by Sue Duff
Rogue Basin, Oregon
Cooper’s pickup truck sat isolated at the far edge of the otherwise empty lot. He headed for it, eager to leave the scourge of his existence behind for another day. He calculated if he had enough in savings to drive out of the lot and not look back. There’d been one-too-many arguments with the almighty scientist. The pompous ass wasn’t the one who fed the beasts—he never took the time to watch them.
It wasn’t a pay-the-rent job anymore. What Cooper knew gave him nightmares.
He paused at the truck and fished inside his jeans pocket to withdraw his keys. Just as he curled the tips of his fingers around the key ring, a sound came from the lot that stopped time itself.
The plodding scrapes of claws on asphalt came to a halt behind him.
With one hand still in his pocket and the other on the truck’s door handle, he peered over his shoulder. A set of shimmering red eyes glowered at him from not more than twelve feet away. Sombra—freed from his cage. The beast snarled and flashed long, curved fangs. Thick drool pooled at its feet.
Cooper swallowed hard while inching the keys out of his pocket with trembling fingers. Unwilling to take his eyes off the beast, he blindly stuck the keys toward the door’s lock. They were knocked out of his hand. With an unnatural jerk and scrape, they slid under the truck.
The animal stood still, following him with those other-worldly scarlet eyes. Motion at his periphery, the other two beasts appeared at his flank. His self-preservation took over.
He ran.
By the time he reached the maintenance sheds, his burning chest screamed for him to stop, but his adrenaline-fueled legs had other plans. He ran on and made it to the farthest structure, then collapsed against it. He sucked in air, struggling not to give into the haze, fearful he’d pass out.
Silence surrounded him. It was too quiet. Fog bathed the grounds. The empty facility sat like a ghost town.
Sombra appeared next to him, and he stumbled back. He never heard the animal’s approach.
This close, the look in the beast’s eyes made him piss. His legs shook, threatening to give way as the warmth trickled down his leg. He pressed against the wall and slid along its surface, through sheer will urging his legs not to give out and to keep moving.
Sombra stood still staring at him and didn’t advance.
Replenished with a fresh batch of adrenaline, Cooper took off between the buildings.
He didn’t get far. The moment he reached the perimeter fence, one of the beasts slammed into his back. He bounced off the chain link and fell to the ground. A volley of painful spikes confirmed he’d twisted his ankle. He crawled.
The three of them walked circles around him like a meal not to be rushed.
He got as high as his knees and was met with curled, snarling lips. He stared into Sombra’s dreadful eyes. “Don’t.”
Sombra lunged. Cooper’s scream was cut short by fangs ripping at his throat. The last thing he saw was the large neon sign at the entryway to the facility.
QualSton.
Ian stood on the front patio of the mansion and listened to the owls’ serenade. He closed his eyes, mellowing to the crashing waves in the distance. It mingled with the kiss of the ocean breeze upon his cheek and the whiff of Milo’s pipe tobacco when the old caretaker stepped outside.
“It’s good to be home,” Ian said.
“The girls went to bed. I’m on my way to the airport to pick up Patrick.” Milo drew on his pipe. Its glow cast blue hues across his face. He shook his head. “The effect of air travel on the environment turns my stomach. I hope the wimp ends up with major jet lag.”
“The Primary wasn’t happy when he refused to step into the vortex.”
“Get to bed, Ian. You’ve been up for more than thirty-six hours.”
“I’m supposed to review the file they gave me. I don’t know why. We’re only going to take some tour of a Weir research facility.”
“You’ll have a long car ride. Save the file for then. It’ll help to pass the boredom.”
“I still can’t believe they want us to drive.”
“Oregon of all places,” Milo said. “Where exactly?”
“Rogue Basin.” Ian rubbed his face and stretched his arms. “A place called QualSton.”
Part Two
The pain of discovery is heightened by the illusion of knowledge.
{30}
Patrick pulled into a motel parking lot at the edge of Rogue Basin. When he stepped out, his elaborate stretch, complete with sound effects from the other side of the Hybrid SUV, brought a smile to Ian’s sullen mood. Surprising, but less amusing, was the stiffness he felt. It was the longest car ride he’d ever taken.
“Why did the Syndrion insist we drive?” Mara opened the door to the backseat.
“Because that’s what normal does,” Patrick said. “I, for one, am glad we came the typical way.”
“Oh, Patrick, shyfting really isn’t so bad,” Tara said.
“I survive just fine without the molecule blender.” Patrick grabbed his briefcase from under the driver’s seat. “I’ll check us in.” He headed toward a doorway with a flashing, red neon Vacancy sign next to it. The word Office dangled under it on a wooden plank, the neon letters blinking on and off as if winking.
Mara and Tara fished out the garbage from the car and approached a large Dumpster across the lot with their arms overflowing.
“Good thing Milo’s not here to see all the junk food,” Ian said.
“Like your fries and milkshake, for instance?” Mara tossed over her shoulder.
Ian started out after Patrick but hesitated, remembering the long-drawn-out sermon by the Primary. “Keep a low profile,” he’d said to Ian. “Patrick’s your manager. Let him handle things as he normally would.”
Patrick emerged from the office with keys in his hand. Each dangled from a green plastic diamond emblazoned with the motel logo on one side. He passed them out.
“The place isn’t exactly five-star, but I expect the rooms are clean,” Patrick said.
“Where’s Tara’s key,” Mara said with pursed lips. “We should have separate rooms that flank Ian.”
“Like at home,” Tara said.
“Marcus didn’t make the reservations that way.” Patrick picked up his bag. “Maybe he has his reasons.”
“Or maybe the motel screwed up the arrangements,” Mara said. “We’re on our first Syndrion assignment and have duties to Ian. Standing guard is one of them.”
Patrick hesitated. With a grunt he dropped his bag at their feet and headed to the office.
“The last thing we need is to draw attention to ourselves,” Mara said.
Ian thought the debate in front of their rooms in full view of the parking lot was attention-getting already. He grabbed his bag, let himself into his room, and closed the door.
The excitement of staying in a motel for the first time piqued his curiosity. Strips of fabric stretched on an aluminum frame didn’t look sturdy enough for sitting. He placed his bag on it instead. Miniature bottles of shampoo and lotion weren’t difficult to figure out, but the longer he pondered something called a soft towelette, the more perplexed he became.
He threw himself onto the bed and was rewarded with a solid, unforgiving mass underneath. Nearby doors shut. The trio had worked things out among themselves. Ian leaned back contemplating a nap, but the sound of whooping and hollering drew him to the window.
A pickup truck overflowing with teenagers raced down the street with another one close on its bumper, their horns blasting in staccato. He wandered outside to see where they were headed. By the time he reached the curb, they had disappeared around a corner with squealing tires. He perused his surroundings.
Rogue Basin was no more than a few square miles in radius. Rooftops dotted the nearby hills with homes scattered throughout the landscape. Heat spread across the back of his neck as his irritation returned. A peaceful, quiet town wouldn’t offer much of an adventure.
Ian wand
ered around the perimeter of the motel and breathed deep the icy air. He stood still and drew the earth’s energy into his cooling core. It warmed him like a heartfelt sigh.
A sound like breaking glass came from a small outer building. A large machine sat inside a metal-sided structure with its old motor spitting and rumbling. Ian opened the door. It held odd ice cubes. He pulled a handful out and examined their small square shape.
“You act like you’ve never seen ice cubes before.”
Ian slammed the door. The girl’s reflection was unclear in the textured metal surface, and he turned. “What the hell,” he blurted.
“No way,” Rayne said. She stood in the doorway with a small plastic bucket nestled in her arm.
“I can’t believe you followed me all the way up here,” Ian said.
“Really, are you that full of yourself? Looks like you’re following me,” she shot back.
“I’m here for the centennial celebration. We’re doing a show.” He leaned against the ice machine and crossed his arms in a dare.
Rayne looked out the doorway. Her attention fell on the banner swaying over the street. “I have ties here.”
He waited for more, but she stepped out without another word.
“Don’t you want some ice?” he said, unsure what prompted him to draw her back.
She stopped. When she looked at him the storm in her eyes faded. In that moment he swore despair took its place.
It doused the hot coals of his anger. “I’m in your way.” He moved aside and gestured for her to come back.
Rayne didn’t budge.
“You’ve been injured.” He looked at her bandaged hand.
She gave him a curious stare. “You don’t talk like a teenager.”
His confidence evaporated, lost that Patrick wasn’t around to supply the correct slang terms.
She slipped her bandaged fist under the bucket. “It’s nothing.”
“If you need Tara to look at it, she can. She’s had medical training.” Painfully self-conscious, his temper flared. “Or is that the wrong way to offer help?” Ian grabbed the bucket from her and dunked it in the ice mound, hoping he was doing it right. He thrust it toward her. “Maybe you prefer the rude approach?”
“At least it’s honest,” Rayne said, taking it from him. She turned and crossed the parking lot with deliberate strides.
Ian lingered in the doorway. His thoughts kept him off-balance as she headed for a room on the second floor. He’d been haunted for months after his botched attempt to save Claire Bevan. He couldn’t imagine what Rayne must have gone through. Was her mother’s loss what drove her to search for the Good Samaritan? Would he ever find the courage to admit his failure to her?
Rayne reached her room but hesitated. He pushed away from the shack and stepped into the lot. It wasn’t until she disappeared inside that he remembered to breathe.
{31}
Jaered perched on a cliff above QualSton. He removed his scope from his pack and scrutinized the campus stopping at each building, then panned the surroundings. Maintenance crews worked throughout the grounds. Their blue jumpsuit uniforms caught his eye.
The facility was situated in a canyon, making it difficult to approach or leave without detection. He tried not to think about the hike back. The pounding in his chest was taking its time to ease from just getting there. Exhaustion had been his companion for the past several hours, and he gave into a wide yawn brought on by a lack of sleep and the aftermath of adrenaline-juiced tension.
The winter breeze stroked the back of his neck with icy fingers. He grabbed the zipper of his jacket, but raised hairs stopped his hand. It had nothing to do with the weather.
He tilted his head and listened. The crow ruckus masked any subtle sounds that might have been out of place.
A faux stretch and yawn while he glanced around offered no sign of company.
Rock outcroppings flanked a cave in the mountain wall behind him. Jaered approached the opening and bent down to tie his boot. Other than a subtle drip, drip, he didn’t detect movement or sound. When he stood up, he drew his gun.
The cave was narrow but deep. Water frozen in sheets across the face of the walls made for a slippery surface. Jaered kept to the middle but soon lost light in the deep cave. The glow from his cell phone didn’t extend beyond a few feet.
He stumbled at reaching unstable ground and stepped back at the sound of falling rocks. He bent down and felt along the ground and in front of him, but his hand found nothing but air. A tossed stone took a full second to hit bottom.
Jaered retraced his steps. By the time he reached the mouth of the cave, his senses hadn’t settled. He holstered his gun keeping his hand on the butt inside his jacket, and walked away, convinced that he wasn’t alone.
{32}
Patrick pressed his face against the window. “This place looks quaint,” he announced.
The girls flanked him and surveyed the option for themselves. “Yes!” they exclaimed and walked inside.
The swinging doors revealed what triggered their enthusiasm. Milo’s favorite pastime—pool tables—lined the back wall of the bar. He often played with Patrick and the girls after dinner. Everyone knew better than to challenge Ian.
The café reminded Ian of pictures he’d seen in American history books with split-log walls and red checkered tablecloths. They claimed a table off to the side and Ian basked in the aromas of barbecued meats and spices that could have rivaled Milo’s kitchen. He hoped they offered fries.
“Welcome to Bud’s. I’m Kathy.” A smiling face appeared over Mara’s shoulder.
“Hi, Kathy,” they chimed at once.
She took their drink orders and offered to bring a round of waters without being asked. Kathy eyed Patrick’s cashmere sweater and shook her head. She left for another table.
“Good thing it wasn’t one of your wild patterned ones,” Tara said.
“That would have gotten us thrown out for sure,” Mara added.
Patrick didn’t respond. His attention was fixed on something across the room.
Rayne sat in one of the booths along the row of windows. She appeared to be reading from a notebook splayed out in front of her.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Mara said.
“Calm down, I knew she was here,” Ian said. Three sets of perplexed expressions turned on him. “We ran into each other at the ice machine about an hour ago.” He lowered his voice. “Patrick, can you buy those tiny square ice cube trays?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Patrick shook his head. “When were you going to tell us she followed us up here?”
“Didn’t it occur to you this affects our mission?” Mara hissed and threw a glare in Rayne’s direction.
“She claims she has family up here.”
“Painfully innocent or gullible, I really can’t figure you out.” Mara clenched her knife so tight her knuckles turned white.
Rayne swiped at her cheek. “She looks sad,” Tara said.
Ian looked between the girls then jerked his head in Rayne’s direction.
The twins separated and walked across the room. Mara stood at the jukebox. Tara hung out in the opposite corner un-der the restroom sign.
Their connection opened a flood of benign thoughts and emotions from the patrons scattered inside their triangular field. Ian sorted what he could and ignored the rest.
Rayne’s anguish swept over him like a dust storm, and he gripped the table to steady himself. He kept the channel open and stared down at the checkerboard tablecloth, guilt-ridden at his eavesdropping. Rayne doesn’t understand why she can’t see her daddy. She’s only three. I hope she never discovers the truth. The secret will die with me.
When she stopped reading, she blew her nose on her nap-kin.
Ian broke the connection. Spying on her left him with a sour taste in his mouth.
“What is it?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t think she’s here about us.” Ian pushed back his chair and crossed the r
oom. Mara shot an icy warning at him, and Tara started toward him, but he waved them off and approached Rayne’s table. He stood, looking at the handwritten, open notebook in front of her. It took a full second for Rayne to look up and as she did, her eyes widened. She slammed it shut.
“Now who’s following who?” she said.
“There are only three restaurants in town. We heard this one was the best,” Ian said. “We are staying at the same place.”
She thought for a second. “The motel clerk.” Her shoulders relaxed.
He sat down without asking. She didn’t protest. Her despair from the channeling had settled inside him, and he fought the urge to gather her hands up in his. “You want to join us?”
The group threw her warm smiles. Well, Mara’s came off as more of a pout.
“Thanks for the offer, really, but I’m not in much of a party mood tonight.” She slid the notebook off the table onto her lap. “How about a rain check, okay?” she said and raised tortured eyes to him.
His core ignited. It caught him off guard. Ian dropped his face and pressed his fist to his chest.
“Are you all right?” she said.
“Heartburn,” Ian mumbled. He slid out of the booth and backed up, colliding with the waitress. She did a pirouette to avoid spilling the topped-off beers onto the seated man next to them.
“Sorry,” Ian sputtered. A burn crept across his face as he fumbled around the waitress and the agitated customer. “Lat-er,” he said to Rayne. The spark in her eye told him he’d at least lifted her mood.
He plopped down in his chair and sulked. “What’s a rain check?”
“No thanks, not now, but keep asking,” Patrick said.
Ian pulled out of his slouch. “So, it’s like a maybe?”
“More than a maybe. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks the next time you ask, she says yes.”
“Uh, hello, have you forgotten she’s a reporter?” Mara said.
“Give her a break, she’s just a student.”
“Well that student got closer than anyone else ever has, Patrick.”
“My father always said keep your friends close but your enemies closer.” Patrick waved to get the waitress’s attention. “And he should know. He certainly has his fair share of them.”