SIck

by Brett Battles

  His brother.

  His girlfriend.

  Both of them clearly dead.

  Paul stared down at them, hardly able to process what he was seeing.

  No one was going to believe this. No one would ever believe helicopters had found them in the middle of the desert and—

  His hand snapped down to his pants pocket, and he pulled out his cell phone. He turned it on, and worried for a moment the people would disappear before it started up. But he was in luck, if you could call it that. They set the bodies down near the base of the ramp, while one of the two who’d stayed near the motorcycles ran back to the helicopters. The man returned a few moments later with a clump of black plastic.

  As soon as Paul’s phone was ready, he accessed the camera, flipped it to movie mode, and began recording.

  The man with the plastic gave half to the guys standing near Lisa, and the other half to the ones next to Nick. As they unfolded their pieces, Paul realized they were bags—body bags—just like ones he’d seen in some of the Military Channel documentaries Sarge liked to watch.

  He had zero doubt this had been a killing operation from the beginning. There had been absolutely no intention of simply bringing any of them in. Why else would they have the bags with them?

  “That’s my brother, and my girlfriend,” he whispered next to the camera, hoping that the suits the people below were wearing would make it hard for them to hear anything. “Those…those men shot them. We weren’t doing anything, but they shot them.” He opened his mouth to say more, but decided he’d already pressed his luck enough.

  Once the bodies were sealed up, the men started carrying them out of the canyon. They all stopped for a moment near the motorcycles and seemed to have a quick conference. When they were through, the two men not carrying the bodies picked up the backpacks and sleeping bags, and carried them to the helicopters.

  As soon as everything was aboard, the helicopters rose into the air and flew off in the direction from which they’d come, the thumping of the blades fading until silence descended on the canyon.

  Paul didn’t move. There was a part of his mind that said if he stayed right there, none of this had really happened. That pretty soon Nick and Lisa would walk up the ramp looking for him. It would all be fine. They’d get on the bikes and get the hell out of there.

  But there were no footsteps, no voices, no nothing, because the girl he loved and his brother were dead.

  That’s when Paul lost it.

  It was ten minutes before he finally pulled himself together, his face streaked with tears, and climbed out of his hiding spot. The first thing he did was crawl the rest of the way up to the ridge of the canyon.

  There, he looked everywhere to make sure the helicopters had really gone. There wasn’t a speck anywhere, not even a cloud. Just blue, empty sky. The wrong sky for the kind of day it had turned out to be.

  He hurried down the ramp, pausing for only a brief second as he passed the spot where Nick and Lisa had been killed. What blood he could see looked like dark stains against the dirt. It was…unreal.

  When he reached the canyon floor, he ran to the overhang, wanting to get under the cover of the rock. It had occurred to him that the only way the men in the helicopters had known they were there was if he, Nick, and Lisa had been spotted from above. There must have been planes circling around that he and Nick hadn’t noticed. He was going to have to expose himself eventually, but, for the moment, he wanted them to think no one else was there.

  Thank God the bikes had been too bulky to put on the helicopters. He would never make it if he had to walk out, but the bikes gave him a chance.

  Using a hose off of the engine on Nick’s bike, he siphoned the remaining gas from Nick’s tank into his to give himself the best chance for escape.

  His first inclination was to wait until dark, hoping that would make it harder to spot him. But the problem with that was the same problem they’d had the previous night. He would have to keep his speed down so he didn’t kill himself. If he left now, in broad daylight, he could race through the desert and that might be the difference between survival and a bullet in his head.

  A bullet.

  The rifles. The echo of the shots. The lack of any screams.

  He shook himself. He couldn’t think about that right now. He needed to go. He needed to get out. No one would know what happened to Nick and Lisa if he didn’t.

  He wheeled his bike to the edge of the overhang, then took a last look back at the earthen ramp where his girlfriend and his brother had died. Unconsciously, he touched the cell phone in his pocket, making sure it was secured. He couldn’t lose that, no matter what.

  He pulled on his helmet and hopped on the bike. There was no reason to stay any longer.

  With a sudden roar, the motorcycle shot out of the canyon and into the desert.

  • • •

  Before the sun came up that morning, the Army finally caved to media pressure, and flew several people back to the roadblock outside Sage Springs. These were the people who had driven their particular network’s vans to the location before the quarantine had gone wide. They were now allowed to drive the vans back to Fort Irwin under the escort of four Army Humvees and three helicopters flying above. Each had a soldier equipped with a radio riding inside with the driver. No one was to get out of their vehicle, and they were to stop only if the escorts stopped, too. If there were any problems, the soldier with them would radio it in.

  Since the roads were empty, they made it back to Fort Irwin just after sunrise.

  Tamara and Joe were both up and waiting when Bobby parked the PCN van in their newly assigned spot.

  “Were you able to get any shots?” Joe asked as the cameraman climbed out.

  Bobby gave him a quick shake of the head, then motioned to the other side of the van with his eyes. There, the soldier who had ridden with him was getting out. With an expression that conveyed tolerance at best, the soldier waved to Bobby and said, “Have a good day, Mr. Lion.”

  Bobby smiled broadly. “You, too.” As soon as the soldier walked away, the smile disappeared. “I told him I just wanted to get a couple of shots from inside the van, but he made it very clear that we were only there to drive. Hell, he wouldn’t even let me get in back to check the equipment before we left.”

  Tamara knew Joe had been hoping to get the shots, but, personally, she didn’t care. Her mind was on something else.

  “Can we check now?” she said.

  Both men looked hesitant.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Joe asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Come on,” Bobby said.

  He led them around the van to the side door, then opened it up. Not only was the van used to haul equipment, but it was also a mobile editing facility, allowing them to put stories together, record voiceovers, and transmit everything back to the network. Via their uplink, they also had a speedy Internet connection.

  Using this, Bobby accessed the website where the footage from the incident at the Tehachapi roadblock had been uploaded. He clicked around for a bit, then said, “Found it.”

  He downloaded the video and transferred it into the editing software.

  Before hitting PLAY, he looked back at Tamara. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure,” she said quickly. “Play it.”

  Together they watched the video all the way through. Tamara had told Bobby and Joe what she believed she saw, but had said nothing to anyone else. Every time the network replayed the video, she had watched it, pointing out to them the man she was sure was her brother.

  Bobby and Joe tried to reassure her by saying things like “you can’t tell for sure,” and “the resolution isn’t the best so you could have made a mistake,” and “why would he even be there?”

  As sure as she was, she wanted to believe them, so she had stared at the video every time it came on, but every time she came to the same conclusion. It was Gavin.

  The reason she couldn’t
be absolutely positive, though, was that she had no control over what she was watching. She hadn’t been able to stop it or start it or reverse it. She had to watch it all the way through, then wait until the network decided to show it again. But now that the truck was here, she had access to the equipment that would allow her to take a better look.

  “Go back to the part right before he’s shot, and hold it,” she said.

  Bobby scrolled back, then hit pause. The problem with video, especially lower resolution video, was that the clarity of the picture came from the motion. A single frame often looked blurry, with less detail. Such was the case here. The man she was sure was her brother wasn’t much more than an indistinct human figure when paused on the screen.

  “Can you go back a second or two,” she said, “then scroll back and forth through this section until I tell you to stop?”

  “Sure,” Bobby replied.

  He took it back to where the man in question turned in the direction of the camera, then he started moving forward through the footage at half speed. They had just passed the point where they’d originally paused when she said, “Stop.”

  The image on the screen froze again.

  “You see that?” She pointed at the man’s left arm.

  “It’s an arm,” Joe said.

  “On the arm. Those dots.” There were three dark spots visible on the exposed underside.

  “That could just be digital noise,” Bobby said.

  She pointed again. “Gavin has a tattoo on the inside of his left arm. One big dot, and two smaller. He was on the swim team in high school. It’s the molecule model for water.”

  The two men looked at the screen again. Bobby then played that portion back and forth a couple of times. It was clear the dots were not digital artifacts, but were indeed on the man’s arm.

  “Jesus,” Bobby said.

  A tear began rolling down Tamara’s cheek. There was no denying it now—Gavin was the one who’d been shot.

  “Play it ahead some,” she said. “Let’s see if we can figure out who did this to him.”

  Bobby moved the video forward.

  In all the times Tamara had watched it at normal speed, she had been unable to spot anyone who might have shot her brother. Her fear was that slowing the footage down wouldn’t change that.

  “Wait, wait,” Joe said. “Play that last part back.”

  “What did you see?” Tamara asked. Whatever it was, she had missed it.

  “It may have been nothing.”

  Bobby played the segment again, this time going super slow.

  “There,” Joe said. “That guy.”

  He was pointing at a man behind Gavin. The guy’s eyes were clearly fixed on Tamara’s brother. Something bright popped into view near the man’s waist for just a couple of frames, then the man disappeared behind Gavin. Two seconds later in real time, Gavin would be shot.

  “What was that?” Tamara asked, referring to the bright spot.

  “Gun, I think,” Bobby said.

  “Then that’s him.”

  Bobby froze the video. “This is right before your brother gets shot.”

  “The man’s barely on screen,” Joe said. “No wonder we didn’t notice him before.”

  The video didn’t actually show the man shooting Gavin, but it was clear to all three of them he had.

  The question for Tamara now was, what was she going to do about it?

  28

  The plane arrived two and a half hours later, landing on a private airstrip on ranch land about a half-mile from the Lodge. It was a Gulfstream G250 business jet, outfitted for four passengers plus crew. After it was checked and refueled, Matt led Ash and Chloe aboard.

  The main cabin was separated from the cockpit, so while Ash knew the flight crew was up front, he had no idea who they were. The cabin itself boasted four comfortable-looking leather chairs. The forward two had tables in front of them, while the back two did not. Chloe immediately went for one in the back, while Ash chose a seat up front, tucking the messenger bag that now served as his suitcase under it.

  Ash was cleaned up as best as possible, but still looked like he’d been in a major accident. Rachel had cut his hair so it was now a uniform quarter-inch all the way around. She then did a quick bleach job making it and his eyebrows about three shades lighter than they’d been. The final touch had been contact lenses that changed the color of his eyes from blue to brown. He had two extra pairs in his bag as backups.

  One thing was for sure: No one who used to know him would recognize him now.

  “Pax will fly out with you, but this is as far as I go,” Matt said, holding out his hand. “You’re a good man, Ash. Get them back.”

  As Ash shook with him, he said, “Thanks for all the help you’ve given me.”

  “I’ve posted a message for our person on the inside, telling him you and Chloe are coming. He might get it, he might not. Even if he does, he might not be able to do anything to help, but…well, I’m sure he’ll try.” He paused. “Pax will give you a number to memorize. Any time you get in trouble, you call that, now or in the future, and we’ll do what we can to help.” Matt smiled, then glanced toward the back of the plane. “Chloe, good to see you again. Stay safe.”

  “No such thing,” she said.

  She was calmer than any of the other times Ash had seen her, but he could still sense a cloud of nervous tension hovering around her.

  “The window shades will be automatically lowered before takeoff,” Matt told him. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but we have certain procedures we need to stand by.”

  Ash shrugged. He didn’t really care where Matt and Rachel’s ranch was. He was focused on his destination. On his children.

  Matt hung in the doorway as if he had something more he wanted to say, but he finally just gave Ash a nod and got out.

  When Pax climbed in a few minutes later, he was carrying two cases—one a normal-sized briefcase, and the other a metal-sided container that could have easily fit a small microwave oven inside. He stored the metal container in a cabinet up front, then put the briefcase on the seat next to Ash. After securing the outer door, he gave the entrance to the cockpit a double tap and returned to his seat.

  “Hold this,” he said, handing the briefcase to Ash.

  As he buckled himself in, a low hum filled the cabin, and hard plastic shades lowered over the windows. To compensate for the loss of sunlight, the interior lights brightened.

  Pax leaned over to take the case back, but then stopped. “Might as well do this now.”

  Outside, the dull roar of the engines grew in intensity.

  “Open it up,” Pax said.

  The plane started rolling down the runway. It was slow at first, but quickly picked up speed. There was no taxiing here, just get on and go.

  Ash popped the latches on the briefcase and flipped it open. Inside was a padded envelope and two file folders.

  As Ash removed the envelope, the vibration caused by the runway suddenly ceased, and like that, they were in the air. He leaned back for a moment as their angle of ascent increased.

  A year earlier, he had taken his family to a small amusement park in Virginia. The park had one of those rides where you were basically in a box that went up and down and side to side, but didn’t really go anywhere. The sense of travel was conveyed by the combination of the movement and a video that played on a front screen. While they’d been on the ride, something had gone wrong with the projection system, and for several seconds they only had the walls to look at while the box kept jumping around.

  Taking off with the windows closed reminded him of that.

  As soon as they were settled into a comfortable climb, Ash opened the envelope and emptied the contents into the briefcase. The thing that stood out first was a small stack of cash. He quickly thumbed through it. Three grand. With the money he already had, that made five thousand total. Not exactly a windfall these days, but it definitely could come in handy.

  “Thanks,
” he said.

  “You run out, you call us. We can get you more.”

  Not that Ash was looking for an answer, but he wondered for the umpteenth time who these people really were.

  “I’ll…I’ll pay you back.”

  “No need.”

  Ash didn’t argue, but he wasn’t conceding the point, either.

  He looked back into the briefcase. The other two items from the envelope were a piece of paper and a wallet. He picked up the wallet first. Inside were three credit cards, a membership card for AAA, and a Florida driver’s license, all under the name Adam Cooper.

  “The credit cards are all good,” Pax said. “But use each only once. If I were you, I’d avoid using any of them at all. Cards leave trails.”

  Ash thumbed out the license and looked at the picture. It could have been him, or it could have been someone else entirely.

  “We had to do a bit of fancy Photoshop work on that,” Pax said. “But it’ll pass for now. When that new face of yours settles in, you can get a real picture taken.”

  Ash put the license back, then picked up the piece of paper.

  “Why is this here?” he asked. It was the pink slip for a 2009 Honda Accord.

  “You don’t want to walk everywhere, do you?” Pax asked. “It’ll be waiting when we land. Registration will hold up even if you get pulled over.”

  Ash stared at the cash and the cards and pink slip. “What do you guys want from me? You can’t be giving me all this for free.”

  Pax was silent for several seconds. “The hope is you’ll come back and help us when your personal business is settled. But that’ll be up to you. It’s not an expectation. We’d do this for you no matter what.”

  “Come back and help you do what, exactly?”

  Pax leaned back in his seat. “That’s something you’ll have to hear from Matt, when you’re ready.” He closed his eyes like he was going to take a nap.

  Ash transferred the items into his bag, then pulled out the two files from the briefcase. The first folder contained a set of grainy, five-by-seven photos, eight in all. Five were of men, and three were of women. A note was attached to the front picture.