Traveler

by David Yates

  This was certainly unsettling news at best, but Bemis said, “Well, we can't worry about where he is now. It's Showtime. Let's go."

  Bemis opened the door and stepped out. He glanced left, then right, then gestured for the others to follow. One by one, they exited the building for the final time.

  As they approached the chopper, Bemis told Hollingsworth, “Jim, get this bird going.” Hollingsworth jumped into the pilot's seat and fired up the engine. Bemis moved to the sliding door which gave access to the passenger compartment of the chopper and slid the door open. Much later, they couldn't quite recall what had exactly happened, not even Braden with his razor-sharp memory. It had just happened too fast.

  When Bemis slid the door open, Bullard slashed out with his favorite knife from his concealment inside the passenger area of the chopper. He opened Bemis’ throat nearly from ear to ear. Braden drew and fired right-handed, so fast that a stop-action camera might have had trouble following the movement. A small, neat hole opened up in Bullard's forehead, and he collapsed backward. At about the same time that Braden was squeezing the trigger, two more shots rang out from behind Braden. He spun and dropped into a crouch, drawing the .45 with his left hand. Manny was lying on the frost-covered grass wearing a grimace of pain. Braden saw Parker about 20 feet behind Gwen just as Parker fired off another round, hitting Gwen in the back of the head. Braden opened fire with both of his guns. Parker went to the ground, nearly cut in half.

  Braden rose to his feet slowly, letting his deadly hands rest at his sides. He still held the Sig in his right hand and the Smith in his left. He surveyed the carnage before him. Gwen lay on her back. The exit wound from the bullet that had taken her life made her face unrecognizable. Bemis lay next to the idling chopper, already mostly bled out. Manny was still alive, but obviously incapacitated. He had a large exit wound in his abdomen.

  A hand descended onto Braden's shoulder. He whirled, bringing the guns up.

  Hollingsworth, wall-eyed and gray-faced, stepped back quickly and raised his hands to shoulder-level. The chopper's engine drowned out his words, but it was easy to read the two words on his lips. Don't shoot! Braden lowered the guns, and then holstered them.

  He turned slowly and saw it all again; Pop lying in a pool of his own blood, Mom's face removed from her head, Manny probably dying, too. Tears began rolling out of his eyes. The only three people left in his life who he loved, and now they were all gone. He went to Gwen and fell to his knees beside her, the tears flowing more freely now. He reached out and caressed her hair, and when he withdrew his hand he was wearing her blood. He stared blankly at his hand for perhaps ten seconds, then raised his head to the sky and gave voice to a piercing scream. (Hollingsworth could hear that scream even over the engine of the chopper, which was now at full idle.) It was a sound of pain, of terror, of loss, of anger. It was the sound of angels weeping and of hearts breaking.

  Braden knelt there, sobbing, until Hollingsworth came for him.

  It was some time later when Braden awoke. He looked around and saw that he was in a dimly-lit bedroom, probably a hotel. He had no recollection of how he had gotten there. He was still fully clothed, and still wore all of his weapons. He slowly swung his feet around and stood. He tried to remember how he had gotten here.

  Of course, he remembered the slaughter at the compound. He remembered seeing Pop lying dead by the chopper, and Mom... Mom. A single tear made its way out of his eye and down his cheek. He remembered kneeling next to Mom for awhile, and then...here. He turned and walked slowly to the bedroom door and stepped out.

  He saw Hollingsworth asleep on the sofa, a throw pillow pulled over his eyes and his arms atop the pillow. He walked to the other bedroom and opened the door. Manny lay in the bed, either asleep or unconscious, the covers pulled up to just under his chin. He was so pale that Braden could hardly tell where the pillowcase stopped and Manny began. Charlie Archer was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. When he saw Braden come in, he rose quickly.

  "Doc?” Braden asked, blinking. “How did you get here?” He looked at Manny and realized that there was another, more important question that he wanted answered. “How is he?"

  "He was hurt pretty badly. I did everything that I could for him, but... there was so much damage. He had severe spinal trauma...Braden, Manny will probably live, but he will never walk again."

  Braden looked at Manny for a moment, then back at Archer. “What happened? I mean, after..."

  "You blacked out beside your mo...beside Gwen. Jim Hollingsworth came on the run and got me, and we went back outside. You were lying next to Gwen. After I checked to make sure you were okay, I checked on Joe, and then started doing what I could for Manny. I wanted to take him into the clinic, but Jim said no. He briefly explained what's been going on and said we needed to get out fast. I went back inside, threw some clothes in a backpack, grabbed my medical bag and a bag of medical instruments, and ran back to the chopper.

  "When I got back, Jim had already put Joe and Gwen onto the chopper, and he helped me get Manny aboard. Then we carried you to the chopper and flew here."

  "Where's ‘here'?” Braden asked.

  "We're at the Big Sky Inn just outside of Helena,” Archer said.

  Braden went to the window and parted the curtain. He saw that they were actually in a cabin, not a hotel suite. That answered the unasked question of how they had gotten Manny past the desk clerk.

  Braden turned away from the window. “Where's...where are the bodies?” he asked quietly.

  "Jim buried them in the woods behind the cabin."

  Braden nodded.

  Archer said, “Jim also kept something of Joe's that he thought you would like to have.” He walked to the small closet and opened the door, removing an item from a hanger. It was Bemis’ black leather duster. He handed the coat to Braden.

  Braden took it and caressed the supple leather with his hand. He removed his own short jacket and donned the duster. Archer looked at Braden with a sad smile.

  "For what it's worth, it looks good on you,” Archer said softly.

  Braden turned to the window again and parted the curtains with a trembling left hand.

  Archer said, still speaking softly, “You know they're going to come after us. They have too much invested in you to just let you go. They have the connections and the means to search for you for a long, long time. They won't give up until we're all dead. At least, all of us but you."

  Braden continued to survey the golden line along the horizon. “No, they want me dead now, too. They know now that I won't do their bidding, and they know they can't capture me. I'm on the hit list just like the rest of you."

  Archer was silent for a few moments. He said, “What are we going to do? I mean, do you have any specific plans?"

  Without turning around, still gazing at the pale light of early dawn, Braden said in a low voice, “Oh, yes. I most certainly do."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 4

  The four of them, Braden, Espinoza, Archer, and Hollingsworth, sat in the dining area of the cabin. It was a different cabin from the one they had first occupied following their flight from The Orchard. They had used the Internet to search classified ads around the country, and if they saw something that sounded good, Braden would travel there and check it out. After only six days of searching, they found the perfect place. It was a very remote cabin in eastern Wyoming with no close neighbors, a wide enough clearing to land a chopper, and one dirt track leading to the cabin. They had paid cash for the property, using a fake corporate name on the legal documents.

  Manny still had a long way to go in the physical rehabilitation department, but he could sit up in his wheelchair for longer and longer periods of time with every passing day. The gunshot wounds had left him paralyzed from mid-torso down. He had taken a small percentage of the money that was sitting in the Spanish bank and transferred it to a large American bank to cover their overhead and expenses. In addition to the cabin, t
hey had purchased a used Bell 407 helicopter and a 4-wheel drive SUV, nondescript but in good shape. They had abandoned The Orchard's chopper at the Helena airport. It was true that Braden needed no transportation, but the rest of them did and they needed to be prepared for any contingency. Also, there were times when Braden may need the SUV or the chopper, since he was always exhausted after one of his trips.

  It had been five weeks since the bloodshed at The Orchard. Before leaving Montana, Braden had visited the unmarked graves of Gwen Wiley and Joseph Bemis. Hollingsworth had led him to the spot, then had quietly excused himself and returned to the cabin. Braden had worn Joe's long, black duster to the gravesites. He had sat down between the graves and cried a bit, but the tears didn't last long. After that he just sat quietly for awhile, feeling comforted to be near both of them.

  Some time later, he arose and returned to the cabin. There was an old wooden picket fence separating the back yard of the cabin from the thick woods. He broke off four of the pickets and returned to the gravesites. He made the four pickets into two crosses and used his knife to carve something into the crossbar of each one. He then placed a cross at the head of each grave. With this done, he bowed his head for a few moments, said good-bye, and slowly walked back to the cabin.

  (Later, just before they left, Hollingsworth and Archer went to the gravesites to say their own good-byes. They both noticed the crosses that Braden had placed. Hollingsworth had nudged Archer and gestured to the crosses. Carved into each crossbar were the words, They Will Pay.)

  They had stocked the cabin in Wyoming with provisions and outfitted it with computers and equipment for Manny, complete with satellite Internet connection. They didn't bother with a telephone hookup, since it was far too risky and not secure at all. Instead, they purchased four cell phones. Manny was able to make them secure and untraceable. Manny had also been searching for sign of the Stooges, but so far had drawn a blank. About three weeks ago, Braden had traveled back to The Orchard under cover of night, only to find that the entire compound had been completely demolished and all debris removed. The only sign that anything had ever been there was a large brown flat patch of dirt. Braden wondered about the people that they had left behind.

  Today, as they sat eating breakfast in a wide bar of bright morning sunlight, Braden asked Manny, “Were you able to make anything out of that thread you were following last night?"

  "Not yet,” Manny said. “But give me time and I'll see if I can crack into it. I planned on getting back to it this morning."

  Archer and Hollingsworth had questioning looks on their faces, and Archer asked, “What thread?"

  Manny replied, “Before they tore down The Orchard, I hacked into the systems there and downloaded all the information on file to one of my external hard drives here. It wasn't that hard to do; after all, I worked on those computers myself. Remember Bullard's email that I intercepted? The one that warned us we were in danger?"

  They nodded. Manny continued, “My idea was to see if I could trace the origin of the original email back to the Stooges. But someone had put up a wall on that email that I couldn't get through, so I started checking every incoming email The Orchard ever received. Virtually all of them should have come from the Stooges. That's what I was working on last night, and what I'm going to keep working on this morning."

  There was companionable silence for awhile as they finished their breakfast. Hollingsworth was taking his dishes to the sink when he turned back and asked, “I wonder how many of those guys are still alive."

  "Well, we know Anson is,” Braden said. “It was him that sent Bullard the email telling him to kill us."

  Archer said, “And that old guy. What was his name? Kilbarger, Kitelinger..."

  "Kobriger.” It was Braden, and his voice was ice.

  "Yeah, Kobriger,” Archer agreed. “He was older than dirt when they hired me. He's gotta be dead by now.” But he sounded dubious.

  Hollingsworth returned to the table and sat down. “Manny, did you ever run a search for them by just using their last names? I know it sounds too easy, but..."

  Manny was shaking his head. “No good. I ran searches on all five names; it was the first thing I tried. There were about a zillion names to backtrack. Three of them have very common names; that's Alexander, Miller, and Morrison. Anson is a fairly common name. Even Kobriger was a more popular name than I thought it would be. Bottom line, there's no way to be sure if a given name is the same person that we are looking for. I would either need more personal information on them to do a more advanced search, or one of us would have to physically see everyone in the U.S. with the last name of, let's say, Anson, in order make positive ID. We can't do that for obvious reasons."

  Hollingsworth glanced at Braden and opened his mouth to speak, but Manny cut him off. “And in case you're thinking Braden could travel to make the ID's, you're wrong again, for three reasons. First, the amount of people is simply too large. Second, Braden would wear himself out with all that teleporting. And third, Braden's never seen any of them."

  Apparently this was exactly what Hollingsworth was going to ask, because his mouth snapped shut with an audible click.

  There was a brief period of silence as they mulled over what Manny had said. Manny broke the silence by saying, “Well, we'll never find them if we just sit here yapping. I'm going to get to work while I still can.” There were still times, usually around midday, when Manny had to get out of the wheelchair and lie in bed for a couple of hours. Archer opened his mouth, but Manny stopped him, too, this time with a raised hand. “No, Charlie, I don't need any pills yet. Hit me up again around lunchtime and I might take you up on it."

  Hollingsworth rose and said, “If anyone needs me, I'll be outside running a PM check on the bird.” He left the room with a wave.

  Archer rose and made as if to leave, also. As he was passing behind Braden's chair, he stopped and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. “You okay, kiddo?” he asked.

  Braden glanced over his shoulder and gave Archer a small smile. “Yeah, Doc, I guess I'm getting a little better every day."

  "I think I'll head into town, do a little shopping. Want to tag along?"

  "Sure,” Braden replied, rising from the table. “Just let me get geared up. It won't take me long."

  Archer looked at the young gun. “It's a small town. Do you really think that's necessary?"

  Braden looked steadily back at Archer. “Doc, I don't want to take any chances.” Then he broke into a sunny grin, the first any of them had seen since the deaths of his “mother” and his “grandfather". It warmed Archer's heart to see that grin. “Tell you what, Doc; I'll only take two guns, okau?"

  Archer guided the Suburban down the state highway running through the town of Drake, Wyoming. Drake was either a largish town or a smallish city, depending on one's personal viewpoint. It boasted a population of about 20,000, and the Chamber of Commerce had billed it as “The Biggest Little City on Earth!” (along with about a thousand other small towns across America). It was nestled in one of the smaller mountain ranges just east of the Rockies. There wasn't really much to do in Drake, but they did have a Pizza Hut, a Wal-Mart store (not the Supercenter; just a little one that closed at 10 p.m.), and the Cineplex 6. They also seemed to have many more sporting-goods stores than is usually found in a town of this size, but they were all flourishing.

  Archer pulled into the parking lot of a small shopping center and parked in front of Kenny's Supermarket. He and Braden got out and walked toward the store. The long black duster caught the breeze and blew out behind Braden, momentarily revealing his guns. He pulled the duster closed and put his hands in the pockets. They walked inside and Archer took a shopping cart.

  The store had a small movie-rental area, and Braden said, “I'm going to check out the movies, see if they've got anything new."

  "Okay,” Archer said. “I'll be back in the meat department. I feel like steak tonight."

  Braden walked around the pharmacy to the
movie-rental area and went to the New Releases section. One of the store employees was apparently conducting an inventory of the movies in the next section. She stood with her back to him, alternately looking at the shelves then writing something on a paper attached to a clipboard. All he could see of her was blonde hair, jeans, and the familiar red smock worn by all Kenny's employees; still, his heart quickened at the sight of her. On the handful of previous visits he had made to the store, the only employees he had ever seen working in the movie-rental department had been an old lady and a pimply-faced kid of about fifteen.

  As he scanned the new releases (or more properly, tried to scan them) he kept sneaking sideward glances at her, hoping she would turn around so he could get a good look at her. After several minutes, during which time she worked her way down the short side of the “L” formed by the walls of the movie-rental department, she finally reached the junction of the “L” and turned sideways, giving him a profile of her face. She looked to be maybe 21. Holy cats, Braden thought, suddenly having breathing difficulties; she's gorgeous.

  Braden spent the next few minutes facing the New Releases shelves but not seeing a thing except for her. If at that moment someone had walked up to him and asked him to name one movie on the shelf in front of him, he couldn't have done it, terrific memory notwithstanding. Eventually she must have realized something was up, because she turned her head and looked directly into Braden's eyes. Braden suddenly became extremely interested in a movie right in front of his face. Something about a dolphin, he thought. Blood rushed into his face, and he now realized how long he must have been standing here in the same spot like a tree stump (Moron! Bonehead! Nimrod! Boob! Dimwit!). He continued to gaze idiotically at the dolphin, now frozen in place, unable to move, unable to breathe. With his peripheral vision he could see that she was still staring at him. Get moving, you imbecile!! But before he could even see if that was even physically possible, her attention was taken off of him.