Origin - Season One

by James, Nathaniel Dean

  “What’s your plan?” Amanda asked. “Jump into the back of the trailer and hope for the best?”

  “No. I don’t think it’ll come to that.”

  Francis walked to the parking lot, which was really just a large plot of unpaved dirt, and around to the front of the trucks. The Peterbilt had Canadian plates, but the Mack was registered in Tennessee. In the middle of the Mack’s driver door the artist had written John’s MH Ultraliner in red cursive letters.

  Francis reached into his backpack, took out a black beanie and put it on before walking up to the front door of the diner and taking a look inside.

  A thin man in a green and black plaid shirt and bright yellow cap sat at the counter eating. The other driver was sitting in the end booth with his back to the wall.

  Francis guessed he weighed about 350 pounds. His stomach was partly folded onto the table. There were two empty plates in front of him and two with food on them, not including the one he was currently eating from. He wore a black T-shirt with the Harley Davidson logo on it, but Francis didn’t think Harley made a bike that would be of any use to this man. He took one last look around and walked into the diner.

  What greeted him was the smell of rich food and boiling oil. It made him realize how hungry he was. Francis walked forward along the faded line in the black and white checkered linoleum, past the man sitting at the counter and took a seat on a stool two places down. A man in his fifties wearing a stained chef’s apron was standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He appeared to be fighting a losing battle to hang on to his few remaining teeth.

  “I’ll be right with you,” he said and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  Francis studied the two guests, trying to guess who was the American. He didn’t want to offend either of them by getting it wrong, so he just said, “Which one of you boys is the proud owner of that doozy of an Ultraliner out there?”

  The one at the table raised his hand. He pointed first to himself, then at his mouth to indicate he intended to talk when he’d finished chewing.

  “That’ll be me,” he said, patting his stomach.

  “That’s one hell of a paint job,” Francis said.

  “Cousin’s an artist,” he said. “Took him two years on account of my bein’ gone most of the time.”

  The big man had a heavy southern drawl. The other driver appeared either not to understand, or to be uninterested in the conversation. Francis thought he was probably French Canadian. Before Francis could say anything else the man beat him to it. “You lookin’ to go somewhere, stranger?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Francis said.

  “Quebec’s where I’m headed. You’re welcome to share the load. But I warn you now, I like ZZ Top and Credence. If that disagrees with ya, you’ll be better off waiting for the next bus.”

  “Green River was the first album I ever bought,” Francis lied.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” the man said. “Take a seat. I like you already.”

  – – –

  When Francis wasn’t back after twenty minutes, Jesse and Amanda started getting worried.

  “Jesse, what the hell are we doing?” Amanda said. “How do we even know what he’s saying is true?”

  “You think he’s crazy?”

  “I don’t think he’s crazy,” Amanda said. “But he’s definitely weird. Did he tell you who he is or how he knew about the money?”

  “No. But I think he might have been following the woman. He doesn’t even care about the money. He just wanted the hard drive.”

  “And the men he said he killed? Who were they?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was following them. But if we’re in danger like he says, I think we’re better off with him. He seems to know what he’s doing.”

  “Yeah, that’s what worries me,” Amanda said. “He seems to know exactly what he’s doing. You think he’s a cop?”

  “No way,” Jesse said.

  “Then what? Some kind of stray wandering hero?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Jesse, I’m serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “You think he’s one of those kick-your-ass-anytime army guys?” Amanda said.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not what you call them, but yeah, I think he’s a kick-your-ass-anytime army guy of some kind. Maybe a SEAL or something.”

  “He looks more like a human to me,” Amanda said.

  “Stop it. You know what I mean.”

  “No, Jesse. I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

  “A Navy SEAL. They’re like Special Forces. All that undercover, covert ops shit.”

  “You mean he’ll get to be governor of California one day?”

  “Mandy, stop kidding around, this is serious.”

  “That’s how I deal with serious shit, Jesse.” Amanda said. “Or have you forgotten?”

  Jesse looked at her and saw she wasn’t joking.

  “Well I don’t think he’s kidding around,” Jesse said and pointed towards the diner. Amanda moved forward to look.

  “Wow,” she said. “I think he’s befriended the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.”

  Jesse, who had once been an avid collector of comics, thought the man resembled more what the Kingpin might look like if he became five feet shorter without losing any weight. The man walking next to Francis was at least a foot taller and probably three times as heavy. They disappeared behind the trailer. A moment later they saw the cab of the truck with the paint job rock back and forth several times. Francis came around to the passenger’s side, climbed up the steps and got in.

  “Great. He’s decided to go on without us,” Amanda said.

  “I don’t think so,” Jesse said. “He probably hasn’t told him about us yet.”

  A minute later Francis opened the door and climbed down. “Guys. You can come out now.”

  His name turned out to be John Mathis, Big John to his friends. He was from Murfreesboro, Tennessee and owned a two-truck fleet that he ran with his cousin. They transported car seats made in Nashville to a Ford plant outside Quebec. The first thing he did when he met Amanda was make her feel guilty for calling him the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man by being one of the nicest people she had ever met. He showed them into the sleeping cabin behind the seats, which looked more like a small living room. There was a TV, fridge and microwave. The folding bed had been pushed up and turned into a couch complete with cushions and armrests. Big John offered them coffee then pointed to a cabinet mounted to one side of the cabin and told them to help themselves to his personal stash of Twinkies, Hostess Cupcakes and Oreos. Francis gave them each a Styrofoam box containing a freshly cooked cheeseburger and fries.

  Big John started the truck and put it in first gear. No sooner had they set off than he turned and said, “I’m gonna kill the lights back there and pull the curtain now. Border’s not far.”

  They sat listening in darkness as the truck rumbled to a stop and Big John rolled down his window.

  “Hey there, Mike, how’s life been treatin’ ya?” Big John said.

  The voice that answered him was jovial and familiar.

  “Hey, Big J. Can’t complain. Where you been? I haven’t seen you in a week.”

  “Down Arkansas way visitin’ Pauline’s folks. You seen Ned?”

  “Yeah, he passed through around six.”

  “Well, I’d better get goin’. Wanna try and get back myself by ten.”

  “See ya later. Drive safe.”

  “You betcha.”

  The truck started and began to move. A moment later they were stopping again. Big John leaned over and pulled the curtain aside. “Darlin’, can you reach under the seat there and grab me them cartons of cigarettes?”

  Amanda did. A moment later Big John rolled down his window again and said, “Hey, Karl. What’s new?”

  “Oh, nothing much. Quiet evening. Your cousin passed through here a while back.”

  “Yeah, I heard.”

  The door opened briefly a
nd then shut again.

  “Same old?” Big John asked.

  “I don’t know. The fellas say I should maybe try lights. I tell you what, get me a carton of lights and one of reds. I’ll give it a shot.”

  “You got it,” Big John said.

  “All right John, I’ll see ya later.”

  “Take care,” Big John said and rolled up the window.

  This time they moved off and picked up speed. A minute later the light came back on and Big John pulled back the curtain.

  “Like stealin’ candy from a baby, right?” he said, smiling.

  “I’m impressed,” Francis said.

  “The fifty-five’s about two and a half hours away,” Big John said. “You folks might want to get some shut-eye.”

  “I’ll join you up front,” Francis said.

  “I’ll take you up on that, Big John,” Amanda said and yawned, which got Jesse doing the same.

  Francis climbed into the passenger’s seat, then reached back and closed the curtain.

  “Y’all want the light out back there?” Big John asked.

  “Yes, please. So we can sleep,” Amanda said.

  “All right, little lady,” Big John said laughing. “Ain’t none of my beeswax either way.”

  Amanda leaned her head back on Jesse’s shoulder. “I’m just resting my eyes.”

  She was asleep less than a minute later.

  Chapter 22

  Skyline Defense New York, New York Tuesday 18 July 2006

  0500 EDT

  To a casual observer Jack Fielding would probably have looked dead. He had fallen asleep behind his desk with his head tilted back and his mouth ajar.

  His eyes suddenly snapped open and he sat forward, looking around the office as if he’d never seen it before. He looked down at his phone, slowly vibrating toward the edge of the desk and picked it up. “Rollins?”

  “No, it’s Marius.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Five. I think you better get up here.”

  Jack, still half asleep, found Marius watching the CNN news feed on one of the monitors. The picture changed from the scene of a burnt-out car jammed beneath the undercarriage of a charred John Deere tractor to a woman standing in front of a single story brick building. A brown and white police cruiser with the words Orleans County Sheriff stenciled to the door was parked behind her.

  “The local sheriff’s office has yet to make a statement to the press,” the reporter said. “This may be explained by the presence of both the FBI and the Department of Homeland Security, who we can only assume want more time to figure out exactly what happened here. All we know for now is that sometime in the early hours of the morning, this sleepy little New England town became the scene of several brutal murders, including that of an unidentified woman just outside the town on Interstate 91. A source at the local paper says some of the victims may have been federal officers, a claim that has yet to be confirmed or denied.”

  The picture changed again to the studio where the anchor appeared to be unaware he was back on camera. He was reading something from the screen on his desk when he suddenly looked up, flustered. “And we’ll return to the town of Morisson shortly, but we’ve just received word that two local residents have also been reported missing. We’re waiting for confirmation of the names, but this surely adds yet another mystery to what is already a very confused scene. We’ll of course bring you more as soon as we get it.”

  Marius looked up at Jack. “We need to call Carl.”

  Jack seemed not to hear him. His eyes were fixed on the screen.

  “Jack, we need to wake up Carl.”

  “What?”

  “This is serious shit, Jack. Rollins is dead. And the Ross woman. What the hell happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack said, still not quite able to comprehend what was going on. “I need a minute to think.”

  “I’m calling Carl,” Marius said and reached for the phone.

  Jack grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  All thoughts of lies and why you shouldn’t tell them fled Jack’s racing mind. He clutched at the first thing that came into his head. “Carl is the one behind this. I couldn’t tell you before because we didn’t know if you could be trusted.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jack sat down in the chair next to Marius and did his best to look as grave as possible. “Caroline called me from Zurich a couple of weeks ago. She told me that a company had been buying technology from someone inside Skyline. Not just from Albion. She said it had to be someone here because everything was being downloaded from the mainframe and printed off. We thought it had to be you at first. But I began to follow Carl, you know, just in case. He’s been meeting Gerald Ross.”

  Marius looked like he had suddenly developed Down’s syndrome.

  “Marius?” Jack said.

  “What?”

  “You okay?”

  “I don’t understand. How…”

  “It’s all right. I didn’t believe it myself at first.”

  “What are we supposed to do?” Marius said.

  “Nothing. We let him think he’s gotten away with it. I’ll deal with Carl. What I need you to do is carry on as usual. If I need your help, I’ll ask. Can you do that?”

  Marius nodded. “I don’t know. I guess, yeah.”

  “Good. I need you to keep your shit together. Caroline is sending Titov. All we need to do is sit tight until he gets here.”

  Chapter 23

  Sainte Eulalie, Quebec

  Tuesday 18 July 2006

  0745 EDT

  Big John turned on the hazard lights, downshifted and eased off the highway onto the escape lane. When the truck came to a stop, he held out a hand to Francis. “It’s been a pleasure, sir.”

  “You’re an all-American hero,” Francis said.

  Francis climbed out of the cab and stood stretching his legs. Amanda and Jesse climbed over the seat and followed him down.

  “You kids take care,” Big John said.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Amanda said.

  “Nice truck,” Jesse added. “Really awesome.”

  Francis climbed back up the steps and handed Big John five hundred-dollar bills.

  “Not on your life,” Big John said.

  “It’s not for the ride. I’m going to ask you not to tell anyone about this.”

  “I gathered you would. I can keep a secret, don’t you worry.”

  “I’m sure you can but I’d feel a lot better knowing I’d made it worth your while.”

  Big John hesitated, then took the money. “I’ll accept it as a contribution to my daughter’s tuition fund.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Francis said. “Drive safe.”

  “Always do.”

  They stood watching until the truck was out of sight. Amanda looked around at the desolate landscape and rubbed her eyes. “Great. Now what?”

  “We walk,” Francis said.

  “Where?” Jesse said.

  “There’s a town about fifteen miles in that direction,” Francis said, pointing across the highway at a two-lane road that marched straight as an arrow into the flat country beyond.

  “Fifteen miles?” Amanda said.

  “It sounds worse than it is,” Francis said.

  “Really? Because to my mind fifteen miles is where the earth ends in walking terms,” Amanda said.

  “Chances are someone will stop. People out here almost always do.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Amanda said.

  “Come on,” Francis said. “The sooner we get moving, the better.”

  Francis set off across the highway and Amanda fell in behind him, but Jesse didn’t move.

  “Okay, kid. Out with it,” Francis said.

  “I’m not going anywhere until we get some answers,” Jesse said.

  It was obvious Jesse had been planning this little mutiny. It was in the eyes and the way he tried to look calm, despite clearl
y being anything but.

  “Bearing in mind I don’t know that much myself,” Francis said, “what would you like to know?”

  “Who are you? That would be a good start.”

  “Can this wait until we get off the highway at least? It’s not a good place to have a conversation when you’re on the run.”

  “Fine. But then you start talking.”

  “All right.”

  They crossed the highway and cut over a field to avoid the junction. When they reached the road Francis set the pace and positioned himself between Jesse and Amanda. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

  “What’s your name?” Jesse asked.

  “I’ve got a few.”

  “Great. So what should we call you?”

  “Call me whatever you want,” Francis said.

  Jesse stopped. For a second Francis thought the kid was going to take a swing at him. “I’m being serious! Do you understand the idea of empathy? Do you see how goddamned crazy all this is to me? To us?”

  Amanda put a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Jess. I’m sure he’ll tell us.”

  She looked at Francis. “Right?”

  Francis studied them for moment. “Okay, call me Eddie. It’s what my mother wanted to name me.”

  Jesse shrugged as if to say he didn’t care one way or the other. Francis began walking again. For a minute none of them spoke, then Jesse said, “Are my parents – our parents – in danger?”

  “I’d like to promise you that they aren’t,” Francis said. “But I don’t think you’d believe me. And calling them wouldn’t change that, if that’s what you’re thinking. If you want my opinion though, I’d say they aren’t.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Jesse asked.

  “I didn’t say I was sure. But harming your parents would achieve nothing as long as you don’t contact them and they can’t get hold of you. I’m assuming neither of you has spoken to them about the drive.”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Good. Then I’d say they aren’t in any danger. Does anyone else know?”

  They shook their heads again.

  “Well, that’s a start. What else do you want to know?”

  “Were you following the woman?” Jesse asked.