Ashwood

by Cynthia Kraack

  Before Ladd would respond, Van stopped alongside the road. “Another transport should be along soon,” he announced. “You need to get out and move away from this vehicle. As fast as you can.”

  The way Van spoke implied that questioning his directions would be a serious error. He’d watched out for my safety all day, so I prepared to obey and indicated that David and Ladd needed to do the same.

  “For God’s sake, Van, what’s going on?” I asked.

  With a shake of his head as his only response, he hurried us away from the transport. David ran at Ladd’s side as the boy bolted ahead. Van and I followed, his speed slowing down about thirty yards from the vehicle. Still wearing city clothing and footwear, I found it difficult to gain traction on the icy roadway.

  “A group of kids started playing around the transport back at Giant Pines. I had to chase one of them out from under the vehicle,” Van shared as we slowed to a quick walking pace. “I sent a message to headquarters. They got an odd heat glow reading from the underside. Could be a tracer, a listening device, or something more disruptive.” He inhaled deeply, coughed. “Anyway, to be safe they wanted us to evacuate.”

  Giant Pines’ tall stucco walls probably contained listening devices as well. Having escaped Jensen’s predatory grips, I now distrusted anything associated with him. I put a finger to my lips and tilted my head back toward the estate, but David already held out his long arms to shepherd our small group further from the transport as well as Giant Pines.

  Wind gust stung our faces, pulled at our hats and coats. Ladd’s Giant Pines jacket offered little protection in December’s wind and weather. For the first time in years, my hair blew across my eyes, into my mouth and straight out from my head depending on the wind’s direction. I wrapped my scarf in a knot around my throat and followed David away from the transport in the no man’s land along Giant Pines’ wall.

  From the days of the urban riots, I remembered the rumble of earth and horrid violent sounds of mechanical parts wrenched apart by the immense force of an exploding vehicle. Large and small pieces of the transport cut through the air around us, icy snow chunks rose, displaced by burning metal bits, noise opened around us creating a parachute of sound so massive that I surely thought I would not live beyond this moment.

  Somehow David threw me to the snow banked against Giant Pines’ stucco walls, dragging Ladd with us. Van, standing at my side at the moment of explosion, was propelled head first into the cruddy frozen stuff, looking like a snow shovel tossed aside by a strong man. I closed my eyes and hunkered down, felt the bite of razor-like shards slashing through my coat, my uniform, and my winter silk undergarments before nicking into my skin. Opening my mouth, I swallowed whatever snowy substance filled it before screaming in surprise, pain, fear. Ladd’s voice, set free from adolescent control, merged with mine as the tumbleweed of larger metal transport pieces continued to dance around us. One hit my side, leaving me stunned.

  Not until searing heat of burning materials pushed along the stucco wall did we move as a threesome to our knees. In the new quiet, bumpers and treads and larger pieces of the transport created an awful orchestra of crashes and crunches on the road to our left, on the top of the stucco wall to our right, against trees and sign posts that became new missiles. I watched David duck, saw a vivid red slash appear below his bangs. Ladd crumbled as something like an arm rest wacked his side.

  He struggled to stand again, one hand sought mine. Not much over twelve, he may also have had memories of the metro street riots when desperate people turned the cities into battlegrounds fought with homemade weapons. Days and nights when hungry men set cars on fire, exploded empty delivery trucks, killed any driver who looked well-fed. He may have seen gangs drag gasoline cans to these scenes of terror then dance around burning wreckage. To a child, a child like Ladd, those nights could inspire lifelong nightmares. So he found my hand and held it as if I could stop the chaos.

  “Annie, are you all right?” As muddled as David’s voice sounded, I felt relieved to be able to hear at all. I savored the “Annie” and the implication that it mattered on a familiar level to someone that I had not been harmed.

  “I’m bleeding.” A thin childish voice came from Ladd whose hand tugged mine. “And I hurt.” He slipped away from me. David pointed to where Van lay and left me care for Ladd. Blood ran from the boy’s lower lip, tiny cuts and ice scrapes covered his forehead, nose, and chin. He reached for his back, groaning.

  “Spit into the snow then open your mouth,” I directed, thankful for training that kept my hands from shaking as I straightened and felt pain sear through my right side. “Let me see.” I took off one glove to offer the comfort of direct skin contact with his chin. “Looks like you bit your inner lip. And, knocked out a tooth. Hopefully a baby tooth. I can’t really tell. You didn’t swallow it?”

  His body shook in the chintzy Great Pines’ clothing. I removed my scarf, wrapped it around his neck. “Hold on, Ladd, we’re going to be okay. I’m going to give you a chunk of snow to hold against that lip.” My hands shook as I realized how shredded the scarf had become. “Let’s wrap this in the end of the scarf so you don’t freeze your face.”

  The boy, watching me for directions, began sliding to the ground. “Ladd.” I screamed his name as I caught him, eased him down. “Bring your knees to your chest. Breathe deep.” I leaned over him, rubbed his back, encouraged him to keep breathing.

  “Annie, I need you over here.” David knelt next to Van. Blood on snow, even dirty snow, demanded immediate investigation. Our driver lay on his side. I could see blood seeping from a flap of torn skin on his lower scalp, more from his nose. With my scarf around Ladd, one glove long lost and no emergency kit, I scrambled across the littered and smoldering ground to their side.

  “Don’t make him sit up if he’s hurt,” I called as each step slipped or twisted, sending more pain through my side. A transport appeared in the far flat distance, hopefully our replacement and driver.

  “Wind knocked out,” Van gasped as he tried to roll over, his ashen face matching color with the dirty snow.

  “Where do you hurt?” I gently pressed around his neck and shoulders touched his forehead. The sound of his breathing filled the space around us with slight groans at the edge from Ladd, who sat shivering in the snow holding my scarf to his mouth.

  “Can’t,” he tried speaking, “catch my breath.” He coughed which turned into a groan. “The backup …”

  “Is almost here, Van. I can see it. Stay down until you’re ready and able to sit up.”

  “Be sure,” Van sucked at the cold air, made a hacky gagging sound, “number forty nine.” I bent close.

  “Forty nine. We’ll check. Don’t force your breathing, Van. Try to take small sips of air. The cold is rough in our lungs.” I picked up one of his hands and placed it on my chest. “Concentrate on breathing with me. Easy in. Let the air go. Again, very easy. Go ahead and close your eyes and just breathe with me.” I lifted my other hand. “David, can you put Van’s other hand in a pocket to stay warm?”

  The hand I held next to my chest frightened me by its deepening coldness. I eased on my remaining glove and covered his hand. With my bare hand I touched my earpiece to seek help. No sound.

  “Ladd, come here,” I said without calling attention to our loss of communication. “Sit on David’s lap and both of you stay close to this man. His name is Van and he’s been very brave today helping us. We need to keep you both warm and give him shelter from the wind.” Eyes focused only on me, Ladd made his way close. I pointed my free hand toward the horizon. “Hopefully that’s our transport.”

  So we huddled around Van whose breathing slowly began imitating mine. Holding still kept me from breathing too deeply and hurting. Beyond the forehead cut, deep scrapes, scrapes and a bump above one eye, David seemed in the best condition of our group. Ladd settled back against David’s chest, appearing to accept warmth and protection.

  “I need to report this all to the Bur
eau,” I said to David. “What am I going to say? And we probably should report the transport explosion to the local authorities.”

  “I activated an emergency signal from the van as we evacuated.” He pulled his head back away from Ladd and leaned in close to me. “Before you report to your Bureau, Anne, I need to confess I really did videotape everything that went on at Giant Pines. Just in case you were bluffing. I’ll testify that that foyer was filled with a mood-altering mist. The guy is a real perv.” He straightened, resettling Ladd’s weight.

  “So should we wait here for the officials?”

  “If they arrive before the replacement transport or before a medical transport for Van. As much as I want to be off Giant Pine’s land, I don’t think we can move him. He saved our lives.”

  We sat in the cold, Van’s noisy breathing almost lost in the small noises created by burning transport pieces. I rubbed his hand, felt David and Ladd move closer. The boy cried silently, tears rolling down his bruised face.

  When the replacement transport arrived, David and I both looked for its subtle number forty nine. Fear of Jensen convinced us to move away from Giant Pines as quickly as possible. The driver helped David move Van while I convinced Ladd that we had to trust this man and vehicle.

  We left the demolished transport, speeding past the last of the rust-colored walls, feeling like fugitives. I slid my hand under Van’s, checking his pulse as well as offering simple comfort. Now and then, he squeezed my fingers.

  Only thirty minutes separated Giant Pines from our residence, a long ride for injured people, too short a distance from an evil enemy. The estate area by its nature had very low crime, with many of us relying on a small number of private security companies operating within the main gated entrance. Before the Dakota County sheriff team caught up with us or we met the medical transport, I updated Terrell about the explosion of our transport, injuries, and possible time of arrival.

  Two sheriff units stopped our transport about ten minutes into our trip. Our driver pulled roadside.

  “Thank God.” I heard relief in David’s voice.

  “David, Jensen is a very powerful person within my Bureau. I have to be careful about what the officials are told.”

  “That’s your challenge,” he said. “He means nothing in the Energy Department.”

  “But, he could make our lives difficult.”

  “Regardless of his blackmail, Tia is more important to this country than that pervert is to your Bureau. And he’s a threat to DOE-patented technology. I’ve sent the video to my home files and to a secure site.” He leaned close to Ladd. “We haven’t heard your story yet, but we all need to be honest. Tell them exactly what happened. Be precise—only the truth and no extras.”

  Two male officers approached our transport, one carrying a medical kit. David opened his door. “Do you want us to stay in, or step outside,” he asked.

  “If you’re able to exit on your own, please do.” The shorter man, one hand removing a data pad from a hip-riding belt of equipment, further opened the door. David and our new driver stepped out.

  With their black leather uniforms and snug-fitting protective headgear, the two looked like most area police. Their faces, devoid of expression, showed us only that they were men in their thirties, both of European background. One stuck his head in the transport. “How’s he doing,” he asked looking at Van. Ladd pushed himself into a corner, his eyes darting from door to door before flattening out as the man eased in the passenger area next to Van, his back to the boy. “I’d like to do an assessment.”

  I knew I should ask to contact my Bureau superior, but the man blocked my exit and Van’s hand now lay across my lap. Van’s physical state trumped the Bureau’s need to know.

  The exam lasted two long minutes. With respect and care, the officer asked Van questions about his breathing while probing his chest. When Van gasped at a set of touches, the young man sat back.

  “Sir, I’m emergency medical trained, not a medic or nurse, but I think you have more than one severely busted rib, maybe one pushing into your lungs. I can’t tell if you’re also experiencing cardiac distress, so you need to stay very still. Because the medic unit’s expected arrival is any time, I won’t administer pain meds. Better to leave that to them. What about the young man?” He edged himself around in the transport to face Ladd.

  “He lost a tooth and bit through his lower lip,” I volunteered while Ladd sat tree trunk still. “There’s a bump rising on his forehead. We landed hard and he was hit by a large piece of debris.”

  “Can you follow my finger with your eyes?” The officer held up a gloved hand, drew his index finger in multiple directions while Ladd watched. “Might have a concussion. Open your mouth.”

  The boy looked to me. I nodded. His jaws separated in a chattering motion.

  Displaying the same respect and care shown Van, the officer checked Ladd’s bleeding lip. “That’s got to hurt. You’re a stoic guy. Might need a stitch. Let’s get a warming blanket for you.” He rummaged through his kit, found a sealed pack and opened it for Ladd, then backed away. “Any injuries, Matron?”

  “I may have cracked a rib as well. It wouldn’t be the first time, and I know ribs are home-treated injuries. Otherwise just cuts and scrapes. The debris flew everywhere.”

  “Looking at what’s on the roadway, I’d call you all lucky, Matron. If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll return this bag to my vehicle and file my report.”

  I watched him walk away and felt relief that he hadn’t asked questions. Out the transport window, I saw David gesturing as he spoke to the officer’s partner and assumed that because of his scientist’s instincts, his version of the day would be factual with little elaboration. I wondered if he’d volunteer the video from Jensen’s office. The first officer knocked on the transport door.

  “Matron, my partner is satisfied with Director Regan’s report, and your Bureau superior has requested that your report be filed directly with her as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, Officer. You’ve been quite professional. Could I have your card?”

  “No problem.” He withdrew a card from one almost invisible pocket in his vest and handed it to me.

  “Thank you again.” I searched the card for his name. “Officer Jensen.”

  “No relation. There’s still a lot of Scandinavians in Minnesota,” he said quite low. “Not to worry, Matron. By the way, the medic unit’s approaching. When your injured driver is loaded, you’re free to go. We may return later if there are questions.”

  David accompanied the medic team to our transport. Ladd and I moved out to give them access to Van.

  “I gave them a complete statement,” David said out of earshot of the sheriffs. “They didn’t seem to push for a lot of details or clarification.” He turned away from Ladd for a moment and leaned closer to me. “I did not share that I had everything on video. Did you?” He straightened, placed a hand on Ladd’s shoulder

  “He only checked physical concerns and told me to file a report with my Bureau contact. He didn’t ask a single question about what happened.”

  “Nothing?”

  I shook my head, the potential for bureaucratic negotiations and cover up entering my thoughts. “Nothing.”

  The medics assessed Ladd, diagnosed a mild concussion, sealed his split lip with liquid stitches and inspected a large bruise forming across his back. They gave him clearance to travel back to Ashwood. With Van secure on a gurney, I gave his hand a squeeze.

  “It was a hell of a day, Van. I want to thank you for everything you did. I need you back on the job because I don’t have that many people I can trust so thoroughly. They say your family will meet you at the hospital. Take care.”

  He pulled down the oxygen mask with his unsecured hand. “You’re a rare woman, Matron. A real spitfire.” He made the effort to smile. “And I did mean it when I said that haircut looks good.”

  “You saved our lives.” As I understood the absolute truth of my words,
I felt tears coming. I squeezed his hand before continuing. “And you gave me a nice compliment, which I don’t receive often. When you’re on your feet, I’d like to take you and your wife out to dinner.”

  I put the mask back on his face and gave thumbs up as they rolled him to the waiting rig. Then I allowed myself to put a hand over the pain in my side, inventory tingling from dozens of small cuts and acknowledge that I felt nervous about what would happen next. Maybe not nervous, maybe scared.

  “Amen, we’re home,” said David as the transport drove toward the front doors. “Worse for wear with trouble at our backs. Quite an afternoon, Matron.

  Nothing had changed about the physical attributes of Ashwood. Our fences, backed by its army of pines, still encouraged those passing by to keep moving. Ashwood’s heavy front gate still opened slowly, not to invite but to provide opportunity for someone to scrutinize those who wanted to enter. But, this was our home and these outward signs of protection meant those within could work without fear during the day, and sleep at night.

  “Should you be checked out?” David brought me back from internal thoughts.

  “I’ll schedule an assessment later today for each of us. My guess is I’ve injured ribs. That’s just a home care protocol, Director David.” Within Ashwood, formal address slipped out of my mouth in front of a worker. “Could you take Ladd into the house? I have to settle with the transport company. There’s no reason for you two to wait.”

  Our transport driver jumped from his seat to open the passenger door nearest David, who sent Ladd out first. I let my ribs expand, felt the pain. In the quiet of the transport, the privacy window closed, I tried my earpiece again, this time with success. I made one quick call to Auditor Milan, the only face I knew in the regional Bureau structure, for help in placing Ashwood under top estate security.