Shelter

by C A Bird

  Will walked back to the others, still thinking of the past, as he fondly watched his daughter. She looked like a young Katherine, with dark auburn hair and hazel eyes, her complexion tanned from spending many hours a day outdoors. She, like her brother, was in excellent physical shape, with an athlete’s body.

  Six months ago she received her doctorate in marine biology, and she led an exciting and fulfilling life. Last semester, realizing a longtime goal, she obtained a teaching position at the University of California, San Diego, and was affiliated with The Scripps Institute of Oceanography through her research grant. As soon as she was certain of her income she purchased a small home in nearby La Jolla, feeling guilty about borrowing even the down payment from her father. Though she only lived seventy miles from her family, she didn’t get to visit her father as often as she, or he, would have liked, traveling extensively with her colleagues in search of the perfect marine environment for experimentation. Dr. Tanner was a world-renowned oceanographer and she was one of his star assistants. Her flying skills were invaluable to the team, and they were all accomplished divers.

  “Chris, you know Clay is just trying to annoy you.” He glanced at Clay, whose scowl deepened.

  “How surprising you’d take her side of the argument,” Clay said.

  “If I thought you were serious about the conversation I’d give more credence to your point-of-view. But you know as well as I that you only want to irritate your sister. When was the last time you thought seriously about the problem of world hunger?”

  “Now that you mention it… never. I don’t find it interesting at all.” He leaned back in his chair; his fingers laced behind his head, and grinned. “There are already too many people on Earth. Why make it possible for the planet to support more?”

  Will fought down an urge to once again defend his daughter. Clay was right; he did it too often. Instead, he changed the subject.

  “How’s the research going, Chris? Have you compiled enough data to renew your grant proposal?”

  “It’s going great, Dad!” She was relieved to terminate the conversation with her brother. Whenever they were together, he ridiculed her for working for a living, when she could follow his example and live a fun, exciting and totally unproductive life. She suspected he was jealous for having, so far, wasted his own life and because their father was proud of her accomplishments. “We’re off on a new tack. Dr. Tanner is trying to develop a cold-water prawn that can be cultivated in areas now devoid of food fish. We’re starting our research immediately upon our return from Mexico.”

  Her father looked troubled, “Babe, I wish I could convince you to postpone your trip for a while. Something’s come up that I’m not at liberty to discuss just yet, but I’d really appreciate it if you could hang around a few days until we know how serious the problem is.”

  “I don’t see how I can, Dad. Everything’s been arranged and other people are involved.” She hadn't seen him this disturbed since her mother’s death and she was worried about him. “Anyway, we’re not leaving for two more days. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

  Not wanting to alarm either of them unnecessarily, he told them, “I’m afraid I can’t. It involves a government contract. That includes you too Clay. I want you to stay in contact.”

  “I’m taking the boat out this afternoon. I already promised a bunch of friends.”

  “Well, take your cell phone and monitor the ship’s radio closely in case I have to reach you.”

  The maid brought another tray of iced tea and put it on the table. “Mr. Hargraves, Mr. Teller is here. Shall I show him in?”

  “Of course, Helen, thank you.”

  Mark came through the patio door grinning, having seen Chris from inside the room. She jumped up and put her arms around his neck, giving him an exaggerated hug. “Mark, I thought I was going to miss you. Dad keeps you way too busy.”

  He flashed his crooked grin and held her at arm’s length, “What a tan you have! You need to use more sunscreen. Melanoma and all that.”

  She grinned, “It’s natural. Have a seat.”

  Mark greeted Will, nodded at Clay and took the fourth chair at the table. Clay ignored him, intentionally gazing toward the ocean.

  “How are things going at the plant? Everything in progress?” Will questioned Mark.

  “It’s going fine but we need to discuss it when you have a minute.”

  “Let’s have lunch and you can brief me afterwards. Chris, Clay, can you join us?”

  “Sure. I’d love to,” Chris said.

  Clay stood to leave, “I’m going sailing, and I’ll see you two later.” He emphasized the word “two” and left abruptly, leaving Will unhappy with his rudeness to Mark.

  Mark had never cared much for Clay, though he was always polite and had attempted, on many occasions, to be friends. He had such respect for Will Hargraves and it saddened him that Clay was so unlike his father and had caused him so much grief. For Clay’s part, the feeling was mutual. Clay hated Mark’s influence with his father and had been jealous of him for most of his life. It irritated him that Mark, only nine years older than he, was his father’s friend and business partner.

  Mark was extremely pleased that Chris was staying for lunch. He hadn’t seen her in several weeks and thought she looked wonderful! They had ‘dated’ a couple times a few years ago, but the chemistry just wasn’t there and Mark had the distinct impression she thought of him as a big brother. He very much wanted a second chance.

  While Helen served lunch, Mark and Chris walked arm and arm to the edge of the terrace, looking down at the pool. A beautiful Bentley outdoor pool table stood sheltered under the ocean side Gazebo, its blue slate surface contrasting with the white marble railing. Covered with white linen tablecloths, a large number of tables were being set up around the pool with generous flower arrangements as centerpieces.

  The large, irregularly shaped, black-bottomed pool was landscaped with black and gray rock that formed a small mountain as a backdrop. Fan palms, ferns, and flowering bushes were interspersed throughout the rock, and a slide, almost unnoticeable, wound down from the mountaintop into the pool. A waterfall of warm water cascaded into the pool from a hot tub, situated on a slightly higher level and partially hidden beneath the veranda they stood upon. A small bridge spanned the water and led to a path that extended around the back of the mountain giving access to the slide by a staircase cut into the rock surface.

  “You’re coming to the party tonight, right?” he asked her.

  “Sure, I wouldn’t miss one of Dad’s parties. I’m bringing a co-worker. I think he’ll enjoy it since he’s never been around this kind of opulence,” she said, only half kidding.

  Mark’s gut wrenched. He’d hoped to have her to himself this evening.

  “I have some errands this afternoon but I’ll be back for dinner at around seven,” she told him.

  Looking at the pool with Chris by his side he had a rush of memories from their childhood. “Do you remember the great times we had sluicing down that slide into the pool? We’d play “Marco Polo”, with little Laura in her rubber floatie and Katherine watching over us all.” He smiled at the memory.

  “Yeah, we had good times growing up here,” she agreed. “It all seemed so normal, although with Dad’s money, I’m sure it wasn’t. Mark, do you have any idea what has Dad so worried?”

  “He’s concerned about the international situation. In the past, during similar crises there’s always been a period, a window of a few days, when the outcome was decided. He’d like you to hang around for a while to see what comes of this Chinese nuclear thing.”

  “Is the situation as serious as that?” She seemed surprised.

  “The point is, your father thinks it is.” He reached over and put his arm around her shoulders and she moved closer to him. He felt his heartbeat quicken with the movement. God, he wished she would stay a while longer. He desperately wanted to spend more time with her and was convinced if they just had
enough time she would fall in love with him.

  August 20, 2:00 p.m.

  Sangre de Cristo Mountains, New Mexico

  The bus followed the curvy mountain road, traveling too fast for the conditions, but U.S. Marshall Carlos Hernandez was in a hurry to deliver this bunch of essos to the federal prison in Denver. His boss, Jake Petersen, was really pissed off about the delay they’d experienced at Durango and had been pushing him all day for more speed. They picked up the last prisoner in Santa Fe around noon and drove north on highway eighty-four. Carlos had checked out the map while waiting in Santa Fe for the final prisoner and figured that if they stayed on interstate twenty-five it would add miles to the journey, dropping in a loop south before heading north again through Las Vegas, New Mexico and continuing on toward Colorado. According to the map, by going through Taos and then East to twenty-five they would slice substantial miles off the trip. Unfortunately, the map didn’t show the mountainous terrain they would encounter by taking this alternate route or indicate that it would actually add time to the trip.

  The bus was a standard Marshall’s black and white transport vehicle with the driver’s section segregated from the prisoners’ compartment by a solid locked barrier broken only by a slit that allowed the driver and guards to communicate. Directly behind the solid barrier was the guards’ section. It in turn was separated from the bus’s main compartment by floor to ceiling bars. The main compartment contained school bus style, bench seats with a metal bar running along each side. Each prisoner was handcuffed to the bar in addition to being secured by his fetters, handcuffs and metal waistband. Additional bars blocked off another guard section in the rear of the bus and a cubicle containing a toilet.

  Two armed guards accompanied Petersen, the supervising Marshall, in the front guards’ area. Another guard, Jesse Carver, accompanied the driver up front and still another rode in the rear. Video cameras sent pictures of the prisoner compartment to the driver’s cubicle. They didn’t take chances with murderers.

  “So I told her to put out or shut up. The bitch led me on all night and I spent over fifty bucks for booze. It was bogus. She just said ‘So long baby’ and walked right out the motel door.” Carver was narrating the unhappy ending to his frustrating date the previous evening. He had tried to score in every town they’d stayed overnight in.

  They came around a curve into a small town, and Hernandez, laughing to himself about Carver’s problems, bore to the left at the intersection of highway 38 and 84. He knew Carver never got lucky because, once he took his pants off, women found him lacking in appeal. Hernandez had seen him in the bathroom and had only seen a smaller organ on immature boys.

  “That’s too bad man. Next time turn off the lights.” He grinned at Carver but Carver wasn’t grinning back. He’d been ridiculed his entire adult life for his tiny member and didn’t want hear it from Hernandez, whom he knew to be well endowed.

  “Fuck you, Hernandez. I’m going to sleep and don’t bug me till we get to Raton.” He scrunched down in the seat, closed his eyes and was soon snoring.

  He awoke to the sound of cursing. “Goddam it, look at that. Fucking sign says ‘Red River’. We took a wrong turn somewhere. No wonder I haven’t seen no cars for a while. Get out the map and see where we are.”

  Carver, still half asleep, grabbed a clipboard from the dash and flipped up some papers to reach the map. As he studied it, Hernandez leaned over to check it out as well. The road curved to the right and for a brief second Hernandez wasn’t paying attention. Instinct warned him too late, and alarmed, he glanced up just as the road disappeared and all he could see was bright blue sky.

  He jerked the wheel hard, but screeching tires protested as the bus, already across the left lane, skidded ahead and smashed through a protective barrier with ridiculous ease, plummeting over the edge. Hernandez screamed as Carver instinctively jammed his feet on nonexistent brakes and grabbed for a handhold. The nose of the bus angled down as the bus sailed through a deadly arc.

  The cliff was almost perpendicular for twenty feet and then sloped at an approximately forty-five-degree angle to a gorge below. The front end smashed into a car-sized boulder and was completely crushed and shoved back into the middle compartment. Hernandez and Carver died instantly, Carver with the metal rod separating the front windows skewering his neck. Ironically, the prisoner compartment was reinforced and was the safest section on the transport.

  Petersen, Ray Korinski and Harris were thrown against the bars as the cab collapsed at their back. Petersen’s skull burst like a dropped, ripe watermelon. Korinski’s ribs shattered, penetrating his lungs, as bright red, frothy blood gushed from his mouth, soaked his clothes, and spewed into the prisoners’ section. Harris had stood with his back against the compartment barrier and the force, distributed evenly along his body, pinned him between the wall and the bars, his breath whooshing out like compressed bellows. The bus continued to bounce down the slope, dragging boulders and uprooting shrubs and trees with blinding dust clouds billowing around it and rising into the air.

  Everyone was screaming, some in fear, others in pain. Several were thrown against the backs of the seats in front of them, others flung completely over them, handcuffs tearing flesh from their wrists. The windows burst, scattering gummy shards of safety glass throughout the compartment.

  The bus careened down the slope, ricocheted off another boulder and flipped on its side as its momentum carried it further down slope. The sound of grinding metal and screaming men was deafening. The bus collapsed like an accordion and the bar along the side broke loose, the handcuffs on the high side slipping off the bar’s loose end. The choking clouds of dust filled the bus as dirt and rocks were thrust up through the broken windows and through the ripped open side of the bus. Arby landed on someone who began to scream even louder, this time in excruciating pain as his leg slipped out the window and was amputated at the knee. The prisoners on the high side collapsed onto those beneath them who were still handcuffed to the side the bus now rested on.

  The transport finally ground to a halt, coming to rest at the ravine’s bottom, the screams even louder now that the vehicle had stopped. Metal groaned and creaked as it settled. Choking, and trying to see through the thick atmosphere, Arby untangled himself from the lump of flesh beneath him. The man had passed out or was dead for he was no longer screaming. Many of the prisoners were lying still, unconscious, but others began to move about as the shock wore off.

  “Shit, man, what the hell happened?” Jaime could barely speak, his mouth stuffed full of dirt. He trembled uncontrollably. He screamed again as the bus shifted and settled further. “Let’s get the hell out of this fucker!”

  “Check the guards!” Arby yelled at him, with one overriding concern on his mind - he was alive and he wanted to be free. Stumbling to the front, where the dust was slightly thinner, he slipped on something and grabbed the bars to keep from falling. Thick, sticky blood coated the bars and ran down and pooled on the ground that protruded through the window. He wiped his hands on his pants.

  Petersen and Korinski were obviously dead but Harris was moaning, still alive. He was squeezed against the bars with arms pinned at his sides, his head held sideways by bars indenting his cheeks and forcing his mouth wide open. He slowly opened his eyes, straining to look forward where he detected the sound of Arby approaching. The sight of Arby standing in front of him, grinning maliciously, caused him to panic, and although he struggled wildly like an animal in a trap, all he could manage to do was to wriggle in place.

  “Hey, if it isn’t asshole!” Arby slipped his hand through the bars grabbing Harris by the throat. Harris tried to scream, but as Arby squeezed tighter, the only sound that escaped through the distorted mouth was a tortured gurgle. Arby relished the bug-eyed look of panic on Harris’s face as he steadily increased the pressure until he pulverized the larynx and felt the man suddenly go slack. Harris’s body, completely limp, slid down until it was wedged tightly and could go no farther.

&
nbsp; Jaime came up behind Arby, “The guy in back is dead. I tried to get the gun but I can’t reach it. Let’s get the hell out of here.” He stepped up on the back of a seat that had partially ripped away from the floor and grabbed the edge of the window. The bars had been torn away from the outside and he easily pulled himself up and out through the opening, slicing his fingers on needles of glass still attached to the window. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Arby searched the bodies of the guards, locating several key rings. He unlocked the fetters and cuffs of the live prisoners and then followed Jaime through the window and out of the bus to freedom.

  August 20, 2:30 p.m.

  Marina Del Rey, California

  “Why the hell did you mention the extra costs? Cost overruns are unavoidable on a project this complex, it’s expected, but Parker can’t ignore them when you blatantly itemize them for him. God, that was stupid!” The man was livid, his face red, as he gestured wildly at the woman walking beside him down the corridor. Others turned to stare as they passed, wondering what was going on. They all knew Ron Carlin and Jean Barnes were returning from an important sales meeting. Something had obviously gone wrong.

  Jean kept her face down, lips pressed tightly together, and plowed straight ahead, trying to ignore the angry man screaming in her ear. Fortunately, her thick, brown hair hid her eyes for she was close to tears, and knew if she glanced in his direction she’d lose it completely. Absolutely hating any kind of confrontation, all she wanted was to escape to her office to compose herself and figure out where she went wrong. She realized she’d blown it big time when, after she innocently itemized possible cost overruns, the head of the Navy negotiating team suddenly called a halt to the meeting. He thanked them for their time, asked them to refigure the proposal’s cost and resubmit it to the Pentagon. She knew there was no chance now of getting the Navy bid.