by Ryan King
Quite a bit more cash than you are used to getting, she thought.
Indeed it was. Most of the derelicts and homeless vagrants they dealt with barely had ten dollars. Helga did this out of an inability to waste anything rather than greed or a need for money. She had been raised during tough times of want and understood the value of things.
This woman isn't a vagrant or homeless, she thought. This is a nice wallet, same for the purse.
Helga tried to push the thought aside, but pulled out the woman's driver's license nevertheless. Tossing the plastic identification down the chute, she then pulled out several credit cards and tossed them one by one down into the fire.
You already knew she wasn't like the others. Manicured nails, clean and well-cut hair, even the polite talk. This woman wasn't trash like the semi-human subjects we normally work on.
Helga pulled out the New Orleans Port Authority identification badge and looked at it closely. The woman looking back on the photo was smiling professionally and confidently.
The nurse's hands shook slightly, and she pushed the rest of the items roughly through the chute and slammed the small door roughly. Helga turned away and walked back down the hallway. It was dinnertime.
They told me we would only be working on criminals or homeless people. Those outside of society who contributed nothing. Testing the revolutionary treatment on them gave the losers an opportunity to serve a purpose. It was really the best thing for them. The only possible meaning their life could ever serve. But this woman was different, and Helga couldn't get the beautiful face out of her head. She had tested the drug on dozens of patients, many of whom did not survive. None of them had given her the slightest pause...until now.
This isn't right. You shouldn't use respectable and upstanding citizens as guinea pigs. All of that was fine for the trash. They were just barely above animals, after all. But not people like Heather Daniels.
What should I do?
"Nothing," Helga said out loud, startling herself slightly. Keep your mouth shut and do your job. If they can make someone like this woman disappear, then they can make an old hag like you disappear.
Helga walked into the small cafeteria filled with lab techs and researchers and looked at today's special. It was salmon, normally one of her favorites, but she turned away.
She no longer felt hungry.
Chapter 40
Moses did just as the dark-haired girl had told him. He headed north towards the lights on the distant shore.
Don't know why you trust her, said Nate in his head. She did turn you over to the bad men.
But she also helped you get away this time, said Delores.
That remains to be seen, said Nate smugly. We're not safe yet.
The conversation went on, but Moses pushed the details to the rear of his mind until it was simply background noise. He didn't need to hear every word to know what was being said. It was enough that they were with him and he wasn't alone. Being alone was the worst thing in the world.
It was spooky out on the open water at night. The only sounds were the small drone of the motor and the lapping of the waves against the boat's edge. Moses kept remembering a movie that had scared him as a child. He couldn't remember the name, but there had been a giant shark that came out of the ocean and destroyed the boat that the three men were on. It was named Crunch or Teeth or Chomp maybe. That boat had been much bigger than the one Moses was on.
He again tried to twist the throttle further, but the little engine was already maxed out.
Moses calmed himself by looking at the clear sky above him as he had on countless nights before. This was one reason he could never stand to live indoors. How could you see the beautiful sky and stars if you were inside?
There were few lights on the shore, but Moses picked out the closest and aimed for it. He was ready to get off the boat and away from the schools of giant sharks he could almost feel circling underneath him.
Jaws, he thought and shivered, that was the name of the movie.
After nearly a half hour, Moses could make out a small dock jutting out into a small inlet. A light from a pole at the end of the dock had been his guiding beacon. More light from a tiny home on a nearby hill cast menacing shadows on the water. Several times Moses could have sworn that cresting waves were the images of shark fins.
He pulled the boat up to the dock and tossed the chain onto the wooden surface in an attempt to hold him in place. It made a loud thump. Moses grabbed his meager belongings and carefully climbed from the boat to the deck. He stood and looked around, trying to figure out what to do next.
A door slammed at the tiny house. "Hey, who's out there?" a voice cried.
Moses froze, but then realized he was under a bright light. He grabbed his belongings and sprinted down the dock towards the land and darkness.
"Stop right there!" yelled the voice. "I got a gun and, by God, I’ll use it."
This declaration only made Moses run faster. This was not the first time someone had threatened to shoot him and the threats were often carried out.
He caught sight of a small elderly man holding a shotgun. Moses ran past him and they made eye contact, the shotgun barrel following him accurately, but no blast came. Moses ran up the home's driveway and out onto a dark road.
Stopping to catch his breath and get his bearings, Moses peered right and left. There was no sign of anyone else, but it was a remote country road. Fortunately, the night was clear and moonlight filtered down to illuminate the dark paved path through the towering Cyprus trees on either side.
"Which way?" he said out loud.
Right, answered Delores.
Moses turned right and began walking. After an hour, the small road intersected a slightly larger road labeled by the number eighty-three in a white circle. Delores again told him to go right and he did.
Several pickup trucks drove past him on the dark road. Moses fought the urge to jump into the nearby ditch, afraid that the bad men from the camp had come looking for him, but none of the vehicles slowed. After another couple of hours, he saw a sign that said, “Baldwin - 6.”
Moses had never heard of a town called Baldwin, but something about the sign made him realize where he was going. New Orleans. Home. He had hitchhiked before and could do it again.
Have to be careful, said Billy. Some people aren't nice.
And watch out for the police, said Nate. They'll hurt you if they can. Might even turn you over to the bad camp men.
Moses didn't always like Nate, but admitted he was often right.
He should definitely avoid the police.
Chapter 41
Lucas Ross walked into the governor's office and closed the door. His friend was on the phone thanking a contributor for a recent donation. St Keel made eye contact with Lucas and used his hand to mime someone talking and talking. He motioned for Lucas to go ahead and sit.
"You bet, James," the governor said, "you and Eva both. Great to talk to you." He prepared to hang up the phone but then listened again, his head dropping in exasperation.
"Indeed, you're right," St Keel said. "I'm just as concerned, and let's talk about it more sometime over whiskey and cigars." He shrugged at his chief-of-staff apologetically.
Lucas didn't mind waiting. It gave him more time to think through the unsavory task he needed to perform. He tuned out the governor's conversation.
The governor finally hung up the phone. "Good Lord that man can talk. You would think someone who was running one of the largest oil businesses in the western hemisphere would have work to do, but evidently not."
"I need to tell you something," said Lucas. "Want to make sure you're not blindsided should someone ask you about it."
The governor froze. "Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good."
Lucas sighed. "We found out about a developing situation. Four men and two women rented a boat down on the gulf and, after six days, haven't returned."
"Have we informed the coast guard?" asked St Keel. "Probably capsized
or had engine trouble."
"They know and have been searching, but nothing yet."
St Keel thought for a moment and then nodded. "Okay, seems pretty straight forward. Appreciate the heads up."
"That's not all of it," continued Lucas. "One of the men was Jackson Winters."
The governor stared at him intently for several long seconds. "I'm presuming you are telling me this because it is the same Jackson Winters who is the son of Jeremiah."
"The same," said Lucas. "We're doing all we can to try to locate them, but after six days...who knows."
"I want him found," said St Keel in a commanding voice. "Do whatever it takes. He could be in serious trouble. We have got to find him!"
"You need to prepare for the worst," said Lucas. "I know he was your friend's son, but the reality is grim."
"I know that, but even the worst case...I want him found. He deserves to rest beside his father and mother."
"Yes, sir," answered his chief-of-staff. "We will, but we need to work on a media response."
"Have they picked up on it yet?"
Lucas shook his head. "But it's only a matter of time. There's already missing persons' reports on several of the group. I've taken the liberty of assigning the case to the state police."
"Good." St Keel nodded. "Keep me informed. I want to know of any developments immediately."
There was a knock of the door, and the governor's secretary stuck her head into the room. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is an incoming call from Senator Clemens."
"Oh, yes," said St Keel, reaching for the phone on his desk. "Have to take this, Lucas. Remember, do whatever it takes. I want that boy found."
Lucas nodded and stood as his boss picked up the phone and donned a smile and overly friendly manner. He walked out of the governor's offices and down the hallway.
Devin was waiting for him.
"Did you take care of that thing?" Lucas asked.
Devin nodded. "Even with that reporter gone, we won't be able to keep a lid on this for long."
"I know," answered Lucas. "We'll just have to make sure it spins our way."
"Like Oman?"
Lucas gave the man a look filled with warning. "This is a very critical time for the governor. He is on the cusp of a presidential run. Do I need to tell you what that could mean for all of us?"
"I understand," said Devin after a pause.
Staring at his old deputy for a moment, Lucas felt a note of unease. "That's good. Have you checked into the situation at Site Iaso?"
Devin nodded slowly. "Something's off down there, but I'm not sure if Urchart has lost control or not. If I had to guess, I would say not."
"Doesn't mean he doesn't need a talking to," answered Lucas. "Maybe you need to go down there and make sure things are under control."
"Whatever you think best."
"Good, it's settled then."
Devin shifted. "What if Jackson Winters and his friends are there? What if they've fallen into our net?"
Lucas didn't answer for a long time. "Crazy homeless bums are one thing. No one would believe them even if they did escape. This is something else. Someone might believe a lawyer, especially one who is the son of a Supreme Court Justice."
"I understand," answered Devin.
"Are you sure?" asked Lucas.
Devin nodded. "If they are there, none of them can ever leave that island."
Lucas smiled and nodded.
It was such a relief not to have to explain everything.
Chapter 42
"You sure about this?" asked Deloy, leading a bound Johnny through the woods towards the prison camp.
"Nope," answered Johnny, "but we don't have any better ideas. Besides this will prove your loyalty to them and take away any suspicion they might have."
"Someone could go for help," said Rena from behind Johnny. "Or we could wait for Moses to tell the police."
Johnny laughed. "Ain't no policeman going to believe a crazy story like that. Especially not from a loony black homeless man. They wouldn't believe it from us. Even if they did, they would only call the park service, who happen to be the evil thugs we're trying to outsmart."
"Is that what we're trying to do here?" asked Deloy. "I thought this was about saving your friend's son."
"Same thing," answered Johnny.
They walked slowly down a forest path still wet from the night's dew. Rays of sun knifed through the dense foliage to highlight clouds of mist rising into the air.
"I thought you said there was a storm coming," said Rena, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Johnny nodded. "It's coming, never fear, and it's going to be a whopper."
By the time they approached the front gate of the camp, it was nearly noon and they were all soaked with sweat.
"Hold right there," said a commanding voice from the guard shack. "This is a federal facility and you are trespassing."
Deloy held up the rope in his hand that was attached to Johnny's bound wrists. "Tell Mr. Urchart that Deloy Dequese is here with someone I think he would be interested in seeing."
The guard hesitated for a moment before speaking indistinctly into a radio and then listening carefully. He then stepped out of the shack, his hand on the pistol at his belt. He peered at the trio carefully. "He'll be out in a minute. What exactly do we have here?"
"Kidnapping, torture, experimentation, cover-up, conspiracy," said Johnny. "You know, the typical secret government facility bullshit."
"You got a big mouth," the guard told Johnny. "Especially for a tied-up old man out here in the middle of nowhere."
Johnny smiled. "You have no idea, son."
The guard took a step forward, but Urchart arrived. He glared at Johnny as he walked up to Deloy.
"Where did you find him?" he asked.
"We didn't," answered Deloy. "He came to our house last night asking for a place to stay. Said he came back to the island yesterday."
Urchart shook his head at Johnny. "Dumb idea, my friend. You were home free; we weren't even looking for you anymore. Everyone just assumed you'd died somewhere along the way."
"One of many bad assumptions I would say," answered Johnny, looking at the camp perimeter behind them.
"We don't want any trouble," Deloy told Urchart. "You folks have been decent to my family and everything's been good on the island between us. I'd like to keep it that way."
Urchart nodded and stuck his hand out to Deloy who shook it. "Thank you very much. Some people just don't understand the importance of what we're doing here."
"What will happen to him?" asked Rena.
Her father gave her a warning look, but Urchart only shrugged. "We'll give him a place where he can rest and stay out of trouble. Get the doctor to check him out, bet he's off his meds. He'll get good meals and probably a better night's rest than he's had in months."
"Exactly why I'm here," said Johnny with a smile.
Urchart waved the guard forward. "Take him in to Kevin, who will process him. I'll keep an eye on the gate until you get back."
The guard walked forward and took the lead rope, jerking Johnny roughly forward. He pulled him through the metal gate before closing and locking the gate.
There had maybe been only five seconds to peer into the camp, but Rena discovered she was holding her breath. She made herself let it out. Urchart looked at her curiously.
Her father put his arm on her back and steered her away from the camp and back towards their home.
"Thanks again," Urchart called after them.
Deloy raised his hand in response but picked up his step.
"Did you see him?" she asked almost in a whisper.
"Just keep walking," her father said.
The glimpse had been brief and from a distance. Much of the view had been blocked by Johnny and the guard. The man she had seen in the orange jumpsuit could have been anyone.
But she knew it was Jack.
Her soul ached.
As she marched through the woods
towards her home that pain was slowly replaced by something else. Something she welcomed.
Fury.
Chapter 43
Cliff had been true to his word. The Kingston Shelter Director had called Deborah at work the day before. Her heart had been racing as she drove in a frantic and absent-minded trail of angry car horns across town. The whole way she kept telling herself it wasn't him. It wasn't her brother. She couldn't bear the heartbreak and disappointment. Deborah had even begun to have nightmares of being called to the city morgue to identify Moses.
But she had been wrong.
She looked over at him sleeping fitfully on her couch. At times he would moan and mumble in his sleep, but his body was clearly exhausted and his slumber was deep if not peaceful.
As always, he had greeted her as if they had seen each other that morning. Her barely contained emotions obviously confused him, so she did her best to keep it under control. Once back home, she had allowed herself to go into the bathroom and cry quietly for ten minutes. Then she had gotten it all together.
After feeding and cleaning her brother, she had given him clean clothes...his clean clothes. She always kept them around her apartment for Moses' sudden resurfaces.
He frequently was not in the best state of health after one of his vanishing acts, but she was shocked by how skeletal he appeared. Always thin and wiry, bones protruded from every angle of his protesting skin covered with countless sores and old insect bites. When she brushed his think tangle of matted hair it came out in clumps. Not only that, but there were several scars that she had never seen before. Ugly jagged lines or thick puckered keloids punctuated his shattered body like road signs in a forgotten desert.
Her brother was in bad shape.
Deborah had wanted to take him to the hospital, but this caused her brother to launch into hysterics. Fortunately, she knew enough about physical trauma and first aid to convince herself that he didn't suffer from anything life-threatening. She would try to get him to a doctor once he recovered...or at least after he and had gained some weight and a sense of security.