by LeVar Burton
She took the stairs one step at a time, careful not to make any noise. At the third-floor landing she paused, uncertain of her actions. Two more flights of steps and she would reach the ground level. Freedom awaited her there. More than anything Rene wanted that freedom. She wanted to run screaming into the night, alert the authorities about what had happened to her. But freedom would have to wait a few minutes longer. There was something she had to do first, something she had to get.
Rene would not leave without the Neuro-Enhancer. The device was her life’s work. It had taken years of research, years of trial and error to invent the Enhancer. If Dr. Sinclair’s men had stolen all the records, it would be next to impossible to build another one—not that she would have the heart to start again from scratch.
She would rather die than allow Randall Sinclair and his cronies to own the Neuro-Enhancer, which is exactly what would happen if she got caught before she could find it and make good her escape. Even so, she would not leave without first trying to get the Enhancer back.
She listened at the door, which opened onto the third floor. Not hearing anything, she eased it open and peeked out. The hallway was empty.
Thank God.
Rene had just stepped into the hallway when she was startled by the sound of a door slamming on the stairway below. The slam was followed by the echoing tap-tap of footsteps on the concrete steps. Someone was coming.
Panic-stricken, she turned and looked over her shoulder. She couldn’t see anyone, only the empty gray stairs, but the footsteps drew nearer, came her way.
Danger.
She didn’t need the mental warning to tell her danger approached; her ears alone could do that. Rene slipped into the hallway and closed the door behind her, careful not to let it bang.
Danger … danger … danger.
“I know. I know,” she whispered, looking around for a hiding place. Directly across the hall were the elevators, but she didn’t dare summon one of the cars for fear someone would be on it when it arrived. Instead she ran down the hallway, turning left at the first corridor. Randall Sinclair’s office was three doors down on the right. The office now represented more than a chance to retrieve her stolen property: it meant safety. The only problem was getting inside.
The door was locked, as she knew it would be. Fortunately the lock was in the doorknob and not a deadbolt. Reaching into her pocket, Rene pulled out the pocketknife she had taken off the guard. The knife had only two blades, but with a little fumbling she managed to slip the longer one between the door and the frame. Working the blade back and forth, she was able to catch the edge of the latch. A few twists to the right and the door popped open.
Hurrying across the threshold, Rene closed and locked the office door. She stood there in the darkness, her cheek pressed against the door, waiting to see if anyone was coming. But the footsteps she strained to hear never came. Whoever it was, they had gone the other way.
That was close. Too close.
Stepping away from the door, Rene fumbled for a light switch, found it and switched on the lights. She turned to face the empty room. If the Neuro-Enhancer was still in the office it was probably locked away somewhere, maybe in the desk.
Rene crossed the room to the desk. The drawers were unlocked, but none of them contained what she was looking for.
“Where would he hide it? Think, girl. Think.”
She stepped away from the desk and looked around the room. The Neuro-Enhancer was much too valuable to leave lying around. Dr. Sinclair would have hidden it, or locked it away. But what if he took it home with him?
Rene shook her head. She wouldn’t have risked carrying the Neuro-Enhancer to and from work. Neither would Randall Sinclair. Too many things could happen to it. No, he would keep it in his office. But if it wasn’t in his desk, then where was it?
A safe.
Of course, that would be the logical place to keep something worth millions. She had kept the Neuro-Enhancer in a safe; so would Randall Sinclair. There had to be a hidden safe somewhere. Maybe it was behind one of the paintings, or behind some of the books in the library.
She started toward the closest painting, but was interrupted by the sound of voices coming down the hallway.
Danger.
Again she didn’t need her newly acquired sixth sense to warn her of trouble. Rene spotted the tiny wires running along the door frame and knew she had tripped a silent alarm. The voices came closer, stopping just on the other side of the door. Someone tried the knob. Thank God, she had remembered to lock the door behind her. There was a pause, then she heard the jingling of keys.
No … No … No … No …
Rene sprinted across the room, unhooking the stun gun from her belt as she ran. She jammed the gun’s electrodes against the lock and pulled the trigger. Someone on the other side of the door screamed as 100,000 volts of electricity shot through the metal lock. The scream was followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. She smiled. That would make them think twice about using a key.
Clipping the stun gun back on her belt, she ran behind the desk and snatched up a metal waste paper can. Turning, she took two steps and threw the can as hard as she could at one of the plate glass windows. The glass shattered, exploding into a thousand tiny fragments. Careful of the remaining shards, Rene climbed through the window. She had just stepped out onto the ledge when the door was kicked in.
“Get her!”
Two men charged into the room, jumping over the body of a third man lying prone in the hallway—obviously the same man she had zapped with the stun gun. Rene caught only a glimpse of them as she hurried along the ledge. She didn’t look back, nor did she look down. Hugging the face of the building, she tried to become invisible in the darkness. But that was impossible. The building was white; her clothing and skin were dark. Even in the night she would stand out, easily seen from above or below.
Rene had to slow down to climb around a protruding gutter. Precious time wasted. Once past the obstacle, she cast a quick glance behind her. No more than thirty yards behind her a shadowy shape slithered along the ledge in hot pursuit. The sight of the man following her made Rene’s heart jump and nearly caused her to miss her footing. She slipped but did not fall, a short scream escaping her lips. Her scream caused the man who followed to hesitate, but only for a moment
At the corner of the building an emergency escape ladder led to the ground below. She climbed down the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time. Once on the ground she was forced to make a quick decision. Her instincts told her to run away from the building, to seek help from someone, anyone, in the streets. But on foot she would be easily caught; what she needed was a ride. So instead of fleeing the property Rene circled the building, trying different doors until she found the one to the parking garage.
Inside the garage were six vehicles: four trucks and two cars. Rene hurried from vehicle to vehicle, trying doors and checking for keys in the ignition. Unfortunately, they were all locked and none of them had keys. She had just checked the last vehicle, a large cargo truck, when three men entered the garage through the same door she had.
Rene ducked down just in time. She stood hunched on the driver’s-side running board, on the opposite side of the truck from the three men. She watched through the truck’s windows as they entered the garage, obviously searching for her. Her heart began to hammer as they checked the vehicles closest to the door, slowly working their way in her direction.
Looking around, she frantically searched for a way out. But there was none, other than the door through which she had entered and the vehicle exit to the street at the other end of the garage. Nor was there any other place to hide. She could do nothing but crouch behind the truck, knowing the three men would eventually search that vehicle too. When they did they would find her.
What then? Imprisonment? Torture? Perhaps even murder? She didn’t want to find out. Whatever was in store for her wouldn’t be pleasant. Not pleasant at all.
Still looking for a w
ay to escape, she was almost caught off guard when headlights suddenly swept the wall in front of her. Rene pressed her body even tighter against the truck she hid behind as a car entered the garage, parking only two places from where she hid. The three men searching for her looked at the car as it pulled in, and then turned their attention back to the search.
Now! Now! Now! Now’s your chance!
Rene’s brain screamed the commands, forcing her body into action. Staying low, she jumped off the running board and circled around the front of the truck. She watched as the driver of the car put the vehicle into park and killed the engine. He opened the door and started to climb out, but Rene was upon him. Before he could defend himself, or even cry out, she jammed the stun gun against his throat and pulled the trigger. The man let out a wheezy gasp and collapsed like a bag of old laundry.
Snatching the keys out of his hands, she climbed into the car and started the engine. Her adrenaline pumping, she accidentally pushed too hard on the accelerator, causing the motor to rev.
The three men at the opposite end of the garage heard the noise and looked her way. “Hey!” one of them yelled.
She shifted into reverse, tires squealing.
“Stop her!”
Rene straightened the car out and slammed the gearshift into drive. The three men ran toward her. One of them drew a pistol.
She stomped on the gas pedal. Tires squealed and the car lunged forward. The man with the gun fired. She ducked as a spiderweb of cracks formed across the windshield. He fired twice more, and then jumped out of the way to keep from being run over.
Rene flew past the three men and took the corner on two wheels. She came dangerously close to crashing into the wall, but managed to regain control of the car. Shifting from second into third, she shot out of the garage into the street. Free.
PART IV
“Violence as a way of achieving racial justice is both impractical and immoral. It is impractical because it is a descending spiral ending in destruction for all .… It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate the opponent rather than win his understanding; it seeks to annihilate rather than to convert. Violence is immoral because it thrives on hatred rather than on love …”
—Martin Luther King, Jr.
Chapter 23
Leon and the others emerged from the forest in the chill gray of the early morning dawn. They reached the railroad tracks and turned right, heading south. The train they had ridden the night before was long gone, as were the bandits. All that remained as evidence of the previous evening’s violence were the logs that had been used to block the tracks, and they had been pushed off to the side out of the way.
They had walked only about a mile when they came upon a small transient camp nestled among the pine trees of the forest, about fifty yards from the railroad tracks. The camp was barely visible from the tracks and they might have walked right on past it were it not for the aromas of coffee and campfires, which hung heavy in the air.
Within the crowded confines of the camp lived twenty to twenty-five single men, mostly middle age or older, and a few families. They were the same people who had erected the burning torches the night before to warn about the bandits. Leon was worried about stopping at the camp, afraid the bandits might return, but Red assured him that they would be safe. Leon hoped he was right.
Although their visit came as somewhat of a surprise to the camp’s residents, the transients quickly made them feel welcome by offering to share coffee and food with them. Breakfast consisted of fried bread and bowls of stew. The stew simmered in a large iron kettle that hung over a fire in the center of the camp. Leon and the others were told to take as much stew as they wanted, but they took only one bowl apiece.
“How can you be sure the bandits won’t come here?” Leon asked between mouthfuls of stew.
“Because a transient camp serves the needs of all people,” Red replied. “They’re neutral territory.”
“All people? Bandits too?”
Red nodded. “Everyone is welcome here; they’re all treated equally. The bandits know that. If they come here they’ll be welcomed and treated with respect, just as we were. It’s all part of the official transient creed.”
Leon looked around the camp. To him it looked like a hundred other refugee settlements he had seen: buildings made of plywood and scrap material, ill-clothed people surviving the best they could. “This place is just like all the others.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Red smiled. “These people aren’t homeless. They’re transients.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is they’d be doing this no matter what shape the country was in. This lifestyle hasn’t been forced upon them; they’ve chosen it. They’re the last of the free spirits, wandering across the land, riding the rails. They never put down roots, call no place their home.”
“You make it all sound so romantic.” Leon laughed. He pointed at one of the tiny buildings. “Never put down roots, huh? What about the shacks?”
“Temporary lodging at best. The owner stays for a while, then moves on. Somebody else moves in.”
“And the bandits?” Leon asked. “How many of them live here?”
“Not many,” Red replied. “This place is way too calm for bandits. No wild parties allowed.”
“I suppose that’s another rule from the transient creed.”
Red nodded. “You’re starting to catch on.”
Finishing his stew, Leon carried the ceramic bowl over to a bucket of water to wash it. Once it was clean, he returned the bowl to a stack of dishes sitting on an old picnic table. Red also finished eating and joined him by the table.
“That’s some of the best stew I’ve had in a long time,” Leon commented.
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Red agreed. “It’s kind of a tradition with these camps. There’s always a pot of stew cooking for visitors. The recipe varies from place to place, with each camp trying to outdo the other.”
Leon cast a glance toward the stew pot. “I wonder what they put in it?”
“Oh, a little bit of this. A little bit of that.” Red pointed at a stack of empty cans sitting in front of a nearby shack. “And a little bit of those.”
Leon felt his stomach do a slow roll. The empty cans Red pointed at were dog food cans. “You’re kidding. Dog food?”
“They say beggars can’t be choosers, and most of the transients I know are definitely beggars. Relax, it won’t kill you. Might even put some meat on your bones. You never heard a dog complaining, have you?”
“If one did it would probably end up in the pot.” Leon looked away from the cans and saw María and Edrick finishing up their bowls of stew. He hoped, for their stomachs’ sake, they wouldn’t see the dog food cans and put two and two together.
Leon and Red spent the next hour talking with the residents of the camp. From their conversations, they found out that an express freight train carrying farm equipment and machinery was due through in the next hour or so. Leon’s heart jumped when he learned that the train was heading north, nonstop to Peoria, Illinois.
“I’ve got to get on that train,” Leon said, excited.
Red shook his head. “That train will pass by here at fifty miles an hour. There’s no way you can hop it.”
“But I’ve got to try.”
“You ever try to grab hold of a train going that fast? It’ll pull your damn arm right out of the socket.”
“But this is a transient camp. These guys catch rides all the time.”
“Not expresses.” Red patted him on the shoulder. “Besides, there’ll be another train along tomorrow.”
Leon explained that he couldn’t wait another day. The voice that called him was urgent, frantic. He felt the woman’s life was in danger and time was running out. If he was to help her it would have to be soon or not at all. Fortunately, he had a plan. He suggested that they drag one of the logs used by the bandits back onto the tracks to slow the train or bring it to a sto
p. He would then be able to climb on board.
“Will you help me?” asked Leon.
“What do I have to lose?” Red shrugged.
Red and Leon hurried back to the straight stretch of track where their train had been stopped the night before. Not wanting to be left alone among strangers, María and Edrick also tagged along. Good thing too, for it took all four of them to drag one of the unburned logs up onto the track. Once finished, they sat around and waited for the express. They hadn’t long to wait.
“It’s coming!” Edrick cried, running along the railroad tracks. Leon had asked the boy to walk back along the tracks, acting as a lookout. He now ran along the rails, yelling to the others. “I see the train! I see the train!”
They hurried away from the tracks, hiding behind a clump of bushes at the edge of the forest. Edrick had just joined them when the train appeared out of the south like a one-eyed steel dragon. Leon felt the excitement building in him and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. The train bore down on them, racing straight at the log that lay across the tracks.
“It’s not stopping,” he said. Disappointment surged through him, and then a twinge of fear. What if the train hit the log at full speed? Would it jump the tracks? The thought of a two-hundred-ton locomotive going airborne made him more than a little nervous.
“Wait,” Red said. “The engineers haven’t seen the log yet. They’ll stop; you can bet on it.”
Suddenly there was a whistle blast and the metallic screaming of brakes being applied. The train slowed, coming to a complete stop a few feet in front of the log barricade. From the concealment of their hiding place, Leon could see the train’s engineers looking toward the forest. They had obviously received word of last night’s robbery and were being cautious. Several minutes passed before three men climbed down out of the engine to remove the log. Leon started to slip from his hiding place.
