by R. R. Banks
“Calee?”
I shake my head and pull myself out of my thoughts when I hear Eric calling me. I look at him, confused for a moment and realize I'd missed just about everything they were saying.
“Sorry,” I say. “I was sort of caught up in my head.”
“I can tell,” he replies.
I feel the heat in my cheeks as my face flushes again. “Sorry.”
“I was just telling Steve about how we met and everything that's gone on,” Eric says.
Steve nods. “Sounds like you’ve gone through hell.”
I nod and give him a small smile. “It was – difficult.”
Steve looks at his Eric and nods. “Tough girl.”
“Told you.”
I feel myself blushing harder and I fight to keep the awkward smile off my face.
“Anyway,” Eric says. “I was telling him about them finding us at the hotel and how it doesn't make sense. Are those the clothes you wore out at the compound?”
I look down at what I'm wearing and shake my head. “No, Danny had the jeans and shirt for me,” I say. “The jacket was his too.”
“How about them boots?” Steve asks, pointing with a long, skeletal finger at my feet.
“Yeah, these are my boots from the compound,” I say. “Why?”
They exchange a look and something passes between them that I don't understand. Eric turns back to me, a grim expression on his face.
“Give me your boots,” he says.
“My boots?”
He nods. “Yeah. I need to check them.”
“Okay,” I say slowly.
I do as I'm told though and take my boots off, handing them over to Eric. I feel a little strange standing there in just my socks. I watch Eric handling my boots, inspecting every inch of them. There doesn't seem to be anything remarkable about them to me. They're plain, black work boots. Functional rather than fashionable. Standard issue out on the Ark.
Eric slides his hand inside the first one and frowns. I see him feeling something down inside of it and his frown deepens.
“What is it?” Steve asks, his voice starting to fade.
“I think there's something in here,” he says. “I can feel it – barely. But it feels like there's something underneath the inside lining.
I watch as Eric starts tugging at the inside of the boot. I hear the sound of fabric ripping and he pulls the whole lining out. And when he looks inside, I see alarm spread across his face. He reaches in and pulls something out that's round and metallic and has a couple of wires protruding from it. Eric looks from it to Steve and back again, his face growing even more concerned.
“What is that?” I ask, a sense of foreboding settling down over me.
“It's a tracking chip,” Steve says weakly. “It's how they've been finding you.”
Eric abruptly gets to his feet and tosses my boots back to me. “Put those back on, we need to go.”
The tension in his voice makes me spring into action. I drop back down in the chair and put my boots on as he stands there holding the device he'd pulled out of my boot.
“Brother, I'm so sorry,” Eric says. “I didn't mean to bring any trouble to your door.”
He shrugs. “They ain't at my door yet,” he says. “Besides, what are they gonna do, kill me? I think they're a little late for that.”
Steve laugh turns into a dry, raspy hacking cough. He grabs Eric by the hand and looks at him, his eyes intense.
“You take care of that girl, Captain,” he says and looks at me. “That's your mission, brother. Your only mission.”
Eric looks at me and gives me an enigmatic little smile. “Yes, it is,” he says. “I'm not planning on letting these assholes get their hands on her again.”
“Good man,” Steve says. “Now, go on and get out of here.”
Eric hesitates and I know it's because he realizes it's going to be the last time he sees his friend. He reaches down and takes Steve's hand, holding it tightly.
“Thank you, Sergeant,” Eric says and I see his eyes shimmering with tears. “For everything. You're the best man I've ever known. And I wouldn't be here if not for you.”
Steve looks at him and gives him a nod, his eyes shining with tears also, but too proud to let them fall. The two men stand like that, hands and eyes locked together, for a long moment. Steve finally pats Eric on the arm and gives him a nod.
“Top drawer of my nightstand,” Steve says. “Take it.”
A curious expression on his face, Eric opens the drawer and takes out a small cloth bundle. He seems to know what's in it and he simply nods.
“You sure?”
Steve grins. “Gonna do you a lot better than it's gonna do me.”
“Thank you.”
“Go on,” he says. “I'm tired. Need some sleep.”
“I'll see you on the other side, man,” Eric says.
“You bet your ass you will.”
With one last look at his friend, Eric turns and gives me a nod and I follow him out the door. He's still carrying the metal disc he pulled out of my boot and after we say our goodbyes to Steve's wife, we walk back out to the car.
As I get in, I don't know what to say. About anything. So much had happened in such a short period of time that I'm having trouble even processing it all. Eric looks up and down the residential street, eyeing every car parked on the side of the road. He slips behind the wheel and starts the engine, his face tight.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Two men in a car parked a few houses down,” he says. “Might be friends of yours.”
I turn and look but can't see anything. Sitting back in my seat, I feel my pulse quickening.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“Get them away from Steve's house for one,” he says. “After that, we'll have to play it by ear.”
I nod. “What was in that cloth he gave you?”
He sets it down in my lap as he puts the car in gear and pulls away from the curb. I unfold the cloth and stare down at a gun. My hand is trembling as I touch it, surprised at how cool the metal is. It's solid black except for the green four-leaf clover engraved into the handle of the gun.
“He always had it with him back in the Shit. Never went anywhere without it. Not even the latrine,” he says and chuckles. “Said it was his good luck charm. Kept him safe, so who am I to argue?”
I see him checking the rear-view mirror constantly as we drive down the street. He nods to himself as he speeds up a little.
“They're following us,” he says. “I don't know if they know I spotted them or not, so play it cool.”
I resist the urge to turn around and look for myself. In that moment, the most important thing is to get them away from Steve and his wife. They don't need to be caught up in this mess too.
“The good news for us is that these clowns aren't going to want to draw attention to themselves. They won't want to take the risk,” Eric says. “Which means that as long as we stick to populated areas, we'll be okay for a little while.”
“Do you think you're going to need this?” I ask, motioning to the gun in my lap.
“I sure hope not,” I say. “I've never been that great with them.”
I wrap the gun back up and slip it under the seat. My head is spinning with a thousand different thoughts and emotions. But at the moment, the overriding emotion is fear.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eric
Driving around all day isn't much of a plan. But at least, I got them away from Steve's house. The man has been through enough. But I know I need to come up with something. I see the fear on Calee's face as plain as day and I want to do something to erase that. I don't ever want her to have to feel fear like this again. Like Steve, she's been through enough.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “I'm fine. You?”
“I'm good.”
There's a tension in the car and the unmistakable stink of fear and uncertainty. There's a big part of me that wants to
stop the car and shoot it out with them right here and now. But I know that will do way more harm than good. The cops tend to frown upon shootouts in residential neighborhoods.
My first thought is to get us to the airport and book us on the first flight out. My return ticket is open-ended, so I can go anytime I want. But then I remember that Calee doesn't have an ID and won't be able to get on the plane.
“Shit,” I mutter.
“What is it?”
“We're going to have to drive all the way back to California.”
She looks at me, confused. “Why?”
“You need an ID to fly,” I say. “And there's no getting around it.”
“I'm sorry,” she says meekly.
“Calee, it's not your fault,” I say gently. “Stop saying you're sorry about everything. Please?”
“I'm sor –”
I cut her off with a look and an arched eyebrow. She looks back at me for a long moment and then we start to laugh. It's a long, loud laugh – and definitely out of proportion with the reason we're laughing. But it feels good to actually laugh. It breaks the tension in the car – which is very welcome.
Slowly, our laughter fades away and silence descends between us once more. At least the tension in the car is gone though.
“Okay, so we drive,” I say. “Not a big deal. But I think we need to lose our escort before we hit the open road.”
She looks at me and smiles. “I think it would be a good idea.”
“Which brings me to my next question,” I say. “And that is, how are we going to accomplish that?”
Calee looks at me and gives me a small shrug of her shoulders. I didn't expect her to have the answer. Not really. Sometimes though, it helps me come up with an idea when I just talk things out. As we drive by an outdoor mall, an idea starts to form in my head. As I look at the crowd of people milling about, the idea starts to solidify. But, it's an idea that isn't without risk and one that will put Calee in a little bit of danger.
“I think I've got it,” I say.
Calee looks at me. “Got a plan?”
“I think so,” I say. “But you might not like it.”
There's a momentary flash of fear in her eyes but she stuffs it back down almost immediately. Locking eyes with me, she nods.
“Let's hear it,” she says.
I check the mirror again and see the same car back there – with one car kept between us as a buffer so they don't look so obvious. I lay out my plan to Calee and highlight the risk she'll be taking if she agrees to it.
“I'm in,” she says simply.
“Did you miss the part where I said you'd be in danger?”
She shrugs. “We're in danger out here on the road,” she says. “If this can get them off our tail long enough for us to get out of town and out of their reach, it's a risk worth taking.”
“Are you sure about this?”
She looks at me, a determined gleam in her eyes. “I am.”
I sigh and check the mirror one last time. “Okay, let's do it then.”
I take the next turn and double back to the outdoor mall. I pull into the lot and drive around a bit, looking for a parking spot. It's a little crowded, but I eventually find one. Getting out of the car, we walk side by side toward the mall like we don't have a care in the world. But from the corner of my eye, I'm watching as the car that's been following us pulls into the lot and parks a couple of rows over.
I take note of where they're parked and then guide Calee into the crowd. With one last furtive glance behind us, I see that it is indeed the two cowboys – Ennis and Harold, I think Calee called them – from the hotel headed our way.
With the crowd surprisingly thick, I guide her into it, doing my best to lose us amongst the crush of bodies.
~ooo000ooo~
I make my way back out to my rental and open it up. Grabbing what I need out of my bag, I close the door and walk over to the cowboys' car. I slip the solid steel knife out the sheath and look around, making sure I'm not being observed.
Everything looks clear, so I get to work. Kneeling down next to the front tire, I drive the knife into it. The air comes flooding out with a satisfying hissing sound. I repeat the process with a second tire. And a third. And the fourth. And just for good measure, I drive the knife into the radiator, watching the green coolant come gushing out with a smile.
Wiping the knife off on my jeans, I slip it back into the sheath and tuck it into the waistband of my pants as I turn and head back into the mall. The plan was for Calee to walk around, always keeping herself in a crowd. I don't think they'll try to forcibly take her in public like that. I told her to give me fifteen minutes and then go take a seat at the Starbucks and wait for me.
It's risky and I'm rolling the dice, hoping that I'm right about them not wanting to draw attention to themselves. I pick my way through the crowd, making my way toward our meeting spot, a knot in my stomach tightening. I don't like gambling with Calee's life like this, but we really don't have a whole lot of options.
When I get to the Starbucks, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see her sitting at a table outside. But sitting across from her are the two men in Stetsons – Harold and Ennis. I catch Calee's eye and I see the relief flooding her face. That of course, makes the two men turn and look at me. And the only expression I see on their faces is anger.
I give them both a big welcoming smile and sit down next to Calee, keeping my hand in my jacket pocket – and making sure they see me do it.
“Afternoon gentlemen,” I say. “How can I help you?”
“This don't concern you,” says the big man with the beard.
I shrug. “Actually, it does,” I say. “See, I'm responsible for the health and well being of Calee here and –”
“She's comin' back to the Ark with us,” the other man – who doesn't have a beard – cuts me off.
“See, that's where you're wrong,” I say. “She's not. She's actually not going anywhere with you.”
I take a quick look over at Calee and see that she's terrified. And probably with good reason. Who knows what sort of horrible things these two assholes did to her. She's sitting at the table, her eyes downcast, her face tight with fear. Her whole body is tense and she looks just like she did the first night I met her.
And now I understand her fears just a little bit better. These two men are big. Imposing. They're intimidating. Hell, I'm not a small guy, but they intimidate me too. I'm just better at hiding it. And the fact that I've got a gun in my hand pointed at them helps my confidence levels a bit too.
“And who the fuck are you?” asks the beard.
“Nobody of any consequence to you,” I say.
“Eric Galloway,” says the other man.
I give him a smile. “Well, brownie points for you,” I say and turn to the beard. “If you already knew my name, then why bother asking me who I am?”
The two men exchange a look and the anger on their faces only deepens. Calee is still silent, her gaze fixated on the top of the table. She looks paralyzed by her fear. I can only hope that she snaps out of it when it's time to move – which will be soon.
“This asshole thinks he's funny,” says the beard.
I lean forward, my hand still in my jacket pocket. “Tell me something,” I say. “You guys are supposedly, a religious cult, right?
“We're a religious community,” non-beard man corrects me.
I laugh and shake my head. “Okay great. Fine,” I say. “It's been a real long time since I've been to church, but I seem to recall something about God not being particularly fond of cursing. I also don't imagine he'd be on board with kidnapping, pedophilia, and murder. Not to mention –”
“Shut the fuck up,” the beard says.
“I'm pretty sure I read that in a book somewhere,” I go on. “The Bible – maybe you've heard of it?”
“You ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about,” non-beard says.
“You gonna believe this lyin' little whore?” the beard's voi
ce is low, cold. “She tell you she's married and she went and fucked somebody else?”
I shrug. “I also heard her parents sold her off to your boss when she was what, thirteen?” I say. “Well below the age of consent, isn't it? And also – a crime.”
“Shut the fuck up,” beard says.
“Such witty repartee,” I say and roll my eyes.
“Witty what?” non-beard man asks.
“Forget it,” I say. “It'd be lost on you anyway.”
The two men exchange another look and I can tell they're antsy to get this show on the road. The prize they came to claim is sitting two feet from them and I can see in their eyes they really think they're walking out of here with her.
Which means, it's time to disabuse them of that notion.
I clear my throat and lean back in my chair, making sure they see that my hand is still in my coat pocket. I tap the butt of the gun on the table to get their attention. Leaning forward slightly, I lock eyes with the beard.
“In my pocket,” I say, pitching my voice low to avoid being overheard, “is a forty-five-caliber pistol. I know you're both armed, but I guarantee you that I'll be able to put two holes in each of your chests before you even draw. And believe me, gentlemen, forty-fives can do some nasty damage. Especially up close and personal like we are.”
The two men exchange a look that tells me they're trying to determine whether or not I'm telling the truth. I pull the hammer back on the gun, letting them hear the distinctive sound of a weapon being cocked. They look at me and narrow their eyes.
“Okay fellas, as much as I'd love to stay and continue with this scintillating conversation, I'm sure we all have better things to be doing with our time,” I say. “So, we're going –”
“The whore is comin' with us,” beard says.
I sigh and tap the butt of the gun on the table again to emphasize the fact that they have no leverage in this deal.
“Here's what's going to happen,” I say. “Calee and I are going to stand up and walk out of here. And you're going to sit there and watch us go.”
“The hell we will,” non-beard guy spits.
