The Way Out

by Armond Boudreaux

  Braden let himself fall back against the ribbed curve of the culvert wall and slid down to a crouch in the mud that had built up behind the tangled branches and sticks.

  She opened the bag and took out a water bottle.

  “Drink,” she said.

  Braden took several gulps and handed it back to her. After she drank, she turned off the flashlight and put both the bottle and the light back in the bag. Then she bent and scooped mud in her hands and smeared it on his arms. The cold grittiness of it reminded her of facial cream, and she let out a short laugh at the thought.

  “It is a funny thing to think of right now,” Braden said.

  Val smiled again. “I’m glad that I can’t hide things from you.”

  Braden took in a breath, about to speak, but then he paused.

  “No, you're not,” he said. Another pause. “Well, not completely.”

  Val covered his arms from his shoulders to his hands in mud. Then she scooped up more for his face and neck.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “You don’t need to be sorry for anything.”

  Somewhere outside, she heard the whine of the Dragonfly.

  “Here,” she said, putting a pile of mud in his hands. “Start putting that on your shirt. We need to work fast.”

  “Will this keep them from seeing us?”

  “I hope,” she said.

  He pressed the mud against his chest and rubbed while she finished his neck and throat and then smeared his hair. He grimaced.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Do this.” She sucked in her lips. “And close your eyes.”

  He did it, and she covered his face in the gritty brown and gray slime.

  “Okay,” she said.

  Braden opened his eyes and stared through the darkness toward the culvert’s outlet.

  “You think he's alright?” he said.

  She couldn't lie. This was one of the times when she wished she could.

  “I'm not listening,” Braden said. It was one of the things he said often in order to appease her. To keep her from being annoyed. She hated herself for the fact he thought he had to do that.

  “We broke the law,” she said. “And that wound... I don’t know.”

  “Broke the law,” he echoed.

  This was more than breaking the law. She knew it, and he knew it. Kim wouldn't get a trial. He wouldn't be sentenced. Val and Braden would simply never see him again. And whatever happened to him would happen to Val, too, if they caught her. As for Braden... she didn't let herself think of what she suspected.

  “Get your legs and your feet, too,” Val said. She scooped up mud and started smearing it on herself.

  “Remember his story about the raccoon and the marble?” said Braden.

  Yes, Val knew that story. When Kim was a kid, he and his brother had left an antique whiskey bottle out in the woods with a silver marble in it. They'd come back the next day and found a small black paw, severed from its owner, still gripping the marble. A raccoon had come during the night and tried to retrieve the marble, but since it couldn't pull its paw through the bottle neck while it gripped the marble, it had simply chewed off the paw.

  The raccoon had to be sick, Val had said, when Kim had told her the story. There’s no way it would have done that if something wasn’t already wrong with it. Rabies, or something.

  Maybe so, was all Kim had said.

  Val rubbed more mud on her body and sighed. “I remember,” she said. “What makes you think of it?” But she already knew.

  Braden didn't answer immediately.

  Val could still hear the Dragonfly, but it sounded a little farther off than it had been. Had it moved away? Were they searching the woods now?

  “You're kind of like that raccoon,” said Braden. “You and Dad.”

  Val didn't look at him. She rubbed more mud onto her pants, her boots.

  “Should we go?”

  “We should wait at least a few hours,” she said. “Probably more.”

  “And then?”

  That was the question that she dreaded.

  “I don't know.”

  He rubbed more mud on his arms even though they were completely covered and stared at the bottom of the culvert.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I just—”

  But before she could finish, Braden reached out to grip her forearm and held his index finger to his lips.

  “What—”

  “Shhh.” His eyes were wide.

  Now she heard it, too. The hiss of a drone. Inside the culvert. Not from the way they’d come, but farther up into the hill.

  “Alright,” whispered Val. “Come here.” She pointed at the space right next to the tangle of branches and trash.

  Braden moved there and sat down. The hiss had grown louder. Val thought it sounded like two or more drones were coming down the pipe.

  “Help me,” she said, sitting down next to him. She reached over his head and started pulling branches down from the top of the pile to cover them. Braden did the same, and soon they were covered in dead branches, leaves, and bits of paper trash. Val's arms, neck, and face felt cool under the mud.

  “That'll have to do,” Val whispered. Let’s communicate this way from now on, she thought. You listening?

  A couple of roaches scurried across Val's arms. She resisted swiping at them. Too much movement would ruin their camouflage.

  I’m listening, Braden thought. We’re going to be okay. His head and left arm were pressed against Val's, and she could feel his pulse pounding out its rhythm.

  The hiss sounded maybe twenty yards or so up the pipe, and there were definitely two of them.

  Be absolutely still, Val thought.

  Okay.

  A light breeze—probably from the drone engines—filtered through the branches across her skin, and Val suppressed a shiver. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, and she fought against the urge to fling the branches and trash off of her body and scramble out of the culvert into the night air. She might suffocate if she stayed in here much longer.

  Soon she could just barely see the outlines of the drones coming around the bend in the pipe. Blinking yellow and red indicator lights flashed every other second and illuminated the drones’ four propeller-wings, which were configured in the shape of an X.

  Braden's arm shifted slightly against hers.

  Oh, God, don't move, Val thought, as the hissing machines moved directly over them and stopped, bathing them in a wash of wind.

  24

  “Don’t make this hard,” the man said, his face still close to hers. He gave her breast a firm squeeze. “Where is the computer?”

  Jessica lay under him, not moving. She could feel his heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump. She knew what that kind of heartbeat meant. She’d been with enough guys who wanted things from her.

  “Last chance,” he said. He shifted forward so that his hips pressed against hers, and jabbed the needle deeper into her skin. She closed her eyes. Thought of what her father had told her about pain. Just count through it. One. Two. Three.

  “Fine,” he said, taking a breath as if readying himself.

  But before he could inject her with the sedative, a blur struck the man hard in the temple. Thunk. He collapsed to the side, half-rolling and half-sliding off Jessica and onto the floor.

  “Son of a bitch!” hissed Merida. She stood over Waller, brandishing the bat.

  “Oh, my God, Merida,” said Jessica. She snatched the needle out of her neck, wincing. “Oh, my God...”

  Merida hit Waller again with the bat.

  “I think he’s out,” Jessica groaned as she got up. “If you didn’t kill him.”

  She staggered to her feet, ready to put her arms around Merida. Instead, Merida knocked her back down on the bed and fell on top of her, planting kisses all over her face.

  “You saved me,” said Jessica. “I’m okay. Going to have one heck of a headache tomorrow, though.”r />
  Merida raised her head and looked into Jessica’s eyes.

  “I’m not sure how ‘okay’ this is,” she said, her eyes brimming. “I might have just killed a guy, and you pretty much smashed that other guy’s face in, and... wait...” Her eyes grew wide. “Are these the guys who gutted that pig?”

  “No,” said Jessica. Now she remembered the bag. “I don’t know. Shit. Let me up.”

  Merida climbed off of her and helped her to her feet. “What’s going on, then?”

  Jessica stepped over the man, letting her foot kick his face, and hurried to the window. “This,” she said. She opened the window and brought the messenger bag back inside. “They wanted this.”

  She turned to Merida, holding the bag open so that she could see the computer.

  “That’s...” said Merida, staring.

  “Look,” said Jessica. “It’s not my old computer. I can’t... I’m not supposed to tell anybody about this. This is... Dammit.”

  She put the bag on her bed and stepped over the bald man so that she could get to her dresser. She had to get the computer to Carlo. She had to get a story written and posted to the net.

  “Baby?” said Merida, a hint of frustration in her voice. “What is it? Where did that come from? What’s on it?”

  Jessica took a pair of jeans and socks from the dresser.

  “I can’t...” she said, stepping into the jeans. “It’s major. Huge.”

  Merida stared.

  “It’s classified files,” she said. “Not just that. This’ll... it’ll be the biggest scandal in American history. Shit, it will be the biggest...”

  She looked up at Merida, who stared back at her, her eyes still wide.

  “The biggest anything. Ever.”

  “But what is it? Why would somebody kill you over it?”

  Jessica put on her shoes and stood, too distracted to pay attention to Merida’s question.

  “They’re most concerned with secrecy right now,” she said.

  “Who?” said Merida.

  The most important thing to DHR, DHS, FBI, and whoever else would be stopping her from releasing anything to the public. That meant their first priority would be to retrieve the computer. And then what?

  “They’ll want to get the computer from me before I can release anything onto the net,” Jessica said. “And then they’ll want to make sure I can’t tell anybody about it.”

  “Jessica,” said Merida. She grasped Jessica’s shoulder and shook it. Her lips trembled. “What are you talking about?”

  “It could destroy safe reproduction, Susan Wade, all of it,” said Jessica. “I’m not even sure I want to do that, but then these guys showed up...”

  Merida gaped at her.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said. “I’ve got to get that somewhere.” She pointed at the computer.

  “And you think you’re going to go without me? Forget it.”

  Jessica put the strap of the bag over her shoulder. She pushed past Merida. “Baby, you’re in danger when you’re with me.”

  Merida looked down at the man on the floor and then back at Jessica again. “Looks to me like you’re the one who’s in danger when I’m not around,” she said. “I just saved your ass.”

  Jessica crouched next to Waller and touched his throat. There was a pulse.

  “I should cut off his dick while he’s asleep and put it in his mouth,” said Merida. “Let him wake up to that shit.”

  “I bet he wakes up soon,” Jessica said. “We’ve got to get out of here. They are not going to take this story from me.”

  “We’ll take my car,” said Merida.

  “No. You go home.”

  Merida’s eyes flashed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said. “I love you, and I’m going through this with you.”

  Jessica stepped toward Merida and kissed her on the lips. “Look, we don’t have time to argue about this.”

  She grasped Merida’s hand. She couldn’t let Merida come with her. But then it hit her. They—whoever the hell they were—knew everything about Jessica by now, including who she was friends with. Who her girlfriend was. Merida was in danger whatever the case.

  “Alright,” she said. She let out a slow breath. “Let’s get moving. You got your phone?”

  Smiling, Merida produced it from her pocket. Jessica put it on her nightstand.

  “We’ll take the motorcycle,” she said. “There’s no GPS on it.”

  Merida’s eyes glinted. “Good, I like to—”

  But she glanced at Waller’s body on the ground and cut herself off. He was awake, a phone in his hand with some sort of app open.

  Merida grabbed the bat and swung it at the phone, missing.

  “It’s too late,” he groaned, dropping the phone on the floor.

  “What did you do?” said Merida.

  “Backup,” Waller said. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes.

  “That’s our cue,” said Merida.

  “I don’t know where the hell to go, though.”

  Merida looked toward the window.

  “I do.”

  CNN

  ON CAM 1/FULL

  (( GREG VILCHES ))

  Terror in the heart of Georgia tonight. This is Red Eye. I’m Greg Vilches.

  ON CAM 2/KEY

  At least four Homeland Security agents are dead—killed in a terrorist bombing—while conducting a raid at a family farm just north of Atlanta. And massive manhunt is now underway for their alleged attackers.

  TAKE VIDEO/FULL

  (Show Dragonflies in front of home, show agents walking out of home with boxes, show blood on grass outside of home)

  Agents tell CNN a natural born child was living inside this home—in violation of the Susan Wade Act.

  Agents entered the home with a warrant. We’re told the mother immediately opened fire on the agents with a handgun, then set off some kind of explosive device.

  WIPE TO GFX/FULL

  (ID Valarie Hara)

  This is the alleged mother, named Valerie Hara, now on the run with the child. She is a former U.S. Marine, and authorities say she is armed and extremely dangerous.

  SWITCH GFX/FULL

  (ID Kimiya Hara)

  The alleged father—Kimiya Hara—was wounded inside the home. He’s now in custody and expected to be charged with a wide range of offenses, including murder, attempted murder, and violating federal and international law by conceiving a child through unsafe means.

  WIPE TO VIDEO/FULL

  (Show agents searching farm grounds, show injured agent talking with paramedic, show broken glass on porch)

  Agents tell CNN they are also investigating Mr. and Mrs. Hara for possible connections to a number of domestic anti-government organizations.

  CNN has obtained video footage from a DHS agent’s bodycam, but I should warn viewers, the footage is disturbing.

  TAKE VIDEO/NAT SOUND FULL

  Here you see a woman—we’re told this is Valerie Hara, right there, and her son behind her—and an unarmed DHS agent is about to talk with her.

  (( DHS AGENT ))

  Mr. Hara, we’re going to need you and your family to come—gun! Gun!

  (( GREG VILCHES ))

  As you can see, the agents begin to scramble as soon as they see the firearm. The woman begins shouting incoherently. And the next voice you’re about to hear is apparently the father, Mr. Hara.

  (( MAN/OFF SCREEN ))

  Don’t, Val!

  (( NAT SOUND/GUNFIRE ))

  (( VALERIE HARA ))

  Look what you made me do, you [expletive beeped out]. You stupid [expletive beeped out].

  (( GREG VILCHES ))

  Right there—you see two agents are struck in the initial round of gunfire, including the agent with the bodycam. You see the cam spin wildly toward the ceiling. But sadly, the chaos isn’t over yet. Listen closely.

  (( MAN/OFF SCREEN ))r />
  No, no, no! Val, you can’t—

  (( AGENT/OFF SCREEN ))

  What’s she holding? What’s she holding?

  (( AGENT/OFF SCREEN ))

  Is that a—

  (( NAT SOUND/EXPLOSION ))

  (( GREG VILCHES ))

  A white light. A deafening boom. And that’s all there is.

  ON CAM 2/FULL

  Authorities stress that Valerie Hara is extremely dangerous. Do not approach her or her son. We will keep you up to date on this developing story and the ongoing manhunt right here on CNN.

  Rahab’s Daughters

  Both the left and right pose a danger to public health

  by Constance Jackson

  Yesterday in a FOX News interview, Henry Romita and Elizabeth Windsor-Smith showed their (willful?) ignorance of the benefits that have come with advances in reproduction technologies and showed just how dangerous people at both extremes of the political spectrum are to public health and women’s rights.

  Romita, a conservative columnist for the New York Times, let loose a screed against Safe Reproductive Practices that was worthy of the right-wing opposition to abortion, contraception, and marriage equality seen almost a hundred years ago. He cited “scientists” like Kirby Lee who have spent the last few decades behaving like Chicken Littles and predicting all of the world-ending consequences of SRP. It’s going to cause an aging boom! Young people aren’t going to have enough children to replace them when they get old! More and more women are going to get cervical cancer because they aren’t barefoot and pregnant! And more tellingly, Europe is going to be a Muslim Caliphate by the end of the century! Romita’s lies about SRP betray his real agenda: he wants to return us to the social and sexual oppression of the twentieth century.