Kissie thought, Well, he might be good-looking, but he isn’t very humble.
He continued, “When I tell someone, or something, a bedtime story, like that big spider back there, they go to sleep, and they stay asleep. But most of all, I guess, everyone calls me Granny because I make the best chocolate chip cookies in the entire world.”
Kissie squinted narrowly up at the strange man. “You bake cookies?”
“Hey,” he explained, “It sounds like bragging, but I’m only telling the truth.”
Rounding the last towering boulder, Kissie caught sight of a Humvee truck. Without much effort, Granny hefted her Honda 125 into the back and tied it down with bungee cords.
Kissie couldn’t help noticing his bulging muscles as he lifted the motorcycle. The tattoo came more clearly into view. It consisted of characters or letters that looked familiar. The letters spiraled from right to left and downward from high on his upper arm to his wrist. She wished she could get close enough to read the letters, but decided to keep a discrete distance.
Walking to the passenger door, Granny opened it for her, treating her to another smile. He beckoned her to get in. “The sun is setting and there is an old man in a black suit who will want to talk to you about your adventures today. This is an invitation you cannot refuse.”
Once the Humvee made it down off the mountain and started across the desert floor, Granny reached into a satchel and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie, handing it to Kissie.
“Actually, I just baked a fresh batch of cookies this afternoon.”
Oh my goodness, she thought taking a bite. These are the best cookies in the entire world.
As the Humvee rumbled through the sagebrush, it left a large dust cloud in its wake, blocking any view to the rear. When either occupant looked back, it was impossible to see if a large, dark form squatted on the same overlook that Kissie had stood on earlier, staring down unblinking into the valley below.
* * *
It almost had her. Instead, its feast had been stolen. It was still hungry!
It would not eat the dead spider. The crossover bugs had little meat. They tasted bad.
It should do something about the strange ones. They made it angry. Or, it should find out where the other humans, the helpless ones, had gone. But first, it had to find fresh meat.
* * *
That night, Kissie was allowed one, censored phone call home, before she was subjected to a series of grueling interviews by an angry old man in a black suit. Once, he referred to the giant rat as the green guardian, which didn’t make any sense to Kissie, and she didn’t dare ask what he meant. Most of what he said didn’t make sense, but one thing came through loud and clear. If she told anyone, including her parents, about the creatures she had seen in Searles Valley, she would be sent away to federal prison—forever!
Kissie didn’t doubt that he could and would do all the things he threatened if she ever told anyone what had really happened to her.
The next day the old man released her to go home with a bag full of Granny’s fresh baked cookies, but that was a small consolation. In spite of all her begging and pleas, he had decided to hold onto her dirt bike until everyone was once again allowed back into Trona.
III
This room is huge, Camm thought. Immense! You could put a basketball court in here.
Camm was glad the courtroom was so large; it allowed her to hide in a back corner, unnoticed in the overflowing crowd of spectators. As a disguise, she wore a short black wig, large glasses and a rather ugly green dress, which she hoped changed her appearance enough that none of the federal agents in the room would recognize her.
Across the aisle, up towards the front, she saw a tall, tanned, middle-aged attorney sitting next to a pretty, petite young blond. That must be K’tlynn and her dad.
Camm still cringed at the thought of Cal finding a girlfriend at Florida State, but at least it was a girlfriend with a lawyer father, who was willing to represent Cal for the sake of his daughter.
The blond wore an attractive, if somewhat too tight, white lacy dress. Camm had watched them enter and sit in the black-suit section. She couldn’t tell if the people in black suits were FBI or NSA, but they were obviously federal agents. Judging by who he was sitting with, K’tlynn’s father must have allied himself with one of the government agencies involved in Cal’s case.
Camm had phoned K’tlynn’s father and convinced him to represent Cal, hopefully to get him out of whatever confinement he was in. She hadn’t actually met either K’tlynn or her father. The father had sternly warned Camm to stay away from the courthouse. She too was wanted, and if she was arrested, he would not be able to represent her. Defending Camm would create a conflict of interest for him as he tried to do all he could to eliminate or minimize the government’s case against Cal. If she was arrested, she was on her own; hence, her disguise.
Camm knew she shouldn’t be here. It was too risky for her, and probably too risky for Cal as well. She couldn’t help him by being here, which meant she could only make things worse—as if they could get worse. She sighed, realizing she was good at making things worse for Cal. All her life, Cal had been there for her when she got into trouble. Now, she wanted to be there for him, but not if it made things worse. She supposed if she also went to jail that would be worse. She pushed the thought out of her mind. She was overthinking this.
Without warning, a side door flew open and a line of chained prisoners filed into the room under the rough direction of burly, armed guards. The prisoners were seated noisily in the jury box.
Camm’s chest tightened when she spotted Cal taking a seat in the back row of the box. No one sat by Cal. The other prisoners bunched together in the front row.
Cal’s blue jump suit was at least two sizes too small, leaving his arms and legs sticking out awkwardly. His hair was mussed, like he had showered but had no comb. She ached when she saw his hands were cuffed to a chain around his waist and his feet were manacled, forcing Cal to shuffle into the jury box. He stuck out like a sore thumb, the tallest of the seven prisoners. Once seated, Cal did not look up, but sat slumped over, staring at the floor.
Camm was sick with guilt seeing him like this, but at the same time, her heart was pumping like a jackhammer. She knew it was silly, but she had an irresistible urge to rescue him. She didn’t know what was worse, seeing him as a prisoner, or losing him into that other Searles Valley, that different world where she had feared he was lost to her forever. At least they were in the same world now with no bloodthirsty monsters lurking nearby.
When the prisoners first shuffled in, a low conversational buzz spread across the room, and Camm had distinctly heard a high-pitched, whiny voice say, “Oh, Daddy, he looks so sad.” After speaking with K’tlynn once on the phone, as Camm tried to reach the father, she now recognized that whiny voice as K’tlynn’s—that shrill voice with its possessive tone grated on Camm’s nerves.
Talking to K’tlynn’s father had also been unpleasant—he came across so pompously high and mighty. Camm had always had her doubts about lawyers and couldn’t imagine why her good friend, Martha, wanted to be one. But at this moment, staring at Cal seated with the other prisoners, Camm was relieved Cal had a lawyer, and a good one. She was also glad for Martha’s legal training. Her advice and counsel had been invaluable. Even now, Martha was back in China Lake, researching a legal question for Camm in between assignments from the government.
Once the prisoners were placed securely in the jury box, the bailiff commanded everyone to rise, and the judge made his entrance. Quickly taking charge of the courtroom, the judge handled each case in a quick and perfunctory manner. Camm didn’t understand much of what went on, but all the cases seemed to be in some kind of pre-trial mode. A couple of the prisoners didn’t have legal counsel, and their cases took the longest. It soon became clear that Cal’s matter was being saved to the last. He still had n
ot looked up.
Finally, it was Cal’s turn. The judge hesitated as he reviewed the file. “Is this correct?” he barked. “The United States versus,” he hesitated again, “California Gold Jones?”
The woman from the U.S. Attorney’s office stood. “That is his correct name your honor. Before we go further, I want to remind the court that this case has national security ramifications involving the location of strategic stockpiles of rare minerals used by the federal government in both its military and homeland security programs. The government requests that the courtroom be vacated, except for essential personnel.”
Without looking up from the file, the judge agreed, “Yes, yes, of course.” Waving his hand in a shooing motion, he commanded, “Everyone out!”
The bailiff rose and began directing people out of the courtroom. All the prisoners except Cal stood to leave. A sudden commotion erupted as two prisoners trapped a lone guard between them in the first row of the jury box. The prisoner in front of the guard whirled around to grab the guard’s belt with both of his hands, which were chained to his waist at just the right height to reach the guard’s heavy, leather belt. The prisoner then slammed his forehead into the guard’s face.
The prisoner standing behind the guard used the distraction to pull the guard’s service revolver out of its hip holster. Though looped through his waist chain, the length of the chain between his handcuffs allowed him to grasp the revolver in both hands and cock it. Whether by accident or on purpose, he fired a shot into the floor, and then fumbled the gun, almost dropping it.
Panicked voices rang out. “He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun!”
All around Camm people dropped to the floor or hid behind seats, but Camm flew out of her chair and raced down the aisle with only one thought in mind. He’d better not shoot Cal!
She hadn’t gone far when she saw Cal fly up over the seatbacks in front of him, planting a shoulder squarely in the back of the guy with the gun. Cal hit him hard, like a defensive tackle charging through the line to sack the quarterback for a loss.
Though Cal couldn’t use his hands, he had jumped with all the power in his legs to knock the guy across the jury box banister and lay him out flat on the tiled, courtroom floor. Cal’s considerable weight smashed down on top of him, hammering all the air out of his lungs. The gun skidded across the floor to the other side of the room, where the court reporter snatched it up.
Almost casually, Cal rolled into a sitting position and nimbly stood without using his hands. Shuffling through the jury box gate and up the steps to the back row, he reclaimed his seat, apparently no worse for the wear. As the uninjured guards roughly jerked the remaining prisoners out of the courtroom, the people around Camm were on their feet, clapping for Cal.
Someone among the black suits pointed to Cal, shouting, “Did you see that tackle? No hands! Whatever team he plays for, I’m rooting for them!” Others cheered in agreement.
Camm shook her head. I guess there are monsters in this world too.
Finally, the judge stood up from behind the court bench where he had been hiding. Sharply banging his gavel, he called for order in the court. Again, he directed the bailiff to get all spectators out of the courtroom. Camm glanced down to her side and realized she stood next to the pretty little blond, who looked up and said proudly, “That’s my boyfriend. He plays for Florida State.”
Camm smiled, but said nothing, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Reluctantly, she turned and followed K’tlynn up the aisle. K’tlynn’s father remained behind. Camm couldn’t help but notice how shapely K’tlynn’s small frame was. No wonder Cal was attracted to her.
As Camm slid through the swinging court door, she glanced one last time over her shoulder. Cal sat straight and tall in the jury box, looking directly at her and smiling that goofy smile. With his wrists still shackled through his waist chain, he raised his index finger indicating the number one. Camm knew what that meant—Team One, their own private team since they were little kids. Using their secret hand code, Cal told her he played for the two of them, for Team One.
A warm glow spread through her body. He knew she had come and that made every risk worthwhile. She heaved a sigh of relief.
Stepping into the marble hallway, Camm turned to look for K’tlynn, only to panic when someone behind her grabbed her by both arms and jerked her around to face the opposite direction down the hall, pushing her away from the courtroom traffic along a section of closed offices. Whoever it was shoved her clear of the crowd, marching her around a corner into a small alcove.
Oh no, Camm despaired. I’ve been caught. I’m going to jail!
Camm was shoved up hard against the wall as two hands firmly pinned her shoulders back. A face thrust itself into Camm’s. It wasn’t a court bailiff. It was Agent Linda Allen.
“Just what do you think you are doing?” Agent Allen hissed in a dangerous voice.
Camm stammered, “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen Cal since he was arrested in Trona. I just had to see him, to make sure he was okay. I know I wasn’t supposed to come, but . . . ”
Her voice trailed off as she realized how relieved she was to see Agent Allen. Even an angry Agent Allen was a welcome sight.
“This is crazy!” Agent Allen whispered, after glancing around to make sure they were alone. “You knew not to come, and here you were running down the middle of the courtroom aisle for all to see, as if you could save Jones or something. What were you going to do? Fight off everyone in the courtroom?
“You’re no good to me in lock-up. You’re no good to Jones either if you get caught. How many times do we have to have this conversation? Smith, you know the plan. You are smarter than this—maybe too smart for your own good.”
Camm hung her head. “I know. I know.” Then she looked up, her jaw set. “But Cal saw me. He knows I was here. It was worth the risk.” She shrugged and smiled, trying to defuse the situation. “Did I say how good it is to see you? What do we do now?”
“We get you out of here before anyone else recognizes you in that silly disguise. By the way, where did you get this puke-green dress? It is horrible, absolutely disgusting.”
Camm grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”
Shaking her head, Agent Allen took Camm firmly by the bicep, briskly walking her through the hall and out a side door into a deserted administrative parking lot. Once they were out of the courthouse without being detected, Agent Allen’s shoulders relaxed, and she dropped her grip.
She turned to Camm. “You as hungry as I am? I know a place close by that has little private booths and makes the best French dip sandwiches. Let’s get something to eat.”
Camm still had questions. “How did you know I was there? How did you find me?”
Agent Allen sighed. “Because I’m here doing my job. And it was what I would have done if I were you. I was expecting you to show up at some point.”
Camm stared at her, then grinned. In spite of her troubles, she felt better.
“Besides, I’m with the FBI. We have our resources. I’m glad the NSA doesn’t know you as well as I do. It didn’t occur to them to look for you here.”
“So what’s going to happen to him. To Cal, I mean?”
Agent Allen sighed again. “I’m not sure. But, that’s a pretty high-powered pro bono attorney you secured for him. Good work, by the way. We’re trying to have Cal sprung so he can help in the investigation, but the NSA still wants to keep him locked up. I think they believe they can control him better in lock up. Right now, we don’t know what’s going to happen. Though, I don’t think it will hurt that he just saved everyone in the courtroom.”
Camm shook her head, eyes narrowed. “Nobody is looking out for Cal. All they care about is using him for their own pet projects.”
“There is nothing we can do about that here, especially if you get yourself locked up. So, how about we eat lunch and head back to
Trona? I could use your help there. Among other things, we have a big, green rat to find and kill.”
“You do know that rat is looking for me?”
Agent Allen nodded solemnly. “I know, so don’t wander off again. When Cal was arrested, I went to a lot of trouble setting up a safe house for you, safe from both the rat and the NSA, but it doesn’t do any good when you’re out gallivanting around the country.
“I know you snuck out with Martha last week to take a little trip over to Searles Valley. I’ve been waiting for you to come clean with me and tell me what you were doing.”
Camm groaned. “Come on! Give me a break. You can’t keep me locked up in that tiny motel room all day long with nothing to do except watch TV. It’s like being in jail. I’ll die if I don’t get out sometimes. Besides, Martha needs me. She hasn’t done anything wrong, yet she’s been isolated and treated like a leper—they wouldn’t even let her go to L.A. to take her summer internship.”
“Okay! Okay!” Agent Allen cut Camm off. “Arrangements have already been made to get Martha back to law school in time to start her second year. Don’t worry about her. I just need to keep you safe until I can figure out what will happen to you, so please stay clear of Martha and Cal.
“In the meantime, we need to figure out how the mansion works and how it controls the dimensional overlap. We have to get serious about stopping all this interaction between our own world’s Searles Valley and that valley in the other world. There has to be a way to stop predator crossovers.”
Camm nodded. “You got that right. Predators keep showing up all over Searles Valley. I can’t fight this battle alone anymore. Too many Trona kids have disappeared already.”
Stepping to her car, Agent Allen called over her shoulder, “You know, your hometown is starting to look like an alien petting zoo.”
Fatal Green Page 3