by B. C. Tweedt
No…. Greyson tried to give him nothing, but he must have shown something.
“Oh!” Orion said, happily surprised. “You didn’t know he had a tracker on him? My old man must have outsmarted you again. You must not be entirely evil. Just selfish and stupid.”
No. No! His mind screamed. They were all he had left. He had failed to find out where his father was, and he had failed to stop the terrorists’ plan – the only thing he had left was the fact that he could save his friends. And now he didn’t even have that.
-------------------
The chase had started with a whispered sentence. “Split up and run!”
And they had bolted in every direction, forcing the fake policemen to choose their first victims. Jarryd was grabbed, but Nick jumped to his defense, smashing into the cop and knocking him to the floor along with a rack of clothing. Through the mess of shirts, Jarryd scrambled free, but Nick was bound to the clothing rack with the cop’s zip-ties.
Sammy was snatched next, but clawed and scraped and bit, drawing blood from one cop’s cheek before he was wrestled to the ground and bound.
Liam and Sydney put up the biggest fight, sprinting to the grocery aisle and swiping the contents of the juice aisle to the floor behind them. One cop slipped straight onto his back and struggled to get up. When the other cop joined him, the kids had climbed the shelves, throwing canned goods at them from the top, avoiding their jumping grasps as they ran across the tops of the shelves.
For a moment it looked like they were cornered, but Jarryd came at one of the cops from behind with an empty shopping cart. It plunged into the backs of his legs and sent him butt-first into the cart. Jarryd pushed him with all his might and ran in the other direction. He didn’t make it far.
The Taser’s darts sunk into his back sending a pulse of 50,000 volts surging through his body. He hit the tile with a smack and seized with muscle spasms. The cop let him seize for an extra few seconds, smiling, before he tied him.
Liam and Sydney came to his rescue, but the cop drew a gun on them. “Don’t move, or I’ll blow you away. You know I’ll do it.”
The once curious and bewildered onlookers screamed and ran, causing a panic that spread like a wave through the store.
Two men who had not panicked watched the cop in the shopping cart struggle to free himself, drifting down the aisle as the familiar video piped its message. “Please be on the lookout for any suspicious activity or person. Always alert the nearest peace officer or call 911…”
The men ignored the video and walked toward the two boys bound in men’s clothing. They leaned down to Nick who was trying to drag the clothing rack with him as he crawled.
“You guys Plurbs?” they asked Nick.
Nick examined the men’s faces and made a snap decision. “Yeah.”
The two men looked at each other, cautious and perhaps fearful, but made their own decision. They took out pocketknives and severed the boys’ bindings.
---------------------
Blood dripped from his nose, ran down to his lips, and seeped into his mouth. He spit at the metallic taste, aiming for Orion, but came up short. Another blow smacked his jaw and sent shivers of pain through his body. The light from the lamp seemed to dim in and out. Perhaps he was losing consciousness; he wouldn’t mind it now.
SMACK!
That one rocked his teeth and he could hear Orion moan in pain as he held his fist. At least I hurt him back.
“Orion, that’s enough.”
Orion backed away and Greyson could hear a man’s footsteps approach. The father and son exchanged whispers as Greyson tried to recover, blinking his eyes open wide despite the swelling over his left eye. It’d be black for sure.
“Phase 4 people! Get ‘em moving!” Emory shouted, echoing around the metal walls.
The factory sizzled into activity. Computers were disassembled, tables folded up, lamps turned off, and hostages pulled from the cargo container that Greyson had been in earlier. For the first time he was able to see the hostages.
They were all children – one as young as six or seven. Three of them came out with bags over their heads, being escorted or carried to the white moving trucks. They were all so small, squirming and crying – too young for this. The familiar rage rose to Greyson’s chest, but the next sight fizzled it out like fingers snuffing out a flame.
Out came Sam. He was being led out from an adjacent room, which must have been converted from an old office into an interrogation room – or something worse. Sam was hunched over, his hands tied and feet shuffling. Torture was on his face and tears were streaked across his cheeks.
As he passed, something must have made him look. He turned, made eye contact with Greyson, and stared, still shuffling, still hunched. And then the back of his shirt came into view – soaked with red, sticking to his skin, sticky and wet with fresh blood.
Regret destroyed his rage, replacing the adrenaline surge with a wave of exhaustion.
I’m so sorry.
Though the words formed on his dry lips, Greyson was too stunned, too emotionally drained to cry out for him.
Emory watched Greyson watch Sam, with a satisfying smile playing at the corners of his lips. Amused, he leaned down to look Greyson in the face.
“Orion, go to the truck.”
His son obediently stepped past Greyson and followed Sam away, leaving Emory alone with Greyson in the middle of the factory floor. Most of the lights had been extinguished except for the lamp on Greyson’s face and the headlights of the moving trucks being loaded with the last passengers.
Emory continued staring at Greyson’s bruised and bloodied face, examining his eyes. He took the boy’s cheeks in his hand to stare at him more directly.
“You are something, you know that?”
Something. Yes. A failure. A murderer. A traitor.
He cocked his head quizzically as if he could read Greyson’s thought. “It’s true. I would adopt you if I felt you’d say yes.”
What? “Never.”
“That’s what I thought.” Emory let go of his cheeks but kept the stare. “Orion was just as stubborn, just as lost as you. Loads of potential without direction.”
Greyson just listened, not understanding.
“But I took him in as a son. Off the streets and into my protective arms. And I gave him everything. Power. Passion. Purpose. And he became quite useful to the cause. Very few people suspect kids can do such demanding things.”
Orion was adopted. By a madman. And then he was used. Had all the Plurb children been “adopted” in the same way?
“And you would be quite the son as well. An even better one. Strong. Bold. Daring. You’d make me proud.”
“I’d make you dead.”
“Not dead…Dad,” he corrected with a laugh as more of the building was emptied all around them. “But then again. You already have a dad.”
A sudden jolt chilled Greyson’s skin and blasted inside his chest. I have a dad? I have a dad. He said it.
“And we made a deal earlier about him. And I’m a man of my word.”
The realization broke through the pain radiating in his jaw. For a moment there was no pain or guilt or regret. There was nothing but hope.
He’s going to tell me.
An aching, impatient silence pressed the humid air as rain began to fall on the roof in metallic pitter-patter. The rumble of thunder outside joined the rumble of the U-Hauls’ waiting engines.
Sam, sitting in the back of the moving truck, next to the machine, met eyes with Greyson once again. Regret renewed its assault on Greyson’s mind, but it would soon be vanquished.
All he had done would soon be justified.
“Tell me,” Greyson pleaded with a muted whisper, his heart racing faster than the rain falling outside. He held in his breath, waiting.
Emory smiled, let his lips hover next to Greyson’s ear, and whispered.
Chapter 31
Greyson sat alone for several minutes, listening to the soun
d of the storm above, though not really listening at all. His mind and his stare were off in some other world, but his body remained, his head throbbing and wrists and ankles aching as the edges of the zip-ties cut into his skin. He could have attempted to run, but with his ankles tied, he wouldn’t have gotten far very fast. Instead, he waited, numbly contemplating the whispered words Emory had spoken.
Finally, a loading dock door churned open and a police car pulled in, its wipers splashing rain from its windshield onto the dry concrete floor.
Emory and two henchmen met the policemen and opened the doors. Jarryd was the first out, followed by Liam and Sydney.
Greyson sighed, both relieved and defeated at the same time. They hadn’t been killed. Yet.
“Put them all in truck 3. Let’s go!”
“Greyson! You okay?”
Sydney was dragged up the moving truck’s ramp, looking back at Greyson’s face until she was shoved to the floor next to Sam. When she noticed the blood on Sam’s back she had to stifle her scream.
Soon they were all huddled together on the floor; the tall doors of the U-Haul closed with a bang, engulfing them in darkness. The kids were helpless to do anything but listen to the two metal bars clanking into place, the chains wrapping around the bars, and a padlock clicking closed. They were locked in for good, in utter darkness.
After a dreadful moment bearing through their own panicked breaths and Sam’s anguished whimpers, Sydney cleared her throat. “Are you guys alright? What did they do to you?”
“I’m alright,” came Sam’s pained voice. “It’s just my back.”
“What did they do to you?”
“They…they…said they were sending a message.”
Sam burst into tears as the truck jerked into motion, swaying their bodies into each other. The movement distracted them, shuffling them along the uncomfortable, smooth metal floor as the truck eventually sped up as if entering a highway. Gradually Sam’s sobs quieted into sniffs, and Greyson took in a deep breath, grateful he had stopped. The guilt was getting annoying. He knew what he had done was wrong. Enough is enough! It seemed that Sam’s pain was only rubbing it in, irritating the infection that was already raging.
But he remembered. He had the cure. It was fight. Perseverance. He could still get them out of this – save them all, and soon they would forgive him.
“Sam, where are they taking us?” Greyson asked gruffly.
“I…I…”
“Did they tell you anything?”
“Yeah. They said that my dad had a choice,” he said, trying to control his breathing. “He could let us into the city, or we’d all die.”
“We?”
“All the kids. The hostages. One from each presidential nominee’s family. There’s Kate…little Mark…and Max.”
Greyson’s mind was reeling. What is Emory up to? He wants in the city? For what? And the answer was right under his nose.
“What is this thing in front of us? This machine?”
No one answered. His worst fears told him what it was, but he had no way of knowing.
“Greyson? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry I got you all into this mess.”
“Y-you did the b-best you could.” Liam’s thin voice came from the other side of the machine that ran down the center of the cargo area.
“I didn’t know you had a tracker on you, Jarryd.”
“I didn’t either,” he said quickly. “Until they pulled it from my back pocket. Have you seen Nick or Sammy?”
“No. What happened?”
“I think they got away. We all split up and when the cops got us, we didn’t see them.”
Greyson smiled. At least some had made it out. Perhaps they could help from the outside – call in the FBI like in Morris.
Wait! A realization struck him. And yes – he still had his pack.
“Sydney! No, Jarryd. Come help me get in my pack. Find the clicker.”
Hearing the excitement in his voice, Jarryd piped up. “Are…are you going to get us out of here, dude? I dare you! I dare you to get us out of here!”
Greyson felt Jarryd fall onto him, backfirst. “Sorry.”
His tied hands groped blindly for his pack.
“Hey!”
“Sorry. That wasn’t the clicker was it?”
“No! It’s higher. Here, just hold the pack as I pull the zipper.”
Jarryd’s hands found the pack and held it as Greyson pulled it open. He reached in with both hands tied together and found the clicker. He immediately pressed it and watched the light indicator blink its confirmation.
“What good does it do? Kip’s not coming to help,” Jarryd said bluntly.
“I know. But maybe the FBI will get the signal anyway. And even if they are off half a mile like Emory said, maybe they’ll still be able to figure out which U-Haul is the right one.”
“The right one?”
Greyson thought he had figured it out. It made sense at least.
“The tractor-taxi took one U-Haul out at the fair, but they had four to start. One for each of the four kids. So I bet he planned on having one kid in each truck for a reason. To throw the governor off, so that if he decides to attack one truck, he’d be killing one of the other presidential nominee’s kid.”
“You lost me.”
“Emory wants in the city, right? He’s a terrorist, right?”
“Yeah. Now I’m following. Keep the easy ones coming.”
“He’s going to terrorize the city. With this machine – or bomb.”
“Suck.”
They all looked toward the bomb, but could only make out a faint outline of it. Judging by its size, it could do a lot of damage.
“But for some reason, it’s difficult to get into the city. So he needs the governor to let him in. The only way to do that was to take hostages and bribe their way in. If he lets the bomb in, then Emory claims he’ll give him back his son – Sam. The other U-Hauls are distractions, so if he tries to stop them, he’ll not only end up killing his own son, but his opponents’ kids as well. That wouldn’t look good to voters.”
“Radiation detectors,” Sam muttered out of the silence. “The city has radiation detectors. If they tried to sneak a bomb inside, Dad would know. And he’d never let one even close. Unless of course, I was with the bomb. The bomb’s nuclear.”
The kids were deafened by the impact of the words. The plan was sickening – and they were in the center of it. Dumbfounded, the kids sat silent, moving with the bumps of the road.
“Well, then,” Jarryd said, trying to break the tension. “About that dare, Greyson…”
Greyson nodded to himself, thinking through the possibilities. There was only one thing to do. They had to stop the truck. And to stop the truck, they had to escape the cargo carrier. And to escape the cargo carrier, they had to get out of their bindings. And to get out of their bindings, they needed someone who knew how to get out of bindings.
“I’m not getting us out of here,” he said, “Sydney is.”
“What?”
“Your 4H presentation. You showed us you could pick locks.”
“Yeah, but that was easy…my hands weren’t tied behind my back.”
“You can do it. I know you can. Think, how can we get out of these?”
“I…I…uh…” and then she stopped in midsentence. “I need one of my hair clips. Someone grab one.”
“I’ll do it,” Sam said. “Ouch. Never mind. My back…”
“I got it,” Greyson said reaching over Jarryd. His hands felt for Sydney, but he suddenly withdrew. He didn’t want any unfortunate grabs that would result in a face slap. “I’m reaching out. Bring your head to my hands.”
Her face touched his fingers and for a moment he just wanted to stroke her cheeks, but he reached to her hair and ran his fingers through it until they found a thin metal clip. He pulled it out.
“OOOOWW! You’re supposed to unclip it first!”
“Sorry, baby.”
> He reached around her waist to her hands and placed the clip, and some of her hair, into her hands.
“Okay. I’m going to put the flat end of the clip…into the locking mechanism…and press it against the bar…releasing the pressure of the teeth…and…”
Ziiiip! The ties fell from her wrists and suddenly her hands were working on Greyson’s ties. “Now pull them apart.”
Ziiiiip!
“Blue frickin’ performance!” Jarryd exclaimed.
“Sam, hold out your hands.”
Before long she had undone all of their ties, hands and feet.
Greyson stood warily, trying to maintain his balance with the entire floor shaking underneath. “Alright. Good work. But any ideas on how to get out of here?”
The following silence frustrated him. “Sam? What do you got?” he asked, fully expecting him to be useless.
“I…uh…I know computers. I could hack into the U-Haul’s GPS if I had –”
“We don’t have any computers. Any other ideas?” Greyson pushed against the bomb, feeling the cold metal unmoving. It must have been bolted to the floor.
With no other ideas coming, he continued searching the area for any weaknesses. He pushed against the back doors and they wavered, but there were no knobs, levers, or any contraptions to unlock the doors. Remembering the sound of the rods being pulled down, he flattened to his belly and pushed against the door. Slivers of light filtered through and he could make out the outline of a rod. Maybe if we can bring the rods up, that would release the doors…
Sydney had flattened herself next to him, eyeing the rod. “They won’t go up anyway. They’ve been padlocked from the outside. We’d have to unlock that before we – ”
BANG!
The sound had come from within. “What was that?”
“Oh, it was me,” Jarryd said. “Just seeing if we could rock this sucker. Nick and I could do it to our mini-van. We’d be jamming out to music in the middle of a traffic jam and everyone would be looking at us.”
“That’s great,” Greyson said, inwardly rolling his eyes.
“If we do it here, don’t you think other people would look at us? A shaking U-Haul?”