The answer came from around the corner. “Saw a news report accusing Melissa Strauss of having connections with terrorists.”
Edward’s brow wrinkled.
“She’s in a coma. I guess she was hoping for Jack to help her somehow. I think she sent him the ring to keep it out of their hands. I came over as soon as I pieced it together, knowing they’d come looking for it.”
After a moment of silence, Edward stated, “We need to talk.” Even as he said it, he found himself staring at Scott’s bulging forearms as he carried the rifle and backpack into the living room.
Scott set the bag down and turned to face Edward. “I know you have a lot of questions for me, and I’d like to know why that ring is so important to them myself, but we have to get moving. We can talk about it on the way. I don’t know that they can trace you back here, but we’re not sticking around to find out.”
“I’m not going with you.”
The statement took Scott back a step. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll only slow you down.”
Scott didn’t have time for this, and he said so.
“Matthew, I don’t have the drive for this anymore. I don’t want to run.”
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”
Edward knew from the look in Scott’s eye that there was no way he was going to let him stay. Besides, being tortured to death wasn’t exactly his ideal way of leaving earth. “Where we going?”
“I don’t know. North.”
“What’s north?”
Scott shrugged. “If we go far enough, nothing.”
Edward turned his head, motioning back at the ring. “What about that?”
“I’m sure them having it isn’t in mankind’s best interest. We can toss it in a lake. Story over.”
He was able to respond quickly because he’d already considered a similar course of action himself. “I’m not so sure. Why would Melissa send it to Jack instead of getting rid of it herself? I think she wanted him to have it, to figure out what it means.”
“We could speculate all day, Ed. But soon we’re going to hear choppers, and then we may never find out what or why because we’ll be dead.”
They both looked down to the gold ring that was fitted with some kind of clear lens, intent on just a casual glance in the direction of what it was they were referring to. But again it held their eyes a bit longer than necessary. There it sat, unmoving, inanimate, and yet there was a feeling it triggered — a mystery it seemed to whisper. “I would like to find out what it is,” Edward said under his breath, more to himself than to Scott.
“Whatever you want, Ed. But first we get somewhere safe.”
7
Scott backed the Bronco out of the driveway and into the street just as a black helicopter flew overhead with a woosh, its blades barely audible.
“Great,” Scott grumbled as he watched it disappear over the tree line. It was traveling low and fast, almost invisible against the dark rainclouds that were beginning to gather around the morning sun.
They drove in silence, nerves too tight to even whisper, the sound of the truck’s motor as it accelerated and decelerated the only noise in their ears. Holding their breath, they waited for the sight of flashing lights to come racing up behind them.
There was no one else on the road, and that was a problem. But they didn’t have any other option. To leave during curfew would have been way too risky, and to wait until later in the day would have left them subject to certain roadblocks — roadblocks that may already be established.
They would find out in a second.
Rounding a bend, Scott made a turn away from Jamaica, Vermont — his home for the last decade.
Up ahead, Depot Street dead-ended at VT 100, which was a road they either needed to cross or merge with in order to get anywhere away from here. But already they could make out a few army trucks and some police cars blocking their escape route.
They were too late.
Scott turned the headlights off and brought the truck to a slow stop, swearing under his breath. Before Edward could even say anything, he had the car going in reverse and back around the bend, out of the checkpoint’s view. Throwing the truck in drive, he swung it around and headed back north on Depot Street. He pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor for the first time in years.
“What’s your plan?” asked Edward, gripping the passenger door. The only place this road would take them was into Jamaica State Park.
What Scott wanted to do was what he had always planned on doing if ever a situation like this were to arise — the very reason he’d settled in Jamaica. He wanted to ditch the truck in the park and travel on foot where there would be plenty of options once concealed by the wilderness. Edward’s wound, however, made that option very impractical. Traveling slowly through the state park would only ensure detection by the NAU soldiers he knew to be patrolling it. But what other option did they have? There was only one other road that went to 100, and that too was sure to be closed.
“Take me back to your place,” Edward said, his voice calm and resolute.
Scott looked over at him. “What?”
“Your only way out is through the park. I’ll just slow you down. I can stay at your place for—”
Scott cut him off by telling him to shut up.
“I’m serious, Matthew.” Edward’s voice was stern and, along with his bulldog build and seniority, would probably have been enough to intimidate most people into compliance. But Matthew Scott was not most people.
“I said shut up. I’m not leaving you behind. You say another word about it, and I’ll break your jaw.”
The response was unexpected, the coldness in his voice threatening sincerity, and Edward once again found himself wondering just who this man really was.
They were flying up Depot Street, back toward town, when the flashing lights they were dreading finally materialized behind them.
“Company,” Edward stated. The black police car just happened to be turning off Water Street as they were passing by.
“Hold on.” Scott took the truck up to 80mph — which prompted the sounding of an awful siren that completely shattered the morning’s early stillness. Scott’s own street blurred by on the left as he sped past it and continued on toward the park.
And then a few next-generation military Armored Security Vehicles suddenly broke the horizon ahead, coming straight toward them.
“You should go back to Worden,” said Edward as he leaned into the back seat for the M4.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
The DARPA-designed 90mm electromagnetic rail guns the new ASVs sported would more than complicate their odds of escape. Scott pulled a pistol from his pants and rolled both windows down. The morning air came rushing into their faces, the wind and the siren deafening. And before Edward knew what was going on, Scott slammed on the brakes, turned the wheel to the left, and threw their entire world into a half-spin… which ended abruptly with the truck rocking back and forth on its wheels.
Edward leaned out the window and fired the M4 at the police car, its flashing red lights only a hundred yards away and closing fast. It was an offense punishable by death. The M4’s 5.56x45mm NATO rounds splashed into the car’s hood and pierced both front tires, sending it off the road.
Risking one short glance over his shoulder and seeing the ASVs bearing down on them, Scott slammed back down on the gas, smoke erupting from the spinning tires. They shot forward just as machine gun fire erupted from behind, exploding the back window.
“Get down!” Scott yelled. They flew past the broken police car and back toward his own street. The military would squeeze them from both directions. They had no choice now — the park was their only hope.
Scott turned hard right, the Bronco screeching as it swung around the bend, a wave of 5,400 mph conductive projectiles from the rail gun that sat mounted on the ASV piercing the passenger side of the truck until the Bronco straightened out and cleared the bend.<
br />
“You okay?” asked Scott, quickly looking over Edward to make sure that he wasn’t hit.
“Yeah.” And he craned his neck to look behind them. He counted to six before he saw the three ASVs turn the corner and come onto Worden Road with them. Though the military vehicles had wheel independent suspension that provided superior mobility and handling, it was the rail guns that concerned Edward the most. If given the opportunity, they’d reduce Scott’s Bronco to a pile of scrap metal in mere seconds.
“Hurry,” he muttered.
The park was only half a mile away, offering 772 acres to get lost in. But they were going to need to put enough distance between them and the ASVs if they wanted to escape the truck and flee into the woods without being gunned down in the process.
As they passed his house, Scott snuck a peak at the speedometer — 97mph. He figured they’d have about ten seconds to disappear into the woods. The park contained only three paved roads and an assortment of dirt paths, and though his vehicle could handle the bumpy terrain, the ASVs could handle it much better. Their only hope was to ditch the truck and force the soldiers to come after them on foot.
As they sped through the park’s entrance, leaving the sleeping town behind, they heard the helicopters above.
The cover of woods came just in time.
“How close are they?” Scott asked.
Edward looked back over his shoulder again. “I don’t see them yet.”
Suddenly and without warning, Scott turned the wheel violently to the right, taking the Bronco off the asphalt road and plunging it straight through a wall of foliage. There were a few huge bumps that sent both Edward and Scott bouncing out of their seats before even ground was rediscovered.
Scott jerked his head backwards, stealing a quick glance at the damage they left behind and wondered if there was any way the soldiers operating the ASVs might miss their maneuver and drive straight past the secret path. It didn’t look too bad. The hard turn didn’t seem to leave skid marks on the blacktop, and the brush they ran over sprung back to at least half-life. He drove forward through the darkness for a few more seconds before stopping and turning off the car, killing the brake lights. Because better trained soldiers would be concentrated in areas of conflict and not up here in the middle of nowhere, he figured those chasing them were probably some of the less experienced. If so, the odds of them passing by would be much more favorable. In fact, the line of vehicles were going way too fast to notice any sign of a departure from Worden Road.
“Looks like they passed right by,” Edward said, trying his hardest to see through the trees.
“Hopefully they take it to the end. That should give us enough time.”
He started the Bronco back up, turned on the parking lights, and continued bouncing forward across the uneven terrain.
Edward finally released his breath. “Where are we going?”
“I have a spot where we can spend the day.”
Edward stared at him, watched him drive, watched his eyes. He didn’t appear to be nervous or scared, and the look on his face wasn’t a new sight to Edward. Indeed, he’d spent a good portion of his life around such cold professional types. But until now, Matthew Scott had shown no clear indication that he was one himself. “You plotted this path a long time ago.”
It wasn’t a question.
A slight nod, Scott’s eyes never coming off the invisible road ahead. There was very little light making its way through the canopy above, and he didn’t want to alert the helicopters by turning on the headlights. So it was a slow ride full of scrapes and dents attacking the sides of his old truck. “I made it,” he clarified.
“You made it?” Edward asked in disbelief. He brought his big hand up to his bald head. “You knew this day would come...”
Scott’s eyes darted over at him. “You didn’t?”
Edward didn’t answer, just stared up at the colorful leaves that were the park’s sky. “This spot we’re going to, what is it?”
“A cave.”
“They’ll send dogs.”
“I know.”
“It’s not a coincidence that this park is here, is it?” Edward asked, a vague picture beginning to form in his mind.
Scott quickly turned the wheel to avoid a hidden bolder that was occupying the left side of the path. “No. It’s why I picked this place.”
Edward squinted. “Access north… why would you need that, Matthew?”
But he only grinned as he brought the truck to a stop. “Okay, you get out. I’m gonna ditch this thing and then come back to get you.”
Edward’s eyes flashed an ever-so-quick response that Scott interpreted as suspicion.
“I promise.”
Edward nodded without argument and pushed the door open, climbing down into a bed of wet ferns. Then he softly closed the door and brought the M4 up to his shoulder.
As the Bronco began moving away from him, turning and disappearing through another wall of plant life, he hobbled over to a large tree and sat. Soon the sound of the Bronco faded, and the biological life of the forest filled its void. He looked at his watch. It was 6:34. He rested the weapon on his lap and pulled at his jacket, fighting against the cold October morning. As his breath materialized in front of him, he listened to the sound of a nearby stream. The wind was blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves. A few fluttered to the ground around him. He used to take Jack to places like this when he was a boy. It helped gain some kind of perspective in a world that seemed to have none. It was their little retreat center, their refuge from the harsher realities of the world.
Edward closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the tree, and felt the cold breeze move over his face. He thought about Jack and his late wife, Naomi, who had died of cancer a number of years ago. He thought about their reunion one day — a day that would no doubt be sooner rather than later. But for now, when he opened his eyes, there was only the multicolored forest there facing him. No deceased loved ones welcoming him into Paradise. Just Vermont.
He closed his eyes again.
****
Edward nearly had a heart attack when a voice sounded behind him, startling him from sleep. Turning with the M4, he saw Scott standing only a few yards away.
“Come on,” Scott repeated.
“Must’ve dozed off…”
Scott helped him to his feet. “Can you walk?”
“Are you offering to carry me?” he smiled.
“No.”
“Then I guess I don’t have much of a choice.” Clenching the muscles in his jaw, he began walking, painfully stretching out his stiff leg. And then a sudden blast of wind roared through the treetops and caused them both to look up. The dark clouds were moving faster now. “It’s going to rain,” he muttered.
Scott nodded. “Yep.”
Twenty minutes later, and just in time, they reached the cave. Somewhere out there in the woods, they could hear the faint barking of dogs while helicopters beat the air above them.
8
Edward shifted his gaze away from the ceiling that was resting just two feet from his head and brushed some dirt off his jacket. Because the entranceway to the cave was nothing more than a small opening in the side of a hill, they practically had to crawl on their stomachs to reach the tiny expanse within it. He was sitting on a homemade chair that Scott had been gracious enough to offer, and it felt good to take the pressure off his wounded leg.
Three well-placed candles sat repelling enough of the darkness to make clear their surroundings. He could see a table, made from four branches and a sliver of tree trunk, and a shelf holding some old bowls and silverware. There was a pile of dirt in the back of the cave, fifteen yards away. Scott was on his knees with a candle at his feet, digging with his bare hands.
“How’s your leg?” he asked in a strained but controlled voice, throwing handfuls of dirt behind him.
Edward leaned back in the chair. “It hurts.” Then he asked, “What are you doing?”
“I hid
my stuff back here.”
So many questions came to Edward’s mind all at once that he decided to just pick one at random, figuring there wasn’t one more important than another. “How long did it take you to do this?”
“The cave? A few years. Once I found it, I just had to dig it out and reinforce it.”
“And you picked this spot so that you could disappear if you had to?”
He stopped digging and wiped his brow with the back of his hand, this time willing to expound on his previous explanation. “Anyone ever came looking for me, or if I ever needed to run, the park was right at the end of the street, Ball Mountain just a little northwest.” Then he looked up at Edward, the shifting candlelight creating a myriad of shadows concealing his face one second while revealing it the next. “I could survive in the woods forever.”
Edward shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “After a while the isolation would get to you, drive you crazy. Probably start thinking about putting a bullet in your own head.”
Scott shrugged. “Then I’ve got New York to the west, Massachusetts to the South, Quebec north. If I wanted to join in the action, go out fighting, I could find my way there too.”
Edward lapsed back into silence and watched Scott continue to dig. It was clear that he knew what he was doing, some kind of preconceived game plan unfolding. Edward would want to know what it was. But he put off that question for right now. “Weren’t you afraid they’d find this place?”
“The NAU?” He laughed. “They’re bored and lazy, hardly ever go off the main paths. I’ve only seen them around this part of the woods twice. Besides, you saw how well hidden the entrance is. The roots from the tree above come down and cover the face of the opening.”
He went back to digging, talking over his shoulder. “I switch up my route, avoid making a path. The only way to discover this place is first to recognize it and then to crawl through the hole itself to see where it goes. There’s no NAU soldier who’s going to do that without being commanded to.” He finished digging, the wall of dirt now low enough for him to crawl over, and wiggled his way into the darkness beyond.
The Solomon Key Page 6