Project Chiron

by Ryan King

  "If I were nominated for such a position," Eric added, "I could not in good conscience decline the responsibility if the citizens of this country felt me worthy of it, but"—Eric held up a finger—"this country has a president. A woman of integrity and heart who needs and deserves our support. I for one will give her everything I've got, just like I have the State of Louisiana. It's the only way I know to live."

  "I think we can all see that, sir." Candice saw the signal from the engineer. "Thank you very much, Governor. We have enjoyed having you on the show."

  "The pleasure has been all mine," he answered.

  Candice faced the camera. "Don't go away. When we return, we will hear from an expert who will discuss the threat to the coastal marshland ecosystem and what some are doing to try and save it."

  The lights dimmed, and Candice and St Keel turned to each other as if talking until the lights came back on.

  "We're clear," yelled the engineer. "Well done, everyone."

  Candice smiled again. "Thank you, Governor. I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable with that whole presidential run talk. It was on the topic list we sent."

  St Keel gave her a disapproving look. "Actually, the vice-presidential bid was, not the presidential."

  Candice smiled and shrugged. "I'm sorry if I put you on the spot." She didn't look sorry.

  "No it's okay. It's good to talk about it here since others already are, I guess, but I meant what I said. I'm not looking for a job. I already have one."

  "That's why you're so perfect for it," she answered.

  St Keel waved his hand at her as if she were making a joke. This part of the interview was nearly as important as the televised part. Candice Stapleton would be invited on other talk shows and asked her impression of Governor St Keel as a possible presidential candidate. He had to appear the dutiful, yet un-ambitious, public servant.

  He took her hand in both of his. "You tell that mother of yours to get well soon and not to let anything keep her down. Tell her I am looking forward to dancing with her again before the year is out."

  "I will." Candice smiled, her face open and trusting.

  He turned away knowing he had her. Candice Stapleton would be an advocate for Eric St Keel, a true believer. That was important in a politically divided state, especially where most of the media were skeptics.

  Lucas fell in beside him as they walked off stage. They headed towards the underground parking lot that held his luxury sedan. St Keel wanted to laugh and cheer, enjoy the moment with his friend, but that would have to wait until later when they were alone. For now, they were stoic and all business.

  Once in the car, St Keel poured them both a finger of dark highland scotch in expensive crystal tumblers from the specially designed mini wet bar. The governor couldn't help voicing a thought that had been nagging at him. "You know the president isn't going to like that broadcast. She'll have to react in order to secure her position within the party."

  Lucas smiled darkly. "I'm counting on it."

  St Keel shifted more towards Lucas and cleared his throat. “You know, I still don’t feel completely comfortable not knowing what’s going on. I’m impressed with the results you’ve achieved, but don’t you think I need to know the details?”

  Lucas stared hard at his friend. “Do you trust me?”

  St Keel nodded.

  “Then know I’m not telling you everything for you own good. If things happen to go badly, and they won’t, I want you to be able to honestly say you did not know the details. This is for your own protection and good. Just leave it all in my hands.”

  They drove in silence though the clean safe streets of New Orleans that they had both changed so radically...and mysteriously. They knew that The General was paving a path for Governor St Keel all the way to the doors of the White House.

  And I'll be in the driver's seat the whole way, thought Lucas, taking a sip of the expensive scotch. It almost made what they had done to him over Oman worth it.

  Almost.

  Chapter 4

  Moses Mitchell was running and it felt good. He had always loved running. It was the only thing he'd truly been good at in his entire life. Five years before he'd been the state one hundred-meter champion and received an invite to the Olympic Village in Colorado, but that was all before the voices started.

  He was the middle of three children. Their father had died shortly after his youngest son was born. Moses and his older sister Deborah spent much of their time looking after little Adam. Their mother often worked two shifts to make ends meet, and it was not uncommon for them to find her asleep at the kitchen table when they came down for breakfast.

  His older sister was already at Tulane University when it happened. Deborah was the first person in their family to attend college and his mother had been immensely proud. Moses himself was at track practice when his mother picked little Adam up from school. The authorities later told him that she must have fallen asleep at the wheel, that the car had drifted off the road into the bridge embankment, killing them both.

  Moses and Deborah had always been close, and she tried to help him. Moses had pushed her away while at the same time feeling so utterly alone without his family. Something inside told him he deserved to be unhappy after what happened to his mother and brother. How could he possibly be happy when they were dead? To feel any joy or pleasure seemed like disloyalty to them.

  He ran away from home and even contemplated suicide for a time, but then the voices entered his head. And he was no longer alone.

  A part of Moses knew the voices were not real, but another part insisted that they were. It didn't really matter except he wasn't by himself anymore. As the people around him became less real and inconsequential, the voices became dear friends.

  Moses spent five weeks in a state psychiatric hospital, but it was overcrowded, and he was judged non-dangerous and released a few months after he was admitted. Moses had no trouble living on the streets of New Orleans, even liked it there. He learned how to find food, stay dry, and avoid the police. Even when he did get arrested, his big sister, now an FBI Agent out of the New Orleans Field Office, could usually smooth things over. Deborah would then try to get him to live with her for a while, but he always drifted away.

  Now something entirely different had found him this time. Now it was just like running in high school, but the stakes were so much higher.

  Moses slowed as his feet sank into soft mud. He made himself slow his breathing, taking deep open-mouthed breaths. He listened, but couldn't hear anyone coming after him.

  They will be following, said Billy in his head. Don't be fooled. They catch you again, they might kill you. Promised as much last time you got away.

  "I know, I know," said Moses, looking around furtively.

  I don't know if you've noticed, said Delores, always the practical one, but you kind of stand out.

  Moses looked down at his jumpsuit and saw that she was right. Although it was dirty, the bright orange still shone vividly. He started to take the uniform off.

  Don't be stupid, said Nate. You're going to need the clothing at night when it gets cold and the bugs come out.

  Moses didn't like Nate. Sure didn't like his attitude, but he was smart and usually right. Moses looked around and then zipped the jumpsuit all the way to his neck before throwing himself into the muddy pit in front of him. He rolled back and forth while rubbing muck into his short curly black hair and onto his already black face.

  He froze. Men talking. Back the way he had come.

  Time to go, said Billy.

  "You got that right," whispered Moses, pulling himself out of the muck. He spotted dry ground on the other side of the shallow pit and carefully made his way there. Once on the other side, he started running again.

  It felt good to be running. He wasn't afraid when he ran. It made him feel happy. Although he didn't notice, running made the voices go away for a while. It made him feel free.

  "I'm running," whispered Moses. "This time I h
ave to win. This time I need to win for sure." A broad crazy smile breached the face of the muddy thin wraith as he slipped soundlessly through the dark ancient woods.

  Chapter 5

  The small pool was exactly where Jack remembered it. Large smooth rocks formed a giant bowl where clear cool water collected before spilling out the southern lip. From there the clear water gathered into a stream that made its way to an inland lake below them brimming with fish. They had already laid out their gear on a clearing to the east side of the lake.

  "Now this is nice," said Amanda, who had stripped down to a bikini. She drank a canned beer and lay on a rock in the water, her head tilted up towards the sun with her eyes closed.

  "You ain't kidding," said Brian, opening his fourth beer.

  "Pass me another one would you?" asked Jack as he turned up the music player.

  Evan tipped his beer appreciatively at the electronic player. "Good thinking with the tunes, partner."

  Charles reached into the cooler and emerged with a beer in each hand, a look of horror on his face.

  "These are the last two, my friends."

  The group let out wails of despair.

  Jack grabbed one of the beers out of Charles' hand. "Don't worry, folks, I brought plenty more."

  "But...it's back at the boat," said Evan.

  Charles opened the other beer and drank deep. "Yeah, and we can't possibly be expected to find our way back there on our own, especially now that we just got comfortable."

  "I propose that our fearless guide go get us more beer," said Brian.

  "Second," said Heather quickly.

  "All in favor?" asked Charles, and five hands went up in unison.

  Jack killed the rest of the open beer in several long swallows. He then climbed out of the water and grabbed the empty cooler. "Okay, okay, be back in a little bit."

  "Bring some food too," said Charles. "We missed lunch, and all this beer is making me feel a little lightheaded."

  "We might just take advantage of you," said Heather with a mischievous grin.

  "Yes," said Brian, running his hand along Charles’ thigh, "we just might."

  Charles slapped Brian's hand away. "Jack, please come back quickly."

  Jack chuckled as he walked away. "I will. Ya'll play nice until I return." He stumbled a little climbing up the hill. His head spinning slightly, Jack realized that he was a little buzzed. He hadn't drank this much in several years.

  "You okay, Jack?" asked Evan. "Want someone to go with you?"

  Jack waved his hand. "No, I'm good, be back soon," he said, making his way over the hill and out of sight.

  Feeling relaxed and happy, Jack enjoyed the stroll to the boat. When he got there, he found a dignified pelican sitting on the bow looking at him.

  "I'm sorry, buddy," said Jack, not wanting to disturb the bird, "but I got to get the beer." He moved slowly toward the boat.

  The bird looked at him reproachfully and with a squawk lifted off to glide smoothly over the flat water.

  This is why Dad loved this place, thought Jack. It had nothing to do with fishing. It was the peacefulness. Getting away from the courtroom and people’s troubles. Jack and his father had started coming after Jack's mother died. Bog Island had made things better somehow.

  I should come more often, he thought. It's nice here with my friends, but I can come down alone on the weekends. Recharge. Relax.

  Thinking about getting away more often caused Jack to look at his cell phone to see if he had missed any calls. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he had gone this long without his phone ringing.

  "Of course," said Jack, seeing no signal on his phone and putting it back in his pocket. He filled the cooler with ice and beer before picking up a small duffle bag and packing it full of food and a few more six packs of beer. Jack debated grabbing the tents and sleeping bags, but dismissed the idea. He was already carrying a lot and they would have time to come get the rest of their gear before nightfall. He slung the duffle bag across his shoulder and decided to grab his fishing tackle box and a couple of poles. Maybe they could catch some fish for dinner.

  His hands full, Jack made his way back up the trail. He paused at Uncle Johnny's clearing as an odd thought struck him. He walked over to look at the cabin foundations more closely. Something didn't seem right, and after a few more minutes, Jack finally figured it out.

  The area was clean. There were no old stones where the house had fallen down. No burned supports or evidence of a fire. Nothing except the bare foundation, almost as if the cabin had been lifted right off the ground and taken away.

  He thought of the pearl-handled pocketknife in his pocket. Something isn't right here.

  Jack's thoughts were interrupted by laughter to the south. Instead of following the trail, Jack decided to take a shortcut since it wasn't that far. His friends sounded like they were having fun without him, and Jack wanted to be a part of it.

  If Jack had only had to deal with the vines or the affects of the beer, he probably would have been okay, but the combination of both was debilitating. He struggled and pushed through the undergrowth dragging the cooler, duffle bag, and fishing gear with him. Soon, he was exhausted and sweating heavily. Jack inched up the hill and saw his friends below him singing along to the music from the player, which was certainly near maximum volume.

  Jack opened his mouth to yell at them to come help him when his feet slipped out from under him in the soft soil. He fell in a heap of gear onto his face. Jack looked up and could still see his friends.

  "Hey!" he yelled. "Give me a hand here!"

  His friends kept singing and talking loudly over the blaring music.

  Jack started laughing at the absurdity of it all and struggled to stand.

  Something made Jack look down the hill again. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong. A dark horror of a figure, dirty and gaunt, stood on the edge of the clearing, nearly blending in with the background. He appeared to be wearing what was once an orange prison jumpsuit, but it was difficult to tell with all the mud and dirt covering him. Jack yelled out a warning, but it was lost in the sound of the music.

  Brian either heard Jack or sensed something was wrong. He stopped singing, stood slowly, and turned to face the figure. A few seconds later, the others did the same. Charles stepped protectively in front of the two women while Brian moved to face the dirty wraith.

  Words were spoken by Brian and the dirty vagabond, but Jack couldn't hear anything. He struggled again to free himself, but only became more thoroughly entangled.

  The muddy figure was suddenly startled and turned his head behind him as if listening to the air. Without warning, he darted between Brian and Charles with amazing quickness, leaped over the pool of water, and vanished into the far edge of the woods. Jack's friends were talking to each other and looking around. Jack started to yell again, as there was a break between songs, but stopped.

  Something was coming out of the trees from where the ragged man had emerged. Jack's friends saw it also and stood together to face whatever was about to emerge.

  Intuition made Jack yell out without thinking. "Run!"

  It was too late. Another song blared over the scene below. It was Golden Earring’s Twilight Zone.

  Chapter 6

  Something was coming through the woods towards them.

  "I don't like this," said Heather.

  "Just take it easy," said Brian. "And, for the love of God, turn that damn music off. We're probably drawing attention from all over the island."

  Evan reached over to turn off the player as more than a dozen men with assault rifles and camouflage uniforms emerged from the brush. Both groups stopped and stared at each other.

  "Good afternoon, folks," said a man in the middle after some hesitation. "I'm Captain Brent Urchart of the local park service. Sorry to disturb you, but have you seen a man run through here recently?"

  "Why?" asked Charles. "He do something wrong?"

  Urchart shook his he
ad. "Not at all. He's part of our security exercise here; he got bitten by a water moccasin. He was getting treatment, then while in delirium ran away. We need to get him back before he hurts himself or before that snake poison does any further damage to his system."

  "Security exercise?" asked Brian, looking at their military gear and unmarked uniforms.

  "Yeah," said a pale man with blue eyes, "but we ain't got time to screw with you civilians. You seen the man or not?"

  "He went that way," said Amanda, pointing to their rear.

  "Thank you kindly," said Urchart, signaling for his men to move forward.

  "Want me to call for a medical helicopter?" asked Evan, holding up his cell phone.

  Urchart shook his head sadly. "I wish we could, but there's no signal out here."

  "No problem," said Evan, holding the phone up to his ear. "This is a satellite telephone. 911 is ringing. We'll get help here in just a minute."

  "Put that phone down!" screamed a blond man with blue eyes, pointing his rifle at Evan.

  "Hey, take it easy," said Brian and Urchart at the same time.

  "Now!" screamed the blond man at Evan.

  Evan froze with his eyes wide, the phone to his ear.

  "You boys aren't on a security exercise, are you?" asked Brian, his face hard. "You're some kind of mercenaries. I've seen your type before, my friend."

  Evan's look of fear was replaced by one of concentration. "Yes, this is Evan Athers. We have an emergency situation here at—"

  His words were cut short as the blond man sprayed bullets into Evan's chest. The cell phone flew out of his hand and landed in the pool of water.

  "What the hell!" screamed Amanda, rushing out from behind Charles to fall on her knees beside Evan. Her friend's eyes were wide; blood bubbled from his mouth.

  "Get away from him!" yelled the blond man, pointing his rifle at Amanda's head.

  "Jimmer!" yelled Urchart in an authoritative voice. "Put that rifle down now."