by Ryan Horvath
When the woman came out twenty minutes later, Art noticed she had a bag in each of her arms.
Excellent! he thought, pleased. Both arms occupied will make it even easier.
The woman passed in front of Art and again did not notice him. He silently got out of his car, the door had been ajar to minimize any noise opening it might make. He tossed a look over his shoulder toward the store and saw no one looking their way.
Seconds later, he grabbed the woman, one large hand around her mouth and the other grabbed the waist of her jeans. Her bags dropped to the side of her car while her hands worked to free her mouth. Art heard something glass breaking inside one of the bags. Art was using virtually no effort to hold the woman and he knew she had no chance of escaping his hold. He quickly carried the woman over to his car. He kept her mouth covered but released her waist to open the back driver side door. He had to hug her to him to do so and she kicked and flailed, muffled sounds coming from her. Once the door was open, he tossed her into the backseat a bit harder than he’d intended and she slammed into the opposite rear passenger door; the impact knocked the wind from and stunned her.
Art slid into the back seat with her and closed his door.
The woman started to recover a little bit from hitting the door so hard and she finally turned to look at Art.
“You?!” the woman said, recognition and shock on her face.
Before he could stop himself, Art said, “Lights out!” and he flicked her on the cheek, hard, with his index finger. The strength of the blow from his digit sent her head back into the window glass behind her and she was instantly unconscious. A bruise from the flick was already appearing on her cheek.
Art wished he hadn’t acted so fast. The woman had somehow recognized him. Did they know each other? He didn’t think so. Very curious. It would definitely be something he would address during the woman’s first session of torture. Now was the time to get away.
He secured a roll of duct tape from his trunk and quickly used it to bind the woman by the wrists and ankles. He put a piece over her mouth as well.
The woman’s small purse had made it into Art’s car and he grabbed it. He got out of the back seat and speedily moved to the driver’s seat. He scanned the area and saw he’d drawn no attention. He opened the woman’s purse and began searching. The first of two things he was looking for that he found was a smart phone. He dropped the phone on the pavement next to the car and crushed it with his foot. No GPS would be tracking him. The second thing he was looking for was the woman’s ID. He quickly found it.
Art Spektor had Amanda Breck as his captive.
26
SIMON
On Wednesday, late morning, Simon was outside his lab in the warm, abundant, and typical sunshine that graced the Hawaiian Islands almost every day. He was dressed in khaki Bermuda shorts, a Hawaiian print shirt, flip flops, and a lanyard he wore around his neck with his access and ID cards attached. He also carried with him, his lab notebook computer, which was open and active almost always.
He was alone still at the DAFP’s one and only office in the world.
On the computer screen, Simon was viewing readings that were being taken by various devices on the roof of the facility as well as its grounds.
He was particularly interested in the atmospheric composition report. It was amazing but the facts were right there in front of him.
Greenhouse gasses were dissipating. Not at an alarming rate but if Simon had to guess, he would bet the amount of polluting gasses had not been this low since before the 1960s.
Not only that, the amount of ozone in the atmosphere was increasing. Simon had checked NASA’s web records and discovered that the Antarctic ozone hole was getting smaller. Again, not too much smaller but smaller all the same. Simon turned his face to the sky, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. Even the air smelled better, cleaner or clearer somehow.
Is that thing up there doing this? he asked himself. Does anyone else know about this?
Just then, Simon’s phone vibrated in the pocket of his shirt. The pulse pattern indicated it was a text message. Simon set his notebook down on a nearby boulder and retrieved his smart phone from his pocket.
The message was from the CIA director Hayes although Simon would never be able to prove that. The Department of Astronomical Findings and Phenomena was overseen by the CIA and with Jack Thomas’s recent demise, Simon knew he would be hearing from the good old intelligence agency sooner rather than later. A part of Simon had hoped that the Agency would simply forget about him which would allow him to continue to observe the remarkable events happening around the planet. This text message unfortunately confirmed that the Agency had, of course, not forgotten about him. The message read:
CLOSING HAWAII FACILITY. YOUR PAYMENT TRANSFERRED. YOUR STRICT SILENCE REQUIRED. REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED TO JACK? BE OUT OF FACILITY BY 0900 THURSDAY.
“Well that settles it then,” Simon said aloud to himself, looking up from the already disintegrating text message. Simon now knew that the CIA director had ordered the death of Jack Thomas because he had wanted to go public about the object that was orbiting the Earth. The congressman had apparently made that very clear to the director at a fund raiser this past Saturday night and the next day, Thomas was gone. Simon had already changed his mind about saying anything to the press or public. At this point, what good would it do? The object now appeared to be doing good things to the people and the planet. Why incite panic?
Simon checked his watch and saw he had just under twenty hours before he had to vacate what had become home for the last four months. He retrieved his DAFP notebook and headed inside the lab.
Simon packed up his few personal possessions. It didn’t take much longer than it had when he had left Philadelphia.
Finished packing, Simon took out his personal notebook and sat at his desk. In addition to being a brilliant astronomer and astrophysicist, Simon was also quite extraordinary with computers. He quickly busied himself copying files and privileged CIA software from his lab computers to his personal notebook, easily bypassing the security protocols that were in place in an effort to prevent software theft.
Within two hours, Simon had everything he needed to continue monitoring the object in the sky without needing the lab.
Simon looked around the lab one last time. He didn’t bother turning off any of the equipment.
Simon pulled his smart phone from his shirt pocket and dialed Delta Airlines, his preferred air carrier. He made reservations for a flight with numerous connections and layovers which would not have him home until just about the time the CIA arrived at the DAFP lab. He’d depart from Honolulu with a refueling stop in Los Angeles, and another stop at one of Delta’s hubs in Minneapolis, with a deliberately lengthy layover, before finally arriving in Philadelphia tomorrow morning.
Nature called and Simon decided to answer before he began the long journey back to Philadelphia. It was going to be a while before he had some privacy in a bathroom and he wanted to take advantage of this opportunity.
His business finished, he was washing his hand in the sink when he looked at himself in the mirror over the sink. Shock and surprise struck him a one two punch and it occurred to him that he hadn’t looked at himself in the mirror since he’d woken up.
The image in the mirror that was looking back at Simon was himself but not the himself he currently knew. The face looking back at him was how he looked when he was nineteen years old, maybe even eighteen. Simon touched his countenance in several different places, marveling at the regression in age in disbelief.
Awesome! Simon thought. I think I’m part of this… this evolution! Maybe I’ll live through this after all. He was glad he had decided not to send the e-mail the Congressman had had him draft. Unfortunately, Simon did not know that he should have destroyed that draft and anything associated with it. Not doing so was going to put a monster on his tail.
After one last long look at himself, Simon left the bathroom and the lab without
looking back. He got in the only vehicle on the DAFP lot, a battered and well used Jeep and left the DAFP grounds for Highway 99 South which he would then take to the Hawaii Interstate System and ultimately to Honolulu International Airport. He abandoned the Jeep in a short term parking lot at the airport, proceeded to the terminal, checked in for his flight and headed to the long line of people snaking their way through the security checkpoints. The whole time, he was grinning with excitement and anticipation.
The future is coming. And I’m going to be a part of it!
Simon didn’t know that something else was coming first; or rather someone.
27
IAN AND RIVER
Ian woke late morning on Tuesday in the guest room of his friend Jack’s townhouse in the nation’s upper midsection. He didn’t remember moving in here from the sofa but must have done so at some point. He pulled off the top sheet and swung his bare feet over and onto the floor. It was still warm in Minnesota for late September and Ian thought that was just fine. He would take all the nice weather they could get and would never complain about it.
Ian stood up from the bed, he was stripped to his briefs. He scratched his smooth chest with one hand and his sandy blonde hair with the other, looking a bit like a primate in the wild, except for the briefs of course.
He walked over and had a look at himself in the full length mirror that was on the outside of the door leading to the attached guest bathroom.
Ian had always been happy with the way he looked. He didn’t think he was teen idol material by any means but he also certainly wasn’t the guy everyone picked last either. He had dusky blue eyes, and a square cut jaw with what was known as a butt chin centered beneath his mouth. His nose was a little big, but no one ever seemed to notice but him. Ian’s shoulders were broad, his arms were adequate, and his hairless chest and abdomen were decently defined. All this was supported by his strong legs, which he kept in tone by doing lots of squats in his home and work gyms. He was also pleased with what he had beneath his briefs as well.
Finished with his morning survey, he entered the bathroom for the next part of the rising ritual and emptied his bladder into the toilet. He stripped off his skivvies and used the small shower to wash the sleep away, relishing in the pressure of the invigorating spray and heat.
Finished with his shower, he toweled off, hung the towel up, and brushed his teeth. He re-entered the bedroom and dressed in fresh underwear, socks, a pair of running shorts and a printed T-shirt. When he was finished, he padded out of the room and into the hall.
Ian peered into Jack’s bedroom across the hall. It was empty. Ian continued toward the living room. Neither Jack nor Brian appeared to be around but he found River in the kitchen. She was sitting on a window sill and peering outside but turned to look at him when she realized he had entered.
She meowed.
“Hello again,” Ian heard.
He jumped at this. “Um… what?”
“Hello again,” River meowed again. But Ian didn’t hear it as a meow.
“River,” he started, “I… I can understand you now.”
River did not look surprised. She mewed, “I figured you’d get it soon enough. I guessed that it was unlikely that the four of us would come together like this and there would be a language barrier. But unlike Brian, it seems you don’t need Jack to be around to understand me.”
“I suppose not,” Ian said feeling weird and excited at the same time. He also felt like he was on a cartoon. I’m talking to a cat for crying out loud! “Speaking of which, where are those two numbskull buddies of ours? Have you seen them this morning?”
“Yes, I went to sleep on Jack’s bed last night after I heard his heart settle down. We all woke up not too long ago and I realized I needed to use what Jack called a ‘litter box’. Jack said he didn’t have what he needed here so they went to a place called Target to get what he needs for my litter box. I wanted to go with them but Jack said he didn’t think any of us should be alone right now. I’ve been waiting and watching for them to return,” River explained.
“Oh, okay. Are you gonna make it?” Ian asked the cat.
“I hope so. But I am starting to feel uncomfortable. And that doesn’t seem to be helping,” River responded.
Ian chuckled at this and opened a cabinet and took out a coffee mug. From the carafe, he poured steaming brown liquid into the mug and added some sugar. From behind him he heard River mew.
“I really wish they would be back very soon,” she mewed.
“Can I let you outside to go?” Ian asked her.
River looked at Ian dumbfounded. Then she chuffed in what Ian guessed was her own version of a chuckle. She meowed, “Yes, Ian, thank you. That would be just fine. I don’t know why none of the three of us thought of that.”
Ian laughed at this and said, “Well, it doesn’t surprise me that Mr. Prim and Proper Jack wouldn’t think of peeing outside.” Ian didn’t know it then but Jack would soon get his fair share of pisses in the wind.
Ian walked over to the kitchen door where River had already darted to. She was dancing around his legs meowing, “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
Ian opened both doors for her and River dashed outside and around the front of the house. Remembering her earlier comment that Jack didn’t think any of them should be alone, he followed her outside and around the house just in time to see River disappear behind a nice sized boxwood bush in Jack’s front garden.
“Stay where I can see your face or tail,” Ian told River. He didn’t know what it was but something didn’t feel right about this. Ian surveyed the area around him and the bush behind which River was conducting her business but didn’t see anything. He felt watched. He looked one by one at all of the neighboring or nearby windows but didn’t see any faces or curtains flutter. There was no traffic currently on the street but Ian still felt an electrostatic sensation as if lightning were about to strike. He looked to the sky and saw it was a clear blue. As his gaze was returning though, he saw it and his face went flush with terror.
River had finished her bathroom break and was padding back over to Ian with her tail held high and a spring in her step. Ian had a second to look at her and he saw the relief on her face. He only had one more second to act lest he see that look of relief turn to a look of tortured horror.
Jack’s townhome, while urban, was still only about two blocks from the Mississippi River and even in an urban area, a river of that size still supports and attracts a lot of wildlife of all varieties; not just insects, fish, frogs, snakes and aquatic mammals. The Mississippi River is also home to more than one variety of bird of prey and it was one of these that had been making Ian feel watched.
A Red Tailed Hawk alit from a branch in the oak tree in front of the townhouse connected to Jack’s and had its sights set on River, who was unaware she was in peril as the hawk approached her from her rear. Ian guessed its wingspan was around three feet.
“River! Get down!” Ian shouted at her. He was already in motion.
River pressed to the ground, claws outstretched from their sheaths, ears pressed back on her head, which darted looking panicky in every direction around her but above.
Just as the hawk was about to sink its sharp hewn talons into River and carry her away for its lunch, Ian leapt over the cat and provided a domelike shelter for her with his body.
The hawk’s honed feet sank into the flesh on Ian’s back and he wailed in pain as he felt his skin ripped into. The hawk was startled and angry about missing its intended target and rose off of Ian, turned, and sunk its claws into his back in a new place, causing him to issue another shriek of agony.
Ian leaned his head forward and covered the back of it with his hand hoping this move would not cost him any of his fingers but also hoping it would prevent the hawk from biting into his brainstem. The hawk moved again and Ian felt a new tear, this one on the right side of his ribcage. He couldn’t endure this much longer and if he passed out, River would be exposed again to
the hawk.
“River, I have to move,” Ian groaned to her. “Get ready!”
River said nothing but Ian recognized that she was prepared to defend or flee so he had to act. He leapt up and spread his arms wide. The bird bit into his right bicep, drawing more of his blood. He smacked at the hawk with his left hand and the animal bit into the meaty side of his palm before it released from him only to return a second later, this time going for his face. Ian tried to block but the hawk was quick and more agile. It scratched its talons at his forehead and scalp, adding several more bloody wounds. He gave one last effort and struck the hawk hard in its breast causing it to finally withdraw its attack and return to its roost in the same tree it had started in.
“River, move! Inside! NOW!” Ian shouted to her and she did not need to be told twice. River raced around the house and was waiting by the door by the time Ian rounded the corner, his blood flowing from him in many places and his assaulted body shouting in torment. Ian threw open the storm door and he and River darted inside. River jumped on the kitchen counter and was meowing frantically.
“Ian! You’re hurt! You’re bleeding!” she almost howled.
“I know,” he groaned and wiped blood off his brow with the back of his bloodied hand, which really only added insult to the injury. Ian quickly made his way down to the guest bedroom he was using and River followed in tow. Ian stopped in front of the full length mirror that just about thirty minutes ago, he had been standing at before and thinking he didn’t look half bad. Now, he stared at his ravaged body.
He counted nine scratches on his brow and ten on his scalp, all various degrees of depth from a minor scrape to a severe laceration. His left hand had a beak shaped wound with a deep piercing where the top front of the bird’s beak punctured his skin when it bit him. His right bicep had a similar wound pattern.
Ian carefully removed his shirt, trying not to do any more damage to his head and hand and arm. River sat, her tail wrapped in its familiar fashion, and watched with what looked like human concern.
