Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  “That may be, but my man Scotty is every bit the navigator of your hillbilly.” Jasper pointed a chubby finger at Travis Wayne.

  Kelly sprung forward but Travis Wayne caught her before she threw another punch.

  Scotty stretched from his leaned position to his full height and met Jasper. “Your man, Scotty is sticking with Reagan’s group. You’re more than welcome to tag along though.”

  Jasper stroked his wild mane as Olivia placed a hand on his shoulder. “We would appreciate any assistance you can offer.”

  Reagan nodded. “Then we better get some sleep. We’ll begin our hike at sunup or the green haze equivalent.”

  Sleep didn’t come easy, especially with the throbbing, nuisance of a pain in her neck. Abandoning the attempt at sleep, Reagan eased sore, swollen feet into thick socks. Her boots were worked in and comfortable, yet her feet ached from the long hike the previous day. She cleared her dry throat and sipped water from her canteen. As slivers of light slipped into the cabin, the others stirred.

  Reagan offered a drink to Annabeth. “Take a small sip. We don’t have much left.”

  “There’s plenty of rivers,” Jasper bellowed. “Can’t we fill up there?”

  “Before anyone fills up, we should check the water.” Reagan didn’t want to alarm anyone, but with the strange happenings, they couldn’t take any chances.

  “What would be wrong with it?” Junior yanked the sleeves of his faded black hoodie.

  “Maybe nothing. I want everyone to be cautious.” Reagan pointed two fingers at the door. “We better get going.”

  They departed the ranger station in a single file with Travis Wayne leading and Jasper barking orders. Reagan hung to the rear corralling the rest of the Caribou Crew.

  Meredith scrubbed his balding head. “How is it sunny and this cold? I feel my head burning.”

  “Would you like sunscreen?” Reagan offered. The sun wasn’t shining but the green haze glowed.

  “What I would like is my hat,” Meredith said. “But it blew away during the freak storm. And now the top of my head is cooking. And my feet hurt.” His burgundy loafers were not ideal for a hike in the mountain. He wore a multicolored Hawaiian shirt and navy slacks.

  “Y’all can grab warmer clothes at the RV.”

  “It’s summer. We didn’t even consider packing warmer clothes,” Dawn said. She wore a yellow floral sundress, blue sweater, and sandals.

  Reagan adjusted her Stetson. She hoped to distract them from their constant complaining. “What do you do Dawn? I believe someone said you are a librarian?”

  “I am. For twenty-five years.” She placed a hand to the backside of her short gray hair and tried to smooth the obvious cowlick. “My hair could really use a wash.”

  Reagan chuckled. “I know what you mean. I caught all kinds of dust and grime during the windstorm last night.”

  Dawn cleared her throat. “How much longer would you say?”

  Out of habit, Reagan’s eyes darted to her broken watch. She estimated they left the cabin ten minutes earlier. She didn’t have a good answer for Dawn. “We’ll be there soon.”

  “The RV is miles down the mountain,” Junior said removing his hood. “If we don’t pick up the pace, we won’t make it by dark.”

  “But we wandered for quite some time before reaching the cabin.” Meredith wrinkled his forehead. “A straight path would get us there sooner.” He stumbled and almost took a header. “What is that awful sound?”

  “What sound?” Dawn asked.

  Silence surrounded them. Reagan worried the bees might return but she didn’t see any signs. “Can you describe the sound?”

  “My neck,” Meredith cringed. “It’s killing me.”

  “Junior, can you get Travis Wayne?” Reagan knelt to Meredith’s side. “Can you describe the pain?”

  “It hurts. What more do you need to know?” he asked. “My ears are ringing and I can’t hear a thing.

  Reagan tugged his Hawaiian shirt to inspect his burn mark, the same shape as the others but swollen and hot to the touch.

  Dawn covered her taut mouth, expressionless from a vanity facelift. “My word. What is it?”

  “It’s a burn mark. Possibly from the lightning storm,” Reagan said.

  “How did it happen? He wasn’t struck by lightning, was he?” Dawn asked.

  “Of course, I wasn’t.” Meredith bellowed. “Probably some kind of insect bite in this awful forest. I can’t wait to get out of here and go home.”

  Travis Wayne jogged to their side. “Everythin’ okay?”

  “I’m fine now.” Meredith hobbled to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.” Junior put his arm under Meredith and helped him limp a few steps.

  Travis Wayne veered Reagan aside. “Jon’s acting strange too,” he whispered.

  “More than usual?”

  “Said his throat’s sore and dry.”

  Reagan bit her lip. “Our water supply is dwindling. I have half a canteen.”

  “I’m not much better.” Travis Wayne sloshed his bottle. “If we stop at the river, we’ll add two hours to our hike.”

  “I'm not sure the Caribou Crew could handle it.”

  “Should we split up?”

  Reagan blew into her cold hands. “Let’s stay together for the time being.”

  “Agreed. We can’t make it far without water. What do you want to do?”

  Reagan clapped him on the back. “Lead the way to the river, Guitar Man.”

  Travis Wayne returned to the front of the group and continued their descent. Silence engulfed the group for several hours.

  “What do you know about the mark?” Junior asked.

  “Not enough.” Reagan twirled her hiking stick.

  “My mom has a burn too. But she doesn’t seem as bad as Meredith.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Why do they have it and not the rest of us?”

  “I wish we knew the answer.” Reagan resisted the urge to rub her neck. With each passing hour, the ache intensified. More than half the group wore the odd burn mark. If their condition worsened, they wouldn’t make it far.

  Chapter 17 – Barbecue

  Tom

  The charcoal flamed out as Tom removed the last batch of chicken. He basted barbecue sauce and handed the plate to Barb. For several hours, the group feasted on steak, pork chops, ham, hamburgers, a roast, and endless chicken. The grilled corn, zucchini, and potatoes were tasty as well.

  Barb shadowed Tom to a dark corner as he munched on a chicken leg. She showered and changed after arriving at the house. Emerson offered his family’s clothes and Barb found jean Capri pants a size too large and paired a long-sleeved green and white striped shirt with an aqua tank top. She ditched her earrings and necklace but kept her tattered Keds. The burn mark on her neck remained, leading to occasional rubbing.

  “How’s everybody doing since getting clean?” Tom asked.

  “I’m a little worried about my neck, but I haven’t complained in front of Jeremy. Maybe he got the worst of the neck burns. Agent Sherwood is drained and sick. I helped her to bed. Gus is zoned out and wouldn’t shower. I talked him into changing his shirt at least. Dixie is showing responsibility. William complains about his ankle, but like Dixie, he’s tough when necessary. I’m not sure about Genevieve. I know you’re exhausted, Tom. Make sure to take a relaxing shower before you collapse. I found you something to wear; a functional fishing shirt, some hiking shorts, and hiking boots.”

  Relaxing for the first time since Tuesday morning, cold water hit his body as he lathered the soap. No hot water due to the power outage, but it refreshed nonetheless. The nighttime air was cooler, but the heat lingered. He dressed in clothes Barb gathered when she and Dixie scouted the houses for essentials. The shoes fit, but the shirt and shorts were a touch loose. He found a stretchy belt in the closet to tighten the navy-blue hiking shorts. He left the tan fishing shirt unbuttoned, exposing a white t-shirt.

  As Tom sat on a wicker chair, he longed to instead h
op into bed and sleep for days. A shrill scream smashed into his daydream. Jumping to the window, he scanned the deck with the smoldering grill. For a second, maybe less, Mandy Robertelli appeared, taunting him. Shaking the haze, he gawked across the street at the model home on fire. Bounding downstairs two and then three at a time, Tom scampered to the backdoor as flames erupted in their house. “How did this happen?”

  “All the houses are burning,” the Cajun voice of Emerson answered. “Every house in this neighborhood started burning at the same time. Got to be a weapon the government is testing, I tell you.”

  “I wonder if the weapon can burn the top of trees,” Dixie hissed. “I guess we have to run again.”

  “Right, let’s get away from the houses and stay away from the woods. Run to the street and we’ll follow it,” Tom said.

  Robin stumbled downstairs with her Glock cocked. “What’s going on?”

  Tom intercepted her. “We have to move, ATF. Whoever shot at us is trying to smoke us out. We have to go, but be ready to return fire.”

  Leading the way, Tom carried the pump shotgun. Dixie and Hibbert helped Robin as she held her Glock. Barb, Gus, Davidson, and Genevieve filed in behind, and new friend Emerson guarded the rear with his Winchester. Crackling flames leaped from the houses as Tom steered through the street to the open road and away from the trees. The tops of cypress trees sparked shooting flames. Fire rained and a smoky haze blended with the greenish sky, giving the night, a unique color. An orange-yellow with electrical flashes against a mossy, nighttime smoky gray.

  Navigating the side-road, Tom set a brisk tempo and hoped the others kept pace. Ahead he saw no evidence of burning trees. A mile into the trip, he gathered the crew and chanced a glance at the burning cul-de-sac.

  “Did anybody grab water or food?” Davidson asked.

  “We left in such a hurry,” Barb said blinking tears. “I had five backpacks filled and ready for us to take, but in the panic…”

  “Gus and I each have one,” Dixie said swinging a stuffed red and black backpack. “Mine has water.” Dixie opened Gus’s pack and searched. “This one has some of the leftover meat wrapped in tinfoil, a Costco sized bag of mixed nuts, about a dozen packages of peanut butter crackers and a couple of bags of pretzels.”

  “The provisions will come in handy.” Tom peeked at the sky, measuring in his head and calculating if the fire changed course and how much time until it caught them. “I’d feel better if we shoved down the road and put some more distance between us and fire.”

  “It’s like the fire has it in for us,” Genevieve squealed. “I swear it has a personality. And I saw Mandy again moments before the fire started.” Her eyes cut to Tom. “Did you see her?”

  “Maybe,” Tom conceded. The others waited for him to elaborate. “This phenonium has hallucinogenic effects. But the biggest danger is the fire, the one with the personality.”

  “Haliburton did some tests on fire as a weapon,” the resident conspiracy theorist added. Emerson kicked at the ground with his worn cowboy boots, calf-high and on top of Wranglers. “I hear-tell they gave it qualities allowing it to track a certain way. Called it a smart fire.”

  Hibbert frowned at Emerson. “Preposterous. Ridiculous. Where do you get such rubbish?” The Brit changed from his traffic cone orange fishing shirt. He stuck with the Nike sneakers. “Granted, something extraordinary happened to us and the environment. But a smart fire? Heavens no.”

  Barb smiled at Emerson. “Jeremy is a meteorologist among other things. I’ve taught science off and on. I’m a principal now. We discussed a possible explanation. He said the green-colored haze is likely a man-made gas. This gas acts as a seal boxing in the heat and creating a greenhouse effect. Do I have it right, Jeremy?”

  “For the most part.”

  “Ah hah.” Emerson pounced like a cat after a laser pointer. “Man-made gas.”

  “Or a natural gas,” Hibbert said. “Something hanging perhaps several hundred yards in the air and remaining hot.”

  “How come it makes you people see things?” Emerson twirled his rifle and motioned to the fire. “This thing isn’t natural and we all know it. As soon as we admit it, we’ll be better off.”

  With all eyes on Tom, he addressed the group. “It isn’t natural, but I’ll let our scientist weigh in with the theories. The rest of us will worry about surviving. Now, how far to the store and the train station?”

  “Hold on,” Davidson boomed. “I have a different thought on that particular matter. Somebody is out to kill us. Not some smart fire or smart storm or anything of the ilk. This is a group out to get us. They want to torture us.”

  “Sounds right, Dad,” Dixie said. “But either way, we have to go.”

  “Or stay and fight,” he told his daughter.

  Tom weighed in. “I’d be happy to stay and fight whoever or whatever this is. But we don’t know how to fight this if they have fire, lightning, and storms at their disposal.”

  “Plus, the hallucination aspect.” Genevieve seized Tom’s arm. “Tell the rest of them about Mandy. She materializes before every disaster, almost as if to warn us.”

  “I saw her on the boat just sitting there. At the same time Genevieve did. Then I saw her out in the woods right before I found Andy. And again a few minutes ago. It doesn’t always coincide with a disaster for us.”

  Genevieve brushed the hair from her face. “Have any of the rest of you seen Mandy? Tom and I have already admitted it and we’re not crazy.”

  “I haven’t seen my mother.” Gus lost himself in the crackling fire, not making eye contact. “But I’ve seen a man in a uniform.”

  “Army? Maybe Navy Seals?” Emerson leaned near Gus. “What kind of military was it, son?”

  Robin winced. Her stomach bothered her. She twisted her neck. “I don’t know what all of you went through, but it sounds a hell of a lot like it is giving you visions and hallucinations.”

  “Have you seen the fire?” Emerson’s voice cracked to a soprano. “Give me a break, Fed. You being out here is awful convenient-like in my book.”

  “Let’s not argue about the cause right now, guys. We’ll rest a few more minutes and get on down the road.”

  “Yank is right.” Emerson twisted his mustache with his left hand.

  “Can you describe the uniform, Gus?” Barb placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Was it the ATF windbreaker like Robin? Or something different like a police officer or perhaps a military uniform?”

  With a few blinks, Gus noticed Robin for maybe the first time. She’d changed from her ATF windbreaker and undershirt to a fishing shirt like Tom’s. She tied it on one side, opposite the holstered Glock. “She doesn’t have a uniform. The man I saw wore a boy scout uniform. You know, the one with the round hat like Smokey the Bear?”

  Barb nudged Gus to the rest of the group. “We need to get far away from this fire.”

  Davidson crossed his arms and scowled at the kid. “He’s bonkers.”

  Tom moseyed next to the tall man. “We’re all bonkers then, Davidson. We’ve seen crazy things. We’re either all crazy or the world’s gone crazy.”

  Chapter 18 – Fishy

  Reagan

  “Reagan, get up here,” Travis Wayne called from the front of the pack.

  She estimated they were a mile from the river. “What’s wrong?” she asked after a jog.

  “Dead fish.” Jasper punted a gray, lifeless fish carcass. “There’s dead fish everywhere.”

  Hundreds of fish littered the trail. Reagan recognized several different kinds of trout.

  “Just an observation, but shouldn’t fish, even dead ones, be in the water?” Scotty asked. He scooped Mickey suspending his pursuit of sushi.

  Annabeth masked her nose with her shirt. “Yuck. And here I thought cooked fish smelled gross. This is worse.”

  “What would cause this?” Reagan looked to Granddad and Kelly. “Any wild theories?”

  Kelly threw her arms into the air. “Some kind o
f shockwave perhaps? The river is at least a mile south. This is a spectacularly far distance for fish to travel.”

  “With the wind speeds Reagan described, I wouldn’t be surprised if a twister carried them up here. It’s far more reasonable than a shockwave.” Granddad stroked his white beard.

  “It’s not like there’s a rational explanation for this. I was thinking about the lightning and a potential electrical surge,” Kelly said. “It wasn’t that wheels off.”

  “There have been many documented instances where a tornado transported cars, or even people, miles from where they were picked up,” Granddad said. “You might as well suggest aliens did it if you’re going to claim a shockwave, Miss Pak-man.”

  Jasper combed both hands through his mane. “Who cares about the how and the why? Can we cook these bad boys?” He licked his lips. “I have plenty of supplies back at the RV. I could make creamy seafood risotto. I serve it at my restaurant. More often I would serve it with fresh lobster, but I’m sure trout would do.”

  Reagan’s bright, honey eyes widened at the dead fish. “I’m not sure. We don’t have any idea how long these fish have been here or what killed them.”

  “They look fine to me,” Jasper said. “Couldn’t have been dead too long, right?”

  “We have enough food to last us a few days,” Reagan said. “There’s no reason to risk it.”

  “First you say the water’s poisoned and now the fish? I'm just suggesting a nice meal after our long hike. How bad could it be? The temperature is near freezing, I doubt the fish spoiled.”

  “Take it easy, Emeril. I’m suggesting we exercise caution,” Reagan said. “We aren’t going to eat rotten fish. Let’s continue to the river, it’s not much further.”

  After twenty minutes of bushwhacking and listening to the Caribou Crew moan, the hikers reached the river. A similar sight greeted them. Fish floated on the surface of the stagnant muddy water and scattered the bank.

  Travis Wayne scratched the stubble above his upper lip. “We can’t drink this.”

  Reagan placed her pack on the ground and approached the river. She leaned over the side and stuck her right hand into the water. Within seconds she yanked it, let out a high squeal, and inspected her hand. “The water is hot. Almost boiling.”