Nine-Tenths

by Meira Pentermann

  But what if he failed?

  A very young DTS employee measured the gas in the Tahoe’s tank, while a third man walked around the red vehicle and examined the license plate number.

  The license plate! Leonard panicked. What about the license plate? Surely Max had also modified the data linked to the car’s registration. What if he forgot? It was too late now.

  After checking the license plate, the attendant rummaged through the Tahoe’s trunk. Leonard had meticulously secured all the smuggling compartments, but a moment of doubt filled him with dread. If the DTS employee found the compartments, Leonard and his daughter were destined for prison. Glancing briefly at Natalia, he forced a pathetic smile.

  A few minutes later, the cylindrical bars on both sides raised and all the gates creaked open, freeing the westbound and eastbound traffic. One car was allowed to pass in either direction. As Leonard pulled up to the front position, the thought of another potential snag caused him to shudder.

  Was it possible that the DTS employees could detect a deactivated transmitter? The moment the thought entered his mind, Leonard dismissed it. Even at the DID, most employees did not have access to the WLN’s tracking system. The existence of transmitters was presumably top-secret information. After all, Leonard concluded, widespread knowledge of GPS implants could incite rebellion.

  A loud tap on the driver’s side window startled him.

  “Dad,” Natalia whispered harshly.

  Willing his nerves to settle, Leonard quickly rolled down the window and forced a chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

  The DTS attendant’s lips remained in a straight line. A paunchy man with dark hair and a day-old beard put one hand on the Toyota’s windowsill. His gray uniform bore the DTS insignia, a bicycle wheel with arms for spokes, the hands firmly grasping the tire.

  “ID,” the attendant said, mildly annoyed.

  Leonard jerked his head to the right and reached in the direction of the glove compartment. Natalia handed the two ID passes to Leonard. As previously discussed, she left her infirmary visit pass — as well as any mention of the infirmary — in the glove box.

  Leonard nodded in appreciation at his daughter. Passing the IDs to the attendant, he said, “Here you go.”

  The man frowned slightly and scrutinized Leonard’s ID, glancing back and forth between Leonard and the card. Leonard’s heart beat mercilessly but he glanced to the west nonchalantly as if scoping out the drive ahead.

  The DTS attendant thrust the portable retina scan device near Leonard’s face. Complying, Leonard turned his right eye and brought it within inches of the scanner.

  After reviewing the information on the screen of the scanner, the man turned his attention to Natalia’s ID.

  Leonard stifled a sigh of relief. Clearly, the database had been modified and Leonard’s retina scan now linked to the record of one Robert H. Cook, MD.

  Nevertheless, his relief was short-lived. As the paunchy man stooped to inspect Natalia, Leonard suppressed another wave of anxiety. Natalia’s new identity, Madison Simpson, matched Alina’s alias, not his. They might suspect Dr. Robert Cook of kidnapping Heather L. Simpson’s daughter. Why hadn’t he and Natalia rehearsed their stories?

  The attendant stared at Natalia for what seemed like eternity, his eyes narrowing. Natalia sat up straight, smiling faintly. She tipped her head to one side and Leonard prayed that she did not intend to speak.

  The scruffy man leaned across Leonard, pushing the retina scanner into Natalia’s face. He withdrew his hand and read the information on the screen, furrowing his brow. “Excuse me,” he said gruffly as he stepped away from the car, marching toward one of the watchtowers with a hint of hostility.

  Leonard’s heart sank.

  “Don’t worry, Dad,” Natalia said. “We’ll get through.”

  Barely moving his lips, Leonard whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Your name is Madison Simpson and mine is Robert Cook. They probably will not let a young girl travel with a man who is not her guardian.”

  “I’m sure Max thought of something.”

  “Max, Max. You and Alina certainly have a lot of faith in that rascal. Of course he didn’t think of something. He assumed you’d be traveling with your mother.”

  The paunchy attendant walked back toward the car accompanied by a tall, rugged man with a shaved head. A thorny vine tattoo emerged from the bald man’s right shoulder and wound its way around his neck.

  The first attendant returned to Leonard’s side of the car, while his tattooed supervisor approached Natalia’s window. She suppressed a slight gasp. Glancing at her father, panic filled her eyes. Leonard gestured for her to roll down her window, feigning what he hoped was an expression of encouragement.

  She was so confident, you idiot. Why did you fill her with doubt?

  The tattooed man smiled pleasantly as he leaned in to speak with Natalia.

  “How are you doing today, young lady?”

  “Fine,” Natalia said, her voice slightly hoarse.

  “This man your uncle?”

  She nodded without hesitation.

  Max had thought of something. Leonard suppressed a sigh of relief. Then he wondered if Max choosing to make Leonard’s alias the brother of Alina’s was a subtle jab. Never mind that now.

  “Does your mother know you’re taking a day trip this evening?”

  “Of course,” Natalia said brightly; her shoulders sank slowly as her body relaxed. “Uncle Bob has been promising to take me for nearly a year.” She punched her uncle softly on his right shoulder. “I’ve never been beyond the borders.”

  Surprised by his quick-witted daughter’s creative initiative, Leonard experienced a proud father moment. In addition, and more self-serving, the thought chip-off-the-old-block passed through his mind.

  Grinning, Natalia gushed, “I’m very excited. I hear you can see all of Denver from certain places.”

  “Yes, Madison. That's true.” The bald man touched Natalia briefly on the shoulder, clearly convinced of her sincerity. “Off you go, then.” He stood and walked away from the car, nodding casually at the paunchy man.

  “All right, Dr. Cook,” the man said, handing back the IDs. “Please pop your trunk and the gas tank door.”

  Leonard glanced in his rearview mirror. A second DTS employee was standing behind the vehicle. Presumably, he’d already examined the license plate number. The youngest member of the crew sauntered toward the gas tank with a foot-long, flexible wand attached to a small black handle.

  The Toyota jiggled as the attendants searched the trunk and measured the gas in the tank. The process lasted for several minutes, all the while Leonard attempted to maintain a poker face. He gazed at a soldier within the buffer zone who was barking commands at an obedient German shepherd. Suddenly, the man shouted something and the dog rushed toward a large training bag. Leonard jolted as the dog sank its teeth into the peach-colored leather.

  At that precise moment, a face appeared at Leonard’s side. It was the youngest DTS employee. Freckle-faced and curly-haired, Leonard guessed the young man to be about twenty years old. Nevertheless, the youth’s hardened demeanor gave him the appearance of a war-scarred veteran.

  Examining a handheld computer, the attendant said, “This model Toyota gets twenty-nine-point-three miles to a gallon.” Punching a few numbers into the computer, he paused for a moment. “So you are allowed exactly point-six-four gallons.”

  “Less than a gallon?”

  “Point-six-four,” he repeated listlessly, never meeting Leonard’s gaze. Studying his computer, the DTS employee tapped his finger on one side. “You have point-four-nine gallons currently in the tank, so you can buy…” He pressed a button. “…point-one-five gallons.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The young man tipped his head and regarded Leonard with suspicion.

  “I mean, what if my car doesn’t get twenty-nine-point-three miles to a gallon? What if it only gets twenty-nine-point-one?” Leonard s
aid flippantly. “I might run out of gas a few hundred feet from Idaho Springs.”

  “There are rescue vans stationed at various points along the last couple of miles.”

  “I’d rather not be rescued if I can get there on my own accord.”

  The young man narrowed his eyes. “Do you have enough rations?”

  Natalia produced a coupon from the glove box, a bright blue ticket with the words one gallon printed on it.

  The attendant snatched the coupon and held it up to the light. An official watermark and unusual thread pattern made the coupon difficult to counterfeit.

  “I can’t give you change,” he said in monotone.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The attendant waved the coupon. “For the ration.” He delivered his words slowly as if talking to an imbecile.

  Leonard gritted his teeth. “I have to use a one-gallon ration to buy a mere seventh of a gallon?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about the trip back? I’ll need another point-six-four gallons. Can’t I just buy it all right now?” How about the full damned gallon?

  The young man glared at Leonard. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded distinctly like Inbreed. Nevertheless, he maintained a civil tone. “That’s just the way it works at the border, Mr…uh…” He looked down. “Cook.”

  “Dr. Cook,” Leonard snapped. “This is ridiculous. How am I supposed to get home?”

  “Dad.” Natalia waved three identical blue coupons in the air. “We’re fine. Mom thought of everything.”

  Mom.

  Stumbling through a fog of anger, Leonard suddenly realized that he was jeopardizing their escape. His volatile temper could lay to waste everything that Alina had so carefully planned. Turning his head toward Natalia, Leonard slowly regained control of his emotions. “Right…uh…“ What was Alina’s alias? “…Heather was always the organized one.”

  The DTS attendant folded his arms. “So are you going?”

  “Yes,” Leonard said brightly, swinging the pendulum a little too far in the jovial direction. “Looks like we have enough rations here. We use another one in Idaho Springs I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can we buy gas here when we get back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, then, fill ’er up.”

  The young man paused for a moment to let out an exaggerated sigh before turning on his heels and grabbing a small gas can that had a computerized panel on one side. He punched in a few numbers. Presumably point-one-five. It took a couple of minutes before the young man had filled the tank with the appropriate amount of fuel and re-measured the level. When he was satisfied, he waved to an unknown accomplice in the tower on the right. Slowly, the cylindrical bar moved in a counterclockwise arc and all the gates blocking westbound traffic swung inward. Momentarily shocked by the open gates before him, Leonard hesitated. Then he pulled his car carefully through the buffer zone, past the soldiers, the German shepherds, and the other pair of towers. Once clear of the Western Gate, Leonard pressed the accelerator.

  Point-six-four gallons and ready to roll.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Leonard and Natalia cruised on the barren road. The Tahoe in front of them was long gone. The westbound lanes of the highway had been converted into a two-lane road. The eastbound lanes were littered with abandoned vehicles — many of them flipped over and most of them totaled or burned out. Taking a rough inventory, Leonard noticed that more than three-quarters of them were once expensive and fashionable cars.

  Natalia peered at them, her head tipped sadly. Leonard did not know what to say. It appeared to him as if a bunch of hoodlums had a party crashing, burning, and flipping cars. Although the DTS’s purpose for the spectacle was clear — to block the oncoming lanes — their methods were quite vulgar. Thankfully, the eastbound junkyard only continued for a few miles. Nevertheless, the wreckage seemed pointless.

  This whole place seems pointless.

  Leonard shuddered as they passed the exits. Every ramp was barricaded and every sign removed or covered in tarpaper.

  Having taken the route many times in his youth to go skiing or hiking, Leonard remembered hundreds of magnificent houses dotting the mountainside between Genesee and Evergreen. Although a few remained, including the famous Sleeper House, it appeared that most had been razed. Bulldozed snatches of land pockmarked the foothills, as if the Rocky Mountains had experienced a smallpox epidemic. What had not been devoured by the pine beetle had been destroyed at the hands of men.

  Focusing on the mission of getting his daughter safely to Grand Junction, Leonard tried not to dwell on the waste and desolation, but he could not help but wonder who lived in the remaining houses. Prominent members of the government or loyal citizens to the Stehlen Administration? He scrunched up his face in disgust.

  “Are you okay, Dad?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “What is it?”

  He sighed. “You’ve never been on this road, have you?”

  “Duh. That’s why you promised me you’d take me for my birthday.”

  “Things have changed.”

  “Oh.” She examined the hillside but appeared reluctant to probe further.

  They descended the steep hill approaching the exit to Highway 6 although all the signs were covered with tarpaper. As they approached the bottom of the hill numerous blockades indicated that, as Leonard had expected, Highway 6 was not accessible. The only possible destinations for any traveler were the Western Gate and Idaho Springs.

  “We’re getting close now,” Leonard said.

  Natalia gasped when they approached Central City Parkway, the road that led to two of Colorado’s favorite gambling towns. Another graveyard of luxurious vehicles ran up the mountain and out of view. The sign above the parkway leaned backward slightly, its bright orange-yellow letters covered in a layer of dirt and neglect.

  As they rounded the bend several flashing yellow lights warned Leonard to slow down. He complied. A pair of rounded tunnels a thousand feet away appeared to function as a checkpoint. The tunnel on the left had been barricaded by rubble.

  Guess they ran out of cars.

  Near the other tunnel, a van occupied the shoulder and a pair of DTS employees lounged on one side of the entrance. When they saw the Tramers approaching, they stood up straight, stuck their chins in the air, and strutted forward with an air of authority.

  Leonard came to a complete stop twenty yards from the entrance, wondering how long it would take to obtain permission to pass. He glanced at his gas gauge. The needle stood on E, but the car hummed dutifully. The DTS attendants did not approach Leonard’s window, but instead gazed at the Toyota’s license plate. The attendant on the left typed a number into his handheld computer. After inspecting the data on his screen, he swung his arm in a circle, backing away from the road. His companion stepped onto the right shoulder. Leonard drove through tunnel, grateful for the simplicity of the procedure.

  They rounded a curve and a tranquil river appeared on their right, followed by a series of brown buildings. It came as little surprise to Leonard that the first couple of exits were blocked. He pressed the gas pedal, hoping the car wouldn’t sputter and jerk to a stop.

  Nearing the city he once knew as Idaho Springs, Leonard drew in a sharp breath of surprise. Natalia seemed quite enthralled with all the activity after having passed so many vacant houses and blocked exits. The red Argo Gold Mine still clung to the side of the mountain, but more than half of the businesses and restaurants along the main street were boarded up. Nevertheless, Leonard’s eyes only lingered on the old strip for a few seconds. Towering over the historical town, a series of ugly gray buildings lined the outskirts. Defying the realm of possibility, the boxlike structures were even more hideous than the government housing projects in Denver. The buildings dwarfed the old mountain city. They didn’t belong. Leonard assumed the repulsive facilities functioned as a barracks for DTS employees and military personnel.r />
  A second later, Leonard’s heart nearly stopped. In the far distance, he saw what looked like a large wall running along the ridge of the mountain. Little bumps at regular intervals resembled turrets. Leonard glanced at his daughter. She appeared to be absorbed in the sights, so he said nothing.

  He found the exit in the middle of town. The government gas station was one block over. In addition to DTS employees, armed soldiers wandered around the streets watching citizens closely. Leonard made his way to an available pump. The DTS attendant engaged in a routine similar to the one performed by the smart-alecky kid back at the Western Gate. He measured the remaining gas in the Toyota, collected a one-gallon ration coupon, and added gas to the tank.

  While they were waiting, Natalia pointed out a green sign on a billboard. Permanent letters and computerized numbers informed visitors of their limited traveling rights.

  Citizens must leave an hour before sunset. Today the sun sets at 7:09 p.m.

  Leonard looked at his watch. It was nearly five p.m.

  The DTS attendant appeared at Leonard’s window. “I gave you an extra tenth of a gallon so you can wander around town.”

  Taken aback, Leonard offered an enthusiastic thank you. It occurred to him a moment later how pathetic it was that a tenth of a gallon of gas struck him as a grand gesture of generosity.

  “No problem,” the guard replied. “Move along.”

  They pulled out of the gas station and parked nearby.

  “The ramp back onto the freeway was not barricaded,” Leonard said. “I think there is one more exit a little farther west. We ought to see how far we can go.”

  Natalia nodded.

  Leonard returned to the interstate and headed west. As they got closer to the edge of town, he realized there was no denying it.

  Looming in the distance, a massive wall built out of cement blocks made the Western Gate seem trivial. Topped with copious amounts of razor wire, the rampart appeared impenetrable. Guard towers were positioned at intervals of a hundred yards. Unlike the dark, enclosed towers of the Western Gate, these were square lookout platforms with modest covers in case of inclement weather. Mostly visible to the north, the Wall ran along a ridge and disappeared from view. It crossed I-70 and presumably continued south behind the nearest rocky mound. At the highest visible point on the north side, the tallest watchtower hovered over the landscape, giving the once charming gold miners’ town an oppressive, prisonlike atmosphere.