Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  When the vehicle stabilized, Zach leaned forward from the back seat and dropped cell phones, one after the other, into Trey’s lap as he dug each from pockets.

  Dylan turned from the streets with wide eyes, apparently recognizing the oversized government agent smartphones. “Get rid of those.”

  Trey picked one up and studied the shell for battery access. “They may have evidence we don’t want in the wrong hands. I’ll just take out the batteries.”

  Dylan snatched the phone before Trey could resist. Steering with his elbows, he gripped the phone in both hands and twisted it violently. Shards of glass snapped and flew in all directions. He quickly rolled down his window and tossed the mangled device into the street.

  He held out his right hand, waiting for the other agent’s phone. Trey handed it over, reminding himself never to tick the guy off.

  As Dylan made minced-meat of the device, Trey opened Sheriff Smead’s antiquated flip phone. Before the crushing machine could snag it away, Trey punched in Livy’s phone number.

  Two ringtones later, she answered. “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Where are you?”

  “Oh my gosh,” she squealed. “We’re still at the mall waiting. Where are you?”

  “On our way. We got held up. Be ready outside the west end.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she said. “We’ll be there.”

  “And one other thing. We’ll be in Dylan’s car . . . with Dylan . . . and Pearl.”

  “What? What’s going on?”

  “Just be waiting. I’ll tell you everything in a few minutes.”

  Dylan opened his palm, signaling for the phone.

  “Gotta go,” Trey said, cutting the call short. He looked at Dylan’s waiting hand and shook his head. “I got this.”

  Trey snapped the phone in half at the hinge and cranked down the window. He pitched the phone with a snarl. “Screw you, Sheriff Smead.”

  Zach gripped Trey’s shoulder. “Hey, don’t be too hard on him. Smead believed you, Trey.”

  Trey grunted. “Calling the feds was a stupid way of showing it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Zach. “He didn’t believe you at first. But while you were in interrogation he was beating himself up over calling them.”

  “Good,” said Trey. “I hope it haunts him.”

  Another red light flew past overhead.

  Zach shook Trey’s shoulder. “No, listen. When Deputy Boley showed up at my cell, Smead knew right away it wasn’t really his deputy. He had his gun on Dylan before I’d even caught on. I was like, holy crap, what’s going on here.”

  Dylan turned to Zach defensively. “I could have taken him, gun or not.”

  “Yeah, well it didn’t matter. When Dylan flashed me a glimpse of himself with Pearl strapped to his chest, I told the sheriff who Dylan was and convinced him to help us.”

  Dylan swerved through slower traffic. “But hearing you yell from the interrogation room was the clincher.”

  “For sure,” said Zach. “It was my idea to lock Smead in the cell. I knew he’d be in hot water if the feds knew he helped us.”

  Trey felt a hint of sympathy for the sheriff. “Well, he should’ve listened sooner.”

  * * *

  Trey’s heart fluttered to his throat at the sight of Livy and Amy seated on a bench outside the theater entrance.

  Zach’s arm flew forward from the rear seat, pointing out the obvious. “There they are.”

  Dylan slowed the car to pull up alongside the curb. “Woof,” he said huffily. “There must have been a sale.”

  A large pile of assorted bags sat at both ends of the bench. Between the two girls, smaller bags were stacked to their shoulders.

  Dylan’s door flew open as he jammed the car into park. He turned to Zach in the back seat. “Keep an eye on Pearl.”

  As Dylan trotted to the trunk, Trey hopped out and circled the front of the car to help with the packages.

  Livy and Amy were quick about looping the sacks on their arms. Between the three of them, they quickly waddled up behind Dylan with the entire load at-hand.

  The inside of the trunk looked like a laundry hamper had exploded. Dylan pushed aside dirty clothes to make room for their purchases. He uncovered a cardboard box of computer components and shoved it deeper into the compartment.

  Dylan turned to the armloads of bags. “Some of that’s going to have to go in the back seat.”

  Amy set down her loot and began to sift through the various bags in the pile.

  Livy turned to Trey. “I know what you’re thinking. There’s stuff in here we need. All of us.”

  Dylan grumbled something inaudible into the trunk.

  “Seriously,” she said. “Underwear, socks, t-shirts.”

  Dylan extended his arm, ready to accept packages.

  Livy hung several bags on his hand and continued. “Toothbrush, toothpaste.” Her voice rose. “Deodorant!”

  Trey had wondered if Dylan was aware of the odor emanating from the trunk, and judging from the big guy’s lack of reaction to her comment, he suspected not.

  Trey handed over the heavier bags, then peered inside the fancy one labeled Marcellinas. Unable to resist, he slid out a lacy red dress.

  Livy shrugged innocently. “That one was before you called.”

  He smiled, picturing her modeling the short dress outside the fitting room before all the turmoil. “I’m sure it looks great on you.”

  “I doubt that,” she said. “It’s Amy’s.”

  “Oh,” he said, unable to avoid the striking image of Amy in the same dress.

  Amy raised her brow, expectantly.

  He stuffed the dress back inside the bag, feeling his face flush as red as the lacy fabric.

  Dylan pushed the trunk nearly closed. “That’s all that’s gonna fit.”

  Dylan pressed the lid until it latched, and everyone fanned out immediately toward the doors carrying the remaining packages.

  Trey settled into the passenger seat and the girls squeezed into the rear. Plastic bags rustled, being stuffed into every empty space available.

  With Amy partially seated on his lap, Zach spoke up. “If we lose the car seat and hold the baby, we’ll have a lot more room.”

  “Absolutely not,” said Dylan firmly, lowering behind the wheel. He pulled his door closed. “Where now, boss?”

  Trey didn’t care for the title, but he wouldn’t pretend he had no plan. “West on Interstate eighty-four.”

  Checkpoint

  ORANGE CONSTRUCTION BARRELS flashed past Trey’s passenger-side window close enough he could touch them if he tried. The evenly spaced trenches recently cut into the interstate highway created a monotonous thump-thump that heightened the tension inside Dylan’s packed vehicle.

  Trey and Zach had filled the girls in on the events that placed them at the county jail, and it was now up to their driver to do the same. Dylan had promised to go over the details as soon as the vehicle cleared the road work, but Trey wondered if the delay was merely a tactic crafted to give Dylan time to fabricate a story.

  Trey’s own issues bore down on him with every passing mile marker. He had yet to tell his friends exactly where they were headed, but worse still was his concern for how his parents might react to a carload showing up at their rendezvous point.

  The orange barrels slowly pulled away, opening up both westbound lanes. The incessant thumping ceased, replaced by the hum of tire treads on fresh surface.

  Trey turned to see if his friends had dozed off. Only Pearl had taken advantage of the lull in conversation to sleep. The others stared back blankly.

  Dylan cleared his throat. “I know I screwed up. Sorry.” When nobody responded, he went on. “I never imagined those fools at the park would call in the feds. I mean, we’d lose people on our crew without notice all the time. They’d just quit showing up for work.”

  Trey turned to the driver. “Do they wipe out all the computers before they leave, too?”

  “No.” Dylan
tightened his grip on the wheel. “But you don’t understand those guys like I do. Even after they recovered those freaky images, they refused to bring in outside help.”

  “But they did.”

  “Not at first. Trust me. I was right there with them.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes, sort of. I hired myself as Drake Foster a few months ago so I could pal around with the guys and keep tabs on what was happening when I wasn’t around.”

  Trey cocked a brow. “So you were your own mole.”

  “Call it what you want. It kept me in the loop until Tiny figured out the whole comic book connection. After that, I had to split.”

  Trey groaned, tilting his head back into his seat. “Don’t tell me; Drake Foster is a comic character, too.”

  Dylan stiffened, seeming to grow agitated. “You try inventing a face that isn’t based on someone you’ve met or a celebrity. It ain’t easy, bro.”

  “Okay, you got me there,” said Trey, attempting to ease the tension for everyone’s safety. “So, that’s when they called in the feds?”

  “I suppose. The guys in suits showed up at the park not long afterward. I’ve been tailing them ever since.”

  Trey leaned closer, piqued with curiosity. “What do you know about the two who came to your house?”

  Dylan shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Trey looked back to Livy, unsure whether to proceed. She nodded reluctantly.

  “Jeremy called us and said some FBI guys visited your grandmother. He said she could see their faces.”

  Dylan’s head snapped toward Trey. “Jeremy called you?”

  “Yeah, first looking for you, then again to warn us the feds might be onto us.”

  “Was he pissed at me? How did he act?”

  “I wouldn’t say he was mad. Worried more than anything.”

  Dylan nodded. “I haven’t spoken to him you know? It killed me to leave without saying goodbye.”

  “I’m sure it did,” said Trey, sympathetically. ”I think he understands though. He did say he saw it coming.”

  After a long silence, Dylan rubbed his face. “You don’t think he’s in trouble do you?”

  Trey thought back to the two agents who had vowed to release Zach. The FBI was no real concern. The black-eyed aliens, on the other hand, were ruthless in their pursuit of covering their asses.

  He looked ahead. They were within an hour of meeting up with his parents. Yet, he had no way of knowing how Dylan would react to news that Jeremy was in imminent danger.

  He swallowed hard. “Yeah, I do. I think Jeremy’s in serious trouble.”

  Dylan kept his eyes ahead, internalizing whatever thoughts were bouncing around in his head. Finally, he spoke. “Where are we going? What’s your plan?”

  Trey forced a response, “Bison Back State Park . . . to meet up with my folks. We can lie low until . . . well . . . until we have a better plan.”

  Dylan nodded. “I’ll take you there, but I can’t stay.”

  Trey looked to Dylan with deep regret for what he was about to say. “You have to understand: if you leave, we won’t be there if you decide to come back.”

  Dylan milled it over, then cracked a half-hearted smile. “Understood. We all do what we gotta do.”

  * * *

  Every ounce of cuteness had vanished from Pearl after ten minutes of her relentless crying. Amy had checked the girl’s diaper more than once, and Pearl refused another drop from the second bottle.

  “She’s just restless,” Amy said. “Maybe we should stop somewhere for a few minutes.”

  Dylan shook his head vigorously. “We’re too close to stop now.” He tried to get his daughter’s attention through the rearview mirror. “Hey, cutie-pie. Are’s you tired of sharing Zacky-Wacky with those pretty girls?”

  Trey turned to see Pearl’s hot-pink, tear-soaked face. “I don’t think she’s listening to you. Maybe Amy’s right. We could all use a quick break to stretch our legs.”

  Dylan sighed with resignation, but he didn’t offer to pull over. “Try making animal faces. She loves it.”

  Amy leaned forward and puffed out her cheeks, scratching her head like a monkey.

  Dylan chuckled. “No. Not like that.” He turned to Trey. “You! Animal faces . . . you know what I mean?”

  “Oh, gotcha.” Trey rotated fully in his seat and threw on his best projection of a real chimpanzee.

  Pearl went immediately silent and her brown eyes studying Trey curiously.

  Slowly, her bottom lip protruded and began to quiver. Huge tears welled, ready to tumble down her plump, rosy cheeks.

  Dylan turned from the wheel and shoved Trey with excessive force. “Jeeze, man! Are you trying to scare her to death!?! She’s a baby!”

  Trey straightened, wearing his own face, more offended than mad. “What? I thought you meant . . .”

  A microsecond later, Dylan transformed into some freakish looking monkey that resembled a cross between a cartoon character and a stuffed toy. “Like this!”

  Trey stared at Dylan’s wide, plastic smile. Maybe Pearl liked that sort of thing, but he was sure that if he woke to find a creature like that in his face, he would crap his pajamas. “Yeah, I’m not sure I can pull that off.”

  The tires barked as Dylan locked up the brakes without warning. The car lunged, tossing Trey forward, his seatbelt catching him at the neck, threatening to rip his head off.

  Ahead, a single lane of stopped vehicles funneled past a gauntlet of flashing police cruisers.

  Dylan let off the brake and cut the wheel, sending them across the passing-lane and into the grassy median. The car bounded into the east-bound lanes and he floored it. Mud splattered from the tires into the fender wells making it sound as if the vehicle were being fire upon.

  Trey looked back over his shoulder, rubbing his raw, bruised throat. None of the patrol vehicles were pulling away from the check-point to pursue them.

  Asses and elbows were all he saw of Zach, Amy, and Livy as they too peered out the rear glass.

  Pearl giggled, the only one enjoying the shaky ride.

  Trey turned and slumped into his seat. “Think they’re looking for us?”

  Dylan glanced at the rearview. “That’s my guess.”

  Trey mentally crossed his fingers. “Any chance you have a road atlas?”

  Dylan didn’t answer.

  Hawk Eyes

  JUST MILES ON the wrong side of the security checkpoint, Trey pointed to a sign directly ahead. “Maybe we should take this next exit.”

  Dylan waved his hand toward the high, tree-covered peaks lining the highway. “And drive aimlessly through the mountains?”

  “We wouldn’t be headed back to where we started.”

  “I don’t know,” grumbled Dylan. “Maybe it’s a sign we should go back.”

  Livy leaned forward. “I agree with Trey. We can ask someone for directions.”

  “Guys,” said Zach, obvious concern filling his voice. “I think we have company.”

  Trey spun toward the back glass. Nobody followed in the seeable distance.

  Zach pointed upward, tilting his head against the side window. Trey whirled and pressed his cheek to the glass. A police helicopter hovered high above them, slowly tracking in the same direction they travelled.

  Trey thumped his fist against the door. “They must have been watching for cars to avoid the roadblock.” The exit ramp came into sight. “We have to get off the freeway. Maybe we can lose them in the tree-cover.”

  “No!” Dylan barked.

  “What?” cried Trey. “We’re not going back home.”

  “I know, I know. Listen to me.”

  “Take the exit,” Trey demanded, debating whether to grab the wheel, doubting he could outmuscle Dylan for control.

  The opening for the ramp zipped past.

  Dylan persisted. “If they knew it was us, there’d be a string of cops behind us.”

  The car vibrated
rigorously as the tires drifted across the white line into the rumble strips. Dylan jerked the car quickly to the left, over-correcting and sending the vehicle across the dotted center line.

  “Quit looking out the windows,” said Dylan. “You’ll draw attention.”

  “Quit swerving all over the road,” Trey countered. “You’ll draw attention.”

  “That’s the idea, dumbass. I want them to think I’ve been drinking.” He eased the car back into his original lane. “Why else would someone avoid a roadblock?”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter why they pull us over. We’re screwed once they see who’s in the car.”

  “If they’re looking for us, they won’t waste their time with a drunk driver.”

  “Yeah, but if that was a sobriety check back there, you’re waving a flag to come and get us.”

  “Guys,” Zach interrupted again. ”Behind us.”

  An armada of flashing lights trailed in the distance.

  Dylan shook the wheel with both hands. “I should have taken the exit.”

  Trey decided it wasn’t the best time to point out he was right.

  Dylan stretched his neck, peering over the embankment toward the two-lane road that paralleled nearly a hundred feet below.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Trey said smoothly.

  Pearl whimpered, warning everyone of her intention to break out into a full-blown wail.

  “Not now, baby girl,” Dylan pleaded. “Daddy needs to think.”

  Livy swooped to the rescue, shaping her fingers into elaborate hand-puppets. In another place and time, Trey would have kicked back and enjoyed the show.

  The car picked up speed, pushing the limits of its engine and its driver. Behind the vehicle, the police fleet continued to close the distance.

  A pickup truck came into view ahead. Dylan merged to the left lane and blew past as if it were standing still.

  Trey looked back to see the cruisers transfer into a single lane and slither around the pickup like a snake.

  The head car pulled closer, moments from being on the bumper.

  Trey’s brain did flip-flops in his skull from facing backward at such high speed. He rolled forward and closed his eyes, wondering how far Dylan would go to keep from being caught.