by Shay Savage
“Can they be trusted?” I ask through chattering teeth.
“Of course,” Eddie-boy assures me. “Mercs. Skeleton crew with no direct ties. No one here has any idea who you are.”
I nod. At this point, I’m too cold to care. I’ll worry about it later.
As soon as Eddie-boy leads me over to a cot along the narrow hallway, I slump down into it and welcome the blackness.
CHAPTER FOUR
Secretive Travel
Darkness. Coldness. Disorientation.
Strange noises flood my ears. I can’t place them. The sounds are mechanical but not quite familiar. I feel trapped and sense danger, but I can’t move. Panic sets in. My arm throbs as I try to reach for my waist, searching for the gun that should be there, but there is nothing, not even a holster. My chest feels tight, and it’s hard to breathe. My head swims, and the darkness overwhelms me.
I felt the tug of the rope wrapped around my wrists as I was pulled backward through the compound. They had just beaten me, and I could barely walk. They didn’t seem to care about asking me questions anymore—I’d never given them anything. As far as I could tell, they were just in it for the fun now.
Back in the hole, face first. I pushed myself up as best I could to keep my mouth from filling with sand. The heat was unbearable, and I knew my back had to be covered in blisters from the sun. It would be dark soon at least. Maybe they would let me sleep a while.
I jerk awake, the pain from the dream a near scream on my lips. For a moment, I have no idea where I am. Voices speaking in Russian startle me, but one of them is familiar. I sit up and look over in the direction of the noise and see Eddie-boy leaning up against a panel of lights, chatting away with a man I don’t recognize.
I’m on the submarine.
I swallow hard and take a few breaths to get myself together before I take inventory. The parka and other cold-weather gear have been removed, but I still have a woolen cap on my head, and my body is covered with an electric blanket. I pull it back a bit and see that I’m dressed in sweatpants and a button down shirt that is way too big for me. The left sleeve has been cut out, and my arm is dressed up in a sling held tightly against my chest. I can feel bandages around my left leg as well.
I’m sore everywhere, and there’s a chill deep inside of me despite the temperature of the room. Well, hallway, actually. The sub is small, and there aren’t a lot of furnishings to be seen. I’m sitting up on a small bunk just off the main walkway.
Eddie-boy notices me and comes over. He’s followed by a tall blond man in blue trousers and a white jacket. A cigarette dangles from his lips. It’s the same man Eddie-boy had been speaking to when I first woke up and presumably the captain of the vessel.
“Hey there, LT,” Eddie-boy says quietly. “How are ya feelin’?”
“I’m good,” I say. He eyes me, knowing full well that I’m lying.
Another man approaches, this one in overalls and boots. He speaks to Eddie-boy in Russian and then checks out my arm and leg. He shoves a thermometer at me, and I roll my eyes as I place it in my mouth.
“Medic says ya gotta keep warm,” Eddie-boy tells me.
“Yeah, no shit,” I respond. “How much training did he get to tell me that?”
“Don’t be an asshole, LT,” Eddie-boy says. “He’s been watching you for hours.”
I glance at the man and try to take in everything I can. My head hurts, and I don’t seem able to process much information. He’s got a wedding ring on his left hand. The ring is worn, but clean. When he’s not tending to me, the medic uses his thumb to spin the gold ring around and around his finger.
He misses his wife.
He hasn’t seen her in a long time; I’m sure of it. I can’t say how long it has been but more than just the few days they’ve been waiting around for me. Maybe she left him a long time ago, but he can’t bring himself to remove the reminder.
He speaks, and I look to Eddie-boy, who shrugs at me.
“He’s surprised you weren’t ripping your clothes off,” he says, translating.
“What the hell does that mean?”
More Russian words are exchanged, and Eddie-boy smirks.
“Apparently, some hypothermia victims tear off their clothes,” he says. “You were a little delusional but not quite that far gone.”
“Well, there’s a plus.” I don’t bother to hide the sarcasm.
I’m handed two hot water bottles and a jacket to wear. It’s not easy to get the jacket over the sling, but I manage. Eddie-boy thanks the medic for me, and he gives me a tight-lipped smile before gathering up his stuff and hauling it out of my sight.
The captain of the sub speaks in my direction, and Eddie-boy, the communications guru, translates.
“He says your life isn’t a meadow.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Ah, I think he’s glad he’s not you.”
I look the man over briefly. He seems to be good-natured enough, and he wins me over when he offers me a cigarette from his pack. I inhale deeply, and Eddie-boy waits for me to finish before he speaks again.
“So, did you win?”
“Not really,” I admit. “As far as anyone knows, I’m dead. I need to keep it that way.”
“For how long?”
“Forever.”
Eddie-boy stares into my eyes for a long time. It’s very possible that this is the last time we will work together or ever see one another again, and he knows it.
“Well, let’s get some food into ya,” he suggests, his voice rough with emotion. “I kinda thought I’d lost ya for a minute there.”
The food is meager but warm. I down about a gallon of water along with it. My leg is sore, and my arm hurts like a bitch, but I feel a lot warmer after getting something in my stomach. Eddie-boy brings me an extra blanket and drapes it around my shoulders. He also hands me a backpack.
“Everything ya had on ya is in there.”
I open it up and try to hold it with my left hand while I reach in with my right. There isn’t much—the transmitter I had used to call Eddie-boy, some ammo, matches, and my cell phone. A wad of cash has been added to my things as well. I don’t have to count it—I know exactly what’s there. I’d given it to Eddie-boy before this whole tournament shit started.
Always have a contingency plan.
“Is there someplace I can plug this in?” I ask as I pull out the phone. I want to hear Lia’s voice even though I know she’s going to be pissed off. I’m not about to tell her over the phone about anything that’s been going on, but I still want to talk to her.
Eddie-boy looks at the captain, points to my phone, and then translates my request.
“Da,” the captain says.
I plug it in, but nothing happens. I give it a few minutes to warm up, but after an hour, there’s still nothing. I bang it on the counter a couple of times, but the action is fruitless.
“Fried?” Eddie-boy asks.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I’ve got a sat phone you can use.”
I shake my head. At this point, I’ll be home in three days. Lia will have been back from her trip for the past five days and will undoubtedly be pissed off at me. A couple days can’t make that much difference. It will be easier to talk her down when we’re face-to-face anyway.
I’m not looking forward to the conversation, but I still can’t wait to be back in our cabin with her and Freyja. I can already feel my patience wearing thin, and a submarine is not a fast way to travel. It is, however, quite secretive, and that’s exactly what I need.
“Do I owe this guy any money?” I ask Eddie-boy.
“Fifteen,” he says. “I told him you’d be providing it when you were safely on shore again.”
“You paid him the rest already?”
“Every cent ya gave me. Had to pay a little extra for the medic, but I figured ya might need him.”
“You were supposed to keep some of that for yourself.”
“You can ow
e me,” Eddie-boy says with a shrug.
“I think I already do.”
He waves his hand dismissively.
“I’ll wire it to you,” I tell him. If I have to pay the sub captain fifteen grand, I’ll only have five left in cash to get me home. I hope it will be enough.
I’m still exhausted, and after I’m checked over by the medic again, I decide to try to sleep a little. I’m not sure what the upcoming days will hold for me, and I’ll need whatever sleep I can get.
Should’ve had Eddie-boy bring a hooker along.
I lie on the bench-like bed in the hallway and cover up with the blankets. I wrap my good arm around the tiny, square pillow and tuck my face up against it. I still can’t seem to get warm, and though the medic says I’m mostly recovered from the moderate hypothermia I had suffered, I’m not sure I believe him.
I doze off.
I was hog-tied, and every part of me had ached for days. I’d been given a little water, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually eaten anything. At that point, my stomach might have just rejected it. I wasn’t even feeling the hunger anymore, only the pain. It hurt just to breathe in the hot air around me.
I jerk awake, sweating. Shoving the blankets off of me, I jump from the hot bunk and find myself with my back against the opposite wall, breathing heavily. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. It feels like only a few seconds.
It’s quiet in the hallway. There are a few lights along the floor to keep people from tripping over things, but it’s mostly dark. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, and the specter of the kid I shot shuffles down the hall toward me.
I close my eyes, and he is thankfully gone when I open them again. My mind is still spinning out of control, and I slump down on my ass on the cool floor. I can hear gunfire, tanks moving across the sand, and screaming. The sub’s engines hum in the background, and I try to focus on the sound of the craft instead of the sounds in my head. It works but only enough to allow me to get back on my feet and sit back on the bunk.
I lie down but don’t sleep again.
“We’re ready to surface,” Eddie says. “This place is isolated enough, but stay on your toes anyway. There’s still a hint of Canadian military in the area.”
“What town?” I ask.
“Churchill,” Eddie-boy says. “There’s a good-sized airport there. You should be able to get wherever you’re going. You sure you don’t want a phone?”
“Yeah, I’ll pick one up later.”
He gives me a roughly drawn map of the area that shows where he’s dropping me off along with the location of the airport. It seems simple enough. I just need to get myself a flight close enough to home to locate a car and get back to the cabin and Lia. I’m getting jittery though I’m not sure if it’s from the anticipation of seeing her again or just the lack of sleep.
The sub resurfaces, and Eddie-boy operates the small motorboat to get me to the rocky shore on the north side of town. I can’t help but get wet getting out of the boat. The sun is shining, so I should dry off fast enough.
“Anything else you need?” Eddie-boy asks as he hands me the backpack with my gear.
I look through the pack and notice the Glock and holster Eddie-boy has included with everything else. I look up at him and nod slightly.
“This should be it.” I sling the pack over my good shoulder and shift the weight around until it’s comfortable.
“Stay sharp,” he says with a nod. I return the gesture.
“Thanks for all the help.” I reach out and shake Eddie-boy’s hand. He gives me a smile and a nod.
“Anytime, LT,” he says. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I do.” I return his smile. “I think you are currently the only person I can really count on.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m the only one who knows you’re alive!” He laughs.
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“You got it, LT.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Yes, sir!” He straightens up and gives me a salute. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant Arden, sir!”
I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“Take care of yourself, Eddie-boy.”
“You too, LT.”
I turn and walk up the beach toward the nearest road as Eddie-boy climbs back into the small boat and starts up the motor. I don’t watch him leave but focus instead on the small map he’d given me. The airport is just a little over a mile away to the south.
I walk past Fort Churchill along the way and wonder if it has anything to do with Eddie-boy choosing this location as a drop site for me. If memory serves me correctly, it had been used as a communications test site back in the day. The place is deserted now, no longer able to maintain funding for research projects or satellite launches over the arctic. The runway for the airport is just on the other side of the fort.
I have very little luck at the airport departure gates. For this area, Churchill Airport is pretty big, but they don’t have a lot of flights going to smaller towns. I could get myself to Winnipeg pretty easily, but I’d have to get another plane to Thompson or drive a lot longer. The more stops I have, the more of a footprint I leave. I don’t want to risk it. If I can find a flight immediately, I would get back in time for supper, but that doesn’t seem too likely.
As I meander around, I notice a service counter for small charter planes. The worn posters in the area boast of fabulous glacial views, polar bear sightings, and trips over the Wapusk National Park.
Worth a look.
There is only one guy in the area. He’s leaning against a doorway and thumbing through a magazine with a pair of snowmobiles on the cover. I can’t see the title, but the copy is crumpled and looks like it’s probably last year’s issue. The guy is in his early forties and sports a full beard. His clothes are scruffy, and he looks bored.
I approach and stand at the counter, watching him. He’s staring intently at the page, but his eyes don’t move, so I know he’s not actually reading an article. He’s definitely deep in thought about something because it takes a few minutes for him to notice me.
“Oh, hey,” the bearded man says, “you need some help?”
“I need a flight,” I tell him.
“Well, I do have a plane,” he replies with a laugh. “What are you wanting to see?”
“Can you get me to Thompson?”
He scratches at his chin and eyeballs me.
“I don’t actually fly to Thompson,” he finally says. “I mostly just do the tourist thing around here, ya know? The main terminal has flights to other cities.”
“Yeah, but not until tomorrow.”
“In a hurry?”
“A bit.”
I watch as he licks his lips, glances out the window, and then looks down at his gloved hands. He rubs at the hole in one of the fingers. The overalls he’s wearing have seen better days, and his boots are worn nearly all the way through the leather at the toes.
“Tourism is a little slow this time of year,” I remark.
“Yeah, it is,” he says.
“How long is the flight to Thompson?”
“A little over an hour air time.” He straightens his shoulders. “Each way, of course.”
“What do you usually charge for an hour of your time?”
“Five hundred.”
He’s lying, but I don’t care.
“Well, I don’t seem to have any Canadian cash on me.” I reach into my pocket and pull out a roll of hundred dollar bills in U.S. currency. “Let’s say I pay you two grand U.S., and hopefully that will cover your time and whatever the exchange rate is.”
I count out the bills and lay them on the counter. He stares at them suspiciously for a moment, then picks one up and looks at it closely. I would give him a higher offer, but after paying off the sub captain, I have limited funds. I’m still going to need to find transportation from Thompson to the cabin, and it’s not like I can just go buy a car on credit and keep my movements untracea
ble.
He fingers a couple other bills, checking them for consistency. The guy must be satisfied that the cash is real because he looks up at me and nods.
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
“Let me know when you’re gassed up and ready.”
“Thirty minutes.”
The plane is a tiny one and only seats six people. I’m the only one in the passenger area, and that suits me fine. The flight is short and bumpy, but we arrive in Thompson almost exactly one hour after takeoff.
It’s early evening by the time I’ve thanked the pilot and headed out of the airport. I’m starving. The walk into Thompson is a good three miles, and I’m not in any shape to get my ass there. There’s hardly anyone around, and lifting a car is out of the question—it would be noticed far too quickly. I hang out in the parking lot for a while until I find a guy who looks pleasant and has his keys in his hands. He agrees to give me a lift into town after I tell him I just flew in to visit my sister. He yaks about how boring his job is loading and unloading luggage and eventually drops me off at the local Pizza Hut.
Pineapple and mushrooms on cheese-stuffed crust—it’s exactly what I need. I savor every bite until the entire pie is nearly gone. I’m tempted to just sit there for a while and watch the people go in and out, but I don’t want to delay my homecoming any longer, and I still need to find transportation.
There’s a neighborhood just north of the restaurant, and I find a house with dimmed lights and a four-wheel drive vehicle parked outside next to the garage. There aren’t any windows facing the vehicle, and its absence probably won’t be noticed before morning.
I drive into the night, pass the airport, and cruise down the small highway out of town. I fiddle around with the radio, but I can’t get much of a signal. In the center console, there’s a collection of CDs—mostly rock from the seventies and eighties. I pull out The Who’s Quadrophenia album, slide it in, and crank up the volume.
“The girl I used to love
Lives in this yellow house.
Yesterday she passed me by,
She doesn't want to know me now.
Can you see the real me, can ya? Can ya?”
