Awakened

by C. Steven Manley

  “Look, guys, this really is just animal blood. I tripped and fell into a deer carcass when I was walking. I didn’t say anything because I knew how it would look.”

  “Well then,” Dan said. “You ain’t got nothing to worry about. We’ll take you down the road here to the local station and you can contact your friends from there. If that’s really just animal blood you’ll be out and gone by supper time.”

  “Look, can’t we just-” Israel started to say before Gerald interrupted him.

  “Holy shit, Dan. Look at this.” He rotated the screen to face the driver. Israel leaned over so that he could also see the screen. He quietly groaned when he saw that half of it was filled with his face.

  “Son of a bitch,” Dan said, looking back at Israel. “That’s him, all right”

  “Boy, I knew you were full of it. Says right here your name is Israel Trent and you are wanted by Homeland Security for suspicion of conspiracy against the government.”

  “What?” Israel half-shouted.

  “Goddamn terrorist,” Dan said. “We just picked up a god-damned terrorist.”

  “I am not a terrorist,” Israel said.

  “Shut up!” Gerald said. “Not another word out of your fucking terrorist mouth! I knew there was something off about you.”

  Israel started to argue, but could tell from the glare the older man was giving him that it would be pointless. He leaned back in his seat and took a few seconds to process the turn of events. Obviously the people looking for him had drummed this up and issued the warrant. They were federal law enforcement, so that would have been a breeze.

  He heard Dan on the radio telling someone they were bringing Israel in. It was most likely the local police station. If they passed that on then he knew he wouldn’t be finished getting fingerprinted before the Weird Shit Squad showed up to throw him back in a cage. Israel decided that was not going to happen.

  He’d been thinking about the cuffs already. His first inclination was to try and just snap them through main force, Superman style, but then he had realized that it was much easier to just dislocate his thumbs. It wouldn’t hurt and, as near as he could tell, wouldn’t impair his ability to use his hands once he reset them. So, he did this, as quietly and stealthily as he could. The cuffs slipped over his hands, but he kept them behind his back while he reset the joints. The entire process only took a few seconds and all he felt was the pop of the joints as they moved in and out of place.

  Dan and Gerald were busy talking about what a big arrest they’d just made. Israel took a moment to examine his options. A plan formed in his mind and he hoped against hope that he was as strong as he thought he was. Moving fast, he spun lengthwise in the seat, braced one hand on the door behind him, the other in the iron grate and kicked at the backseat door with both feet.

  The first kick badly warped the door and the Plexiglas pane that served as its window. Air whistled into the cabin as Gerald and Dan both shouted in surprise. Israel’s second kick flung the door open hard enough that the hinges cracked. Israel scrambled for the door and leaped onto the roadside. He hit hard and rolled, but felt no pain.

  The police car skidded to stop, leaving a long line of smoking rubber in its wake. By the time Gerald and Dan exited the car, Israel was out of sight and sprinting through the trees.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Israel ran like the wind. Trees and other foliage were a blur as he sprinted past them. If something got in his way, he either dodged around it like a professional running back or he simply jumped over it. At one point, certain he’d left the pudgy officers in the dust, he spotted a rocky out cropping that rose twenty feet into the air and jumped for the top of it, eager to test his limits. He was surprised when he not only cleared the lip but a good ten feet of real estate beyond it. The ground sloped upwards at that point but he managed to stick the landing.

  He knelt there for a moment, listening, inhaling unknown scents, and generally basking in the way the world around him was filtering through his senses. It was odd not being out of breath or feeling any kind of fatigue from the run. The hunger, though, started to creep over him like goose bumps under his skin.

  He knew he was pushing it, but if the word was out that he was a terrorist then he absolutely wanted no part of any law enforcement encounter. Best to push it a little and make a clean getaway. He hoped Dan and Gerald came up with a good story to explain what had happened to their car. Cops never let their own live anything down.

  Israel pointedly ignored the hunger and looked around. The great outdoors, he decided, was really overrated. He needed to get back to a city. He knew how to get by in a city. Bear Grylls could keep the outdoor survival crap.

  Still, Allison had been very clear about keeping away from populated areas. He didn’t really see how he had a choice, though. He had no phone, no Internet, no food except what was on the hoof, and no shelter. He wasn’t sure how much of that last one he actually needed anymore, but there were other comforts he wouldn’t mind having access to. Showers and ESPN came to mind.

  He started forward again at a steady walking pace. He wasn’t sure how fast he could run now, but he was sure the police were far behind him regardless. The hungry feeling that tickled at him was persistent, but he was equally so in ignoring it.

  He topped the rise and looked through the trees. The ground inclined a little more but then seemed to level off. He heard a strange sound from farther ahead- familiar, though he couldn’t place it. It was like a kind of hollow, static whirring and, as it grew a little louder, he recognized it as the sound of inflated rubber rolling over concrete. He saw the bicyclists blur past between the trees a hundred feet or so ahead. The riders were a man and woman, and her laughter followed them through the trees.

  Israel started forward again when he could no longer hear them. A couple of minutes walking and he set his foot on a concrete path. White lines separated it into walking and biking lanes. It was well maintained and a sign a few feet to his right identified it as the Rockdale River Trail. Israel smiled. State-maintained concrete paths through the forest was the kind of wilderness he was accustomed to.

  He knew if he followed the path it would eventually lead to a trail head. In a state park, that meant a parking lot, which meant cars, which meant roads, and roads led to cities. Israel decided he was done with the great outdoors. The question was which way to go. Either way would lead him out, he thought, but one could be hours while the other was minutes. He had no way of knowing if the cyclists were heading out for their ride or returning from one. Allison’s warnings played through his memory again and he turned the opposite direction from the cyclists.

  He walked for what felt like forever before the trail turned and started running parallel to a small country road. The trees were still thick, but Israel ignored the signs about staying on the path and cut through the foliage and found himself on worn asphalt once again. He knew it was a risk getting back on the road, especially if Dan and Gerald had called in the troops and they were searching for him, but staying on that trail would only lead to more trees.

  With a shrug he turned left and started down the road. He didn’t know if it was the same road he had been on when he had jumped out of the police cruiser, but he figured it didn’t matter. Hopefully he would see or hear anyone looking for him before they spotted him. So long as he didn’t get into another fight like the one from the night before, he figured he would be able to hide or get away without losing control.

  Had that just been last night? It seemed like days ago. Israel started replaying the last few days of his life in his mind and it ran like one of those crappy movies on the Syfy channel. He was lost in thought when he heard a car slowing behind him. He mentally cursed himself for letting his mind wander and turned slowly, ready to bolt for the trees if he even saw a hint of law enforcement.

  Instead, a battered yellow pick up truck rumbled to a stop next to him. It was a really old truck, the kind that was made of steel and didn’t have a single electronic
circuit under the hood. There was an elderly black man in the front seat. Next to him was a large German Shepherd that looked at Israel with a steady, assessing gaze. The dog let out a low growl when the old man finished lowering the window with the old-fashioned hand crank.

  “Hush, Heinrich,” the old man said. The dog grew quiet but didn’t take his eyes off Israel. The old man was gray haired and had a lined face around kind, moist eyes. “Howdy,” he said. “Gotta say, you look like you’ve seen a rough patch. Need a ride someplace?”

  Israel stepped up to the window. Heinrich growled again and earned himself another retort from his owner. When the dog was quiet again, Israel said, “Yes, sir, I could. I got lost hiking the trails. Could you tell me where I am?”

  “You in from the city?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The old man nodded. “Well, this here is Alexanders Lake Road. Don’t know how you managed it but you’re a pretty far piece from any of the other trail-heads.”

  “I’d appreciate any ride you could give me, sir. I don’t have any idea where my friend’s car is. I’m actually visiting from out of state. I’d offer to pay you but my wallet’s in my friend’s car.”

  “Uh-huh. Yeah, you don’t sound like you’re from the south. Tell ya what: I’m heading into Panthersville for an appointment. Damned knees bother me. I tell you, son, getting old ain’t for weaklings. Anyway, I can take you that far and you can find a phone, call your friends. It’s right on the way back to Atlanta, so they can stop and get you on their way back to the city.”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  “You’ll need to ride in back, though. Heinrich here is a touch overprotective.”

  “Not a problem at all.”

  The man nodded. “All right, hop in. There’s a tarp back there if the wind gets to you. My name’s Eli Green.”

  “I’m Gary,” Israel said, the name popping into his mind from nowhere. “Gary Johnson.”

  Israel had never actually ridden in the back of a pick up truck before. He found the experience to be actually enjoyable for the first few minutes, but then remembered the people who were looking for him. They had the pull to label him a terrorist and issue a warrant for his arrest. Did they have access to satellites? Maybe, he figured. The thought struck him as a little paranoid, but he lay down and pulled the canvas tarp up over his head anyway. Better safe than dissected, he decided.

  The ride was bumpy, but not uncomfortable. Israel wasn’t sure that would’ve been true a week ago, but his new body seemed impervious to discomfort. The tarp provided a welcomed shield from the sun’s glare, but he closed his eyes anyway. The road noise mixed with the vibrations that radiated through the truck’s steel frame into a cocktail of sensations that Israel was sure would have put him to sleep. Instead, he lay still and drew into himself, letting his mind wander without actually focusing. His brain jumped from image to image like he was channel surfing without really giving any one station a real chance. Before he knew it, the truck had stopped and he heard someone banging on the side of the vehicle.

  He threw back the tarp and was immediately assaulted by a cacophony of all the scents and sounds that came with a busy urban intersection. Traffic noise, tinny music coming from Chevron station speakers, gasoline and exhaust fumes, sunbaked asphalt; it all smelled like home. They were stopped at a gas station that shared a parking lot with an athletic shoes outlet. Israel dropped out of the bed of the truck and went around to the driver’s window to thank his benefactor. When he got there, Eli shoved a small wad of folded bills toward him.

  “Here, take this,” the old man said.

  “Mr. Green, you don’t have to-”

  “Hush up,” the old man said. “I was a young man once, too, and needed help from a stranger and he gave it without being asked. Now it’s my turn. Now, I don’t know what your trouble is and, frankly, don’t want to. I’m too old and too tired for any kind of trouble, but you’re a well-mannered fella and I get a good feeling from ya. So you let an old man pay his debt to the Good Lord and take this money. It ain’t much, just a hundred, but it’ll see you into the city.”

  Israel hesitated, then took the money. “Thank you, sir. I’ll look you up and pay you back.”

  Eli waved the promise off. “Son, I make it a practice to never lend money. I give it. If it makes its way back to me, that’s fine. If it doesn’t, also fine. Now, look yonder.” He pointed to the side of the Chevron station. “See that sign, says MARTA? That’s the bus station. If you can’t reach your friends, you take the 186 line and it’ll drop you downtown near the capital. You should be able to get a cab to anywhere you need to go from there or another bus. Your choice. Good luck to you, Gary. Or whatever your real name is.”

  Before Israel could reply, the truck was pulling back into the busy intersection. Israel watched it go and then turned toward the gas station. He went inside and asked the attendant how often the bus ran. As it turned out, he had about fifteen minutes to kill. He spent a little of the money Eli had given him on a thin, red, sports hoodie with a Georgia Bulldogs logo on it, a pair of black plastic wayfarer sunglasses, and a large bag of beef jerky. That took nearly half the money he had, but he was glad for it.

  Israel went around to the side of the building and leaned against the wall by the bus stop. The glasses did a good job of keeping the glare out of his eyes. He wore the hood up and hoped that the combination of that and the glasses would keep his face hidden. He didn’t know if Atlanta used closed circuit television for law enforcement like some cities, but he figured if they did then the people who’d branded him a terrorist would certainly have access to it. As he tore open the plastic bag and started eating the jerky, he decided that he’d like to have a conversation with the person who had made that decision.

  He finished the bag of jerky and dropped the bag into a trash can. The hunger that had been prickling under his skin eased, but he could still feel it there, like a waiting invader. He didn’t have long to ignore it before the bus arrived, rolling in with a rumble and a cloud of diesel fumes. Israel boarded alone and dropped the two-dollar fare into the box by the driver. He found a seat near the side exit and settled in.

  The 186 rolled into the intersection and before long was lumbering down Decatur Street toward downtown. Israel sat with his head bowed and hidden. He hoped it looked like he was napping. Actually, he was busy planning his next move. He couldn’t just ride the bus indefinitely so he decided to get off at the first stop that looked like it would provided him with lots of buildings and maybe a rougher neighborhood to get lost in. When they finally crossed over Interstate 85 and stopped at Pratt Street to take on passengers, he stepped off and looked around.

  The interstate traffic roared by beneath the overpass bridge. The bus stop was at the top of the interstate exit near Grady Memorial Hospital. Parking structures dominated both sides of Decatur Street and tall buildings extended down the block as far as he could see. He glanced around quickly, spotted a camera on a pole at the intersection, then put his head down again. So, Atlanta did have cameras. Super.

  Israel started walking toward the deeper city. He did his best to walk normally even though he felt like running again. Cars rolled by on Decatur Street, but none slowed or seemed to notice him in any way. The magic of urban invisibility, he thought, walking totally alone in a crowd of millions. In truth, though, he wished there were more people on the street. Atlanta was more spread out than Chicago, so the sidewalks didn’t stay as crowded.

  He came up on the intersection of Jesse Hill Jr. Drive and turned left. The crowd thinned even more, so he picked up his pace a little. He had no real idea where he was going, but the way ahead looked like it was still part of the medical complex. Israel considered hiding out in the maze of hospital facilities, but dismissed the idea almost immediately. Urban medical centers usually had a lot of security, and that was something he didn’t want.

  Jesse Hill ended at an intersection about a block ahead. To the left was another bridge ove
r the interstate, while to the right was more of the medical complex. He was coming to the intersection when he heard the squeal of tires behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a dark SUV stop suddenly at the exit to one of the parking structures. Traffic was blocking the vehicle’s path. It was edging its way into traffic when strobe lights suddenly flashed from the dashboard.

  Israel started running.

  He heard a burst of siren and the screech of tires behind him. Fast as he could, Israel came to the intersection and veered left. The bridge over the interstate was in front of him and he sped across it. The chain-link safety fence was a gray blur as he ran past it. He was almost to the other side when he saw another vehicle turn and skid onto the road ahead, strobes flashing from its dash as well.

  Israel kept running, but angled to the left again. There was a small copse of trees that bordered a business complex of some kind. White buildings surrounded an old, matching industrial brick smokestack. Someone had built a digital billboard onto the side of the massive cylinder and the word ‘Corey’ blinked in golden script. He entered the trees and easily vaulted the fence that they hid.

  He landed in an empty parking lot. He wasn’t sure what day it was, but this place was closed for business by the looks of it, and a small part of him was grateful for that- the last thing he needed was to show up in a YouTube video. He started running for the far side of the lot but stopped short when the SUV that had shown up in his path screeched into view and cut him off.

  Israel turned and started to back track, but was cut off by the first SUV. He stood, panic rising in his chest, as three men piled out of each vehicle. They pointed blocky tasers at him and started moving forward slowly.

  “Israel Trent, Federal Agents! Lie face down with your hands behind your head! Do it now!” one of them shouted.

  Israel was looking for the best direction to run when he saw a large man with a tattoo covering one side of his face jump from the roof of the three-story office building and land with a crash on the first SUV. The vehicle’s roof caved in and safety glass splintered into a crystal web with the impact. Seemingly unphased, the tattooed man jumped again and landed easily behind the surprised agents.