Witches Protection Program
Page 16
“I spread the wealth.” Junie chuckled good-naturedly from the backseat.
“Huh.” Wes made a sound.
“Look, part of my job was to ensure that all the cargo ships were full of food and water. I stock the galleys. You know, rations, to get them to their next port of call. So, I was nervous we weren’t going to be able to stop this thing in time, so I juiced up the water supply with my stew.”
“Ew,” Morgan said.
“Did the trick. They was so busy drinking and partying, nobody was driving the boat,” she finished with a wheezy laugh. “You killing me here, Alastair. Can’t I have a smoke in the car?”
Wes, Alastair, and Morgan all replied, “No!”
“Humor me,” she wheedled.
“No,” Wes said flatly.
“Then distract me with a story,” Junie said coyly.
“What?” Wes asked.
“Tell me a story, you know, about what happened to you in Nevada.”
Wes turned sharply in his seat. “What do you know about that?”
“I read it in your file.”
“My file?”
“Yeah. Here, in Alastair’s truck.”
Alastair shrugged. “Don’t ask me. She’s a category five.”
Morgan sat in the back, her eyes shining. “Wes, you don’t have to, but I would like to know.”
Wes sat sullenly for a minute, his eyes meeting Morgan’s in the rearview mirror. She smiled.
“Well…” he began.
NEVADA DESERT, THREE MONTHS EARLIER
The desert landscape resembled the moon, colorless and just as lifeless. Dust settled in every nook and cranny of the bus. They were covered with it. For a minute, they looked like soldiers in Afghanistan, in full body armor, down to protective visors painting everything a darker gray. Two men sat in the first row, assault guns in their ready hands, the stock of a twelve gauge resting on the seat. Wes was placed toward the rear, next to Simon Samuels, an ex-marine who captained their expedition. It was a big deal to be placed with Samuels. He was a decorated legend and had taken on Wes as a favor to Harris. They were transporting a highly dangerous criminal. That was all the information Wes had.
In the rear, the prisoner sat her blue-veined hands neatly in her lap and hummed sweetly. Wes glanced at her legs. She wore support hose like he remembered his great-grandmother wore, tied in a rolled knot at the top of her calf. Her feet in their open-toed thick soled sandals tapped in rhythm to her song. Wes couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.
“Something funny, Agent Rockville?” the captain asked. His dark skin was covered in sweat, but he seemed oblivious to the discomfort Wes felt.
“What’s her story?” Wes whispered.
Samuels sighed. “Didn’t they teach you anything at the academy, rookie? I know your daddy is the director and all, but you have to be on your A game here.”
“Just because my dad’s the director doesn’t mean I can’t be curious,” Wes said with a smile. The two guards turned around, looking like the young men they were. The bus seemed to lose its tenseness for a millisecond. Wes noticed the driver was looking at them in the rearview mirror as well. It seemed he wasn’t the only nosy one.
Samuels’s brown eyes darted around the room. “Didn’t you go over your brief?” he asked a shade harshly.
The humming got louder, as if she were trying to engage with them. Wes cocked his head—the song was so familiar. Where had he heard it?
“Yeah. I went over my brief. Three times.”
The lead guard smiled at their discussion.
“And what did your brief say, Agent Rockville?”
“Don’t look her in the eyes, sir.” This time, Wes and the three guards grinned at one another as they exchanged looks.
“And…” the captain continued brusquely.
“Don’t ask any questions?”
“So, don’t ask any questions.” The captain’s mouth closed, but Wes saw the beginning of a smile.
“It’s just that…” He paused, waiting to see if the captain would close him down.
“Yes?”
“It’s just that I find it weird we’re transporting this little old lady with such high security. I mean, she’s harmless.”
“Yeah, captain. Look at her.” The guard in the front twisted in his seat, joining the conversation. “She looks like she should be baking cookies, not rotting in the back of a hot bus. What’d she do?”
“It’s inhumane,” the bus driver added.
The frail voice got a little louder, the words to the song just barely audible under the burlap bag covering her head.
“Hello, ma baby! Hello, ma honey! Hello, ma ragtime gal!”
“I know this song,” the driver shouted, joining in the next chorus. “Send me a kiss by wire. Baby, my heart’s on fire!”
Wes noticed the captain’s foot tapping in time to the song, his mouth moving, silently singing the lyrics. He felt the song vibrate in his chest, then the words erupted from his lips.
“If you refuse me, honey, you’ll lose me; then you’ll be left alone.”
By now, they were all singing loudly, the bag covering Genevieve Fox’s face half off her white, frizzy hair. Her cheeks were powder soft, chubby, with sweet pink undertones. Her cornflower-blue eyes peeked out. She was singing with gusto, her old-lady voice joyous.
“Oh baby, telephone and tell me I’m your own. Hello, hello, hello there!”
They were all laughing. Wes turned around, his eyes meeting hers. She tilted her head and blew a kiss at him that impacted with terminal velocity. His eyes slipped shut and he rolled down the seat, fast asleep. The two guards in the front followed him to slumber a second later. Samuels grabbed his rifle, only to feel it slide through his fingers as he rocked forward. The driver slumped, the bus rolled into a bern, halting when Miss Fox snapped her fingers. Listing sideways, she made it down the aisle, the shackles on her feet melting away. Pausing, she caressed Wes’s face. “Nice boy,” she said sweetly.
Raising her manacled hands high over her head, Fox let out a sonic roar that blasted out every window, breaking the handcuffs in two. She chuckled, then rolled her hands together, creating a whirlwind of energy that blew a starburst through the roof. Taking a shotgun, Miss Fox seated herself sidesaddle and took a leisurely ride through her escape hole. Turning demurely, she called back, “So long, suckers!”
She soared out, crowing high into the ether.
Out of sight.
The End for some, but for others, it’s just the beginning…
Michael loves to hear from his readers. Please leave a review on Amazon and Goodreads.
More books by Michael Phillip Cash
Brood X: A Firsthand Account of the Great Cicada Invasion
Stillwell: A Haunting on Long Island
The Hanging Tree: A Novella
The Flip
The After House
The Battle for Darracia Books I – II - III
Coming soon:
Pokergeist
Monsterland
About the Author
Born and raised on Long Island, Michael has always had a fascination with the paranormal and supernatural. Earning a degree in English and an MBA, he worked various jobs before settling into being a full-time author. He currently resides on the North Shore of Long Island with his wife and children.
michaelphillipcash@gmail.com
ter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share