Paired Pursuit

by Clare Murray

  “Easy for you to say,” Mari blurted, and immediately blushed at her runaway mouth. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Why is it easy for us to say?” Gareth’s green eyes fixed upon her. Not angry, she decided, but intent, focused on the truth. She liked that about him—his no-nonsense directness, his firm approach often tempered by Finn’s diplomacy. She liked that too.

  Still, she looked away, uncomfortable with the topic. “When you talk about forcible evacuation, what exactly does that mean?”

  “The National Guard moves in and sweeps the City. They find anyone hiding, they’ll direct them to the train station and get them out.”

  “They’re not rough, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Finn added. “A non-voluntary evacuation rounds up the more stubborn people. The world is short of humans. We need people to concentrate on survival, otherwise we’ll die out.”

  “Yes, but then where do they go?” Mari made a sharp gesture at the house in front of her. Patrice’s house. Despite its peeling paint, it was a solid structure. “Some people won’t leave—not voluntarily. Their whole lives are here. How can they start over?”

  “They—”

  Mari cut Gareth off with a shake of her head. “As for the whole humans must survive thing, by that logic I ought to go back to Flagstaff to marry Tim Johnston and bear his children.” The idea was so reprehensible to her that she looked away from them both.

  “Mari, honey.” Finn caught her face in both hands, bringing her gaze gently but firmly back toward him. “I wish I could tell you what will happen to the evacuees, that they’ll get food and housing and whatever they need. But all I can do, personally, is try to get them out of here before it’s too late. I have to concentrate on giving everyone a fighting chance. Okay?”

  “Patrice,” she said in a low voice. “What about Patrice?”

  The thought of the elderly woman being evacuated by an armed soldier didn’t sit well with her. Patrice’s whole life was here—not only memories, but her only livelihood, her house. For that matter, the woman would probably refuse to go since she still held out hope that her granddaughter would return to Scar City someday.

  “If she truly prefers death over leaving, then there’s not much we can do for her,” Gareth said. “But I’d like her to come to the Complex with us. I won’t drag her kicking and screaming, but the offer’s there. Did you think we’d leave her behind?”

  “I don’t know if she’d go voluntarily.”

  “If it comes to that, we’re stronger than her,” Finn said with a touch of Gareth’s sternness. “Now, let’s go in. I want to be sure you’re safely inside before we leave.”

  She obeyed, and once she was settled, the Twins departed, leaving Mari with a curious Patrice and an affectionate Tank, who seemed to have accepted her as a member of the household. Mari stroked his wide head as she perched on the edge of a chair and told Patrice of yesterday’s adventures.

  The elderly woman raised her eyebrows. “Barks inside the ship? Of course. Why didn’t we realize the bastards would hide there? Hell, there could be more aliens on Earth than we bargained for.”

  Mari’s hands stilled atop the dog’s head as she digested that. Nobody had come up with a clear estimate of how many Barks there were on Earth. There were hundreds of thousands of dead Barks though, which meant that more than likely millions of the aliens existed on Earth, since the suckers were tough to kill.

  “It’s harder to destroy those ships than to knock down houses. And a lot of them landed intact, after the first ones overwhelmed our guns.” How many aliens were inside those ships? The Twins could probably hazard a decent guess, but she had no idea.

  “Yep. Fat lot of good our politicians did back then, investing in weapons to kill each other, rather than the aliens on the horizon.”

  Tank settled at their feet with a sigh. Mari envied the Rottweiler’s ability to live in the moment. Her mind was tied up with mental calculations and half-remembered conversations with her father. He’d said that hibernation facilities had been found aboard one of the intact ships. Humans had seized it outside Seattle and killed the aliens inside.

  Did all the ships have hibernation facilities? And were they still in use? With a sigh, she abandoned that line of thinking and regarded the old woman. It was time to solve her dad’s mystery—or try to, at least.

  “Patrice, did your daughter ever find anything really strange when out scavenging?”

  She snorted. “Uh-huh, and plenty of it. Once, she brought back a wedding dress and a prosthetic leg in the same haul.”

  “What about an alien device?”

  That earned Mari a long, slow series of blinks. “Say what?”

  “My dad, Jorge Aquino, mentioned Winter Street as a place he was supposed to meet a trader.” Mari rummaged in her pocket for the last page of notes, handing the slip of paper to Patrice.

  “Scavengers, $150 offer. Valuable. No-show. Winter St. Other half?” Patrice read. Setting the paper down, she frowned. “Other half of what? My daughter often priced her rarer finds at a hundred and fifty. Don’t know why she would have been a no-show, except… When was this?”

  “Seven years ago to the month.”

  “Oh.” Patrice grimaced. “Back then, I used to turn people away when they called to buy somethin’. Told my daughter I didn’t want to deal with it. Could be I turned your dad away.”

  Mari took the paper as Patrice handed it back. “I wish I had clearer memories of his comings and goings, but it all seems like a puzzle.”

  “When you get as old as I am, it’s all a damn puzzle.” Patrice looked over at the cherrywood table. “You want to go through the stuff, see if any of it looks familiar?”

  “It won’t.” Mari rose, giving the dog one last pat. “I won’t know what I’m looking for yet. I’m going to go read his diary.”

  Bolstered by Patrice’s good luck wishes, Mari retreated to her bedroom and knelt by her father’s old case. Her parents had shown her its false bottom years ago, and her mother kept the key in her locket. Still, the delineation was so subtle that she had a difficult time locating it until she chanced upon the tiny keyhole.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she unclasped her mother’s locket and opened the metal heart, letting the key inside drop to her palm. Her mother’s photograph stared back at her, a pretty young woman with blue eyes and brown hair. Mari realized with a start that she was probably the same age now that her mother had been when the photo had been taken. It felt strange.

  She brought the key to the lock, holding her breath without conscious volition. If it didn’t fit, she was going to be mighty ashamed.

  But it did fit, clicking as it turned, and the false bottom opened with an ominous creak. Mari let her breath out in a ragged whoosh, reaching inside to remove what was there. It had been a good hiding place, designed to appear a natural part of the suitcase’s thick outer layer.

  She withdrew a slim, leather-bound notebook. It seemed too insignificant to have caused so much fuss in her life, and for a moment she couldn’t bring herself to open it. She traced the cover with a lingering finger, then decisively opened it before she could chicken out.

  Tears threatened as she began to read, her eyes skimming across her father’s achingly familiar handwriting. He’d always preferred to write longhand, even when so many others turned to electronic means.

  In this diary, the first entries were dated pre-Invasion, although only a few months beforehand. Her father had inscribed a mix of everyday observation and his take on current events. She flipped forward, resisting the urge to read about herself as a child, to relive those half-forgotten yet still cherished memories of ballet lessons, horseback riding and impromptu after-school ice creams.

  One day she would be able to read it, assimilate it and spend the proper time grieving over her parents—and a lifestyle that seemed like a dream. For now, howev
er, she flipped ahead, skimming through to where her father had noted down his visit to a smaller, crashed spaceship. The entry was short, cramped and hastily written without a date appended.

  Found one of their intact spaceships. It was daylight, so I poked around. No life forms inside, seemed completely abandoned. Ship’s inside contained technology more advanced than our own, with controls designed for their sucker-like extremities. There was a possible communication device on the dashboard… I took it back with me. It was only a whim, but I feel strongly that I did the right thing. Don’t want them calling more pals in from the ends of the universe.

  In his meticulous style, her father had drawn a picture of the item he’d taken. Mari frowned, studying the page. The shape wasn’t familiar. Had she handled it as a child? Part of her was disappointed it wasn’t valuable, but her curiosity was sparked—what had her father discovered?

  And where was it now?

  She read on, sifting through information, viewing her own childhood through adult eyes. The communication device was why her father had agreed to go to Seattle—he was afraid the aliens would return to find their ship tampered with, and their cabin wouldn’t withstand an attack for long. So they’d retreated behind Seattle’s walls.

  Not long after, the aliens had attacked that City in droves. Their concentrated assault had nearly been successful, and her father wrote about his decision to take them south, behind Portland’s walls. Mari snuggled up on her bed as she read, recalling the way they’d bunked down in Powell’s bookstore. The huge store had been turned into a library, and she had been furious when her parents told her they were moving to Scar City.

  The diary gave her the deeper reason for the move, cooling her remembered anger immediately.

  I’m afraid, her father had written. I still have this potential communication device, and there is a possibility the aliens are tracking it. We had a close call getting into Seattle when that convoy of aliens nearly caught up with us. I convinced Sara that the attacks were coincidental, but after our arrival in Portland, the attacks ramped up yet again.

  I need more time to research this device, but it’s difficult without the resources. Everyone is focused on survival. Hopefully I will be able to go examine another ship. It may be that these devices are simply a standard feature on their transports.

  I’ll try one more move—we’re going to Scar City. After that, I don’t know.

  Mari put down the diary and took a deep, shaky breath. Holy crap. So the aliens had been following them? Tracking them from City to City, looking for their stolen precious?

  “Great,” she muttered. “So where is the thing now?”

  On impulse, she flipped to the end of the diary, where a loose piece of paper attracted her attention. At the top, he’d scrawled FAILSAFE???? At the bottom was a quick, scrawled diagram of Scar City and two more diagrams of the device. The word Tracking was underlined several times, and a yellowing train ticket poked out of the end of the journal—an early morning train to Flagstaff.

  Mari blew out the breath she’d been holding. So the Twins were right: the City was unsafe. Very unsafe, if her father was correct about the aliens wanting their possession back—and tracking it.

  That still didn’t explain why her father had mentioned Winter Street. With a sigh, Mari delved back into the diary until the words trader and half caught her attention. Shit, so were there two devices?

  Was one of them downstairs on that cherrywood table?

  Mari put the diary away and stretched to her feet, blinking out the window. Through the iron bars that reinforced the glass, she realized it was already late afternoon. She had been up here over two hours, and she’d reached information overload for the day. Besides, she missed the Twins.

  Silly, she chided herself, and tried her best to push them from her mind. Much as she wanted to put this new, terrifying knowledge out of her mind, she had to brace herself to search the mound of items in Patrice’s living room. The stairs creaked as she went down them, heralding her arrival.

  Patrice gave her a warm smile. “Want some tea? I was just making some.”

  “That would be great. Does it have any caffeine?” She tried to stifle a yawn.

  “Nope, sorry. It’s herbal, made from local stuff. You want caffeine, you’ll have to pay through the nose and probably bribe some officials.” Patrice gestured to the kettle. “You mind pouring? My arthritis is acting up today.”

  “Sure.” Mari swallowed mild disappointment. She really was logy, but at least she hadn’t entered the post-Invasion stage with a full-fledged caffeine addiction. Her mother had been snappy for years without her daily latte.

  “Find anything interesting?” Patrice asked.

  “Oh, nothing serious. Just that the device my father found is being tracked by aliens, and he thinks there’s another part to it, possibly located right here on Winter Street.”

  Patrice set down her cup with a sharp clack. “No foolin’?”

  “Wish I was. Would you mind if I searched the pile over there?” Mari sipped her own tea. The hot liquid perked her up a little despite its bitter taste.

  Patrice was eyeing the cherrywood table with trepidation. After a minute, she nodded decisively. “Go ahead. I’ll finish my tea. You okay? You look pale.”

  “I’m…not looking forward to what I might find.” Mari crossed the room and knelt by the low table. Part of her wanted to believe her father was right. Another, larger part wanted to deny any knowledge of the aliens having tracked them from City to City. Small wonder her father had been haunted.

  “I’ll keep talking, if it helps,” Patrice said. “You ever have any pets, Mari?”

  Mari began setting items aside, grateful for the change of subject. “I had four goldfish. John, Paul, George and Ringo, although we think George was a female.”

  Patrice’s full lips rounded in a smile. “Funny how attached you can get to fish. My brother had a saltwater tank full of creatures. He named every single one of ’em. When he died, he had the tank and everything donated to the local museum.”

  “I was pretty fond of those fish,” Mari admitted, “but I’d been leaning hard on my parents for a pony. Funnily enough, they never agreed that our little backyard was sufficient grazing ground.”

  That was a tenth of the table sorted. She reached for a jumble of wires, flinching as a sharp piece grazed her skin. Was this human or alien? No—this had to be part of a computer. She set it aside.

  Patrice sipped her tea, eyes sparkling. “Let me guess, they got you a stuffed pony instead.”

  “They did. And riding lessons, which was a decent compromise, us being in San Francisco. I never really gave up my dreams of moving to a ranch out in Montana, though.”

  “Well, maybe you ought to amend that dream to living with two nice men in Chicago. It isn’t safe here, not any longer. Everyone’s talkin’ about it.”

  Mari nodded, lifting a box of detergent from the table to the floor. She peeked inside as an afterthought but saw nothing but powder. When she slid a partially disassembled laptop toward her, Tank raised his head and let out a gruff bark. Both women tensed, following the dog’s gaze to the door. His next warning bark nearly eclipsed the knock.

  “The Twins won’t be back this soon, surely.” Mari frowned.

  Patrice grunted, her expression pained as she gripped the sides of the chair and attempted to rise. “Probably someone tryin’ to sell goods door to door. Or maybe I should call that bads, seeing as this is Scar City.”

  “I’ll go find out who it is.” Mari went to the door as the elderly lady sank back in relief. Going to the peephole, she peered through and relayed the details softly to Patrice. “He’s a clean-shaven guy, light brown hair, decent clothes, carrying a notebook. Anyone you know?”

  “Nope. Ask him what he wants, would you?”

  “Hello?” The man pitched his voice to carry thr
ough the door before Mari could raise her own voice. “I’m looking for Dr. Aquino’s daughter.”

  Patrice’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Huh. Up to you whether to let him in.”

  “I just want to talk to you for a few minutes about your father. I recently received a tip that led me to this address,” the man continued. “Please?”

  Mari hesitated, glancing at Patrice one more time. The woman nodded skeptical permission, hand draped casually in a fold of her oversized cardigan. Most likely she had a handgun concealed there, and between that and Tank’s presence, Mari felt safe enough to open the door.

  The man immediately smiled in a way that set her teeth on edge. “Marisol Aquino?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Josh Hobart from the New York Times. Can I come in?” He made as if to step forward.

  “This is about my father?” Mari continued to block the way, and there was an answering glint of challenge in the reporter’s eye.

  “Yes. I’m privy to some information that might interest you.”

  “And what do you want in return?” Patrice’s voice caused Hobart’s eyes to flicker toward her for a brief second before he spread out that conciliatory smile again.

  “More information. And maybe a glass of water, if I may.”

  “You can sit in the living room for a spell,” Patrice decided, and Mari stepped back. She let the elderly woman watch Hobart while she poured the reporter half a glass of water in the kitchen.

  “How did you get this address?” Patrice demanded.

  “Like I said, I’m working on a lead I received.”

  “What do you have to say?” Mari asked as soon as he’d taken a sip. How much had her father communicated to others? He’d placed a call to the government in Chicago, but had he contacted the press?