by Linden Storm
William is grinning. Nick is taking a bottle of pills out of his backpack.
Harold pumps his fist. “Damn, boy, that was some good driving!” he says.
“Is there water? I think I’m going to pass out again,” Nick says.
“I think we lost ’em,” Harold says. “And for that, you get the hat.” Harold removes the hat and places it on Rupert’s head, tugging it down and patting the crown.
“That was amazing, Rupert, but they’re going to come back looking for us,” William says.
“He’s right, Rupert,” Belle says. “Find another route. We can do this.”
Rupert tilts his head up slightly and cuts his eyes from right to left, and from left to right, and up and down. “There’s no place to go, really, unless we get off the road and wait them out. This area is crisscrossed with gravel and dirt roads. Most of them are marked private on my maps.”
Belle nods. “Let’s do it. It’s a little past two right now. We can wait a few hours to make sure we’ve lost them and still be in Seattle by morning.” She desperately wants to go home and get ready for the tournament, and that hope is more upsetting to her than the chase had been. She can’t stand to be disappointed. Not again. She can’t go back to who and what she was before she was captain of the Untouchables. The thought of it makes her want to run for miles, to scream.
William raises his hand. “I agree, but I also think we should consider that we’ll be even more vulnerable out here if they find us.”
“Fuck, he’s right,” Rupert says.
“I’m going to request again that you watch your language, sir. There’s a lady present,” Harold says.
“She swears more than any of us, Grandpa,” Nick says.
“Still,” Harold says.
“Get this thing on the road, Rupert, right now,” Belle says. “Before those fuckers come back looking for us.”
Rupert laughs. “I’m having fun! For the first time in months! Even though an old thief stole my hat.”
“I gave it back,” Harold says. “Proving I’m no thief.”
Rupert drives forward, bumps onto the road, heads up the road again. “There’s couple of miles to go, then we can pick up a forest service road.”
Nick groans. “I’m so carsick.”
“Here you go, son,” Harold says. He takes the hat off of Rupert’s head and hands it to Nick. “You can upchuck in this.”
“Damn it, Harold, you old fart,” Rupert says, accelerating into a sharp curve.
Everyone hangs on as they’re thrown to the right.
William pats Nick on the back. “Breathe, buddy, breathe,” he says.
∆∆∆
For the first time in quite a while, William is feeling like himself.
They’re out of jail. That’s a huge relief.
Belle’s mood has improved. She’s engaged in finding a way to lose the people who are following them. She’s in the game.
Rupert Jones Jr. is driving the van, and he’s doing a good job of it, too.
Nick is coping, which is the most you can expect from Nick under the circumstances.
Harold is joking around.
William is thinking he can do this after all. Everything is going to be all right.
And then Harold makes a sexist joke, and Belle attacks him.
Instead of apologizing, he defends himself, starts talking about the old days. How a joke used to be a joke.
Belle loses her temper. She calls Rupert an entitled dilettante. She calls Harold a useless throwback. She calls Nick a weak hack. And she calls William a spoiled loser.
Rupert, having few of a normal person’s inhibitions or a shred of common sense, tells her to calm down.
Belle continues to berate them, zeroing in on each person’s worst fears and vulnerabilities, until Rupert pulls over on the soft shoulder.
∆∆∆
Belle scrambles out of the van.
“I don’t think it’s safe. This is not a good place to pull over,” Rupert says.
“And we don’t know where the hooligans are,” Harold says.
“I don’t care,” Belle says.
She jogs down the gravel shoulder. It's been years, but she’s experienced this reaction before—the need to run, no matter the cost. Still, the sensations are familiar and fill her with dread—fear and anger so strong they overwhelm her thought process, as if a train is bearing down on her. She will run until the train recedes and she can think again.
It’s past six, and the sun is still beating down. There are rocky hills on this stretch of Highway 395, with scrub pines dotting the horizon, and everything throws long, dark shadows. Down below them, Mono Lake spreads out. It’s dotted with strange rock formations. It all adds up to a spooky, odd atmosphere.
She makes herself breathe and imagines herself in the game.
It helps. She is in the game, hiding in a stone building. No one knows where she is, and if she’s quiet, no one will be able to find her.
The feelings begin to settle into discrete puddles she can examine one by one. Anger is easier to parse than fear. She’s angry at whoever is chasing them, whoever got them thrown in jail. Obviously. But she’s also angry at Rupert for taking so long to join the search for Marina. She’s angry at William for criticizing her. She’s angry at Harold for being Harold.
It occurs to her that, really, she’s mostly angry at herself for driving Marina away. Maybe this whole debacle could have been avoided if she’d been more reasonable.
She sits on a boulder next to the road and closes her eyes.
Presently, she hears footsteps and looks up to see William approaching her. He stops ten feet away. He looks angry. William rarely gets angry at anyone—it’s not his go-to emotion.
“What do you want?” she says.
“I want to get on with things—get rid of whoever’s following us and meet up with Paul and Marina,” he says coldly. “What do you want?”
There’s a lump in her throat that’s huge and growing. “Go away.”
“I will,” he says simply. “But I want you to know that you’re putting us all at risk. And you’re being cruel to people who are on your side.”
There’s a roaring in her ears. She wants to run further down the road. She looks at William for a second or two, unable to explain, then looks away.
“Look. We’ve been through a lot. We got thrown in jail,” William says quietly.
Belle doesn’t look up. She watches William’s feet. His dusty tan work boots. They don’t move. For a moment Belle wonders if he actually does get it.
Nah, she thinks, it's not possible, not with with his privileged upbringing.
He moves toward her and offers her a tall bottle of cold water.
She holds out her hand, takes the water.
Just then, a vintage car, all chrome and shiny red paint, whooshes by, giving them a wide berth.
A dog lounges in the back window, filling it, its long pink tongue rolled out like a small flag. Belle can’t help but smile.
William smiles, too.
Belle takes a long drink.
“I had to get out of the enclosed space,” she says. “It felt better out here until I realized I have no idea where I’m going.”
“I understand,” he says.
“You couldn’t.”
“You’re not the only person who got thrown in jail as a kid.”
“Really?” she says.
“I was in once over Memorial Day weekend. That was a long three days.”
“I was in juvenile detention for three months when I was barely sixteen,” she says.
“Oh. That’s a lot worse. Sorry,” he says.
“It’s a long time ago now,” she says, shrugging. “I’m a different person, but sometimes I get thrown right back there.”
“I understand.”
They stand for several seconds, looking out at the horizon. The beautiful hills silhouetted against the darkening sky.
“What’s that?” William says, po
inting at something flying darting around in the air a few yards away.
“That’s a bat,” Belle says.
“No, it’s a drone,” William says.
“I think you’re right,” Belle says, squinting at the object, which is hovering, not flitting. Drones are ubiquitous in the city. Most people don’t even notice them anymore. But they’re rare in rural areas.
“What is a drone doing out here?” she says.
“We’ve got to get back to the van,” William says, sweeping his arm back the way they’d come.
Belle shudders, but she follows when he turns and begins jogging toward the van.
And they don’t have far to go, because the van is barreling up the road toward them.
“What now?” Belle says.
The van pulls over, skidding to stop. Rupert waves his arm out the window. “Get in. We’ve got to get out of here.”
“After you,” William says.
She nods. “Thanks for coming after me. You’re a good teammate.”
William shrugs. “I would have done the same for anyone.”
Belle understands the message. William has now seen her at her worst, and he values her as a teammate and a leader, but he doesn’t like her very much.
She wonders if the lump in her throat will ever go away.
∆∆∆
Marina works on Paul’s computer for a few minutes. She needs to increase the security. It’s time to get in touch with her team.
When she has the secure communication protocols set up, she goes to the forum and makes a post. She knows the team will be monitoring the forums, while Jimmy and his friends likely will not be.
I need you to call this number: The number of slots in a standard bag plus three, the number of jewels in my scabbard, then Belle’s street address number.
Within thirty seconds, her new phone is buzzing. Marina answers, and finally, at last, she connects with her team. The chat app shows everyone’s face, arranged in a circle.
“What’s up?” Belle says stiffly. “Where have you been?”
“I’m sorry,” Marina says. “I’ll tell you what has been happening. Are you safe? And can you listen? It might take a while.”
“We’re parked at a deserted vacation cabin in the middle of Yosemite National Park,” Harold says. “Are you with Paul in Oakland?”
“Yes,” Marina says. “I’ve hacked the vid chat app to scramble our locations, but they’ll figure that out eventually. We have a few minutes, though.”
“Better get crackin’, then,” Harold says.
Marina looks confused and then appears to dredge up the colloquialism’s meaning. “Right,” Marina says. “I will begin. You know I married an American man in order to remain in America. This was not my first choice. But after considering all the variables I knew about, I thought it was the best one. I thought I’d made the correct choice when the team began to win.”
She sighs and swallows, then continues. “Jimmy was not a bad man when I met him, and at first, he was fine with my gaming hobby. That’s how he thought of it. And then he started to drink heavily, very suddenly. I’m told this steep decline can occur with alcoholics who have been sober for some time and then begin again to drink. He became jealous and possessive, and therefore I hurried forward with new plans for my future. Concurrently, I discovered…disturbing information about Jimmy's friends.”
“His friends?” Belle said. “What friends?”
Marina nods. “He has been friendly since childhood with Maricopa County Sheriff McKendrick, a corrupt official who nonetheless gets elected repeatedly.” She shrugs. “In any case, because I had become afraid of Jimmy’s erratic behavior and did not wish to be surprised by him, I began to surveil constantly.”
She puts her hand to her throat. “And just after the semifinals, I found out—from tiny camera bots I built myself from parts I ordered online and attached to the walls of our apartment—that Jimmy’s friends wanted to have me kidnapped.”
“But why?” Harold says.
Marina nods. “I do not know. I thought it was a sick joke, that they would not actually do it.”
“But that's not necessarily so,” Harold says, nodding.
“Right. I’m still not sure how far they would go, and it seems crazy, but don’t know anymore what Jimmy is capable of, especially if he’s being egged on or controlled by his friends.”
“But why would his friends want to kidnap you?” Belle says. “Maybe they were just joking around.”
“Maybe,” Marina says, shrugging. “But I do not believe so. I think there’s someone or something else behind all of this. Yet I have to admit I cannot fathom who or what it might be.” She pauses thoughtfully. “Except with Jimmy’s friends, every scheme involves large sums of money.” Her eyes are large, liquid, haunted.
“Why didn’t you report them?” Belle says. She tries to minimize the accusatory tone, but she isn’t sure she’s succeeding.
Marina nods. “I thought of that, of course. But I am not a citizen. Uzbeks, as you know, do not have the best reputations in America. U.S. officials do not look past the dozens of years of bad relations between the U.S. and the Russian bloc, and emigrating here is difficult, to say the least. Since 2001, it’s gotten progressively more difficult. With Jimmy against me I think I could be deported or…blamed somehow, and as you know, I cannot afford to be deported. I decided to bide my time, collect information, and wait for an opportunity to present itself. Frankly, I thought that if we could win the finals, I would be too widely known to be touched.”
“Why did you go back to your apartment after the semifinals?” William says.
“As I mentioned, I didn’t know exactly what they were planning until I returned to the apartment and looked at the images my cameras had collected. I also wanted to slip in and get a few personal items, as well as other evidence I had collected on Jimmy’s friends, which I had hidden. But Jimmy surprised me, and he was as drunk as I’ve ever seen him. He attacked me.”
“The marks on your neck?” Rupert says.
“Yes, he banged my head against the wall and he was choking me,” Marina says. “I managed to get away and grabbed my backpack and ran. I didn’t know if they would be able to track me. With drones, satellites, whatever. I disabled my phone, of course, and took public transportation out to the outskirts of the metropolitan area. A place called Sun City.”
“Smart,” Harold says.
“You see, I had very little money, and in any case, I did not want to use the small amount of credit I have managed to accumulate, because I was afraid the sheriff could track that.”
“You were right to take precautions,” Rupert says.
Marina nods. “There in Sun City, I posed as an attendant for elderly people and boarded a small private bus at a retirement village. It was bound for Las Vegas.”
“And almost a week later, you posted on a Battlecraft fan forum,” Belle says.
“Yes.” Marina looks down, purses her lips.
“Why didn’t you call us? Why didn’t you explain what was going on?” Belle says, riding a surge of righteous anger.
“I—” Marina’s eyes fill with tears. She shakes her head and swallows hard, obviously fighting to compose herself. “I told myself my disappearance would be good for the team. That it would make you work together. But the truth is, I was ashamed of the mess I’d gotten into. I couldn’t face you.”
“We got thrown in jail because of you,” Belle says, failing to keep her voice neutral.
“I know,” Marina says. “I am so, so sorry. Honestly, it was a surprise to me that you would come to look for me and put yourselves in danger.”
“It’s okay, Marina,” Harold says gently. “We just need to get everyone on the same page now.”
“The same…page?” Marina says.
“Playing from the same playbook,” Harold says. “Following the same game plan.”
“Oh, I see,” Marina says. “Yes. You are several hours away, I understand, and
then we can fly to Seattle together?”
“On Rupert’s private plane, no less,” Harold says.
“There is just one thing,” Marina says. “I left some of my evidence in the apartment.”
“Is it in this?” Nick says, holding up the journal.
Marina sighs, obviously relieved. “Yes. You found it.”
“I found it,” Belle says. “Why is it so important?”
“Some of the earlier vids are in it.” Marina says. “They show the sheriff and Jimmy and the others talking about their criminal activities.”
“Where?” Nick says.
“Stuck between the cover and the end pages,” Marina says, “on flexible SD films. I was afraid to put my evidence on the Cloud.”
“Probably a wise idea,” Rupert says. “The Cloud isn’t as secure as we like to think.”
“Yes,” Marina says.
“Exactly,” Rupert says.
“Uh-oh,” Paul says.
“What?” Belle says.
“They’re coming your way now,” Paul says.
“How do you know?” Rupert says.
“Marina is tracking the sheriff’s person,” Paul says.
Marina nods. “His jacket, to be precise. But I planted the device weeks ago and now it is intermittently glitching out, so my information has been imperfect.” She takes Paul’s phone and looks at it. “But Paul is right. You are near Mammoth Lakes. He is approaching your position on Highway 395. I suggest hiding out for several hours. He may give up looking for you.”
“How is he finding us?” Rupert says. “Through our devices?”
“Possibly. After we sign off, disable your devices again, but be warned that he may be able to find you anyway. He may have access to government drones and satellites.”
“Ah, of course,” Rupert says, almost cheerfully. “Most people don’t realize our skies are filling with microdrones, and some of them are so small, they’re nearly indistinguishable from hummingbirds and dragonflies. It’s hard to hide for long if law enforcement really wants to find you.”
“Fantastic,” Belle says.
Nick groans and holds his stomach.