Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

“Maybe. It was raining like crazy and we were following railroad tracks. Jacki briefly spoke to Duke or somebody and I heard the end of the conversation.”

  Tom sighed, put his hands on his hips. “How does all this sound, Robin?”

  “Sounds correct. I trust him.” Robin spun on her heels. “From what you’re saying and from my experience, my guess is a coordinated effort by Gilbert Whitehead and Jacki Kingston was set into motion shortly after we arrived.”

  “I agree with your assessment.”

  “The main question is who was involved and who is now in on it?” Robin rubbed her temple.

  T.C. dabbed the taped wound with gauze and poured hydrogen peroxide on his hands. “Gilbert and Jacki for sure. No doubt Duke is with Gilbert. Jon Little, the sneak, has to be with Gilbert. The two of them played poker all the time and I can’t imagine Gilbert not involving him. My gut feeling is Scarlett Williams and sidekick Sunny would not engage in this. Artie Bland and Clorinda Aquino can’t be trusted. I doubt Gilbert would enlist them because of his trust issues.”

  “It’s what my gut is telling me.” Robin flared her hips to one side and stroked the grip of her pistol. “We already assumed Guy and Dave went to the dark side. We’ve had a run-in with Bill and Elaine, so they probably double-crossed Nottingham.”

  “I have a question.” Tom let his voice growl with impatience. He liked Robin and T.C. but the fact the two of them turned into paid mercenaries for a dangerous experiment gave him pause. “What’s with this Nottingham?”

  “The better question is about this other scientist.” T.C. rubbed the neat goatee on his face and widened his dark, bloodshot eyes. “Professor Campbell. Before Jacki turned on me, she spilled about a scientist who used to work with Nottingham. He is in the Apollo Zone making trouble. She said he’s traveling back and forth and he understands how to do it since he developed the jumping technology.”

  “Is this cloned world real? And, where are we? I have a million questions.” Tom threw his hands into the air.

  “As do I,” T.C. said.

  Dixie poked her head into the makeshift surgical room. “Guys, the snow’s back. And it’s not the serene kind. I’m talking blizzard.”

  “Are we bringing T.C. or leaving him?” Hunter stomped closer. “He has some answers, but I don’t know if we can transport him in a storm.”

  T.C. slumped his shoulders. “I’d slow you down. I’m fine with staying right here. I can rest and get my strength someplace where Jacki can’t find me.”

  “Sounds like the best approach.” Tom reached into his backpack for the extra 9mm and clips. “Sorry I can’t spare more ammo or another weapon. We’ll find you when weather permits.”

  T.C. pumped his fists. “Listen, Robin. Professor or Doctor Campbell is the key to traveling and perhaps he knows a way out.”

  “We had a run-in with Campbell,” Robin said. “I couldn’t get a read on him.”

  Tom stretched his arm, loosening his zapped hand. “He saved an injured kid but he baited us into a wormhole. Like he was experimenting.”

  “Man, just get going. Jacki was trying to get to Gilbert’s stash in Louisiana. It would make sense he kept one on this site as well. I’m going to put my mind to work on where it might be. You guys go ahead and split.”

  Several hundred yards from the ranger station, trudging in the slush, a revelation clicked in Tom’s head. Nate Campbell was the key to finding a beacon and explaining how it functioned.

  Dixie skated on her boots as snowfall swirled. “I didn’t hear everything but heard enough. I’d feel better if we killed T.C. before he tells any of his merry buddies about us.”

  “Dixie, that’s barbaric.” Robin blinked, fighting whipping snow.

  “Maybe the kid is right.” Wiping the brim of his hat, Hunter glared at the building. Snow stuck in the stubble of his days-old beard. “I don’t want to, but if necessary, I could make sure he doesn’t talk.”

  “I’m uneasy myself,” Tom said. “Ultimately, I fall on the side of avoiding barbaric behavior. We’ve killed a man, but only in a life-threatening situation.”

  “I’m thinking more about the Elaine psycho we let escape.” Dixie gripped her rifle. “Friar Tuck will rat us out to save himself.”

  Tom prodded the crew onward. “Maybe. But he doesn’t know our destination and we’ve got firepower and a good crow’s nest vantage point if somebody attacks.”

  Chapter 18 – Puzzle Pieces

  Reagan

  After two hours on the tracks, the posse broke for lunch. Barb distributed snacks and kept everyone hydrated.

  Jasper gnawed open a package of peanuts with his teeth. “There’s not a lot of information to go on, but I started making profiles of our Merry Men.”

  “What have you found?” Scotty asked as he chugged a bottle of orange Gatorade.

  “I realize Gilbert’s dead, but I outlined his profile since he was the leader. If we understand him, we’ll better understand the people under him,” Jasper said. “Gilbert is what we call a Doer. Think LBJ or Alfred Hitchcock. These people have great leadership abilities. They’re sociable, outgoing, witty, and clever. They tend to be risk-takers. They’re engaging and good storytellers. On the negative side, a doer can be insensitive, bossy, unscrupulous, and poor long-term planners. Based on the letter and limited information, I concluded Gilbert is a textbook Doer.”

  “What does this tell us about the remaining Merry Men?” Reagan asked.

  Jasper folded his arms. “Gilbert was the natural first choice for leader. With him gone, the others are scattered and looking for someone to seize control. Several Merry Men are probably jockeying for control of the enforcers.”

  “Who would you say are the enforcers?” Barb asked as she passed around a tube of sunscreen.

  “Duke for sure. He was Gilbert’s thug and his allegiance is likely up for grabs,” Jasper said. “Sunny Miller and the Ricks are probably the other enforcers. I’d peg Clorinda Aquino, Elaine Dale, and Bill Stutley as followers. Leaving Jacki Kingston, Scarlett Williams, and Guy Guisborne battling for leadership. Based on what Reagan told us about Jacki and the Frenchman, Guy, my money is on one of them.”

  “You forgot Jon Little,” Reagan said.

  “I purposely left him out,” Jasper said. “Jon is a tough one to read. He could be an enforcer, follower, or a leader. And in all honesty, he could switch to our side if the mood strikes him.” Jasper puffed his chest as he finished his analysis. He loved the attention and the idea the group needed him.

  “Reagan!” Annabeth said from under a shade tree. “Get over here. Hurry.”

  Dropping her drink, Reagan sprinted. Her hands gripped her rifle as she awaited danger. Annabeth leaned on the tree trunk next to Granddad and the Caribou Crew. She held the radio and everyone gathered around her. Reagan arrived with Scotty, Barb, and Jasper on her heels.

  “Hold on, she's heading this way,” Annabeth said. “It's good to hear from you. Travis Wayne, are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. How's Kelly?” he asked.

  Panic spread across Annabeth’s face when Travis Wayne asked for his missing wife. “Here's Reagan,” she stuttered.

  Reagan accepted the radio. “How’s it going, Guitar Man? Is Daddy there with you?”

  “Mr. Cassidy is with the hunting party. We had a run-in. Everyone’s fine. How's Kelly?”

  Reagan paced away from the group toward the tracks. Barb motioned everyone to stay put as she and Scotty eavesdropped.

  “She’s good but busy keeping the Caribou Crew in line. I’m on a supply run with Scotty and Annabeth,” Reagan lied. “We don’t know how long this radio connection will hold, so let’s get to it.”

  “Make hay while the sun's shining.” Travis Wayne chuckled.

  “What have you heard about the Merry Men?”

  “Bill Stutley shot at us at Bass Pro,” Travis Wayne said. “Crazy stuff happened. A Cackle swarm like at our campsite attacked.”

  “Thankfully no psycho Hitchcock birds
here,” Reagan said. “Lots of rain though. I mean, biblical downpour at times. Jon Little turned on us. He tried to kill Scotty. He got away. Had the help of a Frankenstein-sized guy who went by Duke or Marion Fair. Now stick with me here, but Duke appeared out of thin air. Kelly and Granddad have a wormhole theory.”

  “Yes, we have a theory from Scotty's brother and Dr. Hibbert. They’re not available.”

  “If this wormhole theory tracks, then it is what caused us to switch places.” Reagan paced. “First we find out exactly how it works and how to get our groups together. And then we figure out why you and Barb didn't take part in the old switch-a-roo.”

  “Hold on, Reagan.” Travis Wayne paused. “It’s Mr. Davidson.”

  “Your ex-husband?” Reagan asked Barb.

  “I apologize in advance.” Barb closed her eyes.

  A voice you might hear narrating a documentary on the History Channel bellowed across the radio. “Your man Travis Wayne tells me though you're young, you know what you're doing. I hope it is the case because we need to get this thing right. We don't have any room for any sort of mistake. We have to do this without error.”

  Reagan chewed her bottom lip, bottling a sarcastic response. “Yes, sir. Now does Dr. Hibbert have any theories on the wormhole or how we can track their locations?”

  “He snaps into focus about once every couple of hours,” Davidson said. “Last time I smacked him in the side of the head and he focused for a few minutes on this wormhole business.”

  Reagan’s eyes rolled from Barb to Scotty. “Looks like the other side's got themselves a Jasper.”

  Scotty snorted. “Hunter’s patience can run pretty thin; I’m surprised he hasn’t clocked Davidson.”

  Davidson continued to pontificate. “Now myself, I'm not sure I buy into any of this so-called wormhole business. But my man Hibbert who has more Ph.D. degrees than a thermometer is an expert on any and all matters of science.”

  “You need to get him back on track,” Barb said. “Maybe I could talk to him?”

  “I told Travis Wayne I was out with Scotty and Annabeth. I didn’t want him knowing about Kelly,” Reagan said. “What can I possibly say to Davidson to get him to focus? Because he’s so far off track, he can’t even see the oncoming train.”

  “I understand. William loves the sound of his voice, but try to reason with him,” Barb said.

  “Ask to talk to Travis Wayne,” Scotty said.

  “I’ll try if the windbag takes a breath.” Reagan pressed the talk button on the radio, interrupting Davidson. “Let’s figure out a plan. Last time the radio lasted all of five minutes. Travis Wayne can help.”

  “He's listening. And I'm all ears too. Travis Wayne tells me his wife is a math whiz and knows a lot about things of this nature as well. What I'd like to do is knock Hibbert from his looney tunes act and on the horn with your math whiz and let the two of them put their heads together.”

  “She's not with me and it sounds like you have some work to do with Hibbert,” Reagan said. “I want those two to talk, but for now, how about you and me and Travis Wayne come up with a tentative plan?”

  “Fair enough,” Davidson said. “Obviously, we have to find a way to get our two groups into one succinct and single location.”

  Scotty leaned his shoulder against a tree. “This Davidson fellow is now caught up to where you and T.W. were ten minutes ago. Nice to see he isn’t wasting precious time.”

  “Now I heard you say your ATF agent was some sort of plant or spy or maybe a double agent and he turned on you?” Davidson huffed.

  “Jon tried to kill Scotty and talked about getting rid of the anomalies,” she said.

  “I don't know who Scotty is, but we reined in our ATF agent and she's out on a mission to locate one of those groups giving us trouble,” Davidson said. “I might lean on her pretty good when she gets back.”

  “Might be a good idea, there Sipowitz,” Reagan said, letting a nickname slip. “Lean on the perp a little bit.” The radio crackled and the trio stood at attention. “Davidson? Travis Wayne?”

  “Great, he wasted our only chance to talk,” Scotty said to the hissing radio.

  “Reagan, it's great to hear from you.” The radio sputtered but the Western New York accent was unmistakable.

  “Who’s the new guy?” Scotty asked.

  Barb shushed him. “Tom, her father.”

  “Radio is playing out. I'll cut to the chase,” Tom said. “The key to understanding the wormholes is to find Nate Campbell. Appears he's traveling back and forth. We have one of those Merry Men talking and he let us know Campbell is a rogue scientist who's against the man behind the curtain.”

  “They have one of the Merry Men?” Scotty said standing at attention.

  “Who?” Barb quizzed.

  “Which of the Merry Men is talking?” Reagan relayed.

  “T.C. Friar,” Tom crackled. “Find what they call a beacon, a cylindrical canister the size of a thermos.”

  “T.C.? What did Jasper have to say about him? Did we trust him?” Scotty asked.

  “What did he say about a beacon?” Barb asked.

  Reagan blocked the other voices as she realized they possessed a beacon. But first, she warned Tom about the list they found. “Daddy, listen. Whoever this Nottingham guy running things is, he had notes about you. Our involvement isn't an accident. And I have…” Interrupting her, the radio crackled, spit, and died.

  Before they could discuss the conversation, a scream sounded from the wagon train. Reagan pivoted, knowing this time the danger was real.

  Chapter 19 – Lighthouse

  Tom

  Tom urged the group onward in an attempt to cover the several miles before the blizzard made travel impossible. The switchback path to the country club proved difficult to navigate.

  From the lookout tower, Emerson waved them inside. At the door, an excited Genevieve met them. “William and Travis are talking to your daughter on the radio, Tom.”

  Sprinting on his sore ankle, Tom skidded through the dining area into the cozy room with the fireplace. Davidson bellowed into the radio. “…we reigned in our ATF agent and she’s out on some mission to locate one of the groups giving us trouble. I might lean on her when she gets back.” Davidson caught sight of Tom as the radio crackled, spit, hissed and buzzed.

  “Radio is playing out,” Travis Wayne said to Tom as he stalked closer.

  Tom’s heart leaped as he heard his daughter’s voice. He didn’t comprehend her words. As the radio sputtered, Tom snatched the mic. “Reagan, it's great to hear from you. Radio is playing out. I'll cut to the chase. The key to understanding the wormholes is to find Nate Campbell. Appears he’s traveling back and forth. We have one of those merry men talking and he let us know Campbell is a rogue scientist who's against the man behind the curtain.”

  Her voice remained calm as she answered. “Which of the Merry Men is talking?”

  “T.C. Friar. Find what they call a beacon, a cylindrical canister the size of a thermos.”

  “Daddy, listen. Whoever this Nottingham guy running things is, he had notes about you.” She said something else, but the radio fizzled and her words garbled.

  After a few minutes of tinkering with the radio, the group gathered for a pow-wow as Genevieve, Travis Wayne, and Davidson detailed the conversation with the other side. Tom laid out a Reader’s Digest version of the run-in with Stutley, capturing Elaine, the birds attacking, and the conversation with T.C.

  Travis Wayne, a man of few words, emphasized a detail from the radio conversation. “Jon Little turned on them. He tried to kill Scotty.”

  Hunter pounded an open hand on the slab of wood serving as the coffee table. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

  “He is. A giant materialized. Turning Agent Little.”

  Robin slapped her gloves. “The giant is Duke. The materializing out of thin air stuff sounds like the wormholes.”

  Travis Wayne’s stoic expression wavered. “Wormholes. Reagan used the
word. It’s why we switched places. They’re working on getting both groups together.”

  Hibbert pointed a shaking finger. “Did both you and Barbara have the, uh, the uh…” He shook his head, removed his glasses, and cleaned them. “Did both of you have radios?”

  “Yes.” Travis Wayne hoisted himself from the cushioned sofa and paced in front of the warm fire.

  “It would seem.” Hibbert patted his pants. “I must have something to draw on. A chalkboard.”

  Dixie lurched into motion. “I saw a whiteboard in an office down the hall.”

  A few minutes later, Hibbert stared at the blank whiteboard, mumbling. Hunter advanced to the tripod and the oversized whiteboard. “I know you have some thoughts, Dr. Hibbert. If you wanna talk, I’ll transcribe.”

  Pushing stringy, matted hair from his eyes, Hibbert snarled at Hunter. “I must write it myself so I can deliberate.” Messy printing started. Hibbert erased once after three minutes and resumed in neat block letters, the squeak of the marker on the board giving off the aroma of paint thinner mixed with rubbing alcohol. All eyes trained on him as Hibbert fingered a red marker and added a few comments. He retreated and shook his head, removed his glasses and sat, his head buried in his hands. Tom caught a spark of the brilliant man before the absent-minded professor.

  Studying the board, Tom found little fault, but no answers either. “You didn’t list anything about the location of Whitehead’s stash. Friar Tuck seems to think we need to find it.”

  As everyone examined the board, Genevieve rattled her bracelets. “I feel like a lab rat and I’m tired of it. Whoever put us in this dome or under glass, I’d like to meet them.” She blew a piece of hair away from her forehead. “What’s the note about value?”

  “We can table the discussion of money and value for a later date,” Davidson growled. “Hibbert, listen to what we’re discussing here. What Genevieve said about under a dome or a snow globe-like spot, does it make more sense than this cloned area theory?”

  Hunter hitched his pant leg, took a knee and spoke in a soft voice. “Doctor Hibbert. Can you explain your skepticism of the cloned area? The old boy we met gave us the information.”