by The Behrg
The walls of the trailer were lined with high-caliber artillery, wide racks sporting guns so large they were probably meant to be mounted on vehicles. Bins were filled with actual rockets and grenades, other gadgets and weapons Blake could only guess at.
“Be glad it was the blue light,” Joje said softly.
“Security stays,” the bearded man said, hefting himself up. “No questions about the merch. If you don’t know what it can do, you don’t need it. If you don’t know what you need, you’ve come to the wrong store.”
“Fair enough,” Joje said.
Bug Man quietly released the clasps from boots strapped into the floor of the trailer and withdrew to the corner. His gun never wavered from staying on them.
Joje went up and down the racks, pointing at certain bins, tubs, and weapons. The bearded man followed, nodding like a waiter mentally taking notes. It was over quickly. Blake didn’t hear the negotiations, but Joje only took out two stacks of bills. Instead of handing the bearded man the two stacks, he handed him the bag.
“You clear our arrangement?” Joje asked.
The bearded man glanced at Blake then Adam, possibly looking for an interpretation. If Blake hadn’t been spending so much time around Joje, even he might not have understood that last sentence. “We’re good.” The bearded man closed the roll-up door. “Be a few minutes.”
They waited while Bug Man assembled their equipment. The night was oddly humid, Blake’s shirt soaked through in sweat, clinging to the small of his back and chest. He tried to convince himself it was just the humidity.
“Think Mom’s okay?” Adam asked.
“Let’s hope so.”
A loud clang sounded against the rolling door. Their escort undid the hatch, the door rising a mere foot and a half, their gear passing through. A hundred thousand dollars had just purchased a few clunky items zipped inside Joje’s duffle bag, three milk jugs full of a clearish substance, and a red canister that looked like an undersized propane tank. Expensive store.
Joje grabbed the jugs. “Let’s go.” Adam grabbed the duffel, groaning at its weight.
“Let me help,” Blake said, taking the bag by the other side while hefting the tank. As they turned to leave Blake caught a glimpse of Bug Man lying on the floor, goggle mask still in place, one bulging eye staring back at him.
The other was lost behind the rifle aimed at his head.
The rolling door crashed closed, Blake breathing a sigh of relief. These guys certainly didn’t take chances.
Blake and Adam moved to the back of the SUV with the red canister and duffel bag. The back was popped open, milk jugs inside.
The soft crunch of gravel announced they weren’t alone.
A thin older man with gray hair bunched into a ponytail stepped from behind the car next to Joje. His face was hard, wrinkles and lines earned from more than just the passage of time. He wore a tight leather jacket, his hands gloved as well, tapping a gun with a long, thick nozzle on it against his leg.
A silencer.
Blake swallowed hard. “Is there a problem?”
“You forgot yer shoes,” the man said.
The bearded man appeared behind them, blocking their passage the way they had come. A shortened double-barrel shotgun extended out from his hip. He carried it low, like a head-banger guitarist plucking chords at his knees.
This was going to go badly.
“Look, we’re not with him,” Blake said.
The older man with the ponytail cocked his head. “We know.” He stepped forward, gun barrel centered on Blake’s head. “Don’t do anything stupid. Your son’s coming with us.”
Blake barely felt his muscles tense before the shotgun slammed into the back of his knees from behind. He crumbled, hands scraping against the graveled pavement. He cried out, answered only by Adam. Shouting.
“No!” Blake yelled.
Ponytail pressed a syringe into Adam’s neck, Blake’s son going limp in the man’s arms.
The bearded man locked the shotgun over Blake’s head, pulling against his neck with enough force going after Adam was the furthest thing from his mind. Black spots swam across his vision, then he was shoved forward, forehead cracking against the bumper, before he fell back to the loosely paved floor.
Ponytail was already gone, Adam’s shouting silenced.
Blake spun, his arm flying out to disarm the bearded man, but he wasn’t there. Joje watched as Blake rushed to the other side of the SUV, no sign of his son. He ran, covering the distance of the Escalade in seconds, his socks sliding as he fought for purchase on the gravel beneath him.
He heard the driver’s door to the truck rattle closed just as he came around the SUV. At the rear of the truck, Bug Man stood, bulb eyes staring at Blake. Adam was now flung over Bug Man’s shoulder. His son wasn’t moving, a child who had fallen asleep in his father’s arms.
Bug Man gave the slightest of nods, then disappeared around the back. Before Blake had begun to move, the truck lurched forward, Blake’s feeble screams doing nothing to halt its progress. The cab of the truck was already past when Blake began to run, forcing his legs to move despite the flare of pain. His arms pumped in a full sprint, each second bringing him farther along the truck’s side. He was gaining—and then he felt his foot slide out from beneath him, the gristle and gravel carrying his shoeless feet forward but not up.
He went down hard, skipping across the pavement. In the seconds it took for him to recover and regain his feet, the truck was already jostling between the deserted gas pumps, approaching the street. The rolling door in back was closed.
Blake had a clear mental image of Bug Man hanging upside down from the truck in a cocoon-like web while Adam bounced back and forth into sharp racks and cages in the dark.
At the gas station’s entrance, the truck didn’t slow as Blake had expected but pulled straight out, making a sharp turn, its rear wheels falling over the high curb and sending the trailer into one last bounce before accelerating down the dark road.
Blake stopped at the curb, bending over to catch his breath. Every heartbeat was a kick to the groin, every inhalation a dagger in both ears. A headache so powerful came on he thought he might vomit.
He did. Retching so hard he felt he had coughed out the inner lining of his throat.
A pair of headlights approached from down the street. Maybe Blake could wave them over. Given his condition he wasn’t sure who would stop for him, but he never got that far. The Escalade pulled up beside him, window rolling down.
“Get in,” Joje said.
Blake stared at the vomit on the ground as if the chunks and spoiled texture could divine him his future. If it could, it certainly wasn’t bright.
He opened the passenger door and climbed into the SUV.
2
Sweat dripped down Jenna’s face, her exertion rivaling any of her normal workouts. She tensed her abdomen, lifting herself backward up another stair. The movement was slow, strained.
How many seconds did she have?
Blake had left without a word before she had a chance to apologize. Before she could beg him not to go. Before she could tell him to take her with him, take her anywhere but here. Alone. With Drew.
Her palms flattened against the back of the next step as she slid her body upward, the distance of one stair as far as a marathon. Her legs clacked below her, and she prayed she wouldn’t pass out.
Drew’s words came back to her: “Time for a little game of hide-and-seek.”
And she was the one hiding.
Her wheelchair lay on its side beneath the chandelier, front door thrown open. If she could convince him she had fled outside, it might buy her a few more seconds.
Seconds were all she had.
She rose another step, legs sliding like deadweight beneath her. If Blake had only left me with that corkscrew, she thought bitterly.
A part of her knew it would have gotten her killed, the other part argued that dying was a better alternative.
Drew
’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Ready or not, here I come!”
Jenna flipped over, her knees and the front of her legs scraping against the offset wooden stairs as she clawed her way up at a faster pace. It felt like being skinned alive. She reached the top, pulling herself forward until she lay prostrate against the hard floor.
No time to rest, no time!
Her body trembled as she inched forward, head sliding against the floor. He was coming. Her seconds were up.
3
Blake felt hollow, a Russian nesting doll that was nothing more than the outer shell. Pop that sucker open and gone were the wife and child, dog and baby that should have been layered within. He stared out the passenger window unaware of the passing landscape. All he saw was his gaunt and haunted face, empty eyes searching for a will to go on.
The clock on the dash read 12:23. He thought of congratulating himself on making it another day but knew there was nothing to celebrate. Despite having slept late, Blake felt destroyed, the weariness crawling through every cell of his body.
“Your shoes are in the back,” Joje said.
It was the first thing either of them had said since Blake had gotten in the car, at least a half hour. Blake couldn’t form a reply; he had nothing left to say. Not to Joje.
“You gave me no choice, you know. All this time together and I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
Blake continued staring out at the dark night.
“Adam will be fine, you don’t need to worry. He’s just a little insurance to make sure you do your part tonight.”
Constricted city blocks and houses with no yards gave way to older homes with open fields of grass and weeds. Foreclosure signs replaced the “Beware of Dog” placards, street lights growing farther and farther apart. Blake had never been to Lancaster before. Now he knew why. The city reminded him of a child trying so hard to get his parents attention that once earned, the child realized he had nothing to show or say.
The soft cackle from the radio was turned so low no song could be distinguished.
“Bwake, you with me, buddy?” Joje asked after another prolonged silence.
“I’m not your buddy,” Blake said.
“There you are,” Joje said with a smile.
“You took my son,” Blake said, each word coming with a forceful current of air. “Why would I ever help you now?”
“Temporarily, Bwake, just temporarily. Focus on what we’re here to accomplish, and you’ll see him in the morning. Have I ever lied to you?”
They continued in silence, Blake’s guilt offering an abundance of inner dialogue. Houses were replaced by an industrial track with winding roads, large buildings appearing at every turn. At the bottom of a hill, they came to a large warehouse, a bland brick-and-mortar building indistinguishable from the others in the area except for the company’s logo splashed across the top.
Symbio.
The name had been a play on the symbiotic relationship between artificial intelligence and the consumers who would end up using it, an almost malicious joke. The data contained in this warehouse was more valuable than any of Blake’s possessions. In some ways he had always known this would be the real target in Joje’s project. It had never been about his family—Joje wanted what was in these walls.
They drove over the curb and grass to avoid the large yellow bars that gated the driveway’s entrance. Not much of a security deterrent. Joje circled around the back to a loading dock where three large roll-up doors were secured. Not a single car in the lot, not at this hour.
“What are we really here for?” Blake asked. “What are you after? What is it you want?”
Joje appeared baffled. “I’m here for you. To help you save your family. Now let’s make this quick. Your boy cut surveillance at midnight?”
“Eleven, I think.”
Joje pulled a black ski mask over his face, stretching it out. Only his eyes and mouth appeared beneath the lined wool. He didn’t offer one to Blake. They met at the rear of the SUV.
Joje dug through the opened duffel bag while Blake slid his shoes on. From the bag Joje removed a short metal contraption half the size of a baseball bat with metal prongs springing from one end like a claw.
“Remember, your son’s depending on you right now. For once, be the hero. Keep the rules and save your son.”
Blake nodded absently.
Joje shoved the duffel bag into Blake’s chest. As they climbed the stairs to the loading dock, he pointed to the camera above the door. “Better hope your boy isn’t setting you up.”
Blake stared at the security camera, wishing there were a person on the other side, watching them. The camera failed to track their movement as they passed beneath.
Joje approached the door with a confidence Blake didn’t understand. Roles certainly had reversed from the last time they had entered a building owned by Symbio. The metal wand Joje carried fit snuggly around the handle of the door, those claws cinching closed around it. There was a mechanic whir, followed by a clicking sound.
Joje manipulated the wand, the metal rungs turning while the rod remained still. More clicks, like metal gears notching into place. After a minute or two, there was a loud pop followed by the wand disengaging from the handle of the door.
The doorknob fell to the ground, clattering at Joje’s feet. He tapped against the remaining bracket where the handle had been with an outstretched finger—it plopped out, falling on the inside of the building.
“Voilà,” Joje said, though with his lisp it came out “Wa-la.” He reached his hand into the hole and pulled the door open. He slid the wand against the door to hold it in place.
Blake grabbed Joje by the shoulder. “Where did they take him? Adam?”
Joje shrugged his hand off. “Even if I knew do you think I would tell you? You’re only chance of seeing him again is to destroy these files. I’m doing this for you!”
“That’s not good enough!” Blake yelled back. “I need to know he’s safe!”
Before Joje could respond, a piercing wail erupted from just inside the building. Joje cringed, and Blake’s own hands instinctively rose to his ears.
“Take this,” Joje said, leaning into Blake’s ear and pushing something into his hand.
A gun—Blake’s gun.
Joje was back in his ear, yelling into it. “We’ve been set up! Let’s move!”
Before Joje could enter the building, Blake discharged the gun, emptying the clip into his kidnapper’s back. The staccato firing of round after round synced with Blake’s pounding heart, rational thought swept beneath the siren’s cacophonous noise.
Joje fell to the cement floor, but his body disappeared. Only his clothing remained in the wrinkled outline of a body.
He really is a phantom, Blake thought. A ghost. A demon.
“Bwakey? You with me?”
Joje stood at the door, looking back at him with concern. Blake wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. Wavering in his outstretched hand was a flashlight pointed at Joje’s back.
“I’m good,” he said.
“Bring the bag.”
Blake followed Joje into the warehouse.
4
The loading dock was a small area closed in by double doors still swinging from Joje’s passage. Blake continued past into a small hallway. A blinking red dot swept outward from the end of the hall in time with the deafening alarm.
Blake’s thoughts turned to Adam. He wondered where his son was right now. Were they still driving? Had they arrived to whatever hell they would lock him in? He pictured Adam chained in a dark room, frightened, possibly even hurt. No food, no water, his captors waiting for a call that would only come if he did what Joje required.
It’s all a game, Blake thought, to see how far I’m willing to go.
Pressing his back into the door at the end of the hall, he stepped into what could have passed as the interior of a spaceship. The room was colossal—ceilings extending forty feet or higher, the length of the warehouse
going back the distance of a football field. Rows of black towers with tiny LED lights aglow were stationed throughout the room like the monuments of some superior and future race. Sharp blues, reds, and oranges, winking at him, sharing their secrets. It was incredible the amount of equipment that went into making an end user’s experience on the cloud seem a thing of ease.
Joje was halfway down one of the aisles, motioning for him to hurry. For once Blake had no problem following orders. As he rounded the corner of a server tower, he found Joje standing before a column extending to the ceiling. Blake scanned the room, noting a total of six similar pillars. They coalesced toward the center of the roof, arching outward with giant support beams. Joje wasn’t planning on destroying the servers, Blake realized; he was going to bring down the entire building.
Joje grabbed the bag, rummaging through it and pulling out something wrapped in cellophane. He set it down, removing a spool of wire and handing it to Blake. “Run this to the car, then bring the red tank back with you. Try not to get any kinks in it?”
Blake uncoiled the spool as he went, his mind slowly unraveling with it. If they made it out of this alive, he didn’t know what to expect. There was no way they’d avoid prosecution; at least Blake wouldn’t. The bodies of his neighbor and Dr. Cheverou he might be able to lay at Joje’s feet, but being under coercion wouldn’t excuse his actions right now in any court of law.
The alarm was beginning to sound like the maniacal laugh in that Pink Floyd song; he couldn’t remember the name, but he knew it was on The Dark Side of the Moon. He made it past the double doors and into the loading area when the wire ran out. He was still twenty, maybe thirty feet from the SUV.
Blake moved back through the hall and into the warehouse, spotting Joje at another column.
“Where’s the tank?” Joje asked.
“Wire’s too short—it won’t reach.”
