SIck

by Brett Battles

  “You’ve got to go now!”

  Ash whipped around. He hadn’t heard the other man return.

  “Did…did you guys do that? Did you blow up the building?”

  The man glared at Ash for a moment. “We were there to rescue you, not blow up anything. Whatever happened, they did it themselves. Now come on.”

  “But why would the Army blow up their own building?”

  “You think the Army did this to you?” He pointed toward the distant blaze. “The Army didn’t do that, and they weren’t the people who were holding you. You’ve gotten in a mess here you didn’t even realize you’d been pulled into.”

  “What are you talking about? If they weren’t Army, then I need to report in, let them know what’s going on.”

  “You don’t get it. Anything you report will get right back to the people who did this to you. You can strike out on your own and find out if I’m right, or you can take the help I’m offering and find out the truth.” When Ash didn’t immediately respond, the man added, “Don’t forget, that guy who helped me get you out was still inside when we left. There’s a pretty good chance he just gave his life to save you. So what’s it going to be?”

  It was all too much for Ash to take in. Not the Army? If not, who were they? And why would reporting in get him in trouble? Almost none of it was making sense. About the only thing he knew for sure was that the man and his partner had gotten him out of the building before it exploded.

  Finally he nodded. He didn’t have to trust them forever, but for now it seemed like the best option he had.

  “Let’s go, then,” the man said. A few minutes later, they were standing at the edge of a blacktop road. The man pulled the messenger bag off his shoulder and handed it to Ash. “You’ll find another change of clothes inside. There’s also a driver’s license and a credit card under the name Craig Thompson. Don’t try using the card. It’s just for appearances and won’t work. But you’ll be Thompson only for the next leg. When you transfer again, you’ll be given a new ID. At that point, destroy these.”

  “Transfer again?” Ash asked.

  “There’s also two thousand dollars in cash,” the guide said, ignoring his question.

  “Two thousand?”

  “It should be more than enough in case of an emergency along the way.”

  “Along the way to where?”

  The man looked at him for a moment, then opened the flap of the messenger bag and pulled out a seven-by-seven-inches square, half-inch-thick package that had been wrapped completely in brown packing tape. “This is for your contact at your end station. He’ll know what to do with it.”

  “Contact? End station? You’re not making any sense.”

  The man stuffed the package back in the bag then pointed down the road. “A hundred yards that way you’ll find an abandoned gas station.” He looked at his watch. “In ten minutes, a car is going to stop there. The driver will ask you if you know where the nearest town is. You say it would be easier if you showed them. They’ll agree and you’ll get in.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Where are they supposed to take me?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “So I’m supposed to just trust them?”

  “You trusted us.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “Seems to me you don’t have much of a choice now, either.”

  “Please. You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on!”

  The man looked at his watch again. “You’re down to nine minutes. If you’re not there when your ride arrives, they won’t wait. Then you’ll be on your own.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Good luck.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Ash shook it, then watched the man disappear back into the night.

  Finally he turned and started jogging down the highway.

  8

  James Ellison was a dead man, and he knew it.

  After guiding Captain Ash and the other man—a man whose name he never knew—to the exit and making sure they got out, his plan had been to return to the supply closet where he’d left Sergeant Causey after he’d drugged the man’s coffee. He had a second, weaker dose that he was going to take himself so that they’d both be found unconscious together.

  He had been on his way there when he heard Major Littlefield’s voice in the distance. He pulled out his radio and turned it up just loud enough so he could listen in on the conversation.

  What he heard made his blood turn to ice. The door to cellblock 50 had been left open. He’d been sure he closed it, but apparently the lock hadn’t engaged. It was his biohazard suit—it made it hard to hear the click of the latch.

  Though Ash and the other man had still been in the facility when the emergency power came back on and the dosing cycle started again, they were so far away at that point, there was no chance the bug could have reached them before they got outside.

  He, on the other hand, was toast.

  He told himself the reason he needed to get out of there was because someone had to report in the fact that Major Littlefield was no longer in the picture.

  His cell phone was in his bag in the observation room, and therefore permanently unavailable, so he would have to find an out-of-the-way pay phone. After he made the call, he could stumble into the desert and die, hopefully from exposure before the bug took him down. That was the best plan he could come up with.

  But while the information about Major Littlefield was important, it would also be something the others would learn soon enough without him.

  The coming Protocol Thirteen firestorm—that was the real reason he turned and ran.

  9

  The gas station was right where the guide had told Ash it would be. It was an old, adobe-style building with a low concrete pad out front where the pumps used to sit. By the look of it, it had been left for dead a long time ago.

  Ash raced across the highway, thinking that whoever was going to be picking him up must already be there, perhaps parked out of sight. But when he got there, no one was around.

  Had his ride already come and gone? Had he missed his opportunity to get away from the base? Or, he wondered, had the driver been scared off by the explosion? It certainly wouldn’t be out of the question.

  Just then he heard a whine, low and from the South. Tires on asphalt. It had to be.

  He peered down the highway. Everything was dark. No headlights, no sign that anyone was coming, except the whine.

  He didn’t see the car until just before it turned off the road, its headlights off. He watched as it pulled in like it was going to fill up with gas.

  For a few seconds, he considered making a run for the desert and disappearing. He had no idea who these people were, and had no clue as to why they were helping him. What he did know, though, was getting a ride in a car was considerably better than wandering through the desert.

  He stepped out from the building and walked toward the sedan. As he neared, the driver’s-side window slid down.

  “Morning,” a female voice said from inside. She sounded nervous.

  Ash leaned down so he could see her. In the darkness, she wasn’t much more than a shadow, with shoulder-length hair he thought was probably blonde.

  “Could have sworn there was a town around here,” she said. “Know of some place I could get a little breakfast?”

  “I…I can show you.”

  His response was a lot less polished than her question, but it served the purpose of identification as her door locks clicked up.

  “Hop in,” she said.

  He moved around to the passenger side. But as he opened the door, the woman shook her head.

  “No. In the back.”

  He hesitated a moment, then shut the door and opened the one behind it.

  “Lift the seat,” she told him before he could climb in.

  “What?”

  She pointed at the seat cushion. “There's a latch in the back near the center. Pull and lif
t.”

  He did as the woman instructed. The only thing under the bench was the metal body of the car. He looked at her, confused.

  She reached under the car’s dash. A second later there was a dull thud, and the metal under the backseat popped upward several inches. Not needing to be told, he pulled it open as far as it would go, revealing what could best be described as a storage area. It was identical in length to the back seat, maybe a foot wider, and about two and a half deep.

  “Get in,” the woman said.

  “You've got to be kidding me. I'm not getting in there.”

  “You get in there or you don’t get the ride.” She glanced toward the fire that was still burning in the valley. “You’re lucky I stopped at all. Please tell me you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

  He started to speak, but she shook her head and held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She looked back at the secret compartment. “It's vented, so you’ll get plenty of fresh air, and the lining’s padded.” She grabbed a water bottle off the front passenger seat and held it out to him. “You’re not going to want to drink this all at once. You won’t be getting out for several hours, so taking a leak can get a little messy.”

  “I'll just sit in the back seat if it's all right with you.” He started to close the metal lid.

  “It's not all right with me!” she shot back. “I don't know who you are, or why you need to get away from here, but I do know if we get stopped and they find you, I'm going to be in as much trouble as you are. Now you can either get in the hole or start walking. It's up to you.”

  She stared at him defiantly, the bottle of water still in her outstretched hand.

  He looked at the compartment, then at the water, then at the woman. “I don’t know who you are, either.”

  “And you won’t,” she said.

  He stood there a moment longer, then took the water and awkwardly lowered himself into the hiding space. Once he was in position, the woman leaned back and started to lower the lid.

  “I didn’t start that fire,” he said.

  “I told you. I don’t want to know.”

  She shut him in.

  • • •

  For the first hour, he was sure they would be stopped at a roadblock and the car inspected. But as the road kept passing a few feet beneath him, he began to think they might have made it away undetected. Eventually, he dozed off.

  When he woke again, he could hear other vehicles surrounding them—semi-trucks mostly, cruising at high speeds. He figured they must be on an interstate. Which one, he had no idea. Having just recently been transferred to the Barker Flats Research Center, he didn’t know this part of the country that well and had no clue which highways were within a few hours’ drive away.

  Both he and Ellen had grown up in the Midwest—Ash in Ohio and his wife in Indiana. They’d met at college where he was going through ROTC training and working on an engineering degree, and she was studying to be an accountant.

  For him, at least, it was one of those instant attraction kind of things. Ellen had always said it was the same for her, too, but he was never sure if she was joking with him or not. Their bond grew infinitely deeper after her father passed away from a heart attack while they were sophomores. Her mother was already gone—cancer. Several years earlier, Ash’s parents had also passed away. No diseases in his family, just bad timing with a tire blowout at seventy miles per hour. His brother was with them, too. Jeff didn't die but, well, the condition he was left in often made Ash wonder if it would have been better if he had.

  The fact was, Ash and Ellen really only had each other after that. They were married their senior year, and Josie was born exactly ten months later.

  And now here he was alone again, his whole family gone.

  He had no idea how long they’d been on the road when he felt the car ease to the right and slow down. Outside, the sounds of the other vehicles grew distant as the sedan came to a near stop, then accelerated again through a sharp right turn.

  A couple minutes later, the car slowed once more and veered to the right. The now-familiar hum of tires on asphalt was replaced by the crunch of dirt under treads. Then the car stopped and the engine shut off.

  Ash waited, anticipating that the woman would soon release him. A few moments later he heard the seat cushion being lifted above him, but as he waited for the hidden metal flap to open, nothing happened.

  “Come on, come on,” he said under his breath.

  He’d had enough of the secret compartment. It was small and cramped, and though he wasn’t claustrophobic, he was starting to sympathize with those who were. It didn't help that since they’d stopped moving, the air seemed to be growing stale, too. He wanted out, and he wanted out now.

  He thought about pounding on the lid and screaming, “Open up!” But he had no idea where they were or who might overhear him.

  He twisted, trying to get more comfortable. As he did, his shoulder brushed against the lid. There was a click as the metal roof of his box rose slightly in response to the pressure.

  What the hell?

  He placed his hand on it and pushed upward. A thin seam of light grew along the length of the lid. Though it couldn't have been more than a quarter-of-an-inch wide, it was blinding after hours of pitch darkness. He blinked several times, then squeezed his eyelids together so that only a fraction of the light could penetrate them. Again, he pushed on the lid. The crack of light grew an inch wider, then two, then three.

  He paused, listening for anyone who might be in the car, and letting his eyes adjust to the daylight. Finally, having heard nothing, he pushed the top all the way open and sat up.

  For some reason, he thought he was going to find that they were parked behind one of those giant truck stops, and that the woman had just gone to use the facilities or maybe even grab something to eat. But there was no truck stop. In fact, there were no buildings of any kind, just wilderness, broken only by the distant ribbon of the interstate about two miles away.

  The car appeared to be parked in a small valley. While there were a few trees here and there, most of the vegetation was lower to the ground. It was what his dad used to call high chaparral country.

  A deserted, two-lane road ran out from the highway in his direction, passing the large dirt lot his ride was parked in and heading off into the hills. Apparently the woman had turned off on one of those exits only a handful of locals would use.

  The most surprising thing, though, was that she was nowhere to be seen. Where she’d gone, he had no idea. But unless she was crouching right next to the car, he was entirely alone.

  He pushed himself out of the box, threw open one of the doors and climbed outside. The air was cool, almost brisk. He reached back in and retrieved the jacket his guide had given him. He was tempted to pull on the stocking cap and gloves, but instead he just stomped around a little to warm up. Then, after a moment of unnecessary self-consciousness, he relieved himself behind the car.

  Not knowing what he was supposed to do now, he decided to see if the woman had left the keys. Maybe the idea all along had been for him to take the sedan and get lost. Maybe that’s what this had been all about. They got him away from trouble, and now he was on his own.

  He opened the driver's door and leaned in. The keys weren’t in the ignition, tucked above the sun visor, or lying in the seat. What was in the seat, though, was a white legal-size envelope with MR. THOMPSON typed on the front. It took him a couple seconds before he remembered that Thompson was the name on the false ID he’d been given earlier.

  The flap of the envelope was only tucked in, so he flipped it out and removed a single sheet of paper from inside. Like his faux name on the envelope, the note inside was typed. It was short and to the point.

  Wait here. Once it's dark, someone will come for you. Before then, burn this and your IDs. There is a lighter in the trunk, along with some food if you get hungry.

  Good luck.

  He read it twice. It was just anot
her mysterious piece in his ultra-bizarre day. But the mention of food did remind him that it had been almost twenty-four hours since his last meal.

  He pulled the trunk release, then moved around back and looked inside. In a brown paper bag, he found a couple of apples, a bag of trail mix, a few energy bars, and three bottles of water. Not exactly the juicy hamburger his stomach was hoping for, but it would do.

  There was also one of those long-nosed lighters people used to light campfires and barbecues. But he wasn’t really sure if he wanted to burn his IDs. He’d begun to entertain the idea of taking off on his own. If he did that, the IDs could come in handy. He decided to eat first, then figure it out after.

  Within ten minutes, he’d devoured both apples, two of the energy bars, and a good portion of the trail mix. The remainder he wrapped inside the brown sack and slipped into his messenger bag.

  He moved to the end of the car and stared at the highway for several minutes. At a fast walk, he could get there in no time then hitch a ride to the next town.

  What then, though?

  Go to the police? Back to the Army?

  The man who’d gotten him out of the building had said if he went back to the Army, the people who’d held him would find him again. Ash wasn’t convinced there were “people” yet. It still could have just been the Army doing what they thought was best for the greater good. But he couldn’t deny something very strange was going on. And if he wanted to find out why Ellen and the kids had been killed, his best bet at the moment was to stay free until he had more answers.

  His mind made up, he retrieved his fake IDs and placed them on the ground with the note and envelope from the car. They burned easily, and soon were no more than ash and melted plastic. He mixed what was left into the dirt, then climbed back into the car and waited for the sun to go down.

  10

  “He’s out,” Pax said over the phone.