by Mic Shannon
“Well, this is it,” she leveled, “I need you to sprint to that tower in the distance and attach a transmitter to the base of it.”
“What?!” said Cynthia, scrunching her face, “I can’t do that!”
“Yes, you can,” she replied, “You have to.”
“Ok, wait,” said Cynthia, backtracking, “you guys, like, really need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Our own government is keeping us captive, not safe,” said Deke, cutting in, “Criminals prey on the innocent at night. They’ve killed at least six women, and there has not been a single investigation. We need to get this information out to the public so that this murderer can be caught.”
“Okay,” said Cynthia, thinking, “so how are we going to do that?”
“There’s only one communications tower still active within a seventy-mile radius…” said Deke, pointing, “that one right there overlooking the Medical center.”
Deke reached into his pocket and retrieved a small PDA device, clicking two buttons and sending a message to Natalie and Cynthia’s wristphones, which vibrated as they notified them of the incoming message.
“I can send mass messages with my device, but only within about a five-foot radius. Any further, and I would need something to amplify it. An antenna. Just like the one at the top of that tower.”
“And why can’t one of you run over there?” inquired Cynthia with a slight attitude.
“Pshh, you kidding?” scoffed Natalie, “I can’t make it there and back quick enough. I’d have to stop to catch my breath halfway.”
“And you?” asked Cynthia, looking at the sweaty man in glasses.
Deke lifted the pant leg on his trousers to reveal a prosthetic leg.
“I can disable the spotlight in the tower for about forty-five seconds,” said Deke, “Just enough time for you to sprint over there, attach the device, and sprint back.”
“So, you need me to run?” Cynthia asked.
“Yes.”
She took a deep breath, digesting all the information. She looked at both of their faces, anxious for her reply. They seemed genuine. She wasn’t exactly opposed to it; if they were right, that information needed to be leaked. She was scared to death, her mind racing with all the possible things that could go wrong.
“Ok,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I’ll do it.”
“Groovy!” said Deke, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small black box about the size of a quarter from his coat pocket, “Here, take this, it’s a relay. All you have to do is toss this underneath the tower.”
“Thank you. Thank you…” said Natalie, grabbing Cynthia by her cheeks and kissing her on her forehead, “For Truth, Honor, and Virtue.”
“Right,” echoed Deke, handing her the sensor, “now let’s get ready.”
Cynthia held the small sensor in her palm and prepared herself, nervously inching forward and putting her hands on the ground, getting into position as if she was on the starting block. The stakes were high, and she tried her best not to think about what they would do to her if she was caught. Deke continued tapping away on his device, inching up next to her.
“Okay,” he said, “are you ready?”
Cynthia tried to respond, but felt a large lump in her throat. She tried to swallow, her heart beating in her chest. She looked over at him, nervously, and nodded.
“Ok, get ready,” said Deke tapping on his device. He placed the device back in his pocket and prepared to touch a button on his wristphone.
Cynthia grinded her back foot into the grass.
“GO!” said Deke, pressing the button on his wristphone.
The spotlight shut off as Cynthia darted forward, sprinting with everything she had. She crossed the grass and caught traction on the road, speeding up as she dashed into the open field leading to the Medical center. She did her best to control her breathing, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth like her track coach had taught her. Approaching the tall tower, she looked up toward the balcony at the top, observing two young officers inspecting the spotlight. She looked to her right at the Medical center, it’s windows bright with light from the nurses and doctors working inside.
When she finally reached the base of the tower, she ducked underneath the large metal beams and quickly tossed the transmitter into the dirt underneath. As she turned around to begin her run back she stopped, then ran back over to the transmitter, dropping to her knees as she frantically threw dirt on top of it.
“Come on, come on,” she said, placing grass and leaves on top of it until she was convinced it was truly concealed.
She stood up and began sprinting back, her lungs struggling to fully open until she was halfway to the road. Looking back, she could barely make out the two men, banging on the light in frustration. She crossed the road and ran back over to Natalie and Deke, dropping onto her stomach and turning around to look in the same direction.
“Good job,” said Natalie, “I’m proud of you.”
“Yeah, same,” said Deke, “that was good work. Now we can start to expose the corruption.”
The spotlight snapped back on in the distance, all three of them looking over toward it. Cynthia lay there, breathing heavily.
“Now,” said Natalie, inching toward Cynthia and looking directly into her eyes, “this is our little secret, okay? This never happened.”
Cynthia nodded, looking away. She cracked a smile. It might’ve been dangerous, but if nothing else, it was fun.
--- 4:01 am ---
Unknown Location
Nykira Oliver couldn’t decide if the military had been in Texas for too long or not long enough. There was an unknown enemy just south of her beloved country, inside of a mysterious mist that engulfed and consumed everyone that entered it; and the mist was moving north. She had continued sending recon units at the request of the National Security Advisor General Adams, but so far, they had lost SEAL Teams two, four, and eight, along with the Marine Corps’ entire First and Second Recon Battalion. Even worse, within the mist was a complete communications dead zone. What then, she pondered, was there left to do? Send the entirety of her force into the unknown or sit and wait for it to consume them all?
She swirled the ice in her glass and took a swig, dropping her arm and sinking into her Victorian lounge chair positioned in the corner of her room. The Persian rug in the middle of the floor was just a blur as she stared without moving; her mind desperately contemplating what to do. She sure as hell didn’t want to spend her days inside of an underground bunker with some dangerous mist miles above her head. As much as she loved her husband, she would love to see the beautiful sky even more.
He was quietly asleep in the bed. She had tried not to wake him when she got up and moved to the chair to concentrate. Scratching her head through her scarf she sat up, adjusting herself to daze off into another thoughtful gaze.
CIA Director Horn had briefed her the day before on bombing options. One of those options stemmed from a war game that had been simulated just a few years before where they equipped the in-Laws rocket system with a non-nuclear option. It was just as deadly, but did not annihilate the land mass or pollute the environment. General Adams was strongly opposed. He truly believed that his people were still out there, and that dropping bombs on their heads to try and save the rest of us was something he could never approve. But, although Horn thought as an intelligence asset, a man who balanced the numbers and felt project completion and success reign supreme over collateral damage, he had a point; the toll for military missing in action had reached a staggering two thousand without any explanation as the dangerous cloud crept toward their border threatening another two hundred million more. Nonetheless, the clock was ticking, and it was time to make a decision.
Amassed at the border were over one hundred-thousand standing military, all ready to die protecting their great country. Within less than a week, they predicted, the mist would be crossing over into Corpus Christi and would have already consumed the Bahamas and Miami. Al
most all of Brazil and northern Argentina were already engulfed, and they had heard nothing from Cuba.
She grumbled to herself, thinking about what she should decide. She was sweating now, and she took the last sip from her glass and inhaled deeply. When she exhaled, she brought her wrist to her face and tapped the side button.
“Conference call; Team,” she commanded.
She heard three beeps in succession as each caller joined. They each checked in one at a time, stating their name for the call.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” commanded Nykira, speaking to the three of them through the wristphone’s speaker, “John, you’ve got your wish. Send in Ground Force One, get your people out. You have forty-eight hours. Return any bodies you find.”
“The entire ground force, ma’am?” asked General Adams through a tired, raspy voice.
“Yes, General. The entire force. Search and destroy. Kill anything that isn’t human.”
“You got it, ma’am.”
“Jimmy,” she said sharply, addressing the CIA Director, “we’re going to go with Option Delta. You have two days to find me high priority targets. I don’t care how you do it. We are not going to drop these bombs blindly.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Patricia,” she barked, addressing her Senior Advisor, “Please tell me you’ve been in contact with the Chinese...”
“Our network with them is still down,” she said dryly, “we’re still not sure if our diplomats in the area are safe.”
“Damn. What about the Russians?”
“Well we can’t trust anything they say,” she replied, “but even if we could, they’ve been offline since Tuesday.”
She sighed, “Keep trying to contact them. We need to find out if they have any more information about this enemy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay,” barked the President, “let’s get moving.”
PART III
SAT, JULY 8th, 2034
El Paso, Tx, USA
11:11 am
T he men grew bored of waiting, living out of large green military tents on the southern border. The day was much hotter than usual, everyone lingering outside to avoid the sweatbox inside of the tents during the day. It was boring, except when they practiced the same repetitive fire and maneuver drills that they did in boot camp. Other than that, they either relaxed or one of the corporals or sergeants grabbed them for a working party to fill sandbags or burn waste. It sucked. They were at the bottom of the totem pole, and they knew it.
“So, what have you heard?” asked Michael as he approached Tee, who had positioned himself in the shade outside of their tent.
“Everything under the sun,” he replied sarcastically, biting his nails and spitting them out, “everybody telling me what they think is gonna happen. Truthfully, I just get the thinking sometimes, like man, you don’t know nothing because they told me just as much as they told you.”
Michael laughed and sat down, pulling candy from his pocket and holding his hand out to offer. Tee waved it away respectfully.
“Nah but, for real, I did hear that we’re about to stay here and chill by the border though.”
“Man, shut up,” said Michael, smacking him on the arm with the back of his hand, “It doesn’t matter, we gotta fight at some point, right?”
“Long as you got my back I got yours.”
“Always,” he replied, both boys bumping their fists.
“Is this all we do is wait?” said Tee, leaning back into the grass and crossing his legs. Michael didn’t reply. He stared up at the sky, wondering what Cynthia was doing. He figured maybe she was with Manny, both of them laughing and joking together. He missed them. He missed their time together at the college. He reached into his cargo pocket and grabbed the corsage, rubbing it with his thumb.
“You thinking about her, huh?” asked Tee.
“Just wondering what she’s doing right now,” Michael replied.
“Heh,” scoffed Tee, “knowing her, she’s probably running.”
--- 12:38 pm ---
700 mi Northeast of Alexandria, near Chicago
Cynthia paced herself well as she took her daily jog, circling the square for the fifth time dressed in her sweatpants and a hoodie. When she finished, she stood by the SWA hut, drinking a bottle of water and thinking about the night before. Deke seemed like he knew what he was doing, and if the stories were true, she was glad to have helped in some way.
Just then, her wristphone began to vibrate in a familiar pattern that she had not felt in over a month. On the screen, a new notification popped up. She had a video message from an unknown sender. She looked up toward the square, several people outside congregating, observing the quiet uproar of whispers as everyone looked at their wristphones, shocked to see a new incoming message.
Pressing the side button on her wristphone, she opened the video message. She immediately recognized the muffled voice as the short video played the words on the screen:
“Greetings. As some of you know, there has been a grisly murder at the compound. What you do not know, is that it was not the first. Here are the names of the victims:
Isabella Ramirez
Sophia Villegas
Camila Rojas
Maria Garcia
Lisa Fernandez
Talia Velez
All the victims are Hispanic females between the ages of sixteen and eighteen. They were beaten, raped, and strangled to death. A serial killer is on the loose, and there has not been a single investigation. This was allowed by our government.
-The Mad Hatter”
Cynthia’s heart began to pound as she brought her hand up to cover her mouth. She had heard of The Mad Hatter before. The hacker had made the news on several occasions and just last year was added to the FBI’s Most Wanted List. No one was sure if it was a he, a she, or an organization, but the Hatter had managed to post more content to leak sites and expose more political scandal than any news organization had done in thirty years. She specifically remembered a news story that chronicled how the unknown hacker had exploited the Internet of Things to avoid capture, hiding data and software on the hard drives of washing machines, cars, and refrigerators. ‘A truly talented, yet malicious individual’ is what the news anchor had said. But, if her suspicions were correct, she just had an epiphany.
Cynthia’s eyes got large as she mumbled to herself, “Oh my God.”
She stood by the SWA hut doors, listening as the commotion inside began to grow. Almost as if on cue, like bees everyone from every SWA hut began to emerge and congregate in the square. Within a few short minutes, the square was buzzing with activity. Dozens of conversations, but only one topic amongst them.
“I was wondering what happened to that girl,” said a man from the crowd in front of her, “This is insane!”
“Where are their bodies?!” bellowed another woman in the distance, “No one should be treated like this!”
Cynthia rushed into the SWA hut, searching for Natalie, her face flush with fear over what they’d done. They would surely be caught, seeing as though it would soon be realized that The Mad Hatter is living at the facility.
“Natalie, where are you?!” said Cynthia to herself, rushing back to the door. She stopped for a moment, then pulled her hood up over her head before heading back outside. She scanned the busy square, now rich with chatter. Though a few disputed the validity of the claims, most felt The Mad Hatter a reputable source with more truth in their discoveries than the average news network.
As her eyes darted back and forth through the crowd, she finally saw Natalie. She was standing next to the boys, over by their SWA hut, tending to them. Cynthia hastily pushed through the crowd, making her way over to her, almost completely ignoring Manny and the other boys.
“Natalie, can I talk to you for a second?” said Cynthia immediately, her hands shoved into her pockets and her hood covering all but a few tangled strands of hair.
Natalie turned around calmly, “Hey C
ynthia, is everything okay?”
“I need to talk to you…now,” she insisted.
They took a few steps away from the boys. Natalie looked back at them and smiled. When they were out of earshot, Natalie spoke first.
“Take your hood off, you look suspicious,” she said calmly.
Cynthia snatched the hood from her head, “Is it true?!”
“Is what true?” asked Natalie, staring straight ahead casually.
“That guy Deke, is he ‘The—”
“Cynthia,” Natalie interrupted emphatically, turning her body to stare into her eyes, “our little secret, remember?”
Cynthia looked away, looking through the crowd in hopes to see Deke. Her heart was still beating fast, her mind racing with thoughts of being arrested.
“Did you request the meeting with Christie McDonald to talk about the schools?” asked Natalie, staring ahead.
“Yeah,” replied Cynthia, “but what does that have to do with anything?”
“When you go talk to her, you tell her the truth.”
Cynthia stared at her, face strewn with confusion.
“I’m scared, Nat,” she whispered, “I don’t wanna get in trouble over this...”
“You won’t,” replied Nat, “but if you did, would it be worth it?”
Brushing her hand through her long black hair, Cynthia stared at the ground in thought. She felt for those girls. She felt for every other young girl in the facility whose life is in danger. How many more victims would the serial killer claim before they get caught? The question, she figured, was simple; would you spend time in prison to save lives?
“Yeah, I think so,” said Cynthia, looking up into Natalie’s eyes, “I really do.”
--- 3:17 pm ---
Somewhere in Central Mexico
“We have to stop,” said James through tired, malnourished lips as the duo flew up the highway at top speed.
“Let’s push just a little further, we’ll find a recharge station.”
