Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  Barb lowered her eyes. “I can’t imagine what he was thinking. He wasn’t the same after we lost Mandy.”

  “Still doesn’t solve the other shooter problem.” The vein in Jasper’s forehead pulsed. “Reagan, did you forget about him?”

  “Broad-Side-Barn Sniper? I remember him. But he hasn’t bothered us since Montana.”

  “Are you sure you can trust Robin?” Scotty asked. “If she’s anything like Jon, she’ll turn when it suits her.”

  “When she started telling the truth, we were hesitant,” Barb said. “She proved herself and genuinely wanted to help. She’s making amends for her poor decision to accept the job.”

  Scotty crossed his arms over the midnight blue Union City Fire Department t-shirt. “When we came across Andy, he talked about searching for Nate Campbell, Nottingham, and the Merry Men.”

  “How did he know all of those names?” Barb asked.

  “We were hoping you knew.” Reagan shrugged.

  “Andy disappeared long before we got any answers. He must have been investigating on his own.” Barb cocked her hip and tugged at her diamond necklace.

  “Andy claimed his wife was being held by Nate Campbell,” Reagan said.

  Jasper yanked at the collar of his white polo. A fire chief insignia was embroidered on the chest pocket. “We aren’t getting anywhere with this chit chat. Can we please talk about the fact we appeared on the other side of the country? Scotty and his brother were pulled miles apart.”

  “Along with Jon and Robin,” Annabeth added.

  Reagan calmed her breathing. “This going to sound crazy, but when we were at the school, one of the Merry Men showed up. Jon called him Duke.”

  “I’m not seeing the crazy part,” Jasper said.

  “We were questioning Andy in the middle of a dark hallway. There was an intense flash of light and Duke appeared at the epicenter,” Reagan said.

  Annabeth’s eyes widened. “Like a magic trick?”

  Scotty ruffled a hand through his hair. “The guy transported there. Or that’s how it seemed.”

  Granddad and Kelly locked eyes. “Could we be talking about a wormhole, Ms. Pak-Man?”

  Kelly twirled a lock of blonde hair. “It would explain his sudden appearance and our switch-a-roo.”

  Meredith raised a hand. “You sound like a sci-fi reject.”

  “Wormholes aren’t fiction,” Kelly said. “Scientists conducted numerous studies about wormholes including a fellow by the name of Albert Einstein. I’ve never been much for science unless it helped me figure out a LOST or Fringe plot. But my understanding is wormholes are a theoretical passage through time-space. They can create shortcuts through long journeys. They’re invisible to the naked eye, but put off radiation and could be highly unstable.”

  “What if all of this,” Granddad waved his arms, “is this Nottingham fella conducting a wormhole experiment? Perhaps he messed with the fabric of time-space and there were consequences?”

  “And the Merry Men were hired to protect the integrity of the experiment?” Barb asked. “It makes sense.”

  Scotty shifted his weight. “Jon said something odd at the school. After they shot Andy, they came after me. Jon and I had our guns pointed at each other. Duke was behind me. Jon ordered him to shoot, but Duke said Reagan was in the way.”

  Reagan nodded. “Jon said they weren’t after me. Said something about how they were correcting a mistake and how Scotty wasn’t supposed to be here.”

  “Creepy.” Annabeth stroked Mickey’s velvet-like ears.

  “Stay away from me.” Jasper sprung to his feet and hurled a wooden chair at the wall. The chair splintered into firewood. “Did anyone else see her?”

  “Not this again,” Kelly said adding an eye roll.

  “What’s going on?” Reagan’s confused gaze fell on Barb, who shrugged.

  “What do you mean again?” Barb asked Kelly.

  “Before we rode on the bridge, Jasper saw a ghost.” Kelly put air quotes around “ghost”. “I guess it was when Barb got the cramp in her leg.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Jasper's voice cracked. “She’s been appearing on and off ever since we left the station. She just sits there, grinning right at me, like Pennywise or something out of a Stephen King novel.”

  The moment Reagan learned to trust and maybe rely on Jasper, he experienced a nervous breakdown. “Jasper, relax. There’s no one here.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I’m not some weak-minded fool.” Jasper stomped through the engine bay to the horses. “But after all we’ve seen, wormholes and the like, you draw the line at ghosts?”

  “What does she look like? Can you describe her to me?” All eyes fell on Barb.

  Jasper halted with his hands at his waist. “Mid-thirties, average height, kind of plump, pretty. She has a toothy smile and a crazy vacancy in her eyes.”

  Barb combed a stray piece of hair away from her eyes. “The woman you’re describing is probably Mandy.”

  “Who was married to your coach, Andy?” Reagan asked.

  Barb cleared her throat. “Yes. Genevieve saw her on the beach soon after the storm. No one believed her at first. But Tom also saw Mandy’s ghost or spirit. I’m not sure what to call her.”

  “Why didn’t you say something before?” Kelly asked.

  “I never saw her and honestly I wasn’t sure if they knew what they were talking about. Between the crazy weather, the Merry Men shooting at us, and losing my entire group the ghost thing didn’t seem important.”

  “So now because the teacher verifies my story, you believe me?” Jasper’s shoulder slumped to his knees.

  “Which teacher?” Kelly asked. “Me, Reagan, Barb, or Mandy?”

  “Was the Merry Men’s goal to isolate all the teachers in the area?” Scotty joked. “Maybe start his own university?”

  “You people can’t take anything seriously.” Jasper reached for Olivia’s hand. “Someone else can volunteer for the first watch.”

  Once Jasper was clear, Meredith tapped Reagan. “Jasper has a tough time letting other people take the lead. But if you give him another chance, he can help.”

  “He saved my life tonight,” Scotty said.

  “Before we went into the restaurant business, I worked with Jasper at a consulting firm. I was an accountant, but Jasper was the head of the criminal profiling division. He often consulted with the FBI and helped put some bad people behind bars.”

  Soaking in the new information, Reagan decided to put a greater effort into using Jasper’s talent. “Thanks, Meredith, I’ll talk to him in the morning.”

  Meredith and Dawn joined the rest of the Caribou Crew upstairs and Kelly let her skepticism spew. “I don’t care what Jasper did tonight, he’s been reckless since we rescued them.”

  Reagan shrugged. “Some people crack under pressure, Kelly. Maybe he’s starting to figure things out.”

  “Don’t forget, he almost shot you,” Annabeth added.

  “I’m not forgetting,” Reagan said. “But we might need Jasper’s help. These Merry Men likely outnumber us. And now they have Jon, who spent days with us gathering intel. He knows who’s armed, who’s a good shot, and who’s a liability. We know next to nothing about them.”

  “Except Duke packs a mean punch,” Scotty said rubbing his jaw.

  “Speaking of Duke, didn’t you grab his backpack at the school?” Reagan asked.

  Scotty’s brows raised. “I did. I tied the bag to my horse and never gave it a second thought after the bridge fiasco.”

  Barb pointed to Reagan. “While Scotty’s retrieving the bag, you should change into dry clothes.”

  “Is there anything left in the lockers?” Reagan scrutinized their mismatched attire. She climbed the steps and made her way to the locker room. Several doors were swung open and hangers littered the bench. Reagan tidied the area as she searched for an outfit. Her earlier assessment proved accurate there wasn’t much to choose from. In the end, she picked a pair of gym shorts and a ba
ggy Saints jersey. The Drew Brees number nine almost reached her knees. She hung her plaid shirt and khaki shorts on a locker door to dry. She returned to the fireplace to find Scotty with Duke’s pack.

  “I made sure we waited for you,” Annabeth said.

  “Why are you wearing a Saint’s jersey?” Scotty scrunched his face and winced.

  “Only Cowboy’s fans allowed here.” Granddad tapped his cane on the black and white tiled floor.

  Reagan rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m suddenly a Saint’s fan because of the jersey. I’m wearing it because it isn’t wet. Can we proceed to Duke’s pack?”

  Scotty unzipped the main compartment and dumped the contents. With a pen and paper, Barb cataloged them. “Binoculars, duct tape, rope… that would have come in handy at the bridge… scratch paper, ooh, a flashlight.” Scotty switched on the 500-lumen light. “And it works,” he said handing it to Reagan. He unzipped the next compartment. “We’ve got a screwdriver, pliers, a paperweight-I-mean-cellphone, two epi-pens.” He handed them directly to Annabeth. “Some kind of case filled with four hunting knives I know Tucker wants.” Scotty opened the third, smaller compartment. “Lastly, we have some sort of canister, cigarettes, and explosives. Glad Duke kept those items in the same zipper.”

  “Don’t tell Meredith about the cigarettes,” Kelly said.

  “Or her husband,” Scotty agreed. No one corrected his mistake.

  Reagan inspected the “canister” as Scotty described it. The item was one foot long and three inches wide. The black, matte finish gave the cylindrical object a semi-smooth, granular exterior. The texture reminded Reagan of matte baseball helmets. She didn’t feel any buttons or compartments on the canister.

  “Is it a speaker bar?” Annabeth asked.

  “Or the Alexa thing?” Granddad countered.

  “Maybe a thermos?” Kelly shrugged.

  “Hey, y’all?” Barb’s voice was filled with excitement as she held a crumpled piece of yellow, legal paper.

  “What did you find?” Reagan asked as she placed the canister on her lap.

  “Our advantage.” Barb grinned, cleared her throat and read the neat, cursive handwriting. “Duke, here’s a list of the Merry Men and short descriptions of each. Memorize the letter so you have a clear picture, then destroy.

  Marion Fair – your alias

  Robin Sherwood – mid-twenties, chameleon look, ex-cop, deadeye. She’s in it for the money, not paying attention.

  John Little – tall, thin, unknown ethnicity, con

  Sunny Miller – Asian, quick, fighter

  Scarlett Williams – genius redhead professor type. She knows the most about the science.

  T.C. Friar – Black guy, ex-cop, well-read

  Jacki Kingston – young, pretty, brunette, cunning, trust her

  Bill Stutley – short, tubby, glasses, liar, quick mind

  Elaine Dale – athletic, tough, dark-blonde

  Artie Bland – Gapped teeth, short, strong, psychotic

  Clorinda Aquino – Hispanic, follower

  Guy Gisborne – foreign accent, old man, mafia ties

  Dave Doncaster – tall kid, floppy hair, swimmer

  The Ricks – Rick English and Lee Richards, can’t tell you who’s who but they’re northeastern, suit-wearing enforcers

  Also, watch out for the two groups and Nottingham’s supposed “leaders”.

  Tom Cassidy – 50s, silver hair, Navy Pilot, family man

  Jasper Oliphant – Late 40s, blonde hair, Criminal Profiler. He might turn given the proper incentive.

  - Gilbert Whitehead”

  Barb finished reading the letter, and silence engulfed the group for several long moments.

  “I think we need to hear that again,” Reagan said.

  Chapter 15 – Zapped

  Tom

  The senses returned one at a time. A momentary feeling, a tingling sensation on his feet, a sting along his torso, and a pulse to his shoulders and head. His brain chugged into gear, to process and to worry. He could not yet recall the source of the worry. The sense of smell arrived with the somehow familiar burning of metal. Perhaps gun smoke? Diesel? Fuel? Also, dirt.

  Blurry vision clicked in and Tom spotted walls. Industrial. A hospital? In a prone position, it didn’t feel like a bed. He attempted to use his right arm, but it didn’t budge. He shifted his body with great effort. With blurred vision, he raised his aching neck. His left hand dabbed his face, an involuntary movement. With gray colors surrounding him, Tom’s right hand clenched. Confused, his mind processed the possibilities. A naval ship? No, he retired. A heart attack or a stroke. No, electricity ran through his body. A mighty jolt. He bobbed his head and the sense of hearing arrived. Only faint sounds, a muffled conversation. An explosion. Yes, he smelled gunpowder and heard shots. Near.

  Muted sunlight danced into a window as Tom struggled to a sitting position. He stared at his cement gray boots trying to recall where he purchased them. The gunshots. He needed to get up. As his vision cleared, Tom glimpsed Hunter. He recalled the name but was fuzzy on the friend or foe part. Instincts made his right-hand reach for – yes, the holstered pistol remained. A memory returned.

  Hunter got the drop on him and tied him to Davidson. Davidson? Right, Barb’s ex-husband. Hunter left the two of them to die. He had to get the pistol un-holstered in record time. Hunter was a quick draw champion? Another memory spurred by a faint voice. Robin Sherwood? An ATF agent. No. He focused and tried to process her words.

  “Reload.” She said more, but he didn’t understand.

  The voice answering sounded like Barb. No, younger. Dixie. “I don’t see them.”

  The two voices continued and Tom attempted to warn them about Hunter. His voice gurgled and his vision blurred as a form flowed toward him. “I can’t focus, but I sense we’re in danger.” His words shocked him.

  “Take it easy,” Robin said. “Relax. We’re under fire from Stutley’s group. We counted maybe five of them. We neutralized one and we managed to scare the rest of them.” A loud bang. “Is it Campbell? Hold on.” Robin floated from him, her voice fading. “He can’t get to us where we are, hold off return fire… trying to draw us out…” Completely faded, sounds left. He no longer smelled the gunpowder or the mildewing paper. Old books landed in his sightline before his eyes slammed shut.

  The second time Tom woke, the confusion played out to a lesser degree. He recalled waking the previous time with muddy thoughts. This time, he drank the water Dixie offered. “You okay, Tom?”

  Dazed and confused across the floor of an expansive library Hunter drank from a plastic water bottle. Robin kneeled near a broken window, the sniper rifle in her hand, Tom’s shotgun and Hunter’s rifle by her feet.

  Tom’s voice croaked, starling him. “They still out there?”

  With a half-turn of her neck, Robin made eye contact with him. “Maybe. Stutley, the Ricks, and Guy got spooked and ran off after I pegged Elaine, isolating her. Dixie winged one of the Ricks. But Campbell is out there taking occasional potshots at our location. He stays on the move and fires from a different spot every time. I’ll kill him if he shows his fat, ugly head.”

  Dixie held a hand to Tom’s forehead like a mother checking a kid’s temperature. “We figured you two were goners when we spotted the gang approaching.”

  “How did you get away?” Tom’s voice scratched. His right arm ached, but everything functioned. Scorching red burns plagued his hand. “How did we get away?”

  Robin swiveled from the perch. “We dragged the two of you to the second floor of this building. An old bookstore closed for a few years and gathering dust. We got lucky with how the street is shaped and with the mountain behind us. They only had one approach.”

  Struggling to his feet, Tom eased next to Robin. The bright sun made him squint. A sliver of the green hovered in the eastern sky, but otherwise blue sky and gray clouds covered. Through melting snow, crimson leaked from Elaine. “You sure she’s not dead?”

&nbs
p; Robin remained focused on the enemy. “I got her clean through the shoulder. There’s lots of blood. She won’t die if we get to her soon. When things are clear, we can question her.”

  Dixie brushed her way to the window. “I wish I could shoot like Robin. I had one of them in my sights, but I blew it. Only grazed his arm.”

  With an assuring hand, Robin patted Dixie. “She did great. After a few minutes, they realized they didn’t have a play. I fired different guns to mask you two were out of action.”

  “Are you sure the guy taking potshots is Campbell?”

  “I saw him. If Robin would’ve seen him, he’d be a bloody spot in the snow.” Dixie smirked and pointed. “Like Elaine.”

  Rolling his neck, Tom evaluated his status. The burns on his right hand and another on his chest ached, but he managed to loosen, relax and, get his bearings. “Hunter, are you going to be okay?”

  “Maybe, but I’m starving.” He wiped his moist forehead on the sleeve of his duster before he drew the pistol several times. Leaning against a creaky bookcase, Hunter exhaled a long breath. “I absorbed three of those intense shocks, but I saw something.”

  “We all saw it,” Dixie snapped. “And I felt one of those shocks too.”

  “You didn’t get full-on jolt like me.” He jabbed a thumb to his chest.

  A tree branch scratched the window and Dixie studied the landscape for several seconds. “Or maybe I’m just tougher.” Her voice carried a smidge of humor, of her old spirit. “Good thing I didn’t stay at the clubhouse. No way Robin could’ve hauled the two of you into this building. The bald idiot, Stutley, and his crew would’ve picked you off one-by-one. So, you’re welcome.”