SALVATION ROAD:
YESTERDAY, TODAY AND TOMORROW
A Novella Set in the Centralix Universe #1
A Novella by Peter Okeafor
Dragon Bloods Press, LLC
Indianapolis, Indiana
peterokeafor.com
Copyright © 2015 by Peter Okeafor
Cover art by Lauren Coon
All rights foreign and domestic reserved. The scanning, uploading, or distribution of this book or any part thereof via the Internet or any other means without the written permission of the publisher is illegal. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, or to actual events, is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my editor, Rodney Carlstrom. Rodney you are incredible. Thank you again for everything. You taught me a lot about the craft and mechanics of writing a story. Any imperfections in this final version are mine.
To Christina Cesnik, thank you for reading an early draft of this novella. I appreciate everything you do. I hope you enjoy this final version.
To Lauren Coon. Thank you for the incredible book cover. You are an amazing woman.
To my mother, Karen Hooker, thank you for your unwavering support. To my father Clarence “Pete” Hooker thank you for all that you do. It is an honor to be named after you. To my brother Chike and my sisters Nkechi and Chioma, thank you for your love and support. I love you all very much.
To my deceased biological father, Donald Simpson and my deceased father, Uche Okeafor, thank you for making me the man I am today.
Chapter 1
“Baby, what’s your problem? You just aren’t yourself anymore,” says Chantay.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
It is hot as fuck. It’s early morning. I just got out of the shower and I’m already sweating through my t-shirt.
“Rip, I’m worried about you.”
“No, you’re trippin,’ baby, I’m fine.”
“They did something to you. I don’t know if it was in Iraq or Afghanistan, but you’re a different man now.”
“Why are you trying to cause trouble? This isn’t like you. We have a good thing. You seem to be changing as well.”
“No, baby, it’s you. You’re the one who has changed,” she says forcefully.
“Really, it’s me,” I’m getting pissed now. “You wrote a letter dumping me. A letter while I was in a war zone.”
“What in the fuck are you talking about? I didn’t write you no damn letter.”
“Woman, have you lost your damn mind!” I can feel my blood pressure rising. I start to pace back in forth in front of the bed. “I showed you the letter. You admitted to writing it. You said we needed to take it slow and try to work things out.”
She has a shocked look on her face like I caught her in a lie.
“What’s with the crazy look? Say something damn it.”
“There’s a lot going on,” she says.
“What do you mean there’s a lot going on. You’re not making any sense.”
“Look—”
“You look. You’re talking crazy.”
“Rip, Ripley. There is something wrong with you.”
“No, there is something wrong with you!” I shout.
I take a vicious swing at the lamp on the table. The lamp flies into the corner and shatters on the wall.
“Rip, you’re scaring me,” she says as tears start to fill her large expressive eyes. “This temper—it’s not you. You were never this way before.”
“I think I’m this way because you aren’t making any damn sense.”
“Baby,” she says as she pulls off her white tank top.
I can’t help but stop and stare. She does not have on a bra. Her medium sized breasts captivate me. She gives me a tentative smile as she rushes towards me.
“I don’t… What the fuck—”
She fills my arms and gives me a passionate kiss. Her arms wrap around my neck and her grip is strong. I try to talk but her kisses are passionate and she won’t stop. So I give in. My mind is swirling as we kiss passionately. I cup her behind as we kiss harder. She is moaning and I’m getting hard—”
“Aaaaaah!”
A terrible pain throbs in my head.
“No luck, sir,” says a female voice over a microphone.
“Thank you Corporal Williams,” says a male voice.
“You’re welcome, sir,” says the black female voice.
“Sergeant Greer, are you OK,” asks the same male voice.
“What in the fuck is going on,” I say through gritted teeth. Pain is racing through my head.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Sergeant Greer.”
“What have you done to me? What’s wrong with my head?”
“We’re not sure, Sergeant. We are trying to figure that out. You were captured in Afghanistan. Our working theory is you were handed over to China or Russia and they put something in your head.”
“Oh, fuck. Well, get it out.”
“That’s what we’re trying to do.”
I pace around my cell. That’s right, I said my cell. Russia or China supposedly put this shit in my head but I’m being held a prisoner by my own government.
The pain in my head is a dull throb. It’s not as intense as it was after the mindfuck by my so-called friendly government.
Since the mindfuck session, they have slid some food through a slot at the bottom of the steel door. I haven’t touched the metal tray.
No one has been by talk to me. I sure in the fuck would like to know more than we believe the Russians or Chinese put something in your head.
Where am I? I have no idea. I could be on a Marine base or some “dark” secret base buried deep in some Department of Defense file that Congress knows nothing about.
I am pissed. They used the love of my life against me. I am 27 years old. I have dated Chantay Richardson since I was 15. We’ve had our ups and downs but I love her and we are still together.
Before I left for Iraq, Chantay opened up her own beauty salon. She had worked at different salons and done some freelance work since high school. She studied cosmetology at Saint Paul College and is now taking business courses there in her free time.
I should have known there was a mindfuck going on when I was sweating. It rarely gets that hot in the Twin Cities. And the fucking letter while I was in Iraq, she did write that letter. She apologized when I got back and we have been working on our relationship ever since. She was stretched thin between school and the business and she said she just kind of freaked out one day and wrote the letter. She did follow the break-up letter with another letter a week later apologizing. That was so long ago. The timing and placement of events didn’t even make sense in their mindfuck scenario.
I wish someone would come and talk to me. I need answers.
“Sergeant Greer, I am Major Cleveland Myles,” says a stout African American man with salt and pepper hair. He is a dark brown man. He seems to have an easygoing way about him.
“Army, huh,” I say. He wears the dark green pants and light green dress shirt of the U.S Army.
“Yes,” he replies.
“Well, I’m not at a regular military base or you would be wearing fatigues.”
“You are very perceptive,” replies
Major Myles. “How are you feeling?”
“Like there is a large mining crew tunneling through my brain in all directions and all places in my head.”
Major Myles shakes his head. I am not sure if this means he is trying to show compassion. He seems to know something.
“You haven’t eaten anything.”
“I know. I’m not hungry. Where am I?”
“I am not at liberty to tell you that.”
“How long have I been at this institution?”
“Again, I am not at liberty to tell you that.”
“If I have no sense of how long I’ve been here, it will be hard for me to help you reconstruct what happened to me. I have no sense of time at all right now.”
“I know that and I’m communicating that up the ladder. So far they have given me very strict orders on what I can and cannot tell you.”
“Great,” I say with a sigh.
“You should really eat something. I am fighting to get permission to tell you more information. What was done to you is disturbing. I want to get to the bottom of this. I want to find out what was done to you so we can remove what was put in your head. I want you to be able to live a normal life.”
“Well, I appreciate that. I’ll take you at your word for now. But I don’t trust the DOD or the political hacks in Washington one iota.”
“I understand your feelings and I can’t blame you for your distrust. All I can do is be the best advocate for you that I can.”
“Where are medical personnel?” I ask. That question just hit me. “This is a medical issue. Why am I talking to Army brass?”
“I am a doctor,” says Major Myles. “Now that you are conscious and somewhat lucid, I will schedule some sessions with our psychiatrists and psychologists.”
“Somewhat lucid, huh. What in the hell does that mean?”
“You were not conscious when we got you. We were told to keep you sedated and to slowly bring you back to full consciousness.”
“OK.”
“I will do whatever I can to get to the bottom of your condition as quickly as possible.”
“There is one question I’ve always been curious about?” I say.
“What is that?” he replies.
“What is the difference between a psychiatrist and a psychologist?”
Major Myles chuckles a little.
“Psychologists do more research and therapy. Psychiatrists actually go through medical school and they are usually the only one who can issue medication.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Do you have any more questions?”
“No, not right now.”
“If you do have any more questions, please feel free to ask. I will answer them as best I can unless I have orders not to discuss a specific subject. If I am under orders to not share information with you, I will tell you. I will not purposely deceive you, unless I am ordered to do so, of course.”
“Yes, of course.”
Major Myles seems to be a nice enough man but I don’t trust him. Will he stand up for me? Yes, to an extent, but when push comes to shove, he will follow orders.
I need to get out of here. They aren’t telling me everything. I don’t think they know much and that is scary as hell. I need to get out of here but where would I go for answers? I obviously have some high-grade military shit inside my head. Who better to understand high-grade military shit than the U.S. military? They are the most powerful military in the world.
I wonder what Chantay is thinking right now? What about my mom and dad? Dad is a Vietnam vet who is still suffering from the effects of the war.
I still can remember his advice when I told him I was joining the Marine Corp six days after high school graduation. “You need to think about this, son. I didn’t have a choice, I was drafted. You have a choice. Think about this.” I signed on the dotted line three days later. My father’s response: “when I said think about it, I didn’t mean three days. I love you son. You’re a bright young man who just made a foolish decision. You’ll have to live with that. Our decisions are our best teachers.” I asked him for advice. His response, “don’t trust Uncle Sam. In war, you are expendable. For better or worse, they own you. War ain’t glamorous, son. Look at me, Vietnam fucked me all up. I have bounced from job to job for years. My mind has never been right. I was book smart before Vietnam. Now all I can do is construction or janitorial jobs.”
“You have worked very hard your entire life, dad. You were always there for me. You have struggled with PTSD and other issues, but you’ve been a good father,” I said.
“Thank you. That means a lot to me,” he replied.
That was it. I remember it so vividly. We then went back to watching the Twins/Yankees baseball game. That’s Cecil Greer for you. He is messed up in the head, but he has a good heart and tries his best to do the right thing.
My mother, Theresa Jansing, was very supportive. She always talked about loving me unconditionally and supporting me on any career path I chose. She was a woman of her word. That must be the schoolteacher coming out in her.
My parents never married but they have always had a civil relationship.
The slot opens in the bottom of the steel door and they slide the plate into my room. I am lying on the bed. I eyeball the tray from across the room. That’s all I can do. All I have is a bed, desk and chair. I do have a lot of floor space though.
I am restless. For some reason I am feeling better now. The throbbing in my head has subsided. Maybe I’ll start some PT so I can get back in shape.
I eyeball the food again. If I’m going to start doing some PT, I better eat. And that steak, it smells good. Steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and apple pie.
All right. I think they got this brother’s attention.
Lieutenant Colonel Michael Perrione sits before me. For some reason, I don’t like him. The trip from my cell to this briefing room was a lot longer walk than in the past. I am now certain they are holding me in some underground bunker. The trip was too long and there are no windows.
Lieutenant Perrione was standing when I entered. He extended his hand in greeting after I saluted him. I just stood there and looked at him. For some reason, I just don’t trust this man. He’s army as well. He’s about six foot three and is gaunt. He’s an old graying white man with wrinkled skin like he may have been heavier at some point and lost a lot of weight.
“Sergeant Greer, I am Lieutenant Colonel Perrione.”
“I know. I was told you would be coming.”
“Sergeant Greer, you seem a little off kilter. Have you been suffering from bouts of paranoia?”
“I am in a DOD black hole hundreds of feet below the ground. I am told I have some technology in my head and I can’t leave. Don’t you think this would cause some paranoia, sir?”
“Yes, you are probably right.”
“Where am I?”
“That is classified.”
“I see. Well, can you tell me anything new? If not, I’m going to sit here and look at you. I’m not telling you a damn thing until I start getting some answers.”
“Marine, that is no way to speak to an officer.”
“I don’t really care, sir. I am tired of the mind games and the run around. Tell me something I don’t already know.”
“If you refuse to cooperate, you will continue to remain in custody.”
“I have been very cooperative with what little has been asked of me. Now, what in the hell is going on? What did they put inside of my head?”
“We are not sure what’s in your head.”
“Really, come on now. I‘m tired of that lame line.”
“It’s true. Sergeant Greer, what is the last thing you remember before waking up in this facility?”
There is a jolt through my body and I feel my entire being recoil.
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
“Well, take some time to think about this question.”
My mind is empty. My mind is blank. So much
of my memory is foggy.
All right, relax and think. This is weird. This is fucked up but you do have a lot of memories. Relax, do a timeline.
I remember coming back for leave—I received an honorable discharge. No, my term had ended but my CO, Major Dunwoody, talked me into re-enlisting. I came back to Minneapolis. I saw mom and dad. I was with Chantay for about a week.
“I returned to the Twin Cities for leave. I had been home for about a week—”
“That was six weeks ago. What else do you remember?”
I think my mouth is hanging on the floor. There is over a month of lost time. How can that be?
Lieutenant Perrione types on a laptop computer as I speak.
“Nothing. I just remember spending the week back visiting family and friends and being with my woman.”
“How was your relationship with Ms. Richardson when you returned?’
“Very good. She was happy to see me. I was happy to see her. We spent a lot of time together.”
“And your parents, how was your relationship with them?”
“Fine, just fine. Things were great between me and them.”
He types furiously for a few minutes and then stops as he lets out a sigh.
“Sergeant Greer, Ms. Richardson and your parents were murdered. The police and the MPs found bloody clothes in your room. The blood matches Ms. Richardson and your parents.”
“Come again,” I hear myself say.
“You murdered your girlfriend and parents.”
“That can’t be. I honestly don’t remember killing them or anyone else back home. Things were good between me and all of them. I would never kill any of them. I loved them.”
“The evidence is pretty overwhelming. Your DNA has been found at all three of the crime scenes and their blood is all over your room.”
“But…”
“I have looked over your personnel file and all of your health assessments. There is nothing in your background that would predict such a profound psychological break.”
Salvation Road: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow Page 1
