by Jason Frost
Eric handed her the canteen. She took a swig.
"How much longer do we wait?"
He looked up at the sky. The Halo was darkening as night approached. "Should be dark enough soon. We can get closer then."
"Maybe they're already gone."
"I don't think so. They probably have to go through some medical process first to make sure the Halo didn't contaminate them."
Tracy handed the canteen back and sighed. "You think maybe they've got room for a couple more aboard that thing? Like when it takes off."
Eric looked at her, his smile gone, his eyes flat and cold. He didn't say anything, but she knew what he was thinking: He'd never leave without Tim.
"I didn't mean anything, Eric. Just daydreaming."
"I know, Trace. I know." He forced a smile for her.
They watched in silence for another forty minutes. The Long Beach Halo's bright orange-yellow haze faded into a dull gray night. A smear of faint light overhead marked the moon. But no stars. No universe outside this island.
"There," Tracy whispered excitedly, pointing.
A couple pairs of legs could be seen walking on the other side of the Columbia.
"Now what?" Tracy said.
Eric stood up with his crossbow. "Now we crash the party. Come on."
They started for the spacecraft.
Paige was the last through the decontamination chamber, a rather boring process made tolerable only by the fact that she'd brought along a copy of Miller's biography of Lyndon Johnson. It was the worst-kept secret among the astronauts that Paige had political ambitions once she left NASA. Some of the guys had taken to humming "Hail to the Chief" when she entered a room, but all in good fun. In the meantime, Paige immersed herself in political biographies, determined not to make the same mistakes others had made.
After everyone had been purified, changed and armed, Paige hefted her backpack onto her shoulders. She tightened the straps while Steve checked her belts and loops. Then he shrugged into his backpack and she checked his belts and loops.
"OK," Paige said, trying to keep the nervous excitement out of her voice, "this is it. Safari time."
Daryl Budd and Phil La Porte were already outside, securing the area. Each was armed with a laser-aimed HK 93.
Dr. Bart Piedmont leaned against his seat as he watched Steve and Paige check their side arms. Steve handed Paige a laser-aimed HK 93 and shouldered a Franchi SPAS 12 semiautomatic twelve-gauge shotgun.
"Nasty looking thing," Bart said, nodding at the SPAS.
"It'll do the job," Steve said.
"I've been thinking," Bart said, looking at Paige. "With the saturation of all those leaflets, I don't see where we'll have any trouble here. I think it would be a good idea if you took either Mutt or Jeff with you."
Paige shook her head. "You know the procedure, Bart."
"Yeah, but I also know that you have about forty-five hours left to find your father and/or his papers. Then I have to fly this bugger out of here. And I'm not nearly the pilot you are."
"That's for sure. Which is why I intend to be back with time to spare. I know where his cabin retreat is and all the best ways to get there. Hell, I spent a lot of summers up here with him. It's going to be a simple in-and-out operation. Trust me."
Bart smiled weakly. "Making campaign promises already, huh?"
"Practicing. Let's see how well I keep it. Meantime, you and the Hardy Boys down there are to keep this baby secure. Anyone comes near, don't ask them in for lunch. Kill them. Right?"
"Yeah, right."
"Besides, you'll have plenty to do while we're gone. NASA still expects you to collect data from the Halo and check out the environment. See if this place is even worth salvaging anymore."
Bart threw up his hands. "OK, OK. You two are on your own. Find Papa and get your ragged asses back. Seems quiet enough out there."
Paige and Steve started down the ladder to the ground.
Gunshots blasted through the night.
"Got him!" Daryl Budd hollered. "Fuckin' got him."
Eric had held his hands away from his body as he'd approached the Columbia, but his finger had still been hooked around the trigger of his crossbow. In less than a second he could snap the bow into place and fire the bolt. That was some small comfort.
The two men dressed in army fatigues and carrying HK 93s didn't see him immediately, so Eric called out to them. "Hey, fellas. I'm Sergeant Ben Turner, Air Force recruiter out of San Jose. Sure am glad to see you boys. It's been a hell of a-"
Eric watched them swivel toward him, their HK 93s at their shoulders, a tiny red light beaming into the night toward him. He looked down, saw the red dot slide across the grass in front of him, run up his pants leg, and rest right in the middle of his chest.
"Shit!" he barked and dove for the ground as a metallic chatter sounded. Bullets whizzed by, barely missing him. He glanced back and saw Tracy also flattened to the ground. "You OK?"
"Maybe they just don't like recruiters. You should've told 'em you were Ricardo Montalban and welcomed them to Fantasy Island."
"Hey!" Eric shouted at the men. "I don't know what your mission is, but you're about three or four hours from being attacked by a well-armed army of a dozen or so soldiers. You interested in details?"
There was a long silence, maybe five minutes.
"We're listening," replied a deep female voice.
Eric laughed harshly. "Gee, that's swell of you, but it doesn't quite work that way. We've got information. You want it, you buy it."
Another pause. "What do you want?" the woman asked.
"I don't know," Eric shouted back. "But we'll find something."
"Out of the question," Paige said. Her mouth was tight and her arms crossed, a pose that those who knew her realized meant she wouldn't budge.
Eric shrugged. "Suit yourself, Dr. Lyons. I don't know what you are up to here in the Golden State, but I know when Colonel Fallows and his merry men come tramping through those woods, he's going to turn the Columbia into a swap meet of spare parts."
"We can handle him," Daryl Budd said, tugging his army hat lower over his eyes.
"Maybe," Eric said. "Maybe not. But I don't want to be in your place to find out." He stood up, gestured to Tracy to follow. She lifted her crutches.
"I'm not authorized to give you weapons, Mr. Ravensmith."
"Sure you are."
"What I mean is, we'll need them, especially if what you say about this Colonel Fallows is true."
"Oh, it's true. I know him." He touched the white scar along his jaw. "I know him very well. He wouldn't have been fooled by those government flyers' testing bullshit any more than I was."
"It's not bullshit, Ravensmith," Paige said. "We are here testing, trying to find a way to help all of you survivors. We just didn't want to be swamped by people trying to get us to take them back with us. You can understand that much, can't you?"
Eric shook his head. "Stick with the story if you want, it doesn't matter to me. Here's the deal though. I want one of those HK 93s and three banana clips. Then I might be able to help you with your problem."
Steve Connors stood up and shoved his SPAS shotgun against Eric's chest. "Fuck off, buster. What you'll get is a hole in your chest as big as your mouth."
Eric knocked the barrel aside with his forearm, spun forward, and swung his elbow into Captain Connors's throat. The astronaut gagged, clutched his throat and dropped to his knees. By the time Budd and La Porte had lifted their guns, Eric had twisted the shotgun from Steve's hands and was pointing it at Paige.
"Yeah," Tracy said, climbing to her feet. "And if you've got any magazines, we'll take those too."
"It would be appreciated." Eric smiled.
Paige looked impatiently at her watch. "OK, OK. We don't have the time for this, so we'll level. We're on a mission to rescue somebody from here. We've got less than two days to find him and take off."
"Who is it?" Eric said.
Paige shook her head. "Nationa
l security."
"Are you kidding me? Who are we going to tell?"
Bart Piedmont laughed. "He's got you there, Paige."
She shot Bart a stern look, then turned back to Eric. "OK. He's a scientist. Got something to do with armed satellites. That's all you need to know."
"What's his name?"
She hesitated, sighed. "Lyons. Dr. Ronald Lyons. Yes, we're related, he's my father. Happy?"
"For now," Eric said. "You have any idea where to look for him?"
"Some."
"But you're not going to tell me?"
Paige remained silent.
Eric walked around the Columbia's large downstairs cabin, his fingers brushing control panels, furniture. It felt funny to be inside, touching everything that he and Annie had looked at through binoculars a few years ago. It made him miss her and he felt that bitter lump rising in his throat. That day as they'd watched she reminded him of what one astronaut had said once when asked what he thought about when orbiting the earth. And he'd said something like how he tried to ignore the fact that his capsule was built by the lowest bidder. Then she'd whispered something naughty in his ear and laughed and laughed. Eric swallowed the lump and smiled.
Steve Connors finally climbed to his feet, rubbing his sore throat, swallowing with great difficulty. He grit his teeth at Eric and said, "Gimme my damn gun, Ravensmith."
"First we reach our agreement."
"Like hell, asshole!"
"Shut up, Captain," Paige said. "What's your proposal, Ravensmith?"
"First, I take the HK 93, complete with laser-aiming device, of course."
"What else?"
"Well, this is the tricky part." He looked straight into Paige's stern eyes. "I want you to take a passenger back with you."
"No way!" Paige said. "Forget that. We'll do just fine without your help, mister. You and your lady can leave now."
"OK, but the moment we walk out of here, your mission is dead. And so are you. Haven't you ever heard of Colonel Dirk Fallows?"
"Wait a minute," Steve Connors said. "Fallows and Ravensmith. Sure, you guys were with that weird bunch, Night Shift. Did all the shit jobs, the clean-up jobs that even the Green Berets wouldn't do." He nodded his head with new respect. "Yeah, I heard of you over in 'Nam. He wiped out some civilian village and you ratted on him, got him thrown in military prison."
"You've got a good memory. Pilot?"
"Yeah. Mostly fighters, sometimes Caribou."
"What else did you hear?"
"That the whole Night Shift group were fugazi, every one of you a double veteran."
Eric laughed.
Dr. Bart Piedmont said, "You guys still speaking English? You flew a caribou, Steve? What's fugazi? A double veteran?"
Paige answered. "A Caribou is a small transport plane. Fugazi is military jive for fucked up. I don't know what a double veteran is."
Eric leveled his flat eyes on her. "It's a man who has sex with a woman and then kills her."
"Swell," she said.
"Now you know what you're up against. Fallows will wipe you out in ten minutes."
Paige looked at Steve, who remained uncharacteristically silent. Obviously he was impressed by this man, and that impressed Paige. Steve might be a pain in the ass, but he was a first-rate pilot and a good judge of everyone's character but his own. She'd have to be careful with the Ravensmith guy.
"OK, Ravensmith, what's your plan?"
"You and me and the pilot go out after your dad. That will leave, including Tracy, four people here to guard the craft."
"Wait a minute, Eric," Tracy protested.
"Now that's still not enough to defend this place, even with your weaponry. Not unless we even the odds by splitting Fallows's group."
"How do we do that?" Paige said.
"We'll deal with that detail later. Right now, we've got to get moving or it'll be too late."
Paige tilted her head and squinted at him. "Suppose we go along with this. You know damn well that this ship is computerized right down to the last pound of weight. Maybe, just maybe we can take a passenger like you ask, but there's no way we can take both of you. We couldn't take the weight." She paused. "So which one of you is going and which one of you is staying? You our passenger, Ravensmith?"
"Nope."
"Oh, so it's ladies first, huh? Your young friend then?"
"Neither of us." Eric walked over to Bart Piedmont. "Your passenger is male, about 120 pounds, almost five-foot-eight. Anything else you need to know?"
Bart Piedmont shrugged. "His name?"
"Tim Ravensmith."
"Where is he?" Paige asked.
"With Fallows. He was kidnapped. But he'll be here at lift-off."
Paige shook her head. "We won't help you get him back."
Eric smiled. "I know."
"I just wanted you to know that up front. We've got to understand each other right now."
"Oh, I think we understand each other, Dr. Lyons. Don't we?"
Paige didn't answer. "OK, everyone outside except Ms. Ammes. You can stay there for the time being. Once we're gone, though, I want this area secured with everything we've got."
"Including the mines?" Phil La Porte asked.
"Especially the mines." She grabbed Bart Piedmont's arm. "Go on, get out of here. Dr. Piedmont and I are checking out the flight deck upstairs first."
Eric walked over to Tracy, kissed her gently on the lips. She grabbed his shirt in her fist and pulled him down, crushing her lips against his. Everyone watched, the two soldiers exchanging winks, Steve Connors sulking from the humiliating blow Eric had given him, Bart Piedmont grinning, and Paige Lyons frowning, trying to ignore the warmth spreading along her hips and thighs.
"Take care, Eric."
"Sure," he said and led the others down the stairs.
Paige nudged Bart up the ladder to the flight deck. When they were upstairs, she closed the hatch to make sure they couldn't be heard. "Well," she asked him, "what do you think?"
"I think that we're lucky that guy happened along. Otherwise we'd probably all be dead by the time you returned."
"If he's telling the truth."
"Come on, Paige. You know he is."
"Yeah, probably."
Bart sighed, a grim look clenching his features. "You know our fuel situation, Paige. The computers are programmed to take off with only four people aboard. You, Steve, me and your father. The plan all along has been to leave Budd and La Porte behind, even though they don't know it. There's no way we can take the kid."
"I know."
"So what are you going to do? He's not the kind of man who'll let you back out of a deal."
"I know, Bart. I don't know what I'll do." She shook her head. "Kill him, I guess."
13.
Fallows leaned against the pine tree and flipped the 9mm bullet into the air, caught it, flipped it up again. Tim squatted on the ground next to him, watching.
The rest of Fallows's men were making camp, following their routine silently, aware that Fallows was observing each one of them even when it looked like he wasn't. But even when the men were sure they were alone, they didn't complain. What for? Fallows might be the meanest bastard alive, but he was also the smartest. They lived better than any of the scum they'd come across in their travels. And there wasn't one thing that Fallows wanted that he hadn't managed to take. Who else on this damn island could make that claim?
"Catch," Fallows said, and flipped the bullet to Tim.
Tim caught it with one hand, opened his palm as if he wasn't sure he'd really caught it after all. But, yes, there it was. A 9mm bullet. A perfect match for his Walther. He didn't do anything with it, though. He watched Fallows, waiting for the trap.
"Smart kid." Fallows grinned, mussing Tim's hair.
Tim didn't budge. Fallows had taken to doing that a lot lately, mussing his hair or patting his back or hugging his shoulder. For the first time, these had become more frequent than the punches, bruises and burns. He didn't und
erstand what Fallows was up to, but he knew it was something. Something creepy.
Tim examined the bullet sitting in the palm of his dirty hand like a jewel set in leather. He considered trying to load the bullet and shooting Fallows, but he knew he wasn't fast enough. He remembered Fallows's hard fingers wrapped around his own, forcing him to squeeze the trigger, forcing him to kill that man Dobbs. It had bothered him a lot at the time, not so much anymore.
"I want you to keep that bullet," Fallows was saying. "Keep it in your pocket. I don't ever want to see you loading that into your gun. You know I'll catch you if you try. Then I'll have to punish you. Right?"
"Right."
Fallows placed his foot against Tim's back. "Huh? I didn't hear you."
"Right, sir."
Fallows kicked Tim's back, sending him sprawling forward into the dirt. A few men glanced over their shoulders at them, but no one said anything.
Fallows had his heavy combat boot on the back of Tim's neck, pinning the boy's head to the ground. "Say what, Tim?"
"Right, sir."
"Louder."
"Right, sir!"
"Louder." He leaned his weight on Tim's neck. Tim moaned. "Louder, son."
"Right, sir!"
Fallows leaned back against the pine tree, lifting his foot from Tim's neck. His voice was calm, pleasant. "That's better. Now put the bullet in your pocket."
Tim slowly dragged himself to his knees. Dirt was smeared on the side of his face, powdered on his lips. He opened his fist and the bullet was still there. He shoved it into his pocket.
"And keep it there. One day I'm going to tell you to load it into your gun. But that's not until I'm certain that you know who your real benefactor is. Understand?"
Tim nodded. With the bullet out of sight, he didn't think about it anymore. He didn't think about his father or Fallows or escaping or anything. It was funny, but he wasn't even mad at Fallows for kicking him or stepping on him or anything. He hardly ever felt mad anymore. Or happy. Or anything. Sometimes he'd think about his mother, but not as much anymore. Sometimes he even had trouble remembering what she looked like. Another funny thing, sometimes Fallows would have to go off and do something and he'd leave Tim with a guard. Weird thing is, once or twice lately when that happened, Tim kind of missed Fallows. Not because he liked him or anything, it was more like: At least he was familiar; Tim knew what to expect. And Fallows talked to him all the time. Crazy talk, Tim used to think, only now he didn't know anymore. Maybe not so crazy.
