by D R Sanford
How he kept them on the road was a mystery to Cullen. They swung dangerously from right to left along the road, approaching one hundred miles per hour. Powerful brakes gripped the wheels through curves. Twin turbos gunned them into straight-aways. Corn rows by the thousands flew by, briefly lit by the vehicle's lights and forgotten as they consumed more blacktop.
Cullen held the loose seatbelt in white-knuckled fists and had no idea how to respond when Laeg called back, “Someone has to start shooting. I think it should be us.”
He reached a hand into the small of his back for the Glocks but found the holsters empty. After discharging both magazines in The Grove's basement, Cullen had dropped them on the floor in order to strip the carbine from Laeg's shoulder and wrap the sling around the door handles.
“I don't have a gun.”
“Hold on then.”
Laeg bent the car around another curve, straightened it out, and began patting the front seats for a weapon.
The zip of a bullet passing and the crash of glass behind Cullen made him duck instinctively. Laeg resumed a two handed grip on the wheel and, with a minor twitch, zigzagged across the road and back again.
Jane must have resumed consciousness, because she was screaming and flailing in the front seat. More bullets pinged off the car frame. Cullen lay down on the rear seat, searching for anything to hold onto or throw out the rear window.
In slow motion, Cullen witnessed Jane's hand take hold of the wheel for an instant, jerking it to the right. Laeg responded quickly, but at breakneck speed they didn't stand a chance. They careened off the gravel shoulder on the right, over-corrected when trying to avoid the road's left edge, and careened back to the right.
Cullen was positive he and Laeg were both cursing as the Audi flew into the ditch, cartwheeling and rolling through nearly two hundred feet of corn and more ditch before finding blacktop again where it ground to a halt. Teetering on its roof, spanning the road, smoke rose from the battered hulk of metal.
—Chapter 11—
THE CRASH
Cullen came to his senses amid trampled corn stalks. His entire body ached, and rolling onto his right side revealed that his left arm was nearly useless. The pain was high and throbbing, probably a broken collarbone. He felt a strange tingling along his scalp, and tunnel vision blurred the outer fringe of sight as Cullen took in his surroundings.
Judging from the chase car rolling to a stop, very little time must have passed. The overturned car, with Laeg and Jane in it, was farther down the road, perhaps another fifty feet. The assailants separated Cullen from the upended car. From his friend and the woman he'd chosen to protect. Simultaneously, both front doors of the chase vehicle opened. A man knelt behind each door with a shouldered rifle sighted on the car ahead.
Cullen pushed himself to his feet and climbed onto the road.
The rifleman on the passenger side shouted, “Contact”, and the other followed with, “Cover”.
Fires burst within Cullen's brain. He could feel the hairs on his head stand on end. Breaking into an awkward sprint, Cullen zeroed in on the “Contact” man, an unintelligible cry of rage erupting from his throat.
Before his prey could turn to meet him, Cullen drove the edge of his extended right forearm into exposed neck, snapping vertebrae as he drove his weight into the man's spine.
The same right hand snapped a sidearm from the dead man's thigh holster and automatically fired across the front seat. Five rounds spread across chest and head ensured maximum damage.
Other than the ringing in his ears, Cullen only heard the purr of the engine beside him. Even the crickets had paused their chirping amid the violent crash and eruption of gunfire.
Cullen ran on autopilot for the following half hour. Securing weapons, rushing to the overturned car that held Laeg and their rescued Jane Doe. Her side was closest to him, and after tucking his left hand into his waistband, Cullen wrenched the door open with his good arm.
Hanging amid air bags and shattered glass, Jane and Laeg were both unconscious. He struggled with removing her restraints but extracted her as gently as possible and dragged her into the ditch.
Cullen circled the vehicle to repeat the exhausting process and was relieved to see Laeg stirring. The door was jammed. He planted his left foot against the crumpled sheet metal and pulled the door handle, muscles straining with the effort. It refused to budge. The vehicle's frame must have bent enough to make human efforts futile.
Robotic steps carried him back to the passenger side and onto his knees again. Crawling over the myriad of broken glass pebbles, Cullen heard Laeg moan and saw his arms pressing on the cocoon of airbags. His right hand clawed at the leg of his jeans, revealing the pommel of a knife neatly secured in Laeg's boot. Still hampered by the seatbelt and airbags, Laeg was unable to reach the knife.
Cullen's unexpected touch on Laeg's boot produced a surprised outcry and flailing limbs. He ducked the swing of an arm, twisted away, and felt glass dig into his knees. When Laeg paused for a breath, Cullen answered the cry in a hoarse voice.
“Calm down, its Cullen. I'll reach the knife and get you out.”
Laeg's panic increased at the sound of Cullen's voice.
“No. Cullen, you have to run. They're right behind us. Forget about me and run into the corn until you drop.”
His mind's eye returned to the other vehicle parked on the road, the two dead men lying on the pavement. Something had risen inside him, a force he'd never felt before, more than adrenaline and animal instinct. It continued to possess him, a cold, hard essence that perceived life and death on a microscopic level. Something else was driving the bus during the seconds he charged the vehicle and eliminated their enemies with brute force and precision.
“No one is following us," he said.
Cullen unsnapped the knife from its sheath and drove the four inch blade into the surrounding airbags. A line of blood trickled from Laeg's nose, past his right eye, and into his hairline. Blinking away disorientation, he squinted at Cullen's backlit silhouette, probably worried about a concussion.
“Unless we are being saved by alien abductors, I'm going to assume that the headlights aimed at us were put there by men with automatic weapons," Laeg responded.
“They were, but those men are dead now.”
Laeg's stare turned incredulous. Upside down, with the internal swell of blood distorting his features, he swung left and right, trying to get a glimpse of the chase car around Cullen's head and shoulders.
“Did you... how long have I been out?”
Laeg supported his weight with open hands while Cullen cut him down. They both crawled out, and Laeg took charge of the situation again. Cullen stumbled to the ditch where Jane lay, still unconscious, her features barely discernible in the shadows. He confirmed a pulse on her neck.
Laeg had scampered to the chase vehicle and performed the same task on their assailants, then pulled the bodies to the roadside. He approached Cullen quietly, squatting in the grass opposite Jane's inert form. Cullen looked up at Laeg, still stroking the hair on her brow.
“Aliens didn't beam down and kill those two did they?” Laeg asked.
A chuckle escaped, causing a flash of pain in Cullen's left shoulder.
“Funny you would ask that. That's as close as I can come to describe what happened.”
Laeg checked him over from his head to his knees, and Cullen knew he was obviously favoring his left arm. Laeg pointed his chin in the direction of Cullen's bad shoulder.
“How bad is it?”
“I can't move my left arm without feeling like I'll pass out. The clavicle is probably broken, and I may have some bad ribs on that side.”
“How did you—?”
“No idea, Laeg. Can we shelve that for another day? I would imagine we don't have long before others arrive.”
“Right you are. Is she still coming with us?”
Cullen regarded their prize, hoping they hadn't rescued her from hell just to become the means of her un
timely death. He raised his eyes to Laeg, trying for command but knowing he was pleading.
“We have to.”
“Alright then, I'll carry her. Do you need help getting to the car?”
He dropped his head in relief and slid his feet underneath him. Cullen wobbled to a standing position, soon facing Laeg again and motioning for his friend to lead the way.
***
More fields sped by. Cullen lay across the back seat, gently rocking to the rhythm of the road, his gaze tracking a half moon beyond the sun roof. Flashes of the day's events circled in his head. None of the pieces fit together. Not the realization of Nora being alive, Walker's suicide, his encounter with Laeg, their raid on a popular worship center that apparently trafficked in abducted women, and certainly not the firefight that ensued.
On the verge of a mental meltdown, Cullen focused again on the moon, wishing he was over two hundred thousand miles away from the insanity erupting around him.
Laeg's voice broke his reverie. He tuned in only to discover the conversation did not involve him.
Laeg spoke into a cell phone, saying, “Yes that was us. Cullen insisted that we check out the stable in case Nora was still there... I know that was stupid. Would you prefer that I drug him for the next twenty-four hours?... No, she wasn't there, I've told you before she wasn't there, but we do have a guest. She's in pretty bad shape, might not make it to the next stop... He's stable but a bit messed up also. Look, I'm not calling so you can talk your foot up my arse. I need a new car in the next hour. What do we have in central Wisconsin?... Okay, send it by email, I'll map it out.”
Laeg canceled the call and pocketed the phone again. His shoulders twitched at the sound of Cullen's voice.
“Who was that on the phone?”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“You heard me. I asked who you were speaking with. I may trust you, Laeg, but I'm not sure I agree with whatever plans you and your friends have for me.”
Laeg replied with silence. Cullen could see him biting his lower lip in contemplation.
“Hmm, no need to worry, brother. We all have your best intentions in mind. You'll soon learn that for yourself. As to the identity of the man on the phone? Well, that would be the kindly reproach of your father.”
Rewinding the last few seconds, Cullen substituted quite a few words for father. He must have confused Laeg's final words with something else: bother, gather, Heather, rather, lover, mother. Nothing fit.
He probably stumbled over Laeg's accent and asked, “What was that again?”
Laeg cleared his throat, trying to hide a sly grin.
“He'll hang me out to dry for telling you before he could, but I'd say he owes me one for sending me out on this errand. I was speaking with your father, the founder of our little resistance group and all around dead-beat-dad.”
Cullen made an effort to sit up but was forced back to the seat by the throbbing pains blossoming in his left side. The moon above blurred and split in two until he regained some stability. Filtering out the highlights, he still had no idea what his life was adding up to. The father he'd never met was leading a group of vigilantes intent on exposing a ring of suburban slave traders? What?
His response was laden with exhaustion and confusion. “What the hell are you talking about, Laeg? I'm still trying to figure out how my mother's teaching assistant is some kind of Navy SEAL and why loads of armed men are kidnapping pregnant women. You're just messing with me now, aren't you?”
“Granted, everything you've been through today is a hefty bite to swallow. I do not want to confuse you, Cullen. I feel for you, I truly do, but it has not been my place to fill you in. Until now, that is.”
The moon blinked in and out of view as Cullen's eyelids sank and his body demanded recuperation. Nausea, brought on by the combination of injury and mental shock, welled up when he bent his mind to work on the mystery. Instead of fighting the inevitable, Cullen welcomed the burgeoning sleep that embraced him.
***
Flashes of night and day came and went.
Cullen woke momentarily to swallow something that Laeg swore would numb the pain.
The dream found him with every lapse of consciousness, an amorphous womb of the universe speeding him to an unknown destination. Panic infused Cullen as the sensation of freefall increased to the point of hysteria. His arms flailed, yearning to catch hold of anything before insanity broke him down to a senseless, thoughtless form plummeting through space.
Without sight or touch to aid him, Cullen suddenly felt the envelope of the void closing in. A clamor rose in the darkness, a pounding, shrieking echo that activated his auditory nerve and in turn set a beat in Cullen's core.
He regained consciousness only to shrink from the morning light and wince in pain. Straps restrained him on the driver's side couch of what appeared to be a travel van. Jane lay immobilized across the way, gently snoring, her right arm dangling and fingers brushing the carpeted floor. Waves of British heavy metal soared from the forward speakers, and Laeg was screeching a poor imitation of an iconic vocalist.
Still groggy, Cullen croaked, “I can't move.”
The music cut to a whisper.
“Sorry 'bout that. That song came on, and I found myself rolling the volume higher and higher. Don't move.”
While Cullen pondered how he could move, Laeg slowed and eased the van onto the shoulder. They rolled to a stop, and a click released the driver's side seat belt. His eyes puffy and his clothes smelling of sweat, the Irishman knelt beside Cullen. Their eyes connected. Cullen saw a trace of concern overshadow Laeg's expression.
“Why did you strap me down?”
“How do you feel?”
“That doesn't answer my question. Why—”
“It may not be an answer, but I do believe you'll find it provides the answer. How are you feeling from your left hip to that mangled shoulder?”
“Like I was run over by a car.”
“Or thrown from one, right? I strapped you and your lady friend down so you don't injure yourselves by rolling off the seats. Now, I have a choice for you. You can lie there in misery and listen to my howling for another sixteen hours of cross-country travel, or you can drift back to la-la land like our well-dosed passenger across the way.”
Laeg emphasized the downsides of remaining awake. He decided that answers could wait another day. More forced unconsciousness suited him just fine at the moment.
—Chapter 12—
THE EXPLANATION
Waves of rhythmic chirping replaced the shrill din of Cullen's dream.
Peace washed over his being, gently eroding the terror that preoccupied the nightmares of his past.
Endless freefall slowed and morphed into a comforting sense of floating face down.
The infinite abyss no longer swallowed Cullen, crushing him in its depths.
He sensed a presence looming in the gloomy depths, one that anchored his soul and calmed his mind. A soft glow emerged as a pinpoint of light, growing in size and filling his surroundings with warmth. Embraced by the expanding light and benign force, Cullen severed all memories of the void. By will alone he found purchase and stepped into the light.
Bird calls greeted Cullen as he woke. Cool air filled his lungs, and dust motes danced on early morning sunbeams. An unfamiliar room welcomed him, its pineapple yellow walls and lazily spinning ceiling fan drew him in. It felt like one of those mornings when nothing was planned. He could lie in bed without a care in the world.
But his cares flooded in unbidden, and Cullen sat up in bed with a start. The room was spartan in its decor, a table between the bed and door, a tall chest of drawers beyond the foot of the bed. The sight of his cat, Lola, curled up at his feet added to the mix of confusion setting in. She opened an eye, saying both “hello” and “what gives” in her feline way.
Cullen twisted to place his feet on the floor, but was hampered by the bandages wound tightly around the upper portion of his left arm and torso.
> The previous day came back to him. Was it really just yesterday?
The discovery.
The hunt.
Walker's death.
Running, fighting, running, crashing into the cornfield, and killing two men.
Laeg had marched him into the belly of a beast and pulled him out again. The fact that he was currently alive and free took root, dispelling a twinge of rising panic. What in the world was his cat doing on the bed, though? Didn't Laeg say they had a long drive ahead of them?
Lola meowed and stretched, her tail twitching in the air. She sauntered between Cullen's legs and settled on his lap, purring loudly and rubbing her cheeks on his bandaged chest. He complied with her request for attention by scratching behind her ears and along her spine. Lola's purring and contentment grew, adding to his own flourishing sense of peace.
Though it was incredibly tempting to stay in bed for the day, Cullen felt compelled to venture out and confront his mysterious benefactors. So, he scooped Lola into his right arm and swung his feet to the hardwood flooring, faced the door, and awkwardly pressed down on the latch with his restricted left hand.
More doors lined both sides of a lengthy hall. He had occupied the room at the end. A large, open window on his right shed light on the corridor and the open doorway of a bathroom across the way. Lola wriggled then jumped from his arm and trotted down the hall to the left.
The other doors were closed. Other than the ambient sounds of nature, silence reigned over the house. Beautiful landscape photography and paintings dotted the walls between doors. There wasn't an apparently consistent theme drawing them together, and Cullen had the impression that numerous personalities influenced their placement.
Cullen looked to the end of the hall and saw Lola sitting sphinx-like, waiting patiently for him. The aroma of coffee initially excited him but also alerted Cullen that someone else was awake in the house. He reached the end of the corridor, glanced into the empty kitchen on his left, and found himself drawn into the great room opposite.
