by DB Carpenter
Seth moved his head from side to side, cracking the phantom crick in his neck that manifested itself whenever he was agitated.
"Let's just get this over with," she said.
2:07 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine
Tap, tap, tap.
The sound was coming from the windows. Chris sat on the edge of the bed facing the door. After hearing Stu say "Sarah Burns" he had hightailed it back to his room and had been trying to figure out what his next step should be when he drifted into a sort of stupor. He turned to identify the source of the sound. To his surprise, he saw the outline of a man's head silhouetted against the half moon. The man rapped on the window again.
Chris rose from the squeaky spring bed and walked over to the window. It was the guy with the gold teeth. He held a finger to his mouth.
Chris unlatched the window and slid it up. "What the hell –"
"Did that guy in the plane tell you anything else?" The man hissed.
"What?"
"If you don't get out of here right now, you're dead."
Chris stared back at him stupidly. The cobwebs of sleep still clogged his mind, and he had a hard time processing what the bizarre, old Frenchman said.
"Well, if he did, it was true. If you don't know what I'm talking about, it don't matter 'cause they think you do. They're coming here right now. You'll see."
Mr. Goldteeth scanned the moonlit, shadow filled grounds as he squatted on the narrow ledge of roof. Outbuildings, trees and woods lurked in every direction – each a potential hiding spot. The crunch of tires on crushed stone drifted through the air.
"They're here," he whispered. "We got to go."
The old man turned and moved nimbly down the eve. Chris didn't hesitate. He had been looking for a way out and here it was. He climbed out onto the ledge, shut the window, and followed. What was going on? Why did the old man want to help him?
At the corner of the lodge, the man stopped and motioned for Chris to look.
He peeked around the corner – two people were in the lot, one of them was in his car going through the glove compartment. His escort turned with a wide, maniacal smile. Even in the dim moonlight his gold teeth glistened.
"I told you," he said as he tapped his chest. "They need to find out who you are, then they're going to shut you up. Permanently."
Chris tried to process what was happening. Following this guy was his only real option right now. They climbed from the roof of the main house onto the roof of a little shack. From there they jumped down to the ground, ran across the back yard, and into the dense woods.
After a few minutes of trotting along a trail, Chris tripped over a rock hidden in the shadows and tumbled to the ground. He lay there for a minute collecting himself. Goldteeth came back and stood above him.
"Who are you?" Chris asked as he rubbed his ankle, which was tight – probably a slight sprain.
"Name's Alby Fournier," he replied in a comical accent. He sounded like that French prospector on Bugs Bunny.
"Why're you helping me?"
"They think I don't understand. They think that all Alby's good for is splitting wood or gutting deer, but I understand it all. Those people, they're all crazy. She got 'em brainwashed."
"Brainwashed? Who?"
He held out his hand to help Chris up and said simply, "Sarah."
Chris shuddered as he repeated the name that seemed to be dogging him at every turn. First David, then Stu and now this guy. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Who was this Sarah Burns and what was she doing?
"You've got to explain this all to me, Alby?" Chris said as they started walking again. His ankle loosened with each step. "Who is Sarah Burns and what is she up to?"
"Trying to save the world," Alby replied over his shoulder. He said it the same way Chris would have told his wife he was going to the store to pick up some milk.
"Save the world from what? What the hell is going on here? Did she kill David Rose this morning?"
"Dunno if she killed him. Wouldn't surprise me if she did," Alby said as he hurried on ahead. "She's gonna kill you, that's for sure."
Chris lurched forward, grabbed Alby's shoulder and spun him around. "Why's she going to kill me? I haven't done anything. Jesus Christ, I was—"
"Don't you use the Lord's name in vain," Alby said.
"What?"
"I won't have it."
Chris didn't know what to say but he knew instinctively that Alby was telling him the truth and, apparently, a true believer. "Sorry, Alby. I'm just stressed out. I've never been hunted before."
"Sure. Fine. But don't be bringing Him into your problems."
"What can I do?"
"You've got to get out of here and don't come back. She's on a mission. Nothing's going to stop her." Alby shook free of Chris' grip and started trotting down the trail again. Chris followed silently for a few minutes until Alby came to a halt at the side of a logging road.
"Is this something to do with a virus? David mentioned a virus this morning but I didn't understand what he was trying to tell me. He said I had to stop it," Chris said.
"This is where we split," Alby said. "Go down this road for a couple of miles, you'll come to a logging camp. You can get a ride out there. If I was you, I'd get the hell out of Aroostook County. Go down to Bangor or Portland and find some help there."
"But what about this woman, Sarah?" Chris said. "What about this virus? I need to know what's going on."
Alby scratched at his chin for a moment and then said, "You don't need to know."
"No, I do."
Alby shook his head. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."
"Is this virus real?"
"It's real alright."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely, Alby replied. "Sarah thinks she's saving the world. She thinks she's God. She ain't no God and I can tell you straight up, I don't want to be around to see the results of what she's trying to do."
"Look, if there's some kind of virus about to be released, I want to know about it!" Chris said. "After what I saw this morning and now being on the run for my life, I deserve to know what the hell is going on."
"You think you deserve it? Really?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, you don't."
"Come on, Alby. Stop it with this bullshit. What the fuck is going on? Who the hell is Sarah?"
"I only know what I've overheard."
Chris was exasperated. Trying to get information out of this guy was like pulling teeth. "And what was that?"
"They're like a cult. Not religious. None of them's ever held the Good Book, let alone read it. It's a cult of her, a cult of Sarah."
"A cult of Sarah," Chris echoed this line, trying to wrap his head around what it meant.
"She's smart, smarter than anyone should be but she runs that place with an iron fist. Don't take no shit and she knows what she wants."
"What does she want, Alby? What is it?"
"She's a bitch and a devil too."
"But what does she want?"
"To play God."
"I know, you said that already but what does it mean? Stop dancing around it and just tell me."
"Like I said, I only know what I heard. Sometimes people talk around me thinking I'm not listening or that –"
"I get it, you already said that too. What does Sarah want?"
"Far as I can tell, she's come up with a way to stop unwanted pregnancies."
"What?"
"That's what the virus does, makes sperm stupid, so they can't do what they're supposed to do. Abstinence would be –"
"Impossible," Chris said. "That can't be!"
Alby looked Chris squarely in the eyes and said, "It can be and it is. Exactly that."
Chris stared at the man in shocked disbelief. He had so many questions but his mouth, and brain for that matter, was frozen by the incredible plot Alby had just explained.
Alby continued, "The whole lot of them believe overpopulation is going to lead to th
e end of the world."
Chris shook his head. This was too much to take in. "This doesn't make any sense? Where is she going to release it? How could she have possibly created this virus? How do we know it works?" Chris needed answers, but he had far too many questions.
"I don't know none of that. Engamy worked and now they're ready to let it out."
"Jes–," Chris caught himself. "It's unbelievable. We've got to do something."
"There's nothing you or I can do."
"There's got to be something. We can't let it happen!"
"All I know is you need to get out of here, right now if you know what's good for you. Head south as fast as you can. Don't trust anyone from the County," the old man said before disappearing into the dark forest.
3:13 am Wild Bear Lodge, Aroostook County, Maine
"Hi, Stu," Seth said as the door swung open. Sarah lurked behind him.
"He's upstairs," Stu replied.
Sarah stepped past Seth and stood in front of Stu. She was tall for a woman and since learning at an early age to ignore the other kid's wicked comments – the least of which were about her then beanpole physique – she had figured out how to use her height to her advantage. Now, at five feet eleven inches tall with proportional, womanly shapeliness, she could have used her body to manipulate men – but that would be too… typical. Her one personally allowed physical influencer was looking eye to eye or preferably eye to top of the head. She looked down at the wiry, visibly trembling man. "Let's go," she said.
"Which side of the room is the bed on," Seth asked as he pulled out his pistol in the dark hall.
"The right," Stu answered.
Seth grasped the knob and swung the door open. Each of the three booming shots that followed made Stu jump.
After a moment, Seth appeared at the door. "He's not here," he spat.
"That's impossible," Stu replied as he flicked on the hall light and walked into the room to check for himself. "I've been watching the room all night."
Stu walked over to the window. The latch was undone. He lifted it up and stuck out his head. Chris Foster was long gone.
"He must've climbed out the window," Stu said, pulling his head back inside.
Sarah loomed in the doorway, casting a shadow across the floor that climbed to Stu's shaky chest. "I thought you had him locked up?"
"I did. I don't understand how he could have known that something was up?"
Seth and Sarah exchanged glances.
"Search the grounds," she said and left the room.
After ten minutes of looking in the outbuildings and around the property, they congregated on the porch and concluded that he had gotten away.
"You better call Bert, Seth. Tell him to find this guy. Now," Sarah said. Seth ran into the lodge as she turned and glared at Stu, locking her grey eyes on his with a predator's unblinking intensity. Then she stormed off to the Scout.
Annie emerged from the lodge and stood next to her husband. "How'd he get away?" She asked.
"Out the window," Stu replied.
"I told you from day one not to get involved with them. It was bad news from the start," Annie said.
"Damn it, Annie. Now's not the time for this. And besides, you didn't have a hard time spending the cash, did you?"
"That's not fair, Stewart! I've been doing –"
Seth came out of the lodge. "This isn't good," he said as he ran past them to the truck.
"Let them get inside," Sarah said as Seth climbed into the cab of the truck.
Seth drove the truck across the dew covered lawn and up onto the road. As they hit the tar, Annie and Stu disappeared into the lodge. Seth popped the vehicle into second gear and slammed his fist onto the detonator on the dash causing a massive fireball to erupt from the building, hurling thirty-foot logs into the air like flaming Popsicle sticks. They drove down the road in silence.
"We'll find him, Sarah," he said as he picked up his two-way radio transmitter and radioed back to the base camp for help.
Sarah stared at the dark woods whizzing by her window in the hopes that Chris might be stupid enough to be walking along the main road. Probably not, though. If he was smart enough to get out of the Wild Bear, they weren't going to find him sauntering down the street.
5:14 am Millinocket, Maine
Chris let out a long, slow exhalation as the heavily loaded lumber truck ground to a halt at a truck stop. It had been a nerve racking two-hour drive. Every car they passed could have contained people looking for him and he had inspected each with appropriate fear and concern.
"This is where I go to the mill," the truck driver said, pointing up a road. "You can find a ride to Bangor inside."
Chris thanked him for the ride, climbed out, and walked toward the diner. He scanned the parking lot for suspicious vehicles or people, convinced that whoever these people were, they were everywhere. He could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders and the dull throbs of a headache began thumping in the recesses of his brain.
Once inside, he sat down in a booth facing the door and a waitress came over. She looked tough, hardened by life – probably from a few too many men, a few too many kids and too few breaks.
"What can I get you?" She asked as she munched on a wad of gum.
Chris felt sick to his stomach with worry and panic but the intense breakfast aromas threw him back to the Sunday mornings of his childhood. Mom had her one day off a week and she loved to cook for her men – five sons and a husband. She always doted on Chris. A few extra strips of bacon, the last sausage – it was a perk of being the baby of the family. A melancholy fell over him as it always did when he thought about his now long dead family.
"You want me to come back," the waitress said as she tapped a pencil on her order pad.
"No, I'll have three sunny side up eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and coffee," he said, knowing he should try to eat something, if he could keep it down.
She must have seen some hint of his sullen reminiscence and offered him a small, understanding smile before turning and going about her business.
For a little past five a.m. this place was swinging. Most of the blue-collar logging crowd sat alone at their tables. Apart from the truckers, there were those that probably worked at the mill or in the woods – looked like a couple a farmers were in the mix for good country measure. A friendly air permeated the place, even though little talking occurred – as if they all knew each other well enough that a simple look or nod said it all. Chris studied each face, trying to decide if anyone was paying particular attention to him.
He picked at his breakfast, in no mood for eating after the events of the night. The waitress refilled his coffee cup as he pushed his plate away half-eaten. "Can I get you anything else?"
"No thanks," he mumbled.
She started to walk away when he said, "Excuse me."
She turned and raised her penciled eyebrows. "Yes."
"I need a ride to Bangor. Do you know if any of these guys are going that way?"
She gave him another quick little smile and said, "Let's find out." Then she said in a much louder voice, "Any of you boys heading south today?"
Some heads lifted to look at her. Finally, a stocky man wearing suspenders on the other side of the room said, "I'll go anywhere with you, darling."
"I'll tell your wife that, Sid." This brought out a few chuckles.
"I'm going to Portland as soon as I finish breakfast," a bearded man two tables over said.
The waitress looked at Chris. "There you go."
Chris walked over to his table. "Do you think you could give me a lift to Bangor?"
He slowly ran a napkin through his gnarly beard, silently studying Chris. "You don't have a car?"
"It broke down in the woods up near Masardis."
The man nodded, obviously sensing a bullshit story. After a minute of awkward silence, he asked Chris to sit down.
Chris tried to ignore the noxious stench of the unwashed man and his soiled clothes. The man contin
ued to eat without paying him much attention.
"So what are you going to do in Bangor?" He finally asked as he reached for his wallet.
"Let me pick up your meal," Chris said as he snatched up the tab, threw enough money down to cover it and his own and give the waitress the best tip she would get all day.
"Thanks," he said. His eyes narrowed as he looked from the money on the table to Chris.
"My brother lives there. I'm going to borrow his pickup," Chris said. A lie, of course, but what did it matter? All he wanted was to put some miles between himself and the people back at the Wild Bear.
The man stood up and said, "Let's go."
Chris rose and let the man pass. He walked with a pronounced limp and was only about five two or so. Chris felt like a giant as he followed him out and across the parking lot to his beat-up Oldsmobile Delta 88, probably a '74 or '75. The material that had once covered the back half of the roof hung in tatters, some of it haphazardly secured with duct tape – the redneck mechanic's cure all.
"Something wrong?"
"No. I was just checking out your car."
The chauffeur mumbled something unintelligible as he opened the door and flopped in.
Chris slid into the passenger seat and said, "I'm Chris Foster." He extended his hand toward the man.
The man sized him up and then said, "Charlie Martin."
They shook.
"Pleased to meet you, Charlie," Chris said as they pulled out of the parking lot.
6:24 am Approaching Bangor International Airport, Bangor, Maine
"Any luck?" Sarah said into the microphone. The radio encryption system, necessity that it was, made it difficult to hear over the roar of the airplane engine – even with headphones on.