Misplaced Trilogy

by Brian Bennett

  “Get back inside,” said Trey.

  Everyone got the picture, except Meagan.

  Trey emphatically waved for her to follow as he sidestepped closer to the entrance. “Come on.”

  “No!” she screamed. “She’d be helpless in a fire.”

  The green-haired girl nervously checked the roofline, ignoring the rapidly approaching vehicle.

  “There’s no fire!” Trey shouted. Done arguing, he broke for the wheelchair. Meagan gripped the handles tighter, but he forced himself between her and the chair.

  A highly revved engine roared toward them, finally kicking Meagan into gear. She shoved at Trey’s back as he heaved the steel chariot into motion.

  Livy held the door wide for the foot-powered train that slowly picked up speed.

  Squealing tires skidded to a halt and car doors burst open. Trey didn’t look back. He flew through the doorway and let go of the handles, sending Meagan’s mother freewheeling down the hallway. Meagan blew past him.

  He whirled to see two men in dark suits running straight at him, shoulders lowered, fire in their eyes.

  Livy pulled the glass door closed and gripped the bar with both hands. Trey joined her with a tight hold. His father and Zach grabbed the other door.

  The men slowed and strode up to the glass. Their steady artificial vibrations were a giveaway they weren’t black-eyes. They were cover-up specialists like Gunther.

  One of the men yanked on the handle, but it didn’t budge. The doors were locked, but Trey couldn’t bring himself to let go.

  The other man pounded a fist against the reinforced glass. It barely made a sound. He thumbed toward the SUV and mouthed something to his companion. They turned and jogged to their vehicle.

  Trey let go of the handle and backed away. “Guys, I think they’re coming inside.”

  The men hopped inside the SUV and slammed the doors. The bulky vehicle turned a sharp circle and backed unto the sidewalk with a jostle, ready to ram the doors with the rear bumper. In an unexpectedly change of plans, the backup lights went out, and the SUV pulled away. The vehicle raced toward the front of the building. Undoubtedly, one of the unsuspecting agents gathered there would let the masters of disguise into the building.

  “Where the hell are McDonnel and Graff?” said Trey. He looked into a ceiling-mounted security camera. “Are those things working? Hello?”

  “Maybe they’re at our rooms,” said Livy.

  “Yeah, or maybe those creeps smoked ‘em.” Trey peered through the glass doors to the small parking lot. “Dad, do you still have the truck keys?”

  * * *

  Quietly, Trey eased open the rear door of the old pickup. He lowered to Meagan’s mother and whispered. “I’m gonna lift you out of your chair, okay?”

  She nodded, mostly with her droopy eyes.

  He scooped her from the wheelchair and lifted her limp, feather-light body into the back seat. Meagan circled the truck and slid into the other side. Livy squeezed in next to her.

  Trey eased the door closed and pushed till it latched.

  The old truck fired up, louder than anyone expected. With renewed urgency, Trey raced to the hitch and un-tethered the camper.

  The Ford lunged forward and Trey dropped the tailgate. Zach helped him heave the half-ton wheelchair onto the bed, and they scampered onto the back with it.

  Without headlights, the old truck cut a new trail through the manicured lawn until it bumped its way onto the paved beltway that bordered the facility. The front beams came on and they were on their way.

  But they hadn’t gone far when the pickup stopped cold. Trey peered through the cab to see the holdup. A security gate blocked them from the open road.

  Trey dug into his blue jeans and brought out a shiny stone transmitter. He tapped on the back glass, and Livy slid open the small window. He waved the stone. “What do you think? Garbage truck?”

  She shook her head. “Too much chaos right now. We’d be safer as agents.”

  Trey turned to Zach. “Stay down.” He leapt over the bedrail and landed on springy legs next to the truck.

  The doors flew open, and Trey traded places with his father behind the wheel. Livy darted around the front and took the passenger seat. His mother and father slipped to the rear and climbed onto the bed.

  Trey placed the shiny stone in the cup-holder and touched a finger to it, cloaking the truck with his best recollection of an agency vehicle. Trey and Livy took on the appearance of McDonnel and Graff.

  Trey dropped the truck into gear, hoping the guard would wave them through without even stopping them.

  From the backseat came an agitated moan.

  Meagan soothed her mother. “It’s all right, Momma. They won’t hurt us.”

  Livy turned. “That’s right. We’re Meagan’s friends.”

  The groans continued, distorted words.

  “Shh . . .” said Meagan, easily. “It’s okay. You’ll have to stay quiet now.”

  Ahead, a vehicle exited through the gates. Once the taillights passed beyond the boundary, a steel barrier rose from the pavement, reinforcement to keep intruders from crashing the gates. Trey stopped the truck at the guard shack, just short of the barricade. A gray-haired attendant stood in the doorway, motioning down the tinted-glass window.

  Trey projected a calm image of McDonnel, covering his effort to crank down the glass with the stiff handle.

  The guard peered inside briefly, then waved the vehicle onward.

  Trey anxiously waited for the heavy gate to lower into the roadway. When it didn’t happen, he looked to the guard. The old man seemed just as perplexed.

  The guard stepped closer. “The sensors don’t know your vehicle. I’m gonna have to scan your badge.”

  “Oh, darn it,” said Trey. “Of all the nights to leave my badge on my desk.”

  The man rolled his eyes. “I’ll have to call it in.”

  Just inside the shack, black-and-white video showed Trey’s real face staring from an old truck window.

  “Wait,” said Trey, before the guard could fully turn away. “I’ve got my badge right here. Stupid me.”

  The man unclipped a handheld device from his belt and aimed it toward Trey’s imaginary badge. The guard was the only one surprised when nothing happened. He rapped the device with the heel of his other hand and tried again. Nothing.

  “What’s wrong with it?” Trey asked.

  “I don’t know, Agent. It’s not usually finicky.”

  “Try yours. Maybe it’s dead.”

  The guard turned the scanner toward his pinned-on badge and the display lit up, beeping simultaneously.

  Trey held out his hand. “Let me try it on Graff.”

  The watchman handed over the scanner with no hesitation. Trey pointed it at Livy’s projected badge.

  With a little help from Trey, the scanner beeped and flashed wording on the display. He handed it back, and the guard clipped it onto his belt, satisfied.

  When the guard turned away, Trey pushed back into his seat, out of view of the security camera. He could only hope the man wouldn’t notice the truck’s on-screen discrepancy. Fortunately, he didn’t.

  The old man poked a clipboard and a pen through the window. “I need a signature.”

  Trey scribbled something illegible. “I get it. C.Y.A.”

  The guard reached an arm inside the security shack and punched a button. The steel barrier began to lower.

  Trey returned the clipboard. “Have a good evening.”

  Confiding

  HEADLIGHTS BLAZED THE two-lane highway, miles from FBI central. Trey drove the old pickup in no particular direction, a constant eye on the rearview mirror, making every turn less predictable than the last.

  Livy kept a dutiful watch on the starry sky. Meagan sat quiet as a mouse with her mother in the backseat.

  The tips of wind-tossed hair were all Trey could see of his parents and Zach, their backs against the cab, low on the truck bed. The tall wheelchair stood boldly
on the back, like a monument to the daring escape.

  Livy turned over her shoulder. “Is she asleep?”

  Meagan stirred quietly. “Momma, are you awake?” A moment later, she added, “Yeah, she’s out. The meds do a number on her.”

  “Does she understand what happened back there?”

  “As well as anyone can be expected,” she said. “She still has all of her mind, you know. It’s only her body that’s given out on her.”

  “What happened to her?” Livy asked.

  “ALS,” said Meagan. “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”

  “I’m Sorry. It must be hard. For both of you.”

  “Yeah. It’s the life we live now.”

  “So, it’s just the two of you?”

  “Yes! And it’s a hell of a lot easier without that son-of-a-bitch.”

  Livy turned back to the front. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “It’s all right. You deserve to know what kind of person you’re calling your friend.”

  “I meant what I said.”

  “Yeah, well. Maybe you wouldn’t if you knew what I’ve done.”

  Trey caught himself drifting across the white line, too focused on the shadow in the rearview. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of.”

  “But did you kill your own father?”

  Trey gripped the wheel. Indirectly, maybe he had caused Arken’s death. As for Livy’s biological father, Gunther, he’d as much as pushed the plunger on the dynamite. “Does that mean you did?”

  Meagan hesitated, then began to elaborate. “I was already a teenager when Momma was diagnosed, old enough to understand what was happening. Daddy didn’t let her new crutches stop him from knocking her around. But one night I’d had enough of his shit, so I beat him away from her with one of her crutches. That just made him madder than hell, and he went for the gun in his dresser drawer.”

  Trey glanced at Livy. She shared his horror.

  “Daddy flashed the gun around proclaiming to be king of the household. That’s when I decided to show him who was really in charge. It only took one small look into my eyes for him to turn the gun on himself and pull the trigger.”

  “Damn.” said Trey.

  “I knew it wasn’t loaded,” she confessed. “I always made sure of that when he was out drinking. But he knew what I’d made him do, and I knew I could never convince him I knew it wasn’t loaded. And to be honest, I never tried. He left and never come back. And I don’t miss him.”

  “You didn’t actually kill him though,” said Livy.

  “Tell that to Momma.”

  The cab went silent and stayed that way for many miles. Trey merged onto the interstate and picked up speed, ready to put serious distance between him and the two alien operatives that had surely discovered the truck missing.

  A star streaked the sky, and Trey turned to Livy. “Did you see that?”

  “No. What was it?”

  “A meteor, I guess.”

  She sat up straighter in her seat. “They couldn’t have found us already.”

  Another flash zipped between the stars. “There!”

  “I’m not seeing it,” she said.

  Trey let off the gas, rubbing his face as stars swirled behind his closed eyes. “I think we need another driver.”

  “Oh, no,” said Livy. “Stop the truck, quick.”

  Meagan leaned toward the front. “What is it?”

  “Trey’s getting another message.”

  “A message?”

  “It’s some kind of telepathic thing. Last time he got one, he blacked out and broke that tooth.”

  Trey slowly drifted the truck onto the shoulder. “I didn’t black out. I just didn’t realize where I was.”

  “Fine, but in case you didn’t realize it, you’re behind the wheel right now, and we’re still moving.”

  Trey brought the truck to an aggressive stop. “I’m fine. I’m getting better at blocking the messages, but I know not to take a chance.” He hopped out of the truck with the engine still running. “New driver!”

  * * *

  The cold evening air howled through the bed of the speeding pickup truck, raising goosebumps on Trey’s bare arms as he sat with his back to the cab. He swirled his finger on his khaki pants, tracing the star paths he’d been presented in his visions.

  Beside him, Zach stared blankly at his cell phone, as if willing Amy to return his call. “It’s been hours.”

  “Maybe she’s studying,” said Trey, covering doubts.

  Zach pushed the send button for the hundredth time. The call went immediately to voicemail. He didn’t bother leaving yet another message.

  Trey straightened against the cold, metal cab. “Her battery probably went dead, and if you keep making pointless calls, yours will too.”

  “I’ve got a full charge.”

  Trey pointed out the empty truck bed. “If you haven’t noticed, all our stuff is back at FBI, including your charger. We’ve got the cash in our wallets and that’s it. Just take it easy on the juice.”

  Zach nodded, his zombie gaze on the blank display.

  Trey resumed tracing star movements, determined to commit the map to memory. When his recollection challenged him, he shoved his own consciousness aside to allow Sarah’s message to fill in the gaps.

  A reoccurring sequence flashed through his vision, showing him the heavens in motion, drawing him in for a tour of the triad solar system, and finally ending with a plunge into the thick gaseous atmosphere of the small middle planet.

  After countless reiterations, the planetary vision slowly morphed into the face of Livy’s mother. Trey marveled at the revelation that Sarah was only the conduit. The star map itself had originated deep within Onna’s eyes. He and Sarah were merely witnesses to a cosmic display shown to them by Onna’s projection.

  Onna smiled. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine,” said Sarah, scooting up into her pillow. “It’s dizzying. But the herbs have helped tremendously. I’m hardly nauseous.”

  “That’s very fortunate. I believe we’re on the verge of being discovered.”

  “What makes you say that? How could you know?”

  Onna touched Sarah’s hand. “The brothers are nervous. Something has stirred them into activity.”

  Sarah’s heart quickened, reaching through the vast distance to patter Trey’s chest. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing for you to be concerned about.”

  “Please, Onna, tell me they aren’t torturing others.”

  “No,” she said with calm reassurance. “It’s not that. They’re increasing production.”

  “But, we’ve been at capacity for decades. How do they expect—”

  “Shhh,” Onna interrupted softly. “They’ve brought more supplies. It isn’t new equipment, so we suspect they’ve shut down the labs on Kryo.”

  “But why would they?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s more critical than ever that our message gets through.”

  “Or we’re too late and it’s completely futile.”

  “I won’t accept that.” Onna handed over a glass of dark yellow tea. “Now rest a while. We’ll resume when I get back.”

  Trey pushed aside Sarah’s vision and turned to his own friend. Zach had put away his phone and now tilted his head against the rear glass with closed eyes. Trey settled back, mirroring his friend, and let his own projection carry him off to planet Kryo.

  Phone Call

  STAGNANT AND COLD, the dark skies of Kryo resisted the rising plumes of smoke, spreading them instead like a layer of tar that refused to dissipate.

  Trey skimmed across the rubble-polluted terrain in search of unexplored buildings, travelling much farther than he’d gone before. A dark rectangle on the horizon hinted at a large structure still intact. An instant later, he stood inside it, surveying the dank, poorly lit hallways.

  A flickering light beckoned him to the far end of a long corridor. Along the way, papers littered the floor
. Ragged curtains offered only glimpses into the empty dormitory rooms lining each side.

  At the end, a message had been scratched into the gray stone walls, Vinum torbi unu. But the rebel call had been stricken through by red dripping paint. Above it, a new message hit Trey squarely in the gut.

  Leave Us In Peace Earth Boy.

  Trey abruptly opened his eyes, cutting off sight of the miserable place. “Screw you, then.”

  “What did that thing ever do to you?” Zach chided.

  Trey’s focus centered on the empty wheelchair, the unintended subject of his angry words. “No, I wasn’t talking to the chair.”

  Zach’s face went long. “Is someone there?”

  “No,” Trey said with a chuckle. “My mind was a million miles away.”

  That didn’t ease Zach’s eyes. He pulled the phone from his pocket, but reluctantly refrained from dialing Amy’s number yet again. He turned to Trey instead. “Think your dad would drive us to the university if I asked nicely?”

  Trey shrugged. “It’s a long way. What if she’s not even there?”

  “Where else would she be?”

  Every answer seemed unspeakable. “I’d feel more comfortable getting in touch with Agent Simmons first.”

  “Here,” said Zach, offering the phone.

  “I don’t know the number. It was programmed into the bat-phone.”

  “Wait, he called me yesterday. His number should be in the history.”

  “Yesss! I wish I’d have mentioned it sooner. The old guy’s probably having a cow.”

  Zach scrolled through the call logs. “Frick! It’s an unlisted number.”

  “Of course it is,” said Trey, grudgingly.

  Unexpectedly, the phone lit with an incoming call.

  “It’s not Amy’s number,” said Zach, slowly drawing the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Yes.” He glanced at Trey. “He’s right here.”

  “Simmons?”

  Zach held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “Who?”

  “Dylan!”

  Trey quizzically pressed the phone to his ear. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Where to begin, bro,” said Dylan. “First off, Amy’s with me in case you’re looking for her.”