The Path Of The Nightmare

by J. J. Carlson

  “Uh, no thanks,” he said, logging out of the forum and closing the browser. “I like this one, but I’ll have to come back when I have enough money.”

  “We do offer a payment plan,” the employee responded. “It would be thirty dollars a month for the first twelve months, then—”

  “No thanks,” Philip repeated. He pushed past the employee and ducked outside. He glanced through the sporting goods store’s glass doors to make sure Maria and Susana weren’t looking for him, then kept walking. His aunt would be upset when he showed up empty-handed, but he would think of some excuse.

  Before he reached the sliding doors, he stopped short and leaned against the wall. He couldn’t bear the thought of eating another hot dog. The roasted marshmallows were good, at least for the first five nights. Now, just the thought of them made him sick. He wondered how much trouble he would be in if he just waited outside. He shrugged to himself. Probably a little, but what were they going to do, ground him? They had already taken his phone and laptop away and forced him to spend his nights in a hot tent with his snoring father.

  No, he decided, nothing could be worse than what he was already enduring. Glancing to his left, he spied a bright red bench. He sat down and picked up a magazine someone had left behind. He wasn’t really interested in the glossy pages; he had forgotten his sunglasses at camp and needed the magazine for cover. Peering over the top, he watched a girl in a short skirt climb out her car and walk toward the store. He wondered if she was too old for him, then told himself it didn’t matter. She was way out of his league.

  A moment later, a family walked out of the store and waited for a van to pass before continuing on. It looked like a girl following her parents. She was about Phil’s age and was engrossed in her smartphone.

  Emboldened by her distraction, Philip lowered the magazine and looked her over. He gave an appreciative nod, then realized her father was glaring at him. Blushing, he hid his face behind the magazine. He waited until the family had loaded their groceries and driven off before looking again. A few college-aged guys walked out, carrying cases of cheap beer. An elderly woman with a cane took an eternity to cross the lot, causing traffic to back up. Philip didn’t mind; a cute girl in a Mustang was the first in line. As soon as the old woman started crossing, the girl pulled out her phone and started texting.

  Philip checked her out for a few seconds, then frowned. The same van that had crossed moments before was right behind the Mustang. There was something unsettling about the vehicle, and it took him a moment to figure out what it was. The bulky utility van was jet-black with wide tires. Six slender antennae protruded from the roof, and it had a brush guard on the front. But what was really strange was the fact that Philip couldn’t see through the windshield. It was completely blacked-out, as if there was nothing inside but the vacuum of deep space.

  Finally, the woman with the cane made it to the sidewalk. Philip stared at the magazine, then flicked his eyes toward the van as it crossed in front of him. To his relief, it continued on and turned out of the parking lot.

  A moment later, the grocery store doors opened and Maria skipped out. Susana followed close behind, pushing an overstocked cart.

  “Doctor Livingstone, I presume,” Susana said.

  “Uh, what?” said Philip.

  Susana shook her head. “Never mind. So, where’s your stuff?”

  “They ran out,” Philip lied.

  “Well I’m not going back in there,” Susana said. “If your mom needs charcoal, she can get it herself. C’mon, let’s load up.”

  They were halfway across the lot when the screech of rubber on asphalt caught Phil’s attention. He whirled around to the see the black van bearing down on him. He took a step back and said, “Tía, that van—”

  The sound of squealing tires drowned out his words. The van shuddered to a halt and its door slid open. Before Philip could react, a burly man in a ski mask jumped out and hauled him inside.

  “Bubby!” Maria screamed, reaching out for her brother.

  Susana whirled and grabbed Maria before the sliding door could slam shut on her hand.

  The van peeled out, disappearing in a cloud of blue smoke.

  22

  Susana Espinosa forced back tears and tried desperately to focus on the road. Pinching the stolen cell phone between her chin and shoulder, she downshifted and sped past a slow-moving truck. A calm voice on the phone asked her something, but she couldn’t make it out over the panicked wails coming from the back seat.

  “Tía, they took him! They took Bubby! Tía!”

  An approaching car blared its horn, and Susana swerved back into her lane just in time to avoid a head-on collision. Clenching her teeth, she shifted gears once more. The speedometer needle shot past ninety and continued to climb.

  “Ma’am, are you there?” the voice on the phone asked.

  “Yes, I’m here,” Susana responded.

  “Could you repeat your emergency?”

  “Someone kidnapped my nephew,” Susana said, her voice trembling. “They pulled him into a van.”

  “Can you describe the van?”

  “It was…black and covered with antennas. It was big—Maria, please, we’ll find Bubby—and black. I don’t know, it all happened so fast.”

  “Did you see a license plate number?”

  Susana swore at herself. “No.”

  There was an odd clicking noise, then the sound of rushing air.

  Susana gripped the phone tighter. “Hello, are you there?”

  “Ms. Espinosa, can you hear me?” a deeper voice asked.

  Susana shivered. She hadn’t given dispatch her name, and this wasn’t even her phone. “Yes,” she said. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Agent Ford from the FBI, I’ve been tasked with locating Philip. In situations like this, a quick response is absolutely critical for a successful rescue. Please, walk me through what happened.”

  Susana’s stomach churned, and she let off the gas. She didn’t remember giving out Philip’s name, either. Slowing to a more manageable speed, she said, “How did you know his name?”

  A beat, then the response, “That doesn’t matter. We are well-equipped for this sort of thing, but it’s important that you give me as many details as possible. What happened at the…” there was a pause, as if the agent was referring to his notes. “Food Lion on twenty-first street?”

  Susana took a deep breath and started in. She explained how her family had been camping, and how she had driven into town to get groceries. She described separating from her nephew and meeting him in the parking lot. After repeating her brief description of the van, she said, “Then I borrowed someone’s phone and drove off.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  The question took her off guard. She had expected him to ask why she had left the scene of the crime, rather than wait for the police to arrive. “I, uh, need to tell Philip’s parents what happened,” she said. “They don’t have phones.”

  “We can send a squad car out to meet them. Where are they located?”

  Susana didn’t answer. Her mouth worked slowly, but no words came. It was all so suspicious. This man knew too much, and he seemed more concerned about finding Santiago and Anita than finding Philip. He hadn’t even asked which direction the kidnappers were traveling.

  “Isn’t it more important to find Philip first?” she asked.

  “That’s what we’re doing,” the agent responded. “The parents may know something we don’t. Like if Philip has any enemies that would have a motive for abducting him.”

  “Enemies?” she gaffed. “He’s a teenager!”

  The agent sighed. After a pause, he said, “What is your current location, Ms. Espinosa?”

  “Why does that matter if—”

  “Ma’am, I’m trying to do my job,” the man interrupted. “If you want your nephew back, you need to work with me. Where are you?”

  Maybe it was the adrenaline making her paranoid, but Susana sensed a veiled th
reat in the agent’s words. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have to go…”

  “No, wait!”

  Ignoring the man’s pleas, she ended the call. Seconds later, the phone began to ring. She ignored it and tossed it on the floor.

  Maria had been quiet, listening to the heated exchange. “Tía,” she asked, “is Bubby going to be okay?”

  Susana gripped the steering wheel and tried to sound convincing. “Bubby is going to be just fine. I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.”

  Maria was smart enough to recognize the lie. She crossed her arms and stared out the window, tears streaming down her face.

  San snapped a branch over his knee and tossed it onto the growing pile of firewood. He didn’t have nearly as much experience with camping as Anita, but he was catching on. Last night, it only took him thirty minutes to get a fire going.

  He took a deep breath and exhaled, putting his hands on his hips like a superhero. Anita had left him to take care of the camp while she went on a walk, and he was glad for the responsibility. There was something deeply satisfying about building fires. Something manly. As he reached for the next dried branch, he heard the familiar whine of his sister-in-law’s Mitsubishi. Wiping his hands, he readied himself for the lecture he was about to give her. If she wanted to drive like a maniac, that was her choice, but not when his children were in the car.

  A moment later, the vehicle ground to a halt. San stepped around the picnic table, his face set in fatherly disappointment. Then, Maria burst from the vehicle and ran toward him.

  “Papa!” she shouted. “They took him. They took Bubby away!”

  San glanced from his distraught daughter to Susana and the empty passenger seat. His knees buckled, and his head began to spin. “Wh—what? Who took your brother?”

  Maria didn’t respond. She buried her face in his shirt and sobbed.

  “Susana, what on earth is going on?” he asked.

  Susana was hugging herself as she made her way toward him. “San, I’m so sorry.”

  “Susana,” he repeated, his voice rising. “Where is my son?”

  His sister-in-law couldn’t meet his fiery gaze. Staring at the ground, she said, “It all happened so fast—there was nothing I could do.”

  San tenderly pushed Maria aside and gripped Susana by the shoulders. “Where is Philip?”

  Hot tears ran down Susana’s cheeks. The pressure in her chest grew, and she blurted, “I don’t know! They grabbed him and took him away in a v-v-van!”

  “Who?” San asked, gripping her tighter.

  “I don’t know. They were—they were wearing masks. They came out of nowhere, and I couldn’t stop them.”

  San’s arms fell to his side, and he muttered, “Katharos.”

  Maria stood beside him, stretching her arms in the air. He picked her up, and she buried her face in the nape of his neck. As he rocked his daughter back and forth, he said, “Did you call the police?”

  She nodded. “I borrowed a phone and called them on the way over.”

  San stopped rocking, and his eyes widened. “Susana…where is the phone now?”

  Susana wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and nodded toward the Mitsubishi. “In the car.”

  Without a word, San rushed over to his wife’s minivan, opened the side door, and set Maria inside.

  “Get in,” he said. “We need to find Anita and get out of here.”

  Susana shook her head in confusion, then turned at the sound of an approaching motorcycle. A man in a black bodysuit crested the hill, riding a sleek Honda sport bike.

  “Maria, get down!” San roared.

  Maria had never heard her father shout that way, so she immediately complied. Her hair disappeared from view as she flattened herself against the floor.

  The man on the motorcycle came to a stop and held the bike in place with his legs. He scanned the campsite, his face obscured by a black helmet.

  San grabbed Susana by the wrist and pulled her toward the van. She took a few steps, then pulled herself free. She had already lost Philip, and she wasn’t going to stand idle in the face of this new threat.

  San glanced over his shoulder, then backed toward the picnic table. He took two long strides, picked up a hatchet, and raised it above his head.

  The black rider just shook his head. “Where’s your wife, old man?”

  San said nothing. His grip tightened on the hatchet.

  The rider checked for onlookers, then reached into his jacket, withdrew a pistol, and pointed it at Susana’s head. “One more time,” he growled. “Where’s Anita?”

  San swallowed, then stepped forward, putting himself between Susana and the deadly weapon.

  The act of bravery drew a laugh from the rider. “Are you kidding me? What the hell is the point of that?” He lowered the gun, pointing it at San’s kneecap. His finger dipped into the trigger well and feathered the trigger. He began to squeeze, then froze. The air thrummed with the steady beat of an approaching helicopter.

  The trees began whipping around wildly, and a Boeing AH-6 Little Bird burst into view. It spun around with the airborne agility of a dragonfly, revealing a broad-shouldered man with a sniper rifle hanging out its aft door.

  The biker jammed his weapon into his coat and hit the throttle, spraying San with gravel. The Honda’s motor screamed, and the front wheel lifted from the ground. An instant later, the rider’s body slammed forward, as if hit from above by a giant hammer. The bike swerved, then collided with a tree, ejecting its lifeless driver.

  San blinked in disbelief as the helicopter dropped to just a few feet above the ground. The sniper jumped out and ran toward the motorcycle, then put a boot on the rider’s back. He reached down and checked for a pulse, then shook his head and grabbed at something on his chest. He mumbled a few words and the Little Bird floated away, circling the campground in expanding loops.

  The sniper jogged toward San, his rifle pointed at the ground. He stopped several paces away and eyed San’s hatchet. “Santiago Torres?” he asked.

  All San could manage was a tight nod.

  The sniper leaned over and addressed Susana. “Ms. Espinosa, I’m Agent Ford. We need to leave. Right now.”

  23

  Franco stared at the display, watching the playback from the RAID tower for the tenth time. The screen was set to display “white-hot,” which meant cool objects detected by the infrared camera were dark in color, and the hottest objects showed up white.

  “It’s probably nothing,” a short woman standing next to him said. “Maybe a bird passing in front of the camera.”

  “Well something set off the infrared fence, didn’t it, Serena?” Franco said. “And look right here,” he added, pointing to the white shape. “It gets obscured passing under that tree. It’s no bird.”

  The woman rolled her eyes. It was her job to watch the high-tech camera’s feed, not his. He wasn’t the one who spent twelve mind-numbing hours a day staring at the screen.

  “The playback’s at one-quarter speed,” she said. “That thing’s moving too fast to be a person, or even a deer.”

  Franco glared at her, then turned to leave. “If you see anything else, let me know.”

  Serena nodded and resumed her position in front of the display.

  As Franco left the concrete building, he caught himself toying with the fail-safe device in his pocket. The smooth object was the size of a golf-ball, and had two recessed buttons on the side.

  He shook his head and let go of the device. There was nothing to be afraid of—this compound was a veritable fortress. The land mines and tall fences could hold back an army, and there was enough firepower on the guard towers to chew any invader to pieces. Still, the look on Dedrick’s face had troubled him. When his boss floated off on the cargo drone, it was almost as if he was abandoning a sinking ship.

  Franco tapped a button on his watch, activating a small, portable radio. “All guard towers, check in.”

  One by one, the towers reporte
d back, giving the “all clear.”

  Pressing the button again, Franco said, “Use infrared scopes and make sure weapons are hot. If you see something moving, take it down.”

  The towers each gave their acknowledgments.

  Reaching into a pouch on his belt, Franco pulled out a handheld infrared camera and walked toward the perimeter fence. It was still bright enough to see on the compound, but the camera would allow him to see into the dark forest. As he lifted the camera, a shrill voice came through his earpiece.

  “Sir, I think you need to see this.”

  Franco sighed. It was Serena, the RAID tower gargoyle.

  “Be right there, bitch,” he said, knowing the radio would filter out the insult.

  A minute later, he pushed Serena out of the way and leaned close to the monitor. There was a ghostly white image on the screen. The arms, legs, and head were plainly visible.

  He frowned. “There really is a man out there…”

  “Yes,” Serena said. “For whatever reason, he just stood there on an open patch of ground and waited. It was as if he wanted us to see him.”

  “Maybe he’s lost,” Franco offered, “and he’s looking for help.”

  Serena shook her head. “That’s what I thought, too. I mean, he stood there with his arms out for nearly a minute. But then I switched to the visible feed, and saw this…” She tapped a button, and the scene lit up with color. The visible-light spectrum image clearly showed the patch of ground, but the man was gone.

  “Rewind,” Franco said. “Go back to the same time.”

  “This is the same time,” Serena said. “He’s not there. He only shows up on infrared.” Serena tapped the button, switching the screen from infrared to visible and back again. “See?”