Rogue Operator

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “But, Mom! I’m supposed to go to Julie’s after school!”

  “It will only take a few minutes, you can still go.”

  “But I told her I’d be right over! Now she’s gonna think I’m not coming!”

  “Then send her a text!”

  “You took my phone away, remember?”

  Maggie eyed the rearview mirror again. The SUV was back, and tailgating her again.

  “Well, you should have followed the rules. Texting after bedtime is a no-no. You agreed when we gave you the phone. You broke the rules, and these are the consequences.”

  Ayla slammed her fists into the schoolbag sitting on her lap. “I hate this family! You guys are so strict!” she screamed.

  Maggie chose to ignore it. She had said similar things when she was Ayla’s age, but she was certain over much more important things than a cellphone.

  God, I’d hate to be a kid today.

  There was no downtime. Cellphones, text messages, Facebook, Twitter, email. Chatting online with forty kids at once, hundreds of text messages a day. The kids could never get a break. When she was growing up, she’d lie in her bedroom listening to music, reading, and if she wanted to talk to someone, she’d have to go ask for the phone, and it meant talking to one friend at a time. And when she didn’t want to talk, she’d be able to just not answer the phone, or tell her mom to take a message.

  But not today. These kids were so wired in, from the moment they woke up they were being hounded. Which was why they had made the rule. No cellphone after bedtime.

  Another black SUV pulled up beside her as a large semi-trailer changed into her lane up ahead. She glanced over, finding it slightly odd two identical vehicles would be so close to her in traffic. The blacked out windows sent a little shiver down her spine. She glanced at the rearview, the other SUV still only feet from her bumper.

  She eased off the gas.

  The vehicle beside her continued past, then pulled in front, the massive bulk blocking her view of the traffic ahead. She debated changing lanes, but she had to turn right in the next few minutes. She hated SUV’s and trucks. You can’t see through them, over them or around them. They were a danger to the other vehicles on the road, and half the time they were driven by idiots who thought they were invincible once behind the wheel.

  She glanced back at Darius, who was busying himself with his Nintendo 3DS.

  “Mom! Look out!”

  Her eyes darted from the rearview mirror to the road in front to find the SUV had swerved to the left, leaving her barreling toward the back of the semi-trailer, its loading ramp down, its empty interior gaping in front of them.

  She jumped on her brakes as she looked in the rearview mirror at the tailgating SUV. It slammed into the back of them and she instinctively reached a hand out to prevent Ayla from smacking into the dash. She turned toward Darius, his terrified eyes meeting hers as his Nintendo flew out of his hands, his tiny body shoved into the back of the seat.

  Ayla screamed, Darius joining her, as Maggie tried to keep cool.

  It’s just a car accident.

  But something was wrong. Her mind was a jumble, her thoughts scrambled from the shock, the panic, the screams, the concern over her kids.

  And the fact their car was still moving.

  “Mom! What’s happening?”

  But she didn’t know. She couldn’t figure out what was going on. She looked ahead, at the truck in front of her, the truck that continued to get closer, and her mind reeled as it tried to comprehend what it was seeing.

  Her foot was planted firmly on the brake, but an engine was roaring. Her instinct was to turn off her car, but it wasn’t her engine she was hearing. It was the engine of the SUV, its tires squealing behind them as they continued forward. She looked in the rearview mirror at the SUV still on their bumper, when it all clicked.

  It’s pushing us!

  The front of the car jolted as it hit something, then suddenly they were all tilted back in their seats. Darius wailed, Ayla screamed, and Maggie reached up to press the panic button.

  They jerked up the ramp, into the back of the semi-trailer. Maggie shoved the brake into the floor even harder, reaching over with her foot and pushing hard on the emergency brake, but they continued to hop forward, their tires not turning, all momentum being created by the massive SUV behind them.

  She felt the rear tires hit the ramp, the front tires now at the top as she shook the steering wheel. “Pick up! Pick up! Pick up!” The darkness of the interior cast a deep shadow over the front of the car, then suddenly they tipped up. A final gun of the engine behind them, and they bounced into the back of the truck completely, the blackness enveloping them, Darius and Ayla both screaming in terror, a third voice barely recognized as her own joining them.

  “This is On-Star, how may I—”

  “Help us! Help us! Oh God please help us!” she cried as she saw the SUV disappear from her rearview mirror, then the sunlight pouring in from outside suddenly vanished as the rear doors slammed shut.

  And the cellphone signal died.

  The car jerked, and she realized the truck they had been pushed into was beginning to move. The kids continued to scream, the inky blackness not helping. She reached forward, her hands shaking, and turned on the headlights.

  And she joined the screams.

  Mona Reservoir, Utah

  Jason Peterson covered his head, the explosion terrific, casting a huge arc of water over their tiny boat.

  “Carl, are you fucking crazy?” he yelled as he laughed. Carl Shephard shrugged his shoulders and grinned from under the umbrella he had popped open only moments before. “Nobody said you could use explosives!”

  Carl closed the umbrella, placing it beside him in their small v-hull boat while wagging a finger.

  “Not true. The rules of the game say no explosive material may be used. I used a high pressure gas to create a shockwave that momentarily displaced the water, hence the shower you both just enjoyed. And, I might point out, by doing so, I have set a new record.” He pointed at the water.

  Jason looked at where he was pointing. At least a dozen fish had bobbed to the surface.

  “Can I see the trigger?” asked Phil Hopkins.

  Carl shook his head. “Completely autonomous. I married up one of our miniaturized drones, programmed it to seek out a school of fish, then detonate when within one meter.”

  Jason’s eyebrows shot up and his chin dropped to his chest. “And just how was this thing going to know that the biological it found were fish and not humans?”

  “Anything more than a foot in length it aborts.”

  “You’re lucky we’re on this lake alone,” said Phil. He jabbed a finger in the air at Carl. “And next year we’re amending the rules. No autonomous robots, and nothing that can suddenly displace water or air.”

  Carl frowned. “Awww, you guys are no fun,” he moaned with mock angst. A moment later he was all smiles as he grabbed his net and began fishing dinner for a few days out of the water.

  Jason laughed. He couldn’t remember the last time they had just had a simple, good time. Certainly not since the accident at the lab. And in fact, they had all been under so much pressure, it was probably their fishing trip the previous year that they had last all had a good laugh. They had debated cancelling the trip this year after the near catastrophe, but decided against it.

  This is the only thing that keeps us sane.

  “Catch and release for the next few days, I guess,” he said as he grabbed his own net to help.

  “Looks like we’ve got company.”

  He stopped and looked to where Phil was pointing as Carl continued to gather his trophies.

  “It’s a public lake, boys, we’ve just been lucky so far.” Carl grunted as he leaned out, tipping the boat slightly. “Just…one…more!”

  The boat tipped precariously to the side, and Jason yelped as he reached for Carl. His own weight caused the boat to tilt even more and he gasped for air as he tumbled i
nto the water after Carl. He hit the frigid water and his instinct was to gasp from the cold, but he resisted, instead spreading out his legs and arms, then opening his squeezed-shut eyes. He could see nothing at first, then turned his head and saw the surface above him. Waving his arms and kicking his legs, he began to inch toward the dim light, his unprepared lungs ready to burst, every inch of his body screaming against the cold.

  Something grabbed his foot.

  His heart hammered into his chest, and he kicked, trying to free himself from whatever had a grip on him, but it wouldn’t let go. His lungs were ready to burst from the exertion and he felt himself begin to be dragged down.

  He bent over, pulling his leg up, or rather his body down toward his leg, and nearly gasped when he saw it was a hand wrapped around his ankle.

  Carl!

  Jason reached down and grabbed him by the wrist, and pulled. Carl let go of Jason’s ankle, and his face came into sight. With his legs freed, Jason kicked as hard as he could, clawing at the water with his free hand, his lungs on fire, desperate for oxygen. The surface was so far above he knew they weren’t going to make it.

  A shadow crossed overhead. The hull of a boat. Two more shadows, smaller, hit the water. It took him a moment to realize it was people jumping in. He wanted to shout, to let their rescuers know where they were, but his sealed lips, his burning lungs, were about to give into the instinctual temptation his rapidly fogging brain was demanding.

  Breathe!

  His legs were barely kicking now, his arm was still stretched out above him, but had stopped its desperate clawing, and he felt his grip loosening on Carl’s wrist, Carl’s own fingers limp. Jason looked up, and saw the shadows moving overhead, but the hull of the boat was receding, the surface getting farther away.

  Images of Maggie, Ayla and Darius flashed before his eyes, the last hug he had given Maggie, in haste as he rushed out the door, late. Ayla, none given, he deciding not to wake her up, Darius, who he had afforded only a pat on the head as he gave his one armed hug to his beloved wife.

  I’m so sorry!

  He felt his chest heave with the thoughts of what his family’s last memories would be of him. The father, the husband, in too much of a hurry to take the few seconds necessary for a proper goodbye.

  His heart sank as he remembered the reason why he had let Ayla sleep in. The night before they had had a fight, and he had taken her cellphone away. His heart ached at the thought his daughter’s final memories would be of anger, and the guilt she would feel over that.

  No!

  He kicked, hard, yanking Carl with him, focusing instead on the rapidly approaching shadow, rather than the fading surface. He stretched his hand out as far as he could, and just as his final burst of energy was about to give out, he felt a hand grab him by the wrist, and one of the shadows suddenly blocked the surface from his view. Something pressed against his mouth, trying to push it open, but he fought, shaking his head, knowing if he opened his mouth, the last bit of air he had would escape, and he’d drown.

  The hand left his wrist and instead grabbed the back of his head, pushing whatever it was against his mouth even harder. It was then he felt the bubbles tickling his nose, and he opened his mouth. Water rushed in, but so did the mouthpiece from the scuba gear his rescuer must be wearing. He clamped down and breathed out, forcing the water from his mouth, then sucked in a deep breath, knowing if he was wrong, this would be his end.

  The sweet relief of oxygen filled his lungs. He gulped in breath after breath, the fire subsiding, his head clearing, his strength returning slightly, the oxygen doing little to fortify him against the frigid waters.

  Carl!

  He pulled Carl up beside him and took the mouthpiece and shoved it into his friend’s mouth as he and his rescuer kicked toward the surface. He felt another hand on his arm as the second rescuer took charge of Carl. The surface rapidly approached, and suddenly his head was clear of the water.

  He gasped for air as he was pulled toward a boat he didn’t recognize. Two pairs of strong hands reached unseen over the edge and he was hauled from the water, and dumped onto the deck. As he coughed to clear his lungs, shivering, the bright afternoon sun, so warm only minutes before, felt a frigid imitation of its former self.

  He heard something drop beside him and he turned to see Carl’s blue face. He rolled over to try and begin CPR, but was shoved aside, the form of a man he didn’t recognize now leaning over Carl, checking his pulse.

  “Jason! Carl! Are you guys okay?”

  It was Phil. Jason struggled to his elbows, then a sitting position. He crawled over to the side of the deck of the much larger boat, and draped his exhausted frame over the side. He gave Phil a half-hearted wave.

  “You okay?” asked Phil.

  “I’ll live.”

  “And Carl?”

  Jason looked over at Carl and saw two men working on him, one doing chest compressions, the other performing mouth to mouth. Jason’s chest was tight as he realized his friend of over fifteen years was dying in front of him.

  What am I going to tell his wife? That I was too weak to save him?

  He damned himself for not being in shape, for leading a sedentary lifestyle. If he had only taken better care of himself, he might have had more strength to pull them both to the surface, but instead, here was Carl, most likely technically dead, with these strangers valiantly trying to save his friend’s life.

  He looked at Phil and shook his head. Phil’s shoulders slumped, his head dropping against his chest. There was a cough behind him. Jason’s head spun toward the sound and he cried out in joy as he saw Carl cough again, water spewing from his mouth as the men rolled him onto his side. Within moments his natural color started to return to his purple lips as he sucked in more fresh air, his coughs continuing.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jason turned to Phil, his smile revealing all Phil needed to know. Phil jumped in the boat, pumping his fist in the air, and as the boat rocked from his stupidity, a look of horror crossed his face as he dropped down, trying to stabilize himself and their craft. Gripping the edges, he sat down and tightened his life preserver.

  “Why don’t you head back to shore before you get yourself killed,” suggested Jason.

  Phil, the only non-swimmer in the trio, nodded and grabbed the oars. Jason felt a blanket being draped over his shoulders, and looked over to see one of his rescuers standing over him.

  “You need to get warmed up before hypothermia sets in,” said the man towering over him. He looked to be at least six foot two, two hundred pounds, and his arms rippled with muscles and what looked like a Special Forces tattoo of some type half hidden by a short sleeved neoprene wetsuit.

  Jason nodded. “If you could take us to shore, we’ve got clothes there and can get a fire going pretty quick.” Jason pointed in the direction Phil was rowing. “Straight that way, you can’t miss it, we’re the only camp on the lake I think.”

  The man nodded and turned, jabbing his finger in the direction of Phil. The boat’s engines roared to life, and the craft gently surged forward, the pilot apparently in no hurry. Jason began to dry his hair with the blanket.

  “Are you Dr. Jason Peterson?”

  Jason’s eyes shot open.

  “How’d you know that?”

  The man motioned at Carl.

  “Is that Dr. Carl Shephard?”

  Jason nodded.

  “And I presume the man in the boat is Dr. Phil Hopkins?”

  Jason’s eyes narrowed. “How’d you know that? Are you with the rental agency?”

  The man chuckled, reaching behind his back.

  “No, we’re not with that agency.”

  Jason gasped, and tried to push himself through the gunwale as a pistol appeared. The man raised it and pointed it directly at Jason’s chest, then squeezed the trigger. Jason felt something hit him, but not with as much pain as he would have expected. He looked down and saw a tiny dart protruding from his chest and he pulled it out.
He turned to Carl, to warn him, but it was too late, the man already firing at his friend.

  Something was yelled in a language he didn’t recognize as the world turned into a deep fog. The boat surged ahead and as he was consumed by nothingness, he heard a scream and a terrific crash, and he knew they had just run down Phil in the tiny rowboat.

  Why is this happening?

  Ogden, Utah

  Maggie Peterson screamed, screamed like she had never before. Her instinct was to turn the car lights off, as if doing so might hide the horror she now faced. Four men, all in black, their faces covered by ski masks, stood in front of the car, assault rifles pointed at her and her daughter. But before she could reach forward to turn the switch, two of the men rushed forward, on either side of the car. She raised her hands to shield herself as they raised their weapons and smashed in the side windows.

  Ayla screamed, and Maggie spun toward her, reaching out. As she did, her foot slipped off the brake and the car surged forward, its automatic transmission hurtling the car ahead, toward the two men still standing in front of the vehicle. A hand gripped her by the blouse, pulling at her as the car continued forward.

  She pushed on the gas.

  Hard.

  The car jumped, the grip on her shoulder breaking, and she closed her eyes as the two men hopped up on the bumper, then the hood. The car jerked to a stop as it hit the front of the trailer they were in, the airbags deploying with a crack far louder than she had imagined they would, and she found herself gasping for breath as she recovered from being shoved into the back of her seat.

  She pushed against the already deflating bag and reached down to put the car in reverse, but it was no use. The engine had cut off, and a pair of hands were already pulling her out of the now open driver side door. Still disoriented from the crash and the airbags, she struggled but to no avail, the entire experience now a nightmare, the headlights shattered, the only light now from the flashers that were immediately turned on after the airbags deployed, their pulse lending an artificial glow to the entire experience.