Apollo Project

by Brittany E Brinegar

  “It’s snowing outside. Why is it hot in here?” Robin stuffed a glove in her pocket.

  “I can’t explain the weather.”

  “And our resident meteorologist can’t either. Did I tell you Campbell walked straight ahead into a tornado?”

  “Search the rest of this place,” I said. The broadcast studio contained a control room. Behind the glass, I spotted three microphones and additional mismatched chairs. The booth sparked an idea. “We should find the radio tower.”

  Robin searched a filing cabinet. “Why the radio tower, Travis Wayne?”

  “The antenna can boost our radio. Radio antennas, even for rinky-dink stations like this one, have powerful signals. Boosting might let me talk to Kelly.”

  “Hold your thought. I see boot tracks – signs someone was here recently.” Robin pointed to a muddy print on the linoleum floor. “Looks somewhat fresh.”

  I inspected the track. “A size nine hiking boot. The most average.”

  “Campbell is a tall guy. Probably wears a size twelve.” Robin jerked another drawer of the file cabinet. “Nothing in here.” She tried to open the bottom one, but it didn’t budge.

  As she searched for a key, I gave the cabinet a swift kick with steel-toed boots, the expensive lightweight ones I snagged from Bass Pro. They did the trick. “A backpack.”

  “Like the ones Nottingham supplied. And good old Gilbert put his initials on the strap. Right here. GW.”

  We heard footsteps. I drew my pistol and Robin the rifle. Feeling like Jack Bauer, I slid on my side and focused on the doorway. Robin mirrored the move on the other side. The clown, lurking in the doorway with snow melting off his shoes, held his arms into the air. He wore a plaid jacket, too thin for the cold, a button-down red-checkered shirt underneath and light blue Dockers. His ballcap featured an insignia, the words Charm Charters superimposed on the state of Alabama. The curly red mop-top hairstyle and the week’s growth of a darker red beard, along with a sunburned face made me believe this guy was an interloper. He resembled Ralph Malph from Happy Days.

  “Boy howdy, you folks are a sight for sore eyes.” He left his hands in the air. “No need for guns. I’m just happy as all get out to see another human.”

  “Where did you come from?” I peered down the sights of the pistol.

  “Across the street. I saw the light.” He burst into a machine-gun laugh and sang, “I saw the light, I saw the light, no more in darkness…” His pale blue eyes, one lazy, darted to Robin. “Not as funny as it sounded in my head.”

  “He doesn’t mean now, nitwit,” Robin growled. “Where have you been for the last week?”

  “Well, ma’am, I couldn’t say. I don’t know where to start.”

  The hairs on my neck stood. Something felt wrong. “Keep him covered, Robin.” I crept to the window. The wind blew debris along the snow-covered sidewalk and street. Our footprints and Ralph Malph’s footprints plus one other set. “We have company.”

  As I ducked from the window, Robin scampered and used the butt of the rifle to smash poor Ralph Malph’s nose. “Keep quiet.”

  As blood spurted, he danced and squealed like a hog. “Why did you do hit me? I wasn’t even talking. It was the other dude being all chatty.”

  “Because someone is with you and I don’t have time for games. Who is with you?”

  “No one.”

  “How did you get here?” she asked.

  I watched for movement. My ears perked. “Someone’s on the roof.”

  Ralph Malph smeared blood. “Okay, listen. This guy, I can’t explain it all, but I’m not supposed to be here. This guy found me. Anyway, he told me to come in here and ask you for this metallic thermos-like item. I’m supposed to take it to him.”

  “Probably in Gilbert’s stash.” Robin prowled to the backpack, staying low. She shuffled through it, placing papers and a wooden cigar box on the desk. She caught my eyes as she located the thermos.

  “Bingo. B-I-N-G-O,” Malph sang with a clap. “I can take it to him and we can all go on about our business.”

  “No,” I said. “Beacon’s ours.”

  Robin aimed the rifle at Malph. “Tell us about the man. What does he look like?”

  “Just a normal dude, man. Middle-aged, hair is a little too long. Dressed like some park ranger. I asked him about Yogi and Boo-boo, but he wasn’t amused.”

  “Probably a common occurrence for you.” Robin stalked to the perp. “I’m glad you’re here to provide us with bait.” From her bag, Robin produced an actual thermos. “You’re going to take this to our friend Campbell.”

  “Ah, but you see that isn’t what we want.”

  “We?”

  Malph smirked, creating a target. I swung. A short left, popping him on the jaw. He staggered, wobbled and dropped to his knees.

  Robin approached the man and kicked him in the side. He moaned and rolled. When he popped from the floor, a switchblade knife in his hand lashed at my leg. I danced sideways and drew the pistol, but something stung my upper arm. Robin steadied the rifle as a crackling noise from above captured our attention. Part of the roof caved in behind a ball of fire. Intense heat blasted and I lost the pistol. Ralph Malph snatched it from the floor.

  The park ranger’s boots passed by my face as my arms went limp from the heat. I didn’t see Robin. I couldn’t move. A dart penetrated my left shoulder. I yanked it but paralysis drifted to my legs. As I lifted my head, Nate Campbell swiped Robin’s thermos. Ralph Malph motioned him and he tossed the thermos toward the raging fire, engulfing the room. I watched, helpless, as he swiped the cylindrical prize – the beacon.

  The duo exited the building as the cool air mixed with the heat licked my face. Enough of it jolted my arms from the Jell-O state and I crawled. “Robin!” She had to hear me. I wondered if the paralysis got to her as well. More cold air. More of the ceiling collapsed. Function returned to my legs. I helped Robin to her knees and swatted the dart from her neck. She snagged the rifle on the way out and handed me her Colt Delta, a marine gun, the one from the police station. I shoved the papers from Gilbert’s stash inside my backpack, realizing the most important item slipped through our fingers.

  As flames tickled our legs and singed the hair on our heads, we fled the building. The entire world burned. Flames engulfed every building on the block. It all burned.

  Robin beat me to the back of a Ram pickup, jacked with oversized tires. She climbed onto the roof as I vaulted to the side. Her rifle popped twice. “Got the clown redhead,” she said. “But Campbell eluded me. Smoke’s getting too thick to get off another shot.” Robin slid across the hood of the truck like Bo Duke.

  I made my way to the body. We searched Ralph Malph, confirmed his death, and made sure he didn’t have the beacon or anything of value.

  Doing our best to track the ranger through the snow while avoiding falling, burning debris, we matched the man’s tempo. The Bass Pro burned as we followed the ghostly tracks. The tracks ended near Wendy’s. We smashed inside with guns blazing, not willing to take a chance. As a cardboard cutout of Wendy exploded in gunfire, Robin sighed. “Never liked the stupid logo anyway.”

  We stopped the trek for two reasons. The tracks vanished and Robin twisted her knee. She soldiered on, but as daybreak neared, we veered to a hill in the park where we watched the town burn to the ground. Every building suffered the same fate. I prayed the golf course survived. As Robin nursed her injury, I rifled through the backpack to make sense of a steno pad full of notes.

  Robin read a passage. “Yeah, it refers to Scarlett and her knowledge of wormholes.”

  “The map of Nebraska? Fort Edwards?”

  She snatched the steno pad. “A map to Fort Edwards. If I recall correctly, the second-largest supply of gold reserves resides in Fort Edwards.”

  I stretched my arms. “Without people…” The idea lingered. “Would someone do all this for gold reserves?”

  Robin massaged her leg, adjusting the packed snow into a makeshift icepack.
“Nottingham wouldn’t. At least I don’t think he would. This sounds like Gilbert.”

  “And you figure Nate Campbell is working with Gilbert? Or Stutley?”

  “This smells like greedy Stutley. He wants the beacon to travel to Fort Edwards.”

  I located a strong stick and cut it to size for Robin’s hike. Through the smoky haze, we trekked home. Halfway to the top, an eerie chill drummed along my spine and made me stop to access the burning town. Much to my surprise, no smoke blew in the breeze. My knees buckled when I saw buildings standing, not burning.

  Robin twisted with binoculars. “Did it really burn?”

  “Let’s talk to Tom.”

  After listening to Travis Wayne, Tom folded his arms. “First off, Charm Charters is the company we hired. The crew disappeared. One of them was this redheaded kid. I say kid but he was close to thirty. As you said, he looks like Ralph from Happy Days. He was the funniest man in his world, though no one other than Gus agreed.”

  “The town isn’t burning,” Emerson said from the staircase. He handled most of the watch duty, saying it was his destiny to play Bull to Tom’s John Wayne. “I confirmed a dozen buildings, all standing. And not a bit of smoke.”

  “It was like the tornados, Tom.” Robin tested her knee’s range of motion. “Part of it was real and part of it was, I don’t know, manipulated. Like the birds.”

  Dropping his chin, Tom tugged the sleeves of his t-shirt and sighed. “How about you, Davidson?”

  “I got nothing, Navy man.”

  “Doc?”

  Hibbert’s eyes widened behind his round glasses. “In 1935, Albert Einstein and colleague Nathan Rosen connected the general theory of relativity to the idea of space-time bridges connecting various places in the universe. A tunnel, if you will.”

  “Shut him up,” Davidson growled at Genevieve, the babysitter. “He is puking an unnecessary pile of gibberish with a whole bunch of scientific theories holding no place in the world we find ourselves in. Malone, answer a question for me. Can you make any sense out of the fool?”

  Hunter’s eyes contemplated an answer. “Maybe those darts contained some hallucinogen.”

  Davidson guffawed. “Oh, come on. That would be some powerful drug.” The group glared and Davidson relented. “Alright, maybe.”

  Robin's cheeks sucked inward. “The dart paralyzed us for only seconds or we would’ve had the beacon.”

  Chapter 23 – Beacon of Hope

  Reagan

  Reagan and Kelly spent a better part of the night twiddling with the beacon. There weren’t visible buttons, levers, or knobs.

  “Maybe it turns on when you’re close to a wormhole?” Kelly theorized. “Like the hot-cold game?”

  “Which would make the thing next to useless. There has to be a way to activate it.”

  “Maybe it’s fingerprint recognition or voice-activated.” Kelly tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Open Says-a-me!”

  “I don’t think so, Kell.”

  “Alexa, point me to the nearest wormhole, please.”

  “Nope, nothing.”

  “We’re getting there. Ten thousand ways not to make a lightbulb, you know, Edison’s famous quote.”

  Reagan stretched to her full height and grabbed the Glock from the coffee table. “I’m going to check the perimeter.”

  Kelly tagged along, fingering the beacon. “What else did Duke have on him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if the beacon has two parts? This is the receiver meaning we’re looking for the transponder.”

  Reagan peeled the curtain and spread the Venetian blinds. The pressure from her fingers caused a crackle of the metallic plastic. “What would a transponder look like?”

  “I’m not sure. But I see no way of unlocking the canister.”

  “Maybe he had the transponder on him and we didn’t realize it at the time?”

  Kelly ticked off on her fingers. “Epi-pens, cigarettes, knives…” She trailed off. “I don’t remember what else. We handed out anything useful.”

  Reagan snapped her fingers. “Barb cataloged the items.”

  “Really? I like her. I think we gave up too much in the trade but she’s pulling her weight. We should’ve dealt Jasper instead of my husband.”

  “We could’ve thrown in the entire Caribou Crew to sweeten the deal. Wait here.” Reagan tip-toed upstairs, opened the door and found Annabeth sound asleep. Writing by the light of a candle, Barb hunched at the desk. “What happened to getting some sleep?”

  Barb grinned. “Easier said than done.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “I’m trying to make sense of things.” Barb clutched her notebook and they gathered in the hall. “Mostly related to our not so friendly park ranger.”

  “I don’t know where he fits into all this or what his motivation is. I suppose he’s another anomaly?” Reagan shrugged.

  “Why was Nate Campbell carrying two radios?”

  The question jarred Reagan. “Maybe he stole them from the Merry Men’s stash. Scarlett told Kelly they transported supplies in lead cases.”

  “Why would Nate Campbell take two if he wanted to listen in?”

  Reagan folded her arms. “You think he has an accomplice?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Why didn’t we see the other radio on him?” Reagan asked jumping on Barb’s train of thought.

  “Did you take the radio first?”

  “Yes. Because you said Nate Campbell was shot when he stumbled into your group.”

  “Interesting point.” Barb hesitated. “But it’s not why I mentioned the radios. I wonder if the radios are the reason Travis Wayne and I didn’t make the jump through the wormhole.”

  “We mentioned the theory before, but I can’t remember if we ruled it out.”

  “I’m not sure why the radios would tether us to our respective regions, but it’s a plausible explanation.” Barb closed her notebook. “Was there a reason you came upstairs, Reagan?”

  “I remembered you made a list of everything in Duke’s pack. Do you still have it?”

  “Sure.” Barbed flipped through the pages of her notebook. “I also made a note of who was given each item for simplicity.”

  Reagan scanned the list. “Scotty has the binoculars and the explosives. Granddad has knives and tools. The epi-pen for Annabeth…”

  “Dawn threw away the cigarettes,” Barb said. “She’s trying to get Meredith to quit.”

  “She picked a bad week for him to stop smoking.” Reagan pointed to a line on the list. “What happened to the cell phone?”

  “I’m not sure. It wasn’t working, so no one claimed it.”

  “Why would Duke have a cellphone? The Merry Men came into this place knowing technology wouldn’t work. Maybe it isn’t a cellphone.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Barb said.

  “Come with me to the barn. I figured out how to make the beacon work.” Joining Kelly on their way downstairs, Reagan filled her in.

  They hustled across the open range between the house and the barn. Reagan's eyes danced across the surrounding area. She wasn’t sure about the time, but the sunrise was near.

  Scotty muscled the barn door before it glided along the track. “What’s going on?” He and Granddad volunteered for a two-man rotation to watch the horses.

  “We have an idea of how to work the beacon.” Reagan made a beeline to the tack room and their supplies.

  “Where’s Tucker?” Kelly asked.

  “Snoring in the loft.” Scotty jabbed a thumb upward. “How’s the thing-a-ma-jig work?”

  “It’s just a theory,” Kelly said.

  Reagan dug through the supplies until she found Duke’s army green pack. She emptied the sparse contents until a cellphone fell into a pile of hay.

  Scotty’s brows furrowed. “What good is an outdated flip phone?”

  “Slider,” Kelly corrected.

  Reagan flicked the phone with her
thumbs, revealing a keyboard. “Wonder if there’s a launch code or something?”

  Kelly reached for the phone. “Like everything else, it doesn’t have any juice.”

  “Maybe the canister is the power source?” Scotty asked.

  Kelly waved the phone over the canister like a TSA agent at the airport. When she reached the top, a cobalt blue light emanated from the rim of the beacon.

  “What now?” Scotty whispered.

  “Follow the yellow brick road.” Even during tense situations, Kelly didn’t lose her ability to reference movies and TV shows.

  “Is the phone working?” Reagan asked.

  “Yeah. It’s a map.” Kelly flicked the screen before realizing it didn’t have touchscreen capability. “There’s a blinking dot and a weird symbol. If my memory of Greek mythology is correct, it is the symbol for Apollo.”

  Reagan leaned on Kelly’s shoulder. “Which one are we? I assume the blinking dot?”

  Kelly circled. “Bingo. We’re the blinking dot.”

  “Making the Greek Apollo thing-a-ma-jig our wormhole.” Scotty tucked his gun in the waistband of his Wranglers and skipped to the tack room. “I’ll saddle the horses.”

  “Kelly, go wake Granddad.” Reagan snatched a saddle blanket from the shelf.

  “Forgive me for being a little slow this morning, but how are we going to use this to catch Nate Campbell?” Barb asked.

  “It’s a little bit of guesswork,” Reagan admitted. “But Nate Campbell is using the wormholes, and right now we have a location on an active wormhole.”

  “Why haven’t we seen him since the switch?” Barb asked.

  “Doesn’t mean he’s gone.” Reagan swung the gate of Bailey’s stall. “Keep trying the radio while we’re gone, Barb. Tell my dad our plan and what we discovered about the beacon.”