by Phoenix Ward
“Is there great significance to this town?” Maynard asked.
That’s subjective, but I think so. Let me explain a little, Karl thought.
Fort Leddy existed for only for about twenty years before it became a ghost town. You see, it was founded at the brilliant dawn of Universal Connectivity, but unfortunately in the wrong place. When the government passed the law making the internet and computer connectivity a basic human right, broadband companies and even municipalities started building the infrastructure required to offer almost everyone in the nation free fiber-optic internet. First, all the major cities were refitted, one block at a time. Then they started to stretch out, using these urban hubs as “broadband centers,” from which everyone’s connection was supplied.
Unfortunately, Fort Leddy was built just far enough from any major city or urban area and with such a small population that it would be impractical to construct the broadband infrastructure for them and connect it all the way to the nearest hub. Without that connectivity, the Fort Leddians were like cavemen in a modern world. Rather than stay, everyone decided to move away and abandon the town to the cobwebs.
“So what does that have to do with us or the shootings?” Maynard said. “Why do you even know so much about this?”
Because Stewart grew up in Fort Leddy, Karl said. He told me all about it when we worked together.
Black Market
Even though all the people on the sidewalk ignored him as he tugged his hood farther down, Karl was sure they were all watching him. He had grown quite an impressive beard during his hideout in the cabin, which obscured his face and turned him into a stranger. He didn’t bathe often, either, for he didn’t see the point, so that helped hide the fact that the dirty, disheveled man walking down the street was Dr. Karl Terrace, the most wanted man in the country.
It was a Saturday morning, which probably wasn’t the best time to seek secrecy. There were lots of families and couples out perusing the stores and commenting on items through the windows with their lattes clutched in their hands. Some had bags of groceries, and others were cleaning the sidewalks and putting out sandwich boards.
Karl felt a twinge of disgust from an older couple that he nearly ran into. He was so unpleasant that people avoided looking at him.
As far as they all knew, he was just a homeless guy who had given up on the laborious tasks of hygiene. They seemed to part around him, worried that he’d dirty their clothes if he bumped into them. Some darted to the other side of the street clutching at their pockets, concerned he might ask for some of their hard-earned money. He did none of that. He just walked.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maynard asked.
I’m not sure of anything anymore, Karl said.
“Don’t be melodramatic. Give me a straight answer.”
We need a gun if we’re going to Fort Leddy, Karl explained. There’s no telling what we’ll find there. Probably more of Stewart’s hired goons.
“Why do we even have to go?” Maynard asked. “Why chase after a town that shipped guns to Denver?”
Because they were sent by Mr. Stalward.
“You don’t even believe in the Stewart-Stalward connection. You said so yourself.”
I’m starting to. At least it’s a lead.
“A lead to a dead end,” Maynard said. “Or even worse, if you’re right. What is the plan if this Fort Leddy turns out to be a den of terrorists and conspirators? Are we gonna go in guns blazing?”
No, Karl replied. We’re going to be smart.
“It’d be a first.”
The fugitive ignored him and continued walking until a chain link fence replaced the brick buildings that had passed them on the right. The man he was meeting had said to turn right once he reached the fence and follow it to a parking lot with a hardware store sign in it.
“Are you sure your little meeting isn’t a setup?” Maynard asked. “Maybe you were monitored. We could be walking into a sting operation.”
I went to an internet cafe, Karl said. No ID, no trace. No one knows about the meeting.
“That doesn’t mean he’s not a cop,” Maynard said. “Maybe he’s an undercover badge tasked specifically with bringing you in. Have you ever stopped to think about that?”
Of course.
“And?”
And shut up. There he is.
The man had parked his pickup truck just at the base of the hardware store sign, as if the thin column it rested upon was enough to conceal his vehicle. As soon as Karl stepped onto the asphalt that marked the bounds of the parking lot, the man emerged from the cabin of his truck and walked around to the other side to face the psychologist.
“You Maynard?” the man bellowed once Karl was within proper earshot.
“Maynard?” the I.I. repeated.
Couldn’t use my name, could I?
Karl nodded. “That’s right. You’re Marv?”
“That’s what they called me,” the gun dealer said.
He was an older man, definitely in his fifties, with his graying blonde hair gathered up in a loose ponytail behind his skull. A mesh baseball cap topped his head, his hair flowing out from the space just above the fastening strap. He had a few tattoos visible just under the collar of his button-down shirt, but Karl didn’t want to stare. A jean jacket vest hung over his whole ensemble, equipped with at least six pockets with varying degrees of wear on them.
“What’re you looking for?” Marv asked.
“Something small,” Karl said. “But powerful.”
“You talkin’ about a one-on-one defense scenario, or protection against a group?”
“Let’s say a group.”
“Well then, you’re gonna want either something with a lot of stopping power, or a weapon with a higher capacity. How good of a shot are you?”
“I’ve never fired a gun before,” was the reply.
An exasperated expression stole Marv’s face. He blew his cheeks up and let the air out in a long sigh.“Let’s go with high capacity, then,” the dealer replied. “Now before we continue, I must inform you that I am a certified arms dealer, and although the standards around privatized sales of firearms have changed since I was a boy, I still adhere to all other state and federal regulations regarding the sale of said weapons. Thus, I am sorry to say I do not offer weapons that exceed legal capacity standards, nor can I offer armor-piercing ammunition or assault rifles.”
“That’s fine.”
“Good. ‘Cause you still have plenty of options.”
Marv walked around to the bed of his truck and motioned for Karl to follow him. The psychologist did so as the dealer lifted the lid to a side compartment. Inside were a number of other small cases, all made of fine plastic and leather, each with their own set of latches and locks.
“The standard go-to is a Glock,” said the gun dealer. “It’s about as small as a practical handgun gets, and can hold a magazine of seventeen bullets. That’s eighteen if you chamber one before. It’s nice and lightweight, making it easier to take with you. Used to be a favored gun by police, though they’ve upgraded in recent years.”
He opened the respective case as he spoke, revealing the handgun to Karl. With a gesture, he offered the weapon to the fugitive and get a feel of its weight.
It was heavier than he’d expected. The wobble in his grip must have given him away, because the gun dealer smirked.
“You really haven’t held one of these before, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well don’t worry, it won’t bite you. It can’t even fire until we get your biometric data assigned to it.”
Karl lifted the gun and stared down its sights to see how it aimed. He had no idea what he was looking for, but something about the gun felt flimsy in his hand. He returned it to its case.
“Not your style, eh? That’s okay,” the dealer said. “I think I have just the one for you. Something a bit slower, but steadier. Here.”
He reached behind himself, putting the Gl
ock case back on the truck bed and pulling out a slightly longer container. With a quick snap, he opened the latch and pulled up the lid.
The gun was at least two inches longer than the Glock and quite a bit shinier. It was clearly the nearer model of the two.
The dealer made a gesture for Kal to take it, which he did with some hesitation. It was even heavier, but felt less flimsy.
“That one is one of the new Sigs. Fires 9mm ammunition. Manageable for a novice, but still with some stopping power to boot. The sights are easy to adjust as well.”
Karl lifted the gun, closed one eye, and used the other to stare down the sights.
“This is the one,” he said. “I’ll take it.”
Marv gave a hearty chuckle in reply.
“I had a feelin’ you’d like it,” he said.
He turned around, putting the other gun cases back in their concealed compartment and retrieving a small device. It looked a bit like a keychain, wide and squat with a small touchscreen interface. Karl looked at the thing apprehensively as Marv spun back to face him.
“So as you’ve probably gathered, we’re going to need to assign your biometric data to the gun. Otherwise, it’ll never work for you. It also acts as a background check: it’ll quickly match your bio-data with the national criminal database. That alright with you?”
Karl felt his skin grow cold as the blood fled from it.
A background check? Karl thought. We’re busted. I can’t let him do it.
“Don’t worry,” Maynard said. “You’ll pass the check. It’ll be fine.”
But how?
“Just trust me.”
Karl nodded after little hesitation. Marv seemed relieved, smiling slightly. It was clear he could sense Karl’s apprehension as well, and found that suspect.
“Just stand still,” the gun dealer said. “It’ll only take a minute.”
Marv pressed the device against one of Karl’s thumbs, then lifted it and pointed it into the fugitive’s eyes. He stood back and waved the thing over Karl’s entire height.
“Alright, it’s uploading,” Marv said.
Karl could feel small beads of sweat accumulating along his hairline. How would Marv react if he found out Karl was the most wanted man in the country? That he was responsible for two mass shootings, at least according to the law? Would he turn around, pull out one of his many guns, and perform a citizen arrest?
Marv was a criminal himself. Karl wondered if that would keep him from spilling the beans. But Karl knew they weren’t on the same level of criminals. As far as anyone was concerned, Karl was a terrorist. An evil murderer.
Karl never had to answer those questions. The device in the gun dealer’s hands made a ding sound.
“Alright,” Marv said. “You’re all clear. Hand me the Sig there and I’ll get you assigned to it.”
Karl handed the weapon over and Marv pointed the scanner device at the grip.
“So, since this transaction of ours isn’t strictly legal, to put it lightly, I’m not going to put myself at risk and upload your gun’s assignment onto the national registry. That means that if you’re caught with it, you’re going to jail—they won’t even think twice. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Karl said.
“Then she’s all yours,” Marv said, placing the gun into its case and handing the whole bundle over. “I hope you put her to good use.”
“I hope I won’t have to,” Karl replied.
“That’s a smart attitude.”
Marv climbed into the cabin of his truck and started the vehicle up. With only a few seconds delay, the gun dealer reversed out onto the road, and then pulled forward and out of sight.
Karl remained standing with his purchase for a minute before he started the long walk out of town.
I’m confused, Karl thought. Why didn’t the scanner show him that I’m wanted? How did we just get away with that?
“How do you think?” Maynard said. “That was me, of course.”
You made the scan fail?
“No, not quite,” Maynard said. “When he was about to retrieve your data, I just waited for the right moment, reached out, and gave him someone else.”
Who?
“I don’t know. I’m just thankful it was a man and Marv there didn’t think you were a Tiffany.”
What if something happens and Marv has to report whom he sold the gun to? Karl thought, a pang of guilt on his heart.
“That’s not our problem anymore,” Maynard replied. “Come on, let’s get to Fort Leddy.”
Fort Leddy
Wind whipped past the windows as Karl sped along the highway.
His knuckles were turning pale as he clutched onto the steering wheel of the rental car. It was a modest sedan, perhaps not as luxurious as he’d have liked, but it didn’t attract attention. At this point, the worst thing that could happen to their plan was being caught early.
Maynard had used his identity-masking trick again to get them the car. The trick worked for credit use, background checks, even false identification. Since the fugitive had burned through all the money he had on his person, and even some Thompson lent him, he needed a new way to pay for things. Karl couldn’t help but feel guilty to those whose credentials he’d used, but he couldn’t worry about that now. He had answers to get.
When they were at the store arranging for the car, Karl had been anxious. He hated every moment out in public, as if the stares of other people burned his flesh like sunlight on a vampire. He had started to sweat and fidget a bit, which Maynard pointed out would only add to their suspicious nature.
The I.I. had then explained the digital disguise he was using on Karl.
Digital disguise? Karl had asked.
“That’s right,” Maynard said. “Anyone with a cerebral computer will see you as someone you are not.”
What do you mean?
“It’s randomized, so it’s different for each person. Whenever someone with an implant looks at you, they’ll see an old Asian woman. Or maybe a male teenager. I couldn’t guess. But the most important thing is that they will not see Karl Terrace. Even your own mother wouldn’t recognize you.”
And it does it with my voice as well?
“Naturally.”
That had eased a significant portion of Karl’s anxiety. He’d relaxed a little and let Maynard do his trick in order to rent the car.
Now that he was driving down a long stretch of empty highway, Karl wondered if he’d ever be able to just be Karl Terrace in public again. Maynard heard the thought and didn’t comment on it.
The drive had already taken them seven hours, but they were getting close. Karl knew they wouldn’t arrive in Fort Leddy before the sun sank below the horizon, but he was glad to have the cover of night. The highway, which had broken off from any populated areas several miles back, was devoid of any other drivers. When the daylight left, Karl would have to risk driving without headlights in order to conceal his approach.
Neither of them were sure what they’d find in Fort Leddy. The only lead they had to go on was the shipping receipt Thompson had sent them. For all they knew, Fort Leddy had burned down years ago and the address was a false lead. But they had to pursue that lead to whatever end, Karl realized. It was that, or surrender to the conspiracy that used him as its scapegoat.
Half an hour later, the sun finished setting. Twenty minutes after that, Karl put the car into park.
“Why are we stopping?” Maynard asked.
We can’t go all the way into town, Karl replied. If Stewart or his compatriots have made the town their headquarters, the last thing we’d want to do is announce our presence with a running motor and a trail of dust.
“So we’re just going to walk from here? How far out are we, even?”
Just a mile or two. Don’t worry—you won’t have to do any of the walking.
“I still don’t like it,” Maynard said.
I’m not asking you to.
Karl grabbed the knapsack from the passenger se
at and exited the sedan. He gave the vehicle one last look before he locked it up and left it sitting in a roadside ditch.
“Don’t forget where we parked.”
It didn’t take long before Karl was panting and growing tired of his hike into town. Maynard had given him an unusual amount of peace, but he enjoyed the silence too much to ask any questions.
Cactus and yucca plants pricked at the hems of his trousers as he started to ascend a squat hillside. The hill was long and short, but the climb was by no means gentle. He walked through the thick grass clumps and stone piles that composed the hill, aided by no path or trail.
Thirst was starting to engulf his tongue. He pulled out the water he had brought with him and had a sip before continuing. He realized only now that he might not have brought enough to drink, depending on how long he was staying.
Before too long, the slope gave way and the hill peaked. Karl climbed up onto its summit and gazed down into the valley below.
Fort Leddy was only about a mile wide at its largest point. A small river, maybe a large stream, separated the hillside from the town, where trees and grass grew so abundantly the area looked like one large park. It didn’t help that most of the asphalt streets had been broken and patches of nature had reclaimed them.
Karl hadn’t been prepared by the sheer dilapidation of the place. The buildings, though constructed of modern masonry and plastics, cracked and slumped in such a way that the psychologist would assume them to be hundreds of years old, had he not known better. Roofs were sunken in like the flesh of a decaying pumpkin. Some buildings were full of holes, bringing images of war-torn Europe during World War II to Karl’s mind. He found it hard to believe that such destruction was the result of simple neglect, rather than a deliberate and malicious effort.
The whole place would have seemed like a ruinous ghost town, were it not for a bit of motion that caught Karl’s eye.
