Followed East

by Andre Gonzalez

  “I’m sure he’s not mad at you. Don’t take it so personally. You’re in the military now, even if it’s a secret military.”

  “It doesn’t feel anything like what I’d imagined the military was like. I’m bottom of the totem pole and can get a ride in my own private town car whenever I like. I don’t think new recruits to the Army are getting that same treatment.”

  “True. Are you ready to get going, then?”

  “Yes.” Kyle grabbed his bags and slung one over each shoulder, his legs wobbly. It seemed like lunacy to walk away from a living, breathing Exall. How would he sleep at night knowing his dad lived in this house completely oblivious to the truth?

  You won’t need to sleep, because you’re going to tell the colonel as soon as you see him. Then you’ll both be back here on a return flight tonight.

  Kyle giggled nervously, earning a side-eye stare from his father. He focused on clearing his mind as they left the room, unable to deny the presence below his feet as they glided across the hardwood floor.

  He followed Travis out the backdoor where the Audi’s trunk was already open and waiting for Kyle’s bags.

  Kyle felt his dad watching him, and focused on appearing as normal as possible. He tossed his bags in the trunk and slammed the door shut, fighting the urge to stare at the house, as if Sandra was going to blast out of the walls and demand to go with Kyle.

  They both sat down in the car, Travis turning on the engine and backing out of the driveway. As they pulled onto the road, Kyle caught the glimpse of the house he wanted. It stood quietly, innocent, the oak tree in the front yard smothering its shade in every direction. This was the same house he came to every day after school, doing his homework at the kitchen table while Susan prepared dinner. Sometimes she went down to the pantry to get food, and now Kyle wondered if she did a little more on these seemingly innocent trips downstairs.

  They drove away, leaving the house behind, and with it, a world of secrets.

  26

  Chapter 26

  Kyle woke up on the plane five hours later, landing in Washington shortly after 10 P.M. The town car would be waiting outside.

  Kyle had stopped by one of the airport shops in Denver to buy a packet of melatonin. His mind was out of control, like a pinball bouncing off the bumpers, and the only solution for him to have a relaxing flight was to drug himself to sleep. He took the pills right when the boarding process started, knowing they would kick in by the time he settled into his seat. He had grabbed a window seat toward the back and was snoring before the flight attendant had a chance to show him how to properly put on a seat belt.

  When he woke, he jumped out of his seat, startled. It was some of the deepest sleep he had ever experienced, and he was surprised to see he nearly missed his row of passengers getting up to leave. He quickly sent his mother a text message letting her know he had arrived safely.

  For those brief moments after waking up, the thought of Sandra living under his grandmother’s house had been the furthest thing from his mind. He had to remind himself that a live alien was occupying the same house as his father. When he remembered, Kyle grabbed his bag and sped down the aisle that had just about been cleared.

  His head remained cloudy from the sleep, like he was in a dream, as he sped-walked through the concourse toward the baggage claim to get his checked bag. The carousel was already spinning, and much to his delight, his solid green bag was waiting for him. Kyle wasted no time, the fogginess in his brain giving way to the urgency that had plagued him before he got on the plane.

  He had to get to the colonel’s office immediately. This news was too big to wait overnight, and if he had to call him at home to tell him that, then that’s what he’d do.

  With bags in hand, he worked his way through the concourse toward the arrivals area. A soft breeze welcomed him as he stepped outside, a needed relief after the stuffy airplane. The night was quiet with the exception of taxis and cars creeping through the area.

  Kyle scanned the area until he found a town car with a suited man standing on the curb. He recognized the man as one of The Crew’s drivers—Jason, maybe?—and started for him.

  “Good evening, Mr. Wells,” Jason said. Kyle read his badge and confirmed his name. Jason was probably the same age as Travis, and greeted Kyle with a grin before pulling open the backseat door and taking the luggage out of Kyle’s hands. “Are we just going to the Pentagon?”

  Kyle didn’t realize he had a say, considering Colonel Griffins demanded his immediate return. What was a teenage boy to say? Let’s stop at a strip club first?

  “Yes, the Pentagon please.”

  Kyle waited in the car while Jason tossed the luggage in the trunk before circling back to the driver’s seat. Every town car The Crew used came equipped with a glass divider to separate the front from the back. The divider was normally in place, but Kyle was pleased to find that tonight it was wide open, giving him a clear view of the road ahead. They drove off and started to exit the airport.

  “Busy night for you?” Kyle asked, unsure if it was okay to speak to the drivers who never seemed to show any emotion. Jason seemed a bit different tonight, though.

  “Not busy at all,” Jason replied. “Weeknights this late are typically very slow. An occasional airport run from time to time, otherwise I hang out at the office and read a book to pass the time.”

  “Do you know of anything going on at the office? I was supposed to be home for another week, but they called me back tonight. Sounded urgent.”

  “I’ve not heard anything, but it’s not that uncommon, either. There could be an important meeting in the morning. Especially for those of you in the field. If any bit of information comes up that is critical to saving lives, they will call all hands on deck to get everyone on the same page.”

  Kyle slouched. Called across the country for a meeting? I should have just stayed in the basement and taken my chances. I’m sure a live Exall would be more exciting than a meeting.

  After the flight and extended, drug-induced nap, Sandra felt millions of miles away. It seemed impossible that Kyle was just speaking with an Exall five hours earlier. Now he was back in D.C., where they’d expect him to continue his new normal.

  Kyle gazed out the window to the dark night, the bright buildings of the capital city miles away in the distance. They reached the freeway and accelerated to a higher speed, the street lights passing in a blur. Jason had soft jazz playing on the radio, and for the late hour something about it felt just right, relaxing Kyle’s frantic thoughts. The distance from Colorado helped him push Sandra out of his mind, as her presence wasn’t throbbing beneath his feet like a dirty secret.

  Raindrops started to fall, splashing quietly on the windshield before gradually showering the entire car and road ahead.

  “We’re expecting some good rain over the next couple of days,” Jason commented as he flicked on the wipers. “This is your first autumn here, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Autumn can get tons of rain—we actually broke the city’s record for most rainfall just last year. Looking like this year will give it another try.”

  Kyle looked out the window, remembering how as a kid he’d follow the journey of one lone drop of water as it clung to the window and either streamed slowly to the bottom or hung on for dear life as the wind tried to blow it off.

  Gazing out the dark tint in the middle of a rainy night made it impossible to see anything aside from the occasional passing streetlight. But the headlights of a pickup truck that zoomed by at lightning speed made Kyle stiffen in his seat, recoiling away from the window. Jason didn’t make a sound, but Kyle felt the car swerve slightly.

  “Did you see that?” Kyle asked.

  “Hold on.” Jason sounded distant and occupied. “He’s not leaving us.”

  Kyle craned his neck over the center console for a better view and saw the truck a few feet ahead of them, matching an identical speed to the town car.

  “Is it a drunk driver?” Ky
le asked.

  “Could be.”

  Jason pushed a button that was a red exclamation mark on the touchscreen panel, and let off the accelerator to slow down the vehicle. The truck, who drove in the shoulder, slowed down immediately, letting the town car pass.

  Jason sped up the car again, his eyes glued to the mirrors instead of the freeway. “Shit!” he cried. “There are two pistols in the glove box. Can you get them out for us?”

  Kyle’s heart thumped quicker at the mention of pistols. Why on earth would they need a pistol on the freeway? Adrenaline flowing, he unclicked his seatbelt and lunged over the center console, arms outstretched as they flailed for the glove compartment. The dim light glowed enough to reveal the two pistols resting atop a small collection of papers. He handed one to Jason, who immediately cocked it and lay it on his lap.

  “What’s going on?” Kyle asked, returning to the backseat with the other gun in hand.

  “You’re right, it might just be a drunk driver, but I’m not sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m just being cautious.”

  Kyle turned to look out the back window, the truck’s headlights glowing like bright, devilish eyes in the night. One hundred feet separated them and the truck, but the distance shrunk by the second as the truck accelerated to deadly speeds for a second time.

  The truck matched and maintained the speed of the town car, its front bumper lined up perfectly with the town car’s rear bumper.

  “Hold on!” Jason screamed, looking over his shoulder to switch lanes to the right, but it was too late.

  The truck veered into them, metal crunching against metal, knocking it off balance and sending Jason and Kyle into a wobbly three-sixty spin. Kyle hung on to the door as the world blurred in front of them through the windshield. Jason seemed to hold a scream the entire time, much like a child shrieking during an entire roller coaster ride.

  They spun in what felt like a dozen circles before the car came to a rest, facing the wrong way on the freeway. Kyle’s whole body pulsed with adrenaline, even his vision throbbing in and out of focus. They both looked around for the truck, not seeing it until bright headlights flashed from the passenger side of the car.

  “Get down!” Jason barked.

  The truck’s engine roared like a beast as the sound of screeching rubber and its smoke filled the air. It rammed into the side of the car, breaking the passenger side windows and growling louder as it pushed the car toward the short concrete wall that served as the freeway’s median.

  Kyle remained tucked in his corner, safely away from the truck, but feeling the heat of the pending collision with the median. Rain droplets splashed inside the car as he watched, bug-eyed, as the truck burnt more rubber and kept pushing. Through the missing windows he could clearly read the “DODGE” letters on the truck’s chrome grill. Its passenger-side headlight had shattered, but the other one remained shining bright, staring at Kyle like a watchful eye.

  The truck struggled to push them at first, but caught traction—or the town car lost traction, he’d never know—and sent them flying toward the median. It felt like the wheels may have come off the ground, but neither he or Jason had time to process what was happening as they flew toward the wall, the metal screeching against the concrete that had no interest in giving an inch. Kyle’s head slammed against the window, not shattering as the bulk of the impact occurred to the body of the car. He immediately reached for the warm trickle of blood oozing through his hair and down his head.

  The headlights vanished as the truck sped away, leaving them in complete silence with the exception of the soft rapping sound of rain drops hitting the car’s roof.

  “Kyle! Mr. Wells!” Jason’s voice called, distant in Kyle’s mind.

  Kyle stared out the window, seeing other cars pull over, people running to them and yelling. But the noise fell on deaf ears. Kyle felt isolated in the world, stranded on his own island. Sandra was nowhere near his thoughts, neither was Colonel Griffins or the Pentagon or The Crew. All he could envision was the Exalls they had encountered during their trip to the mountains four years ago. The same Exalls who had tailed them as they drove out of town in search of a hospital from Brian. They had followed them in the same manner the truck had tonight. The same Exalls who had crashed their SUV into Kyle’s middle school, killing classmates and teachers, and scarring the community forever.

  He didn’t need any proof to know who had tried to kill them on the middle of the freeway. They want me. Why didn’t they just kill me in the mountains? Why go through all the trouble of following us home and raising hell for my family and friends?

  “Grandma,” Kyle said through a lumped throat. “Come save me.”

  He leaned his head back and fainted.

  27

  Chapter 27

  The next thirty minutes passed in a foggy haze for Kyle. He came in and out of consciousness, seeing images of his grandmother when he went under, and blurry, gray clouds through a car window when his eyes opened. He heard multiple voices and felt his head get moved around, poked and prodded by wandering fingers as the bleeding was stopped from the back of his head.

  “He’s going to be just fine,” a slurred voice said.

  “We need him more than ever,” another voice said, perhaps Colonel Griffins, but Kyle’s mind was too loopy to know for sure.

  The voices came from near his feet while his head remained against a back wall looking out a window. Am I in an ambulance? Am I dead?

  He’d heard stories of people who had experienced death, citing a floating sensation as they hovered above their own body for a bird’s eye of view of their current state. There was no floating, and he couldn’t see anything besides the streaking water running across the window. Just like it had before the truck attacked them on the freeway.

  The skies gave way to a deeper darkness, dim orange lights passing by every so often, and Kyle realized they were back at the Pentagon, driving through the underground garage.

  Maybe a special ambulance used by The Crew.

  The voices reduced to soft whispers just quiet enough for Kyle to not hear them. As he came more into consciousness, Kyle felt how stiff his neck was and had a brief panic attack of paralysis. He wiggled his toes and fingers to make sure everything was connected, and fought to turn his neck so much as a centimeter, which it did much to his relief.

  The vehicle came to a stop, and doors immediately opened and closed. Kyle kept his gaze out the window until the door it belonged to swung open, letting in a rush of cool air, and revealing the face of Colonel Griffins with two other soldiers standing by his side.

  “Kyle,” Colonel Griffins grumbled. “Glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  Feels like I got trampled by a stampede of hungry hippos, Kyle thought.

  “I’m okay. Can I still walk?”

  “Yes,” the colonel snapped, as if expecting this question. “You’re completely fine. You’ll have some mild soreness and a mild concussion. We can get all the aches massaged out tonight, and the concussion won’t affect you so long as you don’t bonk your head again. We need you ready for tomorrow.”

  Concussion? The word cut into Kyle like a knife.

  “What happened?” Kyle asked, his head suddenly spinning now that he knew his brain was injured.

  “Exall attack,” the colonel said bluntly. “Let’s get you out of this van and I can explain everything.”

  The colonel nodded to the two soldiers, one man and one woman, standing by his side. Kyle was indeed on a stretcher, and they rolled him out of the van, dropping the wheels on the ground and rolling him toward the Crew’s main entrance.

  Kyle caught a glimpse of the vehicle he had ridden in, a large black van that reminded him of the kind in movies that police used during a stakeout.

  The group of them charged into the office, pushing Kyle through the doorways. His neck already felt looser, but still too stiff to look around freely. Out of the corner of his eyes, Kyle saw fe
llow Crew members gawking at him as they ran down the hallway with him on the gurney.

  Colonel Griffins shouted. “I need every Crew member in the D.C. area to come into this office right now. Call everyone on your teams, and tell them to get their asses here right away!”

  They marched forward, to the back where the colonel’s office awaited.

  “We need to run him through a quick CT scan, Colonel,” the male soldier said.

  Colonel Griffins grunted. “Fine. Take him quickly and bring him right back to my office.”

  The colonel trailed off to his office, and the two soldiers took a hard right and started moving faster. Kyle watched the ceiling and lights pass in a bright blur. Kyle remembered there was an infirmary on the seventh floor below them, and assumed this was where they were going.

  The two soldiers didn’t say anything, moving quickly as if they had done this same routine hundreds of times. The ground shifted and Kyle felt blood rush to his head as they started down a slanted ramp. They barged through one more door into a room that had even brighter lights, making Kyle recoil, his arm shooting up to shield his eyes.

  “Mr. Wells,” the female soldier said in a harsh voice. “We’ve done preliminary tests while you were asleep. Your reflexes and pupils reacted correctly, but we still suspect you have a mild concussion. This CT scan is to ensure your brain is not bleeding or severely bruised.”

  Without further explanation, they both grabbed Kyle from each side and hoisted him upward, moving him to another bed that would slide into the machine scanning his brain. This was the first moment Kyle realized his clothes had been removed, stripped down to his underwear, a heavy black blanket covering his body. The transfer from the stretcher allowed his head to bob back an inch, loosening his neck muscles a little more.

  “Where’s my stuff?” he asked, realizing his wallet, bags, and tracking device were no longer with him.

  “Colonel Griffins has all of your things,” the woman said, this time her voice softer and caring.