by Sam Black
I pushed on the starter button and she took off, releasing some of the pressure in my head. I shut it off, not wanting to use any more of the fuel.
I needed to get Rocky buried before the sun went down. With the garage door up and the outside light shining on Rocky, I took a closer look: Rocky’s eyes were still open; his mouth agape; a pool of blood had formed in front of his nose. I thought I saw something in his mouth. I spread it open and pulled out a piece of fabric. It was soaked in some sort of liquid. It smelled like ammonia. “That’s the same odor I detected when I opened the garage door earlier.” I ran my hands over the rest of his body, checking for any cuts or broken bones and found that his front, left shoulder had been shattered. They must have used a heavy object. Rocky weighed over one-hundred-ten pounds and would have killed anyone who brought harm to Jen.
I grabbed one of Jen’s spades from the wall in the garage. Jen had all kinds of garden tools. I walked out by an old walnut tree that was straight as an arrow for fifty feet up, with a few limbs at the top shading the area.
I dug a hole four feet deep, three feet wide and five feet long. The Georgia clay made my hands sore and blistered; my back and shoulders ached. I’m not in great physical shape. Jen was always on me to work out. I tried several times, but never seemed able to fit it into my hurried schedule.
I carried Rocky to his resting place. I laid him in the hole, then ran back upstairs and grabbed some of Jen’s work-out clothes to place on top of Rocky. That dog had run with her since he was a pup. I knew she would want something of hers with him. I ran back inside and grabbed a pair of scissors to cut a small lock of Rocky’s hair. I’ll save this to give to Jen when I find her—I will find her.
Chapter 3
THREE HOURS LATER
The numbness in my body drained my energy. I sat down in my large leather chair and tried to piece things together. My Girard Perregaux Swiss watch told me two hours and fifty nine minutes had elapsed since I had heard Jen’s last words. My eyes filled with emotion; my body stiffened once again.
How could Jen and all the security people disappear within three minutes? Not possible. They must be in the plant. They have to be in the plant. The plant’s generators will run for forty eight hours. There is food in the two large refrigerators. There is plenty of water. Then what? “Damn, I’ve got to get them out of there.”
What did they do with security? Is there one, or several, security people involved? No way. They were screened. They were all spotless. I shook my foggy head. Someone should have shot somebody, or one of my security people should have been shot. No bodies, no blood. Why?
How could they get Jen out of the house in forty-nine seconds? That’s impossible. Wait, maybe out the back. No, security locked that down early this morning because we would be gone. They would have locked down the front by three thirty today.
All the windows were bullet proof. The three chimneys were lined with a stainless steel firewall twelve inches in diameter. Only a midget could fit down that chimney.
I ran upstairs and looked at every window. Everything was locked down. Nothing was disturbed. I checked Jen’s closet. Everything was as neat as always. “What the hell was she going to wear for the trip? Damn it, she showed me last night, wanted my approval.”
My foggy head pounded with every beat of my heart. The pressure made me nauseous again. “It will come to me.” I checked all the windows downstairs—nothing unusual.
I went outside; the sun was sinking in the west. I ran back into the house and got a pair of Bausch and Lomb 10x 42 binoculars. You could watch two cockroaches mate at 1000 yards with these glasses.
I went to the perimeter fence and let my binoculars take over. I walked slowly, peering through the glasses in hopes of finding something, anything that would take the hurt away. After ten minutes and covering two-hundred yards, I spotted something sticking out of the ground. It looked like a PVC pipe, maybe two inches in diameter. I focused on the object and, yes, it was a white PVC pipe. “What the hell is that for?” I continued to search the area and spotted another PVC pipe approximately one hundred feet to the left of the other one. They were the same size and both were protruding upward to the same height. I dropped my glasses from my eyes and racked my brain. I came up with nothing. My head filled quickly with thoughts of Jen being harmed. The rage in me started to control my head. I couldn’t think.
I found six more PVC pipes, all approximately one hundred feet apart. All the pipes were running in a line toward the plant. “A tunnel? Holy shit!” I ran to the house; my heart tried to leap out of my chest before I reached the front door.
Finding a flashlight in the garage, I stumbled around in the half-lit garage, pushing the button with my thumb. A beam of light struck the garage wall. I ran to the basement stairs.
I started at the rear of the basement, the same side where I had spotted the pipes outside. The walls were made of twenty-inch thick stone. I ran the beam of light from the floor to the ceiling and back and forth. I saw nothing. I beat on the stone with my fist. After twenty feet and a bruised hand, I spotted something different. It was reddish in color. I put my fingers in it then the beam of light on my fingers. It was Georgia clay, red Georgia clay. Beating on the wall with both hands, I ran my fingers around the perimeter of the stone for any sign of an opening. Nothing! “Where did the red clay come from?”
I shone the light on the floor above and nothing. “Get a candle. A candle will tell me where the air is flowing from.” I tore up the basement stairs and found six candles in the buffet. Jen loved candles. I grabbed a candle lighter from the pantry and took three steps at a time until I reached the basement floor. One of the six candles dropped and broke when it struck the basement’s oak, wooden steps. “Shit, I only needed one candle.”
“Damn, I need some water.” My throat was parched. I tore back upstairs, grabbed two bottles of water, a spade from the garage, the same spade I used to bury Rocky, and ran through the kitchen. Seeing a jar of Georgia roasted peanuts on the counter, I popped half a handful into my mouth and poured a cupful into my pants pocket.
Searching every square inch of the basement wall, I finally discovered an opening. Three large stones were lying on the floor. The hole in the wall was large enough for me to get through. I hollered, “Jennifer! Jennifer, I’m coming.” I entered the tunnel.
Chapter 4
THE SAME DAY
The beam of light bounced with my every step. The tunnel was cold and damp. It would lead me to Jen. The passageway, approximately three feet wide and almost five feet high, must have been dug out many years ago, probably during the Civil War. I’m six two and weigh around two hundred; although, I’m probably ten pounds less since Jen hadn’t answered me a little over six hours ago. “How did the people that kidnapped Jennifer know about the tunnel? What the hell is going on?” The red clay was hard and there weren’t any spade or shovel marks that I could see.
I took several deep breaths at the PVC pipes that were used for air intake. I was at my sixth pipe when the air seemed hard to breath. I sucked in as much as I could and moved on. The air inside the tunnel burned my throat; my chest hurt. I began gasping. My head felt like it was swelling. “What the hell? I’m being poisoned.” My vision blurred.
My beam of light was growing dimmer. “Damn it, I should have brought extra batteries. I came to a wall of clay. The tunnel ended. “What the hell! It can’t end. No!” My heart tried to climb out of my perspiration-soaked shirt. I took the spade I had dragged along and picked away at the top of the tunnel. Every stab at the roof of the tunnel only brought fear of death. “I need to get out of this tunnel and get out now. I can hardly breathe.” The clay was like concrete. After several minutes of vigorous digging, I finally broke through the Georgia clay. The outside air entered my burning lungs giving me enough energy to crawl through the small opening.
After climbing out of the tunnel, I took in several deep breaths; my lungs hurt. My soft hands were bleeding. I lay on the ground loo
king up at the stars and a half moon that shed some light on my dim hopes.
I marked my entrance to the tunnel with several limbs that had fallen from the many trees that stood outside the fences of SAWWS. I suddenly became disoriented. My skin became cold. I tried to shake it off. I threw up. “What the hell? Those bastards.” Everything went black.
Chapter 5
TEN YEARS EARLIER
I received my doctorate in Environmental Science and Infectious Diseases from the University of Southern California. California had more studies on pollution and air quality than all the other States in the union. They still couldn’t keep up with the problem that began to plague them right after the gold rush in the 1800’s. The problem: Pollution—People cause pollution.
I learned at a very young age, probably when I was in the fourth grade, the biggest problems our country would face weren’t wars with China or Russia or some Moslem country. Our biggest problems were going to be the ability to breathe, lack of drinkable tap water, infectious diseases, and greed. True, I learned this from my parents, my parents’ friends, and others. At the age of twelve, I placed greed at the top of the list because greed is what over 75% of the American population thrives on. It has been proven over and over during the last one-hundred years that greed has caused more hardship, death, destruction, riots, prison population increases, millionaires, billionaires, obesity, diabetes, attrition, bankruptcies, foreclosures, gambling losses, poverty, and lack of respect for your neighbor. I figured the last one out on my own.
At sixteen, I realized we, Americans, had abandoned what our parents and teachers had taught us years, and even decades, before. We not only had obliterated respect, we had forgotten: The Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag, how to be kind to our neighbors, the words to the Star Spangled Banner, what this country used to stand for, the constitution, not to mention the men who had given their lives, or the men who were crippled for life, to keep the ungrateful in greed mode. What about morals and love for one another? What the hell happened to: excuse me, please, and thank you?
I knew when I got my bachelor’s degree I wouldn’t be able to control greed or the water problem, but maybe, just maybe, I could help with the breathing problem and infectious diseases. My thesis was: Disease Control in America and the World.
Upon receiving my doctorate, I realized I wanted to improve our air quality. I conducted research and lab experiments on animals with all the passion I could muster to create something which would enable all of us to breathe cleaner air. The world was too big. It would take years to clean up the mess that had been created by greedy companies throughout the world. I had to find a way to insert something in our lungs or bronchial tubes that would enable us to inhale fresh, clean air. That meant surgery for every person. No way could that happen. I needed to come up with something else.
After two more years and lots of sleepless nights, I finally invented a serum that would help keep our lungs free of the world’s pollution. Like an additive you put in your gas tank to keep the sludge from building up. It worked wonders on the animals in my lab, as well as outdoor animals. Their symptoms drastically improved within days. They had more energy and better appetites. I went to state prisons and experimented on several inmates. Within days, their breathing improved during strenuous exercise.
Chapter 6
THE INVESTOR
Not having any resources of my own, I presented my plan to several large drug companies in the United States. I owed thousands in student loans and was almost broke. Broke, like less than $100.00 to my name. I didn’t even own a car. All the greedy drug companies turned me down and laughed in my face. I hate it when the rich laugh at the poor. If I am ever a man of means, I will help the poor, as long as they are willing to help themselves.
I wrote a letter to one of our nation’s richest men, David Holloway, a computer genius that gave much more money away than he kept. I heard from him three days after I had mailed my letter. Since I didn’t have a phone, I had given Mr. Holloway my lab number and slept there until he called. Mr. Holloway wanted to meet with me—meet with me in Chicago. I borrowed the airfare and some extra money from my best friend, Robert Hays, from Denver. I’ve known Robert since grade school. He’s a police officer and doesn’t have shit for money, but he was the only person I could ask. He put the loan on a credit card and sent me a money order. My parents and brother didn’t have squat. I hated to beg, but I needed to try and sell my idea to Holloway.
The meeting took place in Chicago at a restaurant on Navy Pier called Rios. We talked for three and half hours and I wish I could have recorded every word he spoke. The man was extremely knowledgeable and we came to the conclusion we had similar beliefs to where this great nation was headed if something wasn’t done quickly.
David Holloway had a world of information that came off the top of his head, not from some printed-up documentation that was run off on a fancy copy machine.
“Sam, what I’m about to tell you is fact, not fiction, and the world needs to know what is happening, not only in our nation, but throughout the world.” I was all ears, my elbows on the white, linen, tablecloth that was draped neatly over a circular, cherry table. “Sam, over 46 million people die each year from causes directly related to air pollution. Over 50 million cars are added every year to the roads in this world. Over 90% of them are running on gasoline. Sixteen out of twenty of the most polluted cities in the world are in China. It has been proven that over 25 % of California’s pollution comes from Asia. Prevailing winds blow it across the Pacific Ocean. Several tons of polluted waste per day reaches the sandy beaches in California.” I wanted to take notes, but he kept on talking, and I didn’t want to interrupt.
Holloway loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button on his white shirt. He sipped some water from the crystal glass and set it down, staring at the glass. His eyes focused on my eyes and he began again. “Coal-fired power plants supply two-thirds of China’s energy. It takes five days to two weeks for that pollution to arrive at California’s shores.”
“My God, David, we need to stop this invasion.” I interrupted him only because my brain couldn’t seal my lips any longer.
“Sam, asthma is on the rise throughout the world. It has increased 75% in the United States since 1980. Our children won’t see retirement because after breathing this polluted air, they won’t live long enough.” David stared out the window at Lake Michigan.
I grabbed his attention by saying, “You know the drug companies laughed at me when I presented this plan to them.” I looked at the five-hundred page file I had prepared over the past several years, which took thousands of hours doing various experiments, conducting hundreds of lab tests, analyzing every aspect I could come up with and documenting it. I stared back at David; he glanced at my file and then looked into my eyes. His eyes told me he knew I had put my heart and soul into this program.
“Let me tell you, Sam, 46 percent of all Americans, which includes every man woman and child, take at least one prescription drug per day. The drug companies are the most powerful industry in our nation. The cost of insurance has spiked drastically because of drug costs, along with the amount of drug consumption. The other largest expense comes from poorly managed hospitals.” My blood pressure rose with every sentence David spilled from his mouth.
“The drug companies take one dollar of every five dollars of the net profit and put it towards research. Two dollars of every five of the gross profit are earmarked for the advertising of the killer drugs they push on the public. The drug companies’ profits are higher than any other industry in our country. Overall, company profits declined in the early 2000’s, but the drug companies showed an increase of 35%. There are ten drug companies in the Fortune-500.”
“We have to stop them,” I said, my voice cracking.
“That will be very difficult in a world of greed and corruption. The FDA has over half of its key people in financial relationships with the drug companies here in the States. In other words, they
own a substantial amount of drug stock. There are more drug lobbyists in Washington than any other lobbyist group.
David glanced through my file and asked if he could review it and get back to me the day after tomorrow. I said yes and I would call him. He gave me his business card. I didn’t tell him I was broke and couldn’t afford lunch. I had planned to take a bus to Denver to see my parents and, hopefully, get some free food.
I shook my head in disgust and motioned for the waitress to bring the check. I paid the bill with the last fifty of what Robert had given me, stood and said, “David, how about going outside and getting some polluted air?” David gave me a quick grin; I returned a twisted mouth, shook my head and led the way toward the door.
“Sam, I believe we can and will make a difference in this nation.” We shook hands. David had a limo waiting for him. He asked if he could give me a lift to which I replied, “No thanks, David. I need to think.” He nodded. With my head bent down, I walked toward the bus station, rehashing what David had said and whether our plan would work, provided he can come up with the financing.
Chapter 7
OCTOBER—THE NEXT DAY
I woke up with the sun shining in my eyes. My head pounded. My throat was on fire. I wiped the face of my reddish-stained watch; it read seven-ten. I tried to get up, but my throbbing head wouldn’t let my body function. I reached for my last water bottle and sipped in some warm water. I reached into my pants pocket and grabbed some needed energy. I chewed on the soggy peanuts, swallowed some water and sat up. I shook my head; the cob webs wouldn’t go away.
