by Peter Idone
“It’ll be all right. This old truck should blend in with the old vehicles and farm equipment in the area.”
“One can only hope.”
They fell silent as Logan turned onto the highway, passed the sealed exit to Pine Haven, and several miles farther turned onto the Maplewood exit ramp. It was a lightless road. Pitch black with nothing but farmland and clusters of trees. A single light from a house, dim and amber in color, was all they could see in the distance. When the road curved slightly and then dipped, Natalie told Logan to turn off the headlights and operate solely on fog lights. After a quarter of a mile, she told him to turn right onto a muddy road. Logan could see the outline of a small, plain, one-story farmhouse. He drove past the house another several hundred yards and then pulled into a ramshackle barn, as Natalie had directed him. The dim fog lights illuminated a variety of tools hanging from the corrugated metal walls and an assortment of feed and seed bags and several large milk pails. They got out of the car and Natalie shouldered her pack as Logan grabbed his gear from the backseat. The interior lights of the car remained off. They closed the car doors firmly but quietly.
“These folks are cool,” Natalie said. “We can keep the truck here for as long as necessary, but I’m sure we’ll be back before sunup.” She had Logan give her his keys, went to the rear wall of the shack where some tools hung, removed a rake, and hooked the car keys by the ring on a nail. “Just in case only one of us makes it back.”
The mud road they’d come in on ran deeper into the dormant farm field. It was cold and the air felt moist. Before setting out in earnest, Natalie put the night-vision binoculars to her eyes and scanned the near horizon. She handed the NV optics to Logan to have a look. It was old technology showing a green iridescent image of the flat field; the thick line of trees that bordered the far edge of the field looked like broccoli heads.
They’d walked for several hundred feet when the dirt road narrowed into a mere path and eventually became swallowed by the turned-over soil. Clumps of some kind of dead vegetation remained in the tilled soil. Potatoes, that’s what had been planted here and since been harvested; Logan could recognize the strong distinctive odor. Neither one talked. The only sound was of their heavy boots stepping over the churned earth. Any outer-perimeter Tactical patrols either driving on the road or on foot could detect them, which made them quicken their pace.
When they reached the tree line and took cover, Natalie brought the NV optics up to her eyes again and scanned their surroundings. “The fence line is another hundred yards in. We’ll park ourselves a dozen yards from it and wait for Creech’s signal. Let’s go.”
The glow boy still doesn’t know I’m tagging along, Logan thought. He wondered how that would turn out. He was ambivalent either way. He was here, attempting to pull off this caper with Natalie, but had very little stake in its success. All he cared about was not getting caught, and even if they were, what was the worst that could happen? Charged with trespassing? When all was said and done, Pine Haven had become just a dumping ground. Whatever occurred before, the Air Force’s involvement was strictly hearsay.
The wind began to pick up, a stiff breeze with ten- to fifteen-mile-an-hour gusts. And it was starting to rain in earnest now. It felt cold, between the mid to high thirties, Logan assumed from the temperature greeting his face. The tree cover was absorbing most of the moisture so far. Logan had turned on his flashlight with the blue lens and kept it pointed toward the ground. There was enough of a deep-blue circumference of illumination for both of them to see and not be tripped up by the undergrowth.
Natalie signaled for them to stop and told Logan to wait. Once again she lifted the night-vision binoculars to her eyes. The fence line was close, but she had them advance another thirty or so feet, and then they crouched low to the ground. They extinguished the flashlight. Everything was black: all the tree trunks, saplings, and vine-entangled shrubs. The only thing Logan could make out were the pale narrow birches; everything else was a black void. Maintaining her crouched position, Natalie continued to peer through the binoculars, looking for some infrared signature that would reveal Creech. After nearly ten minutes of this silent waiting, she saw a form emerge from the growth on the opposite side of the fence. Whoever was standing at the fence was using his arms and hands to manipulate the chain-link in some way. She gave Logan the binoculars. “What do you think he’s doing?” she asked.
“Is it him?”
“Yes. I think so.”
Logan gave her the binoculars. “Take another look. When you’re sure, I’ll give the signal.”
She waited for a moment. “There’s no one else around. It’s him. Do it now. It’s Creech.”
Logan took the flashlight and clicked it on and off three times. A red-lens flashlight returned the signal: three on, three off. Natalie returned the binoculars. “Keep an eye out. I’ll signal.”
She stood up and walked over to where Creech stood. From what Logan could determine, there was a seam in the fence, and Creech had undone some kind of wire or clips and pulled open a breach in the section. As Natalie went through, she gestured broadly for Logan to follow. Turning on the flashlight, he approached the fence.
Even with the scant light, Logan could sense, from the tone of voice and tense body language, that Creech wasn’t pleased. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone.”
“This is Joe,” Natalie said, trying to sound unconcerned. “He’s come along to help. You know, help me carry some stuff.”
“I could have helped you. I’m very disappointed, Natalie.” He sounded petulant, almost whining.
“No, don’t be, Tommy.”
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“No! No, it’s nothing like that. My boss made me take him along. I didn’t have a choice. He was concerned for my safety and demanded that Joe come along. What could I do? It was a last-minute decision on his part. My boss wouldn’t let me come if I didn’t take Joe along.”
“I’m still very disappointed. You should have told me. I don’t like this. I was helping you.”
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Natalie said, pleading. “It was only for reasons of security, don’t you understand? I didn’t have any choice.”
“This isn’t fair. I’m not prepared.”
“Prepared for what?” Logan said. There was an undercurrent at play, and if Logan were to give it a name, he would call it jealousy. What line had Natalie been feeding this douche? he wondered. “Can we get this moving along? We have a ways to go and a lot of work to do. Now, either we get on with it, or Natalie and I can slip back through the fence and won’t bother you ever again.”
Natalie regarded both Logan and Creech with anticipation.
“That won’t be necessary,” Creech said, dejectedly. “I don’t like surprises, but you’re here now and there’s nothing I can do about it. Help me with the fence and then let’s be on our way.”
Creech began to reattach the tie wire to the individual links that had been cut. There was a lot of tension in the fence, but the glow boy seemed to have the strength to manage. Logan, on the other hand, needed to use the crimpers. “I’ve got more tie wire if you think it needs more,” Logan said.
“Don’t bother. No one ever comes around here.”
“What about patrols?” Logan asked.
“Nobody on foot and that much I know. This entire sector—over six hundred feet—is without working sensors or alarms. It’s totally off the grid, and the Tacticals don’t even know it yet. Why do you think I had Natalie meet me here? And now you,” Creech said roughly.
“So that’s how you get in and out,” Natalie said.
“There are little tunnels, crawlspaces here and there. You have to know where to look,” he said to Natalie in a much softer voice. “There will be vehicle patrols making passes on the roads that run through the estate. That’s what you must watch out for. Mostly they drive with headlights on, but sometimes they only use night vision. Keep your ears open for the sound of a mo
tor. If you see the glare from headlights in the distance, get under cover, or lie flat and still if caught out in the open. And you,” Creech turned to Logan, “watch our rear. Let us know if you hear or see something. Can you manage that?”
“I think I’ll do fine.”
“Don’t think, just do it.”
Logan decided to speak very carefully to the glow boy and not feed into his sense of superiority. Out here, Creech ruled and would play the alpha role for whatever it was worth. Logan would make an extreme effort not to let Creech’s needling get in the way.
After fastening the last tie, Creech tugged on the chain-link to make sure nothing sprang back. It looked as if it would hold. “Let’s head in for a bit and then I’ll show where we’re going to go. You have maps, right?”
Logan nodded and Natalie said yes.
“Follow me and don’t walk anywhere other than where I walk. The paths and trails are very narrow. Don’t talk and do exactly as I say.”
“Yes, Tommy, we will do exactly as you tell us,” Natalie said, then added, “By the way, you have the transmitter to turn off the infrared beams, don’t you?”
Creech shook his head. “The security patrols have them all. And some techs working on the fence line over by the highway side of the property. You’ll be OK where I’m taking you. That’s why I chose this side.”
In single file they followed Creech deeper into the woods. The rain was falling steadily, and Logan put up the hood of his field jacket. His world became very enclosed due to the darkness, the woods, and carefully following the red and blue filtered flashlights from Natalie and their host shining on the ground. The light was dim but helpful. Creech walked with a sure-footed gait. He had traversed these narrow paths through the dense woods on numerous occasions, Logan thought. And he was still pissed.
After ten minutes they came to a stop at an enormous hulking mass: two trucks, transports wrapped in thick mil plastic, bound with nylon rope. There were bubbles, or what appeared to be the residue of suds, between the folds of plastic and the metal skin of the vehicle. With his flashlight, Logan examined the surface closest to him. Streaks of slime, mold, or perhaps an algae, he wasn’t sure; maybe only mud or dirt. There had been an accident, Creech explained, early on in the temporary waste-storage project. Radioactive leakage had contaminated the transports. The levels were much higher than they should have been. The vehicles had been scrubbed down in an effort to decontaminate them, then sealed with plastic sheeting and, for all intents and purposes, junked. Here the vehicles would stay, temporarily at least, until a permanent home could be found. This was its permanent home, Logan thought, like everything else slated to be dumped here. He backed away from the vehicles, wondering how many REMs he was being exposed to, twisting his DNA into pretzel shapes, ruining his chances of ever having healthy children in the future.
Creech and Natalie were huddled over the maps, the red-lens flashlight illuminating the details. Logan joined them. “It isn’t much farther now,” Creech said, pointing to the terrain feature of the map. “We are at the edge of the old planting fields. It’s not completely exposed, so don’t worry. Once we make it to the tree line, it is only a quarter-mile to the pump house.” He then showed them on the map the direction of the Romantic’s Garden. It was positioned along the south side of the mansion, approximately five hundred feet away. “When you are finished at the pump house, we will go directly there. You will have to wait. I might be busy for a little while when the patrols alternate. It might get a little noisy, but don’t worry. No one goes there. It might be a couple of hours, maybe less. Just remain there and don’t wander around. The Tacticals are a little jumpy tonight. There have been sightings.”
“What kind of sightings?” Natalie asked. She was intrigued. This was the reason she was here.
“I’m not sure,” Creech said. “Sometimes there are voices speaking in a mean voice and a figure that can only be seen with thermal or infrared imaging systems. It is very unnerving.”
“Natalie mentioned that you said the pump house was haunted,” Logan said. “Is there anything you care to elaborate?”
Creech only shrugged. “Strange things can happen at any time. I can’t say exactly when or where. It just is.”
“Can you take a guess at what we might expect?”
“I don’t think so. It’s better not to anticipate something that might not happen. Then some ordinary sound or movement in the forest, a squirrel maybe, blows everything out of proportion. People get scared sometimes for no reason. It’s nice here. The woods, I mean. The quiet. Except for the Tacticals and the radioactive sludge, I could stay here all the time. It’s not scary, only different.”
Logan wanted to ask how different, but everyone stood up and Creech was leading the way again. Just beyond the radioactive transports was a five-hundred-foot stretch of tall grass, some of which had been matted down by vehicles either driven or towed to the edge of the woods from where they emerged. Beyond the grassland was a narrow, one-lane blacktop road, and on the opposite side stood a cottage and two large greenhouses. The farm fields extended roughly three quarters of a mile long and less than half a mile wide. The land had been abandoned and not tilled or planted for many years, perhaps since before the accident. It had returned to its natural riparian state—a conflict of indigenous and exotic vegetation battling for domination. It had become dense with shrubbery, briars, and vines, with tall saplings jutting out of the mass of twisted growth.
Creech was looking through Natalie’s binoculars, carefully scanning the surroundings. “We have to get to the far side of all this,” he said. In the distance, a black, uneven ribbon spanned the far edge of the farm: the tree line. Flashes of what appeared to be lightning illuminated the dense cloud cover momentarily. A small flock of birds scattered across the sky. The wind had increased and the temperature had dropped considerably. The rain had eased off and made the sound of a gentle patter. Creech returned the binoculars to Natalie. “Keep your flashlights off. There’s a driveway between the farmhouse and the greenhouse. We will go that way.”
He was off, jogging across the grassy strip of land. Natalie followed, fumbling with her binoculars as she hung the strap around her neck. Logan waited and then followed in the rear as he had been told, lifting his legs high so as not to get snagged in the tall grass. When he reached the road, he found the blacktop to be potholed and severely cracked. After they assembled at the wide driveway, whose large bluestone gravel had been displaced by tall dead weeds, they proceeded to the far end of the greenhouse. The buildings were in a serious state of disrepair. The cottage appeared to be collapsing after years of neglect and deterioration, and many of the glass panes of the greenhouse were either broken or missing. Glass shards lay on the ground at the base of the cement-block foundation.
Suddenly, Logan became spooked by a movement inside the greenhouse and a clopping sound followed by snorts. Natalie heard it, too, and reacted fearfully; she literally hopped in the air for a second, and then turned to see what and where the sound was coming from. Only Creech seemed to remain calm. Deer were inside the greenhouse, their hooves stomping over the packed earthen floor, haunches butting against the raised-wood planting bays. Natalie took her video camera from her pack and started filming. After a minute of this, she gave the video recorder to Logan and had him look through the lens adopted for night vision. He saw animals in shades of iridescent green chasing each other’s tails, large eyes staring in confusion. There were at least a dozen, and several were bucks sporting large racks.
“What are they doing, Tommy?” Natalie asked.
“Something has frightened them. I’ve seen deer around a few times, but not this many at one time and not inside the greenhouse like this. Maybe something put them in there.”
Logan was about to ask what he meant when a halo of light appeared at the far end of the road to the west, where it curved around from out of the woods.
“Get back,” Creech said. He drove a finger deep into Logan�
�s back urging him on. “I think I can do this without help,” he barked, sounding annoyed.
They crouched around the back end of the greenhouse. A Tactical armored vehicle, what looked to be an old Stryker model, flew down the uneven road, heading east, its powerful floodlight illuminating its path. The vehicle zoomed past the farm. It wasn’t the deer that had alerted them, Logan was sure.
“Are they on to us?” Natalie asked, meekly.
“If they were, we would be surrounded by now,” Creech said. “Something else has their interest.”
“What do you think it is?”
Creech shook his head. “The guards have been jumpy all day. Even the techs. It can be like that around here some days. Keep your flashlights turned off and stay very close to me. If you’re not careful, you might get lost in this tangle of weeds.” He was up from behind the greenhouse wall, followed by Natalie and then Logan, who thought his eyes were finally adjusting to the darkness—until they entered the overgrowth. The vines and briars grew in a jumble almost as tall as him. Creech was following some kind of path or trail that seemed to wind, loop, and then fall back on itself like a labyrinth. He wondered if a side effect of Creech’s splicing operation was a form of natural night vision. Logan was nearly blind and had to hold on to the hem of Natalie’s parka so as not to get lost or stumble.
The walk to the tree line seemed to take forever. After another ten minutes, Creech had them stop briefly to get their bearings. “We’re almost at the tree line. Another hundred yards. You will be able to turn on your flashlights. There aren’t any patrols operating in this sector.”
“How are you so sure?” Natalie asked, sounding concerned. Creech turned on his flashlight and pointed the red-colored lens toward the ground. He indicated the earpiece and the thin cable that terminated in a small, slender, two-way radio in his upper vest pocket near the shoulder. With it turned on, all he had to do was tilt his head downward slightly to the left and speak. “I have it tuned to the patrols frequency. There are no squads out on foot and a couple of vehicle patrols, but that may or may not change.”