She knew, deep down, he thought about her husband, as did she. Albert seemed forever absent. He either worked long hours or disappeared for weeks, with little time for her. Now the Commonwealth held him somewhere. Patrick looked and acted somewhat like Albert, but with all the right differences. Patrick made her happy.
She invited him into the shower. How long had it been since she last showered with a man? As the warm water washed their bodies, they remained quiet, but not from fear of being heard. Words were unnecessary. They spoke with their eyes, their lips, and their hands. Afterward, he helped dry her and offered to brush her hair.
When they left the bathroom, she smelled coffee. Patrick must have set the timer last night. She could never figure out that silly machine. Betsy descended the stairs in silence several steps ahead of Patrick. She walked through the dining room, stopped abruptly in the kitchen, and gasped. “What are you doing here?”
Patsy sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. “Hi Mom, Da—” She gagged when Patrick rounded the corner. As she jumped to her feet, the chair tipped backward. “Mom, that’s not Dad! He’s a fucking imposter.” Patsy made a fist with her keys sticking out between her fingers.
Betsy shook her head. “Patsy, darling—”
“Oh my God, Mom. You already knew!”
“Patrick is a friend.” Betsy concentrated on Patsy, but felt Patrick at her side. “Please sit down. Relax.”
“Dad is God knows where, and you’re banging this bum-fuck look-a-like. Are you out of your mind?”
“You have no right to speak to me like that.” Betsy’s arms shook.
“CSD wants to lock him up, or put him in the ground. He’s a fugitive. Do you want to go to jail?”
“Let’s go outside where we can talk,” Patrick said, his face crimson.
Patsy thrust out her chin. “Do you even know where Dad is?”
Betsy frowned. “No. He’s been taken by the CSD.”
“Is he still alive?” Patsy said with exasperation.
“I don’t know.” Betsy pressed her palms against her cheeks and tried not to cry.
Patsy’s forehead furrowed. “Have you seen a boy named Ben? Has he been here?” Her face flushed as she scratched the back of her arm with her keys.
Betsy glanced at Patrick. “Let’s go out to the gazebo.”
“It’s too late for that,” Patrick chided. “I’m sure CSD is on their way. We need to leave now for Carlston.” He eyed the kitchen clock. “I have to grab a few of me things upstairs.”
“Yes, good idea.” Betsy said. “I’ll meet you outside.”
“I’m coming with you,” Patsy said as she stood and refilled her coffee cup.
“No. We’ll meet you at your house,” Patrick said. He raced upstairs, while they hurried outside.
Once upstairs, Patrick put on Albert’s jacket. He took both Patsy’s thirty-two and Hoss’s thirty-eight revolvers, the portal watch, the solar chip, and Albert’s documents. If CSD listened, he hoped they thought he left for Carlston. He hurried back down the stairs not knowing what, or who, he might find outside the house.
Chapter 41
John awoke in Patrick’s guest bedroom when he felt fur brush across his cheek. Bootsie sat near his right shoulder on the bed.
“What do you want, girl?”
She tilted her head and blinked.
Voices carried up through the nearby heating duct from the cellar. They sounded like Lovitsky and Miller, so John rolled toward the wall vent to listen.
“Sir, the Army National Guard is arriving at six a.m. FBI will cover the laboratory, the driveway, and the perimeter of the property,” Lovitsky reported. “They’ve been briefed about our 10:30 test, and will be ready to repel enemy troops if necessary. The Air National Guard will have two attack helicopters and two A-10 jets with missiles on standby.”
“Do we have the other heavy arms I requested?”
“Yes sir, FBI will maintain security along the perimeter, however, the Guard will be equipped to prevent troop and motorized vehicle entry through the portal.”
“What about our insurance policy?” Miller asked.
“I’ve attached a small explosive charge to the beacon. We can detonate on your signal via a walkie-talkie, but only you and I know about the charge.”
“Good. HQ wants us to keep the beacon intact. They want to bring Patrick McDugan back so he doesn’t build another beacon on Terra. I’m on board, but I’m glad we have a failsafe option if everything goes to shit. What else?”
“Sir, shouldn’t we tell Albert Dugan about the test?” He may have critical information regarding Terra’s capabilities.” Lovitsky’s voice quavered. “I’m concerned about portal stability during a firefight.”
“He’s not a military expert, and he’s Terran. Why would we trust him?”
“Sir, Albert may not be a military expert, but he’s the foremost scientific expert on portals and may have crucial information for us.”
“Such as?” Miller asked.
“What might happen if a large explosive detonates in the vicinity of a live portal? Will the portal close, widen, or stay open permanently?”
“What’s his status?”
“Aside from the shoulder wound, he’s awake, lucid, and recovering in the sub-basement at Holy Rosary Hospital. We could move him to a more secure facility in a day or two.”
“Send the red team to question Albert. We need answers. Patch me in by phone when they arrive.”
“Will do. Sir, what about John Fuller?”
“He stays here as bait for his son, or sons,” Miller said.
“Sir, this site may become a war zone. They could be hurt.”
“A chance we’ll have to take. Shit happens.”
The air conditioner kicked on and drowned out further conversation from below. John used his cell to poke a text to Ben.
Minutes later, John received a text from Patty. Can’t sit at home. I want to help. On my way.
Ben, Jack, Lori and Brandon pulled into the Tampton Gas Mart to fill the tank, use the facilities, and grab breakfast. Ben browsed the aisles, until he noticed two armed FBI agents in the overhead mirror move into the checkout line. They carried breakfast burritos, two large coffees, and a small bag of crispy creams. As Ben turned away to warn his friends, Lori’s phone chirped.
Ben muted the sound and saw an incoming text from Mr. Fuller. He stopped behind a tall display hoping they wouldn’t see him in the security mirror. As the agents left the store, he hurried back toward the frozen food section and read the text.
“Hey, Benzo,” Lori said. “I heard my phone. Was it for me or you?”
“Me. Good news—” A strong hand grabbed his arm and spun him around.
“Hey, little dude,” Brandon said. “Got you some cheesy bacon wedges and a Slurpfreeze. My treat.”
Jack stood beside Brandon holding a large bag of fried chicken and potato twirls. He studied Ben’s face. “What’s wrong?”
Ben took a breath. “The FBI just left the store and might still be in the parking lot. We can’t leave yet.”
“Why?” Brandon kept his voice low. “Are you sure we can’t trust them?”
“The FBI wants to arrest us. They think Ben and I are a threat.” Jack whispered. “Brandon, we don’t want to jam you up. Maybe you and Lori should go outside, get in your truck, and head home. We’ll find another ride.”
“Bullshit. I’m not leaving my friends behind.” Brandon peeked out the front window. “I’ll get the food and drinks and pay for gas, then meet me around back.” He glanced at Lori.
Lori nodded. “We can do this.” She held up her closed fist chest high.
Brandon and Ben bumped her fist as Jack raised his eyebrows.
Lori smiled. “It’s called a fist bump, Mr. Terran.”
Jack rolled his eyes and gave her a bump.
“If we have time, I’ll show you the high-five.”
“Can’t wait.”
“Let’s roll,” Brandon said.<
br />
Ten minutes later, they ate their breakfast in the truck as Brandon drove toward Carmichael. They had ninety miles of road ahead. Lori sat up front and kept watch for anyone who might be following them. “Looks good,” she called. “I think we’re okay.”
In the back seat, Ben showed Dad’s text to Jack.
“Thank God,” Jack said. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
Ben deleted the text.
Lori turned to Ben. “What happened?”
“Jack’s grandfather is alive.” Ben told them where the FBI held Albert and about the 10:30 beacon test.
Lori glanced at her watch. “It’s 7:30 now? We have enough time, right?”
“If all goes well,” Brandon said, “but don’t count on it.” He goosed the gas pedal and the truck accelerated. Lori watched the road behind.
Patrick left Albert’s house on Terra and found Miss Betsy waiting in the passenger seat of her car. Patsy sat in the back seat. He’d hoped Patsy had already left for Carlston in her own vehicle. He unplugged the car’s power cord, climbed into the driver’ seat, and glanced at Miss Bettye. She wore a light blue, white, and red Parisian scarf around her neck.
Betsy tilted her head. “Patsy would feel much better if she accompanied us.”
Patsy glared at him. “It’s a long ride back, and I don’t want you to ditch me.”
“Fine.” He started the motor, drove down the hill, and turned left.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” Patsy slid an unlit cigarette between her lips.
“Yes,” Betsy said. “It’s not good for your health.”
“I need to settle my nerves.”
Patrick sighed and checked his mirrors. “Let’s not drive to Carlston just yet. We need a quiet place where we can talk. Somewhere CSD won’t bother us.”
“I know just the place.” Betsy said. “Very quiet and peaceful. Take the next right and the next left.”
They eased through the black iron gates of the east entrance to Holy Redeemer Cemetery. Patrick drove past gravestones, marble crypts, small flags, flowerpots, and obelisks. A guardian angel with a copper sword cast a stony look at them. West through the tall oak trees and just beyond the cemetery, stood Holy Redeemer Hospital.
Miss Betsy and her daughter grew quiet. He knew their destination without asking. On Earth, he’d said his final goodbye to his wife in a place much like this. A vision of her smile filled his mind, only to be supplanted by a darker memory when the caretaker lowered her bronze coffin into the frozen ground.
He pulled up to the family plot and stopped. A red marble stone, one he hadn’t seen before, read: Benjamin Joseph Fuller, 1999-2012, Beloved Son.
“Beloved Son.” Patsy murmured.
They stood quietly at the family plot. Patrick’s chest tightened as simple memories of his wife drifted to the surface: Betty washing breakfast dishes as the morning sun sparkled in her golden hair; the smell of lilac perfume on her neck as they danced; the sorrow they’d shared over a stillborn son; and the thankful smile she shared with her nurse on her last day. She wasn’t buried on Terra, but he laid his hand on a marker and offered a silent prayer as the stone cast a long morning shadow.
Patsy stared at Ben’s marker, but didn’t say a word. She lit a cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. She pinched the back of her arm and twisted her skin. “Why are we here?”
“Patrick, please give us few minutes?” Miss Betsy arranged the brim of her straw hat.
“Yes, of course.” He nodded to them and left.
As the ladies moved to a bench near the family plot, he walked one hundred yards up a winding stone path and sat down on a green wooden bench. The cemetery stretched out before him. Here lied Ben’s gravestone instead of Jack’s. A nearby marker waited in reserve for Albert and Betsy Dugan when their time arrived.
Patrick cleared his throat. Though intrigued by whom he’d met and what he’d discovered on this world, he couldn’t afford to forget the one person from his world who needed him most. He needed to speak with Ben, and this was the perfect opportunity.
Ben, Jack, Lori and Brandon pulled into a roadside rest stop thirty miles outside of Carmichael. The rest facility backed up to a series of wooded hills topped by spruce trees and an old fire watchtower one mile away.
A dark blue Buick stopped thirty yards from them. Ben thought it odd the driver parked so far away, given all of the empty parking spaces in between. Try as he might, he couldn’t see the driver through the car’s tinted windows. Ben shrugged and followed his friends into the small brick building.
Once inside the building, Lori stopped. “I saw that same blue car at the Tampton Gas Mart.”
Shit. “You think it’s FBI?” Ben asked.
Brandon peered out the window. “No one got out yet. If it is, they had plenty of time to pull us over. It could be just a coincidence, but let’s be careful.”
“If they followed us from Carlston, they hung way back,” Lori said.
“Why would they just follow us?” Ben shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Maybe they’re waiting to see where we’d go, or who we’d meet.” Brandon said. “Look. One popped out of the car.”
Ben peered outside. “He’s the FBI agent from the Gas Mart.” His eyes darted around the room. This is my fault. “Sorry, guys.”
Lori frowned. “For what? You didn’t do anything wrong.” She moved toward the back door. “Follow me. Keep the building between us and their car.”
Once outside, Lori bolted up a dirt path toward the first hill. Ben followed with Jack and Brandon close behind. They sprinted past a couple carrying a brown bag lunch. Just before they entered the trees, Ben saw the agent exit the back door of the facility, look side to side, and then up the hill.
“I think he spotted us,” Ben warned.
“Let’s step it up.” Lori quickened her pace as they ran up the rolling forest path.
Ben’s adrenaline surged as he followed her. He feared capture, but the exercise felt good. He broke a sweat as the path grew steeper, but his bladder felt heavy. He couldn’t stop. Not yet. Agents hunted them.
Lori led the boys up the winding path toward the top of the second hill. They climbed over boulders, around trees, and through a shallow stream. Ben jumped as a startled doe crashed away through the undergrowth.
Sunlight and shadow danced across the path as the tree canopy changed from softwood to hardwoods. They topped a ridge where they saw a portion of the path below. Lori slowed to a stop, crouched, and acted as sentry. Brandon found a dead branch and began to sharpen one end by rubbing it against a granite boulder.
The remnants of the blue Slurpfreeze sloshed uncomfortably in Ben’s belly. He slunk into the forest shadows and relieved himself behind a tree. Under his damp shirt, he felt the shoelace and watch beneath. Ben scanned the forest for agents as he rejoined his friends.
Jack crouched near Lori and watched the path. “I don’t see anyone following. Ben, do we have a beacon signal?”
He checked. “Nothing yet. I’m going to call my Dad and see what’s happening.”
Brandon stood nearby resting his makeshift spear over his shoulder like a baseball bat. His sweat smelled acrid from last night’s beer. “Make a quick call, then remove the battery. If they have Lori’s number, they may be tracking her phone.”
Ben winced. I should have thought of that. He pulled out Lori’s phone and checked the display- 8:30. He dialed his father. “Nothing. I got no bars.” Shit and double shit we’re going to be late.
“Sorry,” Lori said, “I need a new network. My reception is spotty.”
“I left my phone in the truck,” Brandon said.
Jack squinted up the hill. The watchtower loomed over the treetops. “Let’s try from up there.”
Ben nodded, took the battery out of the phone, and followed his friends as they jogged up the trail.
At the top of the last hill stood the rusty gray metal stairs of the abandoned watchtower. A No Trespassing sign
hung from the locked gate of a weathered chain link fence surrounding the structure. The fence bore a large round hole where the wire mesh had been nipped.
Graffiti decorated the outside walls of the enclosed platform at the top. One read Get high with me, next to a painting of Smokey Bear with his hair on fire. Another, scrawled in orange paint, read, Trespassers will be violated.
Jack led the way through the fence, and past a cold fire pit with broken beer bottles and one partially burnt running shoe. They climbed the old tower steps and could see two separate valleys spread out below.
On the way up, Ben searched the countryside for agents, but saw none. He followed Jack into the enclosed platform which had a missing door, four walls, a roof, and four busted windows. Glass shards covered the dirty metal floor. An old wooden table in the center crawled with carved initials and obscenities.
Ben, Brandon, Lori, and Jack each looked out of a different window from one hundred and fifty feet up.
“All clear on my side,” Ben said.
“Clear,” Lori said.
“My side looks good,” Jack said.
“Uh-oh,” Brandon said. “I see an old switchback road leading to this tower.”
Ben and the others joined him. Though overgrown with weeds, the road appeared passable.
“Look. See the Buick?” Lori pointed to where the switchback met the highway. The car crawled up the old road toward them. “What do we do now?”
Jack squeezed Ben’s shoulder. “Try Lori’s phone again.”
Ben reached for the cell, but stopped when he felt an odd vibration. The portal watch buzzed on his chest. He pulled the shoelace from around his neck and held the watch in his hand. The red button blinked and vibrated. Ben’s eyebrows furrowed. The frequency display read ********. Not GranPat’s beacon. The origin location read “40.15-80.25T” Close to GranPat’s house, but on Terra.
“Is your grandfather’s beacon working?” Jack asked.
“Not sure. The frequency display looks scrambled.” Ben studied the watch. Terra?
Brandon pointed at the red button. “Looks like someone’s calling you. You should answer.”
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