Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  Bill’s jacket flapped in the breeze as he soared from the last rung of the fire escape ladder. Elaine, a tomboy and athletic woman with her hair flying, sped in front of him crossing the railroad tracks. She pointed her gun toward the window.

  “Should we go after them?” Travis Wayne asked.

  “I would love to, but first we secure the group and assess the situation. We put a recon group together to go after these guys. We won’t be safe with those maniacs out there. I’ll talk to Robin, first.”

  “I was Reagan’s right-hand. Have I earned your trust?”

  “Sure. Some.” He tapped the muscular Asian man on the shoulder. “I hope I don’t end up regretting this.”

  “No, sir. Hunter is handy with a gun. His brother Scotty told us about him. Scotty is a good old boy. Helpful.”

  “Hunter is a dimwitted, hot-headed.” Tom hesitated. “Or maybe scared.”

  “We could use a gun, but it’s your call. I’ll back you either way.”

  Chapter 3 – The A-Team

  Reagan

  Reagan drew the Remington rifle. “Everybody get down.”

  Jon, Granddad, and Kelly, scrambled for cover behind a row of wooden benches twenty yards into the tunnel. “I don’t have eyes on the shooter.” Jon nudged the barrel of his shotgun through the gaps in the bench.

  “Annabeth?” Reagan called to the teenager.

  “I’m behind the vending machine with Mickey.”

  Jasper shimmied to the ticket counter, near the entrance where Reagan, Scotty, and Barb crouched. His yellow snowsuit swished across the floor. “What’s going on?”

  “Ain’t it obvious, we’re having a picnic,” Scotty cocked the Colt .45. “Want some of Reagan’s homemade potato salad?”

  “What did I do to deserve such hostility?” Jasper slithered closer.

  “You pointed a gun at Reagan’s head and pulled the trigger,” Scotty said.

  Barb gasped. “He did what?”

  “It was an accident,” Reagan rushed to add. “Luckily his weapon wasn’t loaded.”

  Jasper twisted and extended his hand. “If those maniacs are shooting at us, I need a gun to protect my family.”

  “No more guns for you, Ralphie. You might shoot your eye out.” Reagan sighted the scope of her rifle. “Go to your family and get them ready to go.”

  “We’re ready,” Jasper said.

  “I think you’re overdressed.” Reagan motioned to his snowsuit. “It’s at least a hundred outside.”

  Jasper raked a hand through his long, knotted blonde hair. “Fine. I’ll let them know.” He waddled like a rubber ducky to prepare orders for the Caribou Crew.

  “How many shots?” Reagan addressed Scotty first and repeated the question to the group behind the benches.

  “Five.” Kelly thrust her chin.

  “They were spread out too,” Scotty said.

  “What are you getting at?” Barb asked.

  Reagan adjusted her position. “Previously when we’re shot at, it was a barrage of bullets. This is different.”

  “You thinkin’ it’s Campbell?” Scotty asked.

  Reagan stared at the broken window as her mind analyzed. “As I said, it doesn’t feel like the group we ran into at the other train station or the smoker in the sniper’s nest. But I’m not sure how many different people could be shooting at us.”

  “Those boys at the other station were pros. This guy isn’t.” Scotty repositioned closer to the window, flattened his back and chanced a glance.

  “It sounds like a problem we encountered over here.” Barb’s voice stayed low to avoid inquiring ears. “Gus, a kid in our group, was shot by a sniper. We later found the shooter’s name was Gilbert Whitehead. He’s part of a team we called the Merry Men.”

  Reagan whipped her head. A million questions invaded her brain. “What?” She only managed to mumble a single word.

  Barb’s brows furrowed. “I’m not sure if it is one of Tom’s snappy nicknames or something Agent Robin Sherwood told us.”

  “Hey, Reagan? Are we gonna stay here and gab or sneak up on the shooter?” Jon asked from his spot across the station.

  “I’ll be right behind you, Jon Boy,” Reagan said rising to a crouch.

  Barb touched Reagan’s arm, halting her momentum. “Is he Jon Little?”

  “Yeah. He’s an ATF agent.”

  “You can’t trust him.”

  Scotty shook his head. “We don’t.”

  “He isn’t ATF.” Barb’s eyes widened.

  “Well alight-y then. Maybe we should gather around and compare X-Files experiences,” Scotty grumbled. “Did your side manage to find Bigfoot or maybe the Loch Ness Monster? We got a hot tip where the Chupacabra is hiding.”

  “I suppose now isn’t the best time to get into all the details, but the abridged version is Robin Sherwood is with my group. She was slowly filling us in on details right before all of this happened.” Barb slung her arms around the station.

  “Little Jon,” Reagan hissed through gritted teeth. “He never said his partner’s full name. We never made the connection. They’re both in cahoots with these Merry Men?”

  “Yes. I missed Robin’s full explanation but my daughter Dixie tried to fill me in. The gist of it was Robin and especially her partner knew some of what happened.”

  “Reagan, are we going or what?” Jon sidled near the ticket counter, bringing the other conversation to an abrupt halt.

  Another errant shot rang through the station. “We don’t have time to confront this right now.” Reagan twisted to Barb. “Can you shoot?”

  “I’m not very accurate, but I know how to handle a gun.”

  Scotty handed Barb a 9mm Sig Sauer and glared at Jon. “We pulled it off one of the Merry Men.”

  “Jon, Kelly, and I will go after the shooter,” Reagan said. “Y’all stay here and look after the group.”

  Scotty snatched Reagan’s arm and whispered into her ear. “I don’t like this plan. You two shouldn’t wander off alone with Jon.”

  “We’ve been suspicious of him from the get-go. Nothing’s changed.” Reagan scurried to the benches to meet Jon and Kelly. “Come on Kell, you’re with us.”

  Kelly pumped her fist. “Yes, I’m finally promoted to the A-team.”

  Chapter 4 – One of Us

  Tom

  The silence of the bitter train station assaulted Tom as he reached his fourth hour of guard duty. Breath escaped leaving a visible trail and he shivered, his bare arms sending chills through his body. The group needed cold-weather gear for survival. In the middle of the third floor, they burned remnants of splintered chairs in a metal garbage can. Tom sat in an office he named ‘the perch’. A picture window afforded him a view of the valley below and into the modest city of Kalispell.

  On the opposite side of the top floor, Travis Wayne guarded the mountainside. Emerson patrolled the stairs updating Tom on the first and second floors. The grenade Bill Stutley set off earlier created massive heat, but it did not burn anything except the immediate detonation area on the second floor. The group decided to free Hunter, but Tom didn’t yet arm him. He assessed the weapon inventory. Emerson wielded the pump-action shotgun, Davidson the Smith and Wesson .45, Robin the Glock, Dixie one of the Winchester rifles, Travis Wayne a Smith and Wesson Sigma and a Winchester 1894, and Tom the M-16.

  If a gunfight broke out, Tom figured on letting Travis Wayne decide which weapon to give Hunter. Travis Wayne said his group stockpiled gear from a ski shop, but Tom planned a trip further into the town to a Bass Pro Shop he marked on the map. Two birds with one stone – plenty of cold-weather gear plus guns, knives, hiking, and camping equipment.

  The trip started at sunup with Travis Wayne suited in his winter gear and Robin in her jeans and ATF windbreaker. Tom possessed a Northerner’s immunity to the cold and trudged into the upper twenty-degree, snowy morning wearing his shorts, hiking boots, polo shirt, and a zipped light blue hoody he found in one of the offices.

  “
Those horses you talked about would come in handy,” Tom said as he blew into his hands.

  “Yep.” His new sidekick, Travis Wayne narrowed his eyes. “I know how we can haul our supplies.”

  “What did you come up with Rooster Cogburn?”

  Robin smirked at the new nickname. “I was wondering when you’d lay the John Wayne nickname on him.” She slapped Travis Wayne’s shoulder. “What’s the plan for hauling all our crap?”

  “An inflated raft would slide on the snow.”

  “Good thinking; we’ll get a good haul of cold-weather gear from Bass Pro.” Tom kicked at a post to get the snow off his anti-waterproof boots. “Boots alone weigh a ton.”

  “Plus, I’d feel better if we loaded up on ammo and weapons.” Robin smirked, recovered from her stomach pains. She carried a new outlook, a nice affable expression, and a serious glint in her ‘don’t mess with me’ eyes.

  With Travis Wayne leading, Tom peppered questions in Robin’s direction. Her quick answers sounded honest as he pushed harder. “What’s the bottom-line, Robin?”

  Travis Wayne stopped and pivoted. “I wanna hear this.”

  Robin shivered and leaned into a bank building at the corner of a street where a red light didn’t work. The wind whipped hair in front of her eyes as she bounced on her feet. “I’ve had little time to analyze this because I wasn’t feeling great. This morning I woke without the pain for the first time in a long while.”

  “And your mind is clear? Tell us what you’re thinking.” Tom ignored his cold hands, leaving them on his hips. The M-16 strapped on his back scraped into the brick building.

  “We trained for survival, but most of us were in the dark. Gilbert, the man we killed, knew more. If I would have been thinking better, we could have captured and questioned him.”

  “Water under the bridge. What’s your theory?” Tom asked.

  “There was a scientist in charge. From what little I gathered, this is a complicated lab experiment concerning survival. Something important enough he needed to hire extensive forces in the event things went south.”

  “We’re like lab rats,” Tom spat. Catching Travis Wayne’s attention, he continued. “Does that track?”

  “Beats me. Kelly and Mr. Tucker mentioned a mirror universe. Over my head. The green haze seals the cold.”

  “Or a dome, like in the Stephen King novel,” Robin said. “I’m pretty sure my crew wasn’t supposed to interact with you guys. Something went haywire and the leaders didn’t get it fixed.”

  “Were some of your crew trained as assassins?” Tom asked.

  “In sniper work. Like me. I suppose some were trained in hand-to-hand combat.”

  “How about the Costanza clone and the athletic girl we encountered yesterday?”

  Robin motioned to the road. “Let’s get going; I’ll talk as we go.” With Travis Wayne in the lead again, Robin detailed the two from the day before. “Bill Stutley, not his real name, is around thirty years old and he’s one of the smartest. Quick with his mind and quick with the repartee as well. He isn’t honest and my impression is he’s for sale to the highest bidder. He claimed to be a computer expert, but my sense is he’s blowing smoke. His only true talent is lying.”

  “Okay. How about the woman?”

  “Elaine Dale. She’s a tomboy, a fast runner – the fastest of the girls. A good fighter, good with guns and bright. She’s impatient and not a leader.”

  “Tell me more about Gilbert Whitehead,” Tom ordered. He recognized Robin would respond to his old military gruff.

  “He is, or was, about fifty years old. He grew a hipster goatee with the stubble and always fought against the regulation to shave. He was devious, but everyone was drawn to him. Scarlett said Gilbert’s personality was like LBJ.”

  Travis Wayne kept walking, but his neck spun as he tugged on his gloves. “The president?”

  “Affirmative. The kind of guy who no one has trouble believing could have been in on killing Kennedy. Scarlett pointed it out and it clicked. Gilbert had charisma, but he used it to manipulate and get what he wanted. Everything was a game and he liked power. He liked being in control and wasn’t afraid of cheating to win. I don’t know if he was supposed to discover the extent of what we were doing, but my guess is he somehow figured out most of it and plotted some way to profit and get power.”

  “We don’t have to worry about him,” Tom mumbled.

  Robin gritted her teeth. “If you would have talked to him, you might have been blinded by his bull. He likely had a story ready to tell and it would have seemed real. Better than mine, probably. Better than the truth.”

  Tom chuckled as the trio rounded a street corner. The soft snow was slippery and icy in the shade. The muted sun smoldered behind grayish, green clouds. “The truth? Somebody’s gonna tell me the truth before this is over.”

  Chapter 5 – We All Have Trust Issues

  Reagan

  “What do you think caused this switch-a-roo?” Kelly whispered as the scouting party exited the train station.

  Jon’s shotgun scanned the nearby trees. “Stay quiet.”

  Reagan wanted to grill Jon more than anyone, but now wasn’t the time. “I don’t see any sign of the shooter.” Nate Campbell remained their top priority and after the discussion with Scotty and Barb, he landed atop the suspect list.

  Kelly poked her head around the half partition outside the train station and wiped her sweaty palms on her running pants. “Maybe we scared him off?”

  Jon knelt to examine the bullet holes near the broken train station window. With a knife from his pocket, he dug into the wood. “Could be a 9mm.” He ditched his jacket, rolled the sleeves of his white shirt and with one eye closed measured the angle. “I’d put the shooter at the edge of those trees.”

  “Do you think it’s Nate Campbell?” Kelly asked.

  Jon ignored her question. “I’ll approach from the west, you two take the east in case he runs.” He sprinted away before anyone could protest.

  “I don’t like this plan,” Kelly said approaching the east treeline.

  “Barb said some interesting things about our pal Jon.” Reagan adjusted her Stetson to shade the harsh glare. The green sky thinned to a dull gray as the day wore on.

  “Like what?”

  “Barb knows his partner, Robin. They found her shortly after the storm.”

  “Where?” Kelly asked.

  “In Louisiana. It’s why Jon never wanted to look for her. He knew Robin wasn’t in the mountains.”

  “He was transported from the swamps to the mountains? Like Scotty’s brother. And now us.” Kelly covered her mouth. “This is heavy, Doc.”

  Reagan leaned her pack against a tree trunk and skimmed the woods with her rifle. Jon Little’s white shirt flashed in her scope. He sulked through the woods with the shotgun pressed against his shoulder. “Apparently Jon hasn’t been honest with us.”

  Kelly snapped her fingers. “I so called it. Is he a double agent? Because if he is, Tucker owes me a bunch of money.”

  “The details are hazy. He isn’t ATF, but he and his partner work for a group called the Merry Men.” Reagan stretched her neck. “After we catch the shooter, I intended to find out exactly who Little Jon is.”

  A loud hoot sounded from the woods before Jon waved an arm in the air. “Looks like we lost the shooter,” he said after closing the distance.

  Reagan’s shoulders slumped. “The park ranger is slipperier than Houdini.”

  “Should we believe him?” Kelly whispered.

  “For now.” Reagan cleared her throat. “Did you get a look at the shooter?”

  Jon rested his shotgun against his shoulder and peered into the fading turquoise sky. “Never saw him. But I heard a motor and saw tire tracks. Whoever he was, he had an ATV.”

  “Those goons in Montana had snowmobiles,” Reagan said stalking to the train station.

  “I guess not everything’s busted,” Kelly threw her head. “But now we’re without transport
ation if one of those madmen decides to attack.”

  They wandered across the tracks and rounded the corner to the station. Reagan froze midstride. “Not exactly. Looks like we weren’t the only ones to make the jump to Louisiana.”

  “Our horses?” Kelly counted the group. “All six are accounted for.”

  “Not the wagon,” Jon said.

  Kelly rubbed Silver’s nose. “What’s the plan?”

  Dusk descended and a starless sky replaced the fading haze. “Let’s head inside and talk to the group.” Reagan skipped up the steps and held the station door.

  “Where’s Nate Campbell?” Jasper asked as a way of greeting. He ditched his banana suit and wore a mock-turtleneck with gym shorts.

  “The shooter disappeared,” Reagan said. “It looks like he had an ATV stashed in the woods.” Her eyes scanned the station for inventory. Barb stood near the ticket counter with Olivia, Dawn, and Annabeth. The women fashioned their winter wear into more appropriate clothing.

  “And the ATV worked?” Granddad asked.

  “I heard the motor,” Jon said.

  “At the Montana station, we were attacked by goons on snowmobiles. For all we know, they could have a fleet of working ATVs,” Kelly said flinging her hands into the air.

  Jasper crossed his arms. “How are we possibly going to outrun an ATV?”

  “In yet another freaky incident, our horses made the jump with us,” Reagan said.

  “Great,” Scotty said with a clap. “I vote for hitting the road. We’re sitting ducks here in the station. Reagan?”

  Removing her backpack, Reagan contemplated the question. “I don’t want to stay here any longer than we have to, but we have six horses, no wagon, no daylight.”

  “And no direction,” Kelly added.

  “We head for town, civilization,” Jasper barked. “Meredith needs a hospital.”

  “Those goons might be stationed at the next town waiting to ambush us,” Scotty said.

  Reagan’s eyes darted to Jon. He knew more about the goons, the Merry Men, than he let on. She wanted to confront him but now wasn’t the time. The train station wasn’t safe. Her mind ticked through potential plans as Jasper argued his point. Reagan paced to Barb for answers.