by Sam Ferguson
“Three,” Hank said with a cocky nod. “One through the door, another through the small window in the back there.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the long, sixties style narrow window that ran horizontally along the back wall of the room.
“And the third?” Jones asked.
“A thermal camera scanning the whole room, and it has a reeeeaaaally sweet microphone on it too. Did you know, that we can pick up voices simply by pointing a laser at a window? Amazing how technology has changed, right boys?”
Briggs cursed and unscrewed the silencer.
I was confused terribly, but at least the silencer was being put away. That was certainly a step in the right direction.
“What do you want Hank?” Jones asked.
“Well, he turned you down, as any man or woman of upright character would, and I just thought, rather than waste a man’s life, you could let me see if he wants to work with us.”
“Bloody Guardians,” Jones said with a shake of his head. He turned back to me. “You sure you won’t come with us?”
I answered him with a silent glare.
Jones threw his hands up. “Hank, you know I’ll catch hell for this.”
“And you know that I saved your life back in ’96, ’99, and ’05.”
“Cocky little –” Briggs started, but was cut off by Hank.
“Saved your tail in ’07, Briggs. Twice.” Hank smiled and folded his arms. “And let’s not forget how much dirt we have on Section Four,” he whispered with his hands to his mouth, making a show of being quiet.
Suddenly, I found myself liking Hank a lot.
“You’ll wipe his memory if he refuses?” Jones asked.
“Only tonight’s memories,” Hank said. “Anything more than that would be unnecessary and intrusive. Can’t have him not knowing what happened at all.”
“You’d be responsible for him then,” Jones said. “You would have to ensure that any future assaults were dealt with discreetly, and without collateral damage. If you fail, we’d have to finish the job.”
“Yes yes, big scary agents with guns, I know the drill. Now, if you don’t mind I would like to speak with Mr. Mills alone. I think he has finished with you.”
“Keep your mouth shut,” Briggs said as he glowered at me. I wasn’t sure if he was more upset about the possibility of me talking about the “incident” or the lost opportunity to shoot me. If I had to guess, I would say it was number two.
Jones shook his head and waited until Briggs left the room. Then he leaned toward Hank. “You can’t keep playing the ‘I saved your life card’ forever, Hank. One day your favors will run out.”
Hank nodded. “Exactly how many favors is your life worth? I want to make sure I keep a solid tally,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Jones took in a deep, loud breath, and then left the room.
Hank looked to me and then pointed at the door. “Mind if I come in and close this?”
“I imagine you just saved my life, so you can do what you like,” I said with a wave of my hand.
“Imagine?” Hank echoed as he closed the door and locked it. “You didn’t imagine it, I did save your life, and I arrived not a second too soon I might add.”
I nodded. “So, you can wipe memories too huh? What part of the government are you from?”
Hank shook his head. “Not government at all,” Hank said. “Closest I get to that is if we have to rescue their sorry cans when something goes really sour. They have toys and a lot of man power, but we have brains, and better people.”
“But you can wipe memories?”
“Only if needed, and even then I try and just take the most recent twenty-four hours, just enough to erase any memory of me, or of Section Four. It protects us, and you. After that I can try to have you put into our protection program, and guard against future attacks like the one in Dallas. However, I am hoping you won’t turn me down like you did them.”
“So this is the part where you tell me you pay better?” I scoffed.
Hank shook his head. “We pay a marginal stipend, but it’s just enough to get you fancy mac-n-cheese instead of ramen noodles.”
I frowned. “So, no toys, no stacks of cash?”
“Some toys, and a bit of cash, but not much more than thirty K a year. We do provide housing though, so that helps.”
“Well, I am in between houses at the moment,” I said. At least my sense of humor wasn’t entirely destroyed. “Those two said something about a vendetta or something like that. They said the lizard man, or others like him, would continue to hunt me. Do you know why?”
Hank nodded. “I have an associate who can give you quite a bit of information to shed light on that topic. We’ll do our best to answer any questions you have.”
“It would be nice to have some answers,” I admitted. “I tried to do some research from the library back in county, but other than a few twisted memoirs about big foot, I didn’t find much.”
Hank smiled and stifled a laugh. “I can promise you two things,” Hank said. “First, we never threaten people to join us, and so you will never need to be in that position.”
I perked up at this. I wondered just how long he had been listening. “And second?”
Hank smiled and wrinkled his nose a bit, then he looked me straight in the face and without blinking said, “We fight to help those who cannot fight for themselves. We don’t do it for glory, ‘cause we can’t talk about it. We don’t do it for the money, ‘cause there ain’t much. We do it for those who would fall victim to the others. We fight for them, and help them stay blissfully unaware so that the nightmares only affect their dreams. In the simplest terms, we try to rescue people. That’s it. We are the Guardians.”
Not the best pitch I had ever heard, but it rang true, if a bit over-rehearsed. “What about people like me? Do you recruit all of the survivors of attacks?”
Hank shook his head. “First of all, if a gateway is opened, there are usually no survivors. Second, we try to get to the gate before it opens. We clear the innocents out of the area and then stop the intruders from coming into our world.” He reached up and stroked his cheek. “In your case, we hadn’t seen that portal opening until it was too late. We didn’t have enough time to get to you. I’m sorry about your dad, and for the past eight months. If I could have stopped any of that from happening, I would have.”
I nodded, thinking on his words for a moment. I was still confused about everything, but at least Hank seemed sincere. I just had one more question. “What do you do with survivors who turn you down?”
“Most of the time we wipe their most recent day, like I said.”
“But Briggs and Jones said memories can come back, aren’t you afraid of exposure?”
“There was once a time when we didn’t have to skulk about,” Hank said. “Personally, I don’t care so much about secrecy. If I had my way, the whole world would know the truth, but there are other complications that make that a less than ideal option for now. In any case, we try to work with the survivors as best we can. A couple of times we did wipe a few months of memories, but that was because the survivor asked for it. The trauma they had been through was more than they wanted to deal with. We then relocated them and set them up as best we could to keep Section Four off their backs.”
“So you look out for the little guy, even if they don’t want to join up with you?”
Hank nodded. “It may sound idealistic, or cliché even, but that’s what the Guardians are. We protect people. Don’t get me wrong, we don’t hold little tea parties or diplomatic galas with those who try to open gateways into our world. We are as rough and dirty as circumstances dictate, but we’re not thugs like Briggs and Jones.
“All right,” I said. “Just let me get my shirt.”
CHAPTER 3
Hank put me on a plane bound for Sea-Tac airport. I hadn’t ever been out that way before. All I knew about the Emerald City was that it rained a lot. As I expected, it was raining when I
left the plane. I went out to the baggage claim area and pushed through the crowd as politely as I could. I was more than anxious to get out of the airport though, and I had pretty much sworn off planes for life.
If you think TSA is bad normally, try going through airport security after barely beating a murder charge. I was screened twice, and I don’t mean the polite pat down they give to the “random” grumpy people. I was special, so I got to go and visit the special screening room. VIPs only. Apparently it took six TSA agents to do the job too. The plane wasn’t much better. I was seated next to the window on a smaller plane, which meant the wall of the cabin curved in sharper than it does on larger planes. Wide shoulders are a blessing when lifting and doing hard work, but they are a curse in confined quarters. The seat itself wasn’t much better. I have twenty-nine inch thighs, and they aren’t the jiggly, squishy kind of large legs, so trying to fit between the narrow armrests that were so wisely fitted with divider walls was fairly painful.
To top things off, the air marshal introduced himself to me and then took the seat right next to mine. Needless to say, he took the armrest right away. I suppose he was testing my sharing skills. I would have put on headphones, but I didn’t own any now. I didn’t even have a cell phone. In-flight entertainment? Sure, but the headphones weren’t coming around before take-off. I sighed and tried to lean my head against the cabin wall and close my eyes. Before I could get too comfortable, the air marshal leaned over and whispered into my ear. Apparently he felt the need to tell me that there were three marines on the flight returning home from a training exercise. He had already spoken to them about me, and they promised to be ready if I proved any trouble.
As I said, an acquittal doesn’t mean jack in the people’s court.
I couldn’t help but sigh in relief as I walked out to the pick up area and beyond the last row of TSA agents and cops. I needed space to breathe. Hank was there as he promised, leaning up against a green sedan, arms folded and a big smile on his face.
“Welcome to Washington,” Hank said.
I nodded and got into the car. “Thanks for the ride,” I said as Hank jumped in and buckled up.
“Well, normally we make the trainees walk to HQ, but it can be a bit tricky to find.”
HQ – it sounded like some sort of giant concrete bunker hidden deep in the woods or something. Hank drove and turned up the radio. I was surprised to learn that he was a devout ABBA fan. Let me tell you, you have never lived until you’ve hear Hank sing Dancing Queen. I had to look out the window to keep from laughing, yet even I have to admit it was just the thing I needed to lift my spirits after that flight.
We drove for about two hours south. We stopped for a late lunch at a two-story KFC where the top floor was where most people preferred to eat as it overlooked the southern end of Puget Sound. So, after eight months in county jail for allegedly cutting off my deadbeat father’s head, I was eating fried chicken and mashed potatoes from a box while watching seals play in the water down below in a rainstorm. Definitely not where I thought I would be when the interviewer at my old job asked me where I saw myself in five years. You know the saying, life is what happens while you are making other plans.
We ate quickly, and I turned to leave, but Hank reached out and grabbed my wrist before I could remove the tray from the table.
“You aren’t timed for meals anymore, son,” he said.
I don’t like being called “son.” Never have. Still, I could swallow my pride a bit for someone like Hank, so I just nodded and tried to sit down. Within seconds I was tapping my thumb on the table faster than The Offspring’s drummer.
“Try to relax,” Hank said. “Look at the water, how it moves in and out. Watch the seals.”
I was trying to relax, but it wasn’t easy.
“Are you nervous about what’s coming?” Hank asked.
“A little,” I said. Frankly I wasn’t sure I had actually wrapped my head around it entirely. I still wasn’t completely sure I wasn’t losing my mind. It’s hard to explain, but when the whole world says you are guilty, and probes you and interrogates you for hours, then days, then months, you start to break down. You start to wonder if they’re right. Hell, there was a part of me that thought perhaps I had made up the creatures in the portal to shield myself from the truth that I had in fact murdered my own father. I could push the thoughts away mostly, but they were always there, nagging at the back of my mind and eating away at who I knew myself to be. Seeds of doubt had been planted, and just like dandelions in a large lawn, the doubts were hard to kill, no matter how many times you tried to pull them out by the roots.
“You’ll be all right, in time,” Hank said as he leaned back and pulled a toothpick out of his wallet. He had chosen corn on the cob for one of his sides, so it took him a while to work at the little bits of yellow stuck in his teeth. When he finished, he chewed on the piece of wood and watched the seals play. We didn’t speak. We just stared out the window. It was probably only two minutes, but it felt like I was there for hours. It wasn’t long before I had to get up and take care of my tray.
Hank didn’t try to stop me this time, he just smiled and led the way back to the car. We drove down I-5 for a little while longer and then took exit 104 to get onto Highway 101 heading north. As we rounded the curve and crossed over a large body of water, Hank pointed over his left shoulder.
“Remind me to take you over to Tumwater Falls next spring. Beautiful cherry trees there in the spring time. Decent restaurant too. I used to take an old girlfriend there sometimes. It’s a fun place.”
I tried to look to where he was pointing, but I couldn’t see anything over the divider and several lanes of I-5. What I did see though, was trees. As we went north, the highway was lined with trees. Thick, tall pine trees covered the ground everywhere. It was far greener than anything I had ever seen in Utah. Utah has its own natural beauty, don’t get me wrong. Zions Park, Arches Monument, the Wasatch Front, they’re all nice, but this blew me away. Anything that didn’t have a building, road, or parking lot was covered in trees and big ferns. It was a stark contrast to the Seattle metro area.
“Sometimes I take the ferry across, but I thought driving might help you reset a bit better. Besides, I wasn’t sure if you get sea-sick or not,” Hank said. “Some people are real sensitive to that kind of thing. You ever get motion sickness or seasick?”
I shrugged. I had never been on a boat before, so I had no idea.
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough I suppose. We have our own chopper, and even a plane, of sorts.”
I looked at him with wide eyes. I had kind of expected them to have a helicopter I guess, just judging from the way he talked about the Guardians, but it was the words “of sorts” when he mentioned the plane that got my attention. Were we talking a prop plane with wings duct taped on?
A part of me wondered if maybe I should have gone with Section Four and their big toys. Maybe then I could have flown in some UFO-based jet they designed in Area 51 or something.
Hank winked at me and then cranked up the volume and began singing Fernando at the top of his lungs, complete with hand gestures as if performing in front of a stage audience. I shook my head and resigned myself to watching the trees fly by on the side of the road. Another thing I noticed about this area, cops. A lot of them. I think I counted seven state patrol cars from Sea-Tac to Olympia, and another four on Highway 101. Most of them were marked cars, but not all of them. I saw bright red dodge chargers fitted with tinted windows and lights in the grille. I saw a pair of blue Ford Expeditions, both hilariously parked at a donut shop off of I-5. I drooled with envy when I saw a gray Mustang GT with baby blue racing stripes. I wasn’t sure how that officer had scored a car like that, but he must have done something very, very right. I was about to ask Hank what it was all about, but as we drove further up 101, I saw a sign for the State Patrol Academy. It all made sense then.
We passed through a couple of smaller towns, or perhaps they were simply houses set back
from the highway, I wasn’t sure. There weren’t any signs. We turned off and pulled into a town called Shelton. It didn’t look like much. Mostly commercial and industrial space. Wood mills, fisheries, that sort of thing. Hank said most people lived outside of the town itself.
“The town’s bigger than it looks. The high school is listed as a 3A for sports. The football team can get a bit rowdy. They once threw a log off an overpass onto a rival team’s bus.”
I looked at him incredulously.
“One hell of a powerlifting team though. They take state more often than not.”
I thought back to my high school football team. Our coaches made us dress up in suits for game days, and the craziest trouble we ever got into was towel-snapping each other in the locker room. Our coaches would have killed us if we had thrown pebbles at a bus, let alone a frickin log.
Before I had finished my thought, we had passed through the town and were driving out to the north. We drove along the coastline of Oakland Bay, which was fed by Hammersley Inlet and still a part of the Puget Sound. I watched as people stabbed the thick mud during the low tide.
“Clamming,” Hank shouted over the chorus of Take a Chance on Me. “If they’re lucky, they’ll find a gooeyduck.”
“A what?”
“Well, it’s spelled GEO-duck, but we pronounce it goo-ey-duck. It’s the largest burrowing clam in the world. Right here.” Hank pointed out the window for emphasis. “Good eatin’ to be sure.”
“How big?” I asked, mostly out of the hope that conversation would force Hank to turn down Abba.
“Biggest one I found was seven pounds, that’s just under the record. Most are one to three pounds though.”
Whoa! That is a big clam!
“Anyway, we’re getting close.”
Close must have been a relative term. We drove another twenty minutes or so before peeling off toward the west. We drove down a paved road that eventually turned into a single lane gravel road before coming to a stop at a small cemetery deep in the woods. Hank flicked the ignition off and yanked the keys out as he undid his belt and swiveled out of his seat.