by Jeff Gunhus
He spotted a small metal box mounted on the ceiling of the tunnel. He turned the light on it and froze. It was a camera staring right at him.
“Oh shit,” he breathed.
But then he noticed the light reflecting at an odd angle and he stepped in for a closer look. The camera lens was shattered, tiny shards of glass littering the floor beneath it. A black mark on the side of the plastic housing gave him a clue as to what had happened.
“What is it?” Cassie called from outside.
“No booby traps that I can see. There’s a camera, but looks like it got fried.”
“I’m coming in,” she said.
He pushed out on the door from the inside to create a gap as Cassie slid underneath it. She stood up and inspected the area just as he had.
“No boogeymen?” she asked. Her voice sounded steady, cocky even. But Rick aimed the flashlight at her hands and saw them shaking.
“Not yet,” he said. “But chances are they know something’s going on down here.”
“Then we should get going,” she said, walking into the tunnel.
Rick grabbed her shoulder and stopped her. “You don’t have to do this whole macho thing, all right?”
“What are you––”
“Being reckless doesn’t make you less scared. It just gets you dead quicker.”
Cassie took a deep breath, the exhale rattling as if she were shivering from cold. She nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We run at half-speed. I go first. I know what to look for. The good news is that the ground’s solid. The walls are solid. So it’s hard for them to hide anything too easily.” Fishing line tripwire and a small directional explosive would be easy enough to hide, but he didn’t feel any need to worry her. “I don’t think they would want to risk a cave-in unless they chose to do it on purpose. So if I make a mistake, if I do hit something, it’s probably going to be small. You stay behind me. Step where I’ve already stepped, and you’ll be fine.”
“And if you set something off?”
“Then you’ll have one less booby trap to worry about,” Rick said. “Let’s go.”
Rick walked past her, scanning the ground and walls for wires or sensors. He knew it would have been simple for them to install dozens of explosive devices within the rock walls, using sensors the size of a shirt button as a trigger. He felt naked without the sophisticated countermeasures he’d had at his disposal in the military. He would have paid top dollar to have his old robo-drone flying next to him, scanning for dangers, and a frequency jammer in his backpack to disrupt all wireless signals from sensors to bombs. But now it was just him. Flesh, blood and bone, relying on a flashlight and his aging eyes to keep him alive.
But as he started to run, he used the old trick he’d learned during the war. He cleared his mind of the mission and instead thought about why he was on the mission. Back then, he’d used a single moment in his life as his why, a day so perfect that it’d become a touchstone for him his entire adult life.
It was a little league baseball game when he was twelve, right at the park downtown. There was nothing spectacular about it; he didn’t even remember whether his team won or not. But he remembered the smells. Hot dogs on the grill. Cut grass. The clay mix of the infield on his hands. The oil on his leather glove. He could hear his parents cheering. In his mind he could see his buddies in their uniforms, shirts tucked in, cleats ready to dig hard on the base path. Mr. Franklin, the math teacher, was transformed into a true-life umpire with an outfit just like they wore on TV. He felt the easy cadence of the game. The peace that there was nowhere else to be and no reason to hurry. A perfect day. And exactly the reminder he’d needed during the war that he wasn’t fighting to kill Jihadis, he wasn’t avenging the brothers he’d seen killed next to him, he was fighting for some other twelve-year-old back at home having that same kind of day.
Some of those same images floated through his head as he ran, but he couldn’t lock on them the way he used to. They danced around, interrupted with horrific imaginings of shrapnel blowing his body apart. Or claustrophobia brought on by the walls of the tunnel pressing in on him from all sides, the oppressive darkness pushing against the feeble beam of light from his flashlight.
Then an image of Charlie came to him. And then of Dahlia. He was walking through Town Square with her, so close they were touching. Charlie was ahead of them, laughing as he chased squirrels, having a perfect day of his own.
They were his why now. And they were somewhere inside the mountain, taken there for God knew what purpose. It was up to him to find them and get them the hell out of there.
He realized he was no longer jogging, but was at a full run. He pushed himself faster, hardly looking for the traps. They were either there or they weren’t. Even at half-speed, he doubted he’d catch it in time if he did hit one, so what was the point.
“Rick, slow down,” Cassie called from behind him.
But he didn’t slow down. He wasn’t sure he could if he tried. Something inside of him had broken open. All the stress and the anguish of the past couple of hours were pouring out of him as he sprinted down the tunnel. Harder and harder. Panting from the exertion. The image of Charlie and Dahlia messed with his mind as it fluctuated between the scene in the square and the worst, most depraved tortures he could imagine, with Keefer holding a knife or a saw or a hammer, and Dahlia and Charlie screaming in pain.
He had to reach them. He had to save them.
He dug deep and ran faster.
So fast that by the time he noticed the three red blinking lights streaking toward him from the darkness, it was too late to do anything about it.
43
Keefer walked up to the wall of TV displays now filled with a larger than life image of Rick Johnson. “I’ll be goddamned,” Keefer whispered. “You are a resilient son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“Remove your weapon,” the soldier said into a microphone.
On the screen, Rick flinched, obviously hearing the soldier’s voice.
“These are semi-autonomous armed drones,” the soldier said in his flat tone. “They are programmed to interpret an aggressive movement as a threat. Sudden movement on your part may result in immediate injury or death.” The soldier cocked his head toward Keefer. “Shall I terminate the target, sir?”
“No,” Keefer said. “Remove auto-response features.”
“Request confirmation of order to remove auto-response features.”
Keefer narrowed his eyes. The request to confirm felt dangerously close to challenging the order. But the man’s dispassionate voice made him view the interaction as just programming, as if he was talking to a computer and not a human. He wondered what the difference really was anymore. On the screen, Rick lowered his rifle to the ground. An M-1. That meant one of his men was missing. That meant that either Estevez didn’t know one of his men was MIA, or that he knew and was keeping it from him. Either was unacceptable.
Keefer looked closely at the man on the screen. This was the kind of soldier he needed to win over to his cause if a new America was to be built. The thought gave him an idea. “Order confirmed.”
“Auto-response features disabled.”
“Patch me into audio,” Keefer said. “And summon Major Estevez to the control room.”
There was a slight pause and then the technician said, “Go ahead, sir. You’re live.”
“Rick? This is Keefer.”
Rick’s expression had gone from shock to fear, but hearing Keefer’s voice changed it immediately to anger.
“Keefer, why don’t you come down here so we can talk.”
The drones circled him, giving Keefer a view from three different angles and painting Rick with their spotlights.
“I thought you were dead. Glad to see you made it,” Keefer said.
All three screens showed images of Rick’s middle fingers.
Keefer chuckled. “Goddamn Marines,” he said to himself.
“What the h
ell is this?” Estevez said behind him.
Keefer waved the man forward and gave the tech a slicing motion to cut off the audio. “You told me this guy was dead. That you took care of it yourself.”
“I …I didn’t … I assigned one of my men.”
“Did you confirm with your man that the job was done?” Keefer asked. “Did he lie to you?”
“I … I don’t …”
“I … I don’t …” Keefer mimicked. “Are all your men accounted for?”
Estevez was about to snap an answer. If Keefer was a betting man, and he was, he would have paid good money that he was about to answer in the affirmative. But at least Estevez wasn’t an idiot. He spotted the M-1 on the ground next to Rick.
“No one’s been reported missing,” he said.
“But there was a complete roster call before we locked up?”
Keefer knew there couldn’t have been, otherwise Estevez would already know someone was missing. Still, he wanted his young officer to feel some pain from his mistake.
“No one was unaccounted for.”
“Raise your hand if you’re not here. Is that how it went down?”
Estevez glanced at the technician. Dressing down the second-in-command in front of one of the enlisted men was tough medicine, but Keefer didn’t do anything by accident. Word would get out that Estevez had blown a basic operational doctrine, leave no man behind, and as a result had put the entire operation at risk. Keefer knew that Estevez was popular with the younger men, many of whom had served under him in combat, and Keefer would need bad facts like this piled up against Estevez if he wanted to make a change later.
“I’ll do a full count right away.”
“Sir, the subject is running.”
Keefer and Estevez looked at the screen. Two images were from behind Rick, one high and one low. The third image was in front of him, the drone flying backward and maintaining a ten-foot distance. Rick’s face strained with the effort, his eyes bulging and teeth bared as he sprinted forward.
“Did he know we turned off the semi-auto functions?” Keefer asked.
“No, sir.”
“Why did you do that?” Estevez said.
Keefer spun around on Estevez, his right hand involuntarily curled into a fist. The man noticed it but didn’t take a step back. Yes, this one was going to be trouble.
“We’re supposed to change the course of human history two hours from now,” Keefer said. “Why don’t you go see if you can count to ninety-five and see how many men you’re missing?”
Estevez didn’t move. Their eyes were locked. Keefer became suddenly aware that there were only three people in the room. Him, Estevez and the tech. And he realized he didn’t know the tech that well, which meant he was one of Estevez’s men.
Maybe his second-in-command had somehow manufactured this moment to be alone with him. If so, it’d been a long time coming, but Keefer was angry at himself that he’d allowed Estevez to beat him to the punch.
The tech didn’t move. The only sounds in the room came from the drones’ audio feed filling air with Rick’s ragged breathing as he ran for his life.
“Was there something else?” Keefer asked.
The two real questions were left unsaid, but both men knew what they were.
How bad did the younger man want the throne? And did he have the balls to make his move?
Estevez glanced at the screens then back at Keefer. By the younger man’s expression, Keefer judged there was no doubt about the answer to the first question. When he turned heel and marched out of the room, the second question was also answered.
Keefer was relieved to have survived his own mistake of being alone and unarmed. From that point on, he would have his personal guard stationed with him, or at least drones keyed off his voice command. It’d been a nervous moment, but now he felt strangely relieved. Not because the younger man hadn’t made his move, but because Keefer had been struggling with what to do about young Estevez. This last interaction proved he had no choice but to remove him. He just needed to be smart about when and how he did it.
A cry from the speakers shook Keefer from his thoughts. He looked up at the screens and saw Rick sprawled on the ground.
“What happened?” he asked the tech.
“He just tripped.”
Keefer walked closer to the technician. “Notify Walker, Palmer and Chan to report here. Armed.”
Seconds later, without speaking or moving, the technician nodded. “They’re en route.”
“Audio,” Keefer said. The technician nodded. “Rick, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Coming to kill you,” Rick said, his voice booming in the room.
Keefer laughed. Despite everything, he was starting to like this Marine.
“You can kill me later,” he said. “Catch your breath for a second.”
Rick pulled himself to his feet. He looked like hell in the harsh light of the drones. He continued to walk up the mineshaft, noticeably limping.
“Where’s Dr. Baker?” he asked.
“She’s dead,” Rick said, spitting at the drone nearest him. “One of your men, Jacobs, tried to rape her. Let’s just say he didn’t get to finish. Real classy group you’ve got here, Keefer.”
Keefer searched the screens to try to catch any trace that Rick was lying. As much as he hated to admit it, the story was believable. These men, especially the ones brought in by Estevez, were hardened by years living outside of moral and ethical constraints. Rape was treated as a minor disciplinary issue by good officers, and actually encouraged as an unofficial weapon of war by bad ones.
If true, it explained away a lot of things. He imagined Jacobs got a good look at the doctor and figured a little stress relief wouldn’t hurt anyone. If Estevez had sent him by himself to do the job, he would have told his buddies he’d meet them back at the mine. But when he opened the jail and tried to have his quick fun, he ran into Sheriff Superhero who ate his lunch.
“Then Jacobs got what he deserved,” Keefer said. “We can’t change what happened, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you’re alive.”
“Really? Why’s that? A whole town isn’t enough for you to kill?”
“Follow the drones and my men will meet you,” Keefer said, getting more excited by his idea. “The drones are armed with both lethal and nonlethal munitions, so don’t be a pain in the ass about it. They’ll just Taser you and hit you with rubber bullets until you move.”
“Where am I going?” Rick asked.
Keefer leaned into the mic. “After today, I’ll need men like you to join me. The masses will get on my side. People will always follow strong leadership that understands their fears and makes them go away. But it’s people like you that I really need to convince. You’re going to be my test subject. I want you to understand what we’re doing here, really see what the future can look like. I think once you know the truth, you’ll decide to join us.”
Rick stared into one of the drone cameras. The tech zoomed in on Rick’s face. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” Rick said. “That’ll never happen.”
“Never say never,” Keefer said. “Especially when I can give you what you want more than anything.” He paused, waiting for Rick to connect the dots. The sheriff’s expression slowly changed as he put together what was being implied.
“Yes,” Keefer said. “Dahlia and little Charlie. They’re here and they’re safe. And if you join me, their lives will be spared.”
44
Cassie crouched to the side of the wall as the three lights retreated down the tunnel, following Rick. They winked out suddenly and she worried that meant they’d finished their job and were returning to their base. But her dark-adjusted eyes picked out a soft glow in the distance and she figured that the drones had just made a turn.
She didn’t dare turn on a flashlight, so she jogged forward with her left hand trailing on the wall and her right hand clutching the handgun Rick had given her.
Not that she though
t it would be too much use if a drone came looking for her. For some reason, they didn’t come down her direction. Rick’s two manic sprints down the tunnel had saved her. The first had given her time to hit the tunnel floor as soon as the drone lights turned on. The second had put even more distance between them and drawn the drones away.
She’d stayed on the floor and not moved the entire time, feeling like her breathing and her heartbeat were so loud that they echoed through the tunnel, certain to reveal her location. But the longer the drones stayed on Rick, the more she allowed herself hope that she’d avoid detection. Once Rick took off the second time, she scrambled to her feet and followed, keeping what she hoped was a safe distance behind.
She’d strained to hear the conversation between Rick and Keefer, but she only caught bits and pieces.
But she clearly heard the only two words that mattered in the conversation.
Dahlia. Charlie.
Keefer knew who they were and he had them. She didn’t need any heart-to-heart conversation with Rick to know how much he cared for the two of them. She’d seen his face as the entire town succumbed to the time-released drug. She’d heard him cry out their names in a wail so pained that it’d brought tears to her eyes. Part of her had ached at seeing him love another woman that way, but she’d tried to ignore the complicated mix of guilt and jealousy that slowly burned inside her. It made her feel petty and she hated it, especially since Dahlia and her little boy were in such danger.
She knew a thing or two about how hard it was for Rick to allow himself to love someone. Once he did, he’d do anything for them.
She just hoped that Keefer didn’t leverage Dahlia and her son to the point where Rick had to choose between them and revealing that she was in the mine. She was under no misconception what his decision would be.
Cassie stopped and stood in the dark tunnel. Her hand, which had been on the wall to keep her bearings, suddenly supported most of her weight. She was breathing hard from the run, but it was more than that. She felt like she was suffocating. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode.