by B. C. Tweedt
He fell back against a seat, still fighting the overwhelming battle inside. Just when he thought it was over, it still surged. It was relentless. It wouldn’t be easy. Not for him, not for the country.
“You alright?” Forge asked from the pilot’s seat.
Pushing the regret aside, he gave the thumbs up.
“Good. We’ve got a lead on the nuclear material from Pantex. It was transported to Kansas City before being dispersed in five different directions.”
“Then what the heck are we hoverin’ here for, ButtWipe?”
Forge shook his head with a laugh.
The VTOL’s rotors turned, and they launched forward, leaving the mountains and the lake behind.
Chapter 85
Now
The boy in the red hat seemed beyond weary as the questions continued in the video. The skin around his eyes was swollen from tears and tiredness, his lips chapped and voice raspy. Finally, it seemed that the questioner was nearing the end.
“Why did you leave FBI protection? Travel across the country as a fugitive?”
The boy sighed. “I know it’s dumb. I know, alright? But I…I just thought…I just thought I might find my dad.”
Cael watched as the man watching the video fidgeted in front of the television.
“They wouldn’t let me leave, so I had to run. And now they’re trying to kill me. But still. I promised Mom I’d come back with him, or I’d come back dead. I had to try. And I still will.”
The figure stood, blocking the screen as he shut it off. The cave grew darker still, leaving but a silhouette as he turned to Cael. There was a long pause as he walked toward Cael, slow, holding his head with both hands.
Neeson’s face entered the light coming in through the doorway’s edges. He was in pain, grimacing as he rubbed his temples.
Cael looked into his perplexed green eyes. Saw him chew his lower lip as he thought to himself. He saw the resemblance to the boy in the video. Had Neeson seen it? Had he believed it?
“Well?” Cael asked.
Neeson sighed, long and deep, anger and pain flickering in his eyes.
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Sam stood over his father’s sleeping figure. For a moment he saw him not only as his father – the man he’d grown to know and love – but as the man others saw him. A force of reckoning. An upholder of justice. Strong, relentless, fearless. The next in line to be the most powerful man in the world.
And here he was, sleeping. Helpless.
Sam had second thoughts, but they weren’t as strong as his first.
He checked the HR cuff’s setting one more time. Recalled the instruction that had been taped to the underside. Remembered testing it on himself on the highest heart-rate setting. The pain, panic.
He grasped the device in one hand as his other hand pulled back the covers from his father’s fingers, revealing the thin undershirt over his chest.
Again his conscience tried to stop him. Again he defeated it, letting the device hover over his father’s heart.
Then, before another hesitation, he placed his weight over the device, put both hands on it, and readied for the lunge.
“Sam?”
He slammed the device down until he felt it against his dad’s ribs; then he stumbled backward, tripping on his own feet. From the carpet, he saw his father’s body spasm beneath the sheets. The fear, the panic erupted in his own heart, even as his father’s stopped.
No, no, no! I shouldn’t have! My father!
He stood up and took a timid step forward. The sight was painful even to see. His father’s surprised eyes were wide open, his jaw slack and face turning blue. In the fear and panic, he almost forgot.
Quickly, he scanned the device. The green function light was on, the readout with a clear “0” for the heart rate. In a panic, his fingers flew to the keypad, typed in the code, and turned the dial up to four.
He saw the device thump with his dad’s heart. A breath escaped and the panic faded from his father’s eyes. A hint of color returned.
But he’d need to wait another fifteen seconds before the next beat.
A sense of relief washed over him, leaving a gritty film of regret.
“I’m sorry,” Sam blubbered when his dad’s eyes rested on his, still wide.
But his father didn’t reply. He couldn’t. But his eyes danced around until they landed on his son. His brow creased.
Sorry…
And then Sam remembered. The whole purpose of it all.
In a moment he had retrieved the case from underneath the bed, plopping it on the sheets. He slipped his finger in, felt the pinprick. After an agonizing wait, he heard the mechanism unlatch.
“You…” came a light whisper.
Sam turned to his dad. He hadn’t moved, but his lips had.
“…won’t…”
Sam’s hands rested on the lid.
“…under…stand.”
The case was opened. The secrets of his father’s life in his hands.
“You do, though, don’t you?” Sam asked, hoping for forgiveness. “That I have to?”
His father closed his eyes. A tear was pushed free.
Sam breathed hard. Once. Twice. And then looked inside.
Epilogue
Drake walked Sydney to her cabin, opening the door for her. “Better leave you here,” he said. “I’m a firm believer in no purpling.”
She arched her brow, pausing in the doorway. “Purpling?”
He blushed. “You know…blue and pink…boys and girls…combined…”
“Oh,” she said. “No purpling. Got it.”
“Good,” he said with his goofy smile, scratching behind his ears. “But anyway, I…I know I’m not Greyson.” He glanced away. “But I’m here for now. If you need anything. My squad is your squad. Our squad.”
She nodded with a smile. “Thanks, Drake. Good night.”
“Night,” he said, backing down the snowy steps with his guitar on his back.
She closed the door and rested her forehead against it. He was a gem. Listened. Reassured her. Asked her questions without condescension. A great guy.
But he was right. He wasn’t Greyson.
The feeling of impending tears returned, but no more came. She was all out, she supposed. They were all mixed with the snow outside or soaked into Drake’s shoulder.
Looking for a distraction, she quickly turned to those sleeping inside. There was Beep and Avery crowded on one bed, Ankeny on another, and the rest filled with women and children. The place was already a mess, overcrowded with things she thought they had left behind at camp. Clothes and MRE wrappers decorated the floor, along with melted snow and mud.
Seeking to occupy herself with a task, she picked up trash, wiped the floors, and pushed people’s belongings to their own beds. Finally thinking about sleep, she eyed Ankeny taking most of the bed. Squeezing next to Ankeny had been unpleasant the last few nights. Maybe it was time to try the floor. She sighed and began to fold a blanket she could use as a pillow.
She was laying the blanket down when a blast of light swept through the drapes. There was a rush of wind and a pattering of snow against the door.
The breath caught in Sydney’s throat, and she padded to the doorway. The light etched the door’s edges. It was bright. Strong.
Hope rose in her heart, but she tried to quash it with her lips. Still her hand trembled as it turned the knob – pushed the door open. The VTOL’s rotors thumped loud over the sleepers; the spotlight bathed them in white.
A boy’s silhouette stood outside in the midst of the light, the shape of a fanny pack drooping at his hip and a German Shepherd at his side.
“Syd.” His voice made her lip quiver. Maybe it was the cold.
She thought to close the door behind her, stepping onto the snowpack, crunching closer to him as the snow fell in large petals. “Greyson?” She stepped closer, catching him in different light. H
is handsome, shy face appeared. He was breathing hard, leaning forward and then back as if trying to decide to come to her.
“You…you okay?” she asked.
“I’m tired of leaving things behind,” he yelled over the thumping.
“Wh-what?”
He took a step as big as his breath, but his voice wavered. “Not a thing…but I was confused. I just wanted you to be happy, and I wanted us to fight for our country, but I didn’t know how to do both.”
Her heart was racing faster and faster. The flakes landed in her hair, her eyelashes. She crossed her arms to hide the shaking. But she couldn’t move forward. Not yet. “What are you saying?”
“You said that I…I’m what’s best for you. Did you mean it?”
There was little hesitation. “Yes.”
His body stiffened, and he set his jaw. “Then I want you to be with me.”
She gulped. Blinked at the flakes on her eyelashes. Her cold hands rubbed her arms, shaking.
“Come with me.”
“Are…are you sure? They’ll let you? Let me?”
“It took some convincing. But they owed me one.”
Her shaking grew worse as the snow collected on her skin, but she couldn’t stop staring at Greyson’s figure, the snow dusting around him. He must have seen her shaking, as he walked to her, closer than he had in a long time, but still at arm’s length. His gloved fingers reached out timidly and wrapped around her fingers.
He was staring down at her, suddenly taller. His touch stronger. His eyes more sure. “You were right. I was afraid. Afraid of getting all attached – and then losing you. But I can protect you.”
His fingers wiped at the snow on her arms, giving her unbearable tingles. But her defenses came up. “And I can protect you.” She poked his vest.
He laughed. “Exactly. We’re better together, right?”
She couldn’t find the words. She had been right. He had changed. But he still had an innocent awkwardness, keeping himself at arm’s length. His forearms touched hers.
“We should go,” he said. “You’re cold.”
“You’re cold, too,” she said, noticing his chattering teeth.
“I get cold when I’m nervous.”
She crossed her arms, waiting. “Then um…are you going to hug me, or should I get a coat?”
Her words struck him. His eyes shot to small globes. But then they softened and he took another step closer, his white breath as hot against her forehead as the flakes were cold.
“My coat’s just inside…” she said with a smirk.
In a flash he was hugging her and she was hugging him. His hat fell off; he didn’t move to collect it. The warmth was inside and out, and she didn’t want to leave. The beating rotors, the whipping snow, and the peeping toms applauding in the window were a blur. She only felt his arms rubbing her back, his heart thumping against her ear, his lips kissing her head – just once.
She was surprised by her happiness. It was thorough and vibrant, untouched by past failures and future worries. She squeezed him, unashamed – even with the girls watching her from the doorway now.
She had a sudden thought and couldn’t help herself. Leaning back to look him in his eyes, she asked, “Is it ok that I’m holding you back?”
The twinkle in his eyes showed that he understood. “Only if I can hold you back, too.”
They embraced again as the snow continued to fall.
“Orphan! Dancer!” Forge called from the VTOL.
Sydney pulled back from Greyson’s chest. “What he call me?”
His eyes tried to hide.
“You know that’s my horse’s name…?”
He grabbed his hat then pulled her toward the aircraft. “They needed a call-sign for you.”
They jogged hand-in-hand, Sydney’s grip tightening. “And that’s what you thought of?”
“They didn’t like ‘DeerGirl’.”
“Well, thank goodness!”
Greyson smirked as he helped her in. “You can’t pick your own name.”
“I didn’t get to pick your name. Why did you get to pick mine?”
They found seats, getting looks from the soldiers beside them. “What if you did get to pick mine?” he asked. “What would you call me?”
Now she smirked, buckling in. “You don’t want to know.”
“Stud? Maverick? Hoss?”
“Nope. How about FannyPacker?”
Greyson made a face as SmokeStack joined in Sydney’s laughter. The VTOL lifted off, shaking their feet, leaving their laughter behind.
“FannyPacker? That’s what you’d pick?”
“Yeah.”
“How about I pick your face?”
“What…my nose?”
“No, your face.”
“How do you pick a face?”
“I’ll show you,” he said, poking his finger near her mouth.
“Gross! Stop!” she begged, giggling.
“Just hold still!”
Their arms clashed, wrestling in a poking war, their elbows jostling the soldiers on their sides. They were having fun – genuine fun. Until it ended.
RI-IIIIIIIIP!
Sydney and Greyson froze, inches from poking each other’s face as Diablo came at them with a roll of duct tape.
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A young woman climbed the billboard. Precise movements. Quiet in the dark. Dressed in all black. She was nimble and prepared. When she reached the top, she shook the spray paint and surveyed her canvas.
THERE IS NO SUCH THING
AS A “CIVIL” WAR.
In small letters on the bottom, the message was sponsored by the PAAC. Peace at all costs? She laughed. By the looks of the ragged Dallas skyline, with a chunk taken out of the Reunion Tower, they’d run out of money.
She took the collapsible stepstool from her backpack and used it to reach her first letter. It took two cans of spray-paint, but her deed was done in five minutes. She left just as quietly, stopping a hundred yards out to admire her work before disappearing into the field. She even snapped a picture, making sure to get the fractured Dallas skyline in the background.
The message was clear.
T HERE IS NO SUCH THING
AS A “CIVIL” WAR.
END OF BOOK FOUR
Dear Reader,
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Keep watching for Book 5 of
The Greyson Gray Series
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
B.C. Tweedt lives in North Liberty, Iowa, with his beautiful wife, Julie, and his son, Maverick. Because he can be a big kid at times, he enjoys hanging with other kids. He volunteers at a youth group and mentors boys in his free time. There is nothing he loves more than seeing kids grow in wisdom and character. The characters in The Greyson Gray Series are a conglomeration of many of the real personalities and humors he knows and interacts with on a daily basis.
Though Greyson Gray: Rubicon is only the fourth book published from B.C. Tweedt, he has plans for a fairly long series, following Greyson as he grows up in an increasingly divided and threatening world. B.C. has thoroughly enjoyed brainstorming ideas for this series while running, listening to epic movie soundtracks, and researching in exotic places like the Bahamas…and Texas.
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B.C. Tweedt, Greyson Gray: Rubicon (Exciting Action Series for Boys Age 10-14) (The Greyson Gray Series)