Thunder sounded even closer, and the lightning that flashed this time wasn’t just backlighting the cliffs, it was over the canyon itself. The rain began to fall harder, wetting her shirt and jeans. The wind sharpened, causing a chill when it touched the damp material. Looking reluctantly at the pasture where the wind whipped the grass, she finally turned and went back inside the house and to bed.
She was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but sleep eluded her. The old mattress seemed lumpier than ever tonight and she briefly thought she should have asked O’Reilly if there was any way to bring a better one back from one of the camps.
Damn, there he is again. Why the heck can’t he leave me alone. But she knew why, although she didn’t like it. I have to get control of this. I have to get him out of my mind. He wouldn’t go, however. She tried all of the mind blanking techniques she’d ever known, but every time she relaxed her guard his face floated into her memory. The way he’d looked out in the garden, sun glinting off the deep chestnut hair. The way his hands felt as he held her.
She threw herself over onto her right side and punched her pillow. She lay there a few moments, but an overwhelming feeling of restlessness caused her to flip back onto her back again and stare toward the dark ceiling, listening to Lindy’s soft breathing. Through the open bedroom door she could hear the thunder grumbling through the canyon and the quicksilver patter of rain blown against the windows in the main room of the house.
A knot tightened inside her and she turned over again, lying on her left side, staring toward the back of the room. She was furious with herself. She’d always been so in control, and now she felt so out of control. She hated this feeling. Again she twitched onto her back, kicking the light sheet to the foot of the bed. The knot tightened, then tightened again. She twisted to her right again, and, unable to relax, Maggie finally gave into the knot, buried her face in her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
22
“What the hell do you mean she’s gone?” Captain Rickards roa
red at Deputy Knox who stood in front of the him, looking uncomfortable. Rickards’ voice dropped to a menacing growl, “Where is she?”
“Sir, we think that she slipped away last night during the storm, taking three other children with her; Alysa Thalman, Nicholas Craigson and Ryan Craigson.” Knox swallowed audibly, his prominent adams apple bobbing agitatedly. “A bolt of lightning struck the Nursery, causing a fire and all the children were evacuated until the flames were brought under control. When the children returned to the building it wasn’t noticed right away that these four were missing. Things were exceedingly confused, they say, with kids having to stay in different rooms due to fire, water and smoke damage and no one realized that four children were gone until this morning.”
“Incompetence,” Rickards spat, turning and beginning to pace the room. “Could they have made it out of the APZ? The barriers are secure, aren’t they? Did the seekers pick up anything last night heading away from the Laughlin?”
“The thing is, the storm was bad, and the fire department was calling for reinforcements, so the sentries on duty felt it would be safe.” Knox paled even more, his light blue eyes seeming to bulge out of his bony face. He nervously wet his lips with the tip of his tongue before continuing. “They left one man on duty, but the rain was exceptionally heavy, and, well he thought no one would be out in that weather. He didn’t say so, but I got the impression that he might not have been as... as diligent as he might have been. He didn’t see anyone, though, and surely four kids couldn’t have gotten that far. The seekers didn’t pick up anything but animals - cattle and horses and wildlife - as usual. We’ve got men going over the records again, but there was nothing, they’re sure of it.” He looked hopefully at the captain, then his face fell again.
“What about the chip,” Rickards asked, referring to the micro identification chip that was implanted in every resident upon check in. Refugees were told that they were receiving the micro identification chips to ensure an equitable distribution of food, medical supplies and other items being rationed. A central computer would keep track to make sure no one was taking more than his fair share.
They hadn’t been told that the chip was also a GPS tracer. In the recent years there had been a movement to have these chips implanted in autistic children or adults with alzheimers to make it easier to find them should they wander away from their care givers. However, since many people had reservations about marking people as though they were pets, and since there were simpler devices, such as bracelets, that would perform the same job, micro chipping people had never really taken off. Until now.
“Well, sir, about the chip... some problems have arisen with the software. The techs say it might be solar flares, or something with the storm last night. Lightning hit the main dish and seems to have scrambled some of the computers.” Knox continued to stand at attention, though it was obvious he’d rather be just about anywhere else. “We’re having trouble getting a fix on anything, but the techs are convinced that they’ll have the problem solved very soon.”
“Damn it, Knox. How the hell could we have lost four little kids!” Rickards’ face was growing red. The chips were the fail safe. It was the way the authorities could make sure anyone becoming dissatisfied with the new system couldn’t just take off and try to make it on his own. If someone left the APZ without authorization, he could be tracked down and either returned or eliminated.
This was supposed to be a fool proof system, he thought sarcastically. Other than the shortage of chips, glitches in the software, and an underlying incompetence, everything has been going so well with the identification process.
In the past ten years the rice-grain sized micro identification chips had progressed from being encoded with simple numbers that would help owners identify lost pets, to being encrypted with entire medical records and other important information that a person felt necessary to keep available at all times. Some financial institutions had even been pushing to expand the chips’ use as banking tools, eliminating the need for debit and credit cards.
The premise was simple: Implant a micro chip in someone’s wrist or hand, where it could be easily scanned when that person made a purchase. Money could be added to the account simply by passing the person’s wrist over a scanner in the bank or through a home computer interface. At least that was what the micro tech gurus envisioned.
They even suggested that the home computers could be equipped with scanners that would require a micro chip scan in conjunction with a finger print or iris scan in order for the account to be accessed, thereby making identity theft nearly impossible, since no would-be thief would have access to a victim’s prints or eyes, even if they did manage to clone the chips themselves.
It all sounded pretty big brotherish to Rickards, though he sure liked the idea that no one would be calling on the phone any longer, trying to sell him things. No way to scan or verify identity through that medium. Too bad for the telemarketers. He wasn’t crying.
Following the disaster, when the remaining population was concentrated into the APZs, the government thought of a new use for the micro chips. Implant all of the survivors. Use an explanation that they wouldn’t question, allowing the people in charge the freedom to monitor the whereabouts of any APZ resident at any time.
Records showed that Christina Craigson, Alysa Thalman, Ryan Craigson and Nicholas Craigson had all been implanted upon their entry in the APZ. The chips had registered with the scanners, and the children had been using them for the past several months to scan in when receiving food, clothing and other supplies. There was no reason to suppose that they knew the chips would be traceable, so finding the runaways should be easy.
Apparently it wasn’t going to be that simple, however. The chips were no good unless the satellites could get a fix on them, and thanks to the incompetence of the tech department, that’s exactly what wasn’t happening. Damn!
Deputy Knox continued to stand uneasily in front of Rickard’s desk, waitin
g for orders. Rickards considered the paperwork in front of him for a moment; a report on a series of violent rapes in apartment building F. Coming to a decision he looked up at the deputy, standing uneasily at attention.
“Give the order that door to door searches be conducted throughout the APZ. The odds are that these kids haven’t made it out of the perimeter, but are lying low in some abandoned building or have found some bleeding heart to take them in. If so they’ll run out of food soon, and they can only claim more if they have their chips scanned. We can’t wait for that, however.” Rickard’s frowned over the manpower that would be required for a search of this type. “Make sure that no building, or spot within a building is left unexamined.”
“What if people question us sir? They’re not going to like us invading their homes in that manner. They’ll want to see warrants.”
“Warrants don’t apply in this matter. Tell them that one of these children is in eminent danger if she doesn’t receive her medication. No. Better yet, tell them that the two older girls have taken the younger boys hostage, that they’re terrorists intending to bomb parts of the APZ. That way the laws passed back at the beginning of the century, the ones that put homeland security above citizens’ expectations of privacy will come into play.” Rickards nodded, liking the cover story. “Hell, if you tell them that, and also tell them that if they’re harboring these children they will also be considered terrorists, anyone giving these kids shelter will turn them in immediately.”
“Won’t it seem strange, saying that kids are terrorists? Will anyone believe us?”
“Show pictures of the girls. They look older in those photographs, and there’s no age limit on terrorists anyway. Anyone who’s heard stories of eight-year-olds luring GIs into mine fields during that war in Iraq knows that.”
“Yes, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“No. You’re dismissed. Go get this search underway. I want an update every hour on the progress. We need these kids!”
Saluting again, making Rickards teeth clench, Knox turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Rickards stood and began pacing the room, concentrating on the problem of the missing children. How could this have happened right now of all times? Yesterday morning he’d found an Enforcer, a young sergeant who’d grown up in Montana. He hadn’t lived in Shelby, but was familiar with that area. When asked about the mountains and forests around the town, he’d laughed.
“Well, I suppose you wouldn’t have to go too far to the west to get to the mountains and forests, but the area around Shelby is mostly farm land. Pretty flat. There’s trees, sure, but it’s not really a place someone would go to get lost in the Rockies or anything like that.”
She tricked me! That girl played me like a fiddle. I don’t believe it, Rickards thought furiously. The difficulty was that O’Reilly still could have headed in that direction. His information source had said it wasn’t too far from the mountains, but it seemed much less likely than it had before. He needed to interrogate the girl. He needed to find out why she lied. Did she know where O’Reilly was headed? Was she going to meet him? That seemed unlikely. What man would leave a fourteen-year-old girl to escape on her own, unless... Unless he’d come back in and taken her and her brothers and friend.
Was that it? Had he stealthily slipped back through the perimeter of the APZ, to the Nursery and happened to get lucky enough to arrive there on the night of a major storm, find them and sneak back away with them? Rickards still had trouble believing that four kids had the intelligence and skills to make an escape like this by themselves. It seemed much more likely that an adult had assisted them. That had to be it.
That brought up another question, however. They’d always assumed that O’Reilly had left the APZ. Maybe that was a false assumption. Maybe he never left. Maybe he’d simply laid down a trail of “breadcrumbs” to make them think he’d taken off, when he actually had a hideout somewhere here in the APZ, and had only been biding his time until he could break the Craigson girl out too. That made more sense, and if it was what actually happened, then his door to door search should turn them up quickly.
As an Enforcer, O’Reilly had known about the GPS tracers, and had apparently removed his shortly after leaving his post in the Nursery and making good his escape. It wouldn’t have been hard, but it would have taken some guts. He would have had to make an incision in his wrist and remove the small chip, then destroy it, probably by fire. They hadn’t been able to pick up a signal from O’Reilly’s chip since the first day following the escape, about ten miles away to the north. When the crews got there they’d found nothing but the remains of a campfire. No tracks. Nothing indicating which direction he’d headed.
It would have taken some real cojones to come back to the APZ after that. He had to know that he would be executed if he was found. Rickards felt himself developing a headache trying to out think the crafty bastard. If O’Reilly were meeting the kids, he would have already removed their chips. There was no way he’d overlook that. Which brought him back to the original question; were the kids going to meet O’Reilly or was it just a coincidence?
Rickards’ brought his fist down on his desk, causing the pens and papers to jump in place. His team hadn’t had much luck unearthing information about O’Reilly’s past. He’d kept too much to himself. All they’d been able to find, from DMV records, was that for the past three years a James R. O’Reilly had lived in Mohave County, Arizona with a mailing address in Kingman. If he knew that area well, he might have headed in that direction; but he just as easily could have headed in any other. Arizona was filled with empty land, as was much of the southwest. One of the blessings and curses of having so much public land. In this case it meant that there was a lot of space for someone to disappear.
But did he go that way? Back at that question again. He could continue to go around in mental circles for hours and still never come anywhere near the solution. Rickards took a deep breath. He might not like it, but the only answer was to wait. Wait until they got the computers up and running again and were able to get a fix on the kids’ GPS tracers. Wait until the door to door search had either turned up or ruled out the kids’ and O’Reilly’s presence in the APZ.
Wait.
23
Feast or famine around here, thought O’Reilly as he made his way across the drowned pasture, trying to pick a path that would coat his horses with the least amount of sticky, red-clay mud. He wasn’t having much luck and in some places clods of thick red sludge were flung out from the horses’ feet, splattering the bottom of his boots and jeans and the faces of all the horses in line, except the one he was riding, making them look like the victims of some vile disease.
The promised rain finally materialized last night making traveling much more difficult than O’Reilly had anticipated. Twice he’d had to stop at larger washes and smaller canyons to wait until the water flow dropped to a safe level.
When he’d left Hideaway the day before, the rain was still a unfulfilled promise. Black clouds had been gathering over the mountains west, north and east of there, and for several afternoons and nights the vague rumble of thunder had wormed its way in between the canyon walls, although the accompanying flash of lightning had not yet made an appearance.
Yesterday morning, when he’d headed out from the camp, the pasture had been dry, coarse golden grass crisping in the early July sun. However, dampness in several of the deeper washes made it clear that the monsoon was happening somewhere, even if it wasn’t right above his head. Rain falling in the mountains had far reaching effects and it was clear that at some point water had made its way through this dry land, either in the form of a slow muddy roil, spending its energy further upstream, or in a wild flash flood that took everything in its path.
He’d planned to make his way to Eagle Camp that day, and spend the night there, gathering everything that he needed. He intended to leave all but two horses in the small home pasture where they would have acces
s to food and water. Then, the next morning he would strike out for Wikieup, which he figured to be around twenty miles as the crow flies. Of course, he wasn’t a crow, and he was likely to go further in an effort to avoid the worst of the rugged terrain. Say a day and a half or two days to get to the small town.
When he got close, he would have to move more carefully, keeping an eye out for the silvery, orb-like seekers, or Enforcers that usually followed them. There was no knowing how far the annihilation teams had progressed since he’d left, and he wasn’t sure whose jurisdiction Wikieup was in anyway; but the last thing he wanted to do was to walk into their hands.
Now he wasn’t sure how long it would take him.
He’d made it to Eagle Camp late that first day, rolling in around four in the afternoon. Just in time he thought as he watched the bloated black thunder heads rising into an anvil shaped formation off to the north. The rain won’t hold off much longer, and it looks as if it could be a gully washer. He could see flashes of lightning, followed after a long interval by the deep rumbles of thunder. For fifteen years he’d watched monsoon storms build this way, and the sight of this one twanged the strings of his memory. Storms that built the way this one was building usually rushed down hill, straight over the camp, deluging it with rain and sometimes hail, turning this peaceful little valley into a raging maelstrom for the short time it lasted. Unless he was very much mistaken, this storm was headed straight at him. He looked around the home yard. At least I’ll be sleeping warm in a bed tonight, not out in the middle of it. Hopefully they kept the roof in good repair.
The camp was just as he remembered it. He grimaced. It would have been easier if the new residents had totally redone everything after his family left, but no such luck. The small two story house, painted a dusty green with a cream colored trim still sat back under huge elm and ash trees, benefitting from their shade during the summer; keeping the house cool even without the benefit of an air conditioner. Rough yellow and pink granite stones, gathered in the area, had been used to make a fence about three feet tall, separating the house’s front yard from the parking area and barnyard. Across the shaded driveway and barnyard, about seventy-five yards from the front of the house, stood the main barn, faded red with a breeze way running back between two lines of stalls and run ins for horses and cattle kept nearby. Behind the barn stood a tall windmill, responsible for pumping all the water for the barn and the house.
Gone to Ground Page 19