by R. R. Banks
“I lost some good people,” he says. “Lost some good friends.”
I nod although I don't understand. How could I? But I can empathize with the grief he's obviously feeling.
“On the plus side though,” he says, “I don't think I'd be the doctor I am today without the experience I had over there.”
“Silver linings.”
“I suppose so.”
He pulls into a rest stop just off the highway. I look at the clock and see that it's closing in on five in the morning. It won't be long before the sky begins to lighten and the sun starts to creep over the horizon, signaling a new day.
Once upon a time, not all that long ago, I used to enjoy getting up just before dawn. Used to like sitting and watching the first fingers of morning light crawl across the sky. I'd always greet the day with a sense of hope and optimism. A sense that it could be the day that I finally find the courage inside of me to do it – that I would finally escape from Raymond and Noah's Children.
Over time though, the optimism faded. So did the hope. And eventually, I stopped getting up with the sun at all. Life was nothing but a continual series of hardships and disappointments. Although that spark of hope never faded entirely, the overwhelming sense that I would be on the Ark for the rest of my days, having nothing to hope for or look forward to, drowning in despair, was all I could feel. Somehow, I'd resigned myself to the idea that I would forever be under Raymond's thumb.
But then things changed. I changed. I rest my hand on my stomach and imagine that I can feel the life blooming inside of me. Because of Danny and because of this baby, I was forced out of that pit of despair and resignation I'd allowed myself to exist in for far too long. And yeah, I'm on the run and living in a constant state of fear, but for the first time in a very long time, I feel that spark of hope inside of me again.
I look over at Eric and know that it's because of him, that hope is blossoming within me again. Without him, I would be alone and not have known what to do. He makes me feel safe. Makes me feel like we can outrun Raymond and his men. Like we can escape from them forever.
But I know it comes at a price. And that he is bearing the brunt of the cost. His life is being altered – and his life is in terrible danger – because he's helping me.
“I'm sorry,” I say, staring through the windshield.
From the corner of my eye, I see him turn to me, but I don't dare meet his eyes. Parking in a dark corner of the rest stop, he shuts the car off.
“What are you sorry about?”
For a long moment, I say nothing. But then, I turn to him and give him a faltering smile.
“I was just thinking about how I'm upending your life,” I say. “How I'm putting you in danger.”
“We've been through this already.”
“I know,” I say. “I just need you to know how sorry I am for everything. I don't blame you for wishing you'd never crossed paths with me.”
His laugh was soft. Reaching out, he put his fingers beneath my chin and raised my head so I was looking him in the eye.
“I don't regret crossing paths with you for a second,” he says. “In fact, I should be thanking you for it. And you have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all.”
“Thanking me? For what?” I ask. “I've brought you nothing but –”
“Stop,” he says. “Let's not do this. Just know that you have nothing to be sorry for. I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this detail. It's all good. Now, you should get some rest. A pregnant woman needs rest.”
He gives me a smile and withdraws his hand from my chin – and surprisingly, I find myself sad about that. There's something reassuring and comforting about his touch.
“What about you?” I ask.
“I'll be fine,” he says. “I'm going to stand watch. Now, settle in and get some sleep.”
I nod as he gets out of the car and walks a short distance away. In the pre-dawn gloom, all I can see is the shape of him amidst the shadows. He looks like a spirit standing in the murky darkness.
Or a guardian angel. My guardian angel.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Eric
I sit on a bench beneath a tree a short way off and watch the car. More specifically, I'm watching the cars that come and go from the rest stop, looking for the cowboys. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do if they show up. I have no weapons and there are two of them against me – not exactly the best of odds.
All I can do is run.
I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my jacket pocket, shake one out, and light it. I inhale deeply and let the thick plume of smoke out slowly. I watch it rise into sky, disappearing on the slight breeze. I keep an eye on the entrance to the rest stop, tensing each time a car turns in. Not that many cars have turned in at this time of the morning, but there have been a few.
But the cowboys haven't turned up yet, which is a good thing. Of course, if they find us here, we've got a bigger problem on our hands. Which leads me back to the original question that's been floating through my head ever since they showed up at the hotel – how in the hell did they find us in the first place?
Sure, the easy answer is that the lady who sold Calee the bus ticket gave her up. It seems to be the most logical conclusion to draw. But something about it doesn't sit right with me. Something about that theory seems a little off. If the lady had gone to the trouble of selling her a ticket under a fake name and hiding her out until the bus got there like Calee said, why would she turn around and give her up?
Unless Raymond's men tortured her for the information. That was possible. And after seeing the goons at the hotel, I didn't have a whole lot of trouble believing them capable of doing just that. But would they risk the backlash from the townspeople and the local authorities?
From everything Calee told me, the people in town already hated Noah's Children. The cops were always trying to find something to bust them on. She'd told me they even brought the Feds in pretty regularly. But they'd never been able to find anything to bust them for.
Raymond was apparently very good at covering his tracks. Calee said that he'd been operating his cult for a long time, which means that for him to be able to cover things up – things like murder, rape, pedophilia – as well and efficiently as he does, he has to be very smart. Very detail oriented. And very good at keeping a low profile – and torturing an old woman is not keeping a low profile.
The theory of Occam's Razor suggests that the simplest answer is usually the right one. Which means that Raymond's thugs torturing an old woman for information is the most logical answer – and probably the right one.
Which suggests that Raymond came by his information by way of the bus ticket lady and from there, a drive around Fort Collins, which isn't an enormous place, until they found her. And once they found her, they followed her, intending to grab her in the middle of the night.
But then, that theory doesn't entirely hold up either. If they'd followed her, they would have known about me. And they would have known she was in my room when they showed up to grab her. Something is off and not everything is lining up.
I'm probably overthinking the whole thing. But that's what I tend to do sometimes. Obsess and overthink something to death. I think though, that's also part of what makes me a good doctor. I'm never satisfied with the first answer and will always keep digging for something better.
I take another drag of my smoke, watching the entrance to the rest stop.
“You're a doctor,” Calee says. “And you smoke? Isn't that like hypocritical or something?”
I look up as she sits down on the bench next to me and laugh softly. “Probably so,” I say. “Bad habit I picked up in the service. Don't smoke all that often, but sometimes it helps me clear my head and lets me think straight.”
I hold the pack out to her but she shakes her head. “I tried one once,” she says. “Didn't much care for it.”
“You're smarter than I am then,” I say. “I thought you were supposed t
o be sleeping.”
“Can't really sleep,” she replies with a shrug. “Too much going on.”
I nod. “Yeah, it's understandable.”
We sit in a companionable silence for a few minutes, watching the cars on the freeway go zipping by. Dawn is beginning to break and the sky overhead is starting to lighten.
“What are we going to do?” she asks.
“Well, before we do anything, I need to wrap up my business here.”
She looks over at me. “You have business here?”
“You didn't think I came to Fort Collins because it's a booming tourist mecca, did you?”
“No, I suppose not.”
She laughs and it's a high-pitched, sweet sound. Her smile really transforms her face. Makes it even more beautiful than it already is. Her long dark hair frames a smooth face so fair, it looks like it was created out of alabaster. Her eyes are darker than midnight and she has plump, full lips. She's got an incredible hourglass figure and round, full breasts. She's not the usual sort of woman I find myself attracted to, but she's gorgeous all the same.
Of course, that's not really why I'm attracted to her. To be perfectly honest, I don't know why I'm attracted to her. I actually don't even know with any certainty that I'm attracted to her at all. Ever since I first saw her sitting in that diner with that scared, lost look on her face, I felt inexorably drawn to her for reasons I still haven't figured out.
All I know is that I felt compelled to step in and help her. Still feel that way despite the fact that the cowboys are out here hunting us. I can't – and won't – leave her out here on her own. Won't let her suffer at Raymond's hands anymore than she already has.
For reasons, I can't even pretend to understand, I feel protective of Calee. Like she's my responsibility and needs me to look out for her. It's all strange and I don't get any of it. But it's how I feel all the same. And honestly, it makes me feel good.
She makes me feel a lot of things, honestly. And most of those things I don't understand. But until I'm in a spot where I can sit down and analyze it all, I can't be bothered to think about them. I need to compartmentalize. Keep it all locked away.
And maybe – just maybe – once we're out of harm's way and are safe, I can sit down with those feelings for a while and see if I can figure out what they are and what they mean. All I know with any certainty is that Calee makes me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time. As crazy as it sounds, there's an electricity running through my body that I haven't had in forever. Maybe it's just the high of being in danger again, I don't know. But the feeling is there. It's real and I can't deny it. And that's what I'm thankful to her for. She doesn't really know it, but she's given me a purpose again. A mission. And that mission feels like it's brought me back to life.
I think back to the conversation I had with Lara – and her belief that there's a missing piece inside of me. I'm not saying Calee is that missing piece. But she's certainly starting to fill something inside of me. Something I didn't really believe was missing in the first place. Apparently though, I was wrong.
“I'm out here because I came to see an old friend,” I say. “He's dying. Doesn't have much time left.”
Her face falls and she looks absolutely mortified. “Oh, God,” she says, her voice soft. “I'm so sorry, Eric. This is the last thing you needed.”
I shrug and give her a rueful smile. “Hey, you managed to make Fort Collins a little more exciting for me.”
Her dark eyes are wide and I see a blend of sympathy and guilt in them.
“What did I tell you about beating yourself up?”
“But what about your friend?” she asks. “If not for me, you would get to spend –”
“I was planning on leaving today anyway,” I say. “Steve isn't really conscious and coherent that much anymore, so my time with him is limited anyway. I just came to pay my respects and say my goodbyes, really.”
She sighs and looks down at the ground, but she doesn't argue anymore. I can tell that she's still kicking herself though. And I know that no matter what I say, she'll keep doing it – she's got a bad guilt complex.
“Okay,” she finally says. “After that, do you have a plan? Maybe you can loan me enough money to put me on a bus somewhere? And once I'm settled, I can try to pay you back?”
I look at her and roll my eyes dramatically. “No, that's not going to happen.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“What's going to happen is that once I say goodbye to my friend, we're going to pack up and get the hell out of Fort Collins,” I say. “We're going to put Raymond and his goons behind us.”
She cocks her head and looks at me, her face filled with curiosity. “And where are we going?”
“I'm taking you back to California with me,” I say. “I'm taking you home.”
“California?” she asks, her voice soft. “Eric, I can't ask you to take me to your home.”
“You're not asking,” I say. “I'm telling you that this is what's going to happen. At least there, I'll be able to keep you safe.”
She sighs and looks at the ground again. “I honestly don't know if anywhere is safe,” she says. “You've already put yourself in enough danger because of me –”
I hold up my hand to cut her off again. “This isn't a debate,” I say. “You have nowhere to go. I can't leave you here because you're not safe. And I'm not leaving you knowing you're not safe. The only place I can take you where I know you'll be safe is back to San Diego with me.”
Calee eyes glimmer with tears and she gives me a small smile. “Thank you, Eric. For everything.”
I reach out and give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You're welcome.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Calee
I sit on a chair to the side, trying to keep myself as unobtrusive and out of the way as possible. The last thing I want to do is intrude on Eric's time with his friend. I look at the man lying in the bed and feel a pain in my heart. He looks so small. So weak and fragile. I can tell it hurts him to even breathe.
But he's tough. He's strong. And he's doing everything he can to put on a brave face and enjoy his time with Eric.
“Don't you dare tell your wife,” Eric says with a small laugh.
He looks at the door as if to make sure she's not standing there watching before he reaches into the paper bag he brought and pulls out the sandwich he'd picked up. He carefully unwraps it and sets it on the bed next to his friend. Steve's eyes light up and a genuine smile crosses his face.
“You've always been a good man,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “I take back all those white boy jokes I made.”
Eric cocks his head. “You never made any white boy jokes to me.”
Steve shrugs. “Not to your face, no.”
Eric laughs and cuts a small piece of the sandwich before handing it to Steve. The man takes a bite and his eyes roll back into his head and he makes a sound that borders on the obscene as he chews.
“My God, I forgot how good these things are,” Steve says.
I watch as they banter back and forth while Eric feeds his friend. I have to admit that it's an interesting and endearing side to him. Ever since we met, I've really only seen him in commander general mode as he gives the orders and tells me how things are going to be. Not that I blame him. In a situation like this – one I'm poorly equipped to deal with – I'm glad to have somebody with a calm head who knows how to take charge. I'm grateful to him for that.
But seeing him with Steve, seeing this sweet, almost nurturing side to him – it's not something I expected from him.
“Calee?”
I shake my head and pull myself out of my thoughts when I hear Eric calling me. I look at him, confused for a moment and realize I'd missed just about everything they were saying.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was sort of caught up in my head.”
“I can tell,” he replies.
I feel the heat in my cheeks as my face flushes again. “Sorry.”
“I was just telling Steve about how we met and everything that's gone on,” Eric says.
Steve nods. “Sounds like you’ve gone through hell.”
I nod and give him a small smile. “It was – difficult.”
Steve looks at his Eric and nods. “Tough girl.”
“Told you.”
I feel myself blushing harder and I fight to keep the awkward smile off my face.
“Anyway,” Eric says. “I was telling him about them finding us at the hotel and how it doesn't make sense. Are those the clothes you wore out at the compound?”
I look down at what I'm wearing and shake my head. “No, Danny had the jeans and shirt for me,” I say. “The jacket was his too.”
“How about them boots?” Steve asks, pointing with a long, skeletal finger at my feet.
“Yeah, these are my boots from the compound,” I say. “Why?”
They exchange a look and something passes between them that I don't understand. Eric turns back to me, a grim expression on his face.
“Give me your boots,” he says.
“My boots?”
He nods. “Yeah. I need to check them.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
I do as I'm told though and take my boots off, handing them over to Eric. I feel a little strange standing there in just my socks. I watch Eric handling my boots, inspecting every inch of them. There doesn't seem to be anything remarkable about them to me. They're plain, black work boots. Functional rather than fashionable. Standard issue out on the Ark.
Eric slides his hand inside the first one and frowns. I see him feeling something down inside of it and his frown deepens.
“What is it?” Steve asks, his voice starting to fade.
“I think there's something in here,” he says. “I can feel it – barely. But it feels like there's something underneath the inside lining.
I watch as Eric starts tugging at the inside of the boot. I hear the sound of fabric ripping and he pulls the whole lining out. And when he looks inside, I see alarm spread across his face. He reaches in and pulls something out that's round and metallic and has a couple of wires protruding from it. Eric looks from it to Steve and back again, his face growing even more concerned.
