“Thanks. I’m going down there now.” He hung up. Eli opened the Security Camera app in his handheld. He had to search through the various angles until he found the right camera. He zoomed in on the action at gate three, and his worst fear was confirmed. It was Skeet, and by the way his eyebrows were angled like two black lightning bolts across his clouded face, he was very angry. There wasn’t any sound on the live camera but he didn’t need one. Skeet was yelling and he could read one word coming off his thin, wormy lips: money.
Eli rubbed his temples. How did Skeet know he lived in CorMand? Through Rex, of course. “Goddam you Rex,” he muttered.
He looked up at the sparse crowd commuting around him, window shopping, eating, chatting. He tried to appear nonchalant as he ducked away, to a private space beside the elevator, shaded by a potted plant. He knew he was being childish, but couldn’t bring himself to go down there in front of everyone. He especially didn’t want to be face to face with Skeet while the guy was screaming for his drug money.
Eli found Security’s number in the directory and dialed. It took them a little while but someone answered.
“Security Sector three.”
Eli cringed. He could hear Skeet in the background yelling about “babieees!”
“Hi sir, this is Eli Jackson.”
“Oh there you are. We’ve been looking for you.”
Eli pushed himself deeper behind the plant, trying to keep his voice low. “I’m sorry. I was…out of range when you called, but one of my co-workers got through. Apparently there’s a…gentleman down there asking for me.” Even to his own ears it sounded so phony he wanted to punch himself.
“Ha! Some ‘gentleman.’” The guard did not sound amused. “Look, Sergeant, do you know this guy?”
“I do not.” God he wanted to kick his own ass.
“Fine,” said the guard. “We’re kicking him out.”
“….my money!.....babies on your mamas!”
For a little fuck that Skeet had a pair of lungs.
“Thank you,” Eli said. “I, uh. I don’t know how—“
“Look buddy,” the guard interrupted him. “It’s none of my business what you do on your spare time, but try and keep your messes on your own plate and don’t dirty up the table for the rest of us. You get me?”
“Yes. Yes sir. I do. Thanks.”
The guard hung up.
Eli stood there and stared down at his phone. He watched the camera as three guards dragged Skeet out the front door. Finally he turned off the phone and threw it in his pocket next to the stray button.
He tried to push Skeet out of his mind and think back on his meeting with Dr. Hersche. He had left hopeful and wanted to recapture that feeling.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eli spotted a drone cop rolling down the walk heading his way. He was stuck, unable to move his feet. If he darted out from the plant, he would seem suspicious, if he stayed…well. The last thing he needed was to be subjected to a random drug test. In fact, because of Skeet’s visit, the bot probably already had a warrant out for his sample.
Shit! For anyone else, a positive narcotics test was just a small fine, a money grab, not even a slap on the wrist, but for him, it spelled big trouble. Villus was just salivating for a reason to bite him, which meant Eli would probably be discharged.
The bot, with its white headlight flashing, wheeled closer.
To his relieved surprise, the bot stopped next to a woman sitting on a bench—a random ID check. She set down her digi-book and complied, widening her eyes for the retinal scan.
Eli released his breath so suddenly his head swam. He left his hiding spot and quickly went down the wide walkway that would lead him back to the CorMand offices, but he needed a moment before returning.
Once far enough away, he found a lone bench where he sat down, holding his head between his hands. There was no way around it. He would be hearing about the Skeet incident from everyone. The good natured jeers would be uncomfortable, but the silent stares of those who held themselves to the highest “officer standards” would be unbearable.
God, if only he didn’t have to go back into work today or this week. Maybe by then the scandal would blow over, but then again, maybe not. Around here people held on to these things. One man’s open wound was another’s foothold.
He thought of Mevia and what she would say. Probably something along the lines of “Screw those Corp goody-goodies. Get up off your ass and get the hell out of there!”
Eli combed his fingers through his hair. “If only that were an option,” he whispered. “If only I could.”
Chapter 34
Kilt
Kilt glanced at the sleeping horizon, searching for signs of the sun, but the minutes before dawn were as dark as the dead of night. He watched his feet in the glow of the torch light, moving slowly, but keeping with the group’s pace. They were moving with nervous trepidation over the dark, invisible path, barely able to see where one foot landed after the other, carefully plodding along, nobody needing a snake bite or a rolled ankle today.
“Mommy, I’m tired.”
Kilt looked back down the path at the women and children who were following in a clumsy gait, like a herd of newborn fawns, mystified and sleepy-eyed. Joe marched ahead of the group holding the torch like the conductor of a sleepwalking band. He was wearing a patchwork coat that would be too hot in about an hour when the morning was ripe. Behind him were Penny, Rosie and Doddy, each woman attached to her brood by a thin rope tied around the children’s wrists.
Although they looked funny strung together like a migratory spider web no one was in the mood to laugh. Nobody wanted to lose their children in the dark, dangerous woods.
Kilt turned his eyes back on his torch lit feet.
Two days ago, the afternoon after his conversation with Joe about his decision, Kilt hadn’t walked fifty feet before he decided to hell with it; he was going to help these people. That night they celebrated with deer meat, cucumbers, and a shot of whiskey each from Jep’s “rainy day” stash. After the bellies were full and the stories were told, they sat and sang the heavy-hearted songs from the old days when they were a larger clan.
The following days were filled with preparations. They gathered and stored food and water as well as seeds for future gardens. Then they rummaged through their things, and discarded what was either too heavy or too inconsequential to carry on their journey. Finally, they cleaned up camp and went to bed for just a few hours until it was time to rouse the heavy eyed children and start the trip.
When Kilt told Senior he would use both of his grenades for the mission, he glanced at Joe for his reaction, but the boy simply nodded, nothing displayed on his face but a patchwork of freckles. Well, that’s what he half-expected anyway. Kilt was simply doing what was right. Glorification and reward were not required every time one made a moral decision. The kid was a tough operator but, as long as he had his parents, he was going to grow up real fine.
Just then there was a fuss from behind. Kilt turned to check on the women, but it was just little Katy. She was cranky and had tripped, but they had her back up and moving.
They finally reached the wall of bushes surrounding the drone strip. The morning light was sleepily raising its head over the horizon. Everyone crouched down, hushed, gazing out into the field. Even the children were mesmerized.
“It’s so…neat,” Beth whispered next to Kilt’s ear. He nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. After living in the shadows of the woods her entire life, she had probably never seen an open field of symmetrical objects, laid out in perfect uniform formation. Kilt patted her back softly. These really were some fine kids. At that moment, in spite of the nerves for the task ahead, he felt a breath calm in watching the beautiful sunrise. Everything was going to turn out fine, and all he had to do was be smart and be quick.
The father’s helped ration out water for the kids, while the mothers checked and re-checked the rope knots around their wrists.
Jack
stuck his finger in his mouth and smiled cheerfully but his eyes were still sleepy, the combination of the two giving him a drunken look. His tubby baby belly poked out underneath his white teddy bear t-shirt which was grungy from years of river side washes.
Kilt grinned and ruffled Jack’s hair making him giggle.
“Ssh,” Penny whispered.
Kilt made an oops look. He hadn’t meant to get him in trouble.
Jack smiled like they were sharing a secret.
They surveyed the land, the men whispering a few last minute instructions to the wives and children. Finally, Sam patted Kilt on the back meaning it was time to go.
The families shared a final embrace.
As the men took off to sneak around the perimeter toward the communications tower, Kilt turned and waved good-bye to the group. After this, he would go his way and they would go theirs, and he would probably never see them again. Although they had already said their official “good-byes” the night before, Kilt couldn’t help but sneak one more look back at his foster family. Later he wished he hadn’t, because the only thing he would remember from that day forth was the weighted look in Joe’s eyes. That and how Jack’s little finger hung in his mouth as they watched Kilt leave with the daddies.
The high Kilt was enjoying earlier was starting to dissipate. The soft virgin dawn was maturing into a hot, sticky morning. All Kilt knew was that he never felt so alone in his life. This was worse than when he was going batty in the skeleton’s adobe. This was different. He only had a little bit more time and then he would never see these people again.
He distracted himself by rehearsing the plan. He reached into his pockets and traced his fingers over the two volatile grenades, suddenly heavy, so much so that he was starting to limp.
Not to worry. In a little while you’ll be running away. Light as a feather.
***
They stood beneath the communications tower, four necks straining upward, Kilt calculating the height like a woodsman, five, ten, nearly fifteen tree lengths up, blinded by the shine of the steel, taking in the enormity of not only the climb, but the job ahead.
Sam Clifton knocked on the side with a gloved hand. Kilt stepped away, not wanting to touch the thing. The monster was a solid steel structure, but it looked alive like it was vibrating, ruminating on their demise. He could almost hear it singing. If not today then I’ll get you tomorrow. After all, that’s what it was here for.
Maybe it had an evil aura that Kilt could sense, except he didn’t believe in things like auras or spirit animals. Maybe they were being watched by some CorMand programmer itching to pull the trigger, or maybe he was just nervous because pretty soon he would be climbing up to the top of that thing and then sliding back down while it exploded above his head. Maybe that had something to do with it.
“Come on lads. Only one way to get to heaven,” Jep said, pointing up.
“You boys about ready?” Senior meant the question for everyone but his eyes were on Kilt.
“Ready,” Kilt said. He felt inside his pocket one more time for the grenades even though they were heavy as boulders now.
“Good,” Senior said, nodding once. “Let’s go.”
Kilt adjusted his backpack, and then wrapped his hands around the ladder. He jiggled his foot on the first rung and tested it before starting up.
Jep cupped his hand around his mouth. “You’re doing great, man. Remember, if you bump into any angels, you went too far!”
Nervous laughter followed.
The plan was for Kilt to go first so that he could be in the ready position, grenades in hand. With any luck this operation would be over before they knew it.
The steel rungs were slippery with dew. He hadn’t counted on that. Half-way up there was the thick dong! of someone stumbling. He didn’t turn around for fear of losing it himself. Below, Sam cursed and then muttered that he was ok. After that, despite being exhausted, they made the rest of the climb without incident.
When Kilt finally grabbed glorious last rung, he pulled himself up and paused a moment. The platform leading into the comm station was large enough for the four of them, and thankfully it had a railing around the perimeter.
The station and all of its machinery was surrounded by six walls of shiny steel and thick glass arranged in the shape of a hexagon. It was like looking into the quarters of a killer queen bee.
He hoisted himself up and crawled over the grating. His exhausted arms were dead, as if no longer a part of his body. His breathing was labored, and his legs were burning. He sat there and shook them out while the others finished climbing.
Once everyone caught their breath and was ready, they got into position along the platform. Senior shrouded the door leading inside, examining its handles and hinges.
Kilt stood up carefully and gripped the railing, his knuckles growing white. The wind whipped over his face, lifting the hair from his damp brow. The view was astounding. The landing strip stretched on for miles. Its carpet of worn grass was crushed in a camouflage pattern, stained browns and yellows, with long wheel marks ending at a line of trees. The thin, leafless branches sprawled across the powder blue sky like a man’s morning stubble before he shaves.
He didn’t like how the Predator planes were facing them, set in precise formation, angled up as if silently praising the comm tower god, waiting for a signal to come alive and kill. Kilt glowered down, wondering which among the lot below was the one that planted a tranquilizer in his back.
There was a friendly slap on his shoulder. “You ready man?” It was Senior.
“Yes sir,” he said firmly.
A smile spread across Senior’s face, beneath it was both a fear and an intensity one might find in a soldier from long ago.
“Good luck to you, son.” Senior extended his hand. Kilt shook it firmly placing his other hand on top.
“You as well. To all of you.” Kilt shook each man’s hand, his heart thickened seeing the disappointment in their eyes; they were sorry to see him go. That lonely feeling surfaced again causing an irritating prick behind his eyes.
“Ok. It’s now or never boys.” Senior went to the door.
Everyone crouched in position. Jep and Sam and Senior gathered and gripped the steel door designed to open upward instead of swinging outward. A keypad, meant for the maintenance crew, sat to the side, ignored and unnecessary.
Kilt gently reached into his pockets, left hand, right hand, and removed the grenades. He turned them over in his palms, caressing the buried treasure. How fortunate it was to find not one, but two. One for each hand.
He held his breath and then looked up, nodding, signaling he was ready.
Senior counted, “One. Two, Three!”
On “three” they heaved up the door, grunting and grinding their teeth. At first it seemed like it would be too heavy but when they got it above their shoulders, they simultaneously adjusted their hands and moved into a set, holding it level with their chins.
Senior’s face was red and veiny. His bulging eyes shifted to Kilt, their meaning clear. Get in there you idiot before I blow a hernia!
Kilt ducked his head and ran in.
The room was small, much smaller than he had imagined, claustrophobic even, especially after coming in from being out in the open air. He looked down and found the place where he was to lay the first grenade, resting on top of two control handles.
Kilt looked around for the satellite, but it wasn’t where the drawing said it would be. He searched frantically and finally spotted it on the same board as the controls, just two feet from the first bomb.
Great. He breathed a sigh of relief. This was perfect, after the bombs went off the whole inside of this place was going to be peanut butter and jelly.
Or bomb.
He stopped as if someone spoke into his ear.
Yes, one bomb would do it. Easily. Two is a waste. His thoughts raced like spooked mustangs, powerful and erratic. This place is smaller than I thought. Probably smaller than Senior thought. Th
e targets are right beside each other. Now that I’m here, I think that a single bomb would work. It would be more than enough.
How had Penny not pointed out the error in the drawing? The mechanics must have been over her head.
The room is small. Small enough for one explosion.
He lifted the grenades, trembling, clutching them as if they were alive and shaking him, trying to escape.
Hurry. He thought. Hurry up and decide. One bomb can blow this room. They’re your grenades. Your decision. You’ll need one if a Euro comes. You have a knife. They have guns. And the Kradle? What if you can’t dig under the Kradle? You’ll need to blow a hole in the dirt. If not, James is good as dead. The room is small. It is so small. Tiny even. Shrinking before your eyes. Two is a waste.
“Kilt!” Senior called. The word came out in a short burst, like a curse.
Kilt stuffed his left hand into his pocket, depositing the grenade. Then he pulled the pin in his right, dropped the bomb and got the high hell out of there. He practically jumped on the ladder. He wrapped his arms around the sides, planted his boots and slid. The others were trailing behind.
Kilt hit the ground going faster than he wanted. His left leg shot straight into his body, jarring his internals. His hip cramped, but he pushed himself away and broke to the north not bothering to look back.
Chapter 35
How long did it take for him to realize he didn’t hear an explosion? Two minutes? Five? Maybe there was one, but he was running too fast to hear. The tower was high and he was running fast, but then came the rumbling of the drone engines, and Kilt knew for certain that no, there wasn’t an explosion.
“Oh God.”
Already deep into the forest, Kilt stopped and turned around, searching the sky, but from where he was standing the trees were blocking his view. He moved parallel until there was a break in the sky line. Grey smoke blotted the clouds.
“What the hell?” He scratched his head. If there wasn’t an explosion then what was all the smoke? He took the other grenade out of his pocket and studied it. Everything appeared all right, except the damn thing looked older than dirt.
Children of the Kradle (Trilogy Book 1) Page 20
