressure. At any time, they were going to be freed back into the real world and Mickey needed to be able to use his Pulse. As far as he could tell, only Asher, Mona and Mickey had the Pulse strong enough to fight against the Wolves. Mickey, despite his bravery with the dog, was petrified of the people Mona called, The Shadows.
His only interaction with a Shadow was with Greg, and that was a child-Shadow. He watched them run though, and anything capable of moving that fast was way too dangerous. Mona wasn’t someone who would throw him into the Wolves before he was ready, but what if she didn’t have a choice? For all they knew, the Shadows could be waiting outside their doorsteps right now.
Finally, Jenna came over. Mickey didn’t know how long he had been playing with the light bulb; actually he didn’t even know how long they had been in the bomb shelter. Couldn’t be longer than a day, could it? It was hard to tell.
“Hey Buzz, how’s it going?” Jenna asked. She was still wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, both probably belonged to her boyfriend. Her leg looked better than yesterday, she seemed to be healing really fast.
“Buzz?”
“Sure. You’re a super hero, we’ve got to give you a name, don’t we? Buzz or Electro-man, or what about The Charger?”
“How about no? I can’t even power this stupid bulb, how’s that for a super power?”
She patted him on the shoulder. “Eh, you’ll get it. Everyone here does. Why don’t you spend some time focusing on something else?”
“Like what?”
“Shelly and I are going to get everyone to play an icebreaker with the group. Tink already said he was in, Mona would like it, I think if I can get you and Harry, then Asher would do it. Just something to get closer. Pleeeeaasseeee.”
“Icebreaker? What are we… are a business retreat? Or are we fifteen?”
“Neither. Come on, Mickey, everyone else is doing it.”
Mickey looked over to Tink who nodded back. He was a really cool guy. Mickey loved the way he looked after his sister and carried himself like he was both gangster and had a heart of gold. If Tink was going to play, Mickey couldn’t say no.
Someday, Mickey planned on having the same kind of protectiveness over the entire group.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Two truths and a lie,” she said with a smile.
*******
Major Wallace “Wally” Stansfield
0554 (Mountain time)
Soldier Village - Provo, UT
Another day at the Provo Border Line, Groundhog Day part three for Wally. Major Wallace Stansfield was not the type of soldier who would disagree with his superiors, and he understood the importance of maintaining the standard of civilians feeling safe and acting like civilians. almost every Utah resident has handled the border restrictions quite well. Other than a few people who decided to physically express their frustrations towards the soldiers.
The weather in Mid-Utah was colder than it had been the last few days. Partially because Utah’s weather was bi-polar but also because large clouds of smoke hovered over Provo from the fires in Salt Lake City. Even more, thicker and ground level, clouds were making their way south, only a day or so away. Wally stood high in the one-man tower watching the tidal wave of smoke inch its way around a mountain. “Tonight, maybe tomorrow,” he said, “and then… dark days.” It was a term used to describe the after effects of the air strikes while in Baghdad.
The impending black out was going to create an even more tense atmosphere. People were already on edge after being taken from their homes, and even if they tried to be compliant and agreeable, eventually civilian unrest resulted in unrested civilians. Hopefully, Wally’s superiors would be unveiling whatever their new base of planning was before the Private First Class Joe Hanson replaced Wally on night watch. Hanson would be relieving Wally of his perch at 1800. The soldier was about as valuable as a bag of rocks when on the ground, but he kept watch well.
Wally’s orders were to watch from his perch overtop the makeshift walls while patrolmen worked their way around the perimeter inside. There was no door on the north end. If someone wanted to escape, they would need to sneak their way through plenty of soldiers. If they did that, Wally’s orders were to shoot to stop, without warning.
Ironically, there were no civilians missing at check-in since the beginning. Not once were there even attempts. Probably, mostly, because there were riflemen up in the cuckoos-nest watching afar and holding down the line. This would have been enough to consider their mission successful. Other border-watch teams were further away from Salt Lake, while Wally’s team was the last line. This was the highest risk zone, where the flood gates were always one leaky faucet away from breaking.
It should have been enough to consider their mission a success, at least so far, but it wasn’t. Civilians may have stayed on their side of the border, but there were five patrolmen missing in action. They didn’t all go Elvis at once either. It wasn’t a group of irresponsible infantrymen who went missing after a weekend out in some sandy city with a cache of sandy women. Here, men were reported missing at separate times on separate occasions. The Provo Border Line was not a high stress environment. People from Utah were as peaceful as it says on the brochure. So why would they leave?
More importantly, where would they go?
*******
The Chat
Bryce Chapman
Radical/Founder
4/16/2016
As promised, today’s post is an interview with Jacob Oberhausen. Former resident of Fruit Heights, Utah. We touched on topics revolving around the evacuation of Salt Lake’s neighboring cities. I still don’t understand how I was the one given clearance to speak with Jake. There have been no other reporters with the opportunity even though I’m the last guy the government wants reporting first hand.
Before we jump in, I wanted to mention two things:
I wasn’t sure how to appropriately post the interview through text, but hopefully the
format is easy to follow. If you guys don’t like it, or find it confusing, please tell me. I never loved doing a cold interview like this, which brings me to number two…
This interview didn’t go the way I expected, I’m writing it out now and will have several thoughts to add later. Jake was honest, forthright and really a pleasure to speak to. There’s a lot to unpack, hopefully you guys will send thoughts on the interview also.
Without further ado, here is the transcript of my phone call with Jacob “Jake” Oberhausen.
Me: Mr. Oberhausen, thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me.
Jake: My pleasure, Bryce. I was excited they were letting us do this. Call me Jake, please. Before we continue, do you mind if I say something?
Me: Go for it, Jake.
Jake: I just want to tell my wife that I love her and miss her. My heart breaks every day without you and I can’t wait until we’re back together.
Me: Why aren’t you and your wife together now?
Someone clears their throat on the line. It’s our chaperone making his presence felt for the first time. Instead of Jake answering me right away, there is a 30 second pause before he continues.
Jake: Sorry about that, just needed to talk to our monitor and make sure I don’t mention any corporations by name.
Me: Why would that be a problem?
Jake: Don’t want to hurt reputations, I suppose. That, and I don’t want anyone mad at Elizabeth because I mentioned her employer’s name in an interview. Don’t need my wife losing her job over something silly.
Me: Who does she work for?
Jake: My wife works for a major airline. She’s a flight attendant. A good one too.
Me: So that’s why you’re separated?
Jake: In short, yes. She worked a red-eye to San Francisco when the fires started.
Shadow and Shine (Book 2): Dark Divide Page 2