Living Proof

by Peter J Thompson

  “Ramon, are you awake?”

  Ramon turned towards her. She couldn’t see his eyes. “Sure,” he said.

  “We need to decide what we’re going to do. We can’t just run away. I think we made a mistake by leaving.”

  Ramon spoke so softly, she had to strain to hear him over the sounds of the train. “What should we have done?”

  Looking at him, she felt self-conscious. “I’m not sure. But I think we need to go to the authorities now.”

  “I don’t know,” Ramon shrugged. “Who can we trust? I don’t know who’s in on this.”

  Lena nodded. Who could blame him for his fear? The whole series of events was all so bizarre and frightening. And maybe he was right—who could they trust? If the government was behind this, then anyone could be the enemy, not just the Army. It could be the police, the press, anyone. Still, they had to do something. and they had to do it fast.

  “I’d like to find out more. Maybe find out what’s on that computer tape. But no matter what, we need to trust someone. We have to. We can’t keep running away.”

  Ramon didn’t answer. For a long time, they sat alone in the dark, silently listening to the sounds of the train.

  After a time, Lena broke the silence. “Why didn’t you shoot? You had the chance. Why didn’t you?”

  Ramon was silent as he seemed to think about it. “I don’t know. I was going to, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t for me.”

  Silence returned. At some point, Lena dozed off. It was hours later when she awoke to the sound of brakes grinding against the wheels. The train car jolted and lurched to a halt. Disoriented, she opened her eyes. Ramon was already standing up, looking out the open door of the train.

  Lena rubbed her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re in some kind of freight yard.”

  Lena pulled herself to her feet, stretched, and walked over to the open door. From their vantage point, she could see the shadowy forms of other freight cars parked nearby. The smells of diesel smoke and creosote were heavy in the air. Another train was coming through nearby. She heard the muffled roar of its engine and the clacking of its wheels. Closer by, a bell was ringing and someone was shouting, loud enough to be heard over the clamor. She looked up the track toward the engine. About twenty cars up, a light moved. It looked like a flashlight.

  “They’re coming this way. We better get going.” Ramon grabbed his bag and jumped out the door and down to the ground. He held out his hand to help Lena. She picked up the bag she’d brought, turned around, and slowly lowered herself down without accepting his help.

  Ramon shrugged. “We better stick close together. You can’t tell what’s out here in the dark.”

  Lena followed as Ramon started off. She kept a distance between them. They moved across the adjoining tracks, away from the men with the flashlight. Lena had to watch the ground as she walked. The tracks nearly came up to her shins and she had to carefully step over each section as they moved along. After they went across for a way, a stalled train blocked their path. They had to move parallel to it, down the track for what seemed like forever before they could get around it.

  At one time, they heard voices again and froze in the shadows. It was just some workers walking past. When they were gone, Ramon and Lena continued on. As they went on, she moved in closer to Ramon. It was much scarier in the dark than she’d expected. It felt good to be close to him. By the time they’d reached the perimeter of the yard, she was holding on to his sleeve so they wouldn’t get separated.

  Lena looked at her watch. She could just make out the numbers in the pale moonlight. It was after 3:30. It had taken them nearly an hour to get across the railway yard. They were at the edge of a road that ran along the side of the yard. It was empty at this time of night. Up the road at the far corner of the yard was a small building with bright yellow lights that cut through the darkness.

  “Let’s head over there. Maybe we can figure out where we are,” Ramon said as he turned toward the building. As they got closer, they saw the building was a small concrete block restaurant. A sign in the window claimed that they “Dozed but never Closed.”

  Lena felt a tinge of anticipation. It would feel so good to be in the light, to clean herself with running water, to sit and drink coffee like a normal person.

  Ramon stopped short. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in.”

  “We’re hundreds of miles away. There’s no way they’d know where we are.”

  Lena stepped in front of Ramon and went to the door. He paused a moment before following.

  Inside, the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights hurt her eyes. She blinked while adjusting to the light. It was a small room with dull gray tile and yellow plastic booths. At full capacity, the room might have held thirty people, but now there were only two customers--two men in railroad coveralls drinking coffee in a booth by the window. They looked up from their newspapers and turned and stared at Lena and Ramon as they came into the room.

  Lena felt uncomfortable but tried to ignore it.

  “I’ll be back in a minute. I need to wash up.” She turned away from Ramon and walked across the room toward the washrooms, her eyes straight ahead as if in a tunnel.

  In the bathroom she leaned against the sink, turned on the water, and tried to think. She felt so numb, everything was all so unreal. She needed a plan, but all she could think of was Jack dying. Her hands shook and she felt like she was losing control. Lena closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, concentrating. As bad as this was, she’d get through it. She just needed to keep her head and think things through. With an effort, she pulled herself together and relaxed.

  She glanced in the mirror. She looked nearly as bad as she felt. Her hair was disheveled, her makeup and clothes a mess, there were dark circles under her eyes. The image staring back at her was more like a street person than a hotshot reporter. She splashed some cold water on her face, quickly washed up, and did her best to make herself presentable.

  Walking back to her seat, she saw the railroad men were gone, but someone new had come inside. The man was turned away from her, standing near the door talking to the waitress behind the counter. He wore a blue shirt and black pants. It wasn’t until he turned around that she realized he was a policeman, a trooper of some sort. She stopped in the middle of the floor—her heart pounding. This was an opportunity to stop the insanity. She could walk up to him and explain everything. She glanced over at Ramon, who was sitting at a table pretending to read a newspaper the previous customer had left. When she caught his eye, he gave a small shake of his head and quickly looked back down to his newspaper.

  “You better make that to go, Gloria. I’ll be right back.” The trooper walked away from the counter and right toward Lena. She was rooted to the ground, not able to move. She wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her whole body felt numb.

  The trooper smiled at her, “Mornin’, ma’am.” He nodded and walked past her to the men’s room.

  Lena quickly went back to the table. She leaned in toward Ramon and whispered, “This is our chance. We need to tell him when he gets out. He can help us.”

  Ramon shook his head. “No. We need to get out of here right away.” He picked the newspaper up off the table and reached down to pick up his bag. He stood up to go, but Lena stepped in front.

  “This is crazy. We need to stop this now before it gets worse than it already is.”

  Ramon looked over at the men’s room door. The trooper was still inside. He gazed into Lena’s eyes as he pulled the newspaper out from under his arm, unfolded it, and slapped it down on the table. Lena gasped. The picture was fuzzy and in black and white, but there was no doubt as to who it was—Ramon was in front holding the gun, and she a step behind, staring into the camera.

  The same thought kept going through Cain’s mind: How in hell did I fuck up? He kept playing the scene over. Why didn’t he move in a little quicker? Did he telegraph his intentions? Why didn’t he take out the rabbit first? The ra
bbit was the most dangerous of the three—he should have taken him out first. But he’d been too anxious and had underestimated his target. It should have been a cakewalk—they were unarmed in a contained environment, he had the right angle and the element of surprise working to his advantage. It should have been easy—but it turned into a royal fuck-up. And he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

  The images wouldn’t go away. First he was in control, calmly firing at his target. Then, suddenly, he was knocked off his feet and looking up at the sky—the rabbit standing above him, pointing Cain’s own gun at him. By all rights, he should have been dead. The rabbit had the shot but didn’t take it. It was a sign of weakness. But he still winced in pain as he pictured the gun coming down and breaking his nose. Each time he thought about it, he had an overpowering urge to hit someone—it didn’t matter who. It just seemed that if he hit someone hard enough, he’d be able to forget. It took all the willpower he could muster to maintain control. He needed to focus his anger and use it effectively.

  The whole situation could have all been over. But now he had to start fresh with no idea where his targets were or where they were going. Cain looked down at the reports on his desk, trying to see a pattern. It had been two days since the two had gotten away and there still was no reliable clue as to where they were.

  Not that there weren’t sightings. The problem was that there were too many. It seemed like pure luck they were caught on videotape. But now it was a mixed blessing. The media loved the story and they’d played it like the second coming of Bonnie and Clyde. Through the National Security Agency, Cain had made sure that all information gathered from the press or police wase relayed back to him. As soon as the tape aired, calls started coming in. There were now sightings everywhere from Portland to Cleveland. One lady even swore she saw the fugitives waiting in line for tickets at Disneyland.

  Cain didn’t have the manpower to check out each lead. He had to prioritize and hope he didn’t miss something important. In a way, his job was easy—every cop in the country was watching for the two runaways. All he had to do was wait, and eventually, they’d turn up. Then he’d have to move in fast and take control before they talked to the wrong person. If they talked to the wrong person, someone who believed them, then he had real troubles. So he needed to get to them first.

  Cain was temporarily set up in an NSA office in Austin. He wasn’t working out of the Installation, but still too close for comfort. He could practically feel the colonel’s hot breath on his neck. As he stood to walk over to the window, he felt a flash of pain in his side. He moved his hand over his ribs. There was still pain, but in a way that felt right. It cleared his mind and kept him focused on what he had to do. There would be a second chance with the rabbit, and this time, nothing would go wrong. Vengeance would feel good, and then the memories would fade.

  Still, at the moment, nothing felt right. All he could see from the window were other office buildings. Just concrete and glass. He was up so high and so far removed from what was happening outside that he felt detached and out of touch. This was a hell of a way to stage a hunt. He crossed back to his desk and called for Rev Tanner on the intercom. A few minutes later, Tanner entered the room.

  “What's up, Captain?” Tanner said with a smile. Despite his bulk, he moved softly over the carpet. He sat down across from Cain.

  “Let’s go over this again. I’m tryin’ to see what we missed. Go through what we’ve been doing one more time.”

  “Yes, sir. After the subject over… that is, after the subjects fled the scene, they used the reporter’s car to vacate the area.” Tanner’s voice was a smooth baritone. “The vehicle was recovered later in the day, but when recovered, it was being driven by some teenagers who found the car abandoned with the keys in the ignition. It was parked just across from the railway switching yard. It is assumed that the subjects left town on board one of the freights, but we’ve been unable to verify that. A number of trains went through the yard over the course of the afternoon bound for different destinations. If the subjects were aboard, they could have gotten on any of the trains and gotten off at any point between here and the trains’ final destinations. We’ve tried to check out the possibilities but have so far come up blank.”

  Cain leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Go on.”

  “Well, we’ve been checking out the sightings that have come from the videotape. But so far, there’s been nothing there. We’ve met with the reporter’s family and friends. None of them can believe she’s gotten involved in this kind of situation. We’re projecting it as a love affair with the wrong guy. He’s obsessive and abusive and her life may be in danger. If she contacts them, I’m confident they’ll get back to us.”

  “I can’t see her callin’ ‘em. This is the rabbit’s game. She’s in shock and he’s callin’ the shots.”

  “Yes, sir. For now anyway.” Tanner smoothed the crease in his pants leg. “And that’s about it, sir.”

  Cain leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “If you were in their place, what would you do?”

  “If I was in their place? Hell, I don’t know.” He laughed. “I think I’d shit.”

  Cain ignored the comment. He was caught up in his train of thought. “If I was them, I’d be real interested in that computer tape. The story they’re tellin’ is pretty bizarre. If they expect anyone to believe it, they’re going to need some proof. That’s the tape. It’s going to take some special equipment to get a look at that. We need to do some checkin’ and see if we can run ‘em down that way.”

  Rev Tanner nodded.

  Cain was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, it was as if he were talking to himself.

  “They’re going to be trying to check out all sorts of stuff. We got on to ‘em the last time after they called that pipsqueak over in defense.” He spoke as if to himself, “I’ll lay you odds they’ll try it again.”

  17

  Looking in the mirror, Lena could hardly recognize herself. Her short blonde hair was now dyed flame red. It looked like it was on fire. She normally wore very little makeup, but now she’d applied it extravagantly, with a heavy hand on the lipstick and eye shadow. She bought a halter top off a rack at a truck stop and it completed the look. You can hide by blending in, or you can hide by standing out. She stood out like a weed in a flower bed, but anyone seeing her would take one look and make a quick assumption as to what kind of person she was. And after that, they might look, but they wouldn’t see.

  Ramon’s appearance was harder to alter. With his dark Hispanic features, there were limitations. If he changed his hair color, it would be like putting a sign on his back saying he was in disguise. But his most recognizable features were his eyes, and sunglasses covered them nicely. It was now safe enough for them to go out in public.

  They were the subjects of a huge manhunt—she heard the reports on the radio. They were saying that Ramon was a serial killer named Hector Ramerez, and she was his deluded lover. It was all pure fiction, but the media bought it all. Lena felt angry just thinking about it. The news was supposed to be something you could trust, not something to be manipulated by those in control. It was so twisted. In one radio story, the reporter interviewed people Lena had worked with at the Star. Sally Ferguson from accounting, who Lena hardly ever talked to, said that she wasn’t surprised Lena turned out like this, “She’d always seemed a little odd.” It burned Lena up to hear the distortions.

  In the last two days, her whole world was turned upside down. The sight of a police car was a source of anxiety. Since the close call with the trooper in the diner, she’d had a mind shift. She’d quickly come around to Ramon’s perspective. Lena was starting to think like a fugitive. Now she didn’t know who to trust. She was more aware of her surroundings than ever before. Ut was like something had clicked on in her mind that was fine-tuned to signs of danger. The story she was going to write didn’t seem so important anymore. Now her thoughts were of mere survival.

  That nigh
t, after hurriedly leaving the diner, they walked further down the road to a parking lot near the switching yard. Ramon walked through the rows of vehicles, checking until he found an old car with its door unlocked. It took him less than a minute to hot-wire the car. Lena got in without a second thought. It didn’t matter who owned the car; they needed it. Before they left the lot, Ramon stopped again and switched license plates with another car. The rail yard was near Springfield, Missouri. That night, they made their way out of town to the interstate. Not knowing where to go, they took the exit east just because it was going away from Texas.

  They drove on into the daylight. They stopped at a Walmart along the way to get the hair dye and sunglasses, and at a truck stop for gas later. It was late afternoon when they came into St Louis. They both felt tired and needed to find a place to lie low and regroup. Lena knew she couldn’t use her credit cards, she had to use cash. She took out some extra cash for her trip to Washington, but at the rate they were spending, it would be gone soon. They still had enough for a few days, but that was all.

  They found an old motel in a rundown area on the east side of town. She went into the office alone and paid for two days. The attendant hardly glanced at her. They grabbed some food from a vending machine, then hid out in the small room.

  They slept straight through to the next afternoon. They watched all the news shows on the TV and there was no mention of them, or that a search was going on. Maybe, she thought, they were far enough from Texas—between that and no new sightings, they’d become old news. Maybe the pressure was off, for now anyway. But they had to do something soon.

  Lena turned from the mirror and sat down on the bed. Who could they trust? They needed someone who would believe them and help them. But who? If their pursuers were from the Army, who had given the order to pursue them? And who else was involved? The information coming from the media was reported as truth. Fingerprints and false history—these things were beyond the scope of the military. There had to be other branches of the government involved in the conspiracy.