Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  “I see the redhead,” Travis Wayne said. “The big guy. There’s a kid, maybe fourteen.”

  “May I?” Barb asked motioning for the radio.

  “Yeah. I’ll see if I can get Kelly up. Travis Wayne will want to talk to her.”

  Barb pressed the receiver. “The child is Gus. We lost his mother and his father ran off. You should see a short man in a trucker hat, Wranglers, and a western shirt. His name is Emerson McLennan and he won’t trust you. We came across him on our trek. There’s an ATF agent. A pretty woman in her mid-twenties; she’s been pretty sick since this all started.”

  Reagan drifted into the room, but not out of earshot.

  “What’s going on?” Scotty asked as he lifted Annabeth to her feet.

  “Long story,” Reagan said, eyebrows shooting a warning sign on an incoming zinger. “But it turns out we’re not in Kansas or Montana anymore.”

  “Got the older guy in the trucker hat,” Travis Wayne said. “A salty guy. I don’t see the…I see a young guy in a UT shirt. Texas, not Tennessee.”

  Scotty marched next to Reagan. “He’s my brother, Hunter.”

  “Don’t trust him,” Barb warned Travis Wayne. “He left Tom and William for dead and tried to ambush the rest of us. Emerson acts as a guard. I know this is crazy, but please check on Dixie. Check on all of them. Make sure they’re okay.”

  “I will. Hold tight.” Travis Wayne left for a few moments.

  “The man in the UT gear, his name Hunter by any chance?” Scotty asked.

  Barb’s gaze bounced from Scotty to Reagan. “Yes. Who are you?”

  Travis Wayne returned to the radio. “Miss Barb, what can I say to make them trust me?”

  Barb turned away from Scotty and the Hunter situation. “Tell Tom I’m alright and you have me on the radio. Let him talk to me.”

  “I don’t see him. Give me a few seconds.”

  Barb placed a hand on her hip. “Okay, if you don’t see Tom, I assume he’s awake and trying to make sense of things. Who is the most lucid right now?”

  Travis Wayne was silent for a few seconds. “The big guy. He’s shootin’ daggers. About to draw.”

  “His name is William Davidson. Tell him you’re talking to Barb Sanders and I’m worried about my daughter, Dixie. Tell him quickly as he’s not a patient man.”

  “Okay. Sir…”

  The minutes ticked by and Travis Wayne hadn’t returned.

  “Scotty, right?” Barb asked in his direction. “How do you know Hunter?”

  Scotty bounced a tennis ball for his energetic terrier. Mickey scrabbled across the floor after it. “He’s my brother. We were hiking in the mountains and separated when the lightning hit.”

  “Hunter isn’t on the best of terms with my group I'm sorry to say. He left Tom, William, and Jeremy tied to a tree.”

  Scotty raised a hand. “Hunter isn’t trusting of strangers. But he’s not a bad guy. If they run into Nate Campbell or more of those goons with guns, they’re gonna need Hunter’s help.”

  Barb kicked at the ground with her white Keds. “I don’t know your situation but ever since the storm hit, some people haven’t been the same.”

  “How so?” Reagan asked.

  “I don’t know how to explain it, Reagan. But one person in our group went a little crazy after his wife was killed. Andy Robertelli.” Barb grimaced. “I’ve known Andy for years, he’s a coach at my school.”

  “Your school?” Scotty asked.

  “Barb’s a high school principal,” Reagan explained.

  “Andy’s always been distant with his son and a little hotheaded,” Barb continued. “But it was magnified after the storm. Andy stole William’s gun and went off on a crusade. We haven’t seen him since.”

  “Are you suggesting the same thing happened to Hunter?”

  “I'm not sure.” Barb hesitated. “But if my group is going to trust Travis Wayne, we probably shouldn’t mention the Hunter situation right away.”

  Scotty jammed hands into his pockets. “Alright.”

  Barb rocked the radio in her hands. “Speaking of Travis Wayne, what is keeping him?”

  Reagan accepted the radio. “Talk to us, Rush. This radio silence is spooky. We haven’t heard from you for a good two minutes.”

  “We had a conversation,” Travis Wayne said. “I talked fast to avoid a gunfight.”

  “We know what a fast talker you are, Lorelai. Is everything okay now?” Reagan gave Kelly a calming smile.

  “Give me a minute. We’re working out terms.”

  “What’s going on?” a dazed Kelly asked. “Where’s Travis Wayne?”

  Reagan filled in those who were lucid.

  “Why hasn’t he said anything recently?” Kelly asked with a stare at the radio.

  “Still there?” Reagan asked. “We filled Kelly in. She wants to…”

  “Travis Wayne, where did you run off to this time?” Kelly asked.

  “Twilight Zone freaky, babe. You’re the one obsessed with time travel and science fiction. Tell me how you ended up in Louisiana.”

  “Did I not mention my new teleportation abilities?” Kelly asked.

  Travis Wayne laughed. “You sound like your normal self. Started any fights with Mr. Tucker yet?”

  Kelly rolled her eyes at Granddad. “We’re in the middle of one. I’m multitasking. I was thinking it’s kind of weird you and Barb were carrying the radios when this whole switch-a-roo happened.”

  “Don’t tell him your half-baked theory,” Granddad said. “There’s a much better explanation for all this. Tell him my theory.”

  “How is your theory any better, Tucker?”

  Granddad smacked his cane on the floor. “I don’t think it has anything to do with the radios. Barb and Travis Wayne for some reason didn’t make the jump. Something similar must have happened in the woods with Scotty and his brother.”

  Kelly released a dramatic sigh as she twisted to the radio, which caught their entire argument. “Tucker wanted me to tell you…”

  “Let me talk to him,” Granddad said extending his hand.

  “No, you can’t, I’m talking to him.”

  “You’re gonna break it.”

  Kelly waved him off. “I’m capable of working a radio, Tucker. Anyways, his convoluted theory is…”

  “Hold on, y’all,” Travis Wayne said. “I gotta help Miss Barb’s daughter. She hit her head.”

  “Is she alright?” Barb rushed forward as the radio cut out.

  “You there, Garth?” Reagan asked. “Hello?”

  “You there?” Travis Wayne said through the crackling radio. “I found Tom. I’ll let him talk to you.”

  “Good idea,” Barb grinned.

  Before they could talk to Tom, a shot whizzed by Reagan’s head. The group hit the deck, and those who were armed pulled their weapons. “Really? Why do people keep shooting at me?”

  Chapter 2 – Trust Issues

  Tom

  As the fog lifted, the man with the walkie-talkie darted Tom’s way. Something about the Asian man gave Tom déjà vu. “Mr. Cassidy?”

  Not able to answer, Tom drifted. He read the other man’s lips more than heard him. The ringing in his ears kept him from hearing. A persistent but faint note, like a microwave beep. The surroundings of the train station left him confused. The humid, hot air chilled. A poster showed a skier soaring down a snowy mountain, adding to his befuddlement. The cascade of a waterfall hit his ears, replacing the microwave beep. The pain in his shoulders made Tom adjust his prone position and he attempted to sit.

  Shaking his head to clear the fog, Tom noticed the busted pipe and the whoosh of water. The puddle on the cracked wooden floor flowed toward him and Tom wondered how he transported from the tile floor to faded gray cedar. A painting of a moose with snowcapped mountains covered the wall behind the man trying to talk to him. “Mr. Cassidy, I have Miss Barb on the radio for you.”

  “Uh.” He licked his cracked lips. The metallic taste infiltrated stron
ger than ever as if he’d eaten a spoon. A glance to his hands confirmed he carried Whitehead’s rifle. The man holding the radio possessed a holstered pistol and wore hiking gear suited for the cold weather, not the hot and wet swamp where Tom and the crew landed. The man smelled of mountain pine, an earthy scent Tom recalled from a visit to his daughter in Big Sky Country.

  The man keyed the microphone. “Mr. Cassidy is woozy. Give me a minute.” The man waited and keyed the mic again. “Ma’am?” His face turned quizzical. “Anybody there? Miss Barb, can you hear me?”

  “Barb is with me,” Tom managed to say. He heard the weakness in his voice and cleared his throat. “Something happened.” He steadied against a wall and braced his hands on the floor. “Where is she?”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bulged as he swallowed. “I talked to her. She’s still in Louisiana.”

  “Still? We’re all in Louisiana, son.”

  “No sir, you’re in Montana.” He pointed to a window and Tom narrowed his eyes to focus on snowcapped mountains.

  Tom considered the Asian man. “You’re the one Barb talked to earlier? Trevor Wade?”

  “Travis Wayne Pak. I was with your daughter Reagan. She’s not here.”

  “Don’t tell me she’s in Louisiana. What kind of game are you playing here?” A splash of water from the busted pipe sloshed onto Tom’s shorts and he attempted to stand. He steadied on the rifle, tempted to bring the discussion to a different level.

  “Reagan and my wife Kelly are best friends. We went camping. I’m rattled.”

  Easing his suspicions from Level Red to Level Orange, Tom slipped his hand off the trigger and wobbled closer to the window. Reagan often talked about her friend Kelly and Tom recalled the name, Travis Wayne as he searched his memory bank. Beyond the railroad tracks, he spied the mountains. Robin, Emerson, and Dixie sprawled in various poses on a bench. Dixie held a snowball inside a plastic bag to her head. Robin talked low, reassuring her. Emerson fingered his shotgun and caught Tom’s eye. His prisoner Hunter sat on the ground hogtied with zip-ties.

  The old guy struggled to his feet. “Yank, we had us quite a surprise when we came to. This new fella here started talking and all I could think of was the old boy in the woods who suckered you and the loudmouth.”

  “I’m guessing you changed your mind?”

  Emerson nodded. “Dixie grilled him about the story and it convinced her. She smashed her head when we all blacked out, but it’s not too bad. All of the others are awake and Davidson led them upstairs to nose around. Uh, neither you nor Barb was here. The fella somehow talked to Barb on the radio and then we all noticed you on the other side of the half-wall by the ticket office.”

  Tom jerked his chin at Travis Wayne. “You trust this guy now?” He raised his voice. “You trust him, Dixie?”

  “Not really.” She shrugged. “He somehow talked to Mom, though.”

  Emerson mirrored the shrug. “Trust isn’t one of my traits, Yank. I still don’t trust you completely.”

  Spinning to the new man, Tom evaluated him. “What’s been happening to you and your group?”

  “Swarms of bees, strange weather.” He frowned and shook his head. “Green sky. We found an ATF agent and a park ranger.”

  Robin joined the conversation, clutching her side. “His group found my partner, Jon Little. And they encountered some of my crew, who apparently went rogue. My best guess is Whitehead, the man we killed, was in communication with others in my group.”

  Motioning for the water bottle, Tom glared at Robin. “We’re going to have a long talk about what you said, but first we figure out what’s going on with this Travis guy.” Feeling weak for not waking sooner, Tom lurched and paced by the window, glancing at the tracks below and the thick pines, thinning as the mountain went higher.

  Travis Wayne eased beside him. “Mr. Cassidy, what can I do to earn your trust? I respect your daughter. She has a presence; a natural leader.”

  Travis Wayne answered all of Tom’s questions, passing each test. Body language markers and voice-tone indicated truthful answers. Jutting his chin, Tom offered another challenge. “Do you know the name of Reagan’s mother?”

  “No, sir. I call her Dr. Parish. My sister-in-law Louise is her assistant. She’s a piece of work. Dr. Parrish, not Louise. Reagan calls her ‘Mom’.”

  Hunter’s actions lingered. Tom’s normal world ability to assess a new man failed him with Hunter. And perhaps with Campbell. “Barb was working on a theory. Her and Doc – he’s a meteorologist and scientist – they had some thoughts on the green sky and odd weather. What did you guys come up with on your end?”

  “Reagan asked questions. Mr. Tucker, Kelly, and her debated. I kept an eye out.” Travis Wayne pointed at Hunter. “He might be Scotty’s brother. I don’t recall the last name.”

  Tom sneered at Hunter. “He’s lucky we didn’t shoot him. He left me and Davidson hogtied out in the sticks.”

  “Reagan trusts Scotty. He has a thing for her.” Travis Wayne stopped at the loud bang. His head twisted toward the stairs.

  “Bull, did our guys go to the second floor?”

  Another bang. An explosion. “They did.”

  Tom pointed at Hunter and Travis Wayne. “Keep an eye on these two, Bull.” He sprinted the stairs two at a time to the landing. Exploding through the turn, he approached the next level with his rifle at the ready.

  Davidson steamed around a corner, blood flowing from a gash on his head. Genevieve trailed after him screaming. Hibbert stumbled and fell behind, screeching louder than Genevieve. Flames leaped in the background and heat from forty feet away rushed. The smell of burning flesh permeated the air as the three blasted through the flames.

  “Take cover.” Tom focused through the smoke searching for a target.

  Davidson slowed to help Hibbert. “Cassidy, the kid followed us.”

  “I’ll check.” The smell overwhelmed him as he attempted to push through the heat. The flames licked his bare legs, warming him as his brain registered the cold downstairs.

  “Don’t move a muscle there, mister.” The voice, a man’s, resonated on the high side. Tom squinted into the darkness behind the dying flames. The heat dissipated. “I’ve got more of these concussion grenades. And I’ve got this kid, right here.”

  “I’m not moving. Gus, you okay?”

  Gus stood almost as tall as the man holding him, about 5-5. Maybe Gus stood an inch shorter and the man an inch taller. Grenade guy wore nerd glasses with thick black frames, emphasizing his balding hairline. He donned a long jacket, military cut but in red. Weapons bulged from the various pockets. “This kid isn’t saying much. Mumbled something about wanting his mommy. What I want is to get your people up here. Unarmed, of course. We’ll have a little talk.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Just plain old Bill.” He sang the next part. “I’m just a bill, but I’m a-gonna be a law someday.”

  “Let the kid go.” Tom brought the rifle to eye level and aimed. “I’m pretty handy with this.”

  “As am I, kind sir, with this .357. I’ll blow his head clean off before your shot hits me.” The man maneuvered his body to show Tom the gun. “Uh, Elaine dear, can you make your presence known?”

  “I’m here.” The voice came from Tom’s right in the total darkness. She sashayed into the light, remaining concealed behind a Coke machine. “Bill Stutley, what would you do without me?” Bill’s accent sounded east coast like Tom’s, but more New York City. Elaine’s voice carried an aristocratic upper south accent. The state of Virginia. Her hairstyle was reminiscent of the 1970s, straight and with a middle part. “As my partner said, go ahead and get the rest of your group up here pronto.”

  “You guys know Gilbert Whitehead?” Tom asked.

  Bill’s sharp eyes steeled. Bill masked a micro reaction signaling recognition. “Never heard of him. You’re wasting my time here, pal. Call your group.”

  “What do you guys want with us? We’re trying to get home.”
<
br />   “You hear him, Bill? He wants to go home. Now that’s a hot one.” Footsteps thumped on the wooden floor, mimicking the ones downstairs.

  “Why is it a hot one? Wanna fill me in on some of this crazy world?”

  Bill allowed a smile to creep across his face. “I’m a mercenary. In it for the cold, hard cash. Got an order to clear all of you amateurs out. I’ll take you to a nice and safe place.”

  “Come on, Bill, this guy isn’t buying what you’re selling.”

  “Maybe he would’ve if you didn’t run your mouth,” Bill snapped. “I’m a pretty good liar.”

  Elaine chuckled. “Yeah, you’re the best liar I’ve ever known. Well, besides Gilbert.”

  Bill’s high forehead creased. “Come on now, Elaine. I just told the man I didn’t know Gilbert.”

  “Ah, but he didn’t believe you. And he doesn’t believe we’re going to take him and his group to a safe place.”

  Bill shrugged. “I tried.”

  “Davidson,” Tom said. “Get downstairs and get everybody out.”

  Tom whirled, slid to his knee and fired at the woman. Plastic from the Coke machine and amber liquid spewed into the air. He slid to his belly and fired at Bill. The puffy coat absorbed the gunshot, but blood spurted and Gus kicked free. Elaine fired from her position and Travis Wayne arrived on the scene blasting a Smith and Wesson Sigma pistol. Bill absorbed the second shot and somehow leaped through a doorway.

  Tom scrambled and scanned the darkness, his rifle ready for Elaine. “Thanks for jumping in John Wayne. Keep your eye on the chubby guy and I’ll search for the woman.” He motioned Gus. “Go find Genevieve and Davidson. Get downstairs and tell everybody with a gun to get ready. And send Robin.”

  Gus cemented in place, his eyes gone. The haze lifted and he roamed in a semicircle. His eyes cleared. “Okay, Tom. I’ll tell them.”

  Kicking a door, gun trained in the shooting position, Tom called, “This way, John Wayne. They’re on the move.”