Onio

by Jeppsen, Linell

  Blue studied the hidey-hole and nodded in agreement. “It is a good place, Ann. How long will I need to hide?”

  Andy shook his head. “Not long, if things work out. I’ll signal you when the coast is…sorry, when it’s safe to come down.”

  Blue moved to stand between the implement bin and the locker unit, nodding when Spiles hesitated, looking back at where he crouched. “Good luck, Blue. I’ll try hard to get you to safety. I’ll….” He shook his head and concluded, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Spiles took a deep breath, opened the door a crack and peered out in to the gleaming white hallway. There was no one visible along the way he and the prisoner had come, but he couldn’t tell what was on the door’s blind side. Knowing there was nothing for it, he flung the door open and stepped out of the custodial closet.

  One of the nurses stepped out of a room and turned right, away from where he stood. Looking through the far side window of another one of the hospital rooms, Spiles saw the janitor heading out of the room with two plastic bags of trash in one hand and a bottle of disinfectant in the other.

  Heart pounding hard, Spiles closed the closet door and walked away down the hallway. No alarms sounded, no claxon bells rang, and the young lieutenant gave himself a mental slap. The way he was acting was signal enough in itself, he knew. Straightening his shoulders, Spiles walked toward the concrete stairs leading down to the laundry facility.

  He heard a rustle of plastic and saw a young private heading his way with what looked like nurses uniforms slung over one finger from hangers and green scrubs folded in a pile in the crook of his left arm. The private paused, looking uncertain over how to show his respect. Spiles grinned and said, “At ease, private…carry on.”

  The private said, “Sir…thank you, sir!” and fled up the stairs.

  Spiles moved briskly down the two flights of steps and suddenly the alcohol stench of the hospital ward was replaced by the warm, starchy smell of clean laundry. He entered through the double doors and prepared to wait, but to his relief there was no one in line. He listened and heard the sound of voices in amongst the mechanical grind and whoosh of giant, industrial washers, dryers and steam presses.

  The problem, though, was the voices seemed to be coming from the area directly under the room Blue hid in. Biting his lip uncertainly, Spiles stared around the front counter. There was a compression bell on the counter, but the last thing he wanted was more attention focused on him. He saw a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the desk by the back wall and made a snap decision.

  Moving swiftly, Spiles stepped around the counter, grabbed the lighter, and walked past row after row of Army uniforms, bins of sheets and towels, and tables piled high with hoppers of socks and skivvies. He stopped and hid behind a shelf of bins as two techs moved laterally, one pushing and one pulling a giant rolling cart filled with what looked like clean bedding.

  Holding his breath and watching the two young soldiers as they struggled with their burden, Spiles saw an old Vogue magazine slipped between two plastic bins. Grabbing the mag, Spiles knelt down and put the lighter flame to the corner of the magazine’s front cover.

  Then, heart fluttering like a caged bird in his chest, Spiles spied a large canvas bin filled with loose and, better yet, dirty sheets and pillowcases. He ran to the bin, made a hole in the dirty laundry, placed the burning brand in the pile and walked away. He made it back to the counter and, wiping a shaking hand over his sweaty brow, gave the bell on the counter a sharp tap. DING!

  A young woman came around the corner and saluted. “Sir…how can I help you today?”

  She looked bewildered and rightfully so. No officer needed to come to the laundry room for their clothes, and the fact that an officer was standing at the counter, looking pissed as hell, was enough to give her a fright.

  “I’ve been banging this bell for over ten minutes, Private! I heard you and your friends having a good time in the back room at my expense! Maybe I should have a talk with your commanding officer!” Spiles barked, feeling bad for the young woman whose freckly face was shiny with steam, sweat, and now, red with embarrassment from a superior officer’s reprimand, which was probably not her fault at all.

  Suddenly, to Spiles’s relief, he heard a shout. “Hey, what the…fire! There’s a fire!” The private glanced at Spiles and then toward the sound of panicked voices.

  “Well, you’d better go and see what your friends…,” he put as much emphasis on the word as he could muster, “are up to now! I DO think I’m going to talk to your CO. Go!” he ordered and watched as the girl took off running. Then he did so as well, but in the other direction.

  Spiles slowed to a dignified pace and looked up at the chutes that hung from the ceiling like the trunks of metal elephants. There was no way of knowing which one was which but he pushed a laundry bin under each and every chute. He tried to think of a plausible reason for his actions in case anyone asked, but he needn’t have bothered. His diversion was working…maybe too well. The sounds of panicked voices and smoke were rolling through the air. The fire alarm started up with a shrill whine, and Spiles wondered if his hasty plan was going to get both of them killed.

  Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Turning around, he saw a metal chute shift slightly and glancing up, Spiles saw the rivets that held it in place on the ceiling strain and bend against the weight.

  Running back, Spiles saw that the basket was half full of stained and bloody sheets. Expecting the sasq’s feet to emerge from the bottom of the metal tubing, Spiles was shocked to see a depression appear in the laundry as something large but invisible fell upon it. Then, an unseen hand grasped his forearm and Spiles had to hold his breath to keep from screaming like a schoolgirl.

  Not knowing what else to do with this unexpected development, Spiles grasped Blues hand and pulled. The whole laundry bin tipped over as the sasq scrambled out but, thankfully, no one was there to observe the strange phenomenon.

  Smoke rolled through the air in waves and soldiers rushed to and fro holding towels and pillowcases to their mouths to keep from inhaling the noxious fumes. As fire claxons clamored and the overhead sprinklers rained stale water down on the whole smoldering mess, Spiles and his invisible companion moved quickly and calmly out the double doors, onto the loading dock area, around two fire engines, and out into the clean, cool winter night.

  Chapter 23

  Lt. Col. Terrance O’Dell stared at the monitor in silence. The fury in his electric blue eyes was enough to make Captain Mike Parks shuffle his feet nervously. Parks stood in front of the colonel’s desk, thus behind the monitor’s screen, but the flashing green dots on the screen reflected in his superior’s bifocals. The captain looked down at the carpet while the colonel tapped a staccato tattoo on the desktop with his fingertips.

  It was two days after the fire nearly destroyed the laundry facility and the secret hospital wing situated above it. The traitor, Lt. Andy Spiles, and the monster Spiles helped break out of captivity, had a two day head start. O’Dell gritted his teeth in rage. He should have known that Spiles didn’t have the balls to carry through with the mission. There was too much sensitivity…too much compassion in the man’s mild brown eyes; O’Dell had seen it. He knew that Spiles didn’t have the nerve to follow protocol when it came to dealing with the sasquatches.

  Now, the whole program was being put on hold. The “cleaners,” or disposal unit, had come in the aftermath of the fire and spirited the rest of the test subjects away to a more remote location, one not nearly as state of the art as this had been before Spiles started the blaze. The only good thing about this whole affair was that, so far, the program remained top secret, and now O’Dell had the Delta Forces at his back.

  These soldiers have some steel in their backbones, O’Dell thought approvingly, and glanced up at the soldier who stood at ease in front of the desk. “How many subjects were you able to retrieve, Captain?” O’Dell allowed his own anger and frustration to pepper the question.
This team leader needed to know who was in charge here, and he needed to know it immediately, without reservation.

  In his many years of service, O’Dell had found Delta Special Ops forces to be unequaled when it came to getting the job done. However, he also knew that often there was a dog pack mentality amongst this type of soldier. An alpha dog needed to take control immediately and emphatically, or else he would be eaten alive by the collective pack.

  Parks snapped upright and barked, “Seven subjects were re-located, sir. The others were disposed of immediately. The mission is under control, sir!”

  Flushing furiously, O’Dell clenched his jaw. Only seven left! He raged mentally, although his countenance remained calm and still. There were twenty-three test subjects only a few days ago, and now, thanks to an overzealous surgeon and a traitorous lieutenant, he was down to only seven sasquatches! Which reminded him….

  Turning to the captain, O’Dell said, “Sit down, Captain.”

  Parks sat in the straight backed chair in front of O’Dell’s desk and waited while O’Dell shut his computer down and closed the blinds that covered the office window. Satisfied, apparently, that the room was secure, O’Dell walked over to a battered credenza and grabbed two dusty tumblers from the tray on top.

  Sitting back down with a sigh, O’Dell opened the bottom drawer of his desk, producing a bottle of scotch. “Drink?” he offered.

  Knowing better than to decline a superior officer’s offer, Parks nodded and said, “Gladly sir, thank you.”

  O’Dell poured a scant finger of liquor into Park’s glass and put the bottle back in the desk drawer. Rising again, he went into the lavatory and filled his own glass with water from the sink. Returning to the desk he opened a drawer, found two Alka-Seltzer tablets, and dropped them into the water. Leaning forward slightly, the colonel gestured for Parks to come nearer and whispered, “Doctor Abernathy and his staff need to be taken care of. Do you understand me?”

  ***

  As Parks gazed into the CO’s manic blue eyes and the tablets fizzed and popped in his right ear, he truly understood, for the first time, that O’Dell was as cat-crazy as rumored, and that he would need to keep a tight leash on his troops. Most of his men were outstanding soldiers and good kids, handpicked for their individual talents in hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, or technical skills. One of Parks’s boys was actually a lousy soldier but could sweet-talk anything on four wheels into running smoothly. Still another one of his raw recruits was a genius in computer technology, a skill that he himself was sadly lacking.

  Parks knew that a CO like O’Dell, though, if left to his own devices, would turn his boys into killing machines, as unfeeling and remorseless as machine guns shot into a crowded marketplace. However, orders were orders and, for now, O’Dell was HIS commanding officer. “Yes, sir,” he answered promptly.

  Nodding in satisfaction, O’Dell sat back in his chair and rubbed tired eyes. “How long before the new facility is up and running, Captain? Have you heard?” he murmured.

  Parks dreaded giving the answer and figured there would be an angry outburst when he said, “Another two…possibly three months, sir.”

  It wasn’t his fault and he was only giving the engineer’s closest estimate, but he knew that secret, underground testing facilities, with state-of-the-art laboratories and fully equipped military bunkers, did not happen overnight. The colonel knew that as well as Parks did, but that never stopped a CO from venting his spleen on a junior officer.

  Therefore, Parks was relieved when O’Dell took the news calmly, and said, “Keep me apprised of the situation, Captain. I would like you to keep a fire burning under the engineers’ asses, as well.” Pausing, he added, “I assume there’s no word on Spiles’s location?” O’Dell’s blue eyes bored into Parks’s own.

  Parks shook his head, “No, sir. I’m sorry. We tracked his Toyota Tundra to his house on base. It was there, but no sign of Spiles. There was evidence of another vehicle in the carport and we’re running analysis on it, but, for now, Spiles is in the wind.”

  O’Dell pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Well, let me know when you pick up his trail; and Captain, let me know when that other business is finished, yes?”

  Park’s snapped a salute, “Yes sir!”

  “Dismissed,” O’Dell responded, watching as the captain turned on his heel and marched out of his office, closing the door behind him as he left.

  ***

  O’Dell turned back to his monitor and pressed the “ON” switch. He watched the ghostly green satellite image of Spiles and the sasquatch, which, for some uncanny reason, looked familiar to him, as they exited the facility and walked away into the night. Both of the escapees’ heat signatures burned brightly through the infrared camera sensors, even though every soldier on duty that night claimed that the only person they noticed leaving the burning building was Lieutenant Spiles.

  What damn trickery is this now? He wondered, uneasily. It seemed to him that every time he turned around the sasquatches were up to something new and dangerously strange. He knew that they were telepathic and pyro-kinetic, amazingly strong and as fast as the wind. He didn’t know, however, that they could disguise themselves with some sort of stealth technology.

  He could only imagine the hard-on his superiors would gain at this latest bit of intel. That was why he had all the backing he needed to pull this mission off. His commanders wanted to use the sasq as soldiers. Despite O’Dell’s personal feelings toward the monsters, even he could see the advantage of developing them as a master species of fighters. With the right amount of training, troops of sasquatch soldiers would assure victory for any ground assault launched by the United States military.

  O’Dell closed his eyes and, weaving his fingers together behind his head, leaned back for a brief catnap. The sasq would never let it happen though…he knew it. He saw their stubborn refusal even as the life force in their brownish green eyes dwindled and died. O’Dell fell asleep, and for a few moments, he dreamed of a time long ago, when he was just a boy. His eyes moved rapidly back and forth and his lips quivered with remembered agony.

  It was a hot, muggy late summer day when he and his beautiful sister, Tonya, decided to go for a swim in the river, close by their family home in Missoula, Montana. He was fourteen-years-old and Tonya, at ten years old, was as tender and ripe as a new peach. Her long blond hair hung to her waist in sweaty splendor and her wide, cornflower blue eyes were both warm and mischievous. Terry loved her like no other, and indeed, there was hardly anyone else in his life to love.

  His mother had died giving birth to her daughter and their father, Kevin O’Dell, was a cold and cruel man, who seemed, for some reason, to hold Terry responsible for anything and everything that had gone wrong in his sad, bitter life. He was career military, a staff sergeant for the USMC, and thus was on duty most of the time, to the vast relief of his two offspring. Whenever he did come home though, life turned into a nightmare for Kevin’s children. There was never a question asked that did not hold a threatening question mark on the end of it, like some poisoned and perilous triple-barbed fishing hook lurking deep in darkened waters.

  The house was never clean enough, although the children were careful to keep everything their nanny Carrie cleaned exactly as she left it. Kevin never tired of telling his kids how disappointed he was in them, and his baleful blue eyes followed them wherever they went, like the malevolent gaze of a haunted painting.

  On the fateful day of little Tonya’s disappearance, Kevin was, thankfully, gone. O’Dell’s eyelids twitched with remembered horror as, in his dream, he looked up from a new, green hatch of polliwogs, anxious to share his find with his little sister. His eyes searched the sandy beach and up further into the scrub grass and aspens that shook fitfully in the summer breeze. He couldn’t see her, and his heart thudded in his skinny chest. Standing up and peering around, Terry called her name.

  “Tonya! Where are you?” he cried. Grasshoppers hidden in the tall grass ceased t
heir incessant buzzing for a second and Terry’s ears popped with fear. He ran up the embankment and turned this way and that, searching for his sister. Then, he saw something in the near distance that made his mouth drop open in wonder.

  A huge, hairy monster stood over Tonya with a bunch of wild daisies in its hands. Terry saw that Tonya was smiling and chatting away while the beast stared down at her with a half-smile on its lips. Long, shiny fangs glittering in the heavy sunlight, the monster gave Terry a measured glance and spoke to him without using any words.

  The voice was not clear…it was more like a strong emotional impulse, communicated with the deadly accuracy of an arrow hitting its mark, than anything else. Terry felt the words pierce his mind nevertheless, and staggered under the impact. “Do not interfere child, the girl is mine now,” the monster uttered.

  Then it picked Tonya up in its arms. Terry heard his sister’s laughter and her voice rang like a bell in the quiet afternoon air. “I love you, Two Horses,” she giggled, and threw her skinny arms around the beast’s neck.

  Terry frowned. Did Tonya know this creature? Had they met before? He recalled the many times she had spoken of her imaginary “friend,” and remembered Carrie’s sage words of advice when she shrugged and declared that many children had imaginary friends but grow out of that stage of development, eventually.

  With one final glance at Terry, the beast started to walk away with Tonya in its massive arms. She still giggled with joy, as if nothing was wrong, as if her brother’s whole world was not disappearing in front of his eyes.

  “Tonya, stop! Come back!” he screamed but, like some sort of magic trick, both Tonya and the monster seemed to shimmer and vanish into the forest. He ran as fast as he could but there was nothing to see. He ran some more, tripped, and fell over a mossy tree trunk. Landing on the leafy forest floor with a twisted ankle and blood leaking from a cut on his lower lip, Terry knew that his sister was gone…forever.