by Jeff Seats
Without saying another word, Craig turned and took off. Liz looked down and saw all the items on the table that were laid out for her to continue her research into the CSC then she looked back up to see Craig making a beeline to the door. So much for a low-key first morning on the job. She thought. Instantly Liz started to gather everything—printouts, phone, ID, keys, and the red folder—and haphazardly shove it all into her bag. Rushing to catch up she fumbled with pulling on her coat while keeping the open bag from spilling its contents and made it to the door just as it closed in her face. In a Jerry Lewis flick her character would have gone sailing backward, bag flying into the air, papers fluttering throughout the room with her landing on her ass, coat resting on top of her head. But this was no comedy.
Undaunted, Liz placed her hand on the crash bar, but before opening the door, she caught the reflection of the other two agents in the glass panel watching with concerned faces. She turned briefly, and the veteran gave Liz a nod and thumbs up sign along with a small supportive smile. Then, with a grim look on his face, he turned back and, shaking his head, whispered something to his new partner. Liz processed that moment, He knows that something bad is happening, then hammered her hand against the crash bar, slammed the door open and sprinted off after Craig who was almost to the Asylum's gate where she joined him.
Craig had impatiently stopped and turned back to see where Liz was; thinking that she was far behind him, but when he turned she was right on his heels. He nodded, face as cold as stone, and slid his security card through the reader; she followed a little winded, beads of perspiration on her brow. As she passed through the gate it caught the strap of her bag. Really? She thought with exasperation. It took a moment to wrestle the bag free without spilling its contents. Craig turned and saw the tail end of that battle, shook his head and moved on towards the command center.
“Sorry,” Liz called after him. What the fuck man? She thought. What was I supposed to do? Let secret shit fly all over the place?
Still shaking his head, Craig kept moving towards the command center. On the surface, he was disturbed that Liz was in no way ready for this job, but just a bit further down his thoughts went back to his last partner. I don't know if I can handle losing another. Holding open the door to the control building Craig kept up his gruff exterior. “Come on Adams!” He said impatiently and started mothering her down the hall as she passed him.
Christ, why me? Liz thought as she heard the door close behind them.
««« ‡ »»»
CON-WEST COMMANDER Samantha Cole had moved down from her glassed-in office that overlooked the beating heart of Control-West and was now standing in the control room next to a tech who was switching camera feeds; trying to get as clear an image as possible. On one side of the large screen that dominated the wall in front of them was a satellite image of the reservation, RES-SITE ALPHA. On the opposite side was a closer visual from a drone fly over. A smaller screen inset in the bottom right corner showed a map of the other reservations in the western United States. All were indicated by steady, glowing green dots. All but the flashing red spot in eastern Oregon.
The entire edge of the screen was pulsing red, which framed all the images they were looking at, emphasizing that there was, indeed, something bad going down; just in case no one had noticed all the other alarms that filled the control room with a mad cacophony of blaring noise and flashing lights.
Commander Cole pinched the bridge of her nose trying to rub out the beginnings of a major headache. “Can someone please turn off all these alarms?”
“Sorry, ma'am.” The tech responded as he clicked on the keyboard and moused over some digital sliders on his screen. The throbbing—Arnt! Arnt! Arnt!—of the klaxon faded and the swirling “fire engine” red lights stopped their rotations and went dark.
“And the big screen too.”
“Yes, ma'am.” The tech moved the mouse a bit, made a couple of clicks and very quickly the red throbbing frame around the big screen just turned to a steady red light.
“All the way William, if you please.”
The glowing red frame winked out totally when the tech moved the cursor over a button on his screen.
Craig entered the control room and walked down to the same desk he manned the other night. The blue bronco was back, and the duck had been flattened and painted blue as though the horse had trampled it into the blue field of Boise State. Craig looked at the tech who glanced back at him. Their eyes locked, each knowing that this was just the opening battle of a larger war.
Liz had followed Craig into the command center still concentrating more on keeping the errant papers in the bag than on the path she was walking and didn't quite see that the floor stair-stepped down from the door. The quick step down caught her by surprise, and she felt like she was going to take a tumble. With Master Sergeant Terry's voice playing in her inner ear she made a quick assessment of her situation and dropped the bag which stopped her forward motion and allowed her to stay upright and on her feet.
“I see you have a newbie Craig.” The commander didn't look back to Craig but addressed him like she had eyes in the back of her head.
As if she didn't know. “Yes, ma’am. This is Li...”
Commander Cole turned and offered her hand to Liz. “Elizabeth Adams. Welcome to the CSC.”
“Thank you sir...ma’am...commander...”
Craig gave her a nudge to shut up and cut her losses.
“Master Sergeant Terry was my drill instructor too.” Commander Cole gave Liz a quick knowing smile. “He told me that you have the makings of a good agent. Don't let him down.”
“No, sir. I mean yes ma...” Damn it!
“Hell of a first full day on the job Adams,” Cole commented as she returned her attention back to the large screen.
“So what do we have? Coyote?” Asked Craig.
“I wish.” She pointed up to the screen. “This was shot an hour ago from a satellite fly-over.” Cole nodded to the half of the screen that showed an enhanced aerial image of Vamp Town and the surrounding countryside. “Caught the shot just as it was going out of range. But you can clearly see why the auto alarm sounded. And this...” Now she indicated the left side of the screen. “...was taken from a surveillance drone that we tasked to the rez when the alarm sounded.”
Video images showed the nine bus passengers walking/running down the hill into the town below. One woman, standing with a man, turned up to the drone and waved to it.
Liz offered an observation, “It looks like one of them is signaling for help.”
Another tech, a row of computers down from where they were standing turned and spoke up. “I found a post on-line that Cascade Stage Lines is missing one of their buses. It services the eastern side of Oregon. The bus should have made Baker City early last evening but was a no show. Its route wasn't supposed to be near the rez, but the manifest shows that it had nine passengers as well as a driver.”
“Which would make ten total...” Commander Cole said staring at the screen. “William, reverse the video. Now freeze it.”
“Well, there's only nine people visible.” Craig counted. “Which could mean that we already lost one. Holy shi...”
“Language, Agent Wright.” Cole cut him off.
“Sorry, ma'am.”
“So, no input from the fence sensors?” Cole asked the tech.
“No ma'am. Everything indicates that the fence is intact, no cuts, no tampering.”
Craig asked the tech to zoom out of the picture a bit more. The top of the hill was now visible as well as the barn and the perimeter fence. "Then those people had to fly over or...”
“Dig under it,” Liz said finishing Craig's thought. "There!" She pointed to a spot at the fenceline where the bus driver had dug.
Commander Cole smiled, appreciating that Liz had a brain underneath that mop of red hair.
“God damn it! F’ Congress and their sequester. This shit would not be happening if we still had humans patrolling the perimet
er.”
“Spilt milk, Craig, spilt milk.” Commander Coal lamented.
“Have you made the call?”
“No. I waited for you. You’re his contact.”
Craig picked up the phone and punched a button.
“This is agent Craig Wright. CSC50782... Yeah. Get me the mayor of Vamp Town. Now!”
The line clicked over to some recorded music. Craig had been put on hold to which he rolled his eyes and sighed deeply. Fucking budget cuts.
“Agent Wrigh...”
“Yes, Alex, we ha...”
“Sir, this is Rendel. I'm the operator. The mayor doesn’t respond to our call.”
“Shit. Okay, keep trying and patch his call through when he does.”
“Will do sir.”
Commander Cole's eyes were fixed onto the screen trying to will the images of the humans to change into a herd of sheep running downhill to their slaughter. “Keep me informed, Agent Wright.”
“You know it, ma'am.”
Grabbing Liz's arm Craig turned and headed up the terraced floor of Control to the door. “Come on Adams; we gotta gear up.”
“Gear up?”
—— HUNGER——
THE DOOR OF the Bucket of Blood swung open with little resistance when Dick gave it a push. A bell at the top of the door tinkled, welcoming the new customers. As Dick pushed the door open wider, a beam of light from the setting sun snuck into the dimly light bar casting itself into a place that it had not been allowed to visit in ages.
The bartender barely had time to hold a tray up to shield his face when Dick abruptly exposed the shadowy interior to the waning light of the setting sun. At the same time two old regulars, seated at the far corner of the counter, hastily ducked behind the wood structure to hide from the sudden exposure to the daylight.
“Hey! What gives?” One of the old guys complained.
“Shut the fucking door!” The other yelled. “You want to cook us?”
The bartender peeked over the top of the tray at the intruder and saw the limited intensity of the light invading his bar. There wasn’t enough oomph in that ray of diminishing sun to burn his skin or cause any noticeable vapor to rise off of his exposed skin. Lowering the tray, he looked with surprise at the bus passengers crowding their way into the place. “Well, get yourselves inside and close the damned door. The flies like it in here too!” The bartender barked at them.
Startled, Dick moved out of the tiny vestibule and further into the bar making room for the others to enter. Paul limped in last and closed the door as requested, no, ordered. The bell merrily tinkled as the door banged shut.
The lost and now wary passengers stood in a tight, defensive cluster as though they were the 300 Spartans ready to take on Xerxes at Thermopylae. This bit of life, discovered in the last building that they checked, was disquieting after what they had seen of the rest of the empty town and to be standing in this perfectly preserved 1960s era cocktail lounge was another non sequitur in a day full of them.
They were in a 60s retro heaven. Satellite style light fixtures orbited over the bar; the front of which was covered in tufted black vinyl. The low back stools were similarly upholstered and tufted but in red vinyl. The same tufted red vinyl could be seen on booths which lined the back wall. Sparkling, red-orange lamps hung like rough-cut plastic jewels over these comfortable cubbies emanating a dim, warm glow while directing a soft beam of light directly down onto the table tops giving them the illusion of self-levitation. An interesting mix of Tiki and Space-age-looking decorations adorned the walls. The dark ceiling was bespeckled with tiny bits of reflective glitter allowing for the feeling of a star-studded galaxy.
The room was dark even with the table lighting and the strings of colored Christmas lights festooned from the ceiling. The effect was that of a very secluded hideaway. With the door closed there was no way of knowing if it was night or day since the windows had all been painted black.
The air was stale, and there was a smell; an odor of something funky that attacked their noses. Funky wasn't correct. Malodorous was more the word. As though this room, had within it the decaying remains of something ancient. It wasn’t quite the acrid stink of death, nothing that intense, but there was an underlying fetid scent that was impossible to ignore. Maybe it was just that the door was always kept closed, and no fresh air was ever allowed to enter this dim and atmospheric joint.
The doorbell tinkling behind Paul signaled to the old regulars that the last offensive ray of sunlight had receded from the interior and that the blessed gloom had returned. They cautiously raised their heads above the bar top. What they saw was a major surprise indeed. One gave the other a nudge with his elbow while he licked his lips.
Dick stepped further into the bar. “Hey, what gives around this town? Where is everyone?”
The O’Neils stepped from behind the group and came forward. Marion spoke up. “Our daughter is terribly hungry. Are you still serving lunch?”
The bartender leaned over the bar top getting a bit closer to the passengers. He inhaled deeply and savored the smell of the warm bodies standing in front of him. He spoke with a slight but noticeable Irish accent. “Can’t say when the last lunch was served in here or dinner for that matter or even the last time we had guests join us for a meal.” He shot the regulars a wink and a grin. “It looks like that's about to change in a hurry.”
The bartender and the regulars laughed at this, likely, inside joke. The bartender turned back to Marion. “Food that you would eat? I think I may have something in the back...but drinks, that, I have plenty of.” He picked up a bottle of whiskey and set it on the bar top. “How’s about I pour something for you to enjoy while I see what I can scare up?”
“We’ll pass on the booze, but water and food would be great,” Paul said stepping from the back of the group. “And since it's getting dark, we sure could use a motel. Can you tell us where to find one?”
“Name’s Sean,” the bartender said giving Paul a visual appraisal. He's a tough one, but the limp makes him easy prey, he judged. “Since it's almost dark out you won’t have to wait too long before the inn-keep shows up and she can take you there herself.” He turned with a smirk towards the regulars who were laughing with him at yet another “joke”.
“We’ve walked all around your town and didn't see any motels. Where was it?” Wilson asked.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Motel, hotel. The difference means nothing to me. The hotel is around the corner on Third.”
“We walked that side of the block and didn't see any hotel sign. Right?” Dick said dubiously.
“You're right. No hotels.” Wilson agreed.
Steph and Ellie both nodded in agreement with that too.
The bartender lowered his voice like someone was listening. “Ah, look, this is a small town as you have discovered. There isn't a lot going on here that brings in money. The hotel isn't quite legal. Off the books, if you know what I mean? So there aren't any signs. You pay cash, and you've got a room.” He gave the group a pleading kind of look. “I know we're avoidin' taxes but it’s the only way to make it out here.”
Dick stepped up to the bar so that he and the bartender were almost face to face and said to him sympathetically, “Hey, I get it, dude. We all do. Right?” He turned back to the others who smiled and nodded. “We’re just tired and hungry. First thing in the morning we’re out of here. Okay? No trouble.”
The bartender broke into a big smile. “Okay. But leaving won't be necessary.”
“Or possible.” One regular said under his breath to the other. His buddy gave him a visible elbow to the ribs.
Paul had been watching and listening to these “private jokes” and was becoming uncomfortable with the whole situation. “You know, maybe we should be getting back to the bus. Someone is probably looking for us right now.”
“Why?” Steph protested. “They have rooms for us to use. Sleeping on that bus sucked.”
Not as much as it's going to suck here lassie. Though
t the regular with a sinister smirk.
“Yeah, if you could call it sleeping,” Kelvin said. “I spent more time trying to get comfortable than I spent sleeping. My back deserves a soft bed.”
“My poor baby.” Jenna stroked Kelvin's head in mock empathy.
“Mommy.” Cindra pulls on Marion's arm again. “I'm hungry!”
"And I had the weirdest dreams...a man...red eyes," Ellie added losing herself for a moment as images of her dream began to return.
"Yeah, me too," Steph said, surprised that she shared a similar experience. A vivid memory of a dark man touching the window she had leaned her head against popped into her head. She could feel the sensation of her hair being stroked. The recollection sent a chill down her spine.
The bartender gave Cindra a lecherous smile; eyes filled with restrained desire. Feeling the strange energy emanating from him, Cindra retreated behind Marion. “And how can we let the little princess not have any dinner? Let me check out what I have hiding in the back room and get you fed. We can figure out how to serve the rest of you later.” He turned and brushed through some curtains that hung across the door opening.
The bus passengers were left standing with the two regulars staring at them. The whites of their eyes were yellowed and cloudy with age. Within them floated islands of black pupils that drilled into each of the travelers, sizing them up. Studying them. One whispered to the other, and they giggled like school girls. Then the other had something to add and the giggling continued.
««« ‡ »»»
THE BARTENDER DREW the curtains closed behind him as he entered the totally unused back room; built as the kitchen to this joint; sink, fridge and stove to one side and a few other items that would be used for food prep. All were covered with a thick layer of dust; not having seen any service in years if ever at all. Cobwebs indicated that the only living things back here were spiders.