Anodyne Eyes

by Milt Mays

  The half-sunk rectangle of white stared at him, mocked him, rebuked him for his wish to save the last proof of Lisette’s existence. She hadn’t even loved him. But he had loved her. Still did, despite Marci. Marci had saved him, brought him back to help with Adam. If it hadn’t been for Marci, he would not be here. He was such an ass.

  He relaxed his neck muscles and let his head fall back into the water, then extended his neck to try and stick his nose and mouth under the cold liquid. His nose got in the water; he held his breath and sniffed in the water, hoping it would clog his lungs and he would drown.

  He coughed, choked and sputtered. The seat belt held him too high to immerse his mouth and his reflexes would not allow him to die.

  Then the second thing began to gnaw, and that thin knife of panic started slicing his head at the ears. The thing he did not see, the absence that now made him realize he might die slowly over time, freezing and starving, was that Sam and Rachel were gone.

  Chapter 42

  Jabril’s claws began to come out and he could feel his teeth grow. Somehow his van had stopped without hitting another car, but he wanted to jump through his skin. The police would be suspicious of him after he’d skidded like that, and now he was trapped. The van’s front bumper was only a few feet from the white pickup truck in front of him, his headlights revealing every ding and rust mark on the rear of the pickup. A large Schlitz beer truck was behind him, hemming him in. A cop car was behind the Schlitz truck on the right, driving their way on the tire-changing lane, so close Jabril could clearly read “Iowa State Highway Patrol” on the side. Another cop car was already stopped about fifteen cars in front of Jabril, red lights flashing. That cop got out and started going to each car, leaning down to driver’s windows, asking questions.

  The cop behind him passed and stopped his car right next to the pickup.

  Jabril could probably turn left, drive across the median to the other side, and speed back east to the next exit. But a van was no match for a police car.

  He ran a comb through his hair and pulled the Brewers baseball cap on, low over his eyes. Then, he changed his mind and put the cap on backwards, bill in back. He punched the 4G radio on, tapped the music screen for a country western station he’d passed up earlier and turned the music up. He remembered seeing Brût cologne in the medicine cabinet in the back.

  The cop got out, pulled his hat on and went around the front of the pickup to the driver’s side, waited for the man to roll down his window, and started talking and nodding, shining a flashlight into the cab.

  Jabril quickly released his seat belt, walked three steps, opened the medicine cabinet, opened the Brût and splashed the offensive cologne on his face and neck. He replaced the bottle, closed the cabinet, got back in his seat and refastened the seat belt.

  The cop nodded and smiled at the man in the pickup. He started walking toward Jabril, his flashlight still on, the light dancing by his side.

  Jabril opened his window, reached to turn the volume down, but let his hand fall in his lap. He put on his most inoffensive and stupid smile.

  The cop leaned in Jabril’s window then immediately backed away, blinked once and wrinkled his nose. “What can I do for you, officer.” Jabril’s said in his best Louisville twang.

  The cop shone the flashlight in his face and peered at him. He had a broad and misshapen head like a large potato. “Could you turn the music down, sir.”

  Jabril squinted into the light. “Of course, officer. I am so sorry. Mah hearing is gettin’ terrible.”

  “Could you open the side door to your van?”

  Jabril smiled as broadly as an idiot. “Why sure. Let me get out of this here seat belt.” He unfastened the belt and watched the cop walk around the front of the van. The engine was still on. He thought about ramming the cop and trying to speed off. Yet there was nothing in the van for the cop to see. Or was there? Jabril had disposed of all the bloody clothes and shoes. But there was the mouse cage and plants under the couch. If the cop lifted up the couch . . .

  Jabril looked for the other cop. He was walking car to car, four cars away from his own cruiser and still ten cars in front of Jabril. If he had to, Jabril could kill potato-head cop, turn the van around and be a mile away before the other cop could even be in his cruiser. Not desirable, but workable.

  He got up, hunched to avoid the ceiling, stepped to the side and slid the side door open. The cop briefly swung the flashlight’s beam around the van twice, then stepped back and gave Jabril a wan smile. “Sorry for the inconvenience. We’re looking for a man and a woman. They robbed the University of Wisconsin medical school of valuable plants and animals. You can close the door.”

  “Not a problem at all, officer. I respects the law and hope to heck you catch those dang thieves.”

  He closed the door, took a deep breath and let it out slow. He got back in his seat, latched the belt, and turned the radio up, eyeing the cop walk from behind the van to the Schlitz truck. Jabril would wait patiently and let the law do his job for him. If they caught Rachel and Sam, Jabril could follow them and relieve the police of the two dastardly criminals.

  Twenty minutes later, the police were back in their cruisers, no captives. Not too disappointing. Jabril could find them himself, a pleasure all its own.

  Soon he was through the bright lights of Des Moines following exits for south I-35. In minutes there was only a faint glow of the city in the rearview mirror, the headlights piercing the pitch black prairie. The Interstates allowed him to make great time, keeping the speedometer at 90.

  Hours later, he drove south on Colorado 385, the best road to Lamar, very close to his final destination. The gray false dawn was just giving way to the rising sun when he saw the left side railing torn out, and in the shallow creek below an overturned vehicle. A small dark man was leaning down to the window. A woman in a beige jacket and gray hiking pants stood on the highway, her hand out, flagging him down. She had long thick auburn hair.

  Rachel. How nice to see you.

  He turned on the country western station again, loud, and drove onto the right shoulder to get around the large hole in the pavement, then drove past her. They probably hadn’t seen that hole in the road last night, hit it and turned over. He slowed and stopped, inspecting the surroundings: Miles of plowed flat fields, a few stubbly stalks of straw, but mostly dirt, a few scattered trees around the creek, and not a building or person besides Rachel.

  She was walking to his side of the van. He flipped his ball cap around so the bill was over his eyes, and opened his door when she was a few steps away.

  His bill was so low that when he stepped out, all he could see was her tan pants, wet from the knees down, dripping onto muddy white running shoes that made squishing sounds when she walked.

  “Can you help us?” she said. “We need a ride to the nearest town.”

  Keeping his eyes low he answered in his Louisville drawl. “Why sure, miss. Let me get a rope from the other side of the van. Looks like your man over there could use one.”

  He walked around to the other side, hearing her squishy steps following behind him. Now the van blocked any view of the overturned car and the man. The side door slid open easily. That’s when he looked up at her. Her eyes widened. He smiled. A swift punch to the side of her head, a push, and she was inside the van and unconscious. There was no rope. But there was duct tape, and she was trussed and her mouth sealed in under a minute. He slid the door shut from the inside, got in his seat and drove away.

  In the driver’s side rearview mirror, the small dark man was running after the van. Jabril got his first good look at him. Sam. Jabril wanted to turn the van around and ram him. But he had who he needed. She had developed the GMO foods that could save the poor.

  He thought about using her knowledge to help the poor countries of the world. Forget his plan to end the infidels and find Alex. Do something his mother would want. Help others.

  The pain started behind his left ear, shrill and vibrating like
a siren of knives in his brain. His vision blurred. He gripped the steering wheel, concentrating on staying on the road.

  Rachel had made mistakes, too. Ones Jabril needed. Yes. The mission. He must complete the mission.

  In the left side view mirror, he saw Sam pull a handgun and shoot—a thud at the back of the van; the left side view mirror shattered. Jabril pressed on the accelerator and the van pulled away. In the right side view, Jabril watched Sam stop and stand with his gun at his side, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

  Jabril felt the power pulse inside, yet he knew someone or something else controlled it. Like his mother’s constant nagging dreams, he had to rid himself of the control. He had to be free. The smooth round spot behind his left ear must go. How and when? Perhaps Rachel could tell how. When? Soon. Very soon.

  The thought of Rachel quickened his pulse. After she gave him the information he needed, he would enjoy her company. Oh yes. Slowly, and right in front of Alex. Lamar was only minutes away and he sensed Alex coming.

  Hurry, Alex. Hurry for the show.

  Chapter 43

  Dan initially yelled for Sam and Rachel, then whimpered, then barely breathed when he saw a coyote in the distance weaving back and forth between low bushes by the stream, watching the car. Granted, it was an upside-down coyote, but it could still rip his throat out. He closed his eyes and whispered, “Sam, please.”

  “It’s okay, Dan.”

  Dan opened his eyes. Sam smiled, a weird upside-down smiley face. Dan wanted to hug him.

  “Sorry I had to leave. I was trying to find something sharp to cut the seat belt. There’s a knife in the trunk, but it’s wedged shut. I don’t want to shoot that thing.”

  “Good to see you; that coyote looks hungry; my head’s cold; where’s Rachel?”

  “She’s out trying to flag down a car. Probably get someone to stop before I would.” He paused. “I never would have left you, buddy.”

  “I know that.” Dan kept jiggling at the seat belt latch. It clicked and gave way. “Got it!”

  He heard a car drive up. Sam disappeared. “Hey, I need your help to get out.”

  Dan shivered and pulled at the seat belt, but it was no looser. He craned his head trying to look out the window. No Sam.

  He heard a door slam and footsteps running away. “Sam?”

  Two shots rang out.

  “Sam? Rachel?”

  No answer.

  He pulled at the belt harder and faster but kept slipping due to cold, numb fingers. Get out. Somebody got shot. Get out now! The belt encircled his arms and leg in something akin to a fly line tangle he’d seen the one time he’d tried the stupid sport. He tried to straighten his body, but the belt seemed to cinch tighter. Goddamn Murphy and his laws.

  Footsteps sloshed outside through the shallow stream. Dan’s whole body tensed.

  Sam leaned in. “Jesus Christ. I thought you said you had it. You look like a dolphin caught in nets.” He looked out of the car for a moment. “We gotta get going.”

  He pushed in hard against Dan and jerked on different parts of the seat belt, smacking his elbow into Dan’s chest, getting way too close, making Dan’s heart race. Dan wriggled and breathed faster.

  “Hold on. I’ll be done in a sec.” Sam yanked hard.

  The belt cut into Dan’s side. “Shit!”

  “Oh get a grip.” Sam pulled hard again and the belt slid around Dan’s body like a snake and was suddenly flush with the seat like nothing had ever happened, ready for the next victim.

  Sam grabbed Dan by the armpits and dragged him out, dropping him hard in the stream, and glared at him. “There. Feel better now?”

  Dan spluttered, shivered and dripped. “What’s your problem?” Dan wanted a towel and a blanket. “I didn’t do anything. I was stuck. Why are you so mad?” He tried to get up and slipped and fell, flopped around in the stream and fell again.

  Sam watched. He started chuckling.

  “Laugh at the geek. Yeah, go ahead.” Dan’s teeth chattered.

  Sam grabbed Dan under the arm and pulled him roughly and fast, his grip squeezing too hard. “Get your geeky ass moving.”

  Dan jerked his arm away. “That hurts.”

  Sam looked out to the road. “Sorry.” He turned back to Dan. “You’re as bad as the first time I went surfing with Dad: It was New Year’s Day, Huntington Beach. I’d been at it for most of the morning in a worthless wet suit. My teeth were chattering, but a big wave came and I had to try it. It flipped me at the end, but I rode the monster most of the way. Guess that was the start of the addiction.”

  “I could use a towel.”

  Sam took off his black leather coat and draped it over Dan’s shoulders.

  Dan stood still, said nothing. Sam seemed bored.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “You’re welcome.” He looked at the road again, then back at Dan. “Goddammit this is screwed up. I just want to go back to Hawaii and my longboard.”

  Dan struggled one wet arm after another into the jacket, zipped it up and peered at Sam.

  Sam glared back, his arms wrapped tight against his chest, his black hair riffling in the cool breeze.

  Dan smiled at him, trying to cheer him up. “You don’t want to do that. You like me.”

  Dan twisted his head back and forth, squinting into the flatness, feeling very small. “Where’s Rachel?”

  Sam shook his head then looked at the upturned car. “Your coat in there?”

  “I guess.”

  Sam leaned in, sloshed around a bit, then pulled out Dan’s olive-green fleece coat, wrung it out and put it on. “We gotta get this car on its wheels and get after Rachel.”

  “Get after her?”

  “Some guy in a VW van pulled over and I thought he was going to help. But then he drove off with her. I took a couple of shots. Too far away.”

  A gust of wind came up. The car creaked and rocked. Dan wrinkled his nose at the gasoline smell.

  “I know the GMO DNA sequence,” he said. “Ready to rock and roll. We’re too close to the car. It could explode.”

  Sam frowned at him. “Even though I know you, you never cease to disgust me. I said Rachel was taken by some guy and all you think about is a program. Do people mean anything to you?”

  Sam started to walk away.

  “Of course people mean something to me. Marci, Adam, you.” He paused. “Lisette. Rachel is nice, but I just met her. Pretty hot. But I thought you and her . . . ?”

  Sam spun around. “No! We are not an item. She is married and has a kid, who by the way is with your son, and if we don’t get out of here you may never see him again.” He’d said it so loud and fast Dan barely understood. Sam didn’t usually get mad and he usually spoke at an easy pace to follow.

  Sam started walking away. “You going to get away from that car, or do you want to be a crispy critter?”

  “I thought you wanted to turn it over?”

  “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly Rocca, Mr. Reverse Atlas. We’ll need a lever. Start looking for a sturdy limb or log near this stream.”

  “I’ll flag someone else down. They could help, maybe have a rope and pull with their car?”

  “Are you trying to piss me off? That damn van was the first vehicle that came by in the last hour and a half. Rachel is moving away, even while you waste time. And I’ve got to get into the trunk. If we don’t hurry, that gas leak will explode the car. Get going.”

  “Okay, okay. Geez.”

  They ran up the creek. Nothing but small, willow-like bushes. Downstream there weren’t many trees, but there was one large almost dead cottonwood. They jogged toward the cottonwood and looked for downed but not rotten limbs. In hurried breaths Sam told Dan sketchy details about the man in the VW van: dark skin, thin, baseball cap, hoodie, baggy shorts.

  They found a long deadfall limb; Sam tested it by jumping on top of it while it leaned on a rock. They rushed back to the car. The gasoline smell was stronger. They found a basketball-sized rock for under the l
imb, leveraged the car, grunting and pushing against the weight but couldn’t get it to turn over. Dan got a little more information about the man who kidnapped Rachel. Sam thought the guy could be Jabril.

  They put all their weight into the lever. The car groaned but moved little. The engine sizzled when it touched the cold water.

  Sam ran back to the dead cottonwood, brought back a smaller limb and used it to dig a hole in the stream bed on one side of the car. The stream filled it with water and Sam wedged a few big rocks at the lip against one window frame, then they tried again. The car rolled and landed on one side. It was going to be impossible to get it on its wheels, but at least the trunk was accessible. Gas poured out into the stream.

  “Get out of here,” Sam said. Dan ran upstream behind a rock.

  Sam beat on the trunk over and over. Nothing. He grabbed a rock from the stream and beat harder. It popped open. He yanked out a briefcase and ran and joined Dan.

  They waited behind the rock. Nothing. The warmth of the sun felt good on Dan’s face. He looked around. Where had that coyote gone? He couldn’t hide in the plowed flat fields, but probably somewhere by the stream.

  Sam stood and sat the briefcase on the top of a flat rock, wiped off most of the water and opened it. It was waterproof and held his satellite phone, a notebook computer, a survival knife, and a Glock and ammunition.

  The car exploded.

  Sam stumbled onto one knee. The open briefcase jostled and fell toward the stream.

  Sam grabbed it, righted it, but the Glock fell into the water.

  “Whew,” Dan said. “Thank God you saved the computer.”

  Sam shook his head and sighed out his nose. He fished the Glock out of the water, shook it a few times, cocked it to open it, blew it out and gave it to Dan. “Dry this out. It might save our lives.”