Project- Heritage

by Rob Horner

  “How is that…I mean, I was—” He lowered his head, unable to comprehend.

  Like this, Sherry said in his mind, delighted she could once again converse with him like this. She would never forget the paralyzing fear when she found only emptiness.

  You did that? he asked, incredulous, while Sherry led him through the dizzying process of his healing.

  Suddenly, having no respect for the mental connection between them, Travis’s stomach rumbled loudly, audible both within the car and inside their minds.

  “Jesus! Somebody let a bear escape!” Sherry erupted, withdrawing from the mental picture show and laughing aloud.

  “Guess that healing took a lot out of me,” Travis conceded, laughing with Sherry, thinking he’d never heard a sound more beautiful than her full-throated laughter.

  “Why thank you, dear heart,” she replied to his thoughts.

  “No,” he replied, his voice somber as his laughter faded, his green eyes dark in the shade of the car’s interior, “thank you, for saving my life.”

  “It was all I could think to do,” she said, matching his serious tone, “since you’re the one who brought meaning to mine.”

  Travis could think of no response to those words. Well, there was one. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Travis.”

  They sat for several moments more, looking into each other’s eyes.

  Then Sherry’s stomach rumbled, bringing forth more laughter.

  “I guess we’d better go and fill the voids within us,” Travis said.

  “Yes, let’s do.” Sherry reached for the seatbelt.

  “No, wait!” Travis said suddenly. “I need to clean this gunk off of me, or else I’m not going to be fit to be seen in public.”

  “Good point, but I don’t want to leave you alone out here again. God knows what kind of trouble you might get into.”

  “I solemnly swear not to get shot by another federal agent while you run in and get some of those moist towel-things.”

  “You sure?” Sherry asked.

  “Yeah, I think I’m going to be just fine, now.”

  “All right, but don’t you even think about passing out again.”

  “Promise,” he said.

  2

  It was twelve-twenty by the time Sherry returned from the pharmacy with ibuprofen, two pint-sized cartons of orange juice, and a box of moistened diaper wipes.

  “You want me to smell like a baby?” Travis asked.

  “You’re my baby.”

  “Okay. But a baby’s butt?”

  “Can’t think of anything cuter.”

  “All right, then. Just you wait.”

  Sherry started the car, intent on finding a restaurant where they could eat, and quickly. Travis impressed upon her the necessity of getting to Illinois as soon as possible, before the agents could re-capture her mother. Sherry agreed, though she hated the feeling that things were again slipping out of her grasp. After such a close call, she desperately needed to feel in control.

  I can relate, Travis informed her silently. He was the ultimate confidante, the one person who would always understand and would never desert her. Sherry relished the blessing of their connection, thankful for it, no matter how it had been accomplished. Whatever was done to them, she had to believe that it had not been intended they would find each other and fall in love. She also realized, watching as Travis started twisting in his seat, reaching for the bag that held their new clothes, that she’d welcome his love even if it was all orchestrated. Why look a gift horse in the mouth, right?

  She pulled out onto Holland Road, following Travis’s directions to Virginia Beach Boulevard, where she made a left, heading towards Norfolk. Almost immediately she changed to the right-hand lane, noticing an Arby’s sign only a few blocks ahead.

  “Skip it,” Travis told her. “I’m not ready yet.”

  Sighing, her hunger growing more demanding, she did as he asked, pulling back into the flow of traffic and continuing west.

  “What are you doing?” she asked a moment later, as Travis’s motions caught her attention.

  Using the diaper wipes, Travis had succeeded in removing the blood from his chest and shoulder, often contorting himself painfully—and comically—as he contrived to clean his back. Now he was slowly, teasingly, unbuttoning his jeans, pulling them to his ankles in order to clean the blood which had pooled at his waist.

  “Just cleaning,” he replied innocently, watching as her eyes lingered on the only piece of clothing he retained.

  Sherry said nothing, trying to concentrate on her driving as Travis continued to clean. True to the advertisement on the side of the container, the entire car began to smell like a freshly washed and powdered baby’s bottom. Sherry smiled as she listened to his thoughts of complaint. Pulling off his shoes, he slid the blood-stained jeans all the way to the floor. Reaching for one of the clean shirts he had unwrapped, he pulled it over his head, vainly trying to straighten his hair with rude pulls of his fingers.

  “Aw, no more?” Sherry asked, seeing him re-dressing.

  “Who said I was finished?” he asked mischievously, sitting forward slightly so that the shirt would fall as far as possible. With that meager cover, he proceeded to remove his underwear.

  “Travis!” Sherry shouted, shocked at his nerve, almost losing control of the car at his blatant exhibitionism.

  Flashing her a teasing smile, he used another handful of the wipes in a manner suggestive of anything but cleanliness, bringing a flush to Sherry’s cheeks and a sudden warmth throughout her body, despite that the wipes came away tinged with red.

  Finally satisfied that he’d removed as much of the blood as possible, Travis remarked, “I could stay like this for a while, you know. Let myself air dry.”

  “You do,” Sherry replied, “and I’ll park the car in a Drive-Thru, so everyone can see.”

  He turned a shocked expression on her. “You wouldn’t!”

  “Try me.”

  “But…don’t you wanna see?” He lifted his shirt marginally.

  Sherry averted her eyes, telling herself she needed to concentrate, and the last thing they needed was to get into a car accident. Especially with his pants off—though she giggled at the thought of the questions he’d have to answer.

  “Oh, all right,” he said morosely, though his eyes betrayed his amusement. “I get the picture.”

  Sherry still couldn’t help casting frequent glances at him as he retrieved clean underwear, socks, and jeans, and finished dressing himself.

  Damn, he was beautiful.

  3

  Lunch consisted of hamburgers, spiced fries, and cokes, served by a pimply-faced young man at the Rally’s on the corner of Independence Boulevard and Pleasure House Road. Both Travis and Sherry ate quickly, understanding that time was running short and determined not to let it get away from them. Sherry believed they could still take the upper hand by getting to Illinois quickly, and Travis agreed. Neither spoke about what Illinois might show them; they understood there would be answers which might change their lives. Though they feared those answers and the changes that would follow, they were anxious to greet them head on.

  After eating they made a quick trip into a K-mart on Norview Avenue, just a few blocks from the airport. They purchased simple luggage for their meager belongings, as well as a few badly needed toiletries. A simple shoulder bag would do as their carry-on, holding most of their funds.

  Travis disliked the thought of leaving his Focus in a long-term parking lot, even if its exterior had been marred by a bullet. He sighed before hugging as much of the driver’s side as he could. Sherry giggled through his theatrics, but she understood. It was the first major purchase he’d ever made on his own and it held a special meaning for him.

  Travis felt better, physically, as he and Sherry entered the airport. The lunch had revived him somewhat, as had one of the pints of orange juice, which he downed before leaving the car. A handful of ibuprofen were also at work, ea
sing the throbbing in his shoulder to a minor ache that, he felt, wouldn’t interfere with any movements he might need to make.

  By one-thirty they had their tickets, which turned out to be surprisingly easy. Holding hands the entire time, both Sherry and Travis scanned the counter clerk. The woman had no knowledge of them; as far as they could tell, there was no alert indicating they were wanted by the federal authorities. By two-fifteen, they were seated on a flight to O’Hare International Airport. Though the waiting area was crowded, there were quite a few empty seats on the plane.

  They communicated silently while the flight attendants went over the safety rules, instructing them on the proper manner with which to secure their seatbelts. Travis found this incredibly funny and began to relate a comedy routine he’d seen by George Carlin. Yet even the forced humor couldn’t hide their fears and uncertainties. What would happen to them?

  They were tense, ready to run, anticipating violence before they’d left the ground.

  One of the most disturbing moments came as Travis started thinking about acquiring a weapon once they landed in Chicago. If he felt it might be necessary, then she agreed, though she’d never even fired a pellet gun before.

  The plane left Norfolk at two-twenty-five, Eastern Time. The captain politely informed the passengers that their flying time would be one hour and fifteen minutes which, due to the time change, would make it two-forty when they landed in Chicago. Would they please turn their watches back an hour now so they wouldn’t forget later?

  Sherry occupied a window seat, with Travis beside her on the aisle. As best they could, they watched as their home turf slipped out of sight below them.

  Sherry was certain she’d never see Virginia again.

  4

  Lieutenant Barnes landed in Chicago at twelve-thirty Central and wasted no time grabbing his single checked bag and moving through the crowds of people. He followed the signs, walking along the speeding concourse treadmills, until he reached the area with the rental car companies: Enterprise, Hertz, Budget, Avis, as well as a couple of lesser known entities. He had no idea how he would get into this complex described in the folder, this research facility, but he knew he needed a vehicle to get there. When in doubt about your ultimate destination, take it one logical step at a time. Those words of advice from his father had served him well over the years.

  “Lieutenant Barnes?” a pretty woman said, stopping in front of him.

  “I…” he stammered. Pretty? No, she was beautiful. As tall as him with eyes so perfectly dark they appeared bottomless. She had skin the shade of light milk chocolate, flawless even in the glare from the overhead fluorescent lighting. Her hair was so black it appeared purple as it cascaded down her back. Her eyelashes were the same shade and long enough to dust her high cheekbones when she blinked. It took a second for Barnes to register that another person, a tall, white man, easily six-three but just as beautiful in his skin as the woman, had stepped up beside her.

  “Do I know you?” he asked of the pair?

  In response, the white man put his left arm around the woman’s waist and pulled her close, though not so aggressively as to indicate possession. As if anyone could ever possess this woman! Acting in concert, the woman reached out with her left hand and the man reached with his right. Their hands met in the center of Lieutenant Barnes’ chest.

  Lieutenant Barnes landed in Chicago at twelve-fifty Central Time, and wasted no time moving through the crowds of people. He followed the signs, walking along the speeding concourse treadmills, until he reached the area with the rental car companies: Enterprise, Hertz, Budget, Avis, as well as a couple of lesser known entities. He had no idea how he would get into this complex described in the folder, this research facility, but he knew there would be those who wanted to help. He would need a vehicle to get there and…

  And…wasn’t there something else?

  Lieutenant Barnes paused, looking around. An older couple shouldered past him, muttering Excuse Me’s that sounded like a curse. Someone had been there, talking to him.

  But that made no sense.

  No one had spoken to him.

  Moving forward before he could be jostled again, he approached the Hertz counter. As he took his place in line behind a gray-bearded hipster who didn’t seem to understand that the only 60s he now lived in were his own, Robert realized he felt better than he had in a very long time. He knew, somehow he knew, that he needed to find William Dougherty, a programmer, and that he would be waiting for him in the parking lot of the Visitor’s Center outside the training command. He also felt at ease in his mind about what he needed to accomplish. Gone were the worries about assuming control of the operation; for now, his primary goal was to keep Travis and Sherry free at all costs.

  They were coming, maybe an hour behind him but still an hour ahead of Agent Travers.

  He also knew he would need to kill Agent Buck Travers if possible.

  What would happen after those two objectives were met, he didn’t know, but he felt sure that the answer would come to him.

  Sometimes, you just know.

  5

  By two p.m., Central Time, Debbie, Brian, Billy, and Victoria were sitting in Billy’s van, once again parked in the Visitor’s Center near the front gates of RTC Great Lakes. Rather than parking close to the building, Billy had backed into a spot as far from the road as possible, and the four of them anxiously watched the comings and goings at the gate. Their conversation, when it took place, was strained. They watched the in-dash clock, watched the cars, trucks, and taxis approach the gates, watched anything and everything, except each other. No one had to tell them Sherry and Jimmy/Travis would be coming here. No one had to tell them they would be needed.

  They knew all of that and were waiting to snag the children who had been taken away once. None of the four had any desire to stage another rescue. The ever-eager Ian had pulled gate duty and knew who to look for, though it was doubtful either Sherry or Jimmy would know to take the small right lane after the visitor center which led to the facility, rather than staying to the left to approach the main gate of the naval base. Billy had hacked into the cameras outside the main gate, a short fifty feet beyond the visitor’s center, and was looking into every vehicle that approached. Brian and Victoria looked over his shoulder.

  Sometimes, things work out the way people want them to.

  But not often.

  Sunday

  Afternoon

  Chapter 26

  Reunions

  1

  Shortly before two in the afternoon, Central Time, Lieutenant Barnes finally drove the rental Honda Civic out of the Hertz lot, heading for Interstate 294 North. Despite the quickness of air travel, there were times when Robert wondered if it was worth the time it saved. Sighing, he tried to let his frustration melt away. He was moving now, that was the important thing.

  It didn’t matter that it had taken almost forty-five minutes for the Hertz clerk to check in the hipster ahead of him in line. It wasn’t her fault that he had no driver’s license, nor was it her fault that he then chose to climb up onto her desk and begin expounding upon the tyranny of a bureaucracy that requires its member-citizens to carry identification. He knew who he was. He didn’t need a plastic card with his face imprinted upon it and she should accept his word that he not only knew who he was, but that he was educated in driving a vehicle.

  It would have been funny if he wasn’t in a such a hurry. Robert could keenly feel the press of time; he had an appointment to keep, though he didn’t remember making it.

  I-294N was a press of traffic, cars merging and exiting from the right, people shifting wildly from the right lane to the middle to the left, trying to forge a car-length ahead, thinking they might, somehow, get to their destinations a few seconds faster. Robert never drove that way. Oh sure, he’d open it up and drive five or six miles above the speed limit once the way was clear. But in traffic like this, in a city like Chicago, it was better just to stay to the middle and maintain s
peed.

  How did he know he had an appointment to keep?

  Why? Because he did.

  But that didn’t make sense.

  If he had an appointment, he should remember making it. Or at least confirming it. He lived his life by being where he needed to be when he needed to be there.

  The appointment was with William Dougherty, who went by Billy, and who was married to Debbie.

  Merging from I-294N to I-94W, Robert tore through his memory, trying to remember where he’d seen those names. A glance down to his right at the passenger seat and the carry-on bag sitting there, made him think of the folder Captain Ortega gave him. At the very end, past all the reports and appendices, was a list of names and addresses, places where Victoria Galer might be found and the people who would be able to help, according to the captain. One of those names was William Dougherty, a computer programmer, with ties to the project and to a woman named Debbie Emerson. Reaching into the bag with his right hand while keeping the Honda in the center lane, Barnes pulled the folder into his lap.

  Debbie Emerson, that name was familiar for another reason. Glancing up for an instant to check the flow of traffic, he began pulling reports out of the folder. Debbie Emerson was one of the authors of the theoretical report. She’d been on the team of geneticists brought in at the beginning but was now one of the few people he could approach to find Victoria Galer.

  Interesting.

  And strange. The address given for William and Debbie was in Chicago, but even as he passed the last major exit for the Windy City, he felt certain in his choice of direction. Easing off I-94 and onto Route 137, Buckley Road, the lieutenant turned east, now on a direct route to the naval recruit training base.

  He frowned at the assurance he felt in his destination. It wasn’t at all in his nature to work off intuition; hard facts and logical conclusions, not inductive assumptions, were how he treated every decision. Besides, inductive reasoning required specific core facts from which to generalize. What facts did he have that informed this decision to drive to the base?