Shattered Highways

by Tara N Hathcock

  “He blew in like a whirlwind. From the get-go, he gave us his full attention. He caused a huge stir, ordering new scans, and scans they hadn’t thought to do, and more blood work. He even put together his own tests to prove that Jones wasn’t just imagining the noise. I think the only reason the hospital allowed him access was because they were so tired of having to deal with us themselves. He took complete control of Jones’s care and I was just so grateful to have someone that actually believed us.”

  “So, he proved Jones really was hearing more than he should be able to? That it wasn’t a psychosomatic symptom of his brain trauma?” Quincy asked? “How did that even work?”

  “It was pretty simple, really. We put Jones in a room in an empty wing of the hospital. Dr. Garrison had this tiny frequency emitter that gave off a low frequency when activated. His phone was attached to the device so he could see when the frequency was on. I moved at predetermined intervals and activated the device.”

  Logan shook his head, because it was still hard to believe. “I was the one pushing the button and I could barely hear it. But Jones could hear the frequency, with perfect timing, at over 2,000 feet.”

  Chapter 33

  Quincy

  Quincy stared at Logan. He was joking. Or lying. He had to be. Logan paused, giving her time to wrap her mind around what he’d just said. He obviously wasn’t joking though, and nothing in his body language or tone of voice suggested he was lying. It should have been impossible to hear so clearly from so far away. But Logan was serious. He wasn’t playing with her and he wasn’t exaggerating. He was completely and entirely sincere. He wanted her to understand exactly what his partner went through. It was very important to him that she believe him. But honestly, it made her uncomfortable. The headache that had started earlier in the day had arrived in full force and the buzzing that usually accompanied her headaches was starting to drown out the conversation. As Logan told his story, she had felt the pressure start to build, making her feel squeezed tight, like there was a band around her chest, or her head, and she couldn’t get a full breath. The whole story of Logan and his partner. The way she was being stalked. The words people like you. The whole situation was jarring but it felt familiar somehow. Like maybe this story had as much to do with her as it did Logan and Jones. Which didn’t make any sense. She didn’t know Jones. She didn’t have super hearing. She didn’t have a brain injury or PTSD or whatever this was that Logan was describing. She had headaches, sure. And she didn’t sleep. Maybe she sometimes had trouble concentrating because of all the information spinning through her head and she had a habit of doing things she didn’t know she could do. But some people just reacted well under pressure. Lots of people had trouble shutting their thoughts off at night. And who didn’t have a migraine now and again?

  Speaking of, she suddenly became aware of the pain in blinding fashion. She had gotten so caught up in her own thoughts that she’d pushed the headache off to the side. But it flared suddenly, catching her off-guard. She sucked in a breath and pushed her body flat against the seat, trying to absorb some of the pain. Logan looked over, concerned.

  “What’s up?”

  She couldn’t respond, too wrapped up in fighting back the waves of pain rolling through her head. She had had some bad ones before but this...She tried to focus on her breathing. Breathe in slow, count to three, breathe out slower, count to six. She could hear Logan in the distance, saying her name, but it was vague and far away. She needed out of this car. Now.

  “Pull over.”

  She managed to turn her head and blinked, trying in vain to get her eyes to stay open. “I need to get out of this car.”

  Logan, to his credit, didn’t argue or even question. He glanced in the rear view mirror, put on the hazard lights, and pulled slowly onto the shoulder. The second the car was stopped, Quincy threw the door open and leaned out, putting her head between her knees. She felt the opposite door open and Logan was suddenly in front of her, crouched down so he could try to see her face. But it was all very far away. All she could think about was the pain in her head, blocking everything else out. She wished she could throw up. Maybe that would help. Or pass out. That would definitely help. At least the sun had already set, leaving the sky light enough to still see but not bright enough to make things worse. If she could just sit here for a few minutes and breathe, and try not to think about what was happening around her, maybe she could get the pain under control.

  Logan’s voice reached her from far away. He sounded almost frantic and she thought maybe he wasn’t talking to her anymore. It didn’t sound like her name he was calling. She felt him reach up and touch her neck. She tried in vain to shy away, the unexpected touch almost searing against her skin. But when his cool, gentle fingers pressed up underneath her jaw, she recognized distantly the search for a pulse point and she stilled. He said something, hesitated, and then murmured something else and then she realized - he was talking on the phone. He must’ve been really worried to call someone. Phone signals could be traced. She slid one of her hands away from her face and squeezed the hand pressed to her neck, just enough to hopefully reassure him that she was really okay, she just needed a few minutes. He must’ve gotten the message because his fingers left her neck and wrapped around her forearm, reassuringly solid and warm. He said something else into the phone, probably telling whoever was on the other end that she had finally responded. She could feel her breath beginning to slow and the band around her chest easing. The buzzing had cleared enough for her to make out words now instead of just sounds, although they still sounded like they were coming to her from underwater.

  “I think she’s starting to come around,” Logan said.

  A pause, and then the hand slid lower around her wrist. “Pulse is back down too. She’s around 120. Still high, but more like she just ran a mile and less like she’s stroking out.”

  He was silent. Then, “Yeah, she’s starting to respond. Is there something I could be doing to help?”

  Quincy managed to crack her eyes open and look down at him from between her fingers. Logan looked frustrated.

  “Well, what do you think set it off?” He didn’t seem pleased with the answer. “If I don’t know what I did, how can I keep from doing it again?”

  He sighed. “I know. But you’re the expert. I’m no good at explaining medical stuff. Plus, no one’s ever gone catatonic on me before.”

  Another pause, and this time he seemed to be considering what the person on the other end of the line was saying. “No, I don’t think we were followed. It would’ve been another hour at least before the car was reported and even longer before the plates were noticed. Actually, we may still be clean with the plates. As long as there are license plates, no one ever actually looks at what’s on them. And then once we hit I-40, we could’ve been heading in any direction.”

  Logan finally stood and paced away, facing the forested land on the opposite side of the road and ran a hand through that unruly hair.

  “I’d rather put another couple of hours between us and Sheraton but if you think we need to stop, I think we’re probably safe enough.”

  He waited for the response, glancing back in Quincy’s direction before looking away again. “Doc, they put a kill order out on her. They took a shot, in the middle of the day, in public. They aren’t going to be afraid to make a scene this time.”

  Chapter 34

  Logan

  From his post by the window, Logan had a clear view of the entire parking lot of the Super 8 he’d found just off the interstate, plus a visual on the front office. The place was pretty low brow but it sat off the road enough to be inconvenient for most passersby to get to and cheap enough to make the cigarette smell negligible. He had been hoping to drive through the night, putting as much distance between them and whoever was gunning for Quincy as possible, as quickly as possible, but that hadn’t been an option. Logan glanced over at Quincy, who was dozing restlessly on the bed farthest from the door. When they had pulled i
nto the little motel in Pittsburgh, Texas, she had insisted on getting out of the car and into the room on her own but Logan had had his doubts. She was as snippy as usual but her sarcasm had less bite to it than normal and she was pale, alarmingly so. Nevertheless, he’d given her space, grabbing her backpack out of the backseat and shoving the water and leftover snacks she’d picked up at the convenience store inside. Then he’d slung it over his shoulder and stayed a few steps behind her - far enough she couldn’t accuse him of hovering but close enough to grab her if her knees buckled.

  She was going to have to explain whatever that was in the car. And soon. She didn’t seem overly concerned, which actually concerned him quite a bit. They had just been talking. He had laid Jones’s symptoms out there for her and she was asking questions. Skeptically of course, but still, she hadn’t seemed completely disbelieving. He turned back towards the window, scanning the parking lot and connecting exits again. He had told her about the attack and Jones and Dr. Garrison, but none of that should have set off any of her internal alarms. There wasn’t anything that she should have been able to relate back to her own situation, especially considering she didn’t seem to know she even had a situation to relate to. He had decided to wait before pushing that envelope at her. So he couldn’t think of anything that would have caused that kind of sudden, severe migraine. That kind of anxious panic attack. That kind of anxious, panicky, PTSD-driven migraine. He sighed. He had seen enough traumatized veterans, himself included, have similar reactions that he couldn’t really deny it. He had been hoping that her condition was the result of some kind of brain malformation or hormone deficiency, no matter how much Dr. Garrison shot those theories down. He had been hoping she had managed to avoid the terror and devastation that he’d seen this kind of brain injury cause in others. That it caused in Jones. But it seemed like she was just as damaged as the others.

  Logan shifted in the chair, which was much too small to comfortably accommodate his 6’4” frame. It wasn’t just too small, it was also too hard. He highly suspected a deviant had nailed a piece of plywood underneath the seat to keep it from dropping out. He highly suspected this because, in a moment of pure desperation and exhaustion, he’d flipped the chair over to find out just why, exactly, this was the most uncomfortable chair on the face of the earth. And who but a deviant would visit such an atrocity upon an unsuspecting chair and its equally unsuspecting occupant? But it was the only chair in the room, so here he sat. He’d pulled said chair into the corner of the room, across from his bed, at an angle that let him see the entire parking area and the main lobby without letting anyone see him. The lights in the room were out but the thin curtains didn’t do much to block the light from the parking lot, casting the room into shadow but not allowing for complete darkness. So Logan could see Quincy tossing and turning, fidgeting in her sleep. Actually, he wasn’t sure he would call it sleep. It was more of a broken, restless doze, interrupted every half hour or so by a short burst of sudden wakefulness. She thought he didn’t know when she was awake and he’d decided to let her keep that illusion. She had so little control over her life right now, any he could give her could only help. He hoped this restless, broken sleep was just a by-product of the day but he was afraid it might actually be her norm. He hadn’t known her that long of course, but there were things she’d said, and not said, that made him wonder. Comments about long nights. Her mainlining of anything coffee or caffeine-related. The dark circles that marred an otherwise flawless complexion. And the sheer volume of reading material she consumed. There surely weren’t enough hours in the day to get through as much as she did. She had to be supplementing somewhere.

  Headlights flashed through the darkness and he snapped back to attention, cracking his neck side-to-side and shaking his arms out. He was no stranger to sleepless nights himself but his hours of endless patrol in deserts far, far away were long past and it wasn’t like he was getting any younger. A newer model Toyota pulled into a parking space 6 doors down from their room. The front door of the rented Prius opened and a middle-aged woman in a rumpled business suit stepped out and walked tiredly to the room adjacent. Logan watched until he saw the glow of light filter through her curtains and onto the cracked concrete outside before he relaxed back into the chair. To keep himself alert and his mind off the monstrosity that was this chair, he mentally reviewed the plan for the next morning. Ideally, he’d like to be on the road before daylight. Maybe 6:00, 6:30 at the latest. They had driven about four hours today. Well, yesterday, technically. That wasn’t nearly enough distance to make him feel safe but it couldn’t be helped. Pittsburgh, Texas was barely a blip on the map, which did make him feel marginally better. There were only a couple of other vehicles in the lot and while Quincy was in the shower, Logan had slipped out to the Jeep Cherokee parked on the opposite side of the motel and swapped out the plates. Luckily, the Jeep had Arkansas plates too, so the odds of the owner noticing were next to none. He would still feel better once they ditched the car but that could wait a few more hours.

  The sound of tires crunching on gravel caught his attention and his eyes shifted to the driveway of the motel. He watched as a dark, four-door sedan, unknown make and model, pulled in without headlights and parked in one of the spaces reserved for customers checking in and out. Logan eased to his feet and slid closer to the window. Without touching the curtain, he peered out into the darkness, squinting his eyes to try to see better. The car sat idle for a few minutes, no movement inside or out, before the door opened and a tall, thin man climbed out. He closed the door quietly and circled the car, taking in his surroundings before moving into the shadows closer to the motel. But Logan could tell he was still there.

  The wind was nothing but a light breeze, barely enough to move the branches of the pathetically scrawny trees lining the drive. And still Logan waited, with the feeling the man was waiting too, watching for something - a rustle of a curtain, a light in a window, anything to give away what he was looking for. Logan was intensely glad he had moved the car to the back side of the motel. It would be more difficult to get to but it was out of line of sight of the road and from the front parking lot. The street lights cast just enough glow for Logan to see when the man finally moved. If he hadn’t been looking for it, he wouldn’t have seen it. The man was tall, 6’2”, and he had a slight, willowy build. Not someone Logan would call an athlete, but you didn’t have to be a weightlifter to be dangerous. Logan watched as the man moved along the line of cars parked on the far side of the lot, facing the highway. He looked to be inspecting each one individually.

  Logan had seen enough. He backed slowly away from the window. He hated to lose visual on the man but they needed to move.

  “Quincy,” he whispered.

  “What is it?” she asked instantly, more alert than he had expected.

  “There’s someone out in the parking lot, checking vehicles. We need to go.”

  Logan moved silently back towards the window and peered out, making sure to stay at an angle that would keep anyone watching outside from seeing him, careful not to move the curtains. Quincy swung her legs over the side of the bed and rolled out, landing in a crouch before standing up. When she moved away from the bed, he could see she had somehow managed to pull her tennis shoes on and get them tied in those few seconds when she had been down. Her bag was in her hand and she was at his shoulder in a matter of seconds. Practice makes perfect, he thought idly.

  “What makes you think it’s our guy?” she asked quietly. “Could just be someone who had a few too many at the bar and can’t remember where he is.”

  He shot her a look. “While the thought of a drunk man driving around with their headlights off after dark is a cheery thought, there aren’t many people who know how to move without being seen.”

  He nodded towards the man, who seemed to have given up on the cars and was heading back towards the front of the motel. “Who keeps to the shadows while inspecting every car in a random motel parking lot without setting off any ala
rms or attracting any attention. Sure. It could be anyone.”

  She huffed. “Fine. But your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated.”

  Logan watched the man lean down into his car and grab something from the inside. Documentation probably, a badge or something convincing to show the desk clerk to insure his cooperation. He squinted out into the night. He had been hoping the dome light in the car would come on when the man opened the door so he could put a face to the guy but no luck. Whoever this man was, he was a professional. Amateurs often missed the little things, like disabling interior car lights. Experts did not.

  “Grab my bag. As soon as he goes inside, we’re out of here.”

  Quincy didn’t respond. The man had pulled open the front door and disappeared inside, most likely to have a chat with the night manager about who might have checked in over the last few hours. Logan didn’t want to be here when the manager gave up their room number.

  “Come on,” he said, opening the door and stepping back to let Quincy step through first. When she didn’t move, he glanced over. She looked...strange.